a racist christmas adam

Posted in everyday kimli by

I was caught up in an argument with a racist yesterday, who insisted he was not a racist because his comments of “I hate how Asian my neighbourhood has become” and “.. tearing down Vancouver for Chinese and Asian restaurants and bubble tea” are referring to *businesses*, not people. Then it trailed off into a cute little side argument in which he claimed the only reason I thought he was racist was because *I* was racist (against him), and that my calling him racist was abusive. Okay, then.

I wanted to see if my gut reaction of “oh look at the adorable little racist” was off the mark, so I asked Ed for his opinion. It led to a discussion in which he agreed that the asshat was in fact a racist asshat, but he understood how he could make the distinction of “I’m talking about businesses, not people” (even if he didn’t agree). I countered with the following logic:

The English language is one of the most nuanced languages on the planet. There are an almost infinite number of ways you can say something. I know that I have a better handle on language than some people do, but it is not difficult to rearrange your thought to present it in a way that doesn’t make you look like a piece of garbage. The instant you boil your argument down to a descriptor that is generally applied to a race or group of people, it becomes if not outright racist, at least highly questionable. It’s a far smaller leap of logic to go from “oh, you don’t like Asian businesses, which have a mainly Asian clientele, so you must not like Asians” than it is “oh, you don’t like Asian businesses, probably because houses were torn down to accommodate those businesses, so you feel like your city is disappearing”.

I personally have an ongoing issue with Vancouver because the instant I find a new favourite restaurant, it’s replaced with a sushi joint. That statement isn’t racist. However, if I were to says that I’m mad because my favourite places are replaced by Japanese stuff, it takes on an entirely different context – it’s suddenly not wasabi I have a problem with, but “Japanese stuff” – which is a much broader category than just raw fish and rice. I actually love all things Japanese, with the only exception of sushi. And damnit, I still miss that grilled scallop and pineapple dish.

It’s entirely possible that the asshat in question did not intend to sound as utterly reprehensible and racist as he did, but he then doubled down on the argument, pulled the “no, you’re racist for calling me out” card, used the “I have Asian friends” line, and accused me of trying to censor his right to an opinion .. all of which are the hallmarks of a racist upset about being called a racist. Oh, and posting a picture of a For Sale sign written in both English and Chinese, with “Welcome to Vancouver?” on it. And that thing about driving down Kingsway – which has been a predominately Asian corridor for as long as I can remember – and saying “that’s the new Vancouver”. Yep. Not racist at all. My bad!

Anyway, my point here is twofold:

  1. Don’t be a racist asshat
  2. If you’re about to make a statement that directly references a race or group of people and you truly don’t mean for it to sound racist, consult a friend smarter than you are to ask for some wording help. Maybe use thesaurus.com. Or, you know, your head.

these fish are not racist. be like these fish.

holy infant neuroses stockpiled

Posted in everyday kimli by

I recently reached out to the internet to ask what the hell I should buy my analog, easily confused, doesn’t have any hobbies, doesn’t like going places, doesn’t really do things, complicated, one-true-diabetic (who isn’t diabetic) mother for Christmas. Many people stepped up and offered suggestions, which I appreciate – but can’t use, for the following reasons:

