evil

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Sometimes it’s just plain fun to be evil.

We live directly across the street from a Ramada. Last weekend when setting up the new router, I named our (secure) wi-fi networks “Ramada Wireless” and “Ramada Guest Wireless”.

It amuses me every single time I look at the available networks list.

‘Fess up: what little things make you do the finger pyramid of evil contemplation? I can’t be the only one.

Apologies for the radio silence – I’ve been in such a foul mood for the last couple of days that I’ve been actively trying to stay away from the internet. Given the number of fights I got into online yesterday, I probably could have tried a little harder – everything was just so enraging. Today I will try to behave. If I am tweeting less than usual, that’s me trying to behave. Also, please don’t be a jackass. That will help a LOT.

 

bye bye boobie

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So, I need to go shopping.

Today at work I was officially told I need to cover up. My boss seems to really want me to succeed with the company and believes I have a lot more to offer outside my sweater meat, so she’s working on making me a more respectable version me. We’re heading towards a Brave New World, and it’s gonna have a lot less cleavage in it.

I know I ought to be utterly humiliated that I had to be told to hide my shame, but I’m not wired that way. Actually, I find it hilarious. I even apologized, because she was so uncomfortable having to tell me that I am inappropriate. She didn’t even really need to get all the words out – I clued in at the vague chest gesturing, and knew the road we were about to head down. I may have even been a little giddy, but that was likely due to the relief of our conversation having nothing to do with my job and it’s continued existence in my life. I promised that I will behave (it seems I make that promise on a weekly basis), and things were fine.

She did explain that no one’s said anything to her about my out-of-control boobs, but she was bringing it up with me now before it got to an uncomfortable point of no return. None of the discomfort is on my side, but I SUPPOSE I could see how my unique style of not dressing from the nipples up might be uncomfortable to some. Maybe I should be offended and upset that I need to cover up my boobins so that people will take me seriously (not that there’s any danger in that whatsoever), but .. I didn’t make the world; I just try to live in it. Basically, I was told that people need to see my brain first and then whatever else I may be hiding up in here .. and I’m okay with that. I get away with a LOT at work, and I don’t call myself inappropriate for mere giggles – most people wouldn’t wear the things I wear to the sleaziest bar on Free Shots for Boobs night let alone to work on a daily basis. On one hand, it makes getting dressed for very easy (the same outfits do double duty as party time concert wear AND office clothing), but .. yeah. I need to buy some sweaters, and some cardigans that actually do up all the way. This’ll be interesting. Who wants to go shopping with me, with a strict guideline of not letting me be myself?

In the meantime, I have many scarves and even a couple dresses in the back of my closet I never wear because they don’t show enough cleavage.

Plus, I’ll have so much pent up boob during the week that I’ll need to spend my Saturday and Sundays topless to make up for it.

This is all very, very funny to me. Sometimes it’s great that I don’t have enough sense to take things seriously; it makes life so much more fun.

bad kimli. no biscuit.

not enough eggs

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It’s all my fault. I didn’t eat enough eggs.

The buffet/deli place next door was closed this morning for the first time since it opened. There was no signage, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they may be closed for good – business boomed for the first few months, but dropped off pretty severely as the months went on. I used to like the variety of food they offered, and most of the time I could find something relatively tasty to have for lunch, but the quality took a major header some time back and it was less and less busy in there. I only ever went in the morning, because it’s very hard to screw up scrambled eggs – I liked having a real breakfast several times as week. I rarely get out of here for lunch, so sometimes those eggs and potatoes were the only thing between me and 6pm.

I woke up really hungry this morning, and wanted some eggs. The deli was dark, and several people looking for coffee (and unwilling to stand in the Starbucks/Caffe Artigiano lines across the street) were wondering what the fuck. Me, I just wanted my eggs. And I can’t help but feel it’s entirely my fault that there aren’t any eggs, by virtue of not eating enough of them while I could.

It is a good thing that I brought cereal into the office today. That and the last container of Nutter Butters will be all that sustain me as I figure out how to link my three least favourite things – InfoPath, an Access database and Sharepoint – into one hideous monstrosity of resounding laziness and petulance. Good sense may be on my side though, as the two people I’ve asked for advice on this project both responded with “good god, WHY would you want to do that? Who asked you to do this? Show me where they touched you” – so I may weasel out of this with my underwear intact.

