Wednesday, April 29, 2009

on the road again

Things I Love About Traveling For Work:

1. Eating Old Chicago's crispy chicken salad over lunch. In a booth in the corner. Reading Twilight to myself. Again.

2. Taking my fave clients for dinner and drinks.

3. Seeing one of my best friends for two days and catching up on all the crazy rumors we hear about people from high school.

4. Hearing Hubs say, "I miss you" over the phone.

5. Out of town browsing.

Things I Do NOT Love About Traveling For Work:

1. Reading my schedule wrong and showing up to the wrong building for the wrong appointment at the wrong time on the wrong day.

2. Driving 10 miles in the wrong direction, and not realizing it until I reach a town with population 2,300.

3. Having to hear Hubs say, "I miss you" over the phone.

4. Missing my own bed.

5. Having to go to the bathroom really bad and not having anywhere to go except the hole in the wall Kum and Go I just passed 4 miles back. The Kum and Go whose cashier looks like he may or may not have recently Shawshank Redemption'd himself out of a pedophile prison that made him wear pink pajamas the whole time he was there.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

i like the number 8

Adriana tagged me, and it's one I haven't done before, so I'll give it a go.

(Also, I have an award to post that I received yesterday. YAY! I'll get to that later.)

Okay, onto being tagged.

8 Things I'm Looking Forward To:

1. Being a mother. (In the future, people. No announcements today.)

2. Eating large quantities of sushi.

3. Returning from my travels to see Hubs on Friday.

4. Starting my wedding blog. Oh yes, it will happen someday. If you promise to read it.

5. Counting the number of times Jack Bauer says, "This doesn't make any sense!!" on 24 next Monday.

6. Taking a vacation with Hubs and the girls this summer. Location is still TBD.

7. Reading book 5 in the Sookie Stackhouse series.

8. Going to "Angels and Demons" in May. Woot!

8 Things I did yesterday

1. Blogged about a tornado.

2. Probably pissed off NASCAR fans in my post about a tornado.

3. Realized my wedding ring isn't insured.

4. Told the world my wedding ring isn't insured.

5. Ran into the bathroom wall.

6. Day dreamed about
Edward Cullen.

7. Wrote my third article for Shawnee Magazine.

8. Made killer chocolate chip cookies for Hubs.

8 Things I Wish I could do

1. Whistle with my fingers.

2. Hell, whistle with my vagina. How cool would that be?

3. The splits (while whistling from my vagina! SWEET! Man, I'm saucy today.)

4. Write a book that people would read. Preferably not about vagina's.

5. Stop paying my Home Owner's Association dues. And electric bill. And mortgage.

6. Eat food with lots of butter without instantly regretting it.

7. Make a super cool cake like the ones on "Ace of Cakes." And then feed it to Edward Cullen. Slowly.

8. Be asked to write the 5th Twilight book, and title it "Edward. 'Nuff Said."

8 Shows I Watch

1. Real Housewives- OC

2. Real Housewives- Atlanta

3. Real Housewives- NYC (are we seeing a pattern here?)

4. Projct Runway

5. The Rachel Zoe Project

6. Design Star

7. America's Next Top Model

(Who's with me? I love to watch Tyra Banks pretend she cares about anyone but herself.


Tyra: "Oh, (girl's name here). This picture is stunning! It actually reminds me of a photgraph I took when I was in Vogue. Or was it Elle? Anyway, I was fantastic. You look just like I did. Except I did my photograph in 104 degree heat and I was the photographer and the model AT THE SAME TIME. That's how amazing I am. And I had a horrible rash that day but you'd never know it because I was working it out. Remember, Ms. J? Child, I killed that photo shoot! But yeah, this is a nice photograph of you. Congratulations. You're still in the running towards becoming America's...Next...Top...Model.")

8. 24

I think I'm supposed to tag 8 other people, but I'm in a rush, so it's only going to be 4. Here we go:

Grace's Birdcage Wedding

Perfectly Cursed Life

Lacey in Love

Love and Marriage

If you've already been tagged, simpy ignore this and return to your regularly scheduled programming.

fancy panties

My teen years were awkward in general, as I'm sure yours were too, no?
(Come on. You know they were. We tell the truth here.)

Braces, bad hair styles, tight was all so very, very bad. But every once in a great awhile, a day would come along when I felt truly beautiful. And trust me, they were rare. Like, seeing a lime green rabbit frolicking through the snow rare.

One of the high self esteems days that I can remember quite accurately is my 9th grade graduation. I was so excited for it. I'd be moving up to the high school with the big kids soon.
After the ceremony, I would officially be a freshman.

As icing to the graduation cake, I had been selected by the principal to sit up on the stage during the commencement due to my amazing GPA.

(Or maybe it was because they just needed a seat filler who woulnd't cause trouble. I don't remember.)

Obviously, to be asked to sit on the stage during a commencement was a big deal. I'd be in front of all of my classmates, my boyfriend and my parents and relatives. I needed to look amazing.
I picked my dress very carefully. It was a little turquoise number that came down to my knees (mom refused to let me go any shorter) and hugged my body nicely.

The day of the ceremony came and I was pumped. I'll admit, I looked pretty darn good. Plus, I had a very decent boyfriend that would be looking up at me on the stage that night thinking,

"That is the woman I'm going to marry."

I was ready.

