Wednesday, November 26, 2008

holiday flick list (that does not include twilight)

The weather outside is (getting) frightful and you need something to fill your Thanksgiving holiday weekend.

(Besides watching Twilight for the 8th time. And updating your Twitter.)

If you aren't thrilled at the idea of risking life and limb to buy me presents at the mall on Black Friday, I have a suggestion. Rent some Christmas movies!

Rahhh! Cheers! Happiness!

C'mon, don't be a Grinch. Watching Santa films gives you a reason to:

1) copious amounts of eggnog. And spike it.

2) ...cry for hours about how amazing the Christmas Spirit is. And then drink Christmas Spirts. See #1.

3) ..cuddle with your lover/hubs/boyfriend or bff and reminisce about how you had a crush on some of the Christmas cartoons long ago. Or last year.

4) ...sing some awesomely bad Christmas songs at the top of your lungs. After you've had a lot of #1.

5) ...remove yourself from ridiculous conversations about sweaters with your Aunt Ethel.

Now, before you go out and start getting all crazy at Blockbuster, remember it is very important that you watch the right Christmas movies. This is essential. Throw a bad movie in your X-mas flick mix and you might just ruin the whole cinema extravaganza for years to come.

(Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, anyone? What is up with that Abominable Snowman?? Creepy Claymation-ville, USA.)

So here, because I love all of you, I made a list of the best holiday films. You aren't required to agree with me.

(Hubs has amazing amounts of practice at this.)

If I missed one of your faves, that's what comments are for! Delurk yourself and let me know what I missed. No one will yell at you.

(Except maybe me. Especially if you remember a good one that I forgot.)

(Oh, you will notice there are no black and white films on the list. I get that they're classics and all that, I just can't watch them. I need Technicolor and superior sound quality. Sorry.)

Anyhoo, enough anticipation.

The following are my top 16 (because I hate odd numbers) picks for Christmas/holiday movies to watch when you just need to chill out. Grab some popcorn (or Aunt Ethel's leftover fruit cake), put your feet up and pop one of these guys in.

Drum roll, please.

Kim's Must-See Christmas Movie List

16. Polar Express: This one almost didn't make it. I have loved the book (beautiful illustrations) since childhood and therefore struggled with the animation of the film. Tom Hanks looks a little....Botox-y and he doesn't translate well as a cartoon. The essence of the children's book does ring true, though, and the message of "Believe" has never been more convincing. This is a good one to watch with the kiddies. You might just find yourself hearing bells, too.

15. Funny Farm: The first of two Chevy Chase appearances on my list.

This time he stars as a novelist who takes his wife and moves to the country in an effort to escape the hustle and bustle of the city. They both soon realize the simple life is quite simply driving them mad.

Can the spirit of the holiday season set things right, or put them in an early grave? I've loved this movie since I was a kid and it gets better every time I see it. If you aren't sure what Mountain Oysters are, eat some first, then watch the movie.

14. Mickey's Christmas Carol: I've seen this cartoon so many times the tape is starting to fall apart. No summary needed. It's "A Christmas Carol" with beloved Disney characters. And it's fabulous. (Daisy Duck is such a dirty tramp. We would be bestest friends.)

13. Serendipity: Sap alert! John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale, two of the most beautiful people on the planet, destined to be together if only they can find one another.

If you need a cuddle fest with your significant other (or your new favorite handbag) this is the movie to watch. For boys that aren't interested in swimming through sap, they can laugh at Jeremy Piven, who provides the much needed Alpha Male comic relief. Shocker.

12. Die Hard: What's Christmas without blazing guns, albino bad guys and Bruce Willis screaming horrific obscenities? The first film in a series that ironically won't die, "Die Hard" will always have a special place in my heart. Mostly because Alan Rickman's hotness is in it. Yippee-Ki-Yay!

11. The Santa Clause: Tim the Toolman Taylor takes a break from hammers and hack saws to fill some pretty big shoes - er, boots. Santa Claus's, that is.

Our daughters love this Christmas movie series (there's like, 30 of them) and you will, too. Tim Allen is a pretty believable as an unwilling Santa Claus replacement, and the movie has an overall heart of holiday gold.

10. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas: You know the words. "Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Ehhhh- not so true.

This brilliant musical cartoon about a town of mice hoping for a visit from Santa may be hard to locate at the vid store, but it's totally worth the search. Kids and adults will love this one, as the music is phenomenal and has just the right amount of cheese. We are talking mice, after all.

9. Elf: You know a film is going to be good if Bob Newhart is in the credits...alongside Will Ferrell. The breakout SNL star doesn't disappoint either, as an accidental orphan elf searching for his true identity in the big city. Loads of one-liners abound in this Christmas comedy. Careful you don't laugh your yule tide off.

And no- Tina Fey does not appear as Sarah Palin in the film. Maybe in the re-make.

8. Scrooged: Bill Murray as a miserable grump executive who hates Christmas? Can that really work? You bet your sweet holiday nuts it can. Speaking of nuts, Murray's get punched in them a few times by the Ghost of Christmas Present in this holiday hoot with a heart.

7. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the cartoon): Dr. Seuss always gets it right. This one also brings a tear to my eye, both from childhood nostalgia and from the crescendo of God-awful singing. (You know the words. Don't try and lie.)


On second thought, you might want to turn down the volume a notch or two. If you absolutely can't stand cartoons, the Jim Carrey version (2000) will do as a substitute. I suppose.

6. Home Alone: an 8-year-old kid accidentally left behind while his family takes a Christmas vacation to Paris? Burglars being booby-trapped left and right? This is the stuff of genius. Catherine O'Hara is an absolute stitch as Kevin's neurotic and irrational mom. I think I might be like her one day....

5. A Charlie Brown Christmas: "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?"

Good question, Mr. Brown. Not many movies focus on the true reason we have a Christmas, and I'm glad there's still at least one that isn't afraid to tell the story. Snoopy's imitation of cracked-out farm animals is not to be missed, either.

4. Love Actually: I actually love the British. They know how to pull every heart string I have clean out of its socket and then lovingly put it all back together again. This is the only holiday movie that Hubs voluntarily watches and even gets a little teary on. So, if you're going to make your macho macho man watch a holiday movie, this might be it.

Follow along as 8 love stories are unwrapped with hilarity, satire, loneliness and passion. There's plenty of Christmas eye-candy in it, too. Hugh Grant (sex on a sticky sugar-coated stick), Alan Rickman (mmmm), Colin Firth and Liam Neeson.

What else could you ask from Santa?

(Except maybe one of them naked in your living room. I'm just thinking outside the box, here.)

3. The Family Stone: Boy brings girl home to meet his family for Christmas. Simple right? Not so fast.

Fall in love with the Stone's, a family who isn't afraid to be themselves- no matter who they piss off in the process. An unconventional Christmas film, I think this one should be a classic. You will laugh out loud and bawl in your popcorn bowl. But in the end, it's just a darn good time.

(Starring know I love it.)

2. A Christmas Story: This was my #1 pick until TNT thought it would be cute to run the movie 24 hours each Christmas. Regardless, I never tire of Ralphie and his mountains of Ovaltine.

And really, every home should have a big ol' leg lamp in its family room. "Electric sex gleaming in the window" adds character to every house.

1. National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation: Love to laugh? Hang on tight. Christmas Vacation is a slap-stick roller coaster that teaches us the importance of Tylenol and ear plugs around the holidays.

(It also reminds me of my childhood because Clark Griswold is my father masquerading in Chevy Chase's body.)

With constant one-liners in every scene ("I don't know, Margo!"), Clark Griswold delivers an old fashioned family Christmas yule never forget.


So there you go, my movie recipe for holiday delight! Some fights for love, some fights for blood, a few cartoon animal, British chaps and a BB gun.

That's what Christmas is all about.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

a lesson in self control

To the Effing Retard Fat Man in Front of Me at the McDonald's Red Box Today:

Dear Sir:

Know what you want before you get here. Seriously. I understand the bright colors and lights and tons of cinematic gems are somewhat disorienting, but - could you stare later? Maybe when I'm not right behind you, credit card in hand, just trying to rent "Hancock" so I can unabashedly watch Will Smith as a super hero?

And really, there aren't that many movies worth renting. Yes, I'm sure you're torn between "The Christmas Shoes" and "Kung Fu Panda." It is rather difficult deciding between an aging Rob Lowe in the flesh or Angelina Jolie as a jujitsu cartoon cat. Just rent both. They're only a friggin' dollar.

(And I'll spare you the suspense. Jolie's cartoon cat thing doesn't get naked or do any sexual acrobatics in that panda movie. I'd go with Rob Lowe.)

Red Box was put on this earth to make my time at the video store faster. But because you stood there hem-hawing your way through the 'New Titles', I was subjected to the smell of fresh french fries. If I gain 2 pounds because I had enough time to purchase a cheeseburger, I'm coming after you.

Or at least coming after your inbox. Since you were stupid enough to leave your email address up on the screen.

Get ready for some serious spam, sucka.

Warmest Wishes For a Pleasant Thanksgiving,


tag, you're it

My fab friend Alissa (with whom I will be doing something super exciting with in just a few weeks; stay tuned.) has tagged me. Wheee! Another reason to talk about myself! This tag requires me to tell you 6 random, boring, yet quirky things about myself. I've totally done this before on my own accord, but I'll do it again.

(Because really, there are way more than 6 quirky things about me. I mean, I could go all day if I really wanted to.)

Off we go:

1. I am horrible with remembering names. I will know someone's face even if I only saw them over eggplant's at the grocery store, but it takes me three or four times to remember a name. Not good considering my profession requires me to meet about 15 new people per week.

2. I have an inner need/desire to be liked by everyone. Seriously, everyone. If I get the impression that I am not liked, obsession for a valid reason will begin.

(Usually I chalk it up to, "the other person sucks." Because Hubs tells me to.)

