the antisdel abstract

put your feet up, and your expectations down

2011-11-07T10:56:00.001-06:00

It's been awhile since I've shared a good story about the Ex that made my life ~~kind of miserable~~ interesting. Some people might say it's because I've now matured and no longer feel hurt or betrayed by many of the things he did because I now realize they were his issues and not mine.

Those people are wrong.

More than likely, the reason I barely think about this Ex any longer is because I'm way happily married and satisfied with everything that Hubs provides me(without me begging)and I no longer require a glance into the past every four minutes.

But last week I was driving by one of my old workplaces, singing along to Rihanna on the radio and trying to make a list of things that last longer than Kim Kardashian's marriage (bananas, a sun tan, my nail polish, days between eye brow waxes) when all of a sudden-

BAM

- there it was. A memory I had long since forgotten brought to the forefront of my brain by simply seeing a building at which I was once employed. I sat back in my seat and thought over the memory, and though I remember being incredibly sad when this happened, I couldn't help but now think-

THIS IS A BLOG WORTHY STORY.

So here we go.

It's 2005. I'm 24 years old working at a job I love with people I respect and adore. I've become good friends with several gals in my department, and we tell each other stories.

(Actually they're all married and settled, and my life is a hot mess, so really I just tell them my stories. And they're fine with that - I think.)

Anyways, they're all more than familiar with the five years of drama that is Me and Ex. Sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he wants to hold my hand, sometime he wants to date other people to see what else is out there but asks me to please stick around and not date anyone else because he knows he'll be back after he gets it out of his system and he's really sorry but he has to do this and I understand, right?

It's an all too familiar tale.

But on this particular day, I'm excited. For one thing, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have just announced they're divorcing, which means I can get Season 1, 2 and 3 of "Newlyweds" at a seriously discounted rated.

Yes, I liked that show. Shut up.

But more importantly, the weekend is near. And just last night I had a very interesting phone conversation with Ex. It went something like this:

Me: (winding up our long conversation about how awesome it is to fish in the summer. It was a mostly one-sided conversation.) Well, I gotta get to bed, Ex.

Ex: Okay, yeah. Cuz you have to work in the morning and all. Are you excited about this weekend?

Me: (shrugs shoulders) I mean, yeah I am.

Ex: (voice hardening) Why don't you sound excited?

Me: (takes a deep breath) Well Ex, it just seems like I'm always driving the 60 miles out to your Dad's house to see you. I live in an apartment alone here. It just seems so weird driving that far to stay with you at your Dad's. We'd have a perfectly great weekend here...alone.

Ex: (sighs audibly) We've talked about this. Gas is expensive and you have a way better job than me and you get great great gas mileage. Besides, we have the fishing pond here.

Me: Right. I forgot.

Ex: And - I have something for you that I think you're really going to love.

Me: (putting down my ice cream to listen carefully) You have something for ME?

Ex: (smiling through the phone) Yep. Just got it this week. You're going to be pretty excited.

Me: Now wait, this is something you bought? Like, with money? Or did you steal it like the Dr. Pepper and the cactus flower on Valentine's Day?

Ex: (snorts in disapproval) Ha ha. No. It's something you've been waiting for a long time...let's just say that.

***

So after the conversation, I'm feeling more than excited. Ex is not a gift buyer. At all. This has to be something that has him pumped.

The next day I rush to work to discuss it with my girls. We go over every detail of the conversation.

Friend 1: Did he sound uncomfortable, like he spent way too much on whatever it is?

Friend 2: He never buys you anything. Did he actually refer to the gift as "it"? Because that sounds like jewelry to me.

Friend 3: I think you're setting yourself up for disappointment.

We go at least 18 rounds deciding that if he bought it with his own money, it can't possibly be anything over $40. BUT, if he used a credit card, then it could be a big gift. Like, one that requires some deep thought and preparation. I'd take a bracelet. Or earrings. Or something that doesn't come in a Victoria's Secret box that he got with his mom's discount. And that she picked out.

Friday arrives. All day long I'm a basket case. I have not only convinced myself that tonight is going to be a great night, but it's going to be a night I'll never forget. My boyfriend is going to give me a gift without me asking, begging or hinting. He's finally growing up.

At 4:45, I've already shut down my computer, packed up my purse and am sitting in my task chair, my legs bouncing up and down at the anticipation of 5:00.

Friend 3: (rolling her eyes) Seriously, I can't believe you're this excited. I've never seen someone so worked up over a gift.

Me: I know, but you don't understand. I have this weird...feeling.

Friend 1: It's indigestion, we had Mexican for lunch.

Me: No, it's something else. I feel like this gift is going to be a strong indication of the coming year for me and Ex. Like a pace setter, ya know?

Friend 2: Well, we're all so excited to find out what it is!

Me: (leaping out of my seat) It's 5:02!! I could have left two minutes ago. Bye guys! See you Monday!!!

****

MONDAY MORNING:

Friend 1: (bouncing over to my desk) SOOOOO????

Me: (faced away from my friend, staring out the window) Hmpgh.

Friend 2: Uh, what does that mean? Did you have a good weekend?

Me: Hmpgh. (flops head down onto my desk, burying my face in my arms.)

Friend 3: Oh no. What happened?

Me: (muffled) Hrmph drff refaph mrff wrrp chrr.

All three friends: Huh?

Me: (sitting up and spinning around to face them.) He bought me a LAWN CHAIR.

Three Friends: (blank stares)

Me: That's right. I went to his house on Friday, so excited at the possibilities. He led me into the garage and said he apologized that it wasn't wrapped, but it was too big, right?

Three Friends: (nodding eagerly)

Me: We get to the garage and I see two boxes leaning up against his Dad's wood shop bench. And they're lawn chairs. LAWN CHAIRS.

Friend 1: (optimistically) Wellll, did you ask for a lawn chair recently?

Me: (nodding, fighting back tears) Apparently so. A few months ago my Mom got one of those new types of lawn chairs that you can lean back and recline, ya know? So I said it was pretty cool. And apparently THAT means I want one.

Friend 2: So, wait, why were there two?

Me: (throws head back laughing) Because HE needs one, too! This way we can both benefit and be comfortable when we fish.

Friend 3: (puzzled) You like to fish?

Me: (eyes narrowed) I. Hate. To. Fish.

Friend 2: (sighs) Well, look on the bright side. He did finally buy something for you. And without you asking!

Me: His dad bought them for us.

Friend 2: Oh.

***

And so it was, in fact, a pace setter for that year with Ex. It turned out to be the year of the forced ring shopping and the proposal that never happened (which is a story I've yet to tell).

If I had been smarter, I might have ended things after the lawn chair debacle. But I'm a stubborn gal, and decided to let it ride. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment. Maybe I was just insecure. Either way, I know the gals I worked for got a kick of that story, and I bet they never looked at lawn chairs the same again.

eat mor chikin, just don't be a jackass

2011-10-26T07:42:00.000-05:00

Confrontation isn't my strong suit. Generally I enjoy getting along with people and avoiding conversations that make me feel awkward.

(I mean, unless some hoochie tries to take the last adorable leather jacket I've been eyeing for WEEKS at Nordstrom Rack. Then I'll cut a bitch.)

But on the average day, I'd prefer smiles and joy rather than yelling and angry eyes.

Yesterday was not an average day. Here's what happened.

****

It's 11:30 am on a gorgeous fall day. I have a lunch presentation at noon with a very large client that I want to make a great impression on. My hair looks nice (aka it's clean and combed), my outfit makes my legs look long and I feel prepared. I just need to pick up the catering for the presentation.

I pull into the Chick-Fil-A parking lot feeling calm and ready. I open the glass door and step inside. It is mass chaos. At least four children are crying, the line is a mile long and the cashiers look like they're going to commit suicide at any second.

Remaining calm, I step into the food line and wait for the six people in front of me to order. My watch reads 11:34. Eep.

A frazzled kid of about 17 stands behind me and audibly sighs at the line. I turn and shrug my shoulder as if to say, "Whaddya gonna do?" And really, it's not so bad. The cashiers are moving quickly; people are in high spirits. I relax.

Suddenly a groan booms from a few feet away. A man in his late 50's stands behind Frazzle Kid. The man is bald with intense brown eyes and a permanent scowl, which is doing nothing for the wrinkles on his face that have clearly formed from years of grumpiness.

"Which damn line you in?" he grumbles to Frazzle.

"Uh, not sure," Frazzle squeaks. "I think it's just the one line and you disperse as you get up to the front, ya know?"

Grumpy scoffs and runs a hand over his greasy head. "This is so ridiculous. I'm in a hurry."

"Next," calls a young cashier. I've been so preoccupied with Grumpy and Frazzle's conversation, I've failed to realize it's my turn.

"That's me!" Grumpy calls out and jumps in front of me and Frazzle, waving his credit card.

Remember, I don't love confrontation. But this guy is trying to jump in front of at least two people. Not cool. Do I say something? I glance at my watch. 11:39. Time to get confrontational.

I act quickly and beat Grumpy to the counter.

"I'm actually next," I say with a smile. "I'm just here to pick up my catering order. My name's Kim."

"Oh sure," the adorable cashier with a bouncy ponytail smiles. She can't be a day over 16. "Just step over to the side and we'll get you all taken care of. I can help the next person!"

Frazzle doesn't have a chance. Grumpy flies up to the register, elbowing me further to the end of the counter. He puts his credit card in the young cashiers face and yells, "I want a chicken sandwich, no pickles and a fry. Put it on this card, right here."

That extra helping of Chick-Fil-A happiness training kicks in and Ponytail Girl smiles even wider. "Of course, sir," she says through clenched teeth. "And your drink?"

Grumpy shifts his weight and puffs out his chest. "I don't WANT a drink. I already told you that! Chicken sandwich, no pickles. Fries. That's it! On the credit card right here."

I can feel the entire restaurant holding their breath. Children have stopped crying and watch the scene playing out. Ponytail Girl has her smile screwed on so tight I'm afriad her cheeks are going to break. This can't go on.

I open my mouth to say something, but the manager has just emerged with my food. I can just walk away, pay my tab and be done with it. There's no need to get involved. Grumpy will get his food and karma will handle him later. But that isn't right. I know Ponytail Girl can't say anything because the customer is always right.

Well I'm a customer, too, and I decide to show Grumpy what is right.

I move back down the counter, take a deep breath and speak.

"Sir, you really shouldn't speak that way to her. She's doing the best she can to get your food and you're being incredibly rude."

Grumpy turns in slow motion and looks me up and down, his eyes blazing.

"You can eff off," he spits, obviously not using the politically correct term. "Leave me the eff alone, bitch."

Ow. That stung. It also makes me mad.

"Wow." I shake my head in disappointment and turn to Ponytail Girl. "I apologize for this man. He is very rude and you don't deserve that."

"And you should mind your own effing business," Grumpy yells, his voice growing louder with every word. "Be a lady in your stupid black suit and shut your effing mouth before I teach you a lesson."

My eyes narrow into slits and I see red. "You know, I AM a lady. I would never speak to someone like you are. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Eff off, bitch. Get a life!" Grumpy screams and I can tell this isn't getting me anywhere. I've said my piece and I can't do anything else.

I resist the urge to use my knee (which is covered in my stupid suit) to discombobulate a sensitive area of his anatomy. An employee hands me my catering bags and walks out with me to my car.

As I climb into the driver's seat, I'm kicking myself for not coming up with something more clever to say. I look down and realize my hands are shaking. I'm so angry I don't even know what to do with myself.

I need a drink of my Dr. Pepper. (We'll address the fact that I'm an addict later, okay?) Except I left my drink on the counter. I have to go back in.

Mother of pearl.

Assuming that Grumpy Grumperson is probably long gone by now, I gather myself and head back toward the restaurant. No such luck. Grumpy is on his way out. We are going to collide right outside the restaurant...where there are less witnesses.

Still in a hurry, Grumpy doesn't notice me until he's out the door. Suddenly his eyes register recognition. Armed with his sack of chicken sandwich and no pickles, he charges by me in a cloud of anger and snarls, "Eat sh*t and die, you nasty bitch."

Classy.

He skulks to his Mercedes which is naturally taking up two spots and drives away like a very un-talented Andretti.

"Thank you for saying something to that horrible man," a small voice says from the patio. A young woman is sitting with her daughter enjoying their lunch.

"I just can't believe someone else didn't say something," she continues, taking a bite of her french fry. "You know there was a table full of cops right behind you, don't you? They didn't say a word."

I shrug my shoulders. "It was loud enough in there, maybe they didn't hear what was going on," I reply. "Either way, I don't think I really helped. I just don't like to see people treated that way."

The woman smiles at me as she cuts a piece of chicken for her daughter. "Well, you did the right thing."

As I head back into the restaurant to grab my totally deserved Dr. Pepper for the day, I think to myself, "as that the right thing to do? Maybe the man was sick in the head, or drunk, or having a really, really bad day?

Then I decide that there is never an excuse to speak to someone that way. Plus, I would have felt crummy all day if I hadn't spoken up. I've worked in restaurants and retail many times in my life and have been treated terribly. I wanted someone to come to my defense then, and I'd still want them to now. I would want someone to do the right thing, even if it didn't really get them anywhere. At the very least I know Grumpy had to have felt at least a tiny bit humiliated by a girl half his age telling him he was a bozo. Right?

What would you have done?

talking trash

2011-08-26T07:48:00.006-05:00

It is no secret that I am somewhat...scatterbrained. It's the way I'm built; I can't help it. It doesn't take much for me to get side tracked and - wait, that Russell dude from the Real Housewives of Orange County killed himself?

Hold on. Must research.

**** (muzak playing in your head) ****

I'm back. Where was I? Oh right, scatterbrained.

My mind tends to wander and prevent me from focusing on whatever task is currently at hand. Over the years this has cost me in dearly in many ways. Examples?

Lost babysitting money that I JUST HAD IN MY HAND three seconds ago.
Purchasing at least 5 pairs of gloves every year, because I always lose them even know I KNOW FOR A FACT that I left them in the car seat, Hubs, I really did. Some homeless person probably broke in and took them. What would they need a GPS for?
Missed appointments with clients because my keys have decided to grow legs and scurry underneath the sofa, even though it is WITHOUT DOUBT that I haven't gone in that living room for the last three days. Really.

Anyways.

For the most part, I can keep these little mishaps under wraps. Yes Mom, I know I got paid babysitting money last night. No, I didn't LOSE it...I used it to, uh, buy tampons. So can I have some money for the movies?

Yes, Hubs, I know you asked me to go buy a new watch battery. And yes, I took the old battery with me in my wallet. In THIS EXACT POCKET. But when I got to the store, it was gone! What's that? Oh, you found it on the floor board of the car? How odd. My wallet must have a hole in it. Guess I'll have to get a new wallet.

I thought this problem would just magically go away someday, but frankly, the older I get, the more frequently these episodes occur. And unfortunately, they're getting harder to hide.

Like this:

It's Wednesday. I've finished my second appointment for the day and have another one in an hour and a half. Not enough time to go home and not NEARLY enough time to go search the shoe rack at Nordstrom's. Damn.

Instead, I trek to the nearest coffee shop. The shop is fairly empty, save a few people furiously typing on their laptops or organizing their wedding planner book. I purchase a fruit smoothy, take up residence in a comfy booth and ~~check Facebook~~ schedule appointments for next week.

An hour later, I glance up from my computer and notice that quite a large number of people have arrived in the restaurant. A quick glance at my watch shows that I have 15 minutes to get to my next appointment with time to spare. Well, didn't I time this well?

Congratulating myself for getting so much done in such a small amount of time, I stand to gather all my stuff. And by stuff, I mean:

Laptop bag
iPad
Phone
Purse
Planner
Magazine
Notebook
Smoothie cup.

Needless to say my hands are full. In my right hand, I carefully balance my notebook and iPad. Hanging on my right arm are my laptop bag and purse (which, incidentally, weigh a minimum of four pounds. Each).