So the big night arrives, and I'm feeling confident and important. I take my place up on the stage and sit quietly as the students filter in. I see my boyfriend. I see my best friends. I see cute boys eyeing me that have never noticed me until now.
It must be because I look so grown up on this stage! I have impressed everyone with my turquoise dress!

The principal begins his speech on our class and I try to act interested like a soon-to-be freshman would. But my best friend is distracting me. She's waving her arms and making bizarre hand signals at me and mouthing lots of words.

What the hell? How rude! I'm up here trying to be all professional and cute, and she's trying to make me laugh!

Bitch. She's clearly jealous. I ignore her and look somewhere else. My eyes wander and focus on the cute dude with the shaved head that told me he liked my overalls back in February. (God, that was a good day.) I decide to look at him.

He has a weird smirk on his face. What is that about?

In a knee-jerk reaction, I look back to my best friend. Now she and her entire row are making hand gestures and mouthing words to me.


I focus on my friend's mouth. What is she saying?

And then I get it.


Oh my God.

I've become so accustomed to hanging out at the lunch table in jeans and a t-shirt that I've completely forgotten how to sit like a lady. I'm definitely sitting with one foot right next to the other. Which is fine...except I'm sitting SIX FEET HIGHER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. The entire audience below is eye level with my crotch.

Holy shit.

I find boyfriend in the audience. He doesn't seem to mind.

Trying to remain professional and worthy of my spot on the stage, I lazily cross my legs and look up to the ceiling as if pondering the meaning of the universe. No one is fooled. I can hear awkward snickers and laughs and snorts coming from those that are in on what's just happened.

Looking back, I'm (for the first and last time)thankful to my mother for making me wear panty hose that night. Otherwise the shot of my special parts would have been more "Showgirls" than "Dirty Dancing."

All in all, I think the best part was after the ceremony when boyfriend approached me red faced and smiling and said,

"You looked really good tonight."

Indeed I did, boyfriend. Indeed I did. You're still not getting any. No one sees my Mickey Mouse panties up close but me.

Monday, April 27, 2009

thank you letter

Dear Semi-Large Tornado:

Thank you for missing our house on Saturday.

Considering our uninsured $10,000 musical instrument sitting in the basement and an uninsured wedding ring on my finger, I very much appreciate your absence in our front lawn.

And your kindness in not ripping my ring finger off.

As for the houses that you did destroy- that wasn't very nice. Shouldn't you have aimed for something that could use a little destruction?

Like, I don't know...

Maybe the Kansas Speedway and all the Nascar crap that makes our house IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO because of the crazy ridiculous fans that drink all day long and clog the streets with their gigantic white-trash mobiles and mullets?

I'm just spitballing, here.

(Seriously though. The Speedway. Just mess it up a little. Don't kill anyone. Just knock a few brains loose. They'll be okay.)

(Whatever, defensives. You would hate Nascar fans too if you had them in your backyard for the ENTIRE WEEKEND.)

Anyways, Semi-Large Tornado, thanks again. I'd appreciate you staying far, far away from our house indefinitely.

Because honestly? If our basement is destroyed before Hubs even has a chance to finish it, I fear he might lose his mind.

And become a Nascar fan to pass his time rather than finishing the basement.

I just can't have that.



i've gone country


No, seriously. I can handle country music in small (very, very small) spurts, but for the most part, it just drives me to drink.

(Which, in a strange twist of irony, don't most country songs talk about drinking? Coincidence? I think not.)

(Or maybe they're all about losing their cats on a slow train to Tennessee where the wild flowers grow or something. I dunno. It's neither here nor there.)


Desipite my outward dislike for most country music, I do secretly (like, in my car when no one is around for miles) listen to a few songs on occasion.

If they're awesome.

Or talk about recovering from asshole ex boyfriends.

Or make me cry.

Or are named "Cry."

This particular song just happens to meet all four of those requirements.

I've heard the studio verion of this song many times. Wah wahh. Not so great.

Recently though, I stumbled upon a live version in which Faith I'm-So-Hot-Because-I'm-Married-To-Tim-McGraw-and-Have-Pretty-Blonde-Big-Hair Hill sings the song as a duet with the actual writer, Angie Aparo.

(YAYYYYY writers!)

(And yay Angie Aparo becaue he's super cute and I'd like to carry him around in my pocket and give him a tickle every now and again.)

Without further ado, here is Faith Hill and Angie Aparo singing, "Cry".

Because, ya know, it's Monday. What else have you got to do?

and that's why I married you...

I love weekends where I have absolutely nothing on my agenda save sleeping until well past 9.00 and watching romantic chick flicks while Hubs works on his motorcycle in the garage.

Ahhhhh, bliss.

When I thought it couldn't get any better, Hubs pulled out his magic hat and proved me wrong.

He surprised me by planning a trip to the movies on Sunday night. I've wanted to see "The Soloist" since we saw the previews over three months ago. I didn't think Hubs would want to go so I intended to view it when it released on DVD.

But Hubs is a crafty and clever. And he remembered I wanted to see it.

It did not disappoint.

Granted, I'm biased because I've played the cello for over 13 years and am therefore partial to any film whose main character is a cellist. But this movie was so much more.

I won't get into any spoilers, but I highly recommend you go see it. The colors, the music, the message. They all meld together in a harmony that rivals even the most talented symphony.

(And Hubs was happy because the Guggenheim was in it and it's all architecture-y. Which he loves.)

So thanks, Hubs, for making my weekend a great one to remember. I'll pay you back when Terminator 4 comes out in May.