  • Soap: My mother hordes household supplies, and will buy absolutely anything from Shopper’s Drug Mart if it’s on the clearance shelf. She has soap, both normal and melamine-filled floral poison, coming out the wazoo. I’m sorry if you just pictured my mother’s wazoo. It was not my intention.
  • Bungee Jumping: See above re: doesn’t do things. Also, my mother is 73. She is frustrating, but I don’t mean it when I think she should jump off a bridge.
  • Slippers: This is actually my default gift. She’s specifically asked me not to buy her anymore slippers because she has so many pairs.
  • Tea: If you think I’m stubborn and stuck in my ways, you need to meet my mother. She drinks Red Rose, full stop. Nothing else.
  • Fancy Hand Cream: Often the poison soap my mother buys on ultra clearance from the drug store is part of a set that comes with hand cream. I assume it is made from ground-up children’s teeth.
  • A Toilet Paper Cabinet: My mother collects curbside furniture like I collect boys at LAN parties. There is no room in her place for additional furniture.
  • Note or Letter Writing Things: Pens come from the bank or doctor’s office, and she is still using up the scrap paper my dad used to bring home from work quartered and stapled together into notepads. I’m quite serious about this: my dad died 12 years ago and retired probably 25 years ago, but she’s still going through discarded CHEK TV memos from 1991.
  • Sony Handicam Hi-8: This is how horror movies start.
  • Cat Butt Fridge Magnets: .. this is actually a solid idea. I’d have to explain them to her, but she might get a kick of out them.
  • Post-Its: See above re: notepaper
  • Ridicule and Shame: This blog post.
  • Books: This idea has merit, but I hesitate to choose books for her. Maybe I’ll take her to a used book store and let her go hog wild with the romance and mystery novels.
  • Year-Long Subscription to the Jelly of the Month Club: My mother is already confused when I send her random packages from Amazon, thanks to an incident that included a pair of Webkinz headphones by mistake. She saved them for me, in case I needed them. I did not.
  • Uber Credit: My mother still drives, Uber does not exist in Victoria, and I do not use them because of their terrible policies. Also, my mother is analog. How do you order an Uber without a smart phone? You don’t.
  • Visa Gift Card: This is actually spot on, except it’s not a gift card: for Christmas, I’m giving my mother a “you’re a responsible young lady who has saved up money from babysitting, and we are giving you this card to use for purchases or emergencies. We trust you not to abuse it.” credit card to use for groceries or thongs or whatever it is 73-year-old women buy. It has a limit set, and I’ll just pay it off when she uses it. This will also replace the cheques I send her each month, because I am tired of having to order cheques for literally this sole purpose.
  • Lottery Tickets: I will save you the backstory if you do not already know it, but my mother has a gambling problem via lottery tickets and I hate them with every fibre of my being as they were the direct cause of many of the abuses I suffered while growing up. I would sooner buy my mother a smartphone and teach her how to use it than be party to her lottery dealings. You know how I said earlier that she has no hobbies? I lied. She does. It’s lottery tickets, and running lottery pools with dozens of different groups of people. While I’m secretly slightly impressed at how she keeps them all organized and going with no technology whatsoever, I still hate it.
  • A Tablet That Only Runs a Clicker Game: Even if I did absolutely everything: set it up, get it running, use a kiosk software that does not allow people to exit the app so she can’t accidentally delete the OS (or even worse, upgrade to Windows 10) .. she wouldn’t get it, or see the point. This is the woman who asks if I’m “faxing Ed” when I send him messages (that mostly consist of WHERE ARE YOU HELP ME OMG). The thought of her using a tablet .. no. We’re barely keeping the 7th seal closed; why would I voluntarily open the 6th?
  • Photo Album of my Instagram Posts: I actually really like this idea .. for someone else’s mom. My mother doesn’t care enough about my life or travels to want to see any of them. I’ve shown her a few things to gauge her response level, and she wanders off to pray to daddy by the 4th image. The attention span needed to be into anything I do is simply not there.
  • Tweezers: She’s never expressed interest or need in tweezers, but I’d buy them for her if she asked. Perhaps I will call her and say “hey mom do you have tweezers”. For anyone else, this would be a strange phone call.
  • A Subscription to Sports Illustrated (but keep the free football phone): Do they still DO that? While she does watch hockey, she has no interest in anything else (especially American football and bikini-clad women) so it would be money wasted. Also, I went through a LOT of trouble setting her up with a cordless phone that has caller ID and speed dial and a voice machine. A football has none of these things!
  • LuLaRoe: My mother does not wear leggings or bizarrely patterened cotton goods. She wears whatever she finds on super discount, or that I buy for her, in multiple layers.
  • Glitter: I don’t actually know how she would react to glitter. It’s just .. glitter. Essential for me, yes – but what would she do with it? Sprinkle it on the various shrines set up in her house? Accidentally start a fast-spreading fire by getting it too close to the dozens of lit candles? Great, now the house is burning down and she has to move in with me and I’m Lizzie Bordening all over the place. THANKS, KAREN. GREAT IDEA YOU HAD THERE. (<3)

