My ice stinks. It must be time to change the Arm and Hammer, because that unpleasant smell coming from my Diet Coke is definitely not adding to the overall experience. Can you tell I’m extra hormonal this week? Two updates in a row about things that smell bad is not normal.

There is nothing new at the Space Station. We have several new people, not enough chairs, and most of the Space Board – in fact, all but one person – are spread out around the world, on business trips. I was right in being skeptical (naïve) about the June 1st Real Boy date, since it has come and gone with nary a word from anyone in the know. I rocked the boat again, vocally refusing to sign papers until I had been told anything about the change. We were actually told that we weren’t SUPPOSED to sign anything; the paperwork had been given out prematurely and we would have a meeting “soon” to talk about what the status change means for us.

Well, Space President is gone for at least two weeks and Space Lawyer is gone for a month. Perhaps they meant the Real Boy date was June 1st of 2008? Either way, there’s no update and no chance for vacation for me. I have to take some time off to help my mom move, which means I won’t get paid. It is awesome. Hooray!

Speaking of vacation, I have a question to ask the internet: for those of you in relationships, how do you handle vacations?

I ask because Ed and I are butting heads over this very issue. Here is the background, because I so sorely love to tell stories:

Ed gets two weeks of vacation every year. He uses one day for his birthday, one for mine, and 2-3 for our anniversary. That leaves 5 days, which he takes in July – and this is where the problem comes in.

Ed plans a solo vacation. Every year in July, he goes to Edmonton and Calgary for a total of 10 days – leaves on a Saturday morning, returns two Mondays later. He drives, meaning I am without a car. I also cannot go with him, because I don’t have vacation time of my own. Every year this comes up, and every year we fight about it and we are at an impasse.

My theory: it is unfair of Ed to plan a solo vacation every year, given that we’ve been together for ten years and married for 5. It is not fair to leave me without the car for ten days, because there are some places I cannot scoot to. To me, it seems that I get the “leftovers” of his vacation time; a day here and there that we can occasionally do a long weekend road trip, but no real trip away to anywhere because his solo road trip takes priority. While I don’t have real, paid vacation time, I can arrange my workload to go away for a few days for a trip of our own. I do like Edmonton, but as I have to choose my time away very carefully, I am less than enthused to use my only “vacation” to hang out at his parent’s house for a week doing what we did almost every weekend while dating.

Ed’s theory: It’s his vacation time, and he should be able to use it how he likes. I don’t get vacation of my own, so why should he not go away for 10 days just because I can’t? As for the car, well, I have a scooter so it’s not that big a deal. His Edmonton “vacation” isn’t really a vacation; he’s going home to see his parents. He planned out his vacation at the beginning of the year, and it was okay then so why not now.

What I want:

• to plan a trip for the two of us to take
• his parents to visit us for a change
• Ed to stop using half (or more) of his paid vacation time on a solo road trip, instead perhaps planning a flight back home for an extended weekend once or twice a year
• Ed to get his goddamn passport so we could plan a trip somewhere outside of Canada

What Ed wants:

• me to come to Edmonton
• me to stop complaining about his solo trip to Edmonton, seeing as how I’m invited
• me to stop nagging him about his goddamn passport
• a nap

There’s more to it, of course. This year, my mom is moving and needs our help. I have to take some time off to do this, so I have to choose between not getting paid so I can go to Edmonton and hang out, or not getting paid so I can go to Victoria and help my mother move. There is also the underlying anger I have over Ed’s inability to get his passport – I’ve been trying to plan an anniversary vacation for us for a year now, since this September is our Five Slash Ten – fifth wedding anniversary, and tenth anniversary as a couple. It’s a big deal, and I wanted us to go somewhere epic to celebrate – Mexico, or New York, or .. anywhere, as long as it’s new and adventurous. Ed, however, still does not have his passport. I found a backup celebration plan that I am admittedly looking forward to, but it doesn’t negate my overwhelming disappointment in Ed for ruining this for me.

Overall though, it’s Ed’s solo vacation and my struggling with understanding his need to use his vacation time to go home for ten days that is the issue here. I always thought vacation was something couples do together, and instead I feel like an afterthought to Ed’s own plans – he’s going, and I’m welcome to tag along if I wish and can figure out how to make it happen.

So, internet, this is OUR question to you: who is being more unreasonable? Ed, for planning and taking a solo vacation, or me for not being more understanding about it?

It must be a slow news day, because the internet is full of places eager to tell me who is threatening my relationship. Unfortunately, the internet does not think that Ed will fall in lust with some sweaty half-naked boys who like it when girls watch them making out – it’s telling me that he’s probably going to end up cheating with either an opposite-sex friend or a co-worker.

Truthfully though, I don’t have anything to worry about. I know all of Ed’s opposite-sex friends, and if he wants to get all kissy-faced with them, sure. Doesn’t bother me, as long as I get a head’s up and creative license to make fun of him.

The internet tells me that Ed’s coworkers are 4 out of 5 on the POTENTIAL THREAT SCALE. I could fly into a panic and insist that he find a job as the Head Rodeo Clown of a steel mill, but I don’t think there’s any reason to panic. It’s not like I don’t really know Ed’s coworkers, or that he constantly talks about one of them in particular, or that he has taken her on solo hikes in the forest, or that he turned off his cell phone so they could be alone in her hotel room without being disturbed, or that he stopped wearing his wedding ring for a few months .. I mean, all that would make me suspicious with worry. Yep. It sure would suck if Ed did all that! Boy, would I be upset!