With my free left hand, I pick up the smoothie cup and my phone. I just need to toss the cup in the trash, and I'm good to go.

This is where my scatterbrain syndrome takes over. As I walk to the trash, this happens.

Okay, so, trash can first. Throw away smoothie cup, get keys out of the left pocket of my purse and- HOLY COW that girl's dress is cute. Is that mustard yellow or more of a canary? Her boobs are smaller than mine; I don't think I can pull that low cut look off. Plus my arms would look jiggly. When I get home tonight I'm going to start doing push-ups. For real. Then I'm going to cut out sweets. I read that article the other day that said-

"Excuse me, Miss," a voice interrupts my list of resolutions. I'm now standing in front of the trash can totally blocking a guy from getting to his booth.

Embarrassed, I smile and shrug, "Oh, so sorry about that. Just need to throw this away," I hold the smoothie cup up for him to see and gracefully aim it over the trash can.

And then I drop my phone in the trash instead of the cup.

Jay. Zus.

What am I supposed to do? This is not a normal trash can. This is a trash can with a GIGANTIC wood enclosure around it that's covered in ranch dressing, cream cheese and balsamic vinaigrette.

I know I have to act fast before someone comes over and dumps their un-eaten tomato basil soul in the bin. A minimum of ten pairs of eyes eagerly watch me as I flag down an employee. My audience is hoping I have a total melt down. They might just get to see one.

"Can I help you ma'am?" a young girl with a brown ponytail and high cheekbones asks.

"Yes, please," I say in my most unconvincing "Nothing is Wrong, I Can Totally Handle This" voice. "See, I dropped my phone in the trash instead of this cup. Haha! I'm sure that happens all the time."

Silence.

"So anyway, it's too far down in the trash for me to grab it. Can we take the trash out of the bin thingy and I'll get it that way?"

Ponytail Girl is trying not to laugh, I know it. She's also hoping her bagel friend is recording this whole thing for You Tube so she can label it #CoffeeeShopFail and it'll get 31,000 hits by the time the dinner crowd comes in.

"Sure," she says sweetly, reaching for trash bin. "You just open this here, and pull out the can. There it is, right on top."

Quickly I grab the Blackberry from its perch on a Styrofoam sandwich container and brush off the bagel crumbs.

"Guess this'll teach me not to try and multi-task, huh?" I joke.

"Well, at least you dropped it in a trash can and not a toilet, right?" she offers.

I decide not to tell her I did that a few years ago. Twice.

don't ask me wifi

2011-07-21T13:37:00.000-05:00

The last few weeks have sucked. Between living in a hotel and rotating four outfits because we don't have a washer and dryer in the new house, I'm about to dump gasoline on my head and smoke a cigarette.

But I won't.

The light at the end of the tunnel is poking through. We at least have a functional television.

Then again, we have no cable. Which means no True Blood, Real Housewives of ANYTHING, So You Think You Can Dance, or Flipping Out. I may as well not have a TV.

One great part of the move that's complete is all three pets are back from Grandma's house and living with us again. As I posted the other day, we just rescued our new dog Tootsie, and she's fantastic. I'm excited to someday cuddle up with her on the couch and get some work done.

Notice I said someday.

Because we don't have Internet.

For the last three days we did have "free" wifi from an unsuspecting neighbor who didn't have his service password protected. It only took 72 hours for him to figure out why his internet was so slow.

So there went that.

Today I had several things that I needed to get done that could not be accomplished via my Blackberry.

(Mainly because my Blackberry is as efficient as one of those Speak 'N Spells I played with when I was 4.)

That being said, I needed Internet.

Panera only allows 1/2 an hour of Internet at a time, and I needed at least 2. I don't drink coffee, so Starbucks was out. Then Hubs came up with a solution that fixed one problem but created a whole new set of others.

McDonald's.

Apparently they have WiFi. Really? Do a lot of business people frequent McDonald's? I usually only see mu mu's. Maybe that's just me.

I was desperate though, and I went to the McDonald's. I located a booth,s at down, and began to work.
While sitting there, I discovered:

1) It is impossible to concentrate on work when a 2 year old child is screaming, "I HATE FRENCH FRIES! I WANT MACARONI! Mommy always takes me to get macaroni. You're a DOODY HEAD, Daddy!

2) McDonald's does not offer outlets, despite their Wifi. Charge your battery prior to leaving the house.

3) McDonald's Diet Dr. Pepper tastes like a mix of prune juice, Hi-C and a shot of Keystone Light. As a (self-proclaimed) Dr. Pepper expert, I'm tempted to call corporate about this travesty.

4) If you find yourself forced to use your laptop in a McDonald's, no less than three people will ask you, "McDonald's has WiFi now?" or "Working hard or hardly workin', eh?" or "What kinda 'puter is that? I just got me one of them iPad's from my daughter for Christmas. So, wheredo you live?"

5) I am not a nice person when I get interrupted.

In other news, I have found the PERFECT DOG to go adopt so Tootsie can have a brother.

(YES, I was working while at McDonald's using the Wifi. I can't help it if I had to take a slight detour to the Wayside Waif's website while I waited for a file to download.)

(Also, Sam Moon has fantastic jewelry at super cheap prices.)

(And J-Lo might have been cheating on Marc Anthony while they were married.)

All right, back to work...oooh wait, there's a Red Box at this McDonald's. Wonder if any good movies are in there this week?

the (hot) dog days are over

2011-07-15T12:11:00.001-05:00

Here I lay, on my new couch
I'm not quite sure that I deserve this
I'm comfy and my tummy's full
And there's cool air on my tookus

My mom and dad at my house before
Bought me so I'd make babies
But a baby of their own came soon
And I guess they didn't want me

They put me out in the hot, hot heat
And tied me to a chain
Sometimes I didn't have water to drink
And I'd hope for it to rain

I'm full of life and energy
So I'd try to jump and wrestle
But my chain would get all tangled up
So under a tree I'd nestle

I wanted to go back inside
What had I done so wrong?
I wouldn't hurt their baby girl
I'd lick her all day long

But no one came to bring me in
In the grass I'd have to lie
I tried to smile as people passed
But I was just too hot to try

Then one day, something changed
A lady stopped to pet me
My mom didn't put up a fuss at all
She seemed relieved and happy

The lady scooped me up so tight
She kissed my bony body
Then whispered, "I know the home for you"
I was so happy I almost pottied

Hubs and Kim took me right in
They snuggle and they coo
I get treated like I'm special here
And there's always lots of food!

I know how lucky that I am
That this family took me in
Will you do the same for another like me?
Believe me, everyone wins

Love,
Tootsie Roll

Special thank you to Hubs' mom, Janette, the "nice lady" who was smart enough to remove Tootsie from her previous home. The family only wanted Tootsie to breed her. But once they had their own baby, they simply didn't want her or have a need for her. Apparently in that household, pets have to earn their stay. At our house, the only form of payment accepted is love. And Tootsie's bank account will always be full.

To rescue an animal of your own, contact your local animal shelter. In Kansas City, check out Wayside Waifs and Animal Haven.

http://www.waysidewaifs.org/site/PageServer

the house that paint built

2011-07-14T12:29:00.000-05:00

WHERE have you been, you ask?

Did you fall off the earth?

No.

Did you hit your head on something and forget who you are?

No. (I don't think so, anyway.)

No, it's none of the above. We've been moving to a new house. Or rather, we've been trying to move into a new house. First we rented out our townhouse, only to discover we couldn't close on the new house soon enough. Therefore we moved to a weekly hotel for two week...THEN we moved into the new house.

In 120 heat.

It's been rad.

Between brown recluse spiders, delayed closing, a completely useless air conditioner and 3' tall grass, it's been enough to make Hubs and I question exactly what is was that we were thinking.

But then, early this week, we were finally able to begin the move into the house. So we rented a Uhaul, borrowed my parents for help, and started the move.

The night we moved the big stuff, the heat index was hovering around a pleasant 116 degrees. Totally optimal moving conditions. The four of us soaked our shirts, shorts and every other body part with sweat, going in and out of the Uhaul like ants. It wasn't fun.

After the first load, we all stood there contemplating whether anyone would mind if we just stripped naked.

Just then, I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. I turned to see two women walking up our driveway.

J: (waving) Hi there! We're your neighbors from across the cul-de-sac. This is A and I'm J.

Me: (thinking about the pool of sweat that's in my boobs that I would totally dig out with a Kleenex if total strangers weren't in front of me) Oh hi! Nice to meet you. Please excuse us, we're prett gross right now.

J: (waving her hand non-chalantly) Don't worry about it, we totally understand. So...how's it going?

Me: Pretty good, I guess. We've got the first big load done. So, now onto the next.

A: We've seen your cars over here once or twice, and wondered if you were going to be our new neighbors. Both of our husbands are police officers.

M: (kicking myself for coming over several times in one week to look in the windows and *maybe* try and sneak in through the garage) Yeah, we've been back and forth from here pretty often. We're pretty excited to move in.

A: Well, everyone around here is really nice. Like I said, our husbands are both on the KCMO PD, so you can feel safe.

Me: (internal monologue) So no getting drunk and running around the house naked on a dare. And no knock down, drag out fights with Hubs on the front lawn screaming "YOU THOUGHT OUR WEDDING WAS BORING! ADMIT IT!")

Me: (out loud) That's great!

A: So...(pausing and cocking her eyebrow), you guys really liked the house then, huh? We've been waiting for someone to move in. (pausing again)

Me: (carefully) Yyyyeah, we like it a lot. I mean...there's some work to be done.

Hubs: We're both designers, so we bought it as a fixer upper.

A: (raising eyebrows and looking at J) So, you're going to do stuff to the house, then?

J: (salivating like a dog after a t-bone.)

Me: Well, as soon as we can we want to paint itm, so-

J: (throwing her arms around me) Oh thank GOD! I'm so glad to hear you say that. The day the woman that lived here started painting this house, I was watching through the blinds, and I immediately called A and was like, "WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING OVER THERE?"

Me: (laughing) It's definitely on our list to get done. As soon as we can!

J: (putting her hand over her heart) That makes me feel so much better. I'm so glad you guys don't like it as much as we don't. Although it does make our house easier to find when people come over. 'We're across from the crazy bright house!'

***

So, we have nice neighbors who really couldn't care less whether we're axe murderers or pedophiles, as long as we paint the house. Which I get. Cuz right now? It looks like this.

And it doesn't stop there. Ms. Previous Owner was not afraid to get in touch with her inner Crayola.

Our Master Bath? Looks like this.

(Blogger is being stubborn and won't turn the picture.)

But she didn't stop at green, oh no. Check out the upstairs bedroom. Ahoy matey! Thar I see land up ahead!

And the dining room. Don't forget the dining room.

I've always wondered what it'd be like to crawl inside an eggplant to eat my breakfast. Now I know.

But fear not, if we grow weary of eggplant casserole, we can easily move on to butternut squash in the 3rd bedroom. Tasty.

Yes, the previous owner of this house clearly had a Rainbow Brite complex, and brought it into her home. But one day at a time, we will overcome. One paint stroke out a time, we will slowly turn this into the house of our dreams.

(Just don't tell the neighbors we plan to do the outside before the inside. Shhhhh.)

I scream, you scream, but mostly I just scream

2011-05-26T12:15:00.000-05:00

Scene: Two nights ago. I am jonesin' for ice cream.

Me: (sitting in a ridiculously long line at Sheridan's Frozen Custard talking to myself) Holy crap...How long can it take to give someone their ice cream!

(line creeps forward three inches)

Me: (smacking the stirring wheel over and over) HURRY UP! 

Lady five cars in front of me at the drive- up speaker: Um, I want three large cookie dough concretes...no wait, just two cookie dough concretes. And...hold on. WHAT ABBY? WHAT DO YOU WANT? (pause) Okay, and one small vanilla custard with chocolate sprinkles, but not too many chocolate sprinkles. (pause) Okay, and, change the two cookie dough concretes to one cookie dough and one Oreo, but I don't want a ton of Oreo's in it. And then...yes, Abby I know...a large chocolate shake with two straws. Do you take checks?

(Rapidly dialing Hubs' number)

Hubs: Hi babe. 

Me: Hubs! This is crazy. The line to Sheridan's is like, 8 cars long! I want ICE CREAM!

Hubs: (sighs) They have the walk-up counter. Is it busy?

Me: (shrugs) No.

Hubs: So go up there and order your ice cream.

Me: (softly) I can't.

Hubs: Why not?

Me: It's too far. I don't want to.

Hubs: Oh for heavens sake. If you don't want to wait than you're going to have to.

Me: (picking at my jeans) Yeah, but I can't even if I wanted to.

Hubs: Why?

Me: Just cuz.

Hubs:  WHY?

Me: Because I'm not wearing a bra. I left the house quickly and didn't think I'd need to be out of the car.

Hubs: So? We live in Wyandotte...you'll fit right in.

Me: (pondering) That's true. 

Hubs: So....what are you going to do?

Me: I'll just wait, I guess.  It gives me a reason to bitch.

Hubs: Shocking. 

toto, i don't want to be in kansas anymore

2011-05-25T16:55:00.000-05:00

Today Kansas City was rocked with some pretty severe weather. Thousands of people were herded into basements, hallways and bathrooms, hoping that a tornado wouldn't touch down and repeat the damage and devastation in Joplin.

Here is my experience:

Around 11:00 this morning, I hop in my SUV to meet a client for lunch and disucss a project. Our lunch is located in Overland Park KS, approximately 15 miles from my house. As I got ready this morning, I barely even noticed the severe weather warnings. Yes, there was some information crawling across the bottom of the screen with the words WARNING and SEVERE and ACTION PLAN...but I didn't have time to look at those.

(I'm one of those people who wears fluffy, light skirts on windy days and chooses to flat iron my hair when there's a 99.999% chance of rain. I am oblivious to weather predictions. Unlike my mother, but that's another story.)

Approximately 4 miles from my destination, heavy rain begins to splatter on my windshield. I think to myself, "Hmmm, the sky looks a bit iffy. I wonder if there's a severe thunderstorm warning or something."

I switch from a CD (the artist of which I will not share with you because it's too embarassing) and tune into a local radio station.

BEEEP, BEEEEEEP, BEEEEEEP!!!! Really, I only needed the one beep to pay attention.

Seconds later, a robotic voice informs me that yes, the city I just entered is now under a tornado warning.

Not watch.

Warning.

Um...

I'm not going to lie. I begin to hyperventilate. My palms begin to sweat as I completely ignore the road for a solid 10 seconds and examine the sky. As if I have the slightest clue as to what I'm looking for. Gary Lezak is always talking about funnel clouds, but do I actually know what they look like? And what about those hooky echo-y things? Should I look for those?

But then I think, "Overland Park is a big area. I mean, what are the chances that I'm in the exact right spot for this thing?"

The robotic voice then me that between mile marker 67 and 80 is in the direct path of the tornadic activity.

I'm on mile marker 78. Holy shiz balls. I am going to die.

For the next few seconds, I ponder if Hubs will miss me when I'm gone. Then I realize I'm totally passing my exit. I whip the car off the highway like I'm auditioning for NASCAR and pull into my lunch spot, Blanc Burgers.

(Which, FYI. Yum.)

The rain has almost completely stopped as I walk into the restaurant. Hooray! I'm safe! Scary stuff is over!

Then I walk in, and every single customer, server and bartender is glued to the television, which is showing an HD feed of a tornado forming basically right over our heads.

Neat.

I take a seat and order a Dr. Pepper. If I'm going to die, I'm going down with Dr. Pepper in my stomch. But I never get my drink. The manager/owner/person in charge at Blanc comes to each table and calmly informs his patrons that we are now going to evacuate to the downstairs.