Those are all the ideas that were submitted via Facebook, and we’re still at square one. I did order a few things off Amazon for her – I love Amazon gift shipping, it’s as delightfully impersonal as you can get while still showing effort – some treats for her cat Sam, and a whole bunch of flameless LED (yes, she calls them “LSD lights”) candles for her shrine. That should solve one of my problems – the flamability of cat hair and old food – but I don’t think it’s enough.

Maybe I could just forgive her for causing my gift-related neuroses when I was 10, which has led me to literally obsess to the point of tears every year that I am not gifting well enough and people will stop loving me because I didn’t get them multiple perfect gifts. How do you wrap that, though?

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all i want for christmas is ativan

i’ve got a theory

Posted in everyday kimli by

It’s definitely the bunnies. They’re working in conjunction with cheap vodka.

For years now, I’ve been operating under the theory that I am violently allergic to vodka. I avoided it at all cost, because quite frankly I like breathing and being drunk never really seemed to be a fair trade off. I rarely drink as it is, but on the rare occasion I cast off the shackles of common sense, I’ll still keep away from vodka. Because allergic. Makes sense.

Vodka is insidious though, and sometimes it found its way through my defences. In September, Ali took me to Art of the Table in Seattle so I could become better acquainted with gin. We hadn’t told Mitch the Batman (he’s actually Mitch the Barman, but autocorrect made him the caped crusader and who am I to argue) about my allergy, because the plan was All Gin All the Time. Unbeknownst to me, Mitch secretly vodka’d me because he thought I might like one drink over another. He was right – always trust Batman – but more importantly, I didn’t die or stop breathing. Was I cured? Is Mitch made of magic? Either way, I could drink vodka again! Hooray! New hobby!

Because I drink less than your average ten year old, I didn’t explore my newfound freedom until this past week. We went to an amazing Mexican cafe slash gay bar in Chelsea called the Rocking Horse, and I drank things. All good. Fast forward to tonight, when we went to a pop-up Star Wars bar in Soho. I had a vodka-based drink – just the one, and over three hours ago at the time of this writing – and I am drunk off my ass. This is not normal. I feel like I always did when I drank: face is neon red, I’m wobbly (more than usual), and my head feels simultaneously filled with bricks and attic insulation. The fuck? I had four to five times more to drink at AotT, and didn’t feel anywhere near this gross. What gives?

I think I’ve figured out the culprit: cheap vodka. The drink I had tonight wasn’t made with any sort of top shelf booze – it was a super sweet gimmicky sort of drink that hit me like a bucket of bolts. I think I’m reacting to either the vodka, or to the sugar – but either way, my head is pounding. I am not a fan. I think I’ll stick to what I know I can handle: drinks made by Mitch the Batman, and lots and lots of tequila*.

*: I’m still me. “Lots and lots” is like .. two. Two tequila.

sci-fi realist

Posted in everyday kimli by

I’ve always had a problem with the food replicators in Star Trek. I don’t understand how something can be made from nothing. Is it a hologram? Are you eating refracted beams of light? How does that sustain a lifeform? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe if there were entire planets dedicated to the production of, say, a nutrient-rich algae that could be made to look and taste like anything in the universe and all the replicator does is beam up an appropriately-sized chunk of moss and apply a portable holodeck image to it along with some sort of space drug that fools your taste receptors into thinking it’s truly a medium-rare earth cow steak .. but that’s just silly and complicated. So how is it done? What are they actually eating?

I’m much more of a realist. Yes, it’d be nice to feed the planet with instant food producers that can make anything imaginable, but that’s pure science fiction and at the very least, several centuries ahead of our time. I’d settle for something still futuristic, but a little more based in reality: a food filter.

