This isn’t official until I go over every single iTunes receipt by hand and calculate it all, but according to SpentOnApps, my grand total for 2011 is $571.66. This is a significant (but unofficial) improvement over 2010, which clocked in at a startling $836.77, but I feel I can do better. I don’t have an iPad any more, which will help .. but I’ve been buying a few apps for my various Macs (most notably the $30 upgrade to Lion for my desktop), which will add up quickly. When my headache goes away, I’ll go over the receipts individually and see if the app is close – last year it wasn’t – and then I will average out my monthly spending. Spending some quality time wrist-deep in spreadsheets is pretty much exactly what the doctor ordered – after my NYE, I’m not allowed to have any more fun for a least two weeks.

My week suddenly opened up, though – my mother isn’t coming to visit for our post-Christmas extravaganza because I am fat. I admit that I zoned out partially through her phone call because she was going over her scratch ticket winnings in excruciating detail, but I’m fairly certain that was her reasoning for cancelling her trip. She also called me “sweetheart” a lot, which was weird. Maybe I should have paid attention. At any rate, I may go over to the island next week to visit HER, mostly because I want her Christmas gift out of my house – I wrapped up all her lacy g-strings in a box and hid them, but I still know they’re here. It’s likely why I can’t sleep at night.

accurate graffiti in the REI parking lot

I’m totally straight edge now. You can tell by my new name; xKimlix: the Xs mean I am straight edge, but only as far as drugs, alcohol and tobacco go. I will still eat meat and dairy, use prescription drugs, mainline caffeine and have as much promiscuous sex as I can buy, so I’m not hardcore or anything. And I never drank anyways, so it’s not like I’m changing very much. And I did drugs an average of .25 times a year since the age of 18, so this isn’t going to be some sort of epic life change. In fact, it can basically be boiled down to one truth: no more pot cookies. Especially if Mike made them. I may just want to stay away from Mike altogether – there may be a contact high from his hugs. He is a dangerous man. I’ve seen his suitcase.

Thanks to my constant tweeting, Instagram, Ali’s pictures and the vague, uncomfortable answers from Ed, I’ve managed to piece together my last 48 hours. My arms feel like I wrestled an aligator and lost, there’s a bruise on my forehead I’m told came from dropping my iPhone on my face, and thanks to literally the last thing I did before the world went insane (pulled out my laptop and wrote a page of content), I know I was date raped by a 4-year old.

BEST NEW YEAR EVER!

No, seriously. My Incredibly Bad Decision and the Awkward Aftermath aside, NYE was incredible. I felt things I’ve never felt before for noodles; died and went to Beef Heaven, and gave serious thought to bathing in oysters. Doug and Ali threw a party to top all parties, and the four of us (Josh and Shan came with) had a blast. More on the party itself later; I’ve got a thesaurus full of adjectives to use to describe beef – but I just thought the internet would like to know that I have come down now. I am totally normal, like always. Let the rest of the year begin!

i remember this part

Everyone starts a new year hoping to experience new things, but if everything I experience in 2012 is as confusing as my first Tripping Balls, I think I will ask 2011 to come back for a while longer.

I haven’t heard the whole story – or the recording they tell me they have – but I am fairly certain balls were tripped really hard, and I am sore all over.

There may have been grinding. I think I Tweeted it. In fact, I think I tweeted a lot of things.

I believe there is still a ball or two that have yet to fully trip. Is this what ‘Nam feels like?

No one will tell me if this is real.

I spent much of the early morning Wiki Hopping (the intellectual version of being caught in a YouTube Loop); reading up on Minstrel shows of the mid-1800s, which led to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Little House on the Praire, The Darkest Hour (this may have been an intentional jump and only because the spoiler hasn’t been posted yet), and finally labia minora, which utterly did not lead to an extended bout of personal exploration with a handheld mirror and a bike light.

