Wednesday, March 25, 2009


When I was going through my awkward teen years, I had one recurring fantasy.

(No. Not that kind of fantasy. That didn't come until I finally saw Pretty Woman at the age of 16. I'm totally serious.)

My fantasy involved picking up, moving to a brand new city where I knew absolutely no one (except the pizza delivery man) and starting over fresh.

(Am I alone in this? Surely I can't be.)

Obviously in middle school teen-dom just sucks. You have braces, your sweat glands are out of control and everyone knows you have problems applauding properly. The idea of wiping the slate clean and starting over is just so...romantic.

(Truth be told, in 10th grade, in a last ditch effort to secure the man of my dreams, I told him I was moving to Alma KS to live with my Grandma. I wanted to see if he'd get upset. All he said was, "That sucks. You should write me a postcard." Back. Fire.)

But middle school is over now. Clearly. My braces are gone, the sweat glands are (quasai) in control, and I have learned to applaud with grace and style.

But occasionally I still find myself want to go somewhere else.

(Of course I want Hubs' and the girls to come, too. I need loved ones to share my pizza!!)

There's something so mysterious and exciting about new places and unfamiliar faces. New restaurants to discover, new job opportunities to find(my fantasy involves a healthy economy) and roads and routes and highways to learn.

I realize that after some time, the strangers would dissolve into friends (or enemies) and the new places would turn to familiar hangouts, but still...wouldn't it be cool?

(It'd be sort of like college, except subtract the ramen noodles and add a morgtage. So really...nothing like college.)

Have you ever wanted to up and move away, just because you can? I'm mostly full of hot air because I have a severe phobia of change...but someday I might just have the guts to do it.

What if...

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


I feel

Rainy Day Pictures, Images and Photos

Not happy, not sad. Okay, maybe a little sad.

And confused.

And worried.

But the sun will come back out. Eventually. And then I can say something stupid like, "I'm as right as rain."

(Which is the dumbest cliche, ever.)

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

the uncle I'd like to disown

Usually I am a big fan of March. It's my birthday month, green beer flows freely, March Madness begins... and I usually receive a big fat check from Uncle Sam.

(Oh wait? What's that? A big, fat not good surprise for me and Hubs? Whatever could it be?)

Apparently when you and your spouse go from an entry level job to a little higher up the food chain, the government decides to stick its little fingers in your cookie jar and take it all back.

Hubs and I figured we'd be okay for '08 because we are able to claim one of Hubs' daughters on our taxes, and we also own a house.

But this year, that just wasn't enough.

For the first time in my life, I owe taxes.

Until now, I the only time I even thought about owing was when I played Monopoly and landed on that pesky taxes square.

(And usually I just cheat and pass right over it. No one ever notices.)

In the game of Life Monopoly, I have arrived on that square. I'm pretty sure I can't just pass over it. The IRS might notice.

No, we don't owe just a measely $150 or even $200. It's way, way more. Now I understand why April 15th should be stricken from the worlds' calendar.

For the next month, when Hubs and I look at our savings account, we will not smile at the amount we have saved.

Because it is going bye bye.

(So much for finishing my office in the basement anytime soon.)

Thankfully, our tax dude played with our numbers and changed a few things, so that next year we either won't owe anything or we might just get a teeny bit back.

I love being an adult.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

berry, berry awkward

(Before I begin, I hope you are all respecting the clover today and wearing your Green Garb. If not, shame on you.)

Down to business...

I have failed to participate in Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday for awhile, but I had a flash of memory last night at the grocery store and decided to share.

Cuz it's a good one.

So, let's turn the clock back to freshman year of college. 1999. Good times.

The best thing about college, of course is this: your boyfriend can sleep over.

Now, I must tell you that early in college I was still a relatively innocent gal. I wasn't like, the driven snow or anything, but I was relatively shy about certain aspects of a relationship.

(Wow, I really am going to talk about this right now.)

Anyways, I had a boyfriend. The ex. We started dating in high school and subsequently dated for 7 years after that as well. But that's neither here nor there.

So, boyfriend and I lived 45 minutes apart during my freshman year of college. He remained at home, I lived in a dorm.

One day, my Mom called to inform me that she and my Dad were going out of town for the weekend. Would I mind coming home and watching the house for them?


Parents out of town means one thing and one thing only: Boyfriend can come over.

(Loosely translated: no dorm bed.)

In my excitement, I called my roommate, Erin, and told her of my good fortune. What should I do?

Being the love machine that she is, Erin suggested I give him a special treat. She's all, "You should get a sexy outfit and feed him strawberries!"

So I planned it all out. I would leave a proverbial trail of breadcrumbs for Boyfriend and he would find me and we'd make out and eat strawberries.


I carefully made little notes for him to find when he came over that would ultimately lead him to my bedroom.

(Remember, I was still pretty innocent, so these notes were ridiculously cheesy. Things like, "Go to the microwave and find something to really heat things up!" And the item he found would be, like, a pair of slippers.


The last note I left for Boyfriend went something like this:

"Go to the refrigerator and find something sweet and juicy! Then come find me in my room and get ready to be blown away!"

(Clearly my writing skills were not the honed awesomeness you all witness today.)

Okay, so the night comes. And it all goes wrong.

The Boyfriend is 25 minutes late and we end up arguing half the time anyway. If memory serves, we did go through the motions of the "note hunt" but the strawberries never even made it out of the fridge.

The next morning, Boyfriend and I clean the house. I thoroughly check each note place to make sure all evidence of anything that would put my mother in an early grave has been removed.

Satisfied, Boyfriend and I leave and go over to his house.

Later that afternoon, Boyfriend and I go to the grocery store for some dinner essentials. (Pizza, beer, ice cream.) As we browse the store, we pass through the produce section.

My eyes land on the strawberries. And my stomach drops.

Immediately my brain sets on fire. Did I get the bowl of strawberries with the NOTE SITTING ON TOP out of the fridge? Did I even OPEN the fridge this morning?

As if on cue, my cell phone rings.

It is my mother.

Knowing I have to face the music, I answer the phone. It went something like this:

Mom: KIM?

Me: (sweating profusely) Hey, Mom! Did you guys have a good time?

Mom: (irritated) Yes, we had a fine time. I'm just in the kitchen making your Dad a sandwich and I found -"

Me: Cool! (thinking fast) Oh! While you're in there, can you tell me if there's a bowl of strawberries with a note on the top?

Mom: (calmly) Yes. There is. What is this? Did Boyfriend come over last night?

Me: (gripping my hands into fists and praying to God) Well, he was supposed to! But he never made it. See, (racking brain) he was going to come over and I was going him a really, really nice back massage! (Did I just say back massage?) I was leaving the strawberries for him to eat while I did that, but he never made it over. He and his Dad got in a fight and that's why the bowl is still full. (Mentally thanking God we never got to the strawberries the night prior. It solidified my ludicrous story.)

Mom: (sighing from relief or absolute disgust.) Well...okay. In the future, when we aren't home, Boyfriend is not to be here overnight. And in the future, save the notes for his parents to find.


Me: Right! Sounds good, have a great day!


I'm pretty sure my mom knew I was completely full of it, but really, what do you expect from an 18 year old girl full of hormones and dating a boy?

The moral to this story: A bowl of strawberries in a fridge are always better than a bun in the oven.

Monday, March 16, 2009

the facts of (sweet) life

Random Facts/Advice From Mexico Trip: 2009

* When riding the bus from economy parking to the KCI airport, make sure your driver is not on a secret mission to kill you.

* Personality is not a required character trait for most Frontier Airlines flight attendants.

* When renting a car in Mexico, ask for beer while you wait for your vehicle. They will give it to you.

* Tacking the letter "O" to the end of every word does not make it Spanish. Case in point: "Sand-o" is not the Spanish equivalent for the English word "Sand." Likewise, "La Hammock-o" is not the Spanish equivalent for "Hammock".

* Drinking water from a tap is a hard habit to break.

* Listening to waves sing you to sleep is el good-o.

* When you scream "LIMAS!" at a waiter, he will not realize that you need more limes. He will simply assume you're psycho and drunk. Which you are.

* The ocean delights in pulling off your swimming suit.

* Forget national health care, fresh guacamole every day should be a US law first.

* If you choose to bring your child to Mexico, make sure you have someone for him to play with. Otherwise he may run through a nice restaurant threatning to bite people. Awesome.

* Tequila will make you vomit. A lot.

* ATM machines in Tulum, Mexico are very hungry. They will eat your ATM card and not give it back.

* There are no clocks in Mexico.

* You will never need high heels in any part of Mexico. Don't bring them.

And Some Fun Number Facts from the Mexico Trip: 2009

28: Number of times I said, "the ocean is so pretty!"

50: The percentage of people on our trip that vomited from over-doing tequila shots.

543: Number of times I saw a gecko and called it a Geico.

82: Dollars Hubs and I spent on souvenirs. AMAZING, is it not?

2: Number of times I checked my email. (This number would've been greater if I had access to internet...but still. I'm quite proud of myself for going un-plugged.)

3: Arguements Hubs and I had. Considering we were together 24/7 for over 7 days, I am sure we will last forever. Espeically considering how annoying I can get.

3,000: Square feet in our casa.

12: Amount of avacadoes we estimate our house attendant used each day to make us guacamole.

9: Minutes it took us to eat the guacamole.

