and you ain’t no friend of mine

I had to unfriend (defriend? antifriend?) someone on Facebook today, and I feel kind of weird about it. She posted a huge rant about the evils of Planned Parenthood, including such gems as “hey women you have a choice to not open your legs or wait until marriage instead of just killing kids”, and I don’t have time to deal with the rage or disbelief or just plain disgust I feel in response. I do not have time for pro-life hate mongering freaks in my life, so instead of getting into a fight about it I just chose to unfriend her and move on.

I respect that people can have different opinions, but everyone has a limit.

What a downer of a post to end another successful NaBloPoMo on, but them’s the breaks.

post more

Compliment spam is hilarious. “I love your content! I wish you would post more!” .. seriously? Have you SEEN my archives? If I posted more, the internet would be full and THEN where would you go for your scandalous celebrity gossip?

Last night’s work thingie was pretty cool. I spent the entire evening taking pictures of people to be used for blackmail in a slideshow at our Christmas party, which suits me just fine. Not only do I not appear in any of the pictures, I have many photos of drunken executives. This can only further my career.

I have laundry and baking to do, and a fairly filthy apartment I should probably take care of at some point. I think I’ll go shopping for some fabulous, though. I’m just not feeling the pressing need for domesticity, is all.

can i get a witness

.. because I have a COURT DATE!

Many moons ago I was pulled over by the police and handed a traffic ticket for having tinted windows and also turning right at 11:03pm on a Saturday night. Full of my usual righteous outrage, I decided I was going to dispute the ticket in a scenario that was much less hilarious than I hoped. I waited and waited and waited and eventually forgot all about it, because it seemed the city could not care one way or another that I owed them money and wanted to fight about it.

Then I received a Notice of Hearing Date!

On February 11th at 9:30am, I get to go to court and tell them my reasons for not wanting to pay the stupid ticket. I am very excited about this. As a good suburban city girl without a lust for criminal activity, my closest brushes with “the law” include such shockers as minor vandalism (dropping eggs off a parkade roof), being a witness (one car accident, one bear spraying aftermath), and being a victim (Aquaman went on a rampage and shelled the door and boothatted our car). Oh, and there was that one time the cops came to my bachelor suite because people thought I was dead, and that other time we were surrounded by 5 cop cars and multiple police with their guns drawn and ordered to put our hands up, but that’s it. As well, my knowledge of what happens inside a courtroom is limited to what I’ve seen on Law and Order and Judge Judy. The whole experience is new to me, and new things are awesome. I get to go to COURT! HOORAY!

I am highly amused at how excited I am about this. I clearly need to get out more.

speed reading for evil

Ed’s been studying like mad for his Big Insurance Exam all week, and it’s making him a little testy. I don’t blame him; not only is it one of those “for the good of your career” things, but we’ll be out $400 if he doesn’t pass the course. The exam is pretty intensive and on a great deal of material that he has to force himself to read because it’s so boring, so he’s been pretty grumpy about it all.

He’s been staying at work late each night to study because there are too many distractions at home (TV, video games, cats, naked wife), but last night he got home early. It seems one of his coworkers who is also studying for this exam is a study-talker – she learns by talking to herself. It was driving him crazy and shorting out his temper, so he left at 8 instead of staying until 10 as he planned.

When he got home he wasn’t in the best mood so naturally, we got into an argument about vampires.

I mentioned something about some articles I had seen several times that day on different websites, each listing vampires that were better than those found in Twilight. I don’t know why this was worth discussing, but I was feeling chatty (which I’m sure didn’t help things much at all). I rambled on about how stupid the whole Twilight thing was, and how I didn’t understand the adoration for a poorly written cast of characters who stand around being beautiful and not much else. There may have also been mocking. He listened to me prattle on about the books, comparing them to my much-loathed Anita Blake books (seriously, I hate that fucking series so much I could just vomit all over her black Nikes with a purple swoosh) and questioning the mental capacities of grown women claiming the Twilight books are the best things they’ve ever read.

Ed’s grumpiness, though, had had about enough.

“Have you even READ the books?”

“No, but –“

“Then how do you know they’re so bad?”

“I’ve read reviews and I know the gist –“

“If you haven’t read the books, you can’t really claim to know they’re so terrible.”

“But other people whose opinions I generally agree with on other topics have read them, and –“

“But YOU haven’t read the books, so looking down on others for bring so into them is kind of obnoxious, don’t you think?”

“Oooookay then. So, how was work today?”

I wasn’t really looking for a fight or a stern talking to, so I changed the subject.

I thought about what he said, though, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s right. I haven’t read the books, so my claims of the entire fad being ridiculous are pretty pointless. I’m fairly certain I know what the books contain, but until I actually pick them up and read them cover to cover, my opinion that they’re badly written and full of idiotic boring characters is not worth the space it takes up on the screen.

SO. In addition to this weekend’s plan of baking, hunting for some fabulous, and potentially photo walking, I will be getting the Twilight books and reading the entire series from cover to cover. It will not be pretty. I am sure there will be rage. But I will do it to prove to myself that the entire thing is stupid, and that watered down vampires are a waste of literary space, and that I can’t stomach vaguely threatening teenage angst and Mormon celibacy. THEN I can bitch all I want about it, and Ed can’t do squat because I will be basing my own opinions on what I read with my cold dead eyes. So there.

Revenge reading. Good times.

lack of fabulous

There is a serious dearth of fabulous in my life.