Speaking of underwear, here is the underwear Amanda Palmer wore on stage last night:

it's hard to see, but it's the australian flag

Last night was the Amanda Palmer/Neil Gaiman show in Vancouver. It was a lovely – if long – evening, and I am glad I stuck around even though I wanted to bail. I did have to leave the show early, as I expected it to be over by 11pm and had arranged to be picked up, but I was exhausted and sore in my bones due to standing outside for hours then sitting in the ice cold theatre with interactive fan girls screaming in my ear.

the place what we wuz

It was a successful Sunday – before the show I bought boots and unicorns, and I got to see Gill for the first time in a month. I ate a burger served on a cutting board, and got hollered at on Granville while making my way to the car. All in all, a good evening.

please do not ask further about "shooting"

I am glad the Amanda/Neil show was not all ukulele all the time, but I really, really miss the Dresden Dolls. The show we saw in Seattle a few years back is in my top three favourite live shows ever, and I hope they do another album/tour some day.

neil gaiman is pretty awesome, but brian viglione is usually half naked

I think I will go to the Museum of Vancouver this week. They’re running an exhibit on Vancouver’s old neon signs, and I love neon almost as much as I love everything.

more things need to be in neon

I have not forgotten the CYOA story – Page 36 is coming soon!

 

 

anarchy in the bc

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I’m more or less a good, law-abiding person – but I really, really want to kick up my heels and do some good old fashioned political vandalism up in here.

There’s a store at the corner of Pender and Granville in downtown Vancouver that was very lazily hit with graffiti. Someone had walked by the store’s two sides – it’s on the corner – while holding down the nozzle of a spray paint can. It’s annoying, but it’s not like someone tagged the store or broke windows or even did anything other than the young punk version of walking along a wall with a crayon.

The store, however, decided that instead of cleaning it up, they’d take a stand and put up a “poor me” display in the window. They added large letters that say something like:

This isn’t a statement
This isn’t political
This is just vandalism

Okay, we get it. Graffiti is annoying and costs everyone money, and this time maybe the graffiti wasn’t really bad enough to warrant the cost of a cleaning. Still, the “waaaaaaaah” tone of the message pisses me off – because the store in question is one of the only places left in Vancouver that still proudly sells fur.

I really, really want to print out a whole bunch of huge stickers that say:

This isn’t glamorous
This isn’t fashion
This is just murder

.. and stick ’em all over the store front on both sides. Fur sucks. It’s pointless and cruel. You want a statement? I’ll give you one: selling fur in the name of fashion in 2011 is disgusting; as is your “wah, everyone hates us for NO REASON” sniffling.

I’m not a vegetarian – you can’t imagine the number of meats I’m planning on eating today – or a fan of PETA, but I do think that fur is stupid unless a) it’s been in your family for generations (ie was made before knew any better) or b) you live in the friggin’ Arctic Tundra. Hell, even if you killed the animal yourself to provide food for your family and decided to make yourself a snappy coat out of the leftovers is acceptable. But buying it in a store for the sheer purpose of showing others how much money you have is tasteless beyond belief, and it makes me feel all kinds of righteous ire and fury. It makes me want to break things. Hell, it makes me want to throw paint cans. That’ll give them something to complain about.

I’ve never really protested or activismed before. Maybe it’s a good time to start. I have sharpies and cardboard – who’s up for sign-making and chants?

booooo stuff

intermission

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(no story today – this is the part of the book where you’ve been caught reading under the covers with a flashlight and are told to go to sleep or you’ll get beaten with a rattan switch kept hanging in the kitchen specifically for beating purposes) (.. that may have just been me)

It’s been a really rough week ’round these parts; fanciful attempts at story writing aside. On Tuesday, 10 people were laid off from our office in Vancouver, and everyone is taking really hard – people are upset, worried, angry, confused, hurt. It’s tense and sad in here right now, and I feel terrible for those who were let go because they were utterly blindsided by it. I wish there was more I could do than feel bad and swear, but ..

If you know of any Lower Mainland companies looking for an HR hero, an awesome tech support manager, a rock n’ roll sys admin OR an Android-loving IT guy, please let me know – I’ll pass along the info.

The stress of the week has been manifesting itself in the form of NO SLEEP. I’m little more than a painted zombie right now; two days of terrible eating and no rest has left me exhausted and drooling. I’m looking forward to the weekend because I really need the downtime (and also I want to bake cookies) – hell, I’d settle for a nap. Maybe when my head brains come back, I’ll remember where I left my glasses. I have (8) backup pairs, but the ones I lost were my FAVOURITE. I hope they show up. How will people know I’m a hipster if I have no black-rimmed glasses? For shame.

ZZZZ

experiment: page 17

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Prancing about like a T-Rex was getting me nowhere, so I stretched my arms out to either side as hard as I could and started spinning in place. I reasoned that playing helicopter was the best thing I could possibly do in this situation because a) I might find something useful; b) I might find treasure, and c) I’M A HELICOPTER. Out of sheer habit brought on by repeat viewings of Darkman in my formative years, I whirled and muttered “spiiiiiiiiiiin chop chop chop chop chop” under my breath like a magical incantation – if I’m going to helicopter, it’s gonna be all out.

For a few seconds, I felt nothing but air. I was beginning to panic a little – I’m a pack rat, and I’ve never had enough space to twirl with conviction in any of my bedrooms. I didn’t know where I was, but I was definitely not in the same place I had fallen asleep – I’d have crashed into a dozen things before I was two spins in. I spun a little more frantically, chanting to myself like an idiot to ward off the greeblies also to drown out the music I couldn’t find. There’s got to be something in here. What if I’m in limbo, or some kind of void? Is there music in voids? I’m dizzy. I sure hope I fin–

CRASH

Ow.

Ow. OW! I found something, alright – it’s big and HARD and loud and I think I’m bleeding what the FUCK

I waited for the initial rush of pain to go away and for the clanging to stop. I don’t know what I hit, but it fell over and made a huge racket. Surely someone would come running to see what the enormous noise and accompanying swearing was, right?

is that all there is? is that all there is?

Nothing but Peggy Lee. Well, FINE. I don’t appear to be in any worse shape than the thing I hit; I’ll figure this out myself. I carefully untangled myself from Big Noisy and groped randomly like a 14-year-old in the backseat of a car. I felt .. metal. A lot of metal, actually. I ran my hand up the smooth surface, coming to rest on a bulge. This was starting to remind me more and more of the letter I had written to Penthouse Forums – I never thought it would happen to me, but there I was cupping Optimus Prime’s balls as he clutched me in a sweaty (me) steel (him) embrace – but unlike my adolescent (and let’s face it; adult) fantasies, there was no response from the thing beneath me.

I reached out with my other hand and found another smooth surface, then a rounded one, then an arm and a neck and .. okay, this was person-shaped. But what was it? I reluctantly let go of the bulge and felt around in the general area a face would be. More metal, and some kind of grille .. a visor. It was a metal visor. And a soft thing – a feather? No, a plume. Motherfucker, I’m feeling up a suit of goddamn armour.

I shifted slightly, and something jabbed me in the hip. I reached out cautiously and was met by more hardness, but rounded and comfortable in my hand. A hilt of some kind! Relieved, I tugged on the hilt and was rewarded with a metal schwing as some sort of blade sprang free. It was relatively light but sharp, as evident by the exciting new pain as the sword bit into the flesh of my inquiring poke. I was still confused, but grateful that the blade had been sheathed when I crashed into the armour – and now I was armed. Things were looking up! Even the the music was fading away!

when i was just a little girl
i asked my mother, what will i be
will i be pretty
will i be rich
here’s what she said to me

Fuck.

As Peggy Lee gave way to Doris Day, I heard footsteps outside the maybe door. It slowly started to creek open, and a dim light crept into the room.

Should I:

Stay exactly where I am and don’t move a muscle in the hopes I won’t be seen (page 3), or

Leap up and charge towards the light with my new sword and best impersonation of Xena, Warrior Princess (page 36)?

experiment: post 1

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is that all there is?
if that’s all there is, my friends
then let’s keep dancing
let’s break out the booze and have a ball

What. What is this shit. If I thought waking up to a sappy cover of Bush’s “Glycerine” was bad, this is hell on earth. I cracked open a reluctant eye to glare at my alarm clock, daring the obnoxious red display to show me a reality I didn’t want to face. I had been having a steamy dream; the kind that made me horny anytime we passed a grocery store, and there was still the produce aisle to get through. I don’t want to wake up. I want to go back to the produce aisle.

Alarm clock. Right. My other eye joined the party, as my first hadn’t located the offending device. Nothing but darkness greeted me; darkness and Peggy Lee being all 1960’s emo up in my business. I couldn’t see the alarm clock, but didn’t think much of it – I wasn’t completely certain I had opened my eyes at all. Eyesight was a moot point anyway; all I needed was my trusty snooze button and I could get back to asking strangers if my melons looked ripe to them. My right arm shot out from the warm cocoon of the blankets, and I slammed my hand down on the alarm clock as Peggy sang about how much the circus sucked.

And then I fell out of bed.

There was no alarm clock, or night stand, or anything at all. The momentum of my snooze attempt had launched me out of bed and onto a cold concrete floor. Several thoughts went through my head all at once:

  • what the fuck is this
  • where is my alarm clock
  • shut UP Peggy
  • seriously, what the fuck is this
  • .. concrete .. ?

Something wasn’t right. I needed to be far more awake than I was to figure it out, so I reached up and yanked my hair hard enough to make my eyes water. It’s not a classy move, but it worked – I was more alert now, and starting to get pissed. First step: find the damn alarm clock and make it stop telling me to keep dancing. Second: find a bathroom, and third: well, I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I have my priorities, and everything else can wait.

My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, so I reached out and flailed a little in the hopes of hitting something solid. My arms met nothing but slightly damp air, so I got bolder in my movements. I was a bent elbow away from a full-on Chicken Dance when I heard a new noise over Peggy: a squeaky hinge. I whirled around and saw a faint line of light on the far wall that looked like it could be a door, which might lead to a bathroom.

Should I:

Continue flailing about to look for a light switch (turn to page 17 leave a comment about flailing), or

Head towards the maybe door? (turn to page 82 maybe door! maybe door!)

—

I’m tired of doing NaBloPoMo, but still doubt my ability to string together a cohesive story for NaNoWriMo – so I’m trying something new. I’m going to try to write a Choose Your Own Adventure-style blog story in which the choices are crowdsourced. Leave a comment with your choice, and in the next entry I’ll continue the post based on the “page” chosen. This is completely on the fly, and I’ve got nothing in mind for the direction of this story .. I just want to see what’ll happen next, and at this point you know as much as I do.

Please play along, or I’ll be sad (and look kind of stupid)!

polka dot princess

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I couldn’t decide which video-game-reference-that-no-one-will-get to go to work as, so I was going to cop out and just stick my favourite sequined devil horns on top of my head and call it good. When I was getting dressed, though – a flash of inspiration. To the internet! I did the e-quivalent (get it) of flipping a coin, and polled Twitter: polka dots or stripes? The vote was 12 to 1 for dots, so I put together a last minute outfit and am currently at work dressed as a polka dot princess. Behold!

wanna play connect the dots?

I was able to put together a complete outfit of dots on things in my closet: my black and white polka dot dress, a reversible dot cardigan, a scarf, a necklace, a giant flower with dotted tulle, and ridiculous socks:

hee hee

Throw in a polka dot umbrella and iPhone case, and I had an outfit. I would have had a purse too, if I wasn’t already late this morning. When I got to the office, I raided the supply cabinet for stick-on dots and did up my tiara and glasses. I already had a polka dot mug for Diet Coke on my desk and a dot change purse from Harrods .. I could not be more dotted if I tried. Not bad for stuff I was able to pull out of my regular closet rotation.

I mildly regretting not slutting it up and going to some sort of Halloween party this weekend, but we ended up having all the fun ever. Evan is in town, and we’ve been working hard on him to get him to relocated to Vancouver from Toronto. He was Josh’s roommate in Calgary, and he went the wrong way when we all left town. We’ve already decided where he should live and who he should have sex with; all that’s left is the actual move. Easy!

Friday night was Fancy Taco Friday, and I dragged everyone to Chronic Tacos for delicious times and inappropriate conversation. After several hours of taco goodness and panties, we went back to Sparta to catch up on old times. On Saturday, they all went hiking at Lighthouse Park for the day while I cleaned the house in my underwear, then it was off for sushi. I hate sushi, but I enjoy hanging out – especially as we were going to be breaking some laws afterwards. With a bag of beer and fireworks we ended up on Third Beach blowing stuff up and putting on a show for the party boat in the inlet. It was excellent destructive fun, but we are the worst hooligans ever – after we used all the fireworks, we carefully combed the beach for all the debris and packed up our garbage and empty beer cans. Yes, we’ll defy local authority and commit some petty misdemeanors, but we’ll also clean it all up when we’re done. Take that, society! We are thumbing our sanitized noses at you!

we made trouble!

Josh and Evan stayed downtown while the rest of us called it a night on account of being old and sober, but the next morning we met up for brunch. The plan was Tomahawk, but J&S had to bail because of forgotten family in town – so I pulled rank and demanded we go to Deacon’s Corner. I reasoned that I had a lousy dinner the night before (I really don’t like Japanese food) and I’m not crazy about Tomahawk breakfasts (I can’t eat the bacon!) .. so if I’m going to pay for another meal, I want something I’ll really enjoy. My infallible logic won out, and breakfast was awesome. We took Evan back to his hotel to sleep off the rest of his Saturday night, and Ed and I did some errands before going home for an evening of hockey and Chinese food. It was the first real weekend I’ve had in Vancouver in a long time, and it was a really great one. It felt just like old times, which were the few times in Calgary that were actually fun – I needed that.

Evan flies home today, but I think we showed him a sufficiently good time that he’ll come this way for good. We’ve plied him with stories of our ridiculously mild winters and bountiful lusty ladies, so that should sway things in our favour. Yay for people relocated to Awesome Town!

they're all so YOUNG

“baby it’s cold outside” “UNACCEPTABLE!”

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It’s very cold in my office, and I’ve been cuddling up to my space heater all morning. I was slightly worried about the radiation aspect of the heat blasting from my lil’ unit, so I was very pleased to find an alternative source of heat: RIGHTEOUS IRE!

I am no longer cold, because I am Outraged on behalf of Tech Support. RAWR! MY WRATH IS FEARSOME TO BEHOLD!

This is a totally energy-efficient way to warm yourself up – get mad at things! Social injustice! Being the 99%! Being the 1% and feeling totally persecuted about your riches! Wedgies! Everyone hates wedgies; get mad about them! I swear, it’ll warm you right the fuck up!

Less than 6 hours until FANCY TACO FRIDAY. Hooray!

the iphone 4s is old news

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Yeah, your new iPhone 4S is great and all, but it’s so last week. Check out MY new phone:

it makes me, like, twice as cool as you

It’s the new Apple iPhone 8S: reversible, four camera, twice the Angry Birds power, and sleeker than shit. You’ve probably never heard of it before, and they’re super hard to get – you have to know the right people in the right circles. Yours is cute, though. I see them everywhere.

After some crunchy numbers and a great deal of waffling, I Made Up My Mind and upgraded to the 4s through Rogers. As incredible as having an unlocked iPhone in Europe was, I don’t think I’ll be going on any international trips between now and next September (and the iPhone 5’ll probably be out by then anyway). I did some research into getting a US SIM card slash pay-as-you-go data plan, but it’s not as easy in the States as it was in London and would be really expensive. That’s the only reason I would need an unlocked phone until next year, and I can live without it – I still have my cheap US roaming add-on, and there’s always wi-fi.

Also, if I sell my iPhone 4 (ps: buy my iPhone 4!), the upgrade will cost me $18.63 out of pocket. That’s much better than the $450+ I’d be looking at if I bought an unlocked phone from Apple. We’re in lock down savings mode – Xmas is coming, and Josh and Shan’s wedding is in April, and Ed suggested we go to London for our Ten Slash Fifteen next year. I need money for all those things, so I went the smart route. It is fun to be smart (sometimes). I will celebrate with tacos!

Today is made of good.