Category Archives: relationship drama

anxiety and shoes

Posted in angst, relationship drama by

Are these inappropriate to wear to a wedding?

I haven’t been to very many weddings. Including mine, I think I’ve been to .. 4. One when I was 7 (I was the most petulant flower girl ever), then one before and one after my wedding. That’s it. Most of my friends are either perpetually single, happily unmarried, or were married before I came into the picture. Since I don’t exactly have a firm grasp on this “etiquette” thing, I thought I’d pose the question to the internet at large: purple chucks for a formal occasion. Yay or nay?

It’s not really all THAT formal – in fact, unless someone comes screaming back at me saying that I’m the devil for considering anything less than 4” stiletto heels, I’ll probably stick to my chucks. I’m actually more concerned I’m going to clash terribly – I’ve been told the wedding colours are “sea foam green, pale pink and pale yellow”. I’m planning on wearing my pink/purple/white floofy dress with a short denim jacket, the above mentioned purple chucks, and a purple scarf (for those of you who went to Miranda’s birthday, it’s that outfit). I will not fit in. I mean, I never fit in anyway – I sort of stand out like a round, brightly coloured thumb – but, you know, I could at least *try*.

I am nervous about this whole thing. My nerves are manifesting themselves as concern over my shoes, but really I know why I’m being so neurotic about it all: we’re going to a family function, and family functions freak me right the fuck out.

I don’t know how to act in these situations. I’m fiercely aware of being the outsider even though no one ever does anything to make me feel like that – everyone is really nice, it’s just my own brain that keeps pointing out “hey, you’re different!” like it’s bad or something (for the record, I love different). I think if I had to narrow down my anxiety, it would be the small talk – Ed and I go long stretches of time without seeing these people, and when we do, they want to *talk* to us. I don’t talk well. I have a very hard time making conversation with people I don’t know well, family or not. All I want to do is hide in a corner, but since it’s a wedding and Ed’s in it, I should probably be social and I don’t *do* social and people will talk to me and I will feel weird and then there’ll be hugging and AHHHHH.

Hopefully there will be a large plant I can hide behind.

girl junk

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Contrary to popular belief, it is not at all enjoyable to wake up to a 22lb cat using your girl junk as a landing pad after his soaring flight through time and space. It’s a damn good thing I’m not a guy – had there been balls instead of just tender pubic bone, I probably wouldn’t be walking right now.

I am unusually tired. You can tell by my jaunty hat – to the untrained eye it appears as though I am making a bold fashion statement, but to those in the know, the sequined beanie hides a multitude of unwashed sins. I can (and did) spackle the foundation on in layers, but nothing short of a hockey mask would hide the enormous bags beneath my eyes. Caffeine is usually a treat, but today, it’s a fucking crutch.

The other day I formatted a couple of old USB drives I had lying around to give to others. One of them, I discovered, had been used extensively by Ed – I found multiple folders filled with pornographies. Busted! Unfortunately, in my hurry to lord my discovery over Ed and laugh at his preference for Suicide Girls with small breasts (sending me into a spiral of self-loathing and fear that he hates me because I don’t look like they do, but that’s an issue for another update), I copied the files to my computer. My work computer. Now, if anyone should check, they will find approximately 300 pictures of naked women on my hard drive in a folder named “Kimli”. Clearly, I am very smart and good at crime.

Man, am I tired.

true love

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.. is when your husband sends you a link to a video of guys pretending to jerk off because he knows you think masturbation is a) the best thing ever invented and b) hilarious.

I rarely link to the YouTubes, but this made me laugh so hard I choked on my Diet Coke.

a well-kept secret

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Last night was awesome.

Ed had been planning this for some time, and last night he took me here. It’s a complete coincidence that the day I was waxing poetry about the beauty of the mountains is the day I ended up taking a gondola up that same mountain for an utterly fantastic dinner in a super fancy restaurant. Whee!

I was surprised when we headed up towards Grouse Mountain, because I had guessed that we were going to Quattro for dinner. I was a little grumpy about it – not because of the location because I’ve always wanted to go up the Grouse gondola, but because I had received NO WARNING WHATSOEVER that we were about to go UP A MOUNTAIN. I was NOT dressed properly – black boots with heels, a little red dress, and a littler sweater. No jacket, or gloves. We had to stand in line to take the gondola, and we were surrounded by people heading up the mountain for night skiing – everyone else was wearing jackets and hats and gloves and pants and boots, and here I was freezing my ample ass off on the side of a mountain. It was COLD, yo. Luckily the ride was swift and fun, and the lodge at the top of the mountain was warm so I quickly ungrumped and advised Ed that if he were to pull a similar stunt in the future, it might be nice to give a little bit of a warning when sneaking someone into a situation where adequate clothing would be appropriate.