Friday, April 24, 2009

break it down

Occasionally I just fall apart.

I'm talking tears falling, snot running, ugly cry fall apart.

It happens to the best of us. The day goes all wrong when you had such high hopes for it to be great. The sun is shining but you're cloudy on the inside. Everything feels upside down and inside out and you can't get anything to focus.

So you fall apart.

It used to be when I experienced moments like these, I had to pick myself up and get on with my life alone.

One of the benefits to falling apart now is I have emotional Scotch Tape in the form of Hubs.

And he puts me back together.

He listens to me cry/talk/sniffle until well past 10.30, even though his newly rented movie is sitting on the coffee table waiting to be watched.

He tells me I'm beautiful, funny, smart.

He tells me everyone has bad days, and it's okay.

He makes me laugh again.

He reminds me that no matter what, he'll be here tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day....

And that's all I really need to know.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

mouth on floor...

My mom told me about this video last night. I watched it this morning and was tearing up by the time it was finished.

I'd like to take this time to apologize to every book I ever judged by its cover.

I stand corrected.

(You Tube won't let me embed the video, so you'll have to go check it out at the link above. Sorry!)

no words wednesday

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

made from scratch (or itch)

Go see Tova for details on Awkward Tuesday:

During my junior year of college, I went to a Lutheran retreat in Atlanta, GA. The majority of our group was under the age of 18, thus we had to have adult chaperones.

(C'mon, think about it. 17-year olds at a religion convention? If you ever went to one, you know God and the Bible are generally the last thing on anyone's mind. Trust me, supervision is a necessity.)


For my church's group, we had three main chaperones. My own mother and my best friend's mom were two of those chaperones.

My friends and I were psyched. Our mom's were cool enough to know that we didn't really want to attend to every single Praise Jesus function that was offered. We wanted to see Atlanta, flirt with some boys, and get some religion in on the side. What can I say? We were teenagers.

So stop judging.

The last chaperone cool. In fact, looking back, I'm not entirely confident she was playing with a full deck. Though nice enough, she really, truly had no business trying to chaperone a group of 10 teenagers.

Look, she wasn't mean or anything. She just didn't really fit in with the group. She wore Tweety Bird t-shirts and bicycle shorts. Like, the spandex ones.

All. The. Time.


But, being the devout Lutherans that we were, we all tried to include her and her son in the planning of the group retreat. And typically, anything super annoying that Tweets or her son said could be ignored and looked past.


One Sunday afternoon, a few days before the trip, the whole clan got together to finalize details for the convention. As we all sat there discussing how much fun we were destined to have, someone brought up packing for the trip.

It went something like this:

Mom: We have so much stuff to get in our suitcases for the week! How will we do it?

Best Friend: I know! I have 8 pairs of shoes! And I have to have room for the shopping we'll be doing.

Me: I don't care if I have to carry them on the plane, I am NOT going to Atlanta without my new Doc Martens. They're so heavy and huge, but I HAVE TO HAVE THEM!!

(remember, this was 1998. Doc's were the shiznit back then.)

Best Friend's Mom: Well, we must remember to bring stuff for emergencies. Girls, if you're going to be having a monthly problem, better be sure to prepare!

All of us: (laughter and jokes all around) Ha ha! Ew! Gross. Ha ha! Hee Hee!

Tweets: Oh yes, that reminds me! I forgot I need to go to Walgreen's. I need to get some yeast infection cream. All that walking we'll be doing is going to make it awful rough on me! Ha ha! Hopefully there'll be bathrooms so I can reapply as necessary! Right? Right?



(intense desire to puke all around)

Mom: (clapping hands) All right! Where should we eat for dinner on Saturday when we arrive?


First of all, the majority of those in attendance were 17 years old or younger. Half of us (including myself) thought a yeast infection had something to do with bread mix gone bad.

(Of course, after that little incident, you bet your cat's pajamas I was on the Internet looking it up.)

(Word to the wise - don't let your daughter find out what a yeast infection is over the Internet. The scars will never heal.)

Second of all, why in the name of Jesus, Mary or Joseph would you discuss a nanner infection with your SON PRESENT???

I get that Tweets felt like we were all having a "girl" talk, but did she forget her adolescent MALE child was sitting next to us?

You must have boundaries, people.

I would die if Hubs decided to discuss his raging jock itch while our daughters were within 5 miles of us.

(No, Hubs does not have jock itch. I'm just exampling.)

Lastly, discussing the rash/burning/itch/odor of your girlie parts due to anything (least of all yeast)is just better left off the table.

Leave the yeasty cream talk to your diary.

And then burn after writing.

Monday, April 20, 2009

oh happy day

photo by me. amazing, am I not?

Just found out that one of my bestest besties is going to have her first baby in December! I could not be more excited if it was my own happy baby news.

(Okay, I'd be a little more excited if it was my news. But I like to exaggerate when the moment calls for it.)

My lovely friend (whom I will call Sparrow) and her Hubs have been trying for quite some time to get preggers, and I think for awhile she was wondering if her equipment wasn't working properly.

Good to know your uterus is working just fine.

Like I ever had any doubts.

Congratulations, Little Sparrow! You'll be a mama bird soon, and Auntie Kimmy will be there every step of the way.

(Well, not every step. Doctor's offices freak me out. As do discussions of the words placenta, swelling, fallopian tubes, engorged, breast milk, and cervix.)

So, in actuality, I'll just be there when you pick out the outfits, names, sheets, shoes, dressers, changing tables and party favors.

