delicious juice dot archives

expired juice is still delicious

I’m over here now.

We may not have gone out last evening, but it was a delightfully spooky night all the same.

I wanted to go out and do Halloween related things last night, but my staying up until 4:30am and arising at 9 sort of put a damper on any energy I might have had. Ed went to bed relatively early, so I put my restfulness to use by staying up late and reading ghost stories. They were made all the more effective thanks to a fantastic wind storm last night — there were crazy spooky noises coming from outside, and I once even let out a scream after the wind both opened our bedroom window then slammed it shut again. Hee! It was fun and scary, and best of all the storm kept away any choreographed rumbles that might have been scheduled for last night.

There was another fight on Friday evening, one that resulted in multiple police cars and people getting arrested. The frequency of these fights is a little alarming, but — and this makes me a horrible person — they’re more amusing than anything else. The fights are always started or caused by drunken idiots, and I have really no sympathy when they start wailing on each other. It would be an entirely different and really unfunny situation if the fights were domestic or random attacks, but they’re always the result of alcohol and are therefore incredibly stupid and fodder for my weekend amusement. There’s one major downside to all of this though — I’ve been trying to convince Shan and Josh to move into our building, and Josh is very unenthusiastic about the idea based on my many reports of the violence that happens on our street.

I’ve been trying to explain to him why the fights aren’t so much scary as they are funny, but I have a hard time explaining it to myself. I think it’s the alcohol factor that I mentioned above; people are stupid when they’re drunk and watching them scream about their love triangles and testosterone then get arrested is just .. funny. The last fight moved from one end of the block to the middle, where more people joined in — there were three drunken jocks standing on the sidewalk heckling the rumble. They were quickly dragged into the fight, and frankly, it served them right. There is absolutely no danger to Ed or myself during these altercations — we’re not so stupid as to go outside and get a close up view of the action. They’re not looking to jump strangers or destroy property; they only want to take out the guy what done look at his baby momma and all his friends, who are only too eager to fight back. It’s entertaining, not scary. That’s why Josh and Shan should move here! It’s like going to the movies, but it’s FREE!

Okay, so maybe that’s not the best argument I’ve ever made about something, but it doesn’t change how I view the violence outside. Maybe I should be worried about it, or care more than people are getting punched outside my living room window .. but I really don’t. If someone drinks so very much that they lose control of common sense and start fights, whatever. Any sympathy I might have had for your 90210 situation goes right out the window, and you become fodder for yet another update about the people in my neighbourhood. You get to drink; I get something to write about. It’s win win!

In other news, we found an Indian restaurant close by for take out that is just awesome. Nothing will ever be as good as Kashmir in Calgary, but this is the closest we’ve ever come — YUM. I ate my leftovers for breakfast this afternoon, and it was some damn good times. Hooray for comforting, delicious Indian take out!

I ought to shower and drag myself outside. It’s awfully pretty out there today; the storm last night blew away all the clouds and the air smells all fresh and stuff.

Hey, I might be going to San Francisco!

Does anyone have a spare $450,000 CDN lying around I could have? I’ve fallen in love with a condo development going up in North Van, and would like to buy a suite. I’m only $449,975 short of my goal, so if everyone chips in a couple dozen thousand or so I could totally buy a suite.

Looking at property is kind of depressing.

Changes are afoot!

I decided that as much as I love this design, I am so very sick of this design. I’ve been tinkering around on the internets, and I’m going to give WordPress a try. It’s been almost five years to the day since I switched from updating with FrontPage to Ali’s custom system, and almost as long for the orange box design — it’s time to try something new.

I’ll officially be making the switch on November 1st. If I do everything correctly, you won’t need to update your bookmarks (all three of you). Of course, if everything DOES work properly, I’ll eat my hat. It’s still worth a shot, though. I’ll be eliminating the 20000+ comment spam (I wish I was exaggerating) and take a giant leap into this century with RSS feeds — plus I’ll be able to change the design whenever I get bored. So, it’s all good. Here’s hoping I don’t fuck things up beyond repair.

are you thinking of me when you fuck her

I took a nap and woke up in 1995. There are girls outside passionately singing along to “You Oughta Know”, which quickly lead to a rousing chorus of the rest of the album. How good are they? Here’s a hint: I was playing Loco Roco at the time, and thought the sounds were coming from my PSP.

(for the non-nerd, Loco Roco has a sound track sung by children in an entirely made-up language)

Today was not one of my best days. I was utterly FOILED at the licensing centre, which made me pout and apparently made my veins disappear. I (luckily, it turned out) forgot about needing to fast before my blood test, so I ended up eating dinner last night around 11pm. I then slept in a lot today because of the huge migraine that festered throughout the night. I dragged myself out of bed — difficult, because I was covered in cats — and prepared myself for Errandpalooza 4th Quarter ’06. I made myself almost superhumanly cute, because my first stop was at the driver’s license centre. I needed to replace mine for two reasons: I moved, and they erroneously assumed I needed glasses without testing me when I got a BC license after moving. The back of it said I required corrective lenses to drive — not true; my glasses are for computer work and reading. I wear them all the time because if I didn’t, I’d forget — and also they’re cute as all hell. Anyway, I don’t always wear them while driving and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get a ticket for it, so it was off to the Canadian equivalent of the DMV where I WAS UTTERLY FOILED.