I didn’t have my camera with me, so I wasn’t able to take any pictures. The mountain was just as glorious up close as it was from afar; all the trees were frozen and white and sparkly. We made a date to go up again next month with the sole purpose of picture taking, but last night was all about the romantic dinner. Ed checked his coat (since I didn’t HAVE ONE), and we were escorted to our window table overlooking the city far below.

It was incredible.

Then they served me some Diet Coke.

In my own orange monster mug.

The fuck?

Our server came over to our table with a towel over her arm and a bottle of Diet Coke presented like a fine wine. I started laughing (I hadn’t ordered any Diet Coke; I always get lemon water with my meals that don’t come from a drive through), and THEN I noticed she was carrying one of my own mugs. She set it in front of me, assured me the Diet Coke was of a fine vintage, and poured me a mug full of carbonated goodness.

This was all Ed’s doing. He had masterminded the entire thing to the point of stealing my orange monster mug and taking a bottle of Diet Coke up to the mountain the night before, with instructions to present it to me at our dinner. It was hilarious and so, so cute. Everyone around us in this uber posh restaurant was drinking wine out of fancy crystal glasses, and I had a big orange mug with an eyeball and fangs and a fresh bottle of Diet Coke on the table. HEE! Ed was sad that it did not make me cry (I had told him he’d get bonus points if he’d do something so sappy I’d weep at it all), but he got extra points anyway for doing something so bizarre and utterly “me” that I almost cried from laughing so hard. It was great. :D

Dinner was fantastic, too. We had some fancy elf oysters to start, then I got the sea scallops that came on a crab risotto with green foam all over it and Ed got some sort of fancy beef with yummy glazes and saucy things. My scallops were SO GOOD. They were huge and plentiful and man oh man I love scallops. For dessert we shared a toffee pudding and its suggested pairing of some sort of sherry (well, we shared the pudding at any rate – Ed drank the sherry; I had Diet Coke to drink) and it too was great. Those scallops, though – daaaaang. So tasty.

Guests are asked to turn their cell phones off as to better enjoy the ambiance, but I turned mine on a snuck a picture:

SEKRET CHRISTMAS DINNAR for the win! Yay for sneaky, weird Ed!

 

frozen and loathed

Posted in relationship drama by

Ed hates me. It’s the only reason I can think of as to why he is purposefully trying to freeze me to death. I’ve asked him numerous times now to close the bedroom window because it’s cold in here, but he won’t do it – and I *can’t* do it. I’m an independent woman; I can handle my own finances and buy my own baubles and pay someone else to change my own tire, but I need him to do this for me. I physically cannot close the window because I am too damn short, and I have tiny T-Rex arms. He hasn’t done it yet and audibly refused to do it on one occasion, so I am sitting here freezing my entire being off. Ed sucks! I am very, very cold! Socks and fuzzy bathrobes are not helping. If Ed doesn’t close the bedroom window soon, I am going to light his stuff on fire and bask in the warmth it’ll bring!

Brrrr! :(

nothing to see here

Posted in everyday kimli, relationship drama by

There’s nothing like waking up at the crack of dawn because someone’s having a tantrum in the alley behind your building. There was yelling and a lot of crash banging and even though I tried REALLY HARD I couldn’t make out a single thing that was being said. Now that I think about it though, it could have just been the tar people setting up their tar factory. It smells fantastic in the bedroom – like prehistoric dinosaur times! Love those toxic fumes!

We had a very low-key long weekend, the highlight of which was spending $1000 on new tires. Woo? I hate buying necessities – that money could have been used for FUN, not safety. Being a grown-up sucks ass, although now I suppose I can try out my Tokyo drifting skills around the city. This’ll come in handy when I take Ed to the airport tonight. It can’t be much harder than doing it in video games, right?

Ed’s leaving tonight for a series of business things in Alberta. We were supposed to have both gone this past Friday with my returning today, but it didn’t quite work out like that thanks to his co-worker dropping the ball on doing anything whatsoever. We were going to visit his parents for an early holiday weekend, but as it stands now he’ll just get to see his mom for a couple hours tonight while I sit here and ferment.

I would like to be employed now please. Dear companies I’ve thrown myself at: please hire me. I am awesome, and people will vouch for that so long as my bribery cheques don’t bounce.

Maybe I shouldn’t get so worked up over my unemployed status. After all, my rightful place is inside the home and I would be cheating Ed out of the thrill of supporting me as a hunter if I were to go into the workforce. After all, I am thrilled to be the privileged one to get up and cook my man’s breakfast; I delight in sharing it with him and in waving him off to work. I am also happy to wander around dusting my new possession, planning out tasty meals to prepare for him each evening, washing up and making the bed, and getting to know my neighbours. Yep, I don’t want to work at all. This married life stuff is just awesome.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have possessions to dust and tasty meals to plan!

man should do the hunting

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 “The laws of marriage  are based on the age-old  idea that the man should do the hunting. The woman must give herself up to him, acknowledge him as master and fulfill the other half of marriage – bearing the children and caring for the home.”