I'm not prepared to say that I shoved to the front of the line to go downstairs, but I'm also not going to say I wasn't. Blanc man leads us through the kitchen (immaculately clean, by the way) and down the concrete stair well. I breathe a sigh of relief at the though that I'll at least be in an enclosed basement. I walk through the final door...and find myself at the mouth of a parking garage. So maybe not so safe and enclosed after all.

And there it is. The giant funnel, swirling and twirling, disguising itself as a beautiful phenomenon when it's really a potential storm of death ready to come and eat me alive with its scary cloudy jaws.

I walk up the parking ramp to the outside and whip out my phone to take video. Cuz that's safe.

As I finish video (which refuses to upload on my blog), I take in my surroundings. Everyone around me is with a friend or co-worker. My lunch appointment had stayed behind at her office (and rightly so), Hubs is at work, and I don't know anyone.

I suddenly have visions of a tornado dropping out of the sky and sucking all of us into it's windy funnel, rudely plopping us four miles away through the brand new skylights at Oak Park Mall.

I dial Hubs. No signal. The cell towers capabilities are clearly crippled with the thousands of people calling their loved ones. I quickly summon my expert "Radio Contest" strategy and began dialing Hubs once every 15 seconds. On the eighth try, I finally get through.

"Hi, babe," he answers.

"It's me!" I breath into the phone. "Thank goodness I got through! I am literally watching a tornado form RIGHT NOW."

"Really?" He replies. "That's cool."

"It is NOT cool," I hiss into the phone. "I could die at any second if this thing touches down."

"Well, go back inside then." Men are so annoyingly pragmatic.

"No!" I say back, kicking at the concrete. "I mean, it's kind of neat to watch it. But really, I could die."

"You're not going to die, Kim. Can I call you back?"

I am disgusted. I could be Twister'd at ANY second. This might be our last phone call to each other EVER. And he wants the last words spoken to his wife of nearly four years to be, "Can I call you back?"

"Sure," I shrug my shoudlers. "I mean, if you have something more important to do than speak to me while I witness a potentially huge F5 torando, you should do it."

"Okay, I'll call you back in a bit. Love you!" Click.

I bet Ryan Gosling would have told Rachel McAdams how much he loved her final phone call on earth, but whatever.

As I stand there and prepare for my exit from this world, I start to think. This is the first "real" tornado situation I've ever been in on my own. I mean, when I was a kid, tornadoes were always experienced with my family. And I sure as hell never saw one. Mostly because Mom shoved all three kids under the stairs, covered us with a mattress and ran back up to my dad screaming, "IS IT HERE??? BILL!!! IS THE TORNADO COMING? GET IN THE HOUSE BEFORE IT SUCKS YOU UP!!!"

Super calming influence for a nine-year old.

In my college years, I always had roommates to help me weather the storm. They were always very calm people, much like Hubs, who sort of took me and my ever-present paranoia under their wing and dealt with my crazy death irrationalites every April-June.

And now, Hubs is always there for me, reasuuring me when bad weather strikes. And yet here I am, alone. With a giant tornado possibly looming over me. And I'm doing okay. There are no tears (that can be proven), almost no irrational thoughts, and I'm all by myself.

I really have grown up.

Fifteen minutes later the storm officially passes, and we all go back up to the restaurant for lunch. I feel as if I should receive some sort of a medal or at least a pat on the back, but no one produces one. I guess I'll just have to settle for my own personal pride.

And besies, no one has to know I pottied in my pants a little.

color me stupid

2011-04-11T07:25:00.005-05:00

It should come as no surprise to you bloggies that I, on occasion, say or do some really not-so-intelligent things.

(If you really need proof, feel free to read about my shenanigan's here, here and here. And trust me, this is a very small sampling.)

It might, however, surprise you to find out that I've been having these issues my entire life. I don't know if I have a lack of ability to think things completely through before I say/do them, or if I'm just destined to make people laugh through my ridiculousness. Either way, you benefit.

For example:

I grew up in a relatively strict household. No, my parents didn't chain me to the basement and make me wear a chastity belt, but they did keep a pretty tight eye on me and my siblings.

One area they pulled the reigns back was for movies. I rarely got to watch anything above a PG rating as a kid. On the rare instance that I watched a PG-13 or God forbid, R movie, my mom would chew her fingernails, anxiously awaiting the naughty parts. When the kissing turned to petting or an f-bomb was just arround the corner, she would jump off the couch like a crazy person and fast forward the scene to secure my innocence.

But every now and again, my mom would love a movie so much that she gave up her worries for my well-being and allowed me to watch a film well beyond the PG level. With her, of course. "Dirty Dancing" was one of those movies, and I got to watch it when I was 11.

From the first moment I watched it, I was hoooked. I couldn't get enough of it. The story of Johnny and Baby and the drama of wondering if they would get together and would that dude from Law and Order ever like Johnny and see that he was a good man? It sometimes kept me up at nights.

Anyways...

The summer after I saw that movie for the first time, we went on a family vacation. I don't remember where and it doesn't matter. All that does matter is I was away from my VCR for two weeks solid. No Johnny. No Baby. No "I carried a watermelon?" to laugh at. No scenes where I was thisclose to seeing Patrick Swayze's man parts.

When we finally arrived home from the vacation, the first thing I wanted to do was watch the movie. Knowing my Dad's answer would be flat out "no", I went to Mom first. I found her in the kitchen, dutifully putting away all the food from our coolers into the refrigerator.

"Mom?" I asked, kicking at a bug on the floor. "I've finished un-packing my bags and sorting the clothes into the color piles like you asked me to. Could I please watch a movie?"

Mom glared at me as she rose up from the fridge. "Kim, it is 95 degrees in this house right now, we have tons of crap to put away from the trip, and I haven't slept well in three days. No, you can't watch a movie."

I sighed, but was not deterred. I knew if I could make enough racket or possibly even cause a small disaster, I had a shot at changing her mind. The plotting began.

"Okay, well, I'll just help you put this food away then."

"That would be great," she replied, wiping a drip of sweat from her forehead. "Hand me the pickles, Velveeta and the Coke's from that cooler by the front door, over there."

This was my opportunity. I grabbed the requested items quickly and *possibly* on purpose, dropped one of the Coke's on the floor. It didn't break open, but a small hissss of sticky, wet foam began to pool on the tile floor.

"God bless America!" she screamed. Blessing America was a sure sign she was about to lose her mind. "Kim, you have to be careful!" She grabed a dish towel and began to soak up the brown liquid.

I waited. She looked up at me, my hands still full with three Coke cans and the Velveeta cube.

"Honey, I just don't understand why you can't - just - never mind." She motioned to the living room, exasperated. "Go get your brother and you two watch a movie. I just don't care."

Mission accomplished. I beamed.

Walking over to the VCR storage, I opened the green notebook that spelled out which movie was recorded on which of our 149 tapes.

Princess Bride, tape 41. Charlie Brown Christmas, tape 13. Music man, tape 22. Ah, there it was. Dirty Dancing, tape 27.

But tape 27 was not in it's place. It was gone. I ran through the house, checking all the VCR's in the house. Tape 27 was nowhere to be found. I knew going back and asking Mom for help was more dangerous than playing jump rope with a viper. I would have to ask Dad.

Unfortunately, Dad was now in the kitchen helping Mom. I'd have to play this carefully, with patience and skill. I eased into the kitchen and spoke sofly.

"Dad? Um, Mom said I could watch a movie, and the one I want isn't in its slot."

Dad licked excess mayonnaise from his fingers as he prepared a sandwich. "Find another movie, then." Ugh...the one answer I didn't want to hear.

"Yeah, I would," I replied. "But I really want to watch this one movie I haven't seen in like, forever. It's on tape 27, and I can't find it anywhere. So..."

Turning away from his sandwich, Dad eyed me curiously. "Well what movie is it?"

Shit.

"Uh, it's that movie where the girl dances at the summer camp?" I felt my mother's back stiffen at my description. Dad's eyebrows raised.

"What?" He leaned agains the counter, incredulous. "Since when have you seen "Dirty Dancing", young lady? Diana, did you hear what your daughter wants to watch?"

My mother forced a smile and laughed lightly. "Yes, I heard." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "I let her watch it a few weeks ago while I was folding clothes. She didn't see the really bad parts." Dad just stared.

Uh oh. This was not in the plan. Now my parents were involved in some sort of weird parental Mexican standoff that went way deeper than I understood.

"I see," Dad replied, turning back to his sandwich as he contemplated what to do. It was an impossible position for him to be in. Mom had already let me watch the movie(and amazingly I hadn't burst into flame), so he couldn't say no due to content. At the same time, he clearly didn't want me to see it again, what with all that evil bumping and grinding and abortion business. So he did what my parents always did. He gave me the absolute stupidest excuse ever conceived.

"Honey," he said. "It was a long trip we just went on. That movie is just too heavy of material to watch after a vacation, okay? Why don't you watch "Swiss Family Robinson" instead?"

Mom nodded quickly in agreement, as though Dad had just discovered a cure for herpes.

"DAD! I don't WANT to watch that," I moaned, stomping my foot. "I want to watch "Dirty Dancing"! I promise not to watch the bad parts, I know where they are and I'll tell you when they come on so you can fast forward!"

(I left out the fact that I knew when the dirty parts were because I had watched the movie several times secretly with my sister when my parents weren't home.)

This response seemed to only solidify my father's decision.

"No, Kim. No." He had made up his mind. "I can't believe you have even seen that movie once," I felt him glance at my mom. "In fact," he paused. "Yes, I don't think you need to watch that movie again until you're a little older. Like 14."

Oh. My. God. I was going to explode.

"That's THREE YEARS AWAY!" I screamed, fighting back tears. How could I wait three years to see Johnny dance on the log again? It was too painful to imagine. But rather than feeling sorry for me, my Dad began to get angry. His face turned red.

"I cannot believe we're even having this conversation!" he boomed, his voice echoing in the kitchen. "That movie is way too mature for you. Mom should not have let you watch it, and I'm sorry she did, but you're not watching it again right now."

Tension filled the kitchen and I flinched as Mom started throwing tupperware into cabinets,slamming them shut and re-opening them again. She was no doubt thinking up a good defense for her and Dad's private conversation later.

"But Dad!" I pulled on his shorts in despearation. "I can't wait until I'm 14! That's three years away. By the time I'm 14, the movie will have changed to black and white!"

Suddenly all movement stopped. Dad's knife hung suspended above his sandwich. Mom froze loading a plate into the dishwasher. Had I gotten through to them? Did they finally understand the brevity of this situation?

"What did you say?" Dad asked, a grin creeping acros his face. This was my moment to bring it home.

"In three years," I held up three fingers for effect. "I won't be able to enjoy the movie as much as I can now, becaue by the time I'm fourteen, the movie will have gone to black and white like the movies you watched when you were a kid. There's NO way the movie will be as good in black and white, Dad! So... can I watch it now?"

Mom laughed first. Just a chuckle, maybe even a snort. But that's all it took. Suddenly the kitchen was filled with laughter. Hard, uncontrollable laughter. Dad was lucky he didn't stab himself in the stomach with his knife.

I was so confused. What was so amusing?

"Oh honey," my mother began. "Movies don't change to black and white. They can add or take color away whenever they want, to any movie. Are you serious? You don't you know that?"

I started to answer but couldn't hear my own voice over the roaring laughter. I suppose I should have been glad that my parents were clearly no longer mad at one another. Mostly because they were busy wondering what part of my brain was missing.

Defeated, I shuffled out of the kitchen into the living room and turned on "Swiss Family Robinson." To this day, I still despise that movie. Color or not.

And to this day, I swear my children will be able to watch "Dirty Dancing" whenever they want. So there.

Clear the launch (i)pad...

2011-03-14T17:25:00.000-05:00

So Friday was exciting.

For those of you who take up residence under a rock, the iPad2 was launched on Friday. Normally I would stay home and feel sorry for myself because, once again, technology exceeds my budget and I have to settle for an average run-of-the-mill laptop while everyone else enjoys the fruits of Apple's most recent labor.

(Get it? Apple? Fruit? I'm a genius.)
The good thing about last week's iPad launch, was it fell on a week right after I had turned 30. Due to that blessed occasion, I got lots of nice presents from Hubs, parents and in-laws. Well, really just one present. Cash. I mean, what else are you going to get a 30 year old who has a tendency to pout for three hours when she doesn't get the gift she wanted? The correct answer is of course, gift cards, cash or Dr. Pepper.

My family was smart enough to give me cash. Bless them.

And of course Hubs also pitched in to provide me the necessary dollars to get my dream gift. But he warned me that getting the iPad2 on the day it was released would be touch, and I should probably just order online and wait patiently for its arrival.

Impatience is my middle name.

No dice.

Friday arrives. Word on the 'net states that multiple stores wil be selling the device this time around, not just Apple stores. Armed with this knowledge, I arrive at my local Beat Buy store at 10.00 am on the dot. The parking lot is practically deserted, which I take as a good sign.
I saunter into the store and bee-line for the iPad section. A stray Beat Buy employee eyes me as I whiz by in a whirlwind of determination and confidence.
"Can I assist you, Miss?" he asks politely.

"Um, yeah," I stop abruptly and turn around. "I want that uh, iPad2 thing," I mime a rectangle with my hands and pretend to type on it. Just in case this person doesn't know what an iPad is.
Employee man raises his eyebrows. "They don't go on sale until 5.00 pm."

Duh. I shift my weight back and forth like a toddler who needs to pee RIGHT NOW.

"Yeah, I know, but there's already a line at the Apple store. Don't you read Twitter?" God, these ridiculous people. "I thought there would be a line here, too. I want to be sure to get one. Like absolutelypositivelynodoubtaboutit want to get one."

He smiles and nods his approval. "I think you're safe to come back a little later. Not many people even realize this store is here since it's so new and small. Good strategy coming this early, though."

I sigh and buff out a black scuff mark on the floor with my shoe. "Okaaaaay, so if I came back around 3:00, would that be a smart time?"

He thinks for a moment. "Well, I know that's when we find out how many we're getting in the store, so that sounds good to me. Is there anything else you need while you're here?"

I pause for a moment. I have always wanted a television in the girls' room. And I KNOW they have a good selection of movies here...no. Must stay focused. These damn sales people.

"No, that's all I'm here for. I'll be back around 3:00. Thanks!"

I drive home and re-group. The Twitter posts are getting more and more frequent. The lines at the Apple store are growing into the hundreds by noon. Should I go back to Best Buy a little earlier? Maybe around 2:00?

(In all honesty, I drive by the Best Buy store six times in total on Friday. It's only 3 miles from our house, so it's okay.)

I manage to focus on work for awhile at home and knock out some pending tasks, but all I can think about is how fun it will be to do these tasks on my SHINY NEW iPAD2!!! And then I start to daydream about playing Angry Birds on a ginormous screen.

All work productivity is officially lost.

At 2.45 my phone rings. I pray for a telemarketer I can ignore but see that it's an important client. I answer and spend the next few minutes answering questions. By the time I hang up it is 2:56. I am supposed to be in line in four minutes.

I grab a book, triple check that I have my wallet (don't laugh, this has been a problem in the past) and drive like a bat out of crazy town to Best Buy. Relief washes over mewhen I see very few cars in the lot. I totally have this. It is 3:05.

Upon entering the store, I immediately see the line. Or glob. It is at least 10 people. How did THAT happen? The competitor in me was kind of hoping to be first.

As I approach the group, I can't tell where the line starts. Like Ralphie and the line for Santa Claus in "A Christmas Story". Where the hell am I supposed to stand? This is no way to run a rodeo.

"I assume this is the line for the iPad?" I ask upon approach in my most confident voice.

"Yes," says a tall man who looks very tech savvy. (Read, nerd.)

"Great! Where does the line begin? I can't really tell."

"Right over there," says a man in a green shirt, who looks at me like I'm going to steal his first born child. "This is the front," He points hard to his spot. He is clearly proud to be first in line.

