Cuba! No internet access! Archived words!

Originally posted March 21st, 2007:

you want babies; i want a pony

A word to the wise: this is one hell of a long-winded update, even for me. You might want to get a cup of coffee and a snack. Maybe I should start a spoiler page; a site that offers “get to the point” 10 word recaps of my posts. Anyway, it’s a long one. Sorry.

“She’s only a little older than I am,” said Laura, and Lena said “I’m a year older than she was”
They looked at each other again, an almost scared look. Then Lena tossed her curly black head. “She’s a silly! Now she can’t ever have any more good times.”
Laura said soberly, “No, she can’t play any more now.”

All my friends are having babies.

Okay, I know that’s not true. I can name plenty of people who are, at this particular moment, not in any way shape or form having any sort of baby. Truthfully, the number of people I know who are having babies is disproportionately small for my age group because of my hermit-like tendencies and not having existed before 1992. So really, not everyone I know is having babies. Five people I know are having babies.

I’ve spent much of the last year with my head in a fog with regards to this subject, and as I discover more and more of my peers struck by baby fever, the thoughts in my head have become more muddled and soggy. This is my (typically long-winded) attempt to sort those thoughts out and find some peace within myself.

I’m confused by a great many things when it comes to having children. I do know how babies are made – in fact, I can probably tell you 275 different ways in which you can get your baby-making parts inserted into someone else’s, or vice versa – but the *other* logistics behind baby-making are completely beyond even my considerable knowledge of what happens when people get naked.

Why do people want babies?

I, obviously, do not want babies. My reasons are many, but the bottom line is that when I think about having children, my entire body freezes up in terror and disgust. Babies? Are you insane? Why on earth would I want to take care of one or possibly more squalling, helpless infants?

I have a lot of trouble trying to wrap my head around why people do not feel the way I do when it comes to children. It’s very clear that I’m in a small minority here; otherwise the race would die out or at the very least not be quite so over-populated as we are now. Why do people want to have children? Why aren’t they content with things the way they are?

Clearly, this line of thinking is utterly insane. It’s human nature to want to procreate. If people didn’t procreate, we’re back to the race dying out and even I don’t want that, not even on the days where I hate people and think I’d be better off living in a grass hut that has no internet. So, if people actually wanting to give up everything for the sake of being responsible for others is not the illogical line of thinking, then .. it must be me.

I do not understand why I feel so strongly about this, and why I am – yet again – so different from what’s considered “normal” for a woman my age and in my situation.

I worry about a lot of things. I worry that I’m going to wake up tomorrow and be caught up with baby fever and suddenly understand what all the fuss is about. I worry that it won’t happen tomorrow but in 15 years, and it will be too late for me to change my mind. Most of all though, I worry that I am going to feel somehow deficient for the rest of my life because I do not want children.

When I was little, I knew I was not destined to have kids. I didn’t have the greatest childhood, and while that lent a lot to my current resolve, it’s not that simple. So I made a “promise” to myself when I was 12 – so what; I also promised that I would be a dancing fireman princess veterinarian and that I would get an Autobot tattoo. Obviously we can’t keep ALL the promises we make to ourselves when we’re small – it just doesn’t make sense. Some we can. My tattoo is awesome.

I’m conflicted by these thoughts to the point of almost using the word tormented instead. My abnormalities have never bothered me before, and there’s a lot there that really could bother me – so why is it bugging me so much now? It’s normal to want to have children and start a family. I have never been normal. I do not want to have children or start a family. It seems pretty cut and dry – it’s “normal”; so I don’t do it. Simple enough, right? Except .. I just can’t help feeling like I’m broken or bad or crossing-the-line different because I don’t want babies.