3. I once asked my 5th grade boyfriend (via a note, of course) if he thought I was a good writer. He said yes, and added at the bottom of the note "I think we should break up."

(Perhaps why my writing career has never fully developed??)

4. I make a really awesome knock-off version of Chipotle's Veggy Burrito Bowl. Hubs wanted seconds. Rah rahhh!!!

5. I'm left-handed, but kick with my right foot. And I put my pants on with my right leg first.

6. I could spend all day in the pen section of Office Depot. Black ink? Purple gel? Uni-ball? Ball-point? Fountain? I especially love when the store leaves a little pad of paper to test out the pens.

(Apparently if you write your name to test it, you're self-centered.)

(I'm totally busted.)


I'm tagging everyone. If the mood hits you, do it!

Monday, November 24, 2008

my, your face is beautiful in this (twi)light

I have a crush.

Yes, I'm happily married to Hubs and ever continually fall deeper and deeper in love with him.


Hubs can't:

a) climb trees at the blink of an eye with me on his back
b) protect me from evil vampires
c) hear the thoughts of my boss, parents, worst enemies or best friends
d) make his hair do the sticky-up thing

Therefore my crush is on Robert Pattinson. (Duh.) Or is it on Edward Cullen?

This is what I'm trying to figure out.

Robert, who plays Edward Cullen in "Twilight", is smokin' hot. (And he's over the age of 18, I looked it up.) But, he only plays the character. He is not the real Edward.

(Maybe that makes my crush less bad in Hub's eyes. Clearly Edward Cullen is not real, so Hubs can take comfort in the fact that I'm not going anywhere.)

Seriously, though. This entire nation (and maybe world) is obsessed with a fictitious person. Edward Cullen is not real. He is not flesh or blood. (Despite his desire to drink it.) Edward is a figment of Stephanie Meyer's imagination. He's a fantasy that she put together from years of experiences with boys, and how she wished they acted. She's removed the ego, the selfishness, the hot to trot libido, and made one perfect man.

(But he's created by a woman. Does that make me a lesbian? I'm just sayin'.)

And because of Ms. Meyer, in the past few months, I will admit to having full blown day dream fantasies about my someday encounter with Edward Cullen. Oh yes.

My fantasy is pretty standard. It's the one about "the boy" in high school. You know this one, yes?

You went to school only to see that one boy? The one boy that always smelled perfect, always had the right clothes and the right words to say? (Even if the right words were just, "Hey, Kim. Killer snow boots. It's cool your Mom wants to be sure your feet are warm.")

Each day you went to school thinking about him, and spent the majority of your academic day wishing you might see him. Hoping that me might ask you to pick up the croutons he just dropped on the cafeteria floor. Hoping that yours just might be the one picture in the year book he looks at before bed each night.

(I must say, for the record, that the real boy I fantasized and obsessed over in high school got bald, fat and is a total loser now. YES!)

In my fantasy, that boy has become Edward.

I envision that just one ordinary day, Edward passes me in the hall, but rather than doing that ridiculous "head-bob-hello" thing, he instead parts the stream of shuffling students like Moses and the Red Sea. He strides over, backs me against my locker and leans against me, kissing me passionately for 30 seconds (despite his friends watching and laughing) and slips a note into my pocket. (Which of course contains his phone number and secret coded message of love that only I understand.)

No? Just me, huh? Damn.


These high school fantasies (thankfully starring Edward instead of loser bald guy) have been plaguing me for about a month now. And I was feeling pretty guilty about them, seeing as how I'm happily married and all that. Until I realized something.

The characteristics and personality traits that I obsess over and love about Edward are really all elements and traits that my husband possesses. YAY! In fact, almost everything about Edward reminds me of Hubs.

(Although, I did tell Hubs to please grow out his hair, invest in a flat iron and get blonde highlights and gold contacts.)

So, in reality, when I'm getting all excited mooshy gooshy dreamy about Edward, I'm really getting excited about Hubs. By dreaming about Edward and his shenanigans with me, I'm rekindling the ever-glowing flame of love I have with the true man of my dreams.

(Yes, the face of Hubs might occasionally be replaced with Robert Pattinson's, but c'mon. Let's be honest. Like Hub's hasn't ever dreamt about Jessica Alba showing up at his front door... out of gas and soaking wet, looking for a place to stay the night. And let's not forget, Jessica's a real person. Edward Cullen is a figment of a friggin' girl's imagination.)

We win. Edward Cullen crushes are now officially allowed.

Dream on, girls. Dream on.

Friday, November 21, 2008

shameful, just shameful

I'm sure some of you are hoping for a movie review from my midnight viewing of "Twilight."

(As if I am important enough to deserve that kind of attention.)

You aren't going to get it.

Long story short, I was too tired.

(Let the old lady jabs begin. I'm ready for it.)

As I told you yesterday, I was out of town for work Wednesday and Thursday this week.

(I know, two whole days of work! However did I survive?)

Two days away from home may not sound too shabby if you're, say, sitting in a cushy conference room all day talking about TPS reports and adjourning to a lush hotel bed at night.

That was not my trip.

Driving back and forth all across an unfamiliar town and putting on my "God, I Am SO Happy To Be Here" face all day really takes it out of me.

Not to mention dragging 200 pounds of samples up and down 3 flights of stairs every half hour.

(Yes, I am exaggerating. But I want you to feel sorry for me, so there.)

Anyways. Last night at 8:00 pm after a three hour gab fest at a local restaurant with clients, I began the journey back home.

Despite my 40 oz bucket of fountain soda and Hub's gangsta rap CD (blaring at volume level 65), I still found myself yanking tufts of my hair out in an effort to prevent my vehicle from driving off the road and killing innocent deer, possum and raccoons. After 2.5 hours of toll ways, rest stops and pep talks, I pulled onto my street and seriously contemplated kissing the driveway.

I walked into the house, smelled fresh Febreeze (Hub's cleaned in my absence. Love him.) and instantly knew a trip to a movie theatre was not in my future.

I know. I'm a wimp.

Newsflash: "Twilight" isn't going anywhere. It will still be there tomorrow, and Edward will still be lovely.

(Besides, after I drive for long periods of time, I get super duper cranky. Attending a movie with hundreds of 17-year-olds within my immediate striking distance would have been a very bad idea. In fact, my absence probably kept a few squeaky sophomores from experiencing an ice cold Diet Pepsi dumped over their heads.)

(See? I'm thinking of other people. Always.)

I'm not terribly upset I missed the premiere. Yes, it would have been great fun (and awesome people watching), but waiting a few days for Edward isn't going to kill me.

After all, he waited over 100 years for Bella. And it was worth his wait.

I'm sure the movie will be, too.


Any of you see it? Was it amazing and beautiful and everything you imagined in your mind? Tell me, tell me, tell me!

Thursday, November 20, 2008

the post about nothing

Guess where I am right now? No, really. Guess. You won't be right.

I am in my van. In a Kohl's parking lot. With my seat belt still on.


Surely there are several questions popping into your mind right now. I will answer them.

Why are you in a van? :

Because I'm in a city far from home making business calls, and I have an hour until my next appointment. Must. Kill. Time.

OH! You mean why are you in a van at ALL? :

Because vans are spacious and large and help me carry my 2,000 pounds of sales stuff. And because I bought it thinking it might eventually be considered cool to own a van. I was wrong.

And because Hubs won't let me trade it in for something new and expensive. Something about needing to be able to afford it and make the payments on time. Whatevs.

Oh well, it has a DVD player.

Whyexaclty are you choosing to blog in a Kohl's parking lot? :

Cuz I'm in an unfamiliar city, and Kohl's is like the American Embassy to me.

(Actually, I would prefer Chili's, but I can't find one right now.)
Why am I blogging with my seat belt still on? :
I think I have a disease. I am the type of person that gets so wrapped up in what I am doing, that everything else gets put on the back burner. For example, if I'm reading a killer book, I will literally forget to pee for like, 5 hours. Even when my bladder is screaming at me and my eyes start to turn yellow, I still have to FINISH THE CHAPTER.

(Or if I'm watching Real Housewives of Atlanta and the water is boiling on the stove for dinner, it just has to wait. Kim might try and sing again. Can't miss that.)

(PS- did you ever notice that Real Housewive's always have a housewife named Kim? I'm hoping this means when Real Housewive's of Kansas City comes to town, I'm first in line to be on TV and make a jackass out of myself. And get richie rich.)

So, all that being said, when I pulled into Kohl's a minute ago I was thinking of nothing but today's blog. I threw the van in park, killed the engine, grabbed my laptop and started typing. Seat belt be damned, I have important stuff to get in the blogosphere!


By the way, I am totally getting stared at by old ladies that are parking next to me. They look afraid. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Imagine the thoughts that would roll through your head if you parked next to a girl sitting in her van with her seat belt on, frantically typing on her laptop and talking to herself.

(Did I mention I talk to myself? Well, I do. All the time. Me and I have had some great conversations over the years. Especially on road trips like today's.)

Moving on...

I guess I should maybe head into Kohl's now. I kind of feel like I'm loitering. And my hands are getting numb since I turned off the engine and it's only 33 degrees outside. And I left my coat at home.

Betcha Kohl's is having a sale on mittens and pea coats!!!

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

musical houses

"There's no place like home for the holidays."

Karen Carpenter's song has a great ring to it, but she's forgetting something. Not many people have just one home to visit during this holiday season. Chances are, you have about 4.

I mean, when you get married (or become involved in a serious "his and hers toothbrushes" relationship), the word "home" drastically changes. As do the expectations of how often you visit it.

Especially during the holidays.

Where you and your honey buns reside day in and day out should be considered home, right? But wait, the house where you grew up with your family still seems to belong in the "home" category too, doesn't it? And the same probably applies for your husband. So, if my math skills aren't too fuzzy, that's 3 different houses that you and your love might consider "home".

And what if your parents are divorced? Is your Dad's house still considered home? What about your Mom's? Whose house is more home than the other?

(Hold on, I'm dizzy. Need to take a breather...)

It is this exact question that sends me and Hubs into a frantic tail spin every year. In the end, we must do the dreaded "sit-down with the calendar" ritual and decide who we love the most for Holiday's 2008.

As far as families go, I wish I could say that either Hub's or my side is annoying, crazy and absolutely impossible to be around.

(Well, the crazy thing is kinda true. Who's family isn't?)

(At least if one side of the family was full of convicts, that would make these decisions a little easier.)

I wish I could say our families all lived within six blocks of one another and could be visited in just one fantastically glorious day. But this is not a "Brady Bunch" episode, so none of that is going to happen.

No, our families are equally fantastic, and all deserve to be visited during the glorious holiday season.

So how does one decide who gets the day of Thanksgiving? How does one decide who gets the day of Christmas?

(And for those of you that are sneaky thinkers, the answer is no. I cannot just tell everyone we're staying at our own home for the holidays. My mom would show up at our front door with Pepto Bismol, Ace Bandages and Vick's Vapor rub wondering if we were all sick and dying.)


In the end, it always seems a good travel solution is always worked out. It may not be the most ideal, but if there's one thing I am damn sure of, it's always fair.

(At least as fair as I can make it.)

Yes, despite my amazing planning, one side of the family might get 2 hours longer with me and Hubs than the other side.

(In this case, Mom will mark it on her calendar. "December 24th: Kim spent two hours longer at in-law's house than ours. She can make it up on my birthday".)

And though the holidays generally bring craziness and unbelievable amounts of back and forth driving on I-35, they also bring me and Hubs the most important thing on earth. Our families.

I'm no idiot. I'm fully aware that not everyone in this world has parents and brothers and sisters that want to see each other. There are families that go weeks, months and even years without seeing or even speaking to one another.

My and Hubs parents are always thrilled to see us and are all less than three hours away. For that we are truly blessed.

The calendar may say December 27th when we dust off our snow covered boots and walk into my MIL's house. Who cares? To us, it's still a very merry Christmas. The Thanksgiving Day Parade may have to be Tivo'd and watched on Saturday afternoon in order to enjoy it with my parents. It's still a fantastic Turkey Day.

If I've truly learned anything about the holidays over the past two years that I've been with Hubs, it is this:

Dates don't matter.

(Except wedding anniversary's. I expect a shiny present on the right date each year. What? Hub's is on board with this. Really.)

All that truly matters is that everyone in our family has time to spend together during the best time of the year. No matter what the numbers (or Mom's footnotes) on the calendar are.


Do you stress over similar calendar issues with your family during the holidays? How do you handle it?

Friday, November 14, 2008

wanted: a wig for john mayer

Is it just me, or is All-American, super insightful singer John Mayer starting to resemble a certain grungy, oily and creepy "Summer of Sam" actor?

Sorry...I just said what I needed to say. Mayer told me to.

oh yeah

I just purchased my 12:01 am tickets to "Twilight". Bow chicka bow wow. And my bestie Judy just sent me this pic. As she says, "This is what we do all day long at work."

I think I have uncovered the true reason behind the recent economic slump.

Take me out, Coach.

My dear readers, I have been called out. On my blog.

(I'm going to make up a term and say I've been "Blouted.")

My whole life I have soooo been that girl that knows all the songs, who sang them and when they were recorded. If a friend couldn't put their finger on who sang that one song where they talk about dogs and sunny afternoons, I could help them out. No problem-o.

(Hubs will tell you he's better at this than me. He is wrong. In my blog, I always win.)

But peeps - I made a boo-boo yesterday.

I said CCR sang "Centerfield." And I. Was. Wrong.


(That's what I get for trying to be clever and work the name Coach into my new handbag post. Dammit.)

One of my high school friends (who I didn't even know read this blog until today) correctly pointed out that John Fogerty sang the song on his own, not with his band CCR.

Yes, technically a member of CCR sang it, but it was still an error. Just like it would be wrong if I said Destiny's Child sang "If I Were a Boy."

(Wow. I pretty much just admitted I listen to that song. There goes my cover.)

So, today proves that without a doubt, I am still a little Danielson. I have much to learn from you readers. You are my Mr. Miyagi.

Wax on.....wax off.....wax onnnn.....wax offff......


Don't ever be afraid to Blout me on a fact that I get wrong! This will not be the last time it happens. Trust me.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

put me in Coach, i'm ready to play

Yes, that title was an homage to a CCR song, which, coincidentally, is one of hub's all time least favorite tunes. But it works for the today's content, so...


Tonight I have a ginormous work function and I have loads and loads to do for it, so I'm going to have to make this quick.

I will be attending the work event with my new Coach bag, freshly bought at the Dallas outlet stores! No, it will never beat the bag that hubs bought me for Christmas last year. That one will always be my fave. But, it's nice to have 2 bags to choose from, right? Us gals, we like choices.

(Vanilla or chocolate, candy or cookies, cheese dip or guacamole. Cash or credit. You get the idea.)

So here's my new baggy bag. I love it, I'm happy I got it, I'm out the door with it.

And now after writing this post, I'm seriously going to use the money in it to buy me some cookies. Or guacamole.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

i have returned

*making up for lost time results in really long blog posts.

So....I possibly have failed in my duties to this blog for the last - eh...five days. I have my reasons though. First, ya'll knew I was going on vacation.

(And vacation means relaxing, unplugging the computer, shopping excessively and getting sick.)

I know, you're scratching your head. Getting sick? What does that have anything to do with going on vacation?

For me, everything.

Every year growing up, Mom and Dad took me and my sibs on a yearly vay-cay. We went everywhere. Places like Orlando, D.C., Denver, Canada (there are some weird peeps in that country) Memphis, Atlanta, Phoenix, St. Louis, Chicago, Myrtle Beach. The list goes on.

And, without a doubt, each year I would get sick en route or after arrival. 90% of the time it was strep. It got so bad (and predictable) that my Mom would call my doctor ahead of time to find out where our insurance was accepted in the city we were journeying to.

So, because of my apparent immune system failures, at least two days of the fam's vacation would inevitably be dedicated to finding me prescriptions and 7-UP instead of touring _____ city and going to Six Flags. My sibs loved me.

Time passed, us kids got older and the full-on family vacations ceased. As did my sicknesses.

(In addition, vacations for me in general became fewer and farther between. It's hard to go anywhere when you're actually footing the bill.)

So, the curse was lifted. It appeared that because vacations had lessened, I had been cured of all things sickness while in states unknown.

Anyways, this weekend was me and hubs mini-vay-cay in Dallas to visit Erin, her hubs and baby D. Hubs and I left Friday afternoon and began the 8 hour car ride. You remember.

So here's what happened:

We arrive at 11.45 pm, neither of us having killed each other over music choice on the way down. Exhausted from the journey, we say hello to my bestie, and hit the hay.

Saturday is IKEA. In all its glory. Hubs, Erin, baby D and I all anticipate the shopping goodness as we drove there.

(Erin's hubs worked a 12-hour shift the night before (he's an intern a la "Grey's Anatomy"...minus the sexual drama) so while he slept, we shopped.)

However, three minutes before arriving at the holiest of holies, baby D very quietly vomits up the contents of her morning breakfast onto her shirt and car seat. Erin comments that this is quite strange, as D never vomits.


We chalk it up to car sickness, buy her a new shirt (God I love Target) and head into IKEA.

After two solid hours of "oh my god, so cute" and "is this thing really this cheap?" and "Hubs, we need this wok. I know we have one already but this one is ORANGE!" we decide to get some grub.

Hubs dines on Swedish meatballs, while Erin, D and I consume slightly undercooked pasta and cheap hot dogs. Delish.

Thirty minutes later, we gaily stroll through the kitchen section, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.
Suddenly we hear a gurgle. Out of D's mouth comes the hot dogs and slightly undercooked but now partially digested pasta.

It is everywhere. And beige. And really, really smelly.

Hubs reacts with cat-like reflexes and grabs some decorative napkins from the nearby kitchen display to begin mopping up the mess. (I hope this is not considered stealing from the store.) Erin and I can clearly see this will require a bathroom visit, we we instruct hubs to buy our goodies while we handle the regurgitation situation.

We enter the "family bathroom."

It reeks. Of things you don't want to know about.

(You know you love your child (or your bestie's child) when you stomach fresh vomit, the smell of sewer and the sight of regurgitated hot dogs, all in the name of cleaning off the baby.)

Because we have no additional clothes for baby D, we take her to the car in just her diaper, socks and shoes. (And expertly ignore the IKEA shoppers dialing child services on their cell phones.) We praise God for the decent weather and load D in her car seat, laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of this situation.

(I mean really, five years ago our biggest concern at IKEA would be wondering if our Visa would work since we'd forgotten to pay the bill for the last three months. Now, we are abandoning our fave store because baby D is sick and she's the first priority. We have grown up. At long last.)

Hubs loads up our purchases into the van and we go home and put D to bed. Then we play ungodly amounts of Wii. Erin kicks all of our butts at the boxing. Because she clearly cheats.

Moving on.

Sunday the boys golf, the girls shop. (Yay! I will show you my amazing purchase tomorrow.) D is feeling fine, the weather is great. The boys and girls meet up later for dinner and share loads of laughs and good food. Things seem to be on the up and up. But, then again, it is always lightest before it gets dark.

We return home. And Erin pukes.

Twenty minutes pass. Jared pukes.

Erin and Jared go to bed, and hubs and I thank our lucky stars we aren't sick. Because, you know, we have a 8 hour car ride to get home.

Hubs and I go to bed.

I wake up at 11.30 pm and, as Chandler Bing would say, "visit a little town south of throw up." For the rest of the night.

Monday morning arrives and I am miserable. I want to go home and let Erin, Jared and D rest in peace. Thankfully, hubs has avoided this disastrous sickness and is able to drive.

After 4 hours in the car, we stop in Oklahoma to see some friends. We intend to stay only long enough for dinner, but I am so sick I can't even think about driving. So we decide to stay the night.

I got to bed at 8 (this is not that out of the ordinary for me, but still) and hubs and our friends go to dinner.

Hubs gets back from dinner. And pukes.

He has not avoided the plague after all.

Tuesday morning we awake and I am well enough to drive us home. We spend the rest of Tuesday on the couch.


So there you have it. The curse is not broken. I still get sick on vacations and have apparently brought hubs down with me. (This is pretty indicitave of our marriage, since hubs used to be a total clean freak, but has become accustomed to my sloppy ways.)

The whole weekend sounds like a drag, but it was really quite awesome. I left out a lot of the great parts because they're mostly gross inside jokes. (Oh, and because of D, I still have raging baby fever.) We truly did have a fantastical time. I got to see my best bestie and I can't wait to do it again. Without the throw up.

In fact, hubs accidentally left his golf clubs in Dallas, so either we have to go get them or E and J have to bring them back to us. And then E and I can go shopping again. And again. And again.

It's a viciously wonderful cycle.

PS - This poop/puke virus is apparently everywhere, so wash your hands a lot and stay at home if you manage to get it. Seriously. Don't be that guy that goes to work all sickly just to prove how awesomely commited to the company you are. Everyone sees through that. Stay home.

PPS- I missed all of you, bloggies!

Friday, November 7, 2008

don't mess with texas

Ciao for the weekend, bloggies!

Hubs and I are headed out on an 8 hour road trip to Dallas, TX until Tuesday. We're going half for business (Monday I've got a work meeting. Whee.) and half for ungodly amounts of shopping pleasure. Huzzah huzzah!

My bestie recently moved from beautiful Kansas City to Dallas for her hub's residency. (I know, how awesomely selfless is she?) Although Dallas will never be as cool as KC, it does have its perks. They are:
  • Coach Outlets
  • Awesome weather
  • IKEA
  • IKEA
  • IKEA
  • IKEA

Clearly you can see where my priorities are.

It should be an enormously entertaining time when we get there. But first... we have to get there.

Eight hours. In the car with hubs. That's 13 days in my world. Let me explain.

Long drives with two people is very different than driving by yourself. I've made 10 hour road trips alone before. Easy peesy lemon squeezy. I can listen to and scream "All By Myself" on repeat and no one gets offended or annoyed. Concentrating on the road and getting lost in your thoughts is like therapy on a loner road trip.

Throw in a second body, and you may have problems.

For example, I love to read in the car. Hubs always insists on driving, so 9 times out of 10, that means I can read. I get lost in my book (which will undoubtedly be 'Twilight' for the 8th time) and time flies. I could go 12 hours in a car and it would feel like the blink of an eye if I could read the whole time.

Unfortunately, hubs interprets my silent reading to mean that I'm not interested in speaking to him.

Not true.

I love to talk to hubs. We've had 3 hour discussions in the car befrore. And I adore that. But it has to be an interesting topic.

(Like what we want to buy at IKEA when we get there. Or when we can start making babies.)

However, I do not consider listening to hubs belt out Tribe Called Quest's "Butter" a conversation. Even when he pauses long enough to say,

"Sing, baby. You know this song by now."

Those are words,yes. But not a conversation. This is someone (whom I love more than anything) telling me to sing a song that I could easily listen to as background music while I READ MY BOOK.

Hubs and I have had many disagreements over appropriate road trip music in the past. I think long drives in the car should be endured while listening to Billy Joel, Muse, Jack's Mannequin, 90's alternative or really awesomely bad 80's.

And show tunes.

Hubs wants to hear Ice Cube, Lil' Wayne, Kanye West, NWA, Outkast, Snoop and, of course, Tribe Called Quest. Fine and all...but for driving?


The only road music we 100% agree on is Dave Matthew's Band. We both equally love Dave's soothing voice and amazing lyrics. We even hold hands and car dance to "2 Step". How cute is that?

So, I vote that we compromise and put in as many discs of Dave as humanly possible for the drive down. Hubs can sing the songs as loudly as he wants without upsetting me.

And I can read my book.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

putting the sleigh before the reindeer

I'm aaalll about doing things in advance. It makes me feel ahead of the game.

(And most of the time since I don't even understand the game, any advantage I can get, I take.)

Like buying presents four months before peoples' birthdays, or filling out my work vacation request three months before it's due.

(Or spending my paycheck before it arrives in my bank account. What?)

Being the early bird is almost always something to shoot for. As a person who takes care of things early, you're considered organized, informed and responsible.

There are exceptions.

I got in my car this morning, turned on the radio and heard...


What. In. The. World.

According to my last calculation, it is November effing 6th. It has only been SIX days since I witnessed children walking up an down the street in skeleton costumes and ax-murderer masks. What are we doing celebrating baby Jesus this early?? I still have bags of 3 Musketeers and Twix sitting in my kitchen. PLUS I have not even begun choosing which expandable pants I will be wearing on Thanksgiving.

And the radio is playing carols like "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas."

No it isn't. It's beginning to look a lot like lunatics are running the air waves.

(Yes, I am silently thrilled about it. I mean, really. Josh Groban belting out "O Holy Night"?? Total sexiness. But that isn't the point right now.)

I'm not ready yet. I'm really not. There is a time and a place for being ahead of the game, but this is beyond ridiculum.

(Sometimes I make up words when I'm excited.)

We've just come off one of the biggest elections in US history. Could we maybe have a few days to decompress before we start in with


Just let me catch my breath and get back to zero. (Like my bank account.) There will be plenty of time for 24-hour Christmas celebrations in a few weeks.

Along with complete, total and over-the-top Josh Groban worship.

PS: (*So now that I'm officially out of the Christmas closet about loving Josh Groban (seriously, he's beautiful), do you have any secret guilty pleasures for the holidays? Leave a comment and share it with the world. It's liberating. If you're too embossed, email them to me at kim.antisdel {at} gmail {dot} com.

Still shy? I'll let you in on another one of mine....Celine Dion sings some kick ass holiday tunes.)

Monday, November 3, 2008

excercise with me tomorrow

Don't like to jog? Not a fan of swimming laps? That's okay, tomorrow you can exercise with me and you don't even have to check your heart rate. Exercise your right to vote tomorrow, November 4th.

If you aren't registered, first kick yourself squarely in the ass, then vow that you will register right now. This way, in 4 years you won't have to worry about it. It takes like, 9 seconds. You don't have an excuse.

(And don't tell me you have to get up too early to do it. We just had daylight savings time. You gained an hour of sleep. )

If you are registered and for some reason aren't sure if you're going to vote or not, do yourself an effing favor and buck up. This is your country, you have a say in who runs it and who doesn't. Whether you're like me and stuck in the Land of Oz (that's Kansas, people) or living it up in Rhode Island, you have a right to voice your opinion. You have the right to decide what happens to yoru country in the next 4 years. I don't care what your opinion is or whose side you happen to be on. I just care that you vote.

You have hopes, you have dreams, and you want to retire someday with more than $.18 in your account. So pick who you think can help make that happen, and vote for them. You voted 34588324 times for David Cook on American Idol. (Don't deny it.) This is a teensy bit higher on the priority scale.

I'm going to leave you with this little message from lots of hot celebrities.,,20236532,00.html

they don't make 'em like they used to

Wait...was this weekend Halloween? Friday was 76 degrees and beautiful, so does it really count?

Halloween is supposed to be dramatic. Trust me, I know. My childhood Halloween-time memories are mostly my Mom slaving for weeks over a sewing machine and crying out things like, "I certainly hope you appreciate what I do for you so you can be unique on Halloween and impress your friends!"

Inevitably, the big night would arrive...along with below zero temperatures and sleet. Mom would (lovingly) shove me in a 12 pound winter coat, squinching and squeezing in inches upon inches of her fabric creation, praying it wouldn't get stuck in the coat zipper. So basically my costume was never seen to the outside world. Keeping pneumonia away was more important.

But it didn't matter. Because Halloween was the only night of the year I was allowed to wear lipstick.


The greatest thing about this Halloween was that we had the girls! This was the first time we've ever had them on the actual night of Halloween, so it was fantastic to go along and watch them trick-or-treat. After two solid hours of ringing doorbells and being told they were "just so adorable", it was time to pack it in and check out the loot.

Oh my God. The amount of candy these kids came home with.

As a young trick-or-treater, I remember hearing, "just take one piece" at almost every house. And the candy selection varied from this crap to this even worse crap. I can't even count how many times I was tempted to say, "I'll just take a hug. Thanks so much."

But times have changed. On Friday, young people (I emphasize young. We know what the kiddies want.) all over the neighborhood opened their front doors with 5 gallon buckets of the good stuff. They smiled at our girls and said, "Just take whatever you want." And when the girls were finished, they heard, "You can take a few more."


The kids came home with items such as:
  • Full sized Starburst pack
  • Full sized Butterfinger pack
  • 18 handfuls of Kit Kat''s...from one house
  • Snickers
  • Milky Way's
  • 3 Musketeer's

Half of the candy I came home with as a kid I didn't even want! I used to beg my brother to give me one Kit Kat in exchange for 459028309384 pieces of Dubble Bubble. I had to pray he was stupid enough to take me up on it.

But I must say, if adults have finally caught on to what Halloween is all about (cavities and stomach aches) then I certainly can't complain. Our girls can have the Halloween's that I always wanted. Besides, isn't that what being a parent is all about? Wanting your kids to have it better than you did?

It's totally okay to be just the teeniest bit jealous.

And steal some of their candy after they go to sleep.

A pretty witch and Sharpay from HSM. Precious.

"I'll get you, my pretty. Because I'm pretty, too!"

I am sooo not ready for the hair dye phase yet. Thankfully, Kayla did not like herself as a blonde.

Ready for candy.

Loot, loot, loot.