Work is busier than ever, and a vacation is looking less and less likely by the day. I can think of no better time to finally get around to launching the food feature section of Limeworld.

Enjoy!

Okay, so what's the surprise?

Yep, that's right, Forever North asked me to marry him. After a series of background and credit checks, I said yes, pending appraisal of the ring. You know, you can't be too sure these days.

Seriously though, after six and a half years together, we're finally ready to make it official. F-No took me out to dinner, and then to a snowy hill with a view of the city skyline. He knelt down in the snow and proposed to me. I sobbed, I blubbered, much hugging and kissing ensued. There were fireworks. Pigeons flew overhead. The sewers groaned in approval.

So the freaky pair will soon be Mr. and Mrs. Limeworld. He took some persuading, but he finally agreed to take my domain name. What's not to love about that boy?

Our kids will be so cute . . . with alien-large heads . . .

Baby chipmunks were never this cute.

Yowza!

F-No basking in the glow of his acquisition (the ring, that is).

Pssst!

I've got a surprise, but you've got to guess what it is.

Fred the Siamese Fighting fish left us last night. I'd like to think he was waiting for me to get back before leaving us, but I doubt he was really aware of my absence.

He had a good life. He was at least 2 years old, which is a long time for a fish to live in a bowl. He wasn't sick, just really, really old. Our other Siamese Fighting fish, Harry, left us nearly a year ago after suffering with a swim bladder problem for several months. He was a real fighter, eating and swimming around in spite of the fact that he couldn't control his buoyancy much.

So now Fred and Harry can harrass each other in fishy heaven. See ya guys.

Limegirl in YVR - now featuring sleep-deprivation and a surly demeanor!

My new computer is driving me crazy. After a long and cramped flight from Narita, I was looking forward to enjoying some high-speed internet access. My tablet, which absolutely refuses to allow me to use an LCD projector without having me do mental back-flips, now has a broken keyboard. Not that you can tell by looking at it, since it looks completely intact. But apparently I have to buy my vowels, since all I get is consonants.

It was probably the coolest Christmas present anyone has ever given me, and it's acting like a total piece of shit. It's unbelievable.

That being said, Japan was fantastic. I really should have had more time to recreate and go shopping, but I did manage to practically clean the country out of goodies for my friends and family. Now I have to supress the urge to give everyone their Christmas gifts early.

The Hot Hot Heat concert is tonight too . . . I think I'm going to drop dead of exhaustion. But in a good way.

!@#$%&*

Clicked a button, lost my post. Fuck it.

Having a day off before work starts has given me FAR too much time to mentally masticate on the cultural gulf that lies between me and most Japanese people.

This probably isn't something that most non-Japanese people find themselves getting twisted up in knots over, but given the heavy influence the Japanese side of my family has had on my life and my upbringing, feeling like an alien from another planet can be more than unnerving. It can make one feel as though their very identity has been shaken.

I think I've often felt more Japanese than I actually am. I suspect the contrast of my upbringing against the Canadian culture I was raised in often exaggerated things. Thankfully, I look different enough that there isn't much in the way of external pressure here for me to be like everyone else, but there's still a part of me that is expecting that of myself.

Being of Japanese descent seems to bring with it some strange expectations, especially from people who aren't. When I tell people my mother is Japanese, they expect to meet some petite, demure, poised-little-doll of a woman. When they meet her, any preconceptions of what a Japanese woman is like are pretty much thrown out the window. My mother is petite as far as height goes, but she's a, um, solidly built person who doesn't the least bit resemble the wispy figure most people would imagine. And she's very, very outgoing. Amongst words that could be used to describe her, "quiet" would not be one of them. She can be loud, even hilariously brash. She'll happily drink any man under the table. She's been known to crack dirty jokes that make me cringe. And I take after her.

Okay, well, round the edges a little and you basically have me. I don't drink, and I try not to shoot my mouth off too much, but otherwise I'm a lot like her. Put us back in the country from which our family tree sprung, and it's like an alien ship has landed and spat us out.

In many ways, that's really okay. I mean, I like who I've become, I like who my mother is, and I certainly appreciate the Canadian culture that helped shape me. But I'm having to shake off the subconscious expectation that I will neatly assimilate myself and become the demure little Japanese girl that my mother was never meant to be.