God, you're so lucky to have a friend like me.

will write for food - or cap and gown.

Call me crazy - but I've been thinking.
(No worries, the fire extinguisher is right here next to me in case my brain explodes)

I'm going to share my thoughts with you. Because I can.

I kinda want to go back to school.

Duuuuh, duh dum duh DUMMMMMMM!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. For serious. I have no desire to leave it. It's fulfilling, it's challenging and it's a blast.

This really has nothing to do with my current job or the state of the economy either. It's more to do with...I want to pursue my passion.

(I know, I know. Hey Kim, shouldn't you have pursued your passion say, the first time you went to college?)

(Yes, smarty pants. I should have. And I thought I was at the time. So shut it.)

Unfortunately, when I went to my high school guidance counselor in 1999 to discuss my future, the conversation went something like this:
Counselor: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Me: (thinking that I had next period with really, really hot boy.) Um...I don't know really. I'm good at the cello.

Counselor: Music! Excellent. Anything else?

Me: (wondering if hot boy would be wearing his sky blue shirt today) Yeah...I love acting. I could try that.

Counselor: Music and acting are in the same vein, so you could definitely combine those two desires. What else?

Me: (picking my fingernails and thinking about hot boy's lips) I took a class in interior design last year. That was fun and I have an interest in design.

Counselor: Do you think you might want to do something like that?

Me: Maybe. I dunno. (pause as my brain finally wakes up.) Actually, I'm really good at writing. I think I'd maybe like to write a book, or work for a magazine someday.

Counselor: (frowns) Art, design, and music are all kind of in the same subject headings. You don't need a degree to write a book. Anyone can do that. I'd stick with one of those three we already discussed. That makes the most sense.

Me: Okay. Can I go now?

In hindsight, my "passion" was in front of my face for essentially my entire life. In grade school, when teachers would sign my yearbooks

(yes, I asked my teachers to sign my yearbook)

they wouldn't sign messages like, "Have a great summer, Kim!" They wrote, "Can't wait to see your first published book!" and "What an amazing writer you are! Keep it up!" and "I wish you hadn't talked so much during class!"

Okay, the last one is neither here nor there.


Sometimes I think about how much I would love working as a copywriter/advertiser/public relations/journalist/whatever person. It seems like something I would be stellar at and super duper enjoy.

(And really, if blogging paid the bills, I would have no need to consider this life transition. So, anytime ya'll want to donate to the "Keep Kim Out of College and Writing This Amazing Blog" fund, I am open to it.)

Truth be told, it's freelancing for Shawnee Magazine that started this little snowball a rollin'. I love freelancing, I love writing articles and I want to be more involved in that whole creative process.

Unfortunately, to an editor, a snarky gal with a degree in Interior Design doesn't evoke images of awesome writing abilities. Yes, my magazine experience is helpful, but I'll be honest.
I've only written two articles.
Cosmopolitan isn't exactly knocking down my door.

I guess...maybe I'm just excited at the possibilities that would open if I got a degree that specializes in communications.

It's also probably true that some peeps already in these positions will tell me to run far, far away. The hours are hell, the boss can be a drag, the client is never satisfied...

But that's for me to learn, right? And really, how is that different from any other job?

Bottom line, I'm just thinking about it. No one need worry, it's probably going nowhere.
(Last I checked Hubs and I don't have an extra $30K to roll around in.)

Although, it would be nice to experience college without worrying about vomiting up last night's Jell-O shots all over my desk.
It could be interesting...

Friday, April 17, 2009

here, kitty kitty

I know you didn't ask for them, but too bad. Last night Hubs and I couldn't resist taking a few snaps of Cupcake considering I did nothing but gush about him on my last post.

Here are some pictures of our little lover kitty cat. He's training to be a fashion model.

Believe it or not, this is not Cupcake attempting to rip my eyes out. I just happened to catch him mid-yawn. Very Pet Sematary, huh?
(PS, yes, Sematary is spelled correctly in reference to the Steven King book/movie. All this time I thought it was cemetery. Learn something new every day, don't we?)

Have a fantastic weekend, bloggies! I'm headed to Iowa with Hubs and the girls for a weekend of Iowa State parades, hot dogs, soda pop, sunshine and debauchery.

Well, maybe not the debauchery part, but everything else.

Catch you on the flip side...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

if you question your sanity, that means you're sane, right?

I love my kitty. For real. He makes me smile when I am sad, he makes me feel loved when I am lonely and he pisses me off when he wakes me up by chewing on my toes.

I think that how you interact with a pet is a somewhat good indication of how you will be with a small child.

And that's why I'm worried.

Lately, I've been paying attention to some of the things I say to my kitten.

I am beginning to understand why Hubs thinks I'm bonkers.

Here are some of the more psychotic phrases I say to Cupcake on a regular basis:

"Cupcake, why won't you be a kitten? BE A KITTEN, Cupcake!"

-Okay, clearly, he is a kitten. No amount of trickery or wizard sorcery is going to change him into a goat or a snickerdoodle, nor do I want him to be either of those things. But when he doesn't pay attention to me, I find myself telling him to be a kitten. WTF?

"Are you my lover? You are aren't you? You're my baby lover!"

-Why would I ask my CAT if he is my lover? And a baby lover at that? I should only have one lover, yes? I'm sure Hubs is more than willing to step up to the plate on that one. And I doubt he likes me asking my kitten to fill his spot.