“Little bride, you must learn to be your husband’s nurse when he is ill, his companion when he’s well, his cook, his housekeeper, his valet, his comforter when he’s down and his sweetheart when he’s in good spirits.”

I am doing this marriage thing all wrong.

unhappy

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This question may be about 30 years late in the asking, but how do you cope with not getting your way?

I want a pug, very badly. I’m presently at the stage where pictures of pug puppies make me sniffly – okay, let’s be honest, they make me actually cry – because I want a pug so very much. I’ve done all the research, I know what to expect, I can afford a pug, I happen to have oodles of free time to care for one. So why don’t I have a pug?

Well, contrary to this post made earlier this year, Ed is no longer open to us getting a pug. At one point in time he was actually (so he told me) okay with it. We were going to wait until our debt was taken care of, then look into getting a pug. Yay! Pug for Kimli! What a happy day that would be!

The year rolled on, our debts went away, and .. Ed doesn’t want to get a dog. Ever. Nope, not going to happen, never ever no dog for you. The end. No dog. Tough luck for you, but Ed does not want a dog so a dog we do not have.

I imagine this is somewhat similar to the “yes babies/no babies” discussion, except I can’t accidentally show up pregnant with a pug one day and suggest that some sort of higher deity willed it to happen.

I want a dog. I am increasingly resentful and bitter towards Ed for going back on his word that he’d be okay with getting a dog and for stringing me along until it was time then oops changing his mind. I am angry that his opinion on this matter seems to be the final decision, knowing that the reverse could be said about my decision to get a dog should I suddenly show up with one. I am sad and mad and not glad and did I mention the resentful and bitter because those two are really the important ones here. I am annoyed that I am married, because this would not be an issue if I was single. That may be a little irrational – talk to me again when I’m not so upset – but it’s also probably not healthy to daydream of packing up and running away and getting a dog and a Del Sol and a little townhouse in Kits and anything else that I feel my current marital status is keeping me from.

I know I could just show up one day with a pug, but that doesn’t seem like a very fair solution either. Maybe I could distract him and then sneak a pug into the house. Does someone have a car or a hockey I could borrow?

Seriously, though: how do you cope with not getting your way?

the verts are literally bringing me down

Posted in medical anomaly, relationship drama by

I’ve spent the last few days being both productive and miserable. When I used to travel a lot, Ed would invariably spend his alone time cleaning the apartment from top to bottom so it was sparkly when I returned. He rarely travels, so when he left on his business trip this week I resolved to tackle the Issue of Stuff – I went through the piles of crap strewn about the apartment and made some cruel decisions about what was and was not essential. I also dealt with the mountain of bank statements and old bills that needed shredding, threw out manuals for items I no longer owned, and generally made things so damn clean you could eat off it (except you wouldn’t have to, because I also cleaned the kitchen and did all the dishes). Ed’s on his way back now, and the apartment is mostly gorgeous. I did only have a day and a half to work with, so there’s a limit to the number of miracles I can pull out of my ass. Also, don’t look at my desk. The apartment looks much nicer if you just don’t look at my desk.

Okay, so that was the productive part. The misery was a gift with purchase – I’m on Day 3 of Operation: I Am Totally Sane, and it’s been a laugh riot if by laugh you mean wish you would die. Day One was the March of the Merry Migraine; a headache so bad I damn near threw up several times. Day Two brought the Vertigo – I spent much of the day being so dizzy I had to hang on to walls and stay low to the floor since I was probably going to end up there anyway. I’m actually not sure which of the brain herpes was worse; blinding headaches are bad but being constantly dizzy is no lurch in the park either. Last night in bed I could actually feel my brain doing a frontside 180 kickflip and the world suddenly spinning off into another orbit. This isn’t normal, right? I’d love to be able to claim that it’s a side effect of the lack of medication, but I’ve been suffering from extreme vertigo – or as I call it, “The Verts”, for a few months now. I suppose I’m going to have to haul my ass into the doctor to see if he can’t make the world stop spinning. This is not a lot of fun.

I’m supposed to go out tonight for Fun Times, but if I’m still as dizzy as I am right now, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I already have no idea how I’m going to make it to the airport to pick Ed up – I guess I’ll be driving with the windows down and taking a lot of deep breaths. GO AWAY, VERTS! I HATE YOU ALMOST MORE THAN I HATE THE QUEASE!

Seriously, this is not cool. Time to research herpes of the inner ear, I guess.