Like I said before, too much time for mental mastication. Less thinking, more sleeping.

Given my sleep deprived state, I can't really be sure any of this is happening, since it all feels rather unreal. But I'm pretty sure I'm in Tokyo right now, and it does appear that I'm in a hotel room, blogging on my own computer. There's a lot of writing that I can't read strewn about here and there, which goes further in reinforcing the hypothesis that I am in Japan. On the other hand, it could just as easily be China, so it's probably better not to draw any conclusions until a solid night's sleep has been obtained.

This hotel room is really, really small. Given that it's in Tokyo, it's probably huge, but it's barely big enough to accomodate the bare necessities and still allow the average person to turn around on the spot. My suitcase looks absolutely gigantic in here. I look like a space-glutton.

My aspiration for my next intercontinental trip is to squeeze everything I need into a cute, compact little suitcase and one carry-on. Of course, that probably means having to buy everything when you get here and mailing it back home when you leave, but hey, no one said it would be practical.

I'm off to ready myself for a sleep that would make dead people jealous. Cats basking in sunbeams with bellies full of tuna wish they could sleep like this. And you'll probably be envying my sleep right up until the point that it has to be cut short because the schedule someone else made indicates that tomorrow is for sightseeing and not sleeping. Even free time is regimented. It's sick, really.

Good night, kidlits.

Tomorrow I leave for Japan.

My work is sending me there for a week, and I'm still feeling a little bewildered. It's strange going without Forever North.

I'm going to miss Corwynne and his parents. I'm going to miss Dusty coiled around my head. I'm going to miss Saba's affectionate squeaks. I'm going to miss Aki laying on my chest, and Cubbs draped over my legs. I'm going to miss Nari's boisterous enthusiasm for everything from pocket lint to old newspapers. I'm going to miss the herbies' unabashed enthusiasm for apple branches and nose-pets.

Most of all, I'm going to miss Forever North.

I haven't even found time to talk about how amazing the Broken Social Scene/Stars/Jason Collett concert was. ~sigh~

Well, the lyrics alone don't really capture what I'm feeling, but the whole song together is the anthem for my departure. Enjoy Stars, share with others, spread their manifesto around the world so Japan never feels very far away.

The Vanishing - Stars

Tremor of light;


the sky, a porcelain wall.


Landing at Heathrow a Tuesday in the fall.


You are sleeping next to me,


I just let go your hand.


I hope I can go through with this.


I hope you understand.


I leave you dreaming in row 12,


run quickly down the escalator.


At customs, I am first in line.


You wake now - it's three minutes later.


I am gone.


M40, night.


London, a blur behind me.


Leave from Heathrow at dawn.


No one will ever find me.


You will look for five more days,


you will trawl the city night,


then you'll make yourself forget me.


I'll fade into the half-light.


I am gone . . .

Got the pictures back from the Jim Cuddy Band concert. I think it's safe to say that the pictures that include me are some of the worst pictures I've ever seen in my life. I don't usually say that, but these are extraordinary circumstances. I'm surprised the camera didn't shatter on the spot.

My first ever picture with Jim Cuddy, and all I can think to do is Photoshop myself out of it. I think I need some kind of wasting disease. Anybody got a spare tapeworm?

A while back I reported that I was 31 according to the Real Age quiz.

Well, thanks to effort to improve my lifestyle, I can now report that I am now 0.5 years younger than my actual age! WHOOHOO!

I could still improve on a lot of things, but that's a whole heck of a lot better than being told that I'm 6 years older than my actual age.

Meet Corwynne Keith Khaavren!


(none of those are his surname, in case you're wondering.)

Corwynne, mere hours old, waiting to be examined and bathed after delivery.

F-No holding his brand-new godson.

A close-up of his beautiful face.

At 1:05am this morning, my godson entered the world.

I am excited and overwhelmed and exhausted after spending a fitful night sleeping in a chair. F-No and I had been on our way to Calgary for my friend's wedding shower when the call came on the cellphone. We promptly turned the car around and raced back to Edmonton, simultaneously taking in last night's lunar eclipse. (It's a very strange thing to see a lunar eclipse and not know that that's what you're looking at.)