"So right here?" I ask in only the slightest of condescending tones as I take my place behind a young man in a KU shirt.

"Yes, right there. This here. This is the front," Green Shirt Man says, almost out of breath. It's like he's just dodged a bullet. He seems agitated. Now I am agitated.

"Well really, your spot could be the end of the line," I motion to the glob of people. "There isn't a very clear indication of what the front is."

"She's right," Tall Nerd says. I love him.

"What we should do," I say as I make a wide swinging motion with my hand, "is stand single file along here so people can tell where they're supposed to stand when they come in. Just a thought."

Green Shirt's eyes narrow. "Well, we don't have a control freak in our line at all, do we? HA HA HA HA HA HA."

Okay, that was rude. I am NOT a control freak. Yes, I like to know where I'm supposed to stand and when I'm supposed to stand there. And besides, who insults a complete stranger for trying to bring some organization to a potentially chaotic situation?

It is at this point that I get out my phone and update my Facebook Status.

"Omg, just WAIT for my blog about my ipad2 experience here at Best Buy. Been here two minutes and there's already drama."

It is also at this time that I become even more agitated at Green Shirt Dude. Seriously, what's his deal? Is he afraid someone is going to stand in front of him? He's FIRST IN LINE.

So I decide to take a picture of him for my blog later.

Do you see what I mean by GLOB? If Green Shirt Dude is first in line, someone explain White Shirt Lady to me. And what is the lady on the floor doing? Taking a nap?

I inquire how long Green Shirt and Floor Lady have been waiting, since they are clearly together. Green Shirt actually looks at his watch and actually thinks before replying, "In two minutes, it will be ten."

So eight minutes.

Is it really necessary to sit on the dirty Best Buy floor after you've waited for eight WHOLE minutes? Is it also really necessary to act anxious and worried and call a complete stranger a CONTROL FREAK after waiting only eight minutes? If it had been two hours, I could understand. But eight minutes? Really?

I wonder how crazy things are over at the Apple store where hundereds of people are waiting. Something tells me over there it's all Coach purses and complimentary backrubs and tech talk over espressos. I'm in Wyandotte County in Kansas. Apple's on the Country Club Plaza. When in Rome...

I decide it can't get worse.

Fifteen minutes later a tall sales kid with killer dreads and a great attitude comes out and begins counting heads. By this point I have done my own count and determined that I am 9th in a line of 16. Surely I am going to get an iPad2.

As Dreads counts heads, I notice his wide grin dwindling as he gets to my part of the line.

"Um, okay guys, listen up!" he barks and claps his hands. "I need you to listen to what I say very, very carefully. Okay? LISTEN. In about twenty minutes, I am going to hand out vouchers for the iPads. The store ad states that we must have at least four iPads at this location. It also-"

"ONLY 4!?" A big guy with gold teeth exclaims. "But, I'm 5th in line! I thought for sure that I would-"

"Please LISTEN to what I'm saying," Dread's interrupts. "At this location we are only REQUIRED to have four iPads. That does not mean we only have four. LISTEN TO THE WORDS I SAY. And for the love of God, back up!"

I hadn't even noticed, but Green Shirt, his floor wife, Tech Boy and Gold Teeth have slowly taken a step closer to Dreads with every word he says. They're close enough to get a view of his dental work.

"Look guys, there are about 20 of you here," Dreads continues, massaging his temples. "I can't promise you all are going to get the iPad, and further I can't promise if you do get one that it will be the one you want. I don't even know what we have in inventory yet. Think of it this way...I have to watch you all get the iPad and I don't even get one."

"But you do have at least two?" Green Shirt asks quietly, nudging Dreads. I think Dreads is going to kill him.

"I. Don't. Know. How. Many. We. Have. Please step back," Dreads is starting to lose it. "I will come back in a few minutes with the vouchers. I'll also go over with you what accessories we have for the iPads for those of you that get one. Okay?"

After Dreads leaves, everyone in the line loses their minds. Green Shirt is calculating the chances that they will have more than two iPads, even though Dreads just told us they are required to have four. Tech Savvy Guy is debating between whether he wants the 16 or the 32 GB model and gets in a tech arguement with some pimply dude next to him about 3G versus Wi-fi. The kid behind me who is clearly in high school is on the phone calling in sick to work. I think a lady in the back of the line is crying.

I want to hang myself.

Instead I update my Facebook status again.

"OMG.You guys will not BELIEVE this. #iPad2"

(That's two "OMG's" in one day for my status updates. I think it's warranted.)

The moment of truth finally arrives. Dreads comes back out, this time armed with a second employee for back up. He has pieces of paper in his hands. I know he only has a certain number of papers, and there aren't enough for anyone.

I suddenly pray he gives a Tyra Banks America's Next Top Model speech. "I only have 10 vouchers in my hands...the people who do not receive vouchers must immediately pack their belongings, and go home."

Instead of a speech, Dreads just says that when he's out of papers, he's out of papers. End of story.

He walks to the front of the line and I can already feel people pushing me forward. WHY? This is not going to improve your place in line. People amaze me.

Green Shirt and his Floor Wife get what they want (despite my control freak-ness) and immediately walk around with a satisfied "I Just Took a Huge Dump" grin on their face. By the time Dreads gets to the guy in front of me, I'm convinced I'm not getting one.

Guy in front of me wants a black 32 GB. Dreads doesn't have it. He settles for a black 16 GB.

Dreads comes to me. I want a white 16 GB. He gives me the ticket for the model I want. The kid behind me takes the last piece of paper, and Dreads holds up his empty hands.

Game over.

Without thinking, I throw both hands up in the air and shout "YAAAAAY!" like a five year old. I have a desire to hug someone. People stare. Green Shirt glares at me. I think he's actually mad I got one.

Whatever.

Dreads wishes everyone in the line well and also mentions that if any of us wish to sell our tickets, we can't do it in the store. He then informs everyone that we have an hour to kill before we can purchase our iPads. We can look at accessories until then or busy ourselves elsewhere. He doesn't really care.

I ask for a picture with Dreads, whose name turns out to be Franklin. I prefer Dreads.

Hubs arrives twenty minutes later to wait with me. I try to convey to him the chaos that has ensued while he has been away, but it's impossible to explain.

The time soon arrives for us to purchase our iPads. As we're all standing in line with shitty grins on our faces, a thought occurs to me. You would think this group had just won the lottery. In reality, we simply won a chance to spend over $500 of our hard-earned money on a gadget that likely will be replaced with an even better gadget in a few short months.

And then Dreads reminds me they have a Buy Back Program. For a small, nominal fee.

I shake my head and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and even consider walking away. But then it's my turn to buy. And Dreads puts the iPad box in my hands. I remember Angry Birds. And Face Time. And email. And apps. And bright lights and colors. My eyes glaze over, I swipe my card and head home to play.

think before you acronym

2011-03-07T16:31:00.000-06:00

Instant messaging with a colleague of mine last week:

Me: So yeah, that's what's new with me. I'm excited for my birthday weekend. Going to relax as much as possible!

J: 30 isn't that bad, trust me.

Me: So says everyone. OH, get this! I totally have to get STD insurance! That's probably another $50-$75 a month.

J: ???

Me: Short Term Disability

J: OH! Wow, I just saw STD and thought that wasn't a conversation you should be having with me.

Me: I don't even think there's such thing as STD insurance for what you're thinking, dirty mind!

J: If there is, I don't want to know about you needing it!

***

I had an AMAZING 30th birthday surprise party this weekend. Hubs' completely pulled it off despite my constant snooping for the last few months. I hope to have picture soon. Thanks to all my friends and best buddies that came out. It was definitely a birthday to remember forever.

taken for a (boat) ride

2011-02-28T12:15:00.024-06:00

This morning I interrupt my already busy day to go to the Motor Vehicle Registration place. It is packed. I take a number. It shows #202 and they are currently serving #166. My business is very important to them and they appreciate my patience. If I could please refrain from leaving the premises, it would be appreciated.

One hour, twenty minutes later.

Carol: (over the loudspeaker) Number 4, please?

Me: (closing my magazine and walking over) I need to renew the tags on one of my vehicles.

Carol: Okay. Where's your registration form?

Me: (holding it up) Right here. But I have a question. I alrady renewed my other car and my husband's motorcyle online earlier this month. But when I went to renew this car, I found that for the second year in a row, I didn't have a PIN number to renew this car online. So I had to come all the way here anyway.

Carol: (yawning) Mmm hmm.

Me: (handing over my registration info) The whole purpose of renewing your tags online is so you don't HAVE to come down here during work hours. I happily pay the extra $4.00 fee for the online thing, and yet I STILL have to come here.

Carol: (takes my paperwork and clicks away on her keyboard) Yes, there isn'a a PIN number associated with this vehicle, but I can't tell you why. You'd have to go through the department in...wait a minute.(Knits her brows together in confusion)

Me: What?

Carol: This registration says "Hubs Antisdel". Who is Hubs?

Me: My husband. But I can still pay for the registration on his car can't I?

Carol: Yeah, yeah. I'm just... (leaning in to toward the computer screen.) He's the one with the boat, then?

Me: Beg your pardon?

Carol: The boat. That's his?

Me: We don't have a boat.

Carol: (shrugging) The computer says you do. 1982 Galaxy blue boat. See, you haven't paid the registration on it for the last two years. That's why they're forcing you to come down here.

Me: (wringing my magazine in my hands) We. Don't. Have. A. Boat.
Carol: (ignoring me) You owe $229.74 in taxes on the boat, and you have to pay it today with your other car's registration.

Me: I am not paying $229 for the registration on a boat that isn't MINE!

Carol: It's in the computer.

Me: (exasperated) The computer is wrong.

Carol: (smirking) Maybe your husband has a boat you don't know about? You can go call, you won't lose your place in line.

Several minutes later, Hubs has convinced his very concerned wife that no, he has never owned a 1982 Galaxy boat. Also, he is no way affiliated with a secret government agency, nor does he have ane extra wife stashed somewhere. While ending the conversation with Hubs, Carol motions for me to come back.

Me: (stuffing the phone in my purse and approaching the counter) Yes?

Carol: (smiles) It was a glitch. You don't have a boat.

Me: No kidding.

Carol: So you'll just need to pay for the Scion. $167.75.

Me: (handing her my credit card) So I've been down here for two hours because of a glitch that the state made two years in a row?

Carol: (unphased) It isn't this office that handles all that. Oh, by the way, there's a 2.5% convencience charge for credit cards. Plus the $3.00 convencinece charge of using this annex to do your registration. So total, that's $7.30 additional for the convenience charges. Is that okay?

Me: (smoke emitting from my ears) So I have to pay more for the CONVENIENCE of coming down here than I would have had to pay for doing this onlinefrom my home? But I couldn't do this online because the State had a "glitch." Can you at least comp me these charges since it isn't my fault for the mistake?

Carol: No.

Me: Awesome. Thanks so much.

Carol: (motioning toward my left arm) Hey, is that Khloe Kardashian on your magazine?

Me: No, it's Katy Perry.

Carol: Oh. She kind of looks like you.

Me: Thanks.

Carol: I always wonder how they get their chest up so high. It's probably a special bra or something.

Me: I gotta go.

***

I have no clever remarks about this experience today. I will instead just tell you that for lunch I got the hugest bucket of Dr. Pepper Chick Fil A had to offer, with a gigantic box of chicken nuggets and waffle fries.

That is all.

an ode to my valentine

2011-02-14T07:50:00.000-06:00

It's Valentine's Day! After years of disappointments and anxiety about this holiday, I relish the calmness and security it now provides me. And that is, of course, all due to Hubs.

Hubs, thank you. For loving me, for accepting me, and for...

1) Turning up the music when it's my fave song (even though you hate it).

2) Making a trip to the grocery store, just to buy my favorite soda.

3) Accepting that Mexican food has to be eaten at least twice a week, whether you like it or not.

4) Putting up with my blogs that recount stories about a guy you'd rather forget. Thank you for and understanding that my readers demand it, and so I provide it. And that really, they're pretty damn funny stories.

5) Never waiting until February 14th to tell/show/ me that I am your #1 priority.

6) Understanding when I greet both cats at the front door before I get to you.

7) Fixing my internet issues.

8) Being considerate at all hours of the day, expecting nothing in return.

9) Loving your mom.

10) Loving my mom.

11) Learning to like sushi.

12) Learning to like chick flicks.

13) Learning to like my flannel pajamas that reveal only hand and feet skin. Unless I wear socks.

14) Buying me a new red velvet cake because you polished off the last one while I was out of town.

15) Pretending my mood swings aren't that annoying.

16) Listening to me sing.

17) Answering my phone calls at work, knowing I'm going to be asking questions like, "Why do you think cats meow?" and "Where is that piece of paper I was carrying around yesterday?"

18) Being an emotional rock for me, even when you are feeling about as stable as Jell-O.

19) Pushing back your tears to attend to mine.

20) Understanding that Ibuprofen is my main food group at some point during every month...and dealing with everything else that goes along with that.

21) Vacuuming, dusting, tidying, cleaning the house 93% of the time, unacknowledged. Then practically throwing a parade in my honor when I do it the other 7% of the time.

22) Knowing how to fix a blown headlight.

23) Letting me win. Sometimes.

24) Putting the girls first.

25) Putting yourself last.

And lastly, happy birthday to the first kitty in our home, Cupcake. Two years ago when we adopted him, I was scared to death that I would never love him as much as a dog. I was way, way wrong.

If you need an amazing gift for your Valentine's Day, may I suggest adopting a pet? They will give you love and laughter for the rest of your life. And if you don't think cats are cute, just watch this...

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

I've got an axle to grind

2011-02-08T07:15:00.003-06:00

Valentine's Day was never great for me before I met Hubs. It always seemed to be a huge disappointment, whether I was with a guy or not.

Of course, there were a few years when Valentine's Day sucked even more than usual. Not surprisingly, those years were when I was with Ex. I don't know if he was genetically doomed to fail on V-day or if it was just a huge coincidence, but the guy had problems when it came to February 14th.

I already told you about one of our V-day train wrecks.. Now let me share another...

***

After the teeth incident, Ex and I are determined to have a better Valentine's Day than the year prior. Or at least I am. Ex doesn't really care one way or the other because "technically, we aren't together, Kim. Remember that."

Two days before the big day, I go out and buy a cute little red dress and brand new heels to wear for our date. In the back of my mind, I hear my mother warning, "Don't wear new shoes the day of an event. You need to break them in or you'll get blisters!" But really, what does she know anyway? She'd probably tell me not to put the items on a credit card, either.

That evening I prepare like any other 21 year old girl. I skip three classes to make sure my hair is styled and shiny, my make-up expertly applied and legs shaved to perfection. I am ready to go.

At 7:00 sharp, my roommate's date knocks on the door. I usher him in, noting the huge bouquet of roses he's brought for her. Points for Cute Dark Haired Guy! R eappears from her room in a swirl of perfume and confidence, wishes me well and is out the door with her could-be future husband.

Finally, at 7:28, Ex breezes in. There's no need to knock when you're used to popping by at 2:00 am for a little snuggle, right?

I stand in the kitchen, leaning against a chair in my sexiest pose.

"Hey! Look what I have!" Ex grins and pulls a bottle of champagne out from behind his back.

"Wow, champagne! We're going to drink before we go to dinner?" I'm surprised to see champagne as an appetizer rather than a post-dinner toast. Oh well. I stick my chest out a little. "You look nice, Ex."

"Really?" He looks down at his shirt. "It's what I've been wearing all day, but thanks!" Clearly he does not realize I am fishing for a compliment.

"So what do you think of my dress?" I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

Ex crosses to the kitchen cabinet in search of glassware for the champagne. Finding none, he settles on two Pizza Shuttle plastic cups and pops the cork on the champagne bottle. He glances at me as his eyebrows knit together. "Haven't you always had that dress?"

