Tuesday, June 23, 2009

current stats


All numbers are approximate:

199- Number of unread blog entries I currently have in my Google reader.

10- Number of voicemails I have yet to return.

293- Number of friends I have failed to email/call/comment on their blogs/write on their Facebook walls in the last week.

8- Number of new blog followers I have that haven't even been able to read one new blog entry from me.

7- Number of resumes I have sent out in search of employment

9,345- Number of resumes I should have sent out in search of employment,(barring applications to Burger King, Taco Bell, McDonalds, Lowe's, Home Depot and KFC.)

3- Number of bills that I'm wondering if I can pay

29- Number of times per day I curse the economy and health care system.

3- Number of days last week I was able to kick back, relax and enjoy a beautiful wedding.

12,459- Number of apologies I owe for being the worst absent blogger on the planet. No worries, though. I'm back...and I've got lots to talk about.

I have an awkward story for today, but I doubt I'll have time to get it posted, so it might just be late and show up on Wednesday.

(ACK! GASP! Totally Awkward Tuesday is going to show up on Wednesday? Can she do that? Is that allowed? Will she get in trouble?)

(Probably not. What's the worst that can happen? Well...I guess you, my lovely readers, could fire me off of your Google reader. But please don't, I've already been fired once this year. I can't take it again.)

In other news, I've officially gone 48 hours without caffeine.

In other other news, my head is officially about to explode. I'm off to Quiktrip for a huge Dr. Pepper and the end of my will power as I know it.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

swapping blogs is way better than swapping spit

Yesterday's BlogSwap went swimmingly well. I met a lot of new readers who were kind enough to comment on both Alissa's and my story.

(In addition, I shared the most humiliating experience of my life, and you all supported me. Cheers to you!)

This BlogSwap was certainly everything and more than I thought it would be. With that beng said, I definitely want to do it again. Any takers?


If you're interested in participating in a BlogSwap with me (or Alissa for that matter) let us know. Shoot us an email at the appropriate address easily located on our handy dandy side bars and we'll talk.

Also, don't forget my first give away is coming up any day now. I'm almost done writing out the info on it, so keep checking back.

In the meantime, if you found me yesterday via the BlogSwap, feel free to follow me to stay up to date on all the latest goodies. You never know when another embarassing poop story might make it's way onto these pages.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

BlogSwap: The Alissa Edition

Hello Kim's gorgeous readers! How are you this lovely Tuesday?

I'm Alissa from Grace's Birdcage blog and I'm very excited about this BlogSwap (Kim's official term) but also nervous. Because you see, Kim's a freaking fabulous, funny writer. I'm fabulous at posting lots of pretty pictures with random ill-composed thoughts. But I want to make Kim proud and attempt to write.

"It's called reading, top to bottom, left to right, put words together to make a sentence." First paragraph and I've quoted Tommy Boy. So we're off to a good start?

I wanted to go along with the Awkward Tuesday/TMI Thursday el themo. The thing is, I'm not sure I get embarrassed easily enough.

There was:

-Time I could be spotted running down a car-filled stree at at 5:45 am in a schoolgirl's outfit.

- Time I was trying to climb a bunk-bed and my friend pulled my dress up over my head, revealing a nice choice of hot pink underwear to about 17 acquaintances/strangers.

-Time I got my hand stuck in an elevator door and almost crushed my bones ina panic vs. pressing the "door open" button like some might have done.

But, for whatever reason, I don't find these moments that embarrassing. I find the fact that I can't spell embarrassing far worse than most of those.

(Holy cow. Longest post I've ever written and we aren't even to the goods yet!)

OK. So what I find most embarrassing from college (which is where like, 98% of most embarrassing stories come from, no?) is a more than a single event, but more of a series..a series I like to call 'dating'.

Dating Embarrassment Numero Uno:

This is one of those situations that while you're dating this individual, things don't seem that 'off''. But later? Wow.

Numero Uno and I have been dating for a month or so. He lives in the basement of a house near campus he shares with like, 18 of his very closest friends. One of these friends convinces Uno to go in on a business venture with him. This business venture is to get paid by a pet shop to raise 'pets' from babies to a sellable age. Which could be cute if they were puppies or hamsters. A few days later, Uno's basement living space suddenly has a tank of eels in it. And piranhas. And some other weird fish. I'm not sure if you've ever had the pleasant experience of being around animals like this in a concrete air-tight basement, but I'm going to let you in on a secret: they smell.

Some time passes, and I'm getting frustrated by this situation. I mean, you go over to watch a movie with someone and you're sitting next to a tank. Of eels. This is not romantic, fellas. But the final straw was when the seven baby chickens arrived. Supposedly they were a 'special rare breed.' Bu the babies grew into full sized chickens. In Uno's bedroom. Really.



