When the lyrics of Ke$ha’s Tik Tok hit uncomfortably close to home for you, it’s time to take a long hard look at your life and make some changes.

*groan*

I’m fairly certain I used being sick last week as an excuse to not do anything, and I’m worried that it’s going to be a trend. It’s hard to get moving on distasteful things when you’re depressed, and the thought of job hunting gives me mini panic attacks and belly rumblings. I know I haven’t really done much by way of seeking new employment, and I’m trying not to be discouraged that the jobs I DID apply for haven’t gotten so much as a peep in response .. for my own sake, I’m chalking that up to bureaucracy and not the fact that I am utterly without marketable skills and no one will ever hire me for anything let alone things I have fooled myself into thinking I’m good at and oh god I’m going to end up in a cardboard box in the alley.

See, this is why I don’t want to job hunt – every thought turns into an enormous harbinger of doom. Someone should just hire me so I can skip this part, and then everything will be just super (and I won’t have to rely on government cheese).

I need to start waking up a normal hour and forcing myself to be productive. I slept in today (being up until 3:30am doing crossword puzzles will do that to you – I’m an 80-year-old insomniac), but I did manage to haul my ass out of a bed full of cats and make two batches of muffins. Eventually I will shower, and then I will go back to the post office for the THIRD time to pick up this stupid package waiting for me. See, I’m productive! I’m busy! I’m not at all freaking the fuck out about my lack of income and the hilarious mockery of a Ke$ha song my life has turned into!

Damnit.

dear potential employers: this is not drugs; it's glitter.

Depression and allergies are waging an all-out war on me right now. I think my stomach flu is on the mend, which is good – but frankly, I’d rather be toilet bound than puffy-eyed and randomly, achingly sad. This sucks!

I’m supposed to go out tonight, but all I want to do is hide under the covers until .. I feel better, I guess. I should probably be forced outside with a crowbar and threats of Kraft Dinner – I haven’t been outside since Tuesday, and I could probably use some fresh air.

Perhaps I will wear my white petticoat.

I’ve been sick for the last 48 hours with a nasty stomach flu, and it seems to be getting WORSE and not better. I feel fine except for my inability to keep food down, and it’s starting to stress me out – I want to go outside and do things, not sit around the house bored out of my mind because I’m afraid to leave sight of a bathroom. I have a package waiting for me at the post office, several errands to run, and groceries from Tuesday still sitting in the car (all dry goods + Diet Coke .. I think). I also need to, you know, start looking for work. I gave in to the holiday spirit and fully threw myself into the worry-free lifestyle of a wealthy dowager (which was wrong for a surprising number of reasons), but now it’s officially the New Year and I need to find a New Job. This annoying (and gross) little tummy bug is putting a pretty big damper on my plans to do anything at all and I DO NOT APPROVE.

That’s really all I have to say today. I still want to talk about the amazing food at the NYE party, but perhaps when the thought of food doesn’t make me weep. I have a couple posts brewing in the back of my head, but they’re not fully percolated yet. I want to do some baking what with all this free time I have, but I don’t think cooking food for others while ill is such a good idea. What’s left? I could play video games, I suppose. If I have to. Perhaps I’ll go speak to the gentleman who took an arrow to the knee.

In the meantime, I would truly like this stomach flu to go away so I can get on with my January.

this is where i would like to be

I vaguely remember this, but apparently right before the world ended on New Year’s Eve I pulled out my laptop and started to write an update. I managed a full paragraph and a whole page of bullet points, which I will now attempt to flesh out into an actual recap of what happened that evening. Ironically, I had entitled the update as “not that high”, with a subtitle of “How I started 2012 being date raped by a 4-year-old” – as it turns out, only one of those was true.

—

It was quarter to 2am after the New Year officially began, and the small child should have been in bed. It was a special occasion, though, so everyone ignored the loud and aggressive child – because it was New Year’s Day, or because everyone felt sorry for the kid who had spent the last 75 minutes wailing for his mother who couldn’t be retrieved because she was busy having bathroom sex. Whatever the reason, the small child was left to his own devices in a room full of drunken adults at the end of a long evening. No one watched him, and more importantly, no one watched the table full of delicious and highly potent chocolate truffles.

After the small child ate his fill of 2am chocolate, he descended upon the remaining horns on the ground, leftover from our rowdy countdown into the new year. Blowing the horns as loud as possible became a hilarious new game, one that was not appreciated by all due to the babies who had FINALLY gone to sleep. Ali confiscated the horns, but they were everywhere – so she handed them to me so I could basically lay on them and keep them out of reach of the small child. I was on my stomach with my spinning head in my arms, so I gathered all the noisemakers unto my bountiful bosom and resumed my pre-bedtime dozing.

Small child was having none of this, though.

He wanted those horns, and he wanted them now. He forced his way between my arms, blindly grasping and scratching to find the horns hidden under my boobs. I tried to tell him NO, but he was way too hyper to listen – over and over again he shoved his small sticky hands with sharp evil baby nails right into my cleavage and groped around for treasure. On one hand, I was aware that my breasts were receiving more action from a neglected 4-year-old than they’d seen at all in the last quarter of 2011 – but on the other hand, this was painful and highly inappropriate in ways I was not comfortable with. When I firmly clamped my arms down in an attempt to keep him out of my tits, he began tugging on my head with a finger in my eye socket and yanking on my clothes. I’d raise my head to get his fingers out of my eye, and he’d dive right back into my boobs to dig around some more.

Shan tried valiantly to help me, but she had no authority over the small child and he knew it. He ignored her completely, along with my pleas then demands that he stop right now. I did manage to tweet for help, which almost cost me an eye and didn’t actually help at all – the small child was pointy, hyper, out of control, and hurting me quite a lot. I finally gave up and threw all the horns out from under my chest in an attempt to get him to leave me alone, but it was too late – the game had gone from “get the horns” to “beat up this person”, and it was ALL BAD.

To make matters worse, the small child’s mother was ten feet away while all this was going on. She was in no shape to deal with her son, though – she was rocking her youngest back and forth; looking wistfully off into the distance and oblivious to the chaos happening around her. I later learned that she wasn’t just rocking but attempting to feed the baby, which made me Clue into Lactation and the horrible realization of what just happened – but I’ll let you figure that out for yourself; the dawning horror is not something I want to deprive you of.

I witnessed a really interesting dynamic that evening; one I had to sloppily write down in my phone so I could remember to puzzle over it later. While the woman mentioned above was off having (much needed, from what I heard) bathroom sex, two of her friends were extremely busy distracting her two children and (unsuccessfully) trying to keep them from freaking the fuck out over their missing mother. I heard the terrified wails of the children and watched the frantic back and forth “maybe she’s downstairs! let’s go check” action, and thought some deep track suit thoughts to myself about friendship. I had written down:

I want to be happy to distract your kids so you can get laid in the bathroom at a house party, not angry because you’re being selfish – work on that.

I was questioning my own ability to be a friend, and wondering if I was a terrible friend because my first instinct is to not be happy you’re having sex and to do whatever I can to help, but to be annoyed because your kids are FREAKING OUT and I have to deal with it. I wondered if this was a motherhood thing, and had to do with precious minutes of “you” time to blow off steam/some guy you met that night – if I was a mother, would I “get” that this was really, really needed and therefore be happy to run interference? Is it my selfish hipster lifestyle that keeps me from understanding the layer beneath “lol, bathroom porking” and displaying the compassion required? I didn’t get it then with cookies, and I don’t get it now without. I did run the scenario by others, all of whom immediately agreed with my own raised eyebrow and disdain at the situation – but they’re all childless as well, both by choice and because the babies aren’t here yet.

There are a whole lot of other factors that I don’t know, of course, but it’s still an interesting thing to think about. I don’t necessarily think I am a bad friend, but maybe there could be room for a little more compassion from my camp instead of scorn and ire.

Also, even if there is a 30-year age difference, NO MEANS NO. Date rape by small child left me with scratches all over my chest and renewed my fear in every small person who wasn’t made by Doug and Ali.

NO MEANS NO

This isn’t official until I go over every single iTunes receipt by hand and calculate it all, but according to SpentOnApps, my grand total for 2011 is $571.66. This is a significant (but unofficial) improvement over 2010, which clocked in at a startling $836.77, but I feel I can do better. I don’t have an iPad any more, which will help .. but I’ve been buying a few apps for my various Macs (most notably the $30 upgrade to Lion for my desktop), which will add up quickly. When my headache goes away, I’ll go over the receipts individually and see if the app is close – last year it wasn’t – and then I will average out my monthly spending. Spending some quality time wrist-deep in spreadsheets is pretty much exactly what the doctor ordered – after my NYE, I’m not allowed to have any more fun for a least two weeks.

My week suddenly opened up, though – my mother isn’t coming to visit for our post-Christmas extravaganza because I am fat. I admit that I zoned out partially through her phone call because she was going over her scratch ticket winnings in excruciating detail, but I’m fairly certain that was her reasoning for cancelling her trip. She also called me “sweetheart” a lot, which was weird. Maybe I should have paid attention. At any rate, I may go over to the island next week to visit HER, mostly because I want her Christmas gift out of my house – I wrapped up all her lacy g-strings in a box and hid them, but I still know they’re here. It’s likely why I can’t sleep at night.

accurate graffiti in the REI parking lot

I’m totally straight edge now. You can tell by my new name; xKimlix: the Xs mean I am straight edge, but only as far as drugs, alcohol and tobacco go. I will still eat meat and dairy, use prescription drugs, mainline caffeine and have as much promiscuous sex as I can buy, so I’m not hardcore or anything. And I never drank anyways, so it’s not like I’m changing very much. And I did drugs an average of .25 times a year since the age of 18, so this isn’t going to be some sort of epic life change. In fact, it can basically be boiled down to one truth: no more pot cookies. Especially if Mike made them. I may just want to stay away from Mike altogether – there may be a contact high from his hugs. He is a dangerous man. I’ve seen his suitcase.

Thanks to my constant tweeting, Instagram, Ali’s pictures and the vague, uncomfortable answers from Ed, I’ve managed to piece together my last 48 hours. My arms feel like I wrestled an aligator and lost, there’s a bruise on my forehead I’m told came from dropping my iPhone on my face, and thanks to literally the last thing I did before the world went insane (pulled out my laptop and wrote a page of content), I know I was date raped by a 4-year old.

BEST NEW YEAR EVER!

No, seriously. My Incredibly Bad Decision and the Awkward Aftermath aside, NYE was incredible. I felt things I’ve never felt before for noodles; died and went to Beef Heaven, and gave serious thought to bathing in oysters. Doug and Ali threw a party to top all parties, and the four of us (Josh and Shan came with) had a blast. More on the party itself later; I’ve got a thesaurus full of adjectives to use to describe beef – but I just thought the internet would like to know that I have come down now. I am totally normal, like always. Let the rest of the year begin!

i remember this part

Everyone starts a new year hoping to experience new things, but if everything I experience in 2012 is as confusing as my first Tripping Balls, I think I will ask 2011 to come back for a while longer.

I haven’t heard the whole story – or the recording they tell me they have – but I am fairly certain balls were tripped really hard, and I am sore all over.

There may have been grinding. I think I Tweeted it. In fact, I think I tweeted a lot of things.

I believe there is still a ball or two that have yet to fully trip. Is this what ‘Nam feels like?

No one will tell me if this is real.

I spent much of the early morning Wiki Hopping (the intellectual version of being caught in a YouTube Loop); reading up on Minstrel shows of the mid-1800s, which led to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Little House on the Praire, The Darkest Hour (this may have been an intentional jump and only because the spoiler hasn’t been posted yet), and finally labia minora, which utterly did not lead to an extended bout of personal exploration with a handheld mirror and a bike light.

Incidentally, I have determined that my vagina is a Pokemon and I am actively levelling up so it can evolve into Vaginismus and eventually, the powerful and elusive Vulvovaginitis. Vulvovaginitis, I don’t particularly choose you but you seem determined to hang around no matter what I do! Use your tent attack to stretch and self-lubricate, then defeat that penis!

.. it’s times like this when I’m glad I don’t have a job, so no one can spy on my simultaneous browser searches for “Pokemon attack moves” and “vaginal activity during intercourse”.

So, how’s by YOUR Friday? Have you made up your mind about which seat to take?

I am consistently amused by the ongoing dialogue inside my head.

Also, I am ending out this horrible, horrible (okay, not THAT bad) year with the realization that I have FRIENDS – awesome ones – that I am super glad to have in my life. That is for smile-making and bouncing!

Okay, off to shower and dress and pack for America.

Hooray!

night times equal pretty times

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live in a house boat – not a boat that doubles as home, but a house moored at a dock like this:

dazzling victoria sunset not always included

I got as far as doing preliminary research and making plans that Ed tried to thwart with lies and betrayal, but in the end it was all moot – we bought our nice, traditional condo home and moved into it in a nice, traditional way where we live our nice, traditional life. My dream to live on the water was shelved, although I still get a little wistful and dreamy whenever I see a houseboat and picture myself living there and wearing nothing but purple and a lot of fancy hats.

People change, and dreams change with them. I’ve recently become aware of a brand new dream, one that is technically much cheaper than the houseboat plan .. but in reality, a place that always seems to mess up my awesome ideas, is just as far-fetched and unlikely.

I want to own an Airstream trailer.

Not to travel in, but to use as an office and/or Secret Kimli Space like this or this or this or these. It would be an expensive undertaking, but it would be SO COOL – I often daydream about a space of my very own, and something about the old school bubbly silver Airstreams just sings to me and makes my insides all squishy with glee. There are some absolutely gorgeous restorations, modernizations, or even original vintage models out there – I spent the better part of an afternoon drooling over pictures of my dream office. Just like I can absolutely see myself living on a houseboat and wearing purple, I can picture all my stuff inside an Airstream and it would be quirky and awesome and so totally me. It’s an expensive dream, but significantly less so than owning a houseboat so I should totally do it, what with my no job and all.

Still, the expense could theoretically be managed – I’ll simply pray to my dad and he’ll use his powers from beyond the grave to bestow riches on me, like Jesus must have done – but .. well, I live in a nice, traditional condo. With no land. Even if I had an Airstream, and restored it, and filled it to the brim with happy Kimli good times .. where would it go? I have no yard, front OR back. Something tells me that Ed wouldn’t be crazy about my living in a trailer in our living room, and it probably won’t fit on the balcony. In the end, my shiny new dream is just as unattainable as the houseboat, that is sad making.

Still, some dreams are meant to be wild and impossible and the stuff of pure fantasy. Life wouldn’t really be very interesting if dreams consisted of mundane things like a Tuesday without rain or a sale on broccoli – and who knows? Stranger things have happened. Maybe some day I’ll have the office of my dreams, and I’ll invite you all over for tea and cupcakes and it will be the stuff of legends.

In the meantime, I’m going to treat myself to this. It’s a tiny reminder of my dream, and something to fantasize about that doesn’t involve nudity (yet).

What’s your dream?

I figured that Ed and I would have a very quiet Christmas by ourselves, but it was the complete opposite – we’ve been hanging out with assorted friends and quasi-family every day for the past week, and it’s been glorious. It’s exactly what the season should be: friends, food, and video games (optional, if you’re not into that sort of thing). Also, therapy. What’s Christmas without therapy?

I had my second official session today, and it’s been a very interesting ride so far. I like therapy – I don’t come out of sessions sobbing or emotionally drained (although I am disappointed that I don’t get to lie on a couch while the therapist takes notes on the flavour of my crazy); I actually find myself refreshed afterward. I have nothing to base this on, but I assume that going to therapy is somewhat like hiring a prostitute: she diddles my brain for an hour, and I fork over a lot money for the privilege.

We finished up the “tell me about your childhood” stuff today, so I’m totally cured. I’m going to keep going to therapy – but my reasons for doing so have changed, even in the 4 weeks it’s been. For starters, I’m no longer stressed out about work .. but come January, I’m going to be stressed out that I don’t have a job, so there’s that. Plus my mother is coming to visit (I wisely scheduled my next appointment for the day after she leaves), so there’ll be a lot to talk about.

All sarcasm aside, I’m finding talking to a neutral party about everything on my mind is really helpful. I’ve been figuring out shit left and right, which is kind of fun – and soon, she’s gonna let me play with the dinosaurs. My former benefits are paying for this, so I need to squeeze as much talking and awareness out of the sessions while someone else foots the bill.

Also: dude, dinosaurs!

Okay, enough with the relatively dull soul searching – it’s time to Look Forward to Stuff! Tomorrow, I’m gonna traverse the wild unknowns of Richmond and go to Daiso, and later this week we’re going to Seattle for NYE. I think I had something planned for Thursday too, but I can’t remember what it is .. hell, even if it’s nothing but sitting naked on my couch playing Super Mario Land 3D, I will enjoy the hell out of it. It’s Mario! In 3D! The future fits right in my pocket!

Note to self: you’re unemployed again, so it’s time to build your daily schedule around reruns of Crossing Jordan. I don’t think the show is currently on air, so I may have to download all seven seasons and watch a couple episodes each day, every day. It’s my unemployment ritual – I’ve done it every time I’ve been jobless, but never intentionally .. until NOW. Take that, joblessness. I will proactively watch procedural drama starring former Law and Order ADAs just to beat you to the punch!

also: arm wrestling.