"No," I sigh and rub my temple. "It's a brand new dress, and I bought it especially for tonight." I stop myself from berating him for not calling the last three nights. And technically, he did call last night at 3:00 am. Granted, it was to ask me the name of the middle Brady Bunch boy so he could win a bet, but a call's a call.

"Cheers!" Ex thursts a glass of the bubbling liquid into my hand. He downs three cups in the time I'm able to get one down. I immediately feel buzzed from starving myself all day to look skinny in this dress. Ex is quite tipsy, too, but I suspect he won't drive unless he feels comfortable.

I'm ushered to his SUV and we head down the road. I ask several times where we're going, but he won't provide an answer. Five minutes later, we pull into a rather expensive (on a college budget, anyway) restaurant that I've always loved.

"Ex, this is great!" I exclaim, grasping his forearm. "I can't believe you're taking me here! This is SO sweet of you!" I kick myself for being such a downer earlier. Perhaps Ex has finally turned a corner.

"Well," he squirms in his seat and won't meet my gaze. "We're going to go Dutch, right? I mean, it's cheaper to split the bill in half than have one of us pay the entire bill, right?" He looks at lap.

"Oh." I awkwardly fiddle with a crease in my dress. "I just thought this was your gift for Valentine's Day. But yeah, it's fine, I can pay for my part." No point in ruining the night. He did pay for the champagne after all.

Dinner is relatively drama free. There's only one moment of awkardness when I lean in for a kiss while we're awaiting our table and am denied. But I'm used to that.

After our stomachs are full, the waiter brings the check and I dig in my purse for my debit card, careful not to make a big deal out of the splitting of the check. As I lay the card on the table, I notice Ex has only laid down $5.00 cash and a sheet of paper.

"Babe, $5.00 isn't going to cover your part of the meal," I explain. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, no it's okay." Ex turns the piece of paper over, revealing a large font that scream $25.00 GIFT CERTIFICATE. "Mom gave me this gift certificate for Christmas, so I figure now's a good time to use it. This way I was able to have a few extra drinks. Cool, huh?" He smiles.

I immediatley place my steak knife under a napkin where I won't be tempted to grab it and cut off his manhood. Ex could have easily let me use the gift certificate, or at least SPLIT it with me. Instead, he's using it all for himself. Suddenly, I find myself immediately reverting back to excuses for him. To be fair, it is his Mom's gift to him, so maybe he should be allowed to use it as he wants.

Plus, I work at a waitressing job that pays more money than Ex, and really, I am capable of paying for my own meal. This is the 21st centrury. Men don't always have to pick up the check. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. Maybe this is the best he can do. He did bring me to this restaurant knowing I loved it. I should cut him a break.

"Okay, so what's next?" I ask, averting my eyes frm the gift certificate. Perhaps the answer to my question will redeem my faith in him.

Ex plays with his ear. "I thought we'd go drive by the Campanile on campus. Just a romantic drive, ya know?" He looks up slowly to see my reaction.

"That would be fantastic!" I exclaim, a smile once again on my face. "Let's go!"

A quick five minute drive finds us at the Campanile, easily the highest point of the University. At night, it's lit up and beautiful. The perfect romantic spot. The night air is chilly and hovering below 40 degrees. Ex suggests we walk over to the Campanile to look at it more closely.

"I don't have a coat," I say. "I'll freeze!"

"Nah, I'll keep you warm. Besides, we'll just go quickly."

Then it hits me. He's totally going to ask me to be his exclusive girlfriend again. Finally, after a year and a half of ups and downs and lefts and rights, he's come to his senses. We're finally going to be a couple again.

I all but leap out of the SUV and run to the center of the Campanile. Ex lazily trails behind me, looking up at the stars and examining the tall structure.

He walks through the entrance and admires the text on the walls, telling the history of the landmark. After a beat, he approaches me, gives me a kiss and slap on the butt and says, "Pretty cool, yeah? Let's head over to the Hawk, they have $2.00 draws tonight."

So much for romanticism.

Back inside the SUV, Ex's eyes shift. This might not be good.

"Hey! Wanna do something crazy?" Usually this question is followed by the suggestion of something ife-threatening that I would never in a million years agree to.

I sigh. "I don't know, what do you want to do?" A nice make-out session in the car would work for me.

Ex tightens his hands around the wheel. "Let's drive down this friggin' hill." His eyes gleam.

Okay, first of all, Campanile sits atop a very, very large hill. That's why it's called CAMPANILE HILL. An attempt to drive down it would be an almost 90 degree drop. No thank you. Second of all, it's illegal. I don't feel like spending the night in jail. This not having been my first illegal rodeo with Ex, I appeal to the only thing that can stop him. His love for his car.

"Seriously, that's a BIG drop," I say. "Remember what happened at the pond? You don't want that again." I'm referring to the time Ex decided to drive down a big hill near the man made pond at his house. His car had come thisclose to rolling into the water. If it had, the vehicle, his baby, would have been totaled.

"Ah, that was just a mistake in judgement! This hill isn't even that steep!" Clearly his mind is made up. He puts the car in gear. "Put your seatbelt on, and I'll show you that I know how to handle this hill. It's all about geometry, Kim."

"You failed geometry, Ex."

"But I know my car, and I know what she can handle. Hang on! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! WOOOOOOOO!"

The Rodeo lurches forward and my stomach heaves as the vehicle hops the curb and begins its descent down the steep slope. I hope there are no uber-romantic couples laid out on the grass in a make-out section, because we'll kill them.

My hands grip the handle above the window and I silently pray to anyone who is listening that my parents not be told I died in a freak Isuzu Rodeo Hill Challenge.

Forty heart pounding seconds later, Ex slows the SUV down. The vehicle jump the curb at the bottom of the hill and lands safely on the street below the tower. We are alive.

Ex is ecstatic. He slams his fist into the steering wheel in celebration. "I TOLD you, Kim. It's all about knowing what your car is capa-"

POP! POP!

"What the hell was that?" Shear panic crosses Ex's face as the steering wheel begins to violently shake. "The steering just...I can't steer the car! What is going on?"

The SUV heaves a resistant sigh as Ex uses all his strength to steer it to the side of the road. I instinctively search for my wallet, trying to remember if I have my AAA card with me.

Three minutes later, Ex has completed his expert analysis of the problem. "I don't know what it is," he says, dejected. "I think I popped something in the axle by the front tire. It's detached or something. I can't drive it."

I roll my eyes. "Well, what are we going to do? I just looked and my AAA card is expired. I didn't renew this year."

"Why wouldn't you renew that? You lock your keys in the car all the time, Kim." I let his comment slide, knowing he's just upset and acting out. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. I have to be the calm one or we'll get nowhere fast.

"Look, we'll call a tow truck, okay? That's all we can do."

Just then, as if on cue, a campus police car pulls along side the Rodeo. Ex rolls down the window and explains that something on his truck has broken and he's on a first date with his Valentine. Feeling sorry for my liar of a non-boyfriend, the policemen calls the cheapest tow truck he knows. He also asks if we need a ride.

"No, we've got friends that can pick us up, but thanks!" I, of course, know Ex turned down the ride for fear the police officer would get a whiff of Ex's champagne breath and send him straight to jail.

Twenty minutes later, the Rodeo is loaded up and headed back to Ex's apartment. The two of us stand outside, scrolling through our phones to find a ride. My roommate doesn't answer. My co-workers don't answer. No one on Ex's end is picking up, either.

We are stranded.

"Well, look, I know where Scottie is," Ex reassures. "He's at the Hawk dancing, which is where we wanted to go anyway. We can just walk there and have him give us a ride home after they close."

I look at my non-boyfriend, amazed at the words coming out of his mouth. "Ex, it's only 10:30! The Hawk doesn't close until 2:00! I don't want to go drink at a BAR on Valentine's Day. I thought we were going to rent a movie and just hang out!"

"What else are we going to do, Kim? Walk home? We're at least 5 miles away from your apartment." He scoffs. "You'll never make it in those shoes." I don't know whether to be more surprised that Ex is suggesting we walk home, or that he's actually mad at me for wearing attractive footwear on a VALENTINE'S DAY DATE.

He kicks at the dirt beneath his feet, searching for something to convince me to go with his plan.

"How about this?" he offers. "We'll go to the Hawk and try to convince Scottie to take us home. If he won't, we'll have ONE drink, and then we'll call SafeRide and they'll take us back to your place. Deal?"

I can tell I don't have a choice. But I am fed up. I square my shoulders and look at Ex in the eyes like a parent talking to a misbehaved child.

"Fine. And thanks so much for getting us into this," I can feel my eyes blazing. "If you hadn't insisted we go down that damn hill, we'd be home by now. I really appreciate your ever-present display of maturity."

Ex isn't even phased by my tantrum. He shrugs. "Hey, I've told you a hundred times, if you think you can find a guy who's going to love you and treat you better than me, go for it. Excuse me for trying to have an adventure with you."

I have no reply. He has a point. He is usually really good to me. He did try to make this night nice. And I did have an adventure with him. He could have chosen to go out with any number of girls tonight, and he did pick me. That has to say something about how much he cares about me. But I'm still mad.

For the next twenty minutes, we walk in silence. I almost laugh at the sound of my heels on the pavement. When I was convincing myself I could handle a little "new shoe pain" this afternoon, a mile walk to a bar was certainly not what I was anticipating. I silently score one point for my Mom and her infinite wisdom.

As we finally approach The Hawk, the music blaring from the building gives me an instant pit in my stomach. Or is that the steak from dinner rolling around due to my hour of unanticipated exercise?

Ex immediately finds his friend Scottie, who is having a wonderful time and refuses to leave. The bouncer allows me to come in without paying the $7.00 cover as long as I stand against the wall and don't try and dance. I assume the pool of blood gathering at my feet aided him in his decision to let me stay.

Miraculously, Ex's roommate eventually tires and agrees to take us and his two new female friends home around midnight. The five of us pile into the too-small car that smells like evergreen air freshner.

From the laughs and singing going on around me, it's clear that everyone but me is having a great time. This includesEx, who managed to find a few beers in the bar and finds this entire scenario hilarious.

"So are you two, like, dating?" Bimbo #1 asks, turning around in the front seat.

I don't answer and stare straight ahead.

"Don't mind her," Ex pipes in. "She's had a kind of rough night."

"But are you two on a date?" Bimbo #2 presses.

"Uh, yeah, kind of," Ex replies. "We were out for Valentine's Day, but she isn't my girlfriend right now." He seems to think this clears everything up.

Bimbo #1 pauses, and in two seconds puts together the pieces of a puzzle I've taken over a year to solve. "So you're just boink buddies, then?"

The car is silent.

"Oh look, we're here!" Ex is out of the car and in the apartment before I've even managed to get my seatbelt off.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ex." I whisper, wondering how in the world this Valentine's Day turned out to be worse than last year...and how many more I'd have to endure before I called it a day.

(Thankfully, Hubs was just a mere five years around the corner, ready to provide me unconditional love and happiness for the rest of my life.)

(And for the record, Hubs never once split the check with me when we were dating.)

Come on, ride the train.

2011-02-04T10:26:00.000-06:00

Remember a few weeks ago when I told you about this amazing opportunity for me to win a contest for Amtrak? And remember how how I asked you to vote even though you only had one day to do it?

Then remember how you all awesomely voted for me and I WON??? No really. For real, I won.

I got the "You Won Our Contest!" email last week and completely thought it was bogus. I mean, who sends an EMAIL telling someone they won a nationwide contest? I was convinced it was some spammer fishing for my social security number. So like the paranoid delusional freak I am, I called the number attached to the email. Here's how the convo went:

Riiiing.

Amtrak Guy: This is John.

Me: (clearing my throat) Hi, John. My name is Kim and you just sent me an email saying I'd won the Amtrak contest.

John: Yes! You did! Aren't you excited?

Me: Kind of. I just don't want to get TOO excited when I find out you're not really an Amtrak person and you just found my name and email on the internet.

John: (laughing) I totally understand. Trust me, I work for Amtrak, and you did win. Sorry for the email, we just find that's the best way to reach people.

Me: So...I really won? Like the WHOLE thing, or I'm just a finalist?

John: No, you won. The grand prize. I just need you to fill out that form I sent you and we'll send you your $1500 in Amtrak vouchers.

Me: EEEEEKKKKK!! THAT IS SO EXCITING! I'm sending it RIGHT NOW!

****

So fast forward four hours. I sent the forms into Amtrak and was feeling great. I posted on Facebook that I was the big winner and was just about to post it on my blog.

Then I got an email from someone else that was NOT with Amtrak. It basically said this:

Kim,

Congrats on becoming a finalist in the Perfect Day Aboard Amtrak contest! You are receiving this email because you are being considered for the grand prize. Our XYZ Company is in charge with distributing the prizes.

Please fill out the below forms to be considered for our grand prize. If you are chosen you will be notified no later than February 2, 2011. Thank you and congratulations!

***

WHAT? I go to all the trouble to be CERTAIN I am the winner, I'm told I am, and then I get told that I'm just a finalist? How is this possible? What if I don't win after all? I just told a buttload of Facebook friend that I won. I don't want to take that back.

So I send in the forms to the prize place and sit back and wait for the phone to ring. I expect someone to call and tell me I am not in fact the grand prize winner, but I do receive a really, really neat Amtrak keychain that I can treasure for years to come.

After sulking for two days, I finally receive the email stating that I am, in fact, the winner. And it's posted here, all official and everything.

And so, I'd like to thank each and every one of you who voted for my story. Thanks to those that told their friends, nieces, nephews, cousins, second cousins, distant cousins, ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends and clergyman and asked them to vote for me. I truly appreciate your efforts, and I'll be sure to tell you where Hubs and I decide to take the girls with our winnings. Right now we're thinking a nice long train ride to see the spelndors of Colorado this summer.

For those of you that might have missed it, below is the story I wrote about a hypothetical trip to San Diego on Amtrak. Enjoy and thanks again!

The Tradition Begins

My digital watch reads 10:20 pm. I quickly glance at the four Amtrak tickets in my hand, convinced we've missed the train. It's already come and gone, I know it. Naturally I'm met with relief when I see our departure is 10:45 pm, just like the last four times I've looked. I just want this vacation to be perfect.

I quickly count the bags at my feet. A plain black suitcase for me and Brad, a bright pink roller-bag for Makayla and a totally impractical fur leopard duffel that Taylor insisted she'd use "every single day!" if I bought it. Which I did.

"Daddy, she's over there!" I hear Makayla shout as she exits the restrooms, Taylor lagging behind. Brad appears from the men's side, typing on his phone. He looks frazzled. We so need this trip. The girls get to me first, their eyes entirely too bright and shiny for 10:30 at night. The sugar has definitely kicked in.

"Mommy, the train is almost here!" Taylor shouts, unaware that the marble floor amplifies her every word.

"Yes, sweetie, I know," I reply, picking up her bag and holding it out. "Hold your bag, okay? "It's TRAIN TIME!"

Makayla is already sprinting toward the exit door. I silently wonder if there's a Children Olympics she can qualify for.

"Makayla, wait!" Brad's zips up his coat to run after her. "You've got to wait for the announcement to go outside." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he chases after her. I smile warmly at my husband. I know he's stressed about work.

With the current economy,and the architecture industry suffering in Kansas City, he can't help but worry. When I had initially brought up the idea of a vacation, he immediately grew tense. How much was air fare from Kansas City to San Diego? Could we afford that? Couldn't we just drive? His points were valid but I knew the best way to combat all the anxiety of last year was a restful vacation to California. Flying was out of the question. Delayed flights, horrific cost, boring scenery and no true family time. Driving was an option, if screaming kids and potty breaks every two minutes was considered relaxing. No, we needed a hassle-free way to travel. With delicious food, stunning scenery, comfy beds, unlimited bathroom breaks and a few stiff cocktails, Amtrak was the way to go.

"All those on train 3758, time to board!" A portly gentlemen with silvery gray hair announces, breaking my train of thought. Pun intended.