"Go and see Papa! He loves you so much! Go, go! Go see PAPA!"

This is how I tell Cupcake to go and hang out with Hubs. Is Hubs gray or carrying around an oxygen tank? No. Did he grow up on with the Ingalls family on "Little House on the Prairie?" Um, negative. SO WHY AM I REFERRING TO HUBS AS PAPA to our cat??? I'll be honest with you, sometimes I even pronounce Papa as "Pah-Pah". Seriously. Like my cat is a cast member in Oliver Twist or some ridiculous shit like that.

"My little loo loo kitty catty is such a good baby lover! You're a little loo loo lover cakes!!"

I'm not even going to touch this one.


This is very similar to the first and second ridiculousness that I metnioned. But I do it all. the. time. Do I really want my cat to be my lover? No. But I do want him to snuggle with me and let me pet him. It's unbelievable that an animal has so much power over me. God help Hubs and I when we have a baby.

Can you imagine the looks I'll get at Target when I'm asking my 2 month old baby to please be my lover??? Jayzus.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

mistaken identity

For details on Totally Awkward Tuesday, go check out Tova's blog. I send you there weekly, so you should have the hang of this by now.

My family and I took vacations each summer when I was growing up, and one of our favorite places to visit was Colorado.

(This could be because Colorado is a mere 8 hour car ride with my siblings, as opposed to 32 hours if we ventured to Florida.)


So, one year my family goes to Colorado and decides to make a stop at Pikes Peak. Ya know, tall mountain, grandeur, etc. etc.

I was not entirely thrilled.

It wasn't that the mountain was high. I love roller coasters, I don't have a huge problem with tall buildings. The problem I have with mountain is that it is a MOUNTAIN.

There are no highly trained engineers checking the road each morning to make sure the ride is safe. There are no crazy ridiculous building safety standards assuring me that the mountain is structurally sound.

And worst of all:


(I still to this day have nightmares of driving off the side of a mountain and plummeting to my death.)


So there I am, trudging up the side of this damn mountain with my parents having conversations like this:


Dad: I am watching the road. Where does it LOOK like I'm looking?

Mom: Well, you're singing along to the radio!

Dad: Yes, and that involves my ears. Not my EYES.

Mom: Well, you need to concentrate and I don't see how you can be focused when the radio is - LOOK OUT! OH MY GAWWWDDDD!! DON'T HIT THAT CAR!

Dad: I swear to God, if you don't stop screaming you're going to cause an accident.

Mom: If you keep singing and looking out the window at the damn scenery we're all going to end up dead!

Dad: Do you want to drive!!!????

Mom: No.

Dad: Then BE QUIET!!! The radio is the last thing you need to worry about distracting me when you're nagging.

Mom: Watch the road. The guide says sometimes mountain goats will just pop up out of nowhere.


You get the idea.

Needless to say, I was ancy about climbing this mountain one little steep incline at a time. It seemed unnecessary when I could just look at pictures of the mountain from safely on the ground below.

My mom was no dummy, and in an effort to keep us kids excited about the trip to the top, she promised us we could all buy our favorite kind of candy when we got there.

I had my mind set on a big, fat Hershey bar.

At the top of the mountain, I was surprised at how many people were there. We were apparently not the only families that were attempting this adventure.

Everywhere I looked parents were holding on their kids, screaming at them not to get too close to the edge of the mountain. And every single kid looked miserable.

I made my way into the gift shop, looking for my Hershey bar I had so bravely earned.

As I browsed the candy section, I felt a presence behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I recognized my Dad's jacket.

He was here to buy my candy!

I whirled around quickly and gave my father a gigantic hug while bouncing up and down singing something to the effect of,

"It's CANDY TIME! It's CANDY TIME! Are you ready to buy me some CAAANDDYYYY????"

Right then, out of the folds of my Dad's jacket, I saw my sister across the gift shop. She was showing my Dad some postcards of the mountain.


What was my Dad doing OVER THERE?

I looked up very slowly to see a strange man person in my Dad's coat standing over me, smiling awkwardly.

This was not my Dad.

This man looked like Woody Harrelson. On a bad hair day. After a night of snorting Tobasco sauce.

I backed away and made a tremendously pathetic attempt to scream, but nothing came out.

I think Woody offered to help me find my Dad, but I was too busy running across the gift shop to pay attention.

Quickly I ran over to my (real) dad and told him I wanted to leave right now. He wasn't interested.

Ever the clever child, I then located my mom and told her my lungs were hurting from a lack of oxygen to my brain.

That worked. And away we went, back down the mountain.

I never got my Hershey bar.

Monday, April 13, 2009

allow me to make you rich

WANTED: Inventor

Credentials/experience required: Automobile experience helpful.

Requirements: Create a car accessory that honks/screams/yells at me if I put my vehicle in drive when attempting to reverse out of a parking spot.

Compensation: Negotiable

WANTED: Inventor/Medium

Credentials/experience required: Familiarity with the supernatural preferred.

Requirements: Provide me with the psychic ability to know if the client I just met saw me trip over my own feet and almost take a nosedive into the pavement.

Compensation: Everything I own

Wanted: A Muscle Head/ Bull Sh*tter

Credentials/experience required: An ability to talk to big wigs who think they know everything is preferred, but extensive experience in Jujitsu will be considered as well.

Requirements: Convince the no-brain ass clowns at Fox that "Prison Break" is a good show and need not be cancelled. "Lie to Me" has all the excitement of watching my toenails grow. WHY NOT CANCEL THAT?

