Flights are booked. Accommodations are booked. Vacation time .. well, I’ve asked three times now, and each time I’ve been made to do math. Trip is happening, though. We leave in 95 days, and I have made SO MANY LISTS.
Can’t wait.
Yes, this is a really short, dumb update. Bort complained I hadn’t written, and I am too busy to write gay slash fiction, so .. this is what you get. Sorry.
95 DAYS
Yesterday was both bouncy-squee-exciting, and curl-up-in-a-ball-because-I-think-I-may-be-dying painful.
First, the Thrills (not the purple soap gum): a few weeks ago, Ed and I came to a handshake agreement on three weeks in London this June. It was a fair compromise – I had wanted four weeks, but Ed wanted two – and we shook on it (after which I posted a Facebook update so it would be down in e-stone). Since the agreement (and spurred to action by an overlapping vacation request at work), I’ve been researching madly to find the best possible time/place/price .. and yesterday morning, I bought our plane tickets. We’re going to London in June for my birthday. Is it too early to start packing?
The Chills came in the afternoon at my appointment to have my hardware upgraded. I tried to prepare myself as best I could, but no one is ever really prepared to have a wheel jack crammed into your fun hole (twice, as the doctor had to go find a longer speculum to deal with my wandering cervix), cranked open, then a handful of lit fireworks shoved inside. The removal of the IUD 1.0 was unpleasant. The cleaning of my wonder box was very unpleasant. For some reason, a drying was needed: this was horribly unpleasant. Then came the applicator, which was terrible, and finally the main horrible terrible very bad no good hideously unpleasant main event, the IUD 2.0 itself. This time I knew well enough to NOT try and get up immediately after the construction crew left the site, but that didn’t stop my body from trying to reject everything ever and freaking the fuck out in pain and anger. There was much shaking, and my whole body broke out into an ocean of sweat – ever have your kneecaps start leaking? It’s weird. And damp. The doctor let me sit in a heap for a few minutes while the room spun around me, and I think I tweeted some inappropriate things before Find My Friends told me Ed was close enough for me to leave the doctor’s office. He took me home and took excellent care of me while I cursed everything around me, and the rest of the evening passed in a sticky, painful blur.
It’s all worth it, though. I’m now prepared to fight off the inevitable waves of sperm that come my way, and can resume living my secret life as a hentai revision of Elizabeth Báthory. Refreshing!
(ewwwwwwwww I grossed myself out)
Okay kids, we’re going to talk about race.
There has been a lot of noise about the cast of the upcoming Fantastic Four reboot, which features – gasp! – a black actor as the Human Torch. The internet, being the throbbing hub of forward thinking and reason that we’ve all come to know and love, is in a Giant Fucking Uproar because of this. In the comics, Johnny Storm is not black: he’s a big ol’ white dude. Casting Michael B. Jordan as the Human Torch is making internet racists – you know, the ones who threatened to boycott Cheerios over a commercial featuring a biracial family and said the most awful things about Amandla Stenberg for playing Rue in the Hunger Games – foam at the mouth. How dare they! They’re ruining the character! I’m nostalgic for the days of dysentery and leeching! I am poorly educated, largely illiterate, and spend my days festering in the bile of my hatred! And so on and so forth.
I think the change is a great one, and here’s why:
There was a time in my life, between my all-consuming Transformers love and my blossoming career as an internet pervert, that I was wholly into comic books – specifically, Marvel Comics. I lived and breathed those stories, and spent hours reading and researching facts and data and backstories. I read Marvel comics voraciously, and to this day I remember where I was and how I felt when I realized there was no one like me in the stories I devoured. I fully admit to being a pedant through and through, but that doesn’t mean I was expecting to find a major character who was also Malaysian/Canadian, overdeveloped, and shaped like a potato .. but it would have meant a lot to me if there had been Asians.
Other than Jubilee*.
Look, I’m glad Jubilee existed. She was spunky! And Chinese! And she had powers: she could create fireworks!
Yes, they gave the sole Chinese character the ability to create FIREWORKS. There was also a Japanese character, Lady Deathstrike. She was a ninja assassin, and often appeared in a kimono. Because she was Japanese, you see. But why stop there? Where was the Mexican character who could control chihuahuas? The Swedish character who could flat-pack anything item? The Australian who lulled people to sleep with a didgeridoo? The fiery Latina who dances a passionate salsa .. of teleportation? That’s the thing about people of different races: we’re all people. We go through the same milestones, the same Very Special Episodes, the same CRAP as everyone else. I don’t need a Chinese character to walk around dressed like a rickshaw driver talking about how much they love rice and fish sauce to prove they’re Chinese: there are a thousand ways to depict different races without having to rely upon stereotypes.