A bolt of excitement zips through the air as people hurry to grab their bags, count heads and locate tickets. I have already done this. Several times.

Six minutes later, we're on the platform as a bright light cuts through the darkness on the tracks. The girls squeal with delight and begin to dance, forgetting all about the bitter cold. Inside I'm squealing, too. I feel the train before I see it. The sharp, metallic rhythm of the wheels match my heart beat, vibrating my feet and humming in my ears. And then I see it. The glow of the platform lights illuminate the train's shiny metal body, and I find myself unable to stop grinning.

"This is going to be a great vacation," Brad's breathes into my ear. I can tell he is smiling.

"I know," I say, turning to him. "Would it be totally inappropriate if I jump up and down like the girls right now?"

He shrugs. "Go for it. I'm sure the Amtrak employees are used to it." Suddenly his face softens.

"What's wrong?" I ask, disturbed that work is creeping into his brain. "It's time to be happy and relax, right? San Diego! Sunshine and surf, remember?" I badly imitate a surfer.

"Nothing's wrong," he replies, his normally confident voice slightly shaking. "I just remembered that my Grandpa Larkin worked on Amtrak most of his life." He swallows hard. "Grandpa was always so proud of what he did. I bet he'd be proud that this is how we're taking our vacation this year."

I take a long look at our girls giggling with excitement, and then back to my husband. "You know," I say, squeezing his hand. "I bet he would. Now let's go have a ball."

the bus doesn't stop here

2011-02-02T18:22:00.000-06:00

Sometimes in life, you have moments you wish you could just forget ever happened. For me, a vast majority of those moments occurred somewhere between the years of 1999-2005.

The college years.

(Yes, it took me six years to graduate. No, I'm not a doctor. Shut up.)

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I was in a coke and meth induced haze for the early parts of the millennium. Not at all. Never touched the stuff. I was mostly just really tired from staying up late all night studying...or drinking.

As a college co-ed fresh out of high school, I was a bit on the sheltered side. I grew up in a good ol' corn fed, God fearing home where R-rated movies were a rarity and church was a requirement every Sunday. Therefore, the transition from the "rules of this house" to "my house rules!" was a bit unexpected for me.

So I went a little nuts.

One way I took advantage of the sudden slack in structure was clubbing. On campus in 2000, the place to be was a little club called Flanigans. Every underage co-ed in the university could be found in this club after midnight on a Thursday, grinding with total strangers.
Flanigan's was known for good DJ's, a packed dance floor, and 20:1 odds that even the ugliest among us could leave with a minimum of two phone numbers. And maybe syphilis.

Anyways...

My friends and I adored this club. But as afore mentioned, we were not 21. On a decent night, you could convince frat boys with laughable fake ID's to swipe you a drink from the bar. However, many times authority figures in dark hats and glasses would show up and card anyone they suspected was underage. Then you went to jail. No bueno.

As a remedy to the underage issue, my friends and I came up with an amazing master plan. Drinking before we left. Normally it'd be a beer or shot per person to loosen the nerves and head out the door.

But on one particular night my sophomore year, a few things went a bit...wrong.

It was Thursday, and my friend Erin and I got in our Flanigan's best. We were free from our boyfriend's from the night, and ready to live it up with the girls.

(For a small sampling of what I MAY have worn, read this. I'm actually thinking that this was one of the night's I chose to wear one of my halter tops as a skirt.)

(No, I'm not kidding.)

(But that's neither here nor there.)

Erin and I stopped at her friend Brooke's house prior to leaving for the night. No one wanted to be the DD, so I volunteered to "lightly drink" and drive everyone myself. The bar was less than a mile away, anyway.

(DISCLAIMER: I do NOT condone drinking and driving in any capacity. I was once a very young and ridiculous college student and thought I was invincible. I no longer think this.)

As we all stood around chatting, Brooke brilliantly decided to break out the drink of champions - Captain Morgan and Pepsi.

(I'm trying not to vomit at the thought of this right now.)

Each girl classily took turns drinking two gulps of Cap'n per half-sip of Pepsi. It was very easy to convince ourselves that we could down multiple ounces of hard liquor with no effects. During those years I usually only drank beer. I simply failed to realize that two shots of Captain was not equal to two bottles of beer.

(We hadn't covered that in chemistry yet, okay?)

(As if I took chemistry.)

At around 11:00, it was time to head out. I felt a little woozy but ignored it. It was my job to get these girls to the bar safely; I needed to focus. The three of us stumbled into my forest green Nissan Sentra, laughing at the fun night that was surely in front of us.

As I veered into the Flanigan's parking lot, I noticed my vision beginning to blur slightly. But no matter, we were there and looked way hot. Time to have a good time.

"OH SHIT!" Erin exclaimed from the back seat.

"Erin, you don't have to call your boyfriend," I reminded, glaring at her in the rear view mirror. "It's girls night, remember?"

"No no!" she shrieked back, hurriedly digging through her purse. "I forgot my ID! It's back at the dorm."

I groaned audibly. Yes I had gotten us here alive, but my vision was getting closer to double by the second. My arms were beginning to feel like they didn't even belong to my body.

"Wait!" Erin called out happily, holding something up. "I have my Bus Pass! Will that get me in if I smile?"

It was clear we had to go back. I put the car in gear and headed back to our dorm.

Two minutes later, I dropped the girls off at the front of the door and waited for them to return.

I felt weird.

Hmm, that tree next to the dorm...had there always been two of them? I swear it was just one. And those two red cars parked ahead...they were EXACTLY THE SAME! Slowly I realized that I may have crossed the border line from loopy to totally boozed out. To test my theory, I crossed my eyes and found everything returned to normal.

Did you hear that? CROSSING MY EYES made the world seem NORMAL.

At that moment, I felt a bubble in my stomach and a rush of saliva up my throat. Oh no. I knew that feeling. I was going to be sick. No way was I going to vomit in my own car.

If only there was a way to get rid of the gross tasting saliva in my mouth, I'd feel better. It tasted like Captain Morgan and felt hot on my tongue. I had to do something. My head swam as I leaned forward and ever so slowly, spit the liquid ONTO MY LAP.

There. Done. Better.

Minutes later, Erin and Brooke came back to the car, driver's license in hand.

"Everything good? You okay to drive still?" Brooke asked, probably not even caring about the answer.

"Yep! Just fine!" I confirmed, grateful for the darkness covering my spit spot.

I threw the car in gear, crossed my eyes again, and headed back to the bar.

By the time we arrived the second time, Erin was beyond hammered. Brooke managed to pull her out of the car, but her legs swiftly turned to Jell-O as she rambled about loving KU basketball, no matter how they played this year.

The line into Flanigan's was out the door. We would have to wait. So there we all stood, half-clothed and leaning against each other, trying to look sober. Rumor was, if the bouncers could tell you were drunk, they wouldn't let you in.

But we weren't drunk, right?

Finally we made it to Mr. Clean bouncer-man and his shiny bald head. He requested Brooke's ID and she showed it with only the slightest of wobbles and a slight wink. In she went. Erin was next.

It might have been the glazed look in her eyes, or perhaps the gurgles coming out of her mouth, but the bouncer looked at Erin, leveling her with his eyes.

"I'm ready to come in!" she announced loudly, handing the wall her ID.

He shook his head. "No, no way. You really think you're coming in here." It wasn't a question.

"C'mon! I'mmot drenk! I've hud a fwew dreenks, butm' fine. I promi-"

"Sweetie, you aren't coming in," he said again. "You can't even stand. Your friend is holding you up."

Was I? I hadn't even noticed.

"We'll take her, thanks man," a familiar voice came from behind me. It was J, Erin's boyfriend. I have never been go glad to see another human being in my entire life.

Like a wonderful and concerned best fiend, I swiftly deposited Erin into J's arms, wished her well and bid her adieu. It was time for me to go in. The bouncer did not look happy. Maybe he could see that I normally wasn't cross-eyed.

"KIM!" a voice shouted from the back of the line. "KIM! What's going on? What the hell are you doing?"

It was my boyfriend. Well, kind of. It was actually the guy I had been dating for the last two years who still refused to call me his girlfriend while he was in college. But in his defense, he assured me I was the only one he was currently sleeping with.

Despite my anger at him for a multitude of things he'd done lately, I knew I needed help. I couldn't get myself home and I was getting drunker by the second.

I smiled and mumbled "Mrpmmdhf" to the bartender and headed to the back of the line, tripping over my own shoes as I approached Ex.

"Hi, Ex," I slurred. "Imso completely wursted and I dorn wanna be hur ennamore."

He laughed heartily at me, as per usual. So sweet.

"Look at her Dan! She's gone!" he laughed again,elbowing his friend. "Ya know, I really shouldn't even hang out with you tonight, Kim, remember? You promised you could be without me. I'm here with Dan. I told you I wanted to meet some other people tonight, and I want you to do the same-"

"I don full good," I managed to get out.

"Okay, we'll go," he sighed at me, straightening his button down shirt and winking at the girl in front of him. Then, to Dan, "We can come back tomorrow when she's not here. We can have fun tomorrow."

And with that, he ushered me to his car. It was too far. With what strength I had left, I wobbled a few feet and got sick. All over the side of the building.

When I finally came up for air, I wondered if I even had any stomach lining left. Apparently this was having fun.

***

The next morning I awoke in Ex's dorm room. I felt like a freight train had driven through my head. Hobbling 6 floors up to my room, I opened the door and found Erin lying on our floor.

"Please, please let's never do this again," she whispered, looking at me through swollen slits in her eyes and burying her head in a pillow.

"Agreed. I don't even know what happened last night." I laid on the bed and pulled the covers over my head. "I think I spit on myself."

"Really!!???" Erin replied. "I think I tried to give the bouncer my bus pass."

"Let's forget this ever happened and never, ever drink Pepsi again." I said.

***

To this day, if I even come near a Captain Morgan bottle, my stomach lurches. On a side note, I think I look super hot with my eyes crossed and a pool of saliva in my lap.

Erin no longer rides the bus.

the semi-naked truth

2011-01-18T17:09:00.039-06:00

I consider myself a relatively modern woman. I use anti-wrinkle cream, work out to keep my body somewhat cellulite free, watch E! news to stay up on celeb gossip, and try to be aware of national and wordly current events. I know all of the fad diets to stay away from, I can figure out my internet connection issues with little help, and I can find just about anything on the Internet in under three minutes.

Yes, I am truly a modern woman.

However, in my modern woman warrior life, there is one thing I have somehow missed out on.

A massage.

Over the years, I've heard many a friend pontificate on the amazing massages they've experienced and I've always been kind of jealous. I've been curious to try it out, but never managed to take the steps toward making an appointment. There always seemed to be a few road blocks in my way.

For example, the idea of a complete stranger touching me weirds me out. I mean, you may or may not know this, but...I'm a bit high strung. It's even hard for me to be still and quiet with Hubs, let alone with some random person putting their paws all over me and whispering, "Theez iz a place of haaarrrrmoneeee. Breeth in ze eucalyptis flower sme-ahls. Feel ze eenergee az I am to tooch you all over ze BODEEEEEE."

(Apparenlty my imaginary massuse is from another country. Like Transylvania.)

So for whatever reason, I had never experienced the joy of a massage. Until last week. Hubs' Mom gave me some moola for Christmas, and since a massage is something I would never buy for myself, it seemed like the perfect way to spend the money.

Like a good little consumer, I researched spas throughout Kansas City and finally decided on a winner. Great reviews, great recommendations, reasonable prices.

Done. Booked.

So the big day finally arrives...and I'm running late. Like, super late. My morning appointments get moved up an hour, conference calls last longer than they're supposed to and I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to make it to my appointment on time. Needless to say, I'm stressed.

And while in the middle of my stressed morning, I realize I didn't shave my legs.

Grody.

What masseuse is going to want to touch a prickly pear legged woman? Ew. But there's nothing I can do about it. She's going to have to deal with it.

I arrive at my 11:45 appointment promptly at 11:35 to allow for check in. The nice woman at the counter finds me in the books and softly says, "Follow me". She leads me down a flight of stairs and on the way down, I see at least three different signs that say things like, "Please No Cell Phones or Children Beyond This Point" and "This Is a Quiet Place. Keep Voices Low." and "If You Didn't Shave Your Legs, Turn Back Now."

Receptionist Lady leads me to a locker where I'm to put my clothes and personal items. She gently reminds me to keep my cell phone on silent and place it in the locker, as cellular devices are not allowed in the treatment rooms.

We then arrive at a small changing room with a robe and slippers. She motions for me to go in and tells me to adjourn to the sitting area for some tea and a magazine when I'm ready. My masseuse will come and get me.

After she whisks the curtain shut, I begin to have a small panic attack. I totally forgot to double check on the ONE thing I don't know about massages.

Do I have to be naked??

Seriously, I have no idea. I've seen movies where people are naked, but sometimes they aren't. Receptionist Lady didn't give any instructions, but maybe she assumes that all patrons of a spa know the rules.

What if there's some weird spa rule that EVERYONE but me knows, and my masseuse laughs and says, "AHH HA! We hev a new cli-unt it zeems. You are neekid! Vaaaa ha ha ha ha! Pleez to go beck to chenge room and put ohn yer pantees. Olso, een future, pleez to shev legs befoor me-sage."

What do I do?

Since I still have my purse, I break out my Blackberry and try to Google the answer. No dice. My 3G signal is too low.

I begin to panic. I can't risk the humiliation of making the wrong choice. Then I realize my texting should work. I'll text my friend that recommended this spa! Surely she'll know what to do. So I type:

Hi, T. It's Kim. I have a dumb question. Are you supposed to be completely naked for a massage? I seriously have no idea.

I can't believe I actually just sent that text. Seconds tick by. I realize the buttons on my Blackberry are quite loud when I type...hopefully no one will hear me texting in "the quiet place." Pretty soon the masseuse is going to wonder how it can possibly take so long to change into a robe.

Finally, a response.

Sorry, I just about spit water all over my computer. Yes, you can be completely naked or wear panties. If you're getting their vichy shower, I'd recommend your b-day suit.

REJOICE!! I can keep my under-things on and won't get paddled by Inga the mean Swedish massuse. I text back quickly,

I knew I could count on you for info! I'm texting in the changing room...I think that's frowned upon.

As I type, I suddenly hear through the curtain, "Hello, Miss? Are you all right in there?"

Crap. It's Receptionist Lady, come to whisk my phone away. Nazi.

"Uh, yes!" I shout back, forgetting about the quiet rule. "Just about finished. I, uh, couldn't get my boots off!"

God, I'm lame.

Quickly I throw on the robe, toss my cell into my bag and stash all of it in the locker. My massuse is obviously annoyed with waiting on me, because she is standing by my locker. So much for tea and magazines.

"Hello, Kim," her voice is neither foreign, nor creepy. "I'll be assisting you today. We'll be in room 2."

The massuese gives me a quick run down of everything after I tell her I'm a massage virgin. She explains that she won't touch anything "sensitive", which loosely translated means, "I won't touch your special lady parts."

Fine with me.

My massage is scheduled to be an hour long. I lay on the table as instructed and she begins with my feet. Great, only the most ticklish part of my entire body.

My mind instantly flashes back to my wedding, when I got my very first pedicure at the age of 26. (Perhaps I'm not such a modern woman after all.) I all but kicked the poor pedicure dude in his front teeth when he tried to use that scratchy puma stone on my heels. And I may or may not have screamed and laughed like a hyena for the whole ten minutes he worked on my feet. Poor guy.

To my surprise, the relaxed atmosphere is soothing and my masseuse did not in any way give me reason to kick her. In fact, as she moves toward my head to work on my shoulders, I truly start to relax.

But this is me we're talking about. High strung, remember? The more that I try to concentrate on relaxing, the more my brain starts making up wacky sitcom scenarios that cause me to want to laugh. Scenarios like...