Don't worry, the relationship quickly ended.

I realize that you've probably lost some respect for my taste and judgment, but I promise you, things have drastically improved. I married tall, dark and handsome neat-freak that shares my dislike for animals in tanks.

****

There you have it, bloggies! The first official BlogSwap is complete.

Alissa's fabulous story will forever be remembered as the first in a long line of swaps.

(Or at least, here's hoping.)

I'd love to do a swap once a week or at least every two weeks, so if you would like to participate, just hit me up at kim {dot} antisdel {dot} gmail {dot} com.

Now leave some comment love and then head over to Alissa's blog and read my story.

(Once I get it up. I may or may not have opted to watch "He's Not That Into You" rather than write my entry last night. I'm on it right now, though!)

Monday, June 8, 2009

let's take a little trip



All right, bloggies. Tomorrow is a special day! Just like Field Trip day in middle school.

(Minus the permission slips.)

(And minus the bumpy bus ride with your boyfriend secretly feeling you up holding your hand in the last seat on the left. No? Just me?)

Anyways...

Tomorrow, please be sure to come and visit me over at Alissa's lovely little blog.

Her blog is right here, you can't miss it.

This will be my first guest post ever and I'm way pumped. I love to do guest posts, so if you ever feel the need to go on a bloggy vacation, feel free to shoot me a line and let me know you need a guest poster.)

(Just know that I might say bad words on your blog.)

In addition to reading my post over at Alissa's blog, you can also read Alissa's post on this blog tomorrow!

This is officially called a BlogSwap.

(Because, you know, I officially made it up.)

My post tomorrow will be the of the much anticipated Awkward Tuesday variety. But really, it fits right in with TMI Thursday, too.

Trust me, you don't want to miss it.

It is the story of literally the most embarrassing moment of my life.

(If I know you IRL, you already know what it is.)

In fact, I severely debated whether I would actually be able to share it without the assistance of illegal narcotics.

(But then I remembered ever time I get drunk I tell it anyway, so really there's nothing stopping me.)

So please, tomorrow go see Alissa and give my story some bloggy lover-love. And leave lots of comments because I will need moral support after sharing such a traumatic tale.

I'm already breaking out in hives thinking about it...

And of course, please stay tuned to this blog for Alissa's post. Not a clue what she's writing about, but she's way funnier than me, so you're in for a treat regardless.

Let the swap begin!

reason #4622 to love being married: letting it all out

(sitting on the sofa with Hubs watching a "True Blood" marathon.)

Me: God I love this show. I might even like it better than the books because...(tummy gurgles)...uh...because I-

(toot toot tooooooot tooot tooooooooot)

Hubs: (slowly turns head toward me) Oh. My. God.

Me: (sheepishly looking away) Oops. Sorry.

Hubs: Seriously, babe? That was wet. You should maybe go wipe.

Me: (slapping Hubs' arm) Ew!! It was not! It was just a little excess air. It's from the black beans in Chipotle earlier.

Hubs: (scrunching nose in extreme distaste) GROSS! Oh my God that smells!

Me: (smugly) Whatever. My toots smell like roses.

Hubs: (plugging his nose) Yeah. Roses dipped in shit.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

TMI Thursdays: Chop chop chop


TMI Thursday

Yesterday was TMI Thursday, and since I didn't get this posted in time, I guess it's technically TMI Friday.

Tomato, tomahto.

Go visit Lilu for lots of other seriously gross and sometimes just plain funny TMI stories.

My story from today takes place in college.

(Because really, college is a breeding ground for gross/embarrassing/uncomfortable stories to anonymously share on a blog.)

(Except my stories aren't anonymous. Damn.)

Sophomore year of college I lived in a dorm.
I know. Gross, yuck, puke, nasty, wretched. But it was cheaper than an apartment and my then-boyfriend lived there. I was sold.

Anyways...

One particular afternoon I was skipping class sick and decided my dorm room was not condusive to fun.

So I wandered to the boy's floor.

(Cuz there are always crazy batshit I-Can't-Believe-That-Just-Happened moments going down on the boy's floor.)

I arrived to find a large huddle of young males crowded around the entrance to the restroom.

Some guys were yelling, "Push harder!" and "Use elbow grease!"

(Because I watch too many CSI's, I immediately suspected some sort of gang rape was going on and contemplated calling 911.)

Two minutes later, the whooping and hollering ceased, and the Cleaning Lady emerged, a spatula in her hand.

Her English was broken, but when she spoke, it became quite clear what she was looking for.

