I went to Maui last month. It was good and I want to live there and eat pineapples and ahi poke all day and snorkel with turtles and never wear a sweater again. I came back after two weeks and took a whole week to stop feeling cold in the wet October weather of Vancouver.

That was my first vacation in 5 years. It turns out, surprisingly, that vacations are incredibly relaxing and a good way to mentally recharge your brain, because I found myself being much more efficient (though perhaps just as clueless) at my job after the trip, despite the extreme chill. The thing is, I didn’t actually know that vacations were good for that, since I had so rarely been allowed to take one by various former employers. I now recognize that I’ve really been deprived, though I should also blame myself for not standing up for my rights and/or threatening them with DROP DATABASE.

I have yet to go through my vacation photos, as things have been busy since I got back. I do have my snorkelling photos up (via one of those cheap disposable cameras you can use underwater), including this hentai-esque shot of an octopus on my thigh:

The lamest part of my trip was probably the sunrise at the Haleakala volcano, because it was full of tourists who were taking pictures of the sunrise WITH FLASH. Seriously, wtf people, learn to use your cameras already. Did they think they were going to make the sun come out faster by tempting it with light pellets?

In more recent news, I web-diagnosed myself with hypothyroidism and I turned out to be right. I find that hilarious, given I’ve web-diagnosed myself with pretty much everything but testicular cancer at one point or another. Plus people I’d spoken to about my recent weight gain (7 lbs or so in the last half year) were hinting that I was getting older and my metabolism was slowing down and I should just give up and start wearing mom jeans. I’d go up to them and say “nya nya” but I am too old for that sort of thing. Note it’s my 34th birthday in 29 days.

It snowed tonight. Does this mean I can start listening to Christmas music now?

I’ve been thinking this past week about my blog and what it means, and what it’s worth to me, all in the context of a random person who might feel that it’s bad because I use profanity here and there and often refer to things grown-ups do for the sake of metaphor. The conclusion I came to was that this blog has at times been awesome and has improved the world with its existence (even if only a little) and I can’t just dismiss it as a minor hobby even if that’s what it’s been lately.

One of my proudest accomplishments since leaving school was the fundraising I did with this blog. $5000 to the BC Cancer Foundation over three events between 2006 and 2008, just from me nagging you lot on this here website. I mean, fine, maybe I cajoled with the promise of pictures of my friends and I parading around Vancouver in our underwear, but that was what the events were about, after all. This year the event is in five cities, and my old team is still running. Go Thunder Panties!

I’ve also managed the odd post that touched people, or made them think, or other sappy stuff. Posts about sexism, and homophobia, and the difficulty of finding a good pair of jeans. One person reads my blog to help his English (though perhaps all the swear words aren’t particularly helpful there). Several people have said they were inspired to start their own blogs after reading this one, and that’s a pretty awesome compliment as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve managed to make a couple people laugh hard enough that I owe someone a new keyboard. Of course, usually the laughs come when I’m not trying to be particularly funny. I like to pretend that people are laughing with me, and not at me; since we don’t see each other I could assume the former, but then again I’d probably laugh at me too.

My good works also include the multitude of cat photos. Because the world doesn’t have quite enough of those yet.

It wasn’t that anyone was saying that my blog was bad. I just had to convince myself otherwise in the midst of turning the blog off and then suddenly feeling like I’d lost my voice. To be perfectly honest, I am really lonely and miserable in Kelowna, but I still had this blog and Facebook and plane trips home to keep me sane. Losing any of that would mean a sadder me, and I’m morose enough at my cheeriest.

Anyways, I’m hoping this was much ado about nothing and I can keep the blog after all along with a disclaimer that of course the opinions stated here are not those of my employer, you ninny. Or maybe something more polite.

We’ll see.

And I’m shaped weird, with thighs bigger than my hips. Honestly, it doesn’t look that bad, and no guy has ever commented on my thighs being large or anything, so I’m still coming out ahead. I have the hip measurement of a supermodel, but otherwise the body of a person who eats regularly. If I was okay wearing skirts all the time, it wouldn’t matter, but t-shirt plus jeans is my life uniform.