This is pretty relaxing...but what if all of a sudden I have to fart? Will I let it out and hope it doesn't smell? What if it's one of those toots that you CAN'T hold in and it comes out, ready or not? I wonder if the massuese ever had someone fart on her table. I bet with the warm room, it would be extra smelly.

or

I wonder if she notices that I clench up every time I'm about to laugh from thinking about fart scenarios? Does she sense I'm trying not to laugh?

and

What if I fall asleep and I start to talk in my sleep like at home? What if I say something dirty like, "Do me, Hubs!". Will she ask me to leave? I wonder if anyone has ever said something offensive in their sleep before? Would she slap them and just tell them it's part of the massage and to stop crying?

or

I wonder how many massages this lady has done. Can she tell I'm dehydrated from drinking Dr. Pepper all day? Can she determine my body fat percentage by massaging me? God, I need to work out. Tonight I'm going to start running again. Then I'll come back in three weeks all toned and skinny, and she'll be like, "Ooh! Someone's been working out. It's so much easier to work on her muscles when she actually has some."

and

I kind of have to pee. I wonder what time it is. Has it been ten minutes? Twenty? Do I interrupt and ask to go to the bathroom? Will that cut in on my massage time? Can I just hold it? What if I think I can hold it but I get so relaxed my bladder lets go and I pee all over the table? God, that'd be so gross. Ew, I wonder if anyone has ever peed on THIS table. What if I'm laying in old PEE? OMG, thank God I left my undies on.

Despite my mental wanderings, I do manage to keep my mouth shut and finally relax into the massage. (Except when it's time to massage my legs. Then all I can think about is how this woman must think I'm a direct descendant of King Kong.)

Soon the massage is over. And surprise, surprise, I feel good. Relaxed, rejuvenated and very, very sleepy.

(Word to the wise: Don't book massage appointments over your lunch hour if you have to go back to work. You will be, in a word, worthless.)

In the end, I did choose to do the aroma thearpy steam shower (which was fantastic) and all in all, it was a very pleasant experience. Being that it was my first time, I was quite preoccupied with the logistics of everything, which didn't allow me to get as comfortable as I'd hoped. That being said, if I was to go back again, I think I would be more ready and able to fully enjoy the experience.

But maybe next time I'll book a wax appointment first...

just a little favor...

2011-01-12T08:59:00.000-06:00

Listen, bloggies. I very rarely ask anything of you. Most of the time, all that is expected of you is a quick read once or twice a week and comment if you can spare the time. In exchange, I provie you stories that make you laugh and potty in your pants a little.

Can you do something for me?

I entered this contest called "A Perfect Day Aboard Amtrak". In order to win, I need votes.

So, if you would be so kind as to go to this link...

http://amtrak2.votigo.com/contests/showentry/695721

...and vote for my little story, I would really appreciate it. I might win $1500 in tickets for Amtrak. And then I can come and see you.

Well, not really. I'll probably just go on a nice vacation. But you can PRETEND I came and saw you and we went shopping and ate mexican food.

The kicker is, voting ends tomorrow. Tee hee. In exchange for your voting, I vow to continue to tell you funny stories. And isn't that worth its weight in bloggy gold??

PS- the story I tell on the website got cut off for reasons I don't actually no. The last line of the story is supposed to be, "Now let's go have a ball."

Also, I am not responsible for the horrific formatting of this story. When I submitted it, it had paragraph breaks. But when it came up on the website, it was just one big, long paragraph. Amtrak and trains = good

Amtrak and coherent web contests = could use a little work.

the light bulb went off...

2011-01-10T07:48:00.001-06:00

This blog is my safe place. Like a tree of trust. And in the tree of trust,I tell embarrassing stories about myself from years gone by (and years that are still very, very nearby), you laugh at them, and we all move on.

Usually I am the only contributor of stories. Until now.

After three years of reading my self deprecating blog, Hubs has officially decided to join in on the action. No, he didn't start his own blog. Instead, Hubs posted a FB status this weekend describing one of my, shall we say, less than stellar intellectual moments.

In other words, Hubs scooped me. And I can't have that. My own husband scooping me on my own stories? No can do.

One of the first rules of journalism is, "if someone is beating you to the punch, hire them."

(Okay, I don't actually know if that's a rule of journalism. My degree is in Interior Design. But it sounds legit.)

And so...without further ado, I would like to announce the exciting addition of a contributor to "The Antisdel Abstract."

Hubs. Welcome to my club.

(Don't get excited for him; this is a non-compensated position. No health, dental or 401k, either.)

Anyways...

After Hubs posted his Facebood story and scooped me, quite a few people were concerned that I was upset at Hubs for telling a story about his loving and dutiful wife. To which I say...

Have you read my blog?

I mean, c'mon. 90% of its content is a recount of my mental and physical misadventures. If I was truly worried about people discovering that I'm not MIT worthy...well, that ship has long since sailed.

Besides, reading my funny stories probably allows a few people to sit back and say, "Wow, at least I'm not THAT dumb."

(I'm like the Jessica Simpson of North East Kansas. Whether or not that's a good thing...eh, jury's still out.)

Furthermore, I dare say that every person on this planet has had a moment when they stop and say, "Whoa, my brain left the building on that one." I just happen to have the guts to talk about it freely with a bunch of strangers via the Internet.

Yay me.

So here is my darling Hubs' story from this weekend, retold with a hint of my dramatic flair, as you've all come to know and love. Enjoy!

***

Setting: Me in the kitchen, scrounging for something to eat while Hubs and I prepare to watch the play-off's.

Me: (opening fridge) *GASP* Oh no! Our light bulb is out in the fridge, Hubs!

Hubs: (from the living room) We'll get another one next time we're at the store.

Me: (thinking) But wait, won't our food go bad? Shouldn't we go to the store right now? I don't want all this fruit to get gross, we just bought it!

(silence)

Hubs: You're kidding, right?

Me: (running into living room) No, I'm not kidding! The light bulb helps keep the food cold somehow, doesn't it?

Hubs: Please tell me you're not serious.

Me: (smiling and pointing at Hubs) Aaaah HA! I'm on to you, buddy. The light bulb DOES have something to do with the food, and YOU'RE just trying to make me second guess myself. Well it won't work!

Hubs: (shaking head) Babe, seriously. No.

Me: (throwing up hands, exasperated) Well, then what is the POINT of a friggin' light bulb?

Hubs: So you can see the food.

Me: (walking back over to refrigerator, opening and shutting the door) So, you're telling me the light bulb automatically goes off when you shut the refrigerator door? It isn't on inside there?

Hubs: Right.

Me: (thinking) How does it know to shut off?

Hubs: Because there's a censor.

Me: STOP IT, HUBS. You are so full of it! Be straight with me, is that all the light bulb really does?

Hubs: (burying his head in his hands) Yes, baby. It's just so you can see the food.

(pause)

Me: Whatever. You're just messing with me. Nice try, Hubs!

***

Obviously later, after having a nice long "let's think this through" moment, I came to the realization that Hubs was in fact not messing with me. A refrigerator actually does not require a light bulb to cool its contents in the way an EZ Bake oven uses a bulb for heating brownies.

Who knew?

(No seriously, who but me didn't know this? Anyone? Anyone?)

In other news, I've officially decided that I need my own reality TV show.

(don't) walk this way

2011-01-03T07:22:00.002-06:00

Remember how when you were younger you did really stupid things? And then the next morning you'd wake up and think,"Wow. That was a really stupid thing I did."

I was always under the assumption that once I became an adult, those moments of stupidity would dwindle down to almost nothing. Sure, every now and again I'd have a slip and do something silly, like buy a pair of boots at full price, or maybe play hooky from work to go tan and get highlights. But for the most part, my stupid days would be behind me. I have a job, I have a family. As Florence + the Machine (almost) said...the dumb days are over.

Or are they?

Earlier this summer, I had a moment of stupidity that probably rates a 10 on my "I Can't Believe I Did That" scale. I've only told a handful of people about it because, quite frankly, I don't want the world knowing how ridiculous I truly can be.

Oh well, here we go...

It's summer 2010. Hubs and I drive over to the nearby shopping hot spot for a nice patio dinner and Friday celebratory drinks. The weather is lovely, a pleasant 82 degrees and sunny. Despite it beings shorts and skirts weather, I'm dressed in my trusty flip flops and a light pair of jeans. A gray cotton jacket lays over my shoulders just in case we're out late enough for it to get nippy.

Hubs and I are immediately seated on the patio. He orders a Guinness, I order a red wine. We sip our drinks and laugh about the week that is now behind us. I get another drink. Hubs asks me to slow down, the food's not even here yet. I don't listen. The food arrives. We eat, and I have one more drink.

We chat some more and somehow a subject comes up (because I brought it up) of how we will raise our children once we decide to go down that path. Since we already have our two daughter's every other weekend, we feel like we have a pretty good handle on kids. However, having your own children 24/7 is an entirely different ball game.

Look, Hubs and I have this conversation all the time under ~~sober~~ normal circumstances, and it usually goes fine, with a little bit of tension. I tend to get the teeniest bit defensive about my upbringing anyway...add in three glasses of wine, and well, ya know.

Here's what happened after dinner:

Me: (drawing circles around the rim of my glass) So...what do you think will be the hardest challenge of us having our own kids?

Hubs: (chewing his steak) Um, I don't know. I just do know that when you have a child, you find things to argue about you never would have imagined.

Me: Like what? (sluuuuuuurp of wine)

Hubs: (sighs) Babe, I don't know. It's been a long time since the girls were babies. (thinks for a moment and then leans forward) Okay, like this. You were raised to never have sugar cereals as a kid, right? I was allowed to eat pretty much whatever I wanted.

Me: (crossing arms as hairs prick up on the back of my neck) Mmmm hmmm.

Hubs: I don't have a problem with sugar cereals. I mean, I was allowed to eat brownies for breakfast. But when our kids want to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast someday, we might have to compromise because of how silly it is that -

Me: (cutting him off) Okay, Hubs. (single finger raised and wagging) First of all, sugar cereals can be VERY harmful. Do you realize how addictive sugar is?

Hubs: (rolls eyes) This coming from the person that lives on Dr. Pepper.

Me: (gasps and clutching hand to chest) How DARE you!

Hubs: (chuckling) Babe, this is silly. We've talked about the sugar cereals issue before and you even told me that you were always jealous of your friends that got to have S'mores for breakfast. And I've agreed that maybe a little guidance in food is a good thing, unlike my upbringing. We'll find a middle ground between our two childhoods, remember?

Me: (near tears) Dr. Pepper isn't THAT BAD.

Hubs: (folding napkin in his lap and signing the check) This was a bad idea. We shouldn't talk about this kind of stuff when you're...

Me: (both hands up in the sky) Oh, oh, PLEASE!! (holding up empty glass) Are you EMBARRASSED OF ME? Because I'm DRINKING A GLASS OF WINE after a busy week? When we have children will wine be forbidden? I thought only MY parents forbid things. Now look who's suddenly jumping on that bandwagon! (sitting back in my chair, quite satisfied with myself for taking a stand against such hypocrisy.)

Hubs: (stands up) I need to go for a walk, I think. I can't be around you like this.

Me: FINE! Go! Maybe I'll leave, too!

Hubs stands and walks away to ponder how in the world he managed to marry such a complete lunatic.

I, in what I now refer to as my Cabernet Haze, stand up from the table and begin walking back to the car. Then I decide if I'm going to really show Hubs how much I don't need his judgments, then I needn't ride home with him. I will just walk.

And so I begin.

Ten minutes later, Hubs pulls up alongside me in the car. I am nearly to the edge of the shopping center where the true roads with cars on them begin.

Hubs: (rolls down window) Get in the car.

Me: No.

Hubs: (firmly) Get in the car. You can't walk on this upcoming road, it's a 50 mph street and there aren't any sidewalks.

Me: (shrugging) Don't care.

Hubs: Kim, get in the car. Seriously.

Me: No!

Hubs: (sighs) Fine. I don't know what else to do.

Hubs slowly drives away and for a moment I think, perhaps I should have gotten in the car, but then I remember the horrific tyranny display at dinner and decide I'm better off walking.

I reach the edge of the shopping complex and can either turn left or right. I scratch my head and think, isn't there one more road I have to turn left to get to, and then the next road takes me home?

I decide I've got it figured out, and turn left.

This really isn't so bad. Yes, I'm in flip flops, and my purse is getting a little heavy, but so what? It's a beautiful evening, the sun is in the perfect place and -

HONK! HONK HONK!!!

Goodness, people are rude.

I walk down the road, half-drunk and feeling good. A few people even ask if I need a ride, but I refuse. I am making a point.

Fast forward ten minutes. The sun is getting lower in the sky, and my head is beginning to clear from the wine. In fact, I'm having a hard time remembering why I'm so angry at Hubs. He did have a valid point. Many times in our marriage Hubs and I have discussed the melding of our two upbringings so that neither person feels left out or walked on. And it is true that I always did want to try Cookie Crisp as a young girl.

This is stupid. I'm going to walk to the end of this road, where I'll turn right to go home, and I'll call Hubs to come and get me.

A few minutes later, I arrive at the end of the road, just as I expected. Now I turn right and should arrive at our house any second.

Easy peasy. Don't need Hubs after all. He was kind of mean to me, and now that I've started this, I've got to finish it or he'll make fun of me forever.
(Drinking drastically increases your pride levels, by the way.)

I quickly do a mental calculation and estimate that I'll be home in fifteen minutes.

So I walk. And walk. I can make it. The blisters on my feet aren't that bad. The sun has a good 25 minutes left. Wait, was that a BEAVER?

Jesus, my purse is heavy. Why do I carry so much shit all the time? My legs are starting to sweat. Damn these jeans.

Twenty minutes pass, and I'm approaching a street. HA! Made it!

But this is...what the hell? I'm at the HIGHWAY. As in, the INTERSTATE. And then it hits me. I have walked in a huge ginormous half-circle. Let me show you picture.

In the drawing below, the Black line indicates the correct route from the restaurant to our home. The Red line indicates my Tour de Stupidity.

And that big empty space in the middle of the circle? That's the Kansas Speedway. Yes, the gigantic Nascar Kansas Speedway out in the middle of nowhere.

But wait. Hubs is always saying to people that we live right next to the Speedway, right? Of course, "next to" in a car isn't exactly the same as "next to" in flip flops and jeans.

By taking that left turn back at the shopping center, I have walked in the complete wrong direction and have been way too distracted in thought to figure it out

The power of wine is a serious thing.

At this point, I know I'm sunk. I have a LONG LONG way to go. At least another 45 minutes. My feet are killing me. It's getting dark. I'm dehydrated. It's time to call it a day.

I dig into my purse and frantically retrieve my phone to call Hubs. A blank screen looks back at me. It's dead. My phone battery has died.

I begin to hyperventilate. Where is Hubs, anyway? Why isn't he looking for me? Of course, it fails to dawn on me that even if Hubs is looking for me, it's very unlikely he would venture two miles in the wrong direction to pick me up.

No one is coming for me. I am truly on my own. The only way home is to keep walking.

So I do.

Gravel is flying up into my flip flops, I'm sweaty and smelly. Cars are fewer and far between now, and I truly am in dangerous territory. A psycho could come along and kidnap me, and no one would know.

A mere 35 minutes later, I am a quarter mile from home, walking in three foot weeds on the side of a busy road. I feel dejected, tired and most of all, very stupid.

Suddenly, a mini-van (!!!) pulls up to the side of the road and rolls down its window.

"You need a ride?" a woman calls from the van. "It's just me and my daughter. We're on our way home from getting some ice cream. Just us girls!"

I'm tempted to finish the last quarter mile since I've made it this far. My bloody feet disagree. I don't even speak, just nod and slowly climb into the van.

I still don't know who that woman was, or what she must have been thinking, but she acted as if nothing was amiss. She light-heartedly says "nice night for a walk!", but otherwise keeps her mouth shut and lets me be.