"Who use last bathroom!?" she screamed at the now quite large group gathered in the hallway.

Many "not me's" and "I was in my room!" excuses floated through the crowd, until one blonde meat head hopped up on endorphins and Red Bull ended the suspense.

"Ethan!" he loudly proclaimed. "You were just in there! Hey lady, it's this guy right here!"

Cleaning Lady walked through the crowd to where Meat Head was pointing.
There Ethan stood, drunker than Lindsay Lohan during Mardis Gras and barely able to stand up. She waved the spatula in his face and spat out,

"You back up toilet with poop!" Her eyes flamed.

"Uh, no!" Ethan stammered. "It wasn't me...I don't even live on this floor."

Cleaning Lady wasn't having it.

"You back toilet up with poop! I have clean it! BIG poop too big to go down toilet. I HAD TO CHOP UP!" Cleaning Lady wailed, thrusting the spatula up and down to illustrate the chopping of the offending feces.

Ethan's already inebriated red face turned three shades redder as he sputtered out, "I'm...uh...I...I'm sorry."

Cleaning Lady looked over the rest of the crowd with disapproval as she walked over to her supplies cart. She stuffed the spatula in the cart and was off in a huff.

It's moments like those that make me understand why I have trouble going to the bathroom anywhere but my own home.

dum dum dum dum DUMMMMM

You asked for it...well, no wait, actually you didn't.

(But I'm going to pretend you did.)

In the next few days I will be hosting my very first give away!!

(Rahhh, cheers, applause, procession!)

No details yet on what it is that I'll be gifting to one (maybe two) oh-so-wonderful bloggy readers.

(But just to clarify one minor point, this is not the Ellen Show. You're not getting a Trek bike. Sorry. Bring over 4,000 of your nearest friends to my blog and then you might get something that sweet.)

I will tell you that this is a give away from an Etsy store because, seriously, I love love love Etsy. It gives regular people the chance to sell their wares without the platform of celebrity to jump from.

(Unlike Tori Spelling. Who I will totally discuss later.)

So stay tuned for more information. Today is TMI Thursday, and I haven't forgotten...I'm just debating which story to tell.

Keep checking back to find out!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

the shot heard 'round the gymnasium

I told you if I thought about it long enough, I would think of a Totally Awkward Tuesday story! You just had to be patient...

Go over and see Tova to see more awkward stories. She was recently named a Blog of Note (insert jealousy here) so she has lots of new followers that have probably posted their awkwardness, too.

Onto my story for the day...

Do you remember elementary school fitness tests? These ridiculous assessments generally occurred twice a school year, and consisted of a series of physical evaluations that supposedly determined your overall health.

(I could have saved them a lot of time. At the age of 9, all childrens' health is in the toilet. All we do is eat candy, drink soda and watch Saved by the Bell. Or Hannah Montana, depending on your generation.)

Some parts of the test were tolerable because you got to do them in pairs. (And fix them to make yourself look better.) For instance, Erin and I would often team up for the "Sit Up!" test.

Erin would hold my feet as I did as many sit ups as I could in one minute. The teacher would come by twirling that effing whistle around his neck and ask your partner how many sit ups you accomplished.

Teacher: (holding pencil to clipboard) Okay Erin, how many sit ups did Miss Kimberly manage today?

Erin: (inner monologue: Hmmm, she laughed the whole time because I could see her underwear, and I think got 6.) Kim did 36 sit ups, Mr. Gym Teacher!

Teacher: VERY good, Kim. You're in the lead so far!


Anyways.

The worst part of the assessment were the tests you couldn't fake. Because you had to do perform all by yourself.

In front of the class.

The mother of all horrible assessments was the Frozen Chin Up.

(I have no idea if that's what it was really called, but it sounds good.)

The Frozen Chin Up was hell on earth. The teacher would lift you up to a metal bar six feet off the floor. He would start you out with your head above the bar, hanging on with your hands only. It was your duty to hang there as long as possible with your chin frozen above the bar. The minute your chin dropped below the bar, you were done. Fun, right? It looked something like this.


original photo here


Each member of the class took their turn being lifted up to that metal bastard. And each one of us usually fell within 10 seconds, our faces red with embarrassment more than physical strain.

Except for those few freaks who reveled in staying there for minutes on end and make the rest of us look bad.)

One day during the Frozen Chin Up assessment, a shy and uncoordinated boy in my class was determined to stay above that bar as long as the boy jocks in the class.

He was doomed from the start.

The teacher did give us a little bit of help by allowing us to face the wall as we did this test, so classmates couldn't distract us with funny faces.

Paul was lifted up to the bar, his butt facing the class.