They wouldn’t let me get a new picture for my license. I’ve had a grand plan for some time now that was to have an official picture taken with flowers in my hair, and today was to be the unleashing. I made myself all cute and fancy and went to ICBC only to be DENIED a new picture for my new license that does not have restriction 21 and my old address on it. FOILED! Jerks. I will have to try once again in 2009, when my license expires. Until then, I’m thinking about putting a flower sticker on my picture.

After my crushing defeat at the hands of the nasty no-picture-taking goons, it was off to the lab to get blood drawn. I hate doing this. It’s not the needle that bothers me, or the fact that they’re going to discover my sordid past and many blood demons; it’s that I have no veins. It always, without fail, takes 3 or 4 attempts before blood comes out of me. Surprising, since I usually bleed at the drop of a hat. At this point I had been fasting for 14 hours and had an incredibly horrible migraine and had to be prodded a number of times before the nurse gave up and decided she would extract my fluids from my hand, using a baby needle. It HURT. Baby needles suck. She finally let me go, and I hastily drove to the nearest semi-edible food source before I passed out. It’s funny — I regularly go much longer than 14 hours without eating or drinking, but as soon as I HAVE to do it, it because this huge arduous task that seems both cruel and unusual. Food in hand, I dragged my carcass back to the apartment and quickly passed out.

I didn’t intend to spend most of my day off hiding in a dark room with a cat on my ass, but the pain in my head laid flat my plans for outside. I’m feeling a little better now thanks to some hardcore drugs and the hilarious goings-on outside, so I might make Ed entertain me by going outside for Stuff.

Oh, and last night’s Haunted Trolley Tour was AWESOME. I highly recommend it to anyone in the city; it was funny and cool and just a great time. The whole thing is staged each year as a fund raiser for the Vancouver Museum, and with you trolley ticket you actually get a free pass to both the museum AND the Vancouver Police Museum which is SO COOL — we’re going back there very soon to look at body parts and to find out more of the city’s tawdry past. FUN! One more thing I can cross off the List!

I wonder where my pants are.

In just over one hour I’ll be climbing aboard a trolley for the Haunted Vancouver Trolley Tour. I can’t wait! Yesterday it looked like we were going to have to skip tonight’s planned festivities — the trolley tour with a large group that includes Miranda and the mysterious Riley — but Ed managed to weasel his way out of a work function early so a-hauntin’ we will go. Yay!

I took tomorrow off, so I’ll get to sort of sleep in. I actually need to go for blood work then go get a new driver’s license because a) I moved and b) they fucked mine up. Since these are typically business hour errands, I just decided to make a day of it and take a forbidden holiday. The blood work will tell me I have cancerous avian diabetes and extra testostrogen, and the driver’s center will tell me I’m all illegal and shit. I’m looking forward to the whole “fasting for 12 hours” and the “4 tries with a baby needle before you get blood out of me” and the inevitable “goddamn you’re fat, why don’t you put down that donut and maybe eat a salad” speech, but HEY. I get to SLEEP IN. Ain’t no one gonna rain on my parade (except perhaps the actual rain).

I’m an eternal fatalist, but isn’t that why you love me? My gloomy outlook on life and also my giant fucking rack?

As stolen from Donna, check out Wired’s take on the 6-word story. Some of them are hilarious.

Here’s my own attempt:

“Only six words?”, she scoffed. “Codswallop!”

This is fun!

Childless, because you fertilized my eye.


Ahh! Has anybody seen Ed’s knob?

He can’t find the extra shift knob for the Mazdabator. In the last two days he’s torn the house apart (literally — screwdrivers were involved, and there are pieces of things that used to be whole lying about) looking for it to no avail. I don’t know much about boys and their knobs, but apparently losing one is cause for trauma. Please help Ed! Find his knob!

Last night I broke out into HIVES. It sucked. I’m out of allergy pills, and haven’t taken any since Sunday — add in the dry air and my flea bites (both real and imagined) and you have a lumpy bumpy Kimli. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to liberally apply moisturizer and also read the internets until I thought I could sleep again. The joke was on me, though — the black ink in every tattoo I have started reacting to the histamines until I was a flurry of slapping activity (I don’t like scratching my tattoos so I slap at them to make the itchies go away — it works, sort of). In short, I didn’t sleep well and I’m still crazy allergy woman this morning. Today it totally sucks to be me.

My co-worker Alla is going to a themed Halloween party this weekend and she’s at a loss for costume ideas. The theme is CSI, which she doesn’t watch — so she has no idea what to go as. I made some suggestions:

  • Wear purple, blue and yellow and go as a contusion
  • Put a noose around your neck and walk around on crutches: failed suicide attempt
  • My personal favourite: Stuff your pockets full of dildos and vibrators and carry a box of Cascade — go as the dishwasher from this episode
  • Pilot shades, ominously delivered pun-laden one-liners, make everyone else want to punch you repeatedly in the gut: hey, you’re David Caruso!

Help her out — what else could she do?


I thought that perhaps I escaped my mom’s house without any flea bites, but LO! VERILY HOW WRONG I WAS!

The bites are bad enough, but both Ed and I are experiencing phantom itches — I don’t know if it’s psychosomatic or we’re just plain covered in cooties, but I AM ITCHY. My left hand is tingling with itches, and I’ve scratched my right wrist raw. I am so totally sexy.

I came to some (completely irrational, according to Ed) conclusions last night that I think explain a lot about how I feel about stuff. I know that’s really vague yet vibrantly verbose, but it’s a touchy topic and I don’t think I should be waxing poetic about it just yet. I will soon, though. I am physically incapable of keeping my fool mouth shut.

Know what’s awesome?

Yeah, me neither.

I believe I’m having someone else’s midlife crisis.