I’m admittedly curious about the whole process. I was only half-kidding when I offered my womb out for rent; to bring a baby to term for someone who can’t do it for themselves. After all, I’ll do anything once as long as I get to write about it afterward. It’s a cop-out, though – sure, I’ll go through the process, but only if I don’t have to take care of the kid afterwards. There’ll be no bonding for me, no instantaneous mother-child love that eclipses anything I’ve ever felt before. I’ll bake you a cupcake, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to eat it.

I’m sure I’ve incurred the wrath of my expecting friends for referring to their pregnancy as an infection – ha ha, they’re infected with baby! Sucks to be them! I don’t truly mean that of course; these children-to-be are wanted and loved and I am thrilled for the parents because they are so happy about it all. Even though I’m happy for them, I can’t stop thinking about babies in the same terms you use to describe radiation poisoning or the nasty flu that Ed has – it’s a foreign, outside cluster of cells that shouldn’t be there. A round of anti-biotics oughta clear that right up, then you can get on with your life.

Throughout all my over-thinking, I’ve done what I always do when I’m conflicted – I research the living hell out of it. I’ve clocked more time on parenting websites than I can count, looked up books, read other people’s tales. In fact, after work today I went out and picked up this book to see if it’ll clear up any of the things inside my head. It’s a subject people are passionate about, so there’s no shortage of opinions or stories or clinical studies for me to read. I’ve read about the biological clock and how the ticking cannot be ignored; how the first instant you see your child you’re transformed into a fierce mother hawk who’d do anything for that tiny person; the sudden awareness of a shocking depth of love for the child that wasn’t there five minutes ago. I’ve waited for these things to come to me, counting down to the unknown day when I wake up and suddenly feel that hollow ache of longing for the child I haven’t yet created; the day when everything just clicks and I realize that THIS is what all the fuss is about – I’m normal, I want a baby too, it’ll be totally awesome and I will be so COMPLETE – but so far, nothing. Nothing except the urge to pee and my ongoing confusion about why my friends are so willing to drop everything and turn their attention towards something you can’t (or at least shouldn’t) even sell on eBay when you get tired of it.

That’s another thing that I think a lot about, too. I don’t understand giving up your freedom to take care of squalling infants. I’ve never understood the American Dream of 2.5 kids, an SUV in every garage and the white picket fence surrounding your house in the ‘burbs. I’ve tried to stop thinking about babies as the End of All Things, Ever – but I can’t. In giving birth to a new life, I sense the death of everything from before. No more fun. No more freedom. No more good times – how can you, when you have to take care of this thing that came out of you? Trade in your toys and party clothes and sense of adventure; your future is dirty diapers and minivans and soccer practices. While you’re attending PTA meetings and dealing with vomit from screaming babies, I’ll be playing video games and traveling and having ritzy soirees with swingers and playboys who lavish me with attention and diamonds and also many sexually satisfying adventures that do not in any way cause problems in the real world.

I know I really need to stop thinking that babies = the end of the world. It’s hard, though. I wonder about my friends – is it at all possible for them to be the same people after the baby is born? Will they be able to have good times anymore? Will there be a place for us in their new lives, or will we be (have we already been) replaced by other friends who have children of their own and understand all those things that I just don’t get?

Part of me thinks stop being stupid; your friends will still be your friends after they have kids – there’ll just be one more person for you to consider a friend, is all. Most of me, though, thinks quite loudly that this is it – I should say my tender goodbyes now before the door will be shut on me because I am not One of Them, Soon To Be One of Them, or family.

There are a lot of reasons I am a captain of Team No Babies. Some of these reasons are sensible – I don’t have the space to put a child, or the disposable income to make sure it gets fed; others are true but a little hard to swallow – I’m very selfish in many aspects including emotionally, physically, and financially and I’m not ready to give myself wholly to another person and maybe never will be; and others are just really damn sentimental – I don’t have a safety net of adoring family and close friends to get me through the whole process.

I’m not close with my family. I don’t have a loving family hovering over me asking when I’m going to make them grandparents, no close friends to coo at baby things with me and go shopping for adorable things like car seats and diapers. Hell, I didn’t have a mom to do the whole wedding dress thing or people nearby for a bridal shower – it wouldn’t be any different if I was expecting a child. Sure, people have made it work with less, but sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on a lot by not having that network behind me – would I want to subject someone else to that? I’m not THAT cruel.

I’m lucky in many ways. For one, there’s no one pressuring me to have kids. I’m also fortunate to have the ability to choose whether I want children or not, and to choose what happens next if I woke up pregnant tomorrow. The choice would be agonizing, I know that much, but I still get to make it – and I’m grateful for that.

It’s taken me a long time to figure out what bothers me about babies and the desire for babies and the need to procreate. I’ve tried to picture myself in the same situation, to feel that need and to think “okay so THIS is what it feels like to want babies”, but I can’t. I’ve never yearned for anything more life changing than an additional cat, and look where that got me.

I’m okay with not wanting babies; I really am. What I need to figure out is that it’s OKAY for me to not want babies, that I’m not a monster or broken or wrong for how I feel. I need to figure out how to stop worrying about what the future will bring, be it babies or cats or the pug I desperately want. I need to realize that people have children every day and go on to lead exciting, wonderful, fun-filled lives that include friends who do and do not having children of their own. I need to stop thinking so much and overanalyzing my every feeling; questioning why I am so ambivalent about babies and so getting so worked up that I’m uncomfortable in my own head. I need to get outside and have some fun. I need to go to the bathroom.

This is all normal, right?

I’m in Cuba with no internet access! I’ll check in if/when I can, but in the meantime, enjoy this post from my archives!

Originally posted May 28th, 2007:

perilous kimli redux

From the carrier of such messenger bags as “Internet Superstar” and “Intergalactic Space Hussy” comes the latest in disturbingly truthful accessories:

Heee. The numbers are attached with double-sided tape and behind a removable pocket of PVC, and there’s a pouch with additional numbers in the bag so I may always be up-to-date in my accidental ways – it has, in fact, been 29 days since I last found down. I unveiled the bag last night to much appreciation, although so far today all I’ve gotten is a blank stare of incomprehension from the yuppie standing behind me in Capers with her box of organic wheat-nut crackers and soy juice. I love my new bag. It tickles me in many fantastic ways.

This does bring up a valid question, though – what constitutes a true accident in my world? It’s not black or white at all; it’s a grey area muddled with contusions and viral strains of Manhattan-style herpes. Drawing from chapters of my own life, I’ve devised a guide of sorts – a scale for keeping track of Perilous Kimli.

1. the paper cut I gave myself on my lower lip in the car last weekend while flailing about with the ferry receipt in my hand
2. that time I gave myself a chemical burn on my left nipple
3. when I tripped on nothing and fell in Seattle after breakfast, or that one time I did the same thing in Calgary
4. tripping on beer bottles in the apartment because my backpack shifted my center of gravity

—– not an accident —–

—– definitely an accident —–

1. any of my numerous burn scars because I never did learn that the stove is hot
2. cutting my finger open on pizza sauce
3. the Very Special Burn on my left nipple
4. that time last month I found down and almost broke my camera and gave myself massive bruises to add to my other massive bruises from the accident I had three weeks prior
5. poking myself in the eyeball, causing a subconjunctival hemorrhage and being sure I was dying of eyeball herpes
6. getting a stress fracture in my right foot, and during the course of healing it, causing a new stress fracture to form in my left foot
7. taking a header on Sally and dislocating my shoulder
8. re-dislocating the same shoulder three days later

The first items on the list are minor and/or not a) leaving marks, or b) requiring a hospital/doctor visit. Below the break point are injuries that either left a mark, required a doctor, or are just so insane – see numbers 6, 7 and 10 – that they have an epic back story and will be told to my friend’s children for generations to come as an example of why they ought to stay in school and graduate.

Hopefully this list will help the average Joe determine what is and is not considered an accident in the Perilous World of Kimli.

I am either amused or scared that it was way, way too easy for me to come up with 12 separate incidents with which I could build the scale.

I’m in Cuba, with no internet access! I’ll check in if/when I can, but in the meantime, enjoy this post from my archives!

Originally posted May 9th, 2002:

Conversations With My Mother

*ring ring*

Dee [editor’s note: this was still early in my blogging years; i went by my online name of DeeAy instead of my real name]: Hello?

Mom: Ahhh! Keem! You’re finally home! Everytime I try to call you’re in Edmonton or at work or just never home! Where do you go? Why don’t you answer the phone?

Dee: Hi, mom .. why don’t you call my cell phone? If I’m not home, I’ll have my cell phone with me and you can call me anytime. Dad has the number, or at least he should ..

Mom: Oh, but I can’t call that phone from work — you know how it is, with the customers and the stupid girls and I had to change my shift because my back hurts but you know how she is the stupid bitch and all the girls hate her but they’re so stupid they can’t sell anything and they don’t know how to close the till and my back hurts so I had to change my shift but the stupid girls don’t want to work with the boss because she’s such a bitch and I haven’t had a raise in 2 years but I can’t retire and I wish I could win the lottery and tell that old biddy where to go and maybe buy and house and so how are you?

Dee: Oh, you know .. things are fine. Work’s going good.

Mom: Have you lost any weight?

Dee: Yes, mom.

Mom: Well, how much?

Dee: 42 pounds.

Mom: Well, you keep at it — you have to eat your vitamins and healthy food and stop eating so much junk and maybe you can lose some weight because I eat my vitamins and only eat healthy food all the time (editor’s note: my mom eats KFC 4 times a week gl hf gg thx) and I eat vegetables too maybe you should eat vegetables to help you lose weight because you really need to lose weight or you’ll have heart attacks and diabetes and how’s Ed?

Dee: Ed’s fine, mom — still working. Stuff’s good!

Mom: I’m so tired after work I usually just go to Frank’s house because it’s closer than home but he’s such a pain we argue all the time so I only spend 3 or 4 nights a week there because I have to give him a bath because he’s still so helpless from his accident almost a year ago (editor’s note: this is where, if you listen really closely you can hear me scratching my eyes out with a plastic fork trying to get to my brain — if I can scrape off that hideous mental image, maybe I *won’t* try to drown myself later) he still can’t shower so I have to help him get clean and then he complains so much he’s like an old woman so I come home and cook for your father and I’m so tired I just stay here because my back hurts so what’s going on with your wedding?

Dee: What do you mean?

Mom: Well, can we stay with you in Calgary?

Dee: Can you WHAT? Why are you coming to Calgary? The wedding is in Edmonton, mom.

Mom: I know but we want to fly to Calgary before the wedding and get a ride up to Edmonton with you and where are we going to stay I don’t want to stay with your brother because Carolee is a bitch so can’t your poor parents stay with you for a night?

Dee: But mom, why would you fly to Calgary when the wedding is in Edmonton? I’ll be going up to Edmonton on Tuesday night and I’ll have people with me and my car is really small — I thought you and dad were going to fly to Edmonton and stay with Poh-Tee (mom’s cousin)?

Mom: Blah blah blah fly to Calgary blah blah stay with you blah blah Calgary blah blah back hurts blah blah?

Dee: Mom! Wait! You can’t fly to Calgary. There is no point for you to fly to Calgary. I won’t be able to drive you to Edmonton — my car will have luggage for 3 people for 2 weeks, plus Ed and Ali. I can’t possibly drive you up to Edmonton! It’s three hours away — WHY would you fly into Calgary?!

Mom: Where are we going to stay? Can we stay with you?

Dee: Mom, I’m staying at Ed’s parent’s place until the night before the wedding when I’ll be getting a hotel room with my friends.

Mom: Oh good idea it’s bad luck to see him before the wedding it might rain.

Dee: Umm, okay. Anyway, Ed’s parents are already going to have his grandparents and aunt and uncle and possibly even some children there, AND me and my friends — I don’t think there’s going to be any room. And his parents smoke. I’ll ask, but I really don’t think there will be room. What happened to staying with Poh-Tee? Dad said you already asked her!

Mom: I forgot.

Dee: You forgot? Don’t you think you should talk to her? *panic is creeping into my voice at this point*

Mom: I have to find her number, do you have it? I don’t know where your father puts these things.

Dee: I don’t have her number, no — but I talked to her at work. Look, you and dad fly into Edmonton on Wednesday and I will pick you up from the airport and take you to Poh-Tees — but I NEED YOU TO CALL HER and ask if you can stay with her!

Mom: What about the wedding? Your dad’s going to give you away so when are you coming to pick us up?

Dee: You want me .. to pick you up .. on the day of the wedding .. and DRIVE you there?!

Mom: Well you dad has to give you away so how are we supposed to get there?

Dee: *tearing out hair* I’ll have to think of something, mom. I’ll either pick you up or get someone to do it for me, okay? I’ll take care of it. Call Poh-Tee. Please.

Mom: Okay I will call her tonight or tomorrow but she might be at work so I will have to call her tomorrow and I will tell you what she says she is probably at work now so I will call tomorrow or tonight and then I will call you back and what do you want for your birthday?

Dee: What? Oh .. I have no idea. What about you? What do you want for YOUR birthday?

Mom: Oh you know what I want? I want a jockey.

Dee: You want a little man who rides a horse?

Mom: No, those jockey shirts. I want those. My back gets so cold and it hurts and if I get a draft my back is sore all the time so I want to get a jockey shirt to cover my back and I have to go to the chiropractor again.

Dee: *using all my powerful skills of mom-deeciphering at hand* Oh! You mean Jockey brand underwear — the undershirts! Like tank tops?

Mom: Yes, a jockey. Get me a large. I like black and grey. It will keep my back warm because it hurts and the boss is a bitch and those stupid girls can’t do anything right and it hurts my back because I have to pick up stuff they drop.

Dee: How about I just get you a gift certificate and let you buy them yourself?

Mom: Okay. I like the large ones to cover my back and do you want to talk to your dad?

Dee: OH GOD YES

Mom: Okay! Say hi to Ed!

Dad: Hello?

Dee: Dad, HELP! WHY IS SHE SAYING SHE WANTS TO FLY TO CALGARY?!

Dad: *saves the day*

Dee: *weeping with relief*

The End.

Now you know where I get it from. And now I have to go. Really looking forward to the rest of the day, let me tell you. I’m supposed to talk to three 13 year olds about women in the work place and about my job. Hi .. I’m Dee .. I sit here and use my work time to write really long updates and bitch about my co-workers .. work? Oh, I do that sometimes .. hey, have you seen our pop machine? It’s pretty cool!

I hate wedding panic. Less than four and a half months, and it feels like nothing’s getting done and no one wants to do anything. Can I pull off an entire wedding with just myself?

I’m on vacation, and I refuse to wear pants.

I will not wear them on the plane; I will not wear them in the rain.

I will not wear them while in Cuba; I will not dance in them to Luba.

I will not wear them on the beach; I will not wear them for a week.

We’re leaving for the airport in an hour. I’m exhausted from Got Craft, but SO EXCITED FOR CUBA OH MY GOD.

I’ve got auto-posts scheduled while I’m gone, so you won’t get lonely. I’ll check in when I can!

domo is pantless with me

One of the things I’ve heard repeatedly over the last month or so is that the food at Cuban resorts is pretty bland, because they try to appeal to our delicate Western palettes or something. I like my food like I like myself: spicy and out of control, so the thought of eating boring pale food for a week concerns not just me but also my traveling companions. We have a plan, though: we are bringing spices. Ed has packed a bottle of Frank’s Red Hot; I’ve got packets of peanut butter and chili flakes, and I’ve been hording McDonald’s salsa packets for weeks. Also, this:

tiny spice bottles !!!

While digging through our junk drawer for some tape, I came across these tiny tiny bottles from Daiso meant for portable soy sauce. I’m not too crazy about soy sauce, but I do love other flavours – so with the the help of a tiny tiny turkey baster shaped like a sunflower, I filled six bottles with:

• Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Sauce (x3)
• Spicy and delicious balsamic vinegar
• Coarse black pepper
• Strawberry balsamic vinegar

They’re so small! The ridiculous girl in me thinks miniature things are adorable and astronomically better than large things (two obvious exceptions being paycheques and penises), so while Ed was pragmatically pointing out that I have empty travel-sized bottles I could use to hold a great deal more sauce, I happily ignored him to coo over my tiny wee mini bottles of squee. So cute!

Adorable bottles aside though, I am seriously bummed out. I have three shipments of things coming my way that I desperately hoped would arrived today – some new makeup, an underwater camera from Photojojo, and some LEGO pieces for my Heart Shaped Blox display. Unfortunately, the mailman came and went with only one envelope for me, containing exactly 12% of my LEGO order: the padded envelope had been ripped open and taped back up, with almost all of my ordered pieces missing. I’m sad I won’t have the underwater camera or makeup for my trip, but really choked about the missing LEGO – yes, I have a display ready to go and it’s really awesome, but I wanted to go on a crafting blitz tomorrow and make more Heart Shaped Blox for Got Craft (because I keep selling the pieces I had set aside for myself), and now I don’t have enough supplies. I am sad.

.. okay, slightly less sad – while typing this up, my underwater camera got delivered. HOORAY! Pictures of fishies, STAT!

Still sad about the LEGO, though.

It’s easy to tell when there’s a soccer game going on, because it’s pretty much impossible to enter or leave my neighbourhood. Also, it’s very loud – there’s a lot of singing and cheering going on. I never really knew what it was all about, but last night Shan managed to score 4 free tickets to a game against the Montreal Impact. We’ve been talking about going to a soccer game since they started playing next to my house, and last night was as good a night for free sports as any, so off we went.

It turns out all the noise is made by the Vancouver Southsiders, who are the official rabid soccer fanboys of the Whitecaps FC and are completely awesome. Our seats happened to be two sections away from their official areas, so we got to watch the singing and chanting up close and personal like. It was hilarious and infectious, and I loved it:

loud noises!

tot is the head coach of the whitecaps

soccer at the foot of grouse mountain is awesome

it took most of the game before someone realized you could rhyme "pink" with "stink"

I am juggling several birthday celebration ideas, and it just so happens there’s a Whitecaps game on my birthday. HMMMM.

It was a jolly, if somewhat chilly, evening.

what up, wooden rollycoaster

I’ve tried a thousand times to make some words happen this morning, but everything I want to say sounds hollow and wrong. I thought about blogging about nothing in particular, but that felt disrespectful in a dozen different ways. In the end, my words are as self-serving as always – I’m trying to make myself feel better, the only way I know how.

The universe is a little less awesome today – last night, Derek K. Miller lost his battle with cancer. Derek was widely loved throughout the entire Vancouver online scene – everyone I know either knew or knew of Derek and had nothing but glowing things to say about him. He was, in all possible ways, a good egg: funny, talented, inspiring. To say that he will be missed is a vast understatement: Derek brought so much to everything he did. It was incredible to watch the energy around him and see how he could make a huge impact just by being present – he was truly respected, and I wish – especially for Airdrie and his two daughters, from whom he was taken entirely too soon – that we all had more time with him to learn how to live and love as selflessly as he did.