I don’t know if my thighs have gotten bigger (a possibility; I haven’t been keeping track) or if it’s the fashion industry, but I have a hell of a time finding jeans that fit both my hips and my thighs. “Too tight” is the norm. If I can pull them up, there’s tons of room in the waist to let the rainwater in. If I find ones that fit my hips, I can’t get them up without acrobatic skills and a shoehorn.

The other day when I was doing laundry, I saw holes in the back of a pair of jeans, on the corners of the pockets. I didn’t realize it until now, but I wear jeans until they fall apart, and they always fall apart in the embarrassing areas, as I’ve mentioned before. I probably haven’t shopped for jeans in two years, but now was obviously the time, since it’s best to retire this pair before they give my workmates a show.

So I went around the mall. Kelowna has a pretty big mall, with most of the stores you’d find in the malls in Vancouver, so I was pretty confident I’d find something. I avoided all the juniors stores since young women have twigs for legs and skinny jeans are the status quo, but it still left a lot, and I went into all the stores I could find. And nothing. No luck, everything’s too tight, I’m losing feeling in my toes…

I ended up finding mom jeans at Reitman’s. Ugh. That was the only place in the entire mall that had wide-leg jeans, but of course the waist is up at my belly-button. But that’s not all I found: I tried on a bunch of other styles at that store, and got the shock of my shopping life when I tried on a pair of their “comfort jeans”: there’s no fly. No fly!!! They pull up like sweatpants, except they’re not, they’re jeans. It’s freaky. Please, God, please, let me never be forced to wear jeans like that; I need easy access to my genitals. You never know when I might need them, and can’t afford the extra milliseconds of yanking the pants down against the pull of the elastic waistband.

I’m not really sure why those jeans scared me so much, but when I put them on I felt like I was disowning my privates. There’s no door to the unknown, it’s just a wall. Nothing here, it suggests. Nothing you’d find interesting. It’d be like giving up. Besides, they were too tight.

I ended up finding some non-mom jeans that fit at Plum today, strangely enough, thanks to a sales clerk who was wayyyyy too loud and cheerful and blasting Abba in the store’s PA. But I was so happy, because I’d been feeling like the clothing manufacturers had all decided that I no longer qualify as a jeans wearer. I can’t wait until wide-leg or loose jeans come back into fashion, but it could be a while. Hopefully before I develop crotch holes in these ones.

It’s been a relaxing few days at Mom’s house here in Kitimat. Unfortunately it’s been raining pretty much constantly since I arrived, so I haven’t been able to go out and take any photos. Though I haven’t really felt like moving much. That plus all the baked goods I’ve been eating mean that my jeans may not fit when I get home on Thursday.

I am typing this on my laptop while the tail of the Maine Coon in the photo above is flitting across the keyboard in annoyance at me not paying attention to the cat at its other end. In other words, I’m feeling right at home. One major difference here, however, is that both pets in this household (this and the family dog, Seven) have this thing for crawling under your blanket and curling up against your leg. Which is cute until they start licking your feet, which is gross of course but on the other hand (foot?) they need to be exfoliated anyways.

I baked some cookies today. Those who have tasted my cookies may now proceed to be jealous of my parents, who have a full batch all to themselves. Tomorrow will supposedly be a marathon kitchen day of turkey and apple pie, so those who have had Mom’s pie can proceed to be jealous of me.

I was rather upset to find out upon arrival here that there’s a recount ordered for my riding from last week’s election because Ujjal only won by 33 votes after all. I read about some rather racist conspiracy theory regarding the behaviour and motives of the polling clerks, and I really hope it’s unfounded. The results of the recount, or even if it’s happened yet, haven’t been published, so I am eagerly awaiting the news.

Despite my wish to suspend real life while I’m up here, I’ve done some contract work (though not much yet) and have been setting up phone interviews for next week. If these interviews don’t pan out, then I’m kind of screwed, since currently there are no other advertised jobs I can apply for as a DBA. I’m trying not to worry about my future, but it’s hard not to notice how the world markets are going to hell in a handbasket. My only comfort in all of this is that I haven’t lost any wealth, since I never had any to begin with. Somehow, though, that’s not keeping me warm at night, so it’s a good thing there’s a furry pet in its place.