So, to sum up: female Asian superheroes. Asians, at all. Asians who weren’t an exaggerated racial stereotype, but faced the same – comic universe and Degrassi variety – problems as every other character, just in different skin. When I was reading comic books, there weren’t very many of them. And if I noticed this lack at a tender age, how many others felt the same way I did?
My point (and I swear I have one) is that why SHOULDN’T comic book fans be able to relate to characters who are JUST LIKE THEM? Yes, casting the Human Torch as a black man is different than the origin story written in 1961 (when race relations in the US were just super). Can anyone picture Nick Fury as anyone other than Samuel L. Jackson? The original Nick Fury was a big ol’ white man, to the point where he was once played by David Hasselhoff on TV.
I don’t know how my life would have been different if I had more to look up to than just Jubilee, but it would have been nice to have options. I’m not saying that every character should be black or Asian or Hispanic so people don’t feel left out, but there are an awful lot of white characters in comic books, and drastically fewer characters of colour. Would it really destroy the universe if a character is rebooted to make a change like this? I know the Internet Racists aren’t going to be swayed by my words (or logic, or reason, or decency) one way or another, but think about your life. Think about your family, and your job, and your home, and your hobbies. Now think about the Fantastic Four, and the Human Torch. Does the colour of his skin REALLY matter? It shouldn’t.
.. if anything, you should be worried about how they’re going to write the Human Torch and Invisible Girl into being brother and sister. That can easily be explained away by adoption (or not part of the story arc at all), but personally my entire day has been ruined by the news that Mr. Fantastic will be played by the 27-year-old Miles Teller. Mr. Fantastic is supposed to be a middle-aged scientific genius who has enough science-clout to invent, build, and pilot a starship into hyperspace while bringing along his buddy, his girlfriend, and her kid brother. Is that something you can accomplish by the age of 27? I DON’T THINK SO.
Ed and I had an animated (get it) discussion about this last night, and one of the things he said really fuelled this entire rant for me. When talking about various Marvel characters and their backstories, Ed mentioned his looking up to Bruce Banner as a kid, and how weird it would be to have an Asian Hulk. Ignoring the Asian Hulk angle (except for a brief mental image of the Hulk using chopsticks), why couldn’t Bruce Banner be Asian? There is nothing in his backstory; nothing in the past 52 years of Hulkdom that would be adversely affected by his skin having more melanin. Hell, there’s even a potential story arc where the Asian Bruce Banner starts dating Betty Ross, and how her Ultra American father General Thunderbolt Ross deals with it. Hire me, Marvel. I gotcha covered.
A black Human Torch will be different, but different is not bad – it’s just different. I like the inclusion of other races and cultures in comics and movies, and I think we should embrace it .. if not because the world is far more than just 7 billion shades of white, but because EVERYONE deserves to have an awesome superhero to look up to, regardless of their colour.
“look out for those gamma rays, bruce banner!” is that really so hard to believe?
*: There are many Asian characters in Marvel comics now – here’s a list. However, in 1989 I was a girl, and specifically wanted more Asian girl superheroes. In that list:
.. and so on. Yes, Asian characters have mostly come a long way baby. That isn’t the point of this post, but I wanted to give props where props were due (and also have an excuse to read more Marvel character bios).
On Saturday afternoon, I found myself hunched over in a parking lot halfway up a mountain, trying desperately to get the hang of shifting gears via the manual transmission of a sports bike, with snow flying directly into my eyes and thoroughly wet pants. It was .. uncomfortable. I was cold, sore, soaked through, tired, and sucking really hard at riding a motorcycle: basically, miserably.
Yes, only I would have the extreme good fortune to have a riding class scheduled amidst Vancouver’s first major* snowstorm of the year; one that started Friday night and as of this writing (Monday afternoon) has not yet let up. I arrived to class as prepared as I could be, but I don’t own snow gear (because I tend not to go outside when it’s snowing) or even rain gear (because I am dumb) so I was in for a rough day from the very start. To make matters worse, I was loaned a pair of rain pants which I promptly caused to split up the rear because they were the third pair of pants I was wearing, and the universe imploded around my ass. Here’s a helpful tip from me to you: learning how to ride a motorcycle when you’re fantastically uncomfortable and feeling pretty humiliated about torn pants is VERY DIFFICULT. So, don’t do it.
The very best part about all of this is that I should have actually finished the riding course two weeks ago. Due to a scheduling conflict, I had to move my February 6th start date out to the 20th. At the time I was really glad for this, because the temperature had dropped and the weekend was forecasted to be frosty. I figured that I could skip the “high of 0” days, and learn later in February when it would obviously be warmer, possibly even spring-like as it has been in the past! And while it was very cold* over that weekend, it was also clear and beautiful out – and I have plenty of warm gear, so I would have been fine. This past weekend, in the snow and slush and wet and frozen? Not so much.
I was in no way looking forward to class on Sunday, so I was secretly glad to see the snow continue to fall throughout the night. The following morning I stirred myself from the warm cocoon of cats and blankets to text the instructor, and Sunday’s class was indeed postponed: I was off the hook, and could nurse my aching muscles (motorcycles have clutches, and those clutches are STIFF AS FUCK) as well as spend the entire gloriously terrible Sunday doing absolutely nothing.
My remaining three classes have been moved to March 9-12. In the meantime, I can practice shifting on Ed’s bike (interesting fact: I thought I would want to ride nothing but cruisers because I like how they look. Then I actually tried riding one, and I hated it very very much. Sports bikes, which I dismissed entirely because eww, were very comfortable. If I ever decide I need to get a motorcycle, I may have to look at dumb sport bikes.) and prepare for the skills test that will happen on the Sunday. My goal is to pass it with very low speed flying colours that go through a bunch of stupid plastic cones, because I have a Master Plan that revolves around my having my full Class 6 license before my June so I should hurry up and get on with it, already.
I’m working from home today, which means I haven’t left the house since Saturday at 5pm. Tomorrow I have to venture out into the stupid wet cold real world. I am not looking forward to it.
*: by Vancouver measures, “major” is less than 3″ of snow and “very cold” is -2C. We’re delicate folk who had the good sense to move to the coast to get away from REAL winter, because fuck that shit.
I am learning to motorcycle! Soon I will be legal!
this is not good riding weather.
Due to a scheduling snafu, my INVASIVE DOCTORB APPOINTMENT is not today. That’s bad!
It’s now officially scheduled, on paper and everything, for next Thursday at 2:30. That’s good!
I took a now-unnecessary afternoon off to deal with the searing vagina pain I don’t currently have. That’s bad!
I have muscle relaxants to take before my appointment, to help with the aforementioned searing. That’s good!
I thought my appointment was today, so I took one. On an empty stomach. I am high as fuck! (That’s bad)
My doctorb is right above a Whole Foods. That’s good!
Except, while High as Fuck and also hungry, I went into Whole Foods and spent a lot of money on organic bisque and cheese with credentials and imported lime leaves. That’s .. well, hilarious.
I can salvage some of my afternoon to do some work, so I don’t have to take additional vacation next week. That’s good!
Ed has to come pick me up, because I am too muscle relaxed to take the bus. I’m standing across the street from Whole Foods leaning on a pole because jelly legs, looking for all the world like someone who would do unmentionable things to you for just one hit of quinoa garnished with a balsamic truffle reduction on a bed of sensually massaged kale. That’s bad!
So many cheeses. But, no speculum! That’s good!
I’m going to sit down now. Right here looks really, really good.
I’m a little worried that this week is going to take a lot out of me, but also put a bunch of things into me. I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking when I booked an INVASIVE MEDICAL PROCEDURE the day before I start a motorcycle riding course, but here we are: on Wednesday, I will be having my expired IUD extracted and a new one installed, and on Thursday I begin a safety riding course with ProRide. Also, I have an aquarium date scheduled for Wednesday evening. And an early-morning webinar on Thursday. Basically, all kinds of important things happening at a time that, historically speaking, I will be incapacitated with shock and awe. From the hardware upgrade. In my vagina.
I’m tired just thinking about this week, but that may just be because Monday.
.. for my phone and Pebble, because they’ve had one hell of a workout today.
Earlier this morning, everyone’s favourite Canadian Nathan Fillion tweeted that he was taking applications for Valentines. I happened to be looking at TweetDeck at the perfect moment, so I responded to him and then moved on with my day, because that is what happens in meatspace: you do something, and then you do another thing, and then another thing, and so on and so forth until you’re dead/for eternity (depending on your belief tree).
Then this happened:
i’m in!
My notifications/Pebble have been going off NONSTOP since that tweet. In fact, since I took the screenshot, it’s gone off a half dozen more times. This is all very weird and hilarious, and now I have two Valentines for today so I am pretty pleased (if in desperate need of a Pebble charging cable).
Tonight Ed and I are going to see the LEGO MOVIE in DBOX and I am EXCITED. I will buy jellybeans and popcorn and my seat will move and everything will be great. Hooray for Friday!
happy friday the 14th from all of us sitting at my desk!
For the last ten days or so, I have been Experiencing Symptoms:
.. you probably know exactly where this is going, and you wouldn’t be alone: every single website on the entire internet thinks I am pregnant. Google says I’m pregnant. Facebook says I’m pregnant. WebMD says I’m pregnant and also cancer. Wikipedia said I was pregnant, but the article was deleted because [citation needed]. The point is, every time I get curious about my symptoms, everything says there’s but one reason for it all: totes knocked up.
Doubt is an insidious thing. Even though I know in every fibre of my tired, hungry, sore-boob’d, hafta-pee self that I am NOT pregnant and can’t possibly be knocked up because SCIENCE, I was still tempted to seek out a stick to pee on just in case. I had myself almost convince that the whole of the internet was right and I was mere minutes away from learning first hand how babby was formed when one sprang out from betwixt my nethers. I was dealing with the near panic attack that followed these thoughts when I caught myself being an idiot, and stopped. I took some deep breaths, and used some good old fashioned common sense to look at each symptom rationally .. and I found that every one could easily be explained away without any kind of embryonic sacs whatsoever.
See? All perfectly logical reasons for all my symptoms, with nary a fertilized egg in sight. Still, I might be a *little* worried. I just need to keep repeating logic to myself, and maybe go to bed at a reasonable hour for once. Nice try, internet. Team No Babies 4 lyfe.
apropos of nothing, but look! pretty lights!
I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON.
I read a story about a woman who needs a kidney. She’s taken her search to Facebook, because although she’s at the top of the transplant list, she’s unable to find a donor through traditional methods due to a rare blood type. I followed the link to Facebook and checked the page out of curiosity (after checking my self-diagnosed blood type and finding that I am actually a match), because hey I’m not really using my kidneys and I could potentially give one up. I wanted to learn more about the potential recipient of my flesh gift.
.. who, it turns out, will never get MY kidney, because she misuses your/you’re and also thanks God for keeping her alive although requiring near-daily dialysis for 8+ years as she waits for a miracle.
Sorry, but MY organs are earmarked for people who properly attribute their lot in life to science/technology/hard work/genetics and have a solid grasp of the English language. Seriously, there’s a test. Multiple choice, long answer, and essay. Show your work.
(I’m honestly only terrible for the sake of a blog post – if I can donate, I will. I’m already an organ donor, and I’ve submitted myself online to be checked for this specific match. I do think that they will find I am too fat/old/full of chemicals/half cyborg/godless heathen/probably not actually B+ to donate, but if the call comes, I’m here. Don’t judge me! At least not for this!)
So hey, how about those Seahawks? Go sports!
I spent much of Saturday trying to escape Richmond, but not in the usual way – this time, I was locked in an Egyptian tomb. And then a prison. And each time, I couldn’t get out.
I had heard about this thing called EXIT on Twitter a while back, and after sharing it amongst my friends it was decided that a group of former co-workers and special guest stars would try it out on February 1st. Knowing my meat space friends wanted to check it out as well, I arranged for them to join me after the first session was done so we could all do a new one together, because I am excellent at planning things and such.
Even after reading the website and reviews thoroughly, none of us had any idea what to expect. At the core, EXIT is a video game without the video part. You choose one of four scenarios, get locked in a room, and .. you have to get out. Each available scenario will be immediately familiar to anyone who’s played any kind of first person game: you’re locked in an Egyptian tomb, and need to escape. You’re trapped in a sunken ship and need to reach the surface. You wake up in your prison cell, only to discover you’re all alone. And the last scenario, which I’ve played dozens of times in more games than I can count, is the dark dingy laboratory of untold horrors and inadequate security. While it may sound like something you could handle with your eyes closed, you’ll soon learn otherwise – you’ve only got 45 minutes and up to two hints provided by the staff if when you get stuck. And it’s hard. We got most of the way through Egypt, but only a third through the prison .. and if we want to solve it, we have to go back. Which I want to do. Because it was awesome.
I don’t want to give any secrets away, but if you like puzzles and intrigue I suggest you check out EXIT for yourself. It was really cool (even though we failed spectacularly), and definitely a unique experience – I don’t know of anything else like it that isn’t on a computer or on the Holodeck in the 24th century.
Some tips if you’re interested:
we make it look so good
delicious juice dot com 