Incidentally, I have determined that my vagina is a Pokemon and I am actively levelling up so it can evolve into Vaginismus and eventually, the powerful and elusive Vulvovaginitis. Vulvovaginitis, I don’t particularly choose you but you seem determined to hang around no matter what I do! Use your tent attack to stretch and self-lubricate, then defeat that penis!

.. it’s times like this when I’m glad I don’t have a job, so no one can spy on my simultaneous browser searches for “Pokemon attack moves” and “vaginal activity during intercourse”.

So, how’s by YOUR Friday? Have you made up your mind about which seat to take?

I am consistently amused by the ongoing dialogue inside my head.

Also, I am ending out this horrible, horrible (okay, not THAT bad) year with the realization that I have FRIENDS – awesome ones – that I am super glad to have in my life. That is for smile-making and bouncing!

Okay, off to shower and dress and pack for America.

Hooray!

night times equal pretty times

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live in a house boat – not a boat that doubles as home, but a house moored at a dock like this:

dazzling victoria sunset not always included

I got as far as doing preliminary research and making plans that Ed tried to thwart with lies and betrayal, but in the end it was all moot – we bought our nice, traditional condo home and moved into it in a nice, traditional way where we live our nice, traditional life. My dream to live on the water was shelved, although I still get a little wistful and dreamy whenever I see a houseboat and picture myself living there and wearing nothing but purple and a lot of fancy hats.

People change, and dreams change with them. I’ve recently become aware of a brand new dream, one that is technically much cheaper than the houseboat plan .. but in reality, a place that always seems to mess up my awesome ideas, is just as far-fetched and unlikely.

I want to own an Airstream trailer.

Not to travel in, but to use as an office and/or Secret Kimli Space like this or this or this or these. It would be an expensive undertaking, but it would be SO COOL – I often daydream about a space of my very own, and something about the old school bubbly silver Airstreams just sings to me and makes my insides all squishy with glee. There are some absolutely gorgeous restorations, modernizations, or even original vintage models out there – I spent the better part of an afternoon drooling over pictures of my dream office. Just like I can absolutely see myself living on a houseboat and wearing purple, I can picture all my stuff inside an Airstream and it would be quirky and awesome and so totally me. It’s an expensive dream, but significantly less so than owning a houseboat so I should totally do it, what with my no job and all.

Still, the expense could theoretically be managed – I’ll simply pray to my dad and he’ll use his powers from beyond the grave to bestow riches on me, like Jesus must have done – but .. well, I live in a nice, traditional condo. With no land. Even if I had an Airstream, and restored it, and filled it to the brim with happy Kimli good times .. where would it go? I have no yard, front OR back. Something tells me that Ed wouldn’t be crazy about my living in a trailer in our living room, and it probably won’t fit on the balcony. In the end, my shiny new dream is just as unattainable as the houseboat, that is sad making.

Still, some dreams are meant to be wild and impossible and the stuff of pure fantasy. Life wouldn’t really be very interesting if dreams consisted of mundane things like a Tuesday without rain or a sale on broccoli – and who knows? Stranger things have happened. Maybe some day I’ll have the office of my dreams, and I’ll invite you all over for tea and cupcakes and it will be the stuff of legends.

In the meantime, I’m going to treat myself to this. It’s a tiny reminder of my dream, and something to fantasize about that doesn’t involve nudity (yet).

What’s your dream?

I figured that Ed and I would have a very quiet Christmas by ourselves, but it was the complete opposite – we’ve been hanging out with assorted friends and quasi-family every day for the past week, and it’s been glorious. It’s exactly what the season should be: friends, food, and video games (optional, if you’re not into that sort of thing). Also, therapy. What’s Christmas without therapy?

I had my second official session today, and it’s been a very interesting ride so far. I like therapy – I don’t come out of sessions sobbing or emotionally drained (although I am disappointed that I don’t get to lie on a couch while the therapist takes notes on the flavour of my crazy); I actually find myself refreshed afterward. I have nothing to base this on, but I assume that going to therapy is somewhat like hiring a prostitute: she diddles my brain for an hour, and I fork over a lot money for the privilege.

We finished up the “tell me about your childhood” stuff today, so I’m totally cured. I’m going to keep going to therapy – but my reasons for doing so have changed, even in the 4 weeks it’s been. For starters, I’m no longer stressed out about work .. but come January, I’m going to be stressed out that I don’t have a job, so there’s that. Plus my mother is coming to visit (I wisely scheduled my next appointment for the day after she leaves), so there’ll be a lot to talk about.

All sarcasm aside, I’m finding talking to a neutral party about everything on my mind is really helpful. I’ve been figuring out shit left and right, which is kind of fun – and soon, she’s gonna let me play with the dinosaurs. My former benefits are paying for this, so I need to squeeze as much talking and awareness out of the sessions while someone else foots the bill.

Also: dude, dinosaurs!

Okay, enough with the relatively dull soul searching – it’s time to Look Forward to Stuff! Tomorrow, I’m gonna traverse the wild unknowns of Richmond and go to Daiso, and later this week we’re going to Seattle for NYE. I think I had something planned for Thursday too, but I can’t remember what it is .. hell, even if it’s nothing but sitting naked on my couch playing Super Mario Land 3D, I will enjoy the hell out of it. It’s Mario! In 3D! The future fits right in my pocket!

Note to self: you’re unemployed again, so it’s time to build your daily schedule around reruns of Crossing Jordan. I don’t think the show is currently on air, so I may have to download all seven seasons and watch a couple episodes each day, every day. It’s my unemployment ritual – I’ve done it every time I’ve been jobless, but never intentionally .. until NOW. Take that, joblessness. I will proactively watch procedural drama starring former Law and Order ADAs just to beat you to the punch!

also: arm wrestling.

Hope everyone is having an awesome Christmas full of love and food and nudity!

Me, I’ll be over here tormenting the cats with my awesome talking hamster :D

Love to all!

:D

Yesterday I inherited an old iMac from Catherine. She was using it as a doorstop, and I have a soft spot for old Apple computers. I’m not sure why this is, and it definitely doesn’t cross over to old Windows machines. If that were the case, I’d be cooing at the five PCs we have lying around the house in various degrees of decay – and my desk would likely be a shrine to the ingenuity of Gates instead of a temple of Jobs like it is now.

The iMac is one of the old bubbly ones, from 2001. It was the last edition of machines with a G4 chip, before Apple switched to Intel (this is important). It’s a 700MHz G4 PowerPC with 768MB of RAM and a 40GB hard drive; running Mac OS X 10.4.11. It is cute, and I’ve named her Betty (which may change, because it’s too similar to my MacBook Beth and yes I worry about these things).

Catherine had in turn inherited the machine from parts unknown, and therein lied the problem. The previous owner had been using it as a retail shop computer and also the thing he stored Limewire files on – the drive was filled with GBs of terrible music. It was also admin locked, and I didn’t have a copy of the system discs. Without the OS CDs, it’s extremely difficult to restore a Mac to factory condition – everything relies on having those discs handy, and I did not.

I did,  however, have discs for OS X 10.6, Snow Leopard .. which was about as useful as the 4 sealed copies of Windows 98 I have on floppy disc. The break between 10.5 (Leopard!) to 10.6 (Snow Leopard!) was when Apple switched from G4 processors to Intel, and you had to have one or the other. Discs for my Intel Macs would not work on this machine, which was running 10.4 (Tiger!). I didn’t have the admin password and therefore couldn’t unlock the machine to make changes, I didn’t have the CDs to do a full restore, and while I spent hours scouring the entire internet for previous versions of Mac OSs (Cheetah! Puma! Jaguar! Panther!) none of them worked. I was able to find a download of Tiger, but I don’t have any DVDs to burn the image to, and Betty is running USB1.0 so anything I put on a USB stick would take 3 hours to copy over (and then not work at all; I tried).

I spent more time reading Mac hacking tricks than I ever hope to have to do again. Some things worked – I was able to trick the system into thinking it had never been set up, and created a new admin account – but other things did VERY BAD THINGS that created an extra 5 hours of work.

Side story: way back in the ago, I had to quickly learn how to use DOS because I wanted to free up hard drive space on my old 286. I didn’t know what this “WINDOWS” directory was for, so I deleted it. Obviously, that was dumb – and I couldn’t fix it, so I learned how to use that command prompt like my life depended on it.

One of the tricks I tried had me tinkering with the System Preferences, saying that if I moved the app to the desktop and extracted something, it would eventually prompt me to reset the master password. This was a load of hooey, and I quickly found myself in a “new” admin account .. that was utterly unable to access ANY System Preferences, as it had BEEN REMOVED FROM THE COMPUTER. I tried this twice, and had two accounts that couldn’t do  jack shit. Hooray! Okay, now what. I installed tools, and pulled out the System Preferences from the Snow Leopard disc .. which worked about as well as you would expect; not at all. Think think think – can I download a copy? Other people had this same issue, but none of them were running the same OS I was and the posts were 3+ years old. Crap. Okay, what now? I rebooted multiple times, messed around in the terminal, then finally – around 2am – came across an article that explained how to check the hidden root account, and set up a password if it was missing. YES! This was exactly what I needed, and worked like a fucking charm – I set up a root password and was able to log in as the Ultimate King of Systems Administration with Fancy Pants and a Snazzy Top Hat. HOORAY!

I quickly set about deleting locked users, setting up a new one, and installing utilities to help me recover hard drive space. I found 25 gigs of hidden music (which I assume was hidden because it was terrible, terrible music – Michael W. Smith? Boy bands from eras past? Oh god no), and ultimately went from 12.3GB free to 30.5. YEAH! SUCK IT, TIGER! I AM THE BOSS OF YOU!

At this point it was 3am and I had literally been working on the machine since 7, so I went to bed.

This morning, I had one more issue to solve – the innernets. Catherine had installed an Airport card in the machine, which was awesome .. but it’s an old card, and didn’t get along with my Airport XXXTREME because it’s only capable of WEP and not the WPA2 I needed. No firmware updates, and while I could unlock the network and connect just fine, I didn’t go through all the trouble of setting up very confusing wi-fi names to fuck with the hotel across the street for nothing. Finally, I opted to only attempt to connect to my “guest” network, which is locked with twist ties instead of steel cable. The iMac can’t see the rest of my network, but I’d rather have it online wirelessly than tied to my desk via ethernet anyway. I put everything back where it was (almost – I had to sacrifice my wired Apple keyboard to the new iMac; I’m using the tiny wireless one on my main iMac and IT’S SO SMALL I miss my keypad), hooked up the adorable see-through speakers, stuck in a CD (hey, it’s as far as that corner of my desk is concerned, it’s 2001) and ROCKED OUT.

I win, iMac.

This might even be more awesome than the time I forcefully installed Windows XP on a Vista-Only machine through sheer stubbornness and swearing alone.

I WIN!

:D

After some internal (and external; I tend to run all my life decisions by Twitter) debate, I decided not to tell my mother that I lost my job. Unfortunately, the decision was ultimately out of my hands – my mother returned my call today, and opted for the first time in her life to call my work number instead of my cell number. My phone has evidently been forwarded to someone else, and that person told my mother I was no longer with the company. Oops. She called my cell to find out what happened, so I spilled the beans: I am a jobless bum; a drain on society (not really, but I was hoping for Guilt Shoes).

Someone asked me why I cared what my mother thought about my employment situation, so I thought about it – and I really don’t. Whether or not I have something to keep me occupied each day and gives me money every once in a while is of no concern of hers, and since she’s grown out of her trademark rage her reaction isn’t really more than “well that’s too bad”. It’s never been fear that keeps me quiet, though – it’s what comes next: the helpful advice. I have an extremely hard time listening to my mother’s advice without my head exploding, because it always comes down to the same two things over and over again: lottery tickets and blasphemy.

When faced with the cold hard truth of a restructured company with No Room for Kimli, my mother offered up some sage wisdom: “you should buy lottery tickets!”. She went on to try to convince me that spending $6 a week for surefire winnings was the smartest thing I could possibly do, what with my temporarily halted cash flow. That $6 became $12, then $20, as the conversation went on – I could hit THE BIG ONE! Then all my problems would be SOLVED! Why bother buying knickknacks and paddywhacks to give a dog a bone when that money could be used to buy lottery tickets instead? You never know!

I’m going to have that engraved on my mother’s tombstone: “You Never Know”. It’s her favourite saying, and the only justification she ever needs for spending ridiculous amounts of money on lottery tickets. It grates on my teeth to no end, and makes me want to scream obscenities in a desperate attempt to force logic through the phone and into her head. Still, I smiled and nodded (and said “uh huh” because she couldn’t hear me nod through the phone) and quietly seethed as she moved onto her next bit of motherly advice: pray to dad!

I’m not religious in any way, comfortably straddling the line between atheism and some sort of otherworldly -ism (that allows bacon burgers, the owning of many things, and group sex) – but my mother constantly tells me I need to “pray to dad” to ask him to allow me to win the lottery, or something. This is just fucking weird to me, and – if I were one of those wacky religious types – seems really blasphemousy, what with thinking my dad is some kind of lottery-rigging deity and all. Sure, sometimes I have conversations at dad in my head, but those are mostly along the lines of “I miss you” “How’s it going out there” “you would have really appreciated all these presents wrapped in porn” – not “my heavenly father who art in the skies above pulling numbered balls out of a machine; hallowed by thy name”. I get the feeling my mother actually prays to dad, and definitely routinely asks him for help in “hitting the big one” so she can .. I don’t know what. Buy more toilet paper? Stock up on laundry soap? She often says she wants to “help out the kids” (meaning Ed and I), which I wouldn’t turn down – but honestly, we’re okay without the help. I’m not going to fall to my knees and throw my hands to the sky in melodramatic supplication so my dad will haunt some guy so I can win money – I’m weird, but not THAT weird. Seriously, even I draw the line at some things. This is one of them.

So, until I find a new job, my weekly calls to my mother will consist of her telling me to spend my precious remaining dollars on a one in 13,983,816 chance of that mythical “big one” because “you never know”, and I should “pray to daddy” to make this happen.

This entire thing gives me both the heebies AND the jeebies.

Couldn’t I just have a puppy instead?

de crane! de crane!

earth reflects the heavens

I’ve been avoiding this update, because 2011 has been full of balls. Some of those balls were shiny and filled with delicious pudding, but most of them were hairy and slimy and smelly. Even with two epic adventures that were the highlights of my life to date, the rest of 2011 was so bad that the year ends up with a negative score overall. It was a bad year. F—-; would not buy again.

Nothing says “I’m a well-adjusted person” like constantly bringing up the past (I’ve only had 1.5 therapies; cut me some slack), so here for your enjoyment and my own personal torment is a recap of what happened in 2011!

January: My mother came to visit, with hilarious (now; not at the time) results. I got mystery sausage in the mail (that later turned out to be proactive guilt sausage). Gave up on my vagina; smoked a tiny pipe. Amused myself at work. Friendship-ruining drama ensued. We refinanced our mortgage for fun; was pretty fun. Carried the world in my bag. Did not die from expired mayo. Documented Visio diagrams to depict relationships in VC Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic and Heaven books.

February: Schnitzelfest 2011, complete with old people dancing. More drama. Started reposting older entries. Was late for work because of lesbian porn. Caught my very first computer virus; was humiliated. Played Rescue Ranger. Found out my blood type! Had a performance review and more fun with my work. Yanked some glass; had the first of many Sharepoint Rages.

March: Was offended at our new corporate website. Went to an amazing Yelp Elite event at Yew. Drugs! Abused euphemisms like no other. Made flags for work. Was scrubbed out. Volunteered at Twestival; had a great time. Went to a princess party! Celebrated ten years of Delicious Juice Dot Com. Had my giant project at work implode spectacularly; was surprisingly upbeat about it.

April: Pulled off the lamest April Fool’s joke in history. Was dirty on the internet. Vastly underestimated the size of cake. Publicly shamed some line-crashing cougars. Rose to Donna’s vaginal challenge. Wore a tie!

May: Went to a soccer game at Empire Field. Went to Cuba for a week! Had an amazing time! Burned the ever-loving fuck out of my right shoulder! Saw hockey boobs; put them on the internet. Was smug! Reveled in my love of ridiculous challenges. took Ed boating for his birthday, followed by a visit to the spa.

June: Made Ed a Very Special Card for his birthday. Listened to a couple break up outside my window. Fessed up to being depressed. Wrote some hilarious policy! Popped pills. Some riots happened; my post about it kind of exploded on the internet. Went viral on my birthday, which was kind of neat. Was on TV multiple times. Dug up some skeletons in my closet for the haters. Refused to apologize. Played with Lego, which started a recurring theme on my site. Gave up on pants!

July: Building caught on fire; thought I killed my cat. Learned a valuable lesson a day too late. Had more fun at work. Held a press conference, kind of. Was blocked in China; took Heather and Shan on a boat. Cherry Velvet dresses! Lego’d up some Game of Thrones. Had an orgy. Blew the lid off OK Cupid’s Selective Matching. Lego’d up the 80s. More drama; made demands. Shared plans to open a brothel. Was angry about bukkake. Tom of Legoland!

August: Did more Lego. Fancy Taco Friday! Booked a trip to London! Tried to become the Poet Laureate of Vancouver. Was incredulous. Found out I had a dead uncle. Was not serious enough at work. Had pigeons! Did crafts! Rescued the stupid pigeons! Saw one of my best friends get married! Flashed all of downtown Vancouver. Free ice cream with a side of church! Put things in a locket at the request of Twitter. Lost all my historic data thanks to a fatal hard drive explosion that I totally caused. Had scooter issues (that were later resolved); half-assedly did PAX 11. Killed Bill!

September: Survival of Covenants! Was a bad influence. The beginning of the end at work. Became an unwilling expert on Payment Card Industry Data Security Standards. Started to get in trouble for being myself. Peed on the couch. Was disgusted at the National Post for promoting hate in Canada.

October: Was grumpy at idiots. Wrote about tacos and music. My mother started dating. Became an ordained minister for fun! Was bitten by an asshole cat; had to get tetanus shot. A bunch of other stuff happened but who cares because Renee, Heather and I WENT TO LONDON! Had the friggin‘ time of my life; a definite highlight of 2011 and my entire life. Currently plotting my Return to London. Loved it.

November: Attempted to do an experiment that ultimately failed. Survived a round of layoffs at work. (finally) got in trouble for my Epic Cleavage. Was evil for fun. Work started to suck. Polled the internet for solutions to my boobs. Finally went to Victoria; was traumatized by g-strings. Was really, really depressed. Sought help for depression. Made boring grown-up decisions.

December: Tried to fit in with Pussy Bow Week, which fell short due to defiance. Started therapy. Dusted off my barista skills. Got the results of my background check; am total bad ass. Had a series of disastrous conversations with my boss; went from inquiring about my next raise to losing my job in exactly 6 days. Wrote copy for one of my favourite sites on the internet. Smelled bad things; wrote this damn recap.

There are still 10 days left in December, but I can’t see anything spectacular or devastating happening that would top the highs and lows of this year, so ..

2011 can’t come to an end soon enough. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out – I don’t want ass prints all over my new door.

C’mon, 2012: dazzle me!