5: The least amount of pounds I gained while on vacation.

3: Number of times I had a non-alcoholic drink for breakfast.

1: Days it rained for longer than 8 minutes.

0: Number of times I wanted to come home.


Our trip was amazing. Seriously. I don't think I would change one thing about.

Some people wouldn't be able to spend an entire week in the same house with their spouse, let alone their spouses family. I am uber lucky that Hubs' has such cool people in his fam that I get along with.

Pictures will be coming soon! If you're a friend of mine on Facebook, you can check them out. And if you aren't my friend on Facebook, what is wrong with you? Here I am.

Glad to be back, Bloggies! I missed you!

Saturday, March 7, 2009

wasting away in margaritaville

No, I'm not going to get into "The Bachelor". The whole thing is just too ridiculous to comment on.

(And I'm packing for Mexico right now, so reality TV seems slightly insignificant.)

Admittedly, I've never been good at packing for trips. I just cram too many things into that itty bitty space.

(I have much practice at this once a month when attemtping to fit into my jeans, but somehow that talent doesn't translate into packing.)

Theoretically, all I should bring are swimsuits and conditioner.

Realistically, I've already packed two pairs of heels and several dresses. And I might or might not have packed three pairs of jeans.

Just in case.

The problem is, I can't concentrate. Every time I start to think logically about absolute necessities, this keeps popping in my head

Strawberry Margaritas Pictures, Images and Photos

And I just want to nap until it's time to leave.

Hubs has already rolled his eyes at least three times for me bringing ridiculous clothing items, but what can I say?
I need options.

(Bringing more than one handbag is okay, right? I mean, think about when the girls went to Mexico in Sex and the City movie.)

I'm not packing nearly that much crap.

(Though not from lack of trying. I'm mostly afraid Hubs will serve me with divorce papers if I do.)

Anyways, as far as I know, I have Internet service where we're going, but I wouldn't count on lots of updates.

I'll be too drunk.

Of course when I return there will be pictures and multiple stories.

(Hopefully none that involve the Mexican police or tequila worms, but I'm not making any promises.)

I'll miss you all while I'm away!


Monday, March 2, 2009

If reality TV drama is a drug, there will be massive overdoses occurring at 9/8 central this evening.

Tonight is the Bachelor Finale!

Duhhhhh du dum dum DUMMMMM!!!!!!!

If you believe the rumors, the Bachelor will pick one girl (Molly?) as his fiance, and then, in "the most dramatic finale in Bachelor history", change his mind and pick the other one (Melissa?).

Oh, and the chick that dumped him last year on the Bachelorette is going to ask him to come back.

Holy ridiculous ratings, Batman!


I gotta say, if video editing is an art, ABC is a modern day Michelangelo. Or maybe Van Gogh. With both ears. The act piecing together clips to create drama that isn't there is now a Bachelor staple. This season is not a let down in that department.

Rather than try to figure it all out, I think I'll just watch and see. Either way, I feel bad for the Bachelor's son. Would you want your Dad to get engaged after meeting his girlfriend only ONE TIME? Is family therapy a perk for appearing on this show?

Here's a link to the finale teaser...


This weekend was fabulous - mostly.

Leisurely shopping for fun Mexico sundresses? Amazing!

Enjoying an afternoon matinee of "Slumdog Millionaire? Fiercely fantastic.

Shopping for a swimsuit? Wah wahhhhhhh.

What is up with the swimsuit shopping experience? Bad lighting and inaccurate sizes are not helpful. They should provide trash cans for purging in the fitting rooms when your favorite swim suit contention makes you look like a bloated baby seal.

(I'm not condoning purging/anorexia/bulimia. I was trying to be amusing.)

Thankfully, after putting my lovely Hubs and his patient mother through 23,454,973 swimming suit options, I found one that manages to make:

a) my boobs look a little less like cantaloupes

b) my booty not quite resemble the tasty eggplant we discussed earlier

c) me not want to refer to my body parts in fruits and vegetable terms


So yes, I have a new suit and I am ready for Mexico. Except for that pesky packing my suitcase thing.



I mentioned it in passing earlier, but if you haven't seen "Slumdog Millionaire" yet, buy a ticket tonight and go.

(For real, you don't need to see "Paul Blart: Mall Cop." Again.)

I don't know if it was the cinematography or the depth of the characters that I fell in love with more in Slumdog. The central message of love, determination and overcoming that which stands in your truly resonated with me in a way that I didn't expect.

For one of the first times ever, I think the Oscar peeps got it right.


So, to recap the weekend. Slumdog Millionaite = good. Swimsuit shopping = evil.

Below are some pics Hubs and I took from last weekend's adventure to Great Wolf Lodge. Enjoy!