We’ve been at the new Space Station for just over three weeks now. I really like the location and my most excellent parking spot, and there are enough interesting things around that lunch is no longer an exercise in rage. Still, not everything is perfect – namely, I friggin’ hate the bathrooms in this place.

We’re on the third floor, and the only bathrooms are on the second floor. This is inconvenient enough, but then there’s the smell. The second floor is occupied by a consulting firm; nothing too innocuous about that. However, the smell: it smells like the second floor used to be a doctor’s office; an old school one in which everybody smoked 24/7. It has the horrible stench of old sterility plus an underlying waft of archaic stale cigarette smoke. It is nasty. You can literally taste the stink – it catches on your teeth and smears itself on your taste buds, choking you with a thousand polio vaccinations and cod liver enemas. I avoid going to the bathroom when I’m at work, even though I am absolutely for peeing on the company dime. The smell, though – it’s so bad! There are some smells that just turn my stomach – burnt coffee, for one, and the smell of cheap tennis ball rubber – and now, the entire second floor of this building.

Given the unmanageable stench, the prison grade toilet paper the building custodians leave for us to use is just an insult added to injury. We pay a ridiculous amount of rent for our office space; why can’t we have toilet paper that was not made from tree bark? I’m thinking about bringing my own supply in from home. My life is difficult enough; I do not need hemorrhoids to go with my viral herpe strains.

Last week in a fit of doldrums, I decided to dye my hair a normal colour. I am having some pretty serious second thoughts about my half-hearted attempt to conform, but there’s nothing I can do about it for at least a month. It amuses me to know that even though my hair isn’t blood red or dark purple, it’s still nothing ever found in nature except perhaps on dogs – the top layer is black, and everything underneath is varying shades of brown. I suck at fitting in.

Yesterday was a good day, until around 5pm or so. Work went well. I am cautiously and probably foolishly optimistic about the Space Station; there’s a potential project coming up that plays directly to all my strengths and I am jumping for a chance to do it. Good, too, was the word from the owners of our new location – I am officially allowed to park my scooter at the bike rack, which is situated far from the street and hidden from everyone except the people doing yoga downstairs. There is absolutely no danger of Sally being run over, unless someone chooses to drive a car up the concrete stairs and onto a patio. Hell, a car probably won’t fit up there at all. I am safe! No more parking tickets! No more mystery scratches! I’m right up against a wall in a cozy corner; no one can even try to sit on her! It is as glorious and protected! Hooray for Sally!

So yeah, the day started out good. I really, really wish that it had stayed that way – between dealing with my insane mother and my bafflingly inconsiderate husband, I am tired and sad and hurt all over from the inside. Right now I’m sitting at my desk hoping that Ali gets to her computer soon, because I need someone to divulge my woes to. I am a sad monkey – a sad, disappointed, disgusted, tired monkey.

I survived yesterday. Someone showed up with a dozen more liquor store boxes, and we did what we could. The office wasn’t completely packed when we left, but what remained belonged to one person who could deal with it alone. I didn’t kill anyone, everything I concern myself with is taken care of, and the rest is Not My Problem. Leaving work early on a gorgeous Friday was a nice touch though; the extra hour and a half of freedom almost made up for the ass marble the size of Pluto (which is a planet, damnit).

I’m sitting here on a Saturday morning in my underwear, and I am out of sorts. Josh and Shan are out of town for the weekend, and Ed is off “entertaining” a coworker. I ended up cleaning the entire apartment by myself last night while Ed was out drinking with his work people, and today he is out taking a visiting coworker to a park and getting sweaty. I did a little more housework – look at me, I’m a Domestic Debbie – and am now verbalizing my angst for lack of anything better to do.

I’m not so annoyed that Ed is gone as I am annoyed that he left the TV on NASCAR – seriously, what the fuck.

This picture was taken a couple of days before our wedding. In the picture are Christy, Heather, me and Ali – all clanmates and bridesmaids:

Three of those girls are currently raising or baking children.

Guess how relieved I am that it’s not four?

Bring on the cramps!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

There may very well come a time when it is appallingly inappropriate for me to wear shoes decorated with hearts and skulls – however, that time is not now. As long as I am able to somewhat draw air into my lungs (my sticky ribs are still acting up) and face an uncontrollable urge each morning to go to work looking like a drag queen, I will wear clothing and accessories that are only startling on me if you know my real age and also are not at as “hip” and “with it” as I am.

Besides, as long as my skin keeps breaking out like a 15 year old soaked in hormonal juices, I should be allowed to dress as though I shop only at Mariposa and Claire’s.

Hilarious Conversations with my Space Boss:

Kimli: Hey boss, we’re moving on Friday and we haven’t packed – are we getting boxes anytime soon?
Space Boss: Oh yeah, we need to organize that.
Kimli: *head explodes*

Oh man! That’s some side-splitting comedy right there that is in no way giving me any sort of stress whatsoever! Hahahah!

Last night’s perogies were made Polish style – I boiled them, then pan-fried them with bacon and onions. They were ok; I still have trouble getting behind the whole “potato stuffed in dough” food group. Ed liked them though, so I guess that is a plus.

I rode Sally to work today, and I’ve already found an errand I can go run that’ll get me out of the Space Station and out scooting around like the wacky hipster I am. Hooray!

I am strangely jolly, but am not currently craving sausage.