Most people have that one thing – an outfit, or even just a pair of jeans or a really great top – that make them feel awesome and fantastic and like they could take on the world. I do not have anything in my closet that does this for me, and that is concerning. I enjoy being fabulous. Sure, there are my corsets, but you’d be surprised at how little corset-wearing comes up in day to day corporate life.

This weekend I am going to set aside some time to hunt down some fabulous. I will not rest until I have that one article of clothing that looks awesome on me and makes me feel like I could fight crime and break hearts at the same time. I am tired of feeling frumpy; bring on the sequins and cleavage.

Stay tuned for my next post: Making Ed Shut Up :D

i’m soggy for science

As I peered owlishly through my streaked visor and felt the icy rain soak through my supposedly rain proof clothing, I wondered if I hadn’t, long ago, traded in my common sense for an extra serving of pie. This theory would explain not only my insistence on doing things that most sane people gave up weeks ago, but also the size of my ass.

My bitter morning commentary towards commuters had a little more vitriol today, but it was also tinged with envy. Look at those fat cats in their warm, dry SUVs – why don’t you wreck the environment and have another sip of your delicious beverage, you selfish enviable jerks. Al Gore, who is undoubtedly drier than I, is shaking his fist at you for your inconvenient yet toasty truths.

I made it to work in one soggy piece, and once I’ve thawed I’m sure I will be fine. My insane commute gave me ample time to come up with some possible reasons for my continued stubbornness and refusal to give into the alluring yet smelly call of transit:

  • I am a true Soldier of Science, conducting experiments on the effectiveness of rain pants
  • Research for my new competitive sport: Extreme Hydro Scooting
  • Attempting to hide my severe inability to wake up on time behind a staunch loathing of public transit
  • Determined to take advantage of the new low gas prices, because spending $2.32 a week getting to and from work is frankly hilarious
  • Mental deficiency
  • Taking my “Mad Scientist” title a little too seriously; attempting to ascertain at which point my molecular structure will break down and turn into an absorbent, sponge-like material
  • Tightness of rain pants makes it feel like I am wearing an ass corset

So you see, it’s not just because I’m dumb as a soggy box of hammers. I have valid reasons for riding my scooter to work at the end of November. Scientific reasons. I’m expecting a grant from the government any day now.

lessons learned

  • I have no qualms against dressing or undressing Darren
  • Fido fucking sucks
  • My lack of social life can easily be blamed on the fact that Fido fucking sucks
  • Doing groceries is brutally expensive and we find ourselves having to be sensible about what we get, yet I will still somehow manage to pick up 2 of what we already have 3 of at home
  • Restoring my iPhone is scary :(
  • That lady at the Fresh Slice counter next to me is a total bitch
  • Sleeping in until 1pm is sometimes therapeutic
  • Being told things like “you look hideous”, “what the hell happened to you”, “you scare me” and “you look just awful” is sometimes appropriate and excellent
  • Fondue is both great and for some reason, shocking:


I’ve been feeling really crummy lately, so late yesterday I decided it was time for expensive procedures in the name of outer beauty. I got a haircut, picked up my “new” glasses, and today I got my eyebrows waxed. I am coifed, smooth, and able to see. Hooray!

My glasses aren’t exactly new, though. I broke the frame somehow and had to get it replaced for many dollars – only $95, but considering I paid $110 a month ago to replace the left lens that I scratched to hell and back it makes it a little hard to swallow. They’re much darker than my original pair, but I kinda like them. I turned down the same pair in black because it was too harsh for my alabaster complexion, but these are a dark brown and look pretty good. Factor in my tamed and pluck brows, and I am feeling much better.

Next Friday night the Lab is having a celebration in the name of yoga pants. We’re having a Casino Night, and I want to dress up. How much boob is appropriate at a work event? I never know the answer to this, and usually get it wrong. Give me a guideline, people. Do I glam up or cover up?

I have to go buy a great deal of cheese now.

tis a fine barn, english

Last night the gang hit up a couple of thrift stores on the North Shore in preparation for our Secret Holiday Project this weekend. We did quite well for ourselves, but perhaps more fun could have been had if we had more time for the absurd:

Why Josh opted to not purchase this vest, I will never know.

I, too, choose not to purchase a thing or two that really called out to me:

Every single thing about this image is wrong. The tiny festive sombrero adorned with sequins and glitter paint? Wrong. The large nude plastic doll? Wrong. The weird 6-pack torso? Wrong. The position we found her in? So very, very wrong. I could have placed her in a much more dignified position, but then I wouldn’t be able to take pictures and show the internet how scary she was, so I clearly did the right thing.

Then there’s the thing I DID buy, much to Ed’s horror. He tried very hard to talk me out of it, flat out told me that I was not to purchase it, refused to allow it into the car, told me I had to keep it outside, and makes whimpering noises every time he sees it. If I were a better person I would have taken his opinion to heart, but I never claimed to be anything less than an evil mastermind. Also, I needed a new friend:

Won’t you love my one-handed faceless Amish man? He only wants to be your friend.


This morning’s fog freaked me out. At one point I couldn’t clearly see the car directly in front of me, although this was as much due to my dirty glasses as it was the fog itself. I’m still fairly convinced that every time I ride through the fog I’m in danger of time travel, but I can usually stifle my anxiety long enough to get to my destination in tact and in the correct time period.

I used up all my worthwhile content with yesterday’s post. If you haven’t read it already, please do so. I insist that you look inside my head and see what it’s like to be me, because it is a great deal of fun in here.