I am in awe at the grace and dignity that Derek and Airdrie both showed throughout his entire illness. I can only hope that when it is my time to go, I can do so with even a tenth of the strength they had.

If you haven’t read Derek’s last blog post, I implore you to do so.

We love and miss you, Derek.

This is what I’ve been working on for Got Craft for the last month:

forever in debt to your priceless advice

Heart-shaped necklaces made of genuine LEGO pieces and assorted shiny metals – it’s the ultimate in geek chic. They come in a bunch of different colours and combos, and are $10 each. Come find me at Got Craft next Sunday and get a piece of awesome to wear around your neck! Each necklace is made with love (and pliers)!

I’ll also have Smuttons available for you to paw through, AND as a special treat to cheer myself up, I’m doing a giveaway: come check out the Sassy Contessa table (which is Miranda’s gig; I’m just riding her coattails to sell LEGO and porn) and say the SECRET PHRASE, and you will receive two free Smuttons to shock and titillate your friends and family. Free stuff! Hooray! Are you ready for the SECRET PHRASE? Here you go:

WINDMILLS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY!

It’s a line from my favourite Futurama episode, and it makes me laugh. Say it to me at Got Craft on Sunday and receive some free Smuttons! Hope to see you there!

support indie crafts! buy some heart shaped blox!

blue and copper

If you’re interested in a LEGO necklace and aren’t in Vancouver/can’t make it to Got Craft this Sunday, email me at kimli at delicious juice – they are mailable! :) I might also be at other craft shows this summer, but I’ll post about those when I know more!

The good news is that I likely don’t have vitiligo or hypopigmentation. Hooray! The bad news, however, is that when someone tells you to use hydrocortisone cream sparingly, you better fucking listen.

I’ve been using a prescribed steroid cream to combat my zombie face, which is considerably better these days. Unfortunately, I got used to slathering the cream on at the first sign of dry skin to avoid an outbreak of full-fledged zombism, and this reckless abuse of prescription drugs has left me with three noticeably lighter patches of skin on my face – one on each side of my chin, and between my eyes.

When I first saw the white patches, I didn’t think much of it. It was only when I realized they weren’t going away (and that there was more than one, all in areas that were the most undead of them all) that I started to panic and immediately jump to conclusions mostly involving leprosy and syphilis. After I calmed down and stopped trolling Web MD, I thought a little harder and realized the likely culprit was my gleeful overindulgence of steroid cream, a theory confirmed by additional internetting. I’m now slightly whiter in some places than I was a while ago, and it will be very interesting to see what Cuba’s sun will do to me – will my skin tone even out, or will I turn additional colours? Exciting!

I had a very productive weekend, becoming a honky aside. On Saturday I was up ridiculously early for an extremely fruitful jaunt to America – with Shan, Miranda and Heather, I stocked up on Trader Joe’s, travel items and gifts for Cubans, and all the dresses in the world (including an honest-to-Stan prom dress with so much tulle I couldn’t possibly pass it up). I had to repack for our trip when we got home, but as we were home by 5pm I had the whole evening to pack and repack to my heart’s content. I am now really, really ready for our trip. Let’s go!

On Sunday, my house will filled with estrogen as we crafted the afternoon away. I made more stock for Got Craft and finalized my awesome display – all I have left to do is make some signage and I’m all set. People often laugh at my anal retentive tendencies and gun-jumping ways, but I’m calm and have ample time to tackle whatever challenges the week may throw me because I don’t have to scramble to prep for next Sunday’s Epic Adventure. Yay!

I really wish I didn’t have this massive boner of a headache, though.

printer pinata!

No wonder guys hate wearing ties so much – how can you show any cleavage if you’re all bundled up in a tie?

no talent ass clown

This is the most covered up I’ve been since .. um .. before I got boobs, probably. 1979 or so.

We’re having an Office Space party at work today, complete with printer scene. It’s gonna be awesome – pictures to come, I hope.