Note: Physical persuasion a la Jack Bauer may become necessary.

Compensation: A squinty look and heavy-muttered "thank you" from Michael Scofield.

Friday, April 10, 2009

potato waves

I don't often laugh so hard I pee my pants, but

I came across a You Tube video this afternoon that literally had me crying and holding myself as I ran for the bathroom.

Lyrics in music can be difficult to understand. With the invention of the Internet, it's very easy to find which songs you've been singing wrong for the last decade.

But there is no song that is as misunderstood as Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter". For years I tried to figure out what this song's lyrics were and never succeeded.

It's just one of those weird songs that isn't supposed to make sense.

That being said, go do yourself a favor and watch this. Even if you have never heard of the song. It is a guaranteed laugh.

Finding this You Tube video inspired me to share some of my most embarrassing misunderstood lyrics.

(Most of the time, Hubs has no problem correcting me. And laughing.)

Here are a few doozies from my long list of wrongly interpreted lyrics:

1) Tina Turner- What's Love Got To Do With It?

My lyrics: "What's love, but a second candy motion?"

Tina's lyrics: "What's love, but a second hand emotion?"

2) Toto- Africa

Toto's lyrics: "I bless the rains down in Africa."

My lyrics: "I guess (as in, I suppose) the rain's down in Africa."

3) Billy Joel- Piano Man

Billy's lyrics: He says son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
and I knew it complete
when I wore a younger man's clothes

My lyrics: He says son can you play me a melody
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
and I knew it complete
when I wore a laundromats' clothes

4) Huey Lewis and the News- Power of Love

Huey's lyrics: Don't take money, don't take fame
Don't need no credit card to ride this train

My lyrics: Don't take honey, don't take game
Don't need no credit card, the ride is trained

5) Marc Cohn- Walkin' in Memphis

Marc's lyrics: I was walkin' in Mephis, walkin' with my feet ten feet of of Beale

My lyrics: I was walkin' in Memphis, walkin' with my feet in and off of steel

6) Manfred Mann's Earth Band: Blinded By the Light

Manfred's Lyrics: Blinded by the light
reved up like a deuce
another runner in the light.

My lyrics: Blinded by the light
rolled up, lit a deuce
in the middle of the night.

7) 3 Doors Down: Be Like That

3 Doors Down lyrics: If I can be like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day
In those shoes

My lyrics: F*ck me like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day
In those shoes

(don't believe it sounds like what I thought it was? Go listen to it here.)

8) John Fogarty- Put Me in Coach

John's lyrics: Put me in coach
I'm ready to play, today
Look at me, I can be
Center field

My lyrics: Put me in coach
I'm ready to play, today
Look at me, I can be
Santa Fe

What about you? Any songs you SWEAR you were singing right that turned out to be oh so painfully wrong? One of my favorites I've heard of is from Alanis Morrisette and her song "You Oughta Know."

Real Lyrics: It's not fair
To remind me
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me

Misunderstood lyrics: It's not fair
To remind me
Of the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me

Thursday, April 9, 2009

every silver lining has a cloud inside it

Hubs says I am a "glass half empty" kind of person. I totally disagree.

(Except that I occasionally tend to entertain thoughts that I'm going to die of cancer, get hit by a bus, end up on welfare, or lose all my hair. But that's only sometimes.)

Okay, I admit it! I tend to see the bad side of situations. I don't call it being negative, I call it being realistic. I believe in the "every action has an equal and opposite reaction" mentality.


Last year, we received a check in the mail for LOTS of money because we had been overpaying on our escrow or some grown up stuff I don't really understand.

My first thought was, "Holy heaven and earth. I have a brain tumor and this money is going to have to pay for it."

Hubs rolled his eyes and laughed at me, saying I was completely ridiculous.


We ended up owing LOTS of money to the IRS for taxes this year.

See? I'm not crazy.

I know that this is how life works. It has its ups and downs. Good happens, bad happens. Here's how I think of it:

If I'm expecting the worst, than the good will always seem that much better.

So, in a strange, twisted and completely incomprehensible way, I'm really an optimist.

Perhaps in the future, I'll just think the glass is half empty, but it's half empty of WINE, which means I'm partially buzzed and feeling warm and fuzzy.

Now that's the kind of outlook I can get behind.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

my name is kim, please like me

We've talked about this before.

I need to be liked. By everyone. All the time. It's important to me.

Hubs says I have a chronic case of Middle Child Syndrome (If such a thing exists, I'm sure I have it. And probably the worst documented case in history of it.)

(I watch too much Discovery Health. Clearly.)

For whatever reason, I just like to know that people like me. That they enjoy my company and want to know more about me. Despite the ridiculousness of it, I occasionally associate the level of my likeability with Facebook wall comments, Twitter followers and, of course, blog followers and comments.

I started this blog as a way to update family and friends with the goings on of Hubs and our family, but it has turned into its own animal.

Rather than just disussing family picnics and weekend getaways, I've found myself sharing the intimate and quiet details of my life to friends and, occasionally, complete strangers.

I totaly love it.

If I'm loved back.

I "follow" several blogs pretty religiously. They are a part of my morning ritual. Because I am also a blogger, I understand that letting other bloggers know that I read their stuff is important. For those blogs that I really dig, I put in my little blog roll that's over here --------->
and I comment on their writings.

(If you don't know, bloggers get their sense of accomplishment and achievement by knowing people are reading their ramblings and occasionally take the time to comment.)