A few weeks ago I got offered the chance to show up in a book again, so I was all “hells yeah” and showed up on Saturday morning to a friend’s place to play model for a book on knitting graffiti called Yarnbombing. The book, as I’ve been told, is a how-to guide to create and deploy knitting (and crochet) onto public places, such as telephone poles, railings, and fences. There’s something especially subversive about the combination of the wholesomeness of yarn crafts and the criminality of graffiti, don’t you think?

A group of us spent the day going around the South Granville area taking photos of the act of attaching the knitting to various public structures, among other yarn-related activities involving needles and hooks. I played one of the textile delinquents in several shots, and learned something about myself I’m very ashamed to admit: Modeling is hard.

I always thought those chicks on America’s Next Top Model were particularly stupid, not just for whoring themselves on international television but because many of them looked like dorks during the photo shoots, unable to do what is asked of them by the photographer and tripping over themselves. So I spent a good portion of Saturday hearing this voice-over repeat how “Gillian can’t take direction” and imagining that I’m no longer in the running to become ANTM. So sad.

Nah, it’s just really funny how I seemed to lose IQ points with a camera pointing at me. Like, I couldn’t distinguish left and right, at all. Normally that’s not an issue because as a lefty I know what makes me Different from everyone else.

The photo shoot was fun, and I’ll be curious to see what’s used in the book when it comes out next year. The opportunity was taken numerous times to refer to two of us “working the pole” as we pretended to hang knitting on a lamp post. There were also many shots taken of me from behind (walking away from the camera, carrying some knitting), which says much of the photographer, who managed to find my best side. In retrospect I should’ve worn tighter jeans.

You see, according to Levi’s, I’m a size “1M”, which leads me to guess that all the skinny Asian girls in town aren’t wearing Levi’s. I’m not that thin, yo. But, okay, butter me up, say I’m a twig, make me happy. But then say that these jeans have a “relaxed fit” through the hips and thighs, yet they fit me like a glove. So, you’re saying my thighs are fat? Can you see how confused I am?

On the other hand, I really shouldn’t complain, since these seem to fit me better than any jeans have in years. Plus, this is the first time in a long time that Levi’s have fit me (and my supposed thunder-thighs). So I have hope for a new tomorrow where I have jeans that fit and that don’t have holes in the crotches.

I’m guessing, from what I’ve seen, that fashion is moving forward and that waistlines on jeans are moving away from the primary sex organs and back towards the waist, with the added benefit that they might actually stay on if you’re planning on walking around at all. Rock on. Reason prevails.

What I still don’t get, though, is why jeans in my “size” all have a 34-36″ inseam, meaning that when I take a pair off the rack and hold them up to myself, a good amount of pant leg drags along the ground, obscuring my feet and making me feel like a little girl trying on her mommy’s clothes. So I sigh, give up, and put the jeans away, because there’s no damn way I could wear them unrolled unless I was in platform shoes and on tiptoe.

Now, this is a relatively new thing. It started a few years ago, but it just seems to be getting worse now; rather than having regular-length jeans an inch or two longer than I need (as it was a few years ago), it’s now 4-6 inches too much. I don’t think I’m necessarily biased in my view of all of this: I’m the same height and size as I was in high school (although my boobs are bigger, hurrah), and I’m still a fan of the boot-cut.

My theories on why jeans have gotten so ridiculously long are:

1. It’s a conspiracy by the tailoring business to force all women into getting their clothes hemmed.
2. It’s a failed attempt by the platform shoe suppliers to get people to buy them.
3. The fashion and/or diet industry wants us to feel fat by making us think that someone of our width should be half a foot taller.
4. It’s considered trendy to have so much extra fabric at the bottom of your jeans that you trip over yourself. Klutz is the new grace.
5. A quantum singularity has caused everything in the universe, except for women’s jeans, to shrink.

I have to get new jeans sometime (since I had to throw away so many pairs earlier this year), but I’m not sure what to do anymore. It’s weird being of average female height (5′ 4.5″) and slightly below average weight (hurrah again) and having difficulty finding clothes that fit me. Shouldn’t I have the easiest time, out of everybody? Are we all screwed, no matter what?

Any advice, comments, or complaints would be greatly appreciated.