The teacher let go, and Paul's time began. A few seconds passed and Paul's arms began to violently shake. Clearly his body was not cut out for this type of activity.

Paul persevered and held on tightly. His body however, decided to punish him.

By pushing out a long, high-pitched fart.

It was not quiet.

The class erupted with laughter, but Paul held steady. Two seconds later a short, fat fart filled with hefty base erupted from Paul's shorts.

And still he held on.

A series of a few other toots popped out before Paul finally let go and fell to the ground. He straightened up and turned to awkwardly face us, as we all just sat there bewildered.

Had it been me up there, I would have let go after the first offense and run to the office screaming, "I WANNA GO HOME!! CALL MY MOMMMMYYYYYY!!!!

But not Paul. He managed to stay up there and subsequently landed in the top ranks of the performers that day. He had earned his right to be with the jocks.

Unfortunately, they overlooked his physical accomplishment and focused on his sketchy bowels the rest of the year.

As I wrote this, I began wondering what happened to Paul. So I did what any mature and responsible adult person would do.

I looked him up on Facebook.

He's there, and he looks quite normal. Good for him. He didn't let the farting get him down. In fact, maybe it was the gas that helped keep him up on the bar that day in gym. I guess I'll never know.

kitties and cappucinos

Hi, Bloggies!

Did you think I had left you? Did you think I had given up on this whole Conquer-The-World-Through-Blogging-And-Self-Deprecation thing?

Of course I didn't.

(I am waaay too full of myself to give up on that dream.)

Believe it or not, I actually have the best excuse for being gone. I was incredibly busy last week being a kick ass step-mom.

(Well, maybe not the kick ass part, but I sure did my best.)

Hubs and I decided to capitalize on my recent unemployment status by keeping the girls at our house last week. The girls are none too thrilled with getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go to daycare during their summer break (and who could blame them?) so I offered to watch them during the day for a WHOLE WEEK.

Fabulousness.

We went to the library.

We played hours of Mario Kart on Wii. (They kicked my little cart's behind right into next week.)

We watched Twilight. Twice.
(The second time may or may not have been my idea.)

We got Starbucks mocha frappucinos and pretended to be important business women as we consumed them in the Target concession area.

And of course, at 5.30 every night when Hubs returned home, we hung out together as a fam and enjoyed each others company. It was bliss.

And so I didn't blog.

Unfortunately the week had to come to an end, but of course it ended with a bang. On Saturday, we added a new member to our family.

Bloggies, meet Oreo. Oreo, meet the boggies.


c'mon now, leave her some comment love


Oreo is a sweet little baby girl who will now be keeping Cupcake company. And even though he looks depressed in the background, Cupcake is actually quite excited.

(And yes, Oreo is a girl and Cupcake is a boy. I get that we've probably scarred them for life with gender confusion, but it just happened that way.)

We got Oreo from PetSmart. She was a rescue kitty from Parkville, MO. Once we saw her (and her name), we knew it was meant to be.

(On a side note: seriously people, get your pets from a shelter or rescue organization. There are so many amazing animals that need homes. Breeding is just unnecessary. And effing gross.)

We have already fallen in love with Oreo's spunkyness and over-the-top zest for destroying anything fabric in our house.

And with that, I am back. I don't have an awkward story at the moment, but hey, I'm unemployed with nothing to do. I'm sure by the end of the day I'll think of something, so keep checking back.

I'll leave with you with some funny step daughter-isms from my amazing "Girls Only" week:
*****
(as the girls work on drawings declaring their love for DaddyHubs)

Me: That's a beautiful picture, M!

8-year old M: Thank you.

6-year old T: But what about mine???

Me: Yes, T. Yours is very beautiful as well.

T: I know. I'm a drawer AND a lover. I'm good at so many things, really.

****

(after meeting Hubs for lunch at Crayola Cafe.)

Me: Let's head on home, and we can maybe see Night at the Museum 2 tonight when Daddy gets home.

M: (frowns)

Me: What's wrong, M?

M: You said "maybe".

Me: What's wrong with that?

M: Maybe means "no" unless Grandma says it.

(for the record we did go and see the movie.)
*****

(walking into the library)

Me: Okay girls, we'll need to be very quiet in here.

M: Like in a church?
Me: Sort of, yes. Just keep your voices down so people can concentrate on their books.

T: (in a nowhere close to indoor voice) THEY HAVE MOVIES HERE!!! CAN WE GET AIR BUDDIES?

Me: Shhhhh, T. You have Air Buddies at home. We're here to get books to read.

T: I don't want books about a church, though.

*****
I'm glad to be back to the world of blogging. Hope you didn't forget about me!