When I finally walk in the door, Hubs is less than thrilled with me. He assumes I had gone to a bar to drink considering he's been driving everywhere (well, almost everywhere) looking for me without success.

When I tell him the truth of what happened, he's either dumbfounded with shock, or thinks I'm totally lying.

Hubs: (flabbergasted) We've lived here three and a half years and you STILL don't know how to get home from four miles away? God, you could've been hurt walking on that road by the Speedway, Kim. Or somebody could have just picked you up and taken you. All of this because you wanted to be stubborn and ridiculous. (shakes his head)

Me: I know. But YOU got up and walked away at dinner!

Hubs: (throws hands in the air) For two minutes to clear my head! You knew I wouldn't leave for long. I never would just walk away and leave you.

Me: I know. I was just upset. I'm sorry.

Hubs: (standing up) Well, you definitely made your bed and got to lay in it all in one night. I begged you to get in the car. You took this one way too far, and it completely bit you in the ass.

Me: (looking downward) Not so much my ass as my feet.

***
So take it from me, bloggies. When you find yourself in an argument with your husband or boyfriend, remember these tips:

1) Cabernet Haze is real.
2) 4.5 miles is a long walk in flip flops.
3) No one can find you if they don't know you're lost.
4) It's much easier to say "I'm sorry" when you don't have eight tons of dust in your teeth.

survey says...

2010-12-30T07:43:00.000-06:00

I thought I was done blogging for 2010, but decided to squeeze one more post in.

(Mostly because Hubs leaves for work at 6.15 and I can't go back to sleep and need something to do before diving into work for the day.)

I saw this survey on Perfectly Cursed Life and decided it was worth filling out. I love fill in the blanks, which is maybe why I never turn down an opportunity to do a Mad Lib...

End of 2010 Survey:
1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?

Climbed 7 very intense waterfalls in the Dominican Republic on vacation in December. Exhilerating, crazy, scary and wonderful.
2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

See yesterday's post.

3. What countries did you visit?

The Dominican Republic.
4. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?

More time with our daughters, and a sold house.

5. What date from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory?

I seriously don't have one. I'm beyond awful with dates. I did have many days throughout the year that will be etched in my memory. I just don't know what the actual dates are.

6. What was your biggest achievement of the year??

Getting three new magazine writing gigs, all in one month. Hard work and passion really do pay off.

7. What was your biggest failure?

Not speaking my mind at times when I definitely should have.

8. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I had a sore throat at Thanksgiving. I suffered many inuries, all at the expense of clumsyness. Thankfully none were life threatening.

9. What was the best thing you bought?

I can't tell. It's Hubs' 30th birthday present. I'll have pictures later...

10. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My friend Tracy. I saw some big changes in her attitude and look on life. We had a rough go for awhile, but we seem to have come out the other end with a smile.

11. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Whoever decided to post really nasty comments about me and my family on this blog. Also a few other people, and they know who they are.

12. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Our trip to the Dominican Republic. And my first work trip to go see a Packer's game in Green Bay. And seeing my work in print for HerLife Magazine, Shawnee Magazine, 435 South Magazine, and Generation Boom.
13. What song will always remind you of 2010?

"California Girls" by Katy Perry and anything from Lady Gaga's "Monster" album.
14. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?

This last year was really, really hard. Hubs' was out of work, we felt like we were in limbo with the basement not being finshed, and things seemed out of sorts. Now I feel like the world is starting to come back into focus. But it's an adjustment period. We still haven't sold our house, I still feel like we're getting the shaft when it comes to custody with the girls, and we're having to play catch-up with bills and finances from the year that Hubs was unemployed. But we're getting there...so I'm going to say I'm happier and more hopeful toward the future.

15. What do you wish you’d done more of?

I need to try more adventurous endeavors. The waterfall climbing in the Dom Republic was a real eye-opener. Yes, I had help climbing the falls, but I did it. It was by far the most dangerous thing I've ever done, and I loved every second of it. I think I'd like to see what else I'm capable of this year. I just might surprise myself.

16. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Stress the eff out.

17. How will you be spending Christmas?

Spent it with family and the girls.

18. Did you fall in love in 2010?

I fall in love with Hubs every day.

19. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

I strongly dislike a few people, but I try not to focus on it.

20. What was the best book you read?

I re-read "The Devil Wears Prada" after a two year hiatus, and I liked it just as much as the first time I read it.
21. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Justin Bieber. Oh wait, greatest? I thought that said most annoying.

22. What did you want and get?

A better understanding and more confidence in my job, a deeper relationship with Hubs, and a lot of cheese. I got them all.

23. What did you want and not get?

A thinner waistline while eating lots of cheese.

24. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 29 on March 3, and I honestly can't remember what we did. I think Hubs and I went out to dinner.

25. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Finishing my novel.

26. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?

Comfort and practicality over high fashion, mostly because of our budget constrictions. I didn't buy a lot of new clothes this year. 2010 was definitely a sweatshirt year. However, I got great boots from Hubs for Christmas, so I might be coming out of that funk.

27. What kept you sane?

Lots of music, Hubs and my friends.

28. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I always really dig Diane Keaton this time of year. Mostly because I watch "The Family Stone" about 13 million times.

I've also become a fan of Giuliana and Bill Rancic. Don't laugh. I watch their show on the Style Network, and I'm a fan of their relationship. I think they both seem like very grounded people who love each other and work at their relationship every day. Watching their infertility struggles is sad, and it makes me wonder what kinds of struggles Hubs and I will face as we go forward in life. Whatever they are, I know we can handle them together.
29. Who was the best new person you met?

I met a super cool client this year, hoping to further our business relationship as we go along.

30. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010?

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming swimming swimming....

may I make a suggestion?

2010-12-29T14:50:00.003-06:00

For years I've attempted to make New Year's resolutions. And every single year, before the clock strikes twelve on February 1st, I have already broken every one of them.

This year I decided instead of resolutions, I would simply make suggestions for myself. With suggestions, I don't feel like a miserable nincompoop *if* (aka *when*) I don't live up to them.

(I figure, I can't possibly be alone in this. Feel free to share your ~~failures~~ struggles with me.)

Here's my list for the new year:

Kim's 2011 Suggestions For Herself

1) I Suggest You Not Turn 30: Okay, I don't actually have control over this. 30 is going happen whether I like it or not. So let's rephrase and make it this instead:

1) I Suggest You Deny That You've Turned 30: This isn't going to work either. I've already told too many people. Let's try this:

1) I Suggest You Graciously Accept That Turning 30 Can Be a Good Thing and Hold Your Head High With Dignity: God, I'm really striking out here. How about...

1) I Suggest You Cry Like a Crazed Justin Beiber Fan, Show Everyone Your Wrinkles, and Have a Nervous Breakdown When You Turn 30:   Easy enough.

Moving on...

2) I Suggest You Re-evaluate the Relationships in Your Life:

This is doable. And probably necessary. Have you ever noticed that some relationships in your life (friends, relatives, work colleagues, etc) have been around a little too long? It's not that they're bad, but maybe they've run their course.

I have a really hard time with this. I like to think that every relationship I've ever had is worth saving and clinging onto for dear life just because I hate the idea of saying good-bye. But over the last year, I've noticed that some of the people I used to truly love, respect and appreciate are starting to love, respect and appreciate me just a little less.

Hubs always says, "You need to look at your friendships from a Return on Investment (ROI) standpoint."

(Hubs isn't even finance-y, but when he talks like Bill Rancic, I get all excited.)

(And then I like to imagine I look like Giuliana Rancic.)

Anyways, Hubs says, "If you're putting in all the effort, but aren't getting anything back out, it isn't worth the time and energy."

The man has a point.

I guess I've always subscribed to the notion that the more people in your life, the better off you are. Seems logical. In reality, if the peeps you're investing time, energy, money or emotions into aren't giving it back, then you're just kind of...pathetic?

I mean, think of it this way. If your refrigerator blitzes and the repairman tells you it's kaput, you don't go to the ATM and throw a bunch of money at it. YOU GO GET THE NEW WOLF PRO 48 GLASS DOOR FRIDGE...

The point is, if I'm holding onto friendships that have gone stale, I'm preventing new ones that could potentially be even better.

(Like my potential BFF-ness with Giuliana Rancic.)

Another other thing I need to re-evaluate this year are the people whose opinions I choose to worry about.

(I've mentioned before that I'm a certified Needer-of-Love.)

(Hubs calls it "Insecurity" or something ridiculous like that.)

Basically, I like to be liked. It bothers me when I'm not. I'm fun, I'm outgoing, I'm only sometimes incredibly annoying. What's not to like? But the truth is, it's inevitable that not everyone is going to like me. It's just the way it is. And if I plan on having any semblance of sanity as I progress in years, I'm going to have to learn to deal with it. So...

I need to make sure that I'm truly only concerned with the opinions of people who are important in my life. Hubs, my family, my close friends. Random people on Facebook/Twitter/This Blog who may or may not think I'm the spawn of Satan shouldn't affect my day to day life or how I feel about myself. If I'm okay with the people I love, then I'm doing pretty good. So. There.

3) I Suggest if Someone Doesn't Like You, You Kidnap Them, Tie Them to a Chair, and Demand to Know Why: Ummmm....no. Let's try again.

3) I Suggest You Accept That Not Everyone Can Like/Love/Adore You All the Time. And That Is Okay: I can live with this. I think.

4) I Suggest You Cut Dr. Pepper Out of Your Diet: And I suggest you kiss my sugary soda-lovin' ass. (Fine, how about this? I'll cut back to only once a week. Maybe twice.)

Update: Since this post, I have gone over 2 weeks without the liquid satan otherwise known as Dr. Pepper. It can be done!

5) I Suggest You Make This the Year You're Finally 100% Comfortable With Yourself: This is a tall order, but I do promise to try. I heard it doesn't truly happen until you're in your 40's. Or until you watch enough Oprah.

6) I Suggest You Quit Laying Around and Finish Your Novel Already: Fine, fine, fine! It'd be a lot easier if I could figure out the ending. And step away from this blog for five minutes. And get a job that lets me stay home and write all day. And, ya know, have a guarantee that it will be published.

No excuses, I'll get it done.

7) I Suggest You Love Hubs and Your Step-Daughters With Every Ounce of Yourself, and Let Them Love You Back: Done and done.

Happy New Year, bloggies ! I'll see you in 2011!

Christmas makes for some really great eavesdropping

2010-12-27T15:52:00.000-06:00

Location: A crowded Panera on Christmas Eve-Eve.

Mom: Honey, stand still, please.

Young Daughter: MOMMY!!!! I don't want to stand here. Is hot and cold!

Mom: I know, honey. It's hot in here, and when the door opens it gets cold. We'll move in just a second when the line moves.

Young Daugher: There's no line at McDonalds.

***

Location: The mall bathroom in Iowa.

Mom: Honey, STOP IT! Leave the toilet paper alone while Mommy goes potty.

Toddler Daughter: NOOOOOO! I want...I want...(glurb)...(huff and puff)...ice cream.

Mom: No, we're not having ice cream.

Toddler Daughter: WAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Mom: (voice spiraling into desperation) DO YOU WANT SANTA TO SKIP OUR HOUSE? Because he will, Haley. He will skip right over it and I won't stop him.

***

Location: In the check-out line at Target. Two teenage girls behind me.

Girl 1: Shit, was this watch $40 or $50?

Girl 2: Um, I think $40.

Girl 1: Is that too cheap?

Girl 2: I dunno. What's he getting you?

Girl 1: (sighs) I don't know. I told him I wanted an iPod.

Girl 2: Can he afford that, though?

Girl 1: Probably not. I can't really afford to get this, either though.

Girl 2: Then don't get it. You already got him the Blue Ray player.

Girl 1: Now it's fine, I'm putting it on my Target card.

Me: (slamming head into magazine rack)

***

Location: Sports store trying to exchange a gift for Hubs that was the wrong size....on the day after Christmas.

Me: (placing bag on the counter) Hi, I need to exchange this sweatshirt. It's the wrong size. I have a gift receipt.

Sales Girl: Okay.

Me: (laughing) The thing is, I have three different gift receipts for the same sweatshirt, and I don't know which one goes with this sweatshirt.

Sales Girl: (not amused) What?

Me: Okay, um,(considering drawing a picture) three of us all got this same sweatshirt for Christmas. I only need to exchange one, but I have three different gift receipts. See? (holding up all three gift receipts) I don't know which gift receipts goes with this sweatshirt. Can you figure that out?

Sales Girl: Okay. (typing...scanning...scowling...typing....scanning...scowling...typing...scanning...scowling) None of these gift receipt is right.

Me: That's impossible. These are the only gift receipts I have. Can you try again?

Sales Girl: No, I already tried.

Me: (shifting my weight from foot to foot) Well, does it really matter anyway? I have the tags on the sweatshirt still. Can't I just do the exchange for the right size?

Sales Girl: Oh. Yeah, that's true.

Me: (shrugging shoulders) It's okay, I probably made it more complicated than it needed to be.

Sales Girl: So, wait. Do you need a gift receipt for this, then?

***

Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and have a wonderful New Year's!

Almost nothing but thanks...

2010-11-29T07:21:00.021-06:00

The Thanksgiving 2010 weekend went off without a hitch! Other than a severely sore throat on my part and a lot of money leaving my bank account on Black Friday (a Dyson for $269? How could I pass that up?), the weekend went swimmingly well with all three families. And I managed to only eat a very small amount of turkey in my new vegetarian endeavor.

(Of course, this means that I ate a cornucopia of potatoes, stuffing and pie...but that's neither here nor there.)

Oh, and there is one more thing.

An incredibly brave and forthright person anonymously posted two comments on my blog over the weekend claiming that I:

a) have cheated on Hubs multiple times

b) am a cruel, evil bitch, and the world will someday discover
this fact

c) I got married because I wanted a wedding, not a husband

d) have written letters to Hubs apologizing for "cheating on him
and looking at other men". Apparently this anonymous person has this letter in their possession.

e) I married Hubs for his money

(This one cracks me up. Because, really if Hubs has money
somewhere, he needn't hide it any longer. I will gladly accept it into our joint bank account.)

(I do sometimes secretly think Hubs will walk in one day and
say, "Remember how we both got laid off this last year and we had a rough time? It was all a JOKE! I'm actually a MILLIONAIRE! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Hop into our private jet, and let's go to Paris!")

(Am I the only one that does this??)

After reading these comments, I laughed. Then I showed Hubs and we read them together.

And then we laughed.

Then, admittedly, I got kind of mad. And I may or may not have dwelled on the whole thing for about 3 hours too long, until Hubs got sick of it and told me to pull my head out of my backside and get over it. So I did.

And eventually I came to this conclusion. Hubs and I both know who wrote this. It doesn't take rocket science to figure it out.

(And for the record, anonymity is for...well, let's just say it rhymes with Shicken Chit.)

Therefore, to this very determined person who is investing so much of their plentiful free time trying to break up my marriage, I will say...nothing. Because it isn't worth it. If I felt the need to defend and validate my commitment to Hubs, it would be giving this person fuel for their fire. Instead, I just feel really sorry for them.

In other news, Hubs starts his new job today! Yahoo! His hours are much earlier than I'm accustomed to, so the typical roll-over-and-cuddle-for-thirty-extra-minutes-in-the-morning ritual can sadly no longer continue.

However, Hubs can finally go somewhere each morning where he is appreciated and celebrated for the hard worker and amazing designer that he is. I couldn't be prouder.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. Here's a little pic from the weekend, from our fam to yours. Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!

Let's do some heavy petting....

2010-11-18T15:24:00.000-06:00

I generally use this blog to recount stories of my somewhat checkered past, and that's all well and good. But every now and again, something comes up that takes precedence over everything...and today is one of those days.

The Pet Connection, one of the wonderful no-kill animