I remember why I don’t read as much as I used to – it’s because I CAN’T STOP. It’s like some kind of compulsion to read and read and read and read and read while forsaking all else – food, sleep, Tiny Tower, the internet. I’ve read 2.5 books in the Song of Ice and Metaphor series in the last three days – 2200 pages, give or take a paragraph or two – and my head is killing me. I’m tired, and hungry. I may have bedsores. I am not, however, enraged like the LAST time I went on a reading spree – that time I read 9 Anita Blake novels in one sitting and wanted to punch things when I was done. These books are immeasurably better, but I’m still word-weary. No more reading, for now. I will give it a rest – catch up on sleep, my Tiny Tower inventory, food – and maybe even join the real world for a spell. No more wolves and walls and misleading epilogues. I will save books 4 and 5 to blaze through at an inhuman speed later, when I’ve had my fill of people and this false summer we’re having. I’ve missed you, internet. Let’s hang out and be friends.

I don’t know how much longer I can blame my missing mail on the postal strike – some things seem to have gotten through intact, yet other packages are nowhere to be seen. I’m missing four items dating back to the end of May, and I’m pretty grumpy about it. It’s far too late to file any non-delivery claims, and the sellers just say “oh gee that’s weird” which really doesn’t do me any good at all. The mail I DO get is pretty useless as well – just today there was a delivery notice in our mailbox for a package I picked up last week (strike or not, our postie is still playing the “leave the notice three days late” game), and a postcard good for a free birthday drink from Starbucks .. if it hadn’t expired on July 2nd. And so I wait, frustrated and annoyed. I want my things, you jerks. Don’t make me order more stuff from the internet in retribution.

I think I’ll go bake some muffins.

baking muffins in the cold november rain

My lunchbox brings all the boys to the yard:

damn right it's better than yours

Also? It came FILLED WITH COOKIES. There is not a single thing about this entire situation that is not STUFFED WITH AWESOME.

Tomorrow: my reign of no pants continues, in mad style!

It PAINS me that people in China – MY people – don’t, at this very moment, know what is going on with my vagina:

NO JUSTICE

Okay, so they’re not really my people – I’m half Malaysian, not Chinese – but still. No wonder no one reads my blog; it’s blocked from over 1.3 billion people. HMPF.

Today was Boat Fun 2.0. I love boat! Boat may be my favourite of all!

heather enjoys boat

you should all live here.

coming soon - boat 3.0: the boatening

ride a boat. see a seal.

even our sky is fancy

I love fun days.

I’m creating superheroes at work. Like, for real. My job is hilarious.

Not THIS hilarious, though:

the next page would have been full-on porn

I’m making an employee recognition plan. Before we decided on superheroes, I tried a couple of different themes out. I like the retro thing, but I probably did it a disservice with the innuendo – it was shot down in favour of Captain Accountable and The Zealot.

Still, I’m getting paid to invent back stories for superheroes. I am exactly where my 14-year-old self wanted to be.

Two things I am currently doing that could have a grave ROI:

• Googling “pugs in BC”
• Answering messages on OK Cupid

May you live in interesting times is supposed to be an ancient Chinese curse; one that’s always confused me – I LIKE interesting. Why would I not want to live in interesting times? That sounds like fun, and a hell of a lot better than living in boring times. I imagine that people who do not want to live in interesting times are extremely dull and probably drink lukewarm tea while watching reality TV. Those people can HAVE their uninteresting times; I’ll take the curse thank you very much.

Then I had a very interesting 36 hours or so, and by the end of it all I was kind of wishing for a nice cup of chamomile and the Bachelorette (bless her indecisive heart). I get why it’s a curse now – “interesting times” doesn’t mean adventure, it means turmoil and danger and arsonists all up in your business. It’s riots and sirens and Aquaman throwing stuff through your front door. It’s not getting packages in the mail or going on TV to answer criticism about being a snitch; it’s fucking scary.

On Sunday night, there was a couple fighting on the street below our bedroom window loudly enough to wake us both up. Monday afternoon was the fire. Around 3am Tuesday morning, I was awoken by a guy sobbing his brains out across the street – full-bodied (and likely drunken) sobs that sounded like a dramatic exercise by the worst acting student with delusions of grandeur that ever lived. Less than four hours later, I was startled awake once again – this time by a car crash. There was a head-on collision in my intersection, and the screeching of tires and metal had me out of bed before my alarm went off.

Enough, okay? No more interesting times outside my bedroom window! I would really love to be able to sleep a whole night through without a gaggle of drunken idiots having relationship problems 20 feet from my head. It’s kind of like living in the Ghetto of North Vancouver all over again (I miss the drum circles, kind of) with only slightly less crime (and way fewer all out gang wars).

I’ll take the interesting times in other places, though. I sure do love me some adventure!

down low

I really could have used this advice yesterday:

i'm gonna be that person who dies hilariously because they were tweeting the disaster instead of getting the fuck out

I’d like to say that I’ll do this next time, but you know me. I’m just glad I managed to leave the house before I stopped to blog about my building burning down.

• When the fire alarm goes off, it isn’t ALWAYS a false alarm or fire drill
• Sure, the alarm alerts you to the fact your house is burning down, but it’s SO LOUD AND PIERCING that you can’t actually think beyond “ow my ears”
• I hung around with the alarm blaring for almost half an hour. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake
• The fire alarm terrifies cats
• Cats hide when they’re terrified
• 40 pounds of cat is heavy
• Dumpsters: flammable
• Smelling actual smoke when the fire alarm is going off: horrifying
• A 22lb hyperventilating panting cat is a scary thing to see
• I really ought to wear clothes when I’m at home

The fire alarm went off Monday afternoon around 3pm. I was elbow deep in House Stark when it happened (as well as very naked), and not really impressed at the interruption – this was my day off to READ, and I couldn’t very well do that with a 10,000 decibel beep going off in every room. I wandered around the house for a bit waiting for it to go away, figuring it was just a false alarm and would be over soon. When it wasn’t, I discovered that the alarm doesn’t go off in the bathroom and I could hide away in relative peace. I thought I’d grab the cats to take with me, because if the alarm was hurting ME it must have been excruciating for their sensitive ears. I knew they’d be hiding, so I left my Kindle on the toilet and went out on a mercy mission to gather the cats.

I passed the window on my way to to side of the bed where the cats could hide and glanced out. There were .. a lot of people out there for this time of the day. Curious. I leaned over the dresser to take a closer look, my heart thudding uncomfortably when I realized that the people downstairs were my neighbours – they had evacuated when the alarm went off instead of hanging around thinking about titties – and, more importantly, that they all had their pets with them. This was looking more and more like something serious and not just a mid-afternoon annoyance, but any confusion I felt immediately turned to panic when I realized I could see and smell smoke. Real smoke. The alarm was going off because my building was actually on fire, and I had wasted the last 20 minutes dicking around my house in the nude.

I sprang into action (which must have looked really funny) and grabbed the first clothes I could find – jeans, a bra and a dress. I didn’t have time to think about valuables or importants; I had to get the cats. I ran into the spare room closet and grabbed a cat carrier – I could only find the one. I knew we had more than one, but I couldn’t find it and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. Not wanting to waste any more time, I grabbed a duffel bag and emptied it of a bizarre assortment of winter gear and baseball equipment – this would do. Now, to get the cats.

As I had predicted, the cats were in full panic mode and hiding. Hobble and Lemon were cowering under the bed, and I was less than gentle in my attempt to get them out. It took a lot of swearing, pulling and also a boot, but they finally left the safety of the bedroom and tore out into the living room. This was good – I had more room to maneuver. I cornered an angry Lemon, scooped him up and tossed him into the first carrier – one down. Next, the fatty – he was busy trying to cram his giant head under the couch, and I had to be careful I didn’t break his neck in our collective panic. His claws did a number on my arm, but it wouldn’t be the first blood drawn today so I ignored it and zipped him into the duffel bag – two down. The last cat, Cheddar, is small and docile – I can carry her as long as the other two are safely zipped away, and we could leave. Where was Cheddar? The alarm made it hard to think, and the smell of smoke was getting stronger. I could have sworn it was getting warmer, and I was as close to freaking out as I ever get. Where the fuck was Cheddar?? I looked everywhere. Seconds were ticking by, and the smoke was so strong. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer – I choked back a sob, picked up my two cat bags and my purse, and ran out the door and into the stairwell.

I left Cheddar behind.

The two cats and I crossed the street and collapsed onto a patch of grass. I saw that Ed had called twice – likely in response to my panicked tweets about this being an ACTUAL fire – so I called him back and told him to come home immediately. After that, there was nothing to do but wait. I was racked with guilt at leaving Cheddar behind and trying to calm down the others, wishing in retrospect that I had put Lemon in the duffel bag and Hobble in the cat carrier instead of vice versa. Lemon is pretty unflappable, and I could have held onto him while fatty fat flailed about in the zipped mesh carrier – instead, I had to deal with a huge cat freaking the fuck out and trying to escape the safety of the bag and my arms for the tires of a truck or worse. He managed to get a claw out and into my arm, tearing it out with a large chunk of flesh. It was difficult to keep him under control; he tried to bolt with every new noise in the air. It kept my mind off Cheddar though, and we wrestled on the grass and watched the fire trucks arrive. I think I may have tweeted incoherently about leaving Cheddar behind, but my hands were too full (and shaking too badly) to follow up with any information, not that I really had anything new to share. We waited for a long time as fire trucks and police arrived, and my neighbours took it all in stride – some of them went to to Tim Hortons for an Iced Capp and generally just enjoyed the break in the gorgeous afternoon.

It was hot in the sun, and Hobble started to hyperventilate. It’s a pitiful sight, and one that tears at my heart because I can’t make him understand what was going on and that I’m not trying to hurt him but keep him safe from harm. I picked up the cat bags and moved closer to the building, into the shade just as Ed pulled up in a cab. Technically I was still mad at him for his epic dickbaggery of Sunday afternoon, but I was glad to see him. He came over to check on us, and I crumbled into sobs as I told him I had to leave Cheddar behind. He held me as I bawled, and after I had myself somewhat under control I urged him to go ask the Building Lady what was going on. I didn’t hear everything she said, but I did catch her suggestion that he go check on our other cat. This made me dissolve into tears again, because it could only mean that the smoke had gotten worse and I had killed Cheddar, our sweet and stupid Cheddar who loves everyone and everything and never hurt a soul in her life, all because I didn’t move quickly enough. I sat in the shade and shook and cried, not caring about the people around me. I hugged a reluctant Hobble tightly to my chest and cried my heart out, knowing that I killed her and she was gone and I was the worst person in the entire universe. Nothing else mattered at that moment, and I sobbed into a very fat and confused cat for all I was worth.

Ed eventually came back downstairs and came to my side. I looked up and braced myself for the worst .. but it was unnecessary. Cheddar was completely fine and safe and fine – in fact, she had been sleeping soundly without a care in the world when Ed found her and woke her up. She was safe. I likely sobbed some more – I am very good at sobbing, apparently – and Ed told me what he knew: there’s been a rash of dumpster fires in East Van, and we were hit today. I didn’t know there had been other fires or that this was an epidemic, but some awesome person decided our garbage looked mighty cold and tried to make things right with fire. It spread quickly, setting off alarms and making a lot of smoke. I don’t know the state of the building – we were allowed back in and some police tape went up, keeping people out of the alley as the VPD CSI’d that shit up. I don’t know any more than that, and I don’t care. My cats are safe – even the one I had to leave behind – and our whole little family is okay. Shaken, but okay.

After we calmed down and I cried myself out, we made some changes to the Emergency Cat Hauling Situation. The second cat carrier was two layers deeper than I went, so both are now next to the litter boxes in case of future evacuations. We’ll get a third carrier this weekend (the duffel bag went back to winter/baseball gear duties), and next time we’ll be ready. We were lucky – I know that – but the next time someone decides our garbage is looking a little uncharred, I’ll get all three damn cats out when the alarm goes off, and not let my vacation day laziness get the better of me.

I need a do-over for my vacation day. Today sucked a great deal of ass, and I am worn the fuck out.

boom.

At some point during the past weekend, I began to second guess my decision to take Monday off. After all, I had no grand plans – and given that Friday was a holiday, it seemed kind of wasteful to take a whole vacation day for absolutely nothing at all.

The instant I opened my eyes in my sunny cat-filled bedroom, I remembered why I had taken the day off: because I COULD. I have a whole day ahead of me with no obligations to anyone or anything except perhaps my Kindle and the couch, and this pleases me. As strange as it may seem to those who have been here for a while, I’m actually too out of sorts to write words – there are a dozen things all up in my grill at the moment, and I don’t really feel like articulating anything (mostly because they all go against my personal tenet of “don’t be a dick”). Instead, I’ll just sit over here, read my Kindle, and try not to mull over this epic downward spiral currently making my life less than 100% enjoyable. Don’t cry for me, Argentina – I’ll bounce back. I always do. I’m just going to be .. a little distracted for a while, and trying not to give in to my natural tendency to bolt when stuff sucks.

Here is a pretty picture:

gastown at night