In my head, a food filter is like a colander. It works by scanning the item(s) within the main chamber, and displays the contents on a touch screen. You can select one or more things on the list, and the filter will work to separate those items from the rest of the food. Example: a delicious batch of granola that has been tainted by horrible raisins. It is sticky and time consuming to pick the offending raisins out of the granola, but eating them is like eating garbage. What to do? Dump your bowl into the Food Filter™, select raisins on the screen, and voila! Your food is separated into the delicious and the awful, which you can then feed to someone you don’t like! Picky child? Filter the offensive food of the week right out of their meal! I’m eating a delicious yogurt with a granola mix-in, except some idiot assumed I wanted white chocolate chips with my breakfast. Wrong! I spent 15 minutes picking them out of my yogurt like a petulant three year old, but if I had a handy Food Filter™, I could have easily sorted the chips out and eaten my newly adult-breakfast-worthy yogurt without a care in the world. So simple!

I fully accept that we are nowhere near food replicators, if they’re even possible (Elon, get on that). However, we have scanners. We have colanders. We have a planet full of people with weird tastes. Let’s filter out all those things we hate, and get back to enjoying our food again!

I’d blame New York for making me weird, but let’s face it – I got to weird decades ago.

the toppings contain potassium benzoate

Posted in angst, everyday kimli by

When we last saw our spunky* heroine, she was stressed the fuck out because of Many Things. Although it’s only been three days, enough of those Many Things have moved and warrant an update of some kind.

  • The completion date of our new place has been pushed out by over two months. That’s bad**!
  • Photographs for our listing are still being taken this week. That’s good!
  • The open house has to move: we’re now going to be listing Sparta in the new year. That’s bad!
  • Ed won’t have to deal with moving in the middle of his Metal Man Cruise. That’s good!
  • I am officially Annoyed to Fuck with my current 3-computer setup. That’s bad!
  • I got a work laptop, so I get my own laptop back for personal use. That’s good!
  • I accidentally bought a new 34″ curved ultra wide super HD monitor. That’s bad!
  • I’m selling one of the aforementioned three computers to make room for it. That’s good!
  • By the time we actually move, some of my stuff will have been in storage for almost ten months and I am vibrating with annoyance over this. That’s bad!
  • Mere hours after my plaintive post about work uncertainty I had a meeting that basically allieviated that stress until at least 2020. That’s really, really good!

So, yeah. Completely grumpy about the new completion date. It’s giving me a whole new exciting set of things to worry about and lose sleep over. On the other hand, the next few months should go by pretty quickly what with all the Fun Times and hand-made tortillas to eat. I’m super angsty, though. Patience is not my strong suit.

*: think less Mary Tyler Moore and more .. sticky

**: This may be a bit of an understatement, as I am literally flipping tables in and with my mind

_tbt_to_when_we_were_creepy_af.

this says it all.

remember the alamo

Posted in everyday kimli by

Alamo = Pocket Raisins

I’ve been packing since May. My life is nothing but boxes and garbage bags at the moment, all to prepare for a photographer tasked with making our home look Desirable to Others. Shortly after that is the open house, during which strangers will walk through our mostly-empty (but still lived in) rooms and judge us harshly (but hopefully generously). We’ve been given strict, yeti-removing instructions to get ready for the two-day event, which will see the closets emptied and the final bits of clutter Dealt With once and for all. Approximately 90% of my belongings are currently in storage. It is freeing, but depressing.

I’ve already written at length about why I have so much stuff. After living without all my stuff for the last several weeks, I’m starting to see the appeal of the minimalist lifestyle. I know that Ed, for one, is loving it – he wishes we could be like this all the time. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’ve also been enjoying it a tiny bit: things are easier to locate when there are only 3 of them instead of 500. The house looks enormous and so on trend. It’s easier to clean, find the cats, and I don’t fall down quite so much. It’s all a win!