Generally, it's considered good form to "follow" the blog of any of your regular readers. I make a concerted effort to do this. And I know others do, too.

But something is bothering me.

There is one particular blog that I have been following for quite some time now. I've mentioned the blog (we'll call it Blog X), many times in my own entries and have even referred Blog X to my readers.

However, Blog X's author refuses to "follow" me. Yet she follows almost every reader that I have sent her way.

WTF? Do I smell? Does my blog put people to sleep? Am I incredibly offensive?

I guess more than anything, I feel a little...hurt. Mostly because Blog X has listed over 60 blogs on her site that she "follows". I am not one of them.

Several times I have seen comments on Blog X that say things like, "I found you through Kim's blog!" Two seconds later, the author is following these peoples' blogs.

But still not mine.

Intentional? Maybe not

Still bugging me anyway? Yeah.

Anyways- it all comes back to being liked. For someone to know they are getting readers from me, and to still refuse to return the courtesy? I don't know, it seems kind of...mean.

Yes, Hubs, I am aware of how ridiculous I sound. I'm upset that a person I have never met, nor will ever meet, refuses to click a button on her browser that says "I follow the Antisdel Abstract."

I'm officially over it. I just wanted to get it off my chest.

Now I'm off to blog stalk Blog X some more...

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

reduce, reuse, rethink what you do in front of your boss

It's Tuesday!

Since I've been neglecting posts of substance lately, the least I can do is share yet another awkward moment with you from days gone by.

This time though, we aren't traveling back eight or nine years. Today's awkward moment comes from less than two years ago.

(It's also about my job which I very, very rarely blog about.)

(Not because I don't have anything nice to say, just because it's become my "policy". This blog is not anonymous so I have to tread lightly in some areas. One day when I write an anonymous blog and say whatever the eff I want, I'll let you know. And then you'll have to look at all the 3 billion blogs on this planet and guess which one is mine.)

Okay, moving on...

So, it's December 2007. I've started a new job that I'm uber excited about. I've been flown down to the company headquarters to be trained in the products I'm selling. All is going well.

You know how training can be. Everyone is new to each other, no one is sure if they can drop f-bombs in front of the boss man or tell annoying stories about their kids. It's just awkward to begin with.

There I sit with two other trainees, hearing our new regional manager explain to us how important sustainability and environmental initiatives are in this company, and how the company President is very serious about it.

As part of the environmental initiative, the company has implemented a recycling program with plastic water bottles. The company recycles them and puts them into some of our products.

The technologically is super advanced (and expensive) and I get quite excited about it.

But I'll be honest with you. I have not always been an environmental abiding citizen.

In college, I was the a-hole that occasionally threw my newspaper in the regular trash when there was a special receptacle marked RECYCLE YOUR NEWSPAPER HERE, PLEASE!!! right next to it. Or sometimes I may or may not have thrown old clothes in the trash can rather than donating.

What can I say, I'm a work in progress.

Naturally, I don't let anyone in this meeting know that I am a semi-non-recycler. In fact, I begin to overcompensate and quickly explain how it just makes me so sick when I see people throwing plastic bottles away.

The meeting concludes and our regional informs us it is time for lunch.

We break away from our classroom and head into one of the conference areas where pizza and sodas await us.

Two other trainees and myself select our pizza and drink and sit down to discuss the day. We're all very excited about this job and the products we'll be selling, and we can't help but wonder what else the day has in store. Yadda yadda yadda.

Admittely, I get distracted in the conversation. I'm not paying attention.

My plate is gone, my drink is empty.

I stand up and continue to talk to one of the girls as I make my way over to the trash can.

(In my mind, the next few seconds take place in that super slow mo where everything sounds like it's under water.)

I toss my plate into the trash can, and before I can stop myself, I begin to throw in my soda bottle.


Right as I realize what I've done and watch the bottle fall in amongst the discarded plates and napkins, I hear a noise to my left.

I turn.

The company President has just walked in.


He smiles and says hello and explains that he's so happy all of us are visiting and he can't wait to see how things will progress in each of our territories.

I paste on a plastic smile (pun intended) and back against the trash can, begging that he has not seen my ultimate sin.

He nods to all of us, says he will see us later and leaves the conference room.

As soon as the door shuts, I turn to face the other trainees. They are looking at me as though I have released an atomic bomb.

Quickly I delve into the trash can and extract the plastic soda bottle. I walk swiftly over to the recycling bin and place it inside just as my regional manager comes back into the room.

His face lights up at me as he says, "Oh, good Kim! I'm certainly glad you're recycling that bottle! If Company President sees you throw away a plastic bottle in the trash, he will give you a talking-to that you do not want. I've seen it happen...not pretty."

I awkwardly nod and walk back to my group, who are doing all they can not to burst out laughing. I feel like a complete loser and am embarrassed beyond relief.

Then and there I swear to myself that I will get a recycling bin for our house so I can make up for all the horrible things I almost did with that one plastic bottle.

And I'll have you know that I have two large bags full of old clothes that I am planning to donate to Goodwill.

(Although some of the things in the bag are kind of dirty (meaning sexual, not dirty) lingerie from my years past. Should I clear those out before donating? I don't know how many people have a use for crotchless panties and bras that intentionally show off your nipples.)

Okay, now I wish this blog really was anonymous...

Have a wonderful Tuesday!

Thursday, April 2, 2009

from the "why the @#&$ didn't I think of that?" files

Apparently a sucker is born every minute. And I have failed to capitalize on this fact.

But one girl has figured out a way to do it. And I am jealous.

Every day (okay, not every day) when I sit down to write this blog, I wonder to myself, "What would I have to blog about to be as famous as Dooce?

(Dooce is a famous blogger. Like, so famous her name has that little TM logo or whatever. Seriously.)

There are lots of famous bloggers out there, but what I love most about Dooce is that she's just a regular woman. She got fired for blogging about her job (which is why you'll never find me mentioning any of my supervisor's or work counterparts by name) and had to find something else to do.

So she blogged.

And became famous.

Now you can find her all over the Internet with people lining up to lick her toes.

Which makes me think: WHY CAN'T I DO THAT?

(I have a point. Really. I'm getting there.)

Anyways, like I said, when I sit down to talk to you bloggies, I often think to myself, "What kind of a hook could I use to generate thousands of readers each day?"

Nine times out of ten I come up empty.

I inevitably come to the conclusion that all the really good ideas have been taken. Wedding blogs, fashion blogs, technology blogs, lack of technology blogs. It's all been done.

Woe is me.

Then today, I'm visiting my daily morning reads. Tova has blogged about a girl that has started her own blog.

This is it.

The blog has had over 1,000 visits, and she started it




(It took me about 4 months to have that many hits.)

Apparently this young lady is broke and wants a nice wedding on a zip budget. So she's asking for people to donate some coinage for her nuptials via Pay Pal.

Normal? No.

Completely genius? Um....YEAH!

I mean, even if no one helps her out, she's got people reading her blog every minute, wondering what will happen next.

Will she get enough money? Will she get death threats? Will her fiance still love her if he finds out she's doing it?

Apparently people are even talking about it over on Martha Stewart's blog.

This, my friends, is the power of the Internet.

Trust me, some time in the next few weeks, MSN's web site will release a headline that reads "Girl Asks Internet Strangers to Fund Her Wedding".

(Right next to the announcement that Angelina Jolie has just adopted a small tribe of Aborigines that Brad is going to breast feed himself. Because he's that amazing.)

And while Little Miss 1,000 Hits in Four Days Girl laughs all the way to the bank, I will still be sitting here. Staring at my computer screen. Trying to think of a hook that brings them to my site in droves.

Until then, you just have to hear about my adventures in eavesdropping in public bathrooms.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

toilet talk

I haven't been blogging. I know. There are reasons. None of which are your business.

(I'm totally kidding. I've really just been busy with life. Not that blogging isn't my life, but, you get what I mean.)

I have nothing particularly interesting to discuss today. But, I recently had an epiphany.

Public bathrooms are underrated.

(Yes, I said UNDERrated.)

Here's my reasoning. Some of the absolute funniest dialogues/discussions/arguments I have ever heard have occurred whilst doing my business in a public restrooms. It's comic gold, and I want to share it with you.

So, without further ado:

Entirely Amusing Things Overheard in a Public Bathroom: Volume 1

1. Little Girl: Mommy, NO! I don't have to potty!

Mommy: Yes you do, honey. You were holding yourself out

Little Girl: But that's just because it feels good!

2. (Elderly woman in stall next to me, talking to herself)
"Ughh...ohhh...awwwwhh! It's okay. I'm going to be okay.

3. Little Girl: OH, Mommy! It STINKS in here! Did
you fart or is it the person next to us?

4. Girl #1: Tracy? Are you still in here?

Tracy : Yes.

Girl #1: Okay, just checking.

Tracy : Dude...there's a pregancy test in the trash can
in this stall.

Girl #1: Dude...Why are you going through the trash can?

5. (Cell phone rings) Girl in stall #1: Hello?

Person on phone: (Inaudible)

Girl in stall#1: MOM! I'll be out in
a minute.

Person on phone: (Inaudible)

Girl in stall #1: Then buy it!

Person on phone: (Inaudible)

Girl in stall #1: I will be out in a

Girl #2: What's wrong?

Girl in stall #1: Mom wants to know if
she should buy the
ceramic Santa that's
on sale out there.

6. (Someone (not me) passes gas loudly.)

Little Girl: Someone farted!

Mom: SHHHHH!!!! Be quiet, Sophie!

Little Girl: But I HEARD it. It was louder than Jake!

Mom: Okay, but you need to keep that to yourself.

Little Girl: I didn't know people could fart louder than dogs.

7. Little Girl: Mommy, I'm done.

Mom: Well good! I'll help you wipe and then I need
to go, too.

Little Girl: Okay
(pants being zipped, Mom uses the toilet.)

Little Girl: Are you done yet?

Mom: Almost, sweetie. Just a minute.

Little Girl: Do you want me to help you wipe?

8. (in a bar restroom)
Girl #1: Oh my God. I should not have had the hot wings.

9. (Young mother changes her newborn son on the changing table)

Daughter: (gasps) Mom, hurry up.

Mother: (from inside a stall) What's wrong?

Daughter: Austin's poop is BRIGHT GREEN!

Mother: I'm sure he's got a little cold or something. That
can cause weird color poop.

Daughter: No, this is like NEON. Like...kryptonite or
something. (looks at people waiting in line) This
is so not normal, right? Look at this!


I have about 3,000 of these I've heard over the years that I can't recall right now. Have you ever heard some killer dialogue in a public restroom before? Do share.

In the future, I'll be sure to carry my notebook with me into the potty to take better notes.