He's healthy and perfect and weighs 8lbs 4oz. He's the first baby for his parents, and our first godchild. What else can I say? After nine months he's finally here, and I still can't wrap my brain around it. I probably need sleep. :)

After a year of dreaming of having the chance to see Blue Rodeo up close instead of 100 feet away, the Jim Cuddy Band booked a show at The Sidetrack Cafe. I got tickets.

Before I even knew who Blue Rodeo was, their music haunted me. Their songs were the anthems for every moment in my life. And that voice. Jim Cuddy's voice cuts through everything and goes straight to my heart.

Next thing I know, I'm standing directly in front of the stage, no more than two feet away from Jim Cuddy. He is absolutely dumbfoundingly wonderful. I can't even wrap my brain around the fact that I'm close enough to see every line on that wonderful face of his.

I sang, I danced, I rocked the night away with Jim Cuddy and his band. Anne Lindsay was especially spectacular on the fiddle, displaying incredible energy and enthusiasm. Bazil Donovan was also fantastic on bass, and did a terrific job when he stepped up to do lead vocals on two songs in the set.

After the show, we were waiting to get our coats when we noticed that Paul Bellows, the guy who opened for The Jim Cuddy Band, was standing next to us. He did a fabulous job, marred only by the fact that we could barely hear him over the chatter of the people around us. He introduced himself and asked us our names, and turned out to be not only a terrific musician but an incredibly nice guy.

After he wandered off, we decided to pick up his CD's along with Jim Cuddy's. In light of my deer-in-headlights episode at The Dears concert, F-No handed me a CD and pen and insisted that I go find Paul Bellows for his autograph. I went looking for him, but I couldn't see him anywhere.

I went around the bar in the other direction and spotted him chatting with a girl. I didn't want to interrupt, so F-No and I loitered near the stage until he seemed free. As we were standing there, out came Jim Cuddy.

I couldn't believe it. He was standing there signing autographs. I rushed up and stood in line. Surely this wasn't real, surely I wouldn't get a chance to meet THE Jim Cuddy?

I fumbled with the CD and managed to get it unwrapped and pull out the CD insert for him to sign. I was trembling with excitement. Everyone around me seemed oddly calm and unmoved, and there I was, wide-eyed and awe-struck. I could barely squeak out "Could you sign this for me?". He signed it for me, and very kindly obliged my request for a picture. That's right, a picture of Jim Cuddy putting his arm around me. I can die happy now. I'm seriously considering never wearing this shirt again, and preserving it behind glass for the rest of eternity.

Not only is Jim Cuddy one of the best songwriter's and vocalists around, but he's also a delightfully warm and squishy person that everyone should get the chance to hug at least once. I generally don't spend a great deal of time being starstruck with someone, but I think I've got a full-on schoolgirl crush on Jim Cuddy.

I vibrated my way over to Paul Bellows, who exclaimed, "Where did you get this???" when he saw me holding one of his albums. I explained I'd bought it at the front, along with his most recent album. He gasped and exclaimed, "You bought both of my albums? You know what this means? We're family now!" He went on, saying, "I'm really glad we're family now . . . " mentioning something about him own family, " . . . you know how it is.".

He's totally adorable, and he's a web geek. He should be manufactured on a mass scale so that all women can have one.

And that was my evening. Totally out of this world. Further details once I get the pictures developed. And maybe even a bathroom anecdote thrown in for good measure.

It feels like Wednesday for me, but . . .

Monday Monday Monday - Tegan and Sara

This week or last week


I don't really care about it anymore


I write myself this later


I tell myself you let me go


Without me


What's wrong with you?

Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday

Your house or mine


I don't really care about it anymore


I close my eyes


I, I make myself unhappy so you'll go


Without me


What's wrong with you

Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday

Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Damn your mood swings


Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Damn your mood swings


I'm calling out


I don't really care for your city anymore


I spend the night


I lay awake and miss you when you go


Without me


What's wrong with you

Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday


Monday Monday Monday

Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Damn your mood swings


Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Damn your mood swings


Oh, and I


I say damn your mood swings


Damn your mood swings