At the same time, it’s sad. I hate knowing that Ed loooves the house like this, because it’s currently devoid of any of my personality. None of the things that make me the force of nature I am are anywhere in the house – it’s all in boxes three miles away. There is a massive dearth of ridiculous in Sparta, and it’s sad. It’s sadder when Ed is so vocal about how great it is. I miss my stuff. Maybe not all of it – I hope that I’ll be able to set up my new safe spaces with a little more flailing room, for tantrum dancing – but all those tiny, useless, ridiculous things I have make me happy. Yes, I can live without them. But why should I have to? I can’t help my ridiculousness, or my need to nest, or my love of physical manifestations of good memories. I can’t help that I’m broken and need to take up space to feel safe and unremovable. What’s more, at this point in my life, I don’t feel all that obligied to change who I am. This is what you get: pink hair, giant boobs, a whooooole lot of really cool nerd things, baggage, wine, and beer.

We’re getting close to Important Dates in the Great Relocate timeline. Scary, grown-up things will be happening over the next few weeks, along with a lot of really exciting things: New York. Holiday parties. Travel plans. Gingerbread Oreos.

Stuff is good, even with my internal conflicts, unending uncertainty about work, and overall planning stress. I just need to keep reminding myself.

#metoo

Posted in everyday kimli by

I hate that so many people have chimed in with #metoo.

While I don’t at all agree with or condone Mayim Blalik’s ridiculous, ass-backward “feminist” rant, a small part of me nodded when she wrote that she’s never been a victim or target of sexual harassment or assault because she’s not “Hollywood pretty”. I’ve never been a victim because I’m not pretty enough to harass or assault. I get it. I feel safe travelling alone, because no one would look at me twice. I know it’s not about sex but power, but I’m not really worth the effort, so I’m good.

Then .. I remember. Being 12, and having strange men ask me if I want to be their girlfriend. The stares I’ve gotten since my breasts developed. The long-running jokes about my chin, and how good it would look dripping with cum. At 17, being coerced into sex I didn’t want and tried to get out of, and finally just going along with it to get it over with. Being drunk and given to his cousin for sex. Having a friend come out to the car to check on me after drinking too much at the bar, then start kissing me. Another friend, draping his body across mine on his couch. Waking up at a party to someone going down on me. A friend’s birthday, when a goodbye hug ended with a hand down my dress and a tongue down my throat. Slut-shamed by men and women for my cleavage. Hands groping my calves and caressing my legs while I stood behind their chair. Bus boners. My tenth grade math teacher who hunched over me from behind to “help” me with algebra. “I didn’t think you knew how to dress like a professional” from a boss. Being stopped on my way to work by a man who wanted to make love to me for 8 hours. Forcefully groped in public by a boyfriend. Trapped in a makeout session by someone bigger and stronger. Men trying to touch my breasts while corset modelling. Hiding in bathrooms from men trying to corner me. Comments. Stares. Coersion. Threats. “How about a smile, gorgeous?” Accidental grabs. Things thrown down my shirt. The times I just gave in, too scared or tired to fight. Hands on my face. Cab drivers insisting they escort me to my hotel room or rerouting to “show me the city”. Praying for a red light so I could jump out of the car.

I hate that this has made me remember. I hate that I know there are more that I’ve forgotten, or didn’t realize were wrong at the time. I’m smart but oblivious. I believe everyone has only good intentions. I thought the impossibly strong drinks purchased for me were a mistake. I thought he was just being friendly. I thought I had spinach in my teeth, or he was just admiring my necklace. I thought I asked for it by smiling too much, wearing too little, laughing too hard. I should have been more, or less, or tougher, or invisible. I hate realizing just how much #metoo there is. I hate that hundreds of thousands have shared their pain to try to prove and point – and that some people are STILL ARGUING AND DISMISSING IT.

What have we become?

#tbt

Posted in angst, everyday kimli by

It’s October, which means every goddamn thing is pumpkin flavoured. It reminds me of that time I had a Squash Blizzard:

It’s no secret that I enjoy pumpkin pie. I’ve been known to enjoy it year ‘round, thanks to the marvels of deep freeze.

Every year I get excited to see commercials for Pumpkin Pie Blizzards from Dairy Queen. I like pumpkin – I like pie – I like ice cream – in theory, it can only be a small frozen cup of deliciousness. There is no possible way you could screw up something so simple. Right?

Oh, but no. Last year I was delighted to find myself in a position to actually try a Pumpkin Pie Blizzard. I ordered it, almost bouncing with anticipation – pie! Pumpkin pie! Smooshed up into ice cream! This is gonna be SO AWESOME!

As I watched her prepare my treat, I found myself filled with a sudden trepidation. The pumpkin part of the blizzard was being scooped out of a can – okay, that’s fine, I wasn’t exactly expecting them to slice up a pie and toss it in the blender – but something didn’t look right.

I took a closer look at the can she left on the counter. It was pumpkin.

JUST pumpkin.

As in, not pie filling.

As in, canned plain non-spiced uncooked unprocessed pumpkin.

All jack-o-lanterns and delicious fall treats aside, a pumpkin is no more than a festive member of the squash family.

The Dairy Queen made me a Squash Blizzard.

There was a chance I was wrong, but I was pretty damn sure she had made me a blizzard using not pie filling but regular canned squash that may eventually have been turned into pie by someone who wanted to control the flavour explosion but was definitely in no way meant to be poured into a shell and baked at 400 degrees for 45 minutes as is. I didn’t know how to bring it up – “hey, you made my Blizzard wrong!” – so I just took it and went on my way.

It looked about right – orange and creamy with pieces of cookie meant to simulate pie crust. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then I took a bite.

Picture yourself eating a zucchini.

Now picture that zucchini mashed up into ice cream.

Yeah, that’s about how good it tasted. It was fucking HORRIBLE. It was a goddamn Squash Blizzard! It tasted like frozen death! I got through two bites before I had to throw the thing away; the pumpkin was too thoroughly mixed with the ice cream for any of it to be salvaged. I was very sad. My delightful treat turned out to be an unholy terror from beyond the grave.

I hate it when that happens.

#neverforget

once and forever kimli

Posted in everyday kimli by

Things I’ve Done While Bored:

  • Book flights halfway around the world
  • Enroled in college
  • Tattoos. So many tattoos.
  • Bought random sex toys off Amazon
  • Made flowcharts
  • Applied for life-changing programs and activities without really thinking them through
  • Adopt small animals
  • Drastically change my look

Basically, I do Big Things in the name of bordom. Big, expensive things. Big, expensive things with legal ramifications. You know, typical stuff. Like this:

Image uploaded from iOS

embossed for extra boss

One lazy Sunday in August I was (more likely than not) naked and splayed out on the loveseat, classing up the joint. I don’t know what triggered it, but I leapt off the couch with parts a-jigglin’, ran to my computer, and applied to legally change my name from Kim Lee to Kimli. I don’t know why it had to be done at that very moment – I’d been sitting on the decision for literally 30 years or so – but I was struck with urgency and boredom, so I pulled the trigger on the long-overdue name change.

I started the process with zero research under my belt, which, in retrospect, was pretty dumb. For starters, changing your name is expensive and frustrating. Here’s a rundown of the hoops I had to jump through:

  • Application to change my name. Cost: $137
  • Requirement: Get fingerprinted. $60 for fingerprinting at the Vancouver Police Department; $25 to send the prints off to the RCMP to ensure I have no nefarious motives.
  • Requirement: A notarized copy of your birth certificate and, if married, your marriage certificate.
  • Gathered all the paperwork and receipts and went to a Service BC office to submit it. Service BC could not help me, because I wasn’t there to collect government assistance. Had to go to the Vital Statistics office downtown.
  • Finally get to the right office. Oops: my marriage certificate is not a legal marriage certificate. You have to apply to Vital Statistics Alberta to get it. Go away and come back with the right paperwork.
  • Apply for my marriage certificate. $39.64 for the application, plus $30 for priority service .. because the application for name change expires within 30 days. If you don’t gather and submit all the paperwork 30 days from the time you pay the initial fee, you have to start all over again and repay all the fees.
  • Marriage certificate finally appears. Contact a random notary and have my birth and marriage certificate copies notarized. Cost: $50
  • Revisit the Vital Stats office, this time with all correct paperwork in hand. Submit it all. Am told to wait 4 – 6 weeks.
  • Wait 4 – 6 weeks. Going on vacation in the middle of this helped pass the time.
  • Today: GET CERTIFICATE OF NAME CHANGE! YAY! All it took was 4 weeks of running around and $341.64!
  • But wait, we’re not done! Now I get to apply for a new birth certificate ($91.50), get a new driver’s license ($27), and a new passport ($160)! All this to change nothing but the spelling of my name!
  • At least I’m really good at forms now?

As ridiculous as all this was, I’m a little bit thrilled to be really totally me for really reals. I’ve been meaning to do this since I was 13, it just took me a bit to get around to it. I kind of can’t wait to have ID issued in my shiny new legal name, too.

One of these days, maybe I’ll get around to finishing high school!

ireland in numbers

Posted in adventure, everyday kimli, international kimli by

We’re home! Ireland was okay I guess. :P

  • Distance driven: 1286km
  • Places we stayed: Galway, Doolin, Killarney, Kinsale, Kilkenny, Dublin
  • Tiny islands visited: Inis Mór, Inis Oírr
  • Pints of Guinness enjoyed by Ed: 14
  • Pints of Guinness not enjoyed by Ed: 1
  • Sheep storms: 3
  • Most types of potato served at one meal: 4
  • Caves explored: 1
  • Lens caps lost in caves: 1
  • Times I heard “Forever in Blue Jeans” by Neil Diamond before I realized it was playing on a loop: 5
  • Gaps driven through: Moll’s Gap, the Gap of Dunloe (number 1 favourite good time gap), Sally Gap
  • Legit haunted places we stumbled upon: Leamaneh Castle, Derrycunnihy Church
  • Bangers eaten: 36
  • Primarks visited: 3
  • Unsettling things in Kildare: 7
  • Gingers ogled: 147
  • Faerie villages visited: 1
  • Incredibly boring films about Irish wildflowers viewed: .81
  • Burger King visits: 5 (they’re the only place in all of Ireland that serves an actual American-style “large” drink)
  • Emergency trips to the pharmacy for sticks to pee on: 1
  • Statues with comic-book-style boobs that gave me an inferiority complex: 7
  • Hidden roads driven down that led to incredible scenary and my favourite place in all of Ireland: 1
  • Jaw-dropping, epic vistas: 293

Ugh you guys Ireland was so awesome. The driving tour was better than we hoped: we saw incredible things, like sheep. And .. more sheep. And ridiculous landscapes, rugged mountains, breathtaking valleys, terrifying cliffs, and and and. It was so great. I would highly recommend the trip to anyone (maybe don’t get sick at the end) – we used Discovering Ireland for the arranging, which was frankly brilliant. Every place they booked us into was perfectly located, the rooms ranged from old school to modern but they were all comfortable, and breakfast was included at each location (which went a long way in ensuring we ate reasonably well the entire time).

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we joked about this place being haunted when we found it. turns out it totally is. ahhhhhhhhhh

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oh what a cute abandoned church we found that is also TOTALLY HAUNTED FOR REALS

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this was my favourite place on the entire trip

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another view of favourite place

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the gap of dunloe was also incredible

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sally gap was not too shabby

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anyway, here’s wonderwall

Where to next? That is to be decided. The next few months will be dealing with the move, and Ed is going on a man cruise in February. Will I solo travel to Japan? Back to London? Somewhere else entirely? All of the above! I just .. can’t plan anything at the moment, which is frustrating. I should probably sell the condo first. Anyone want to buy a condo? I’ll throw in a free coffee table!

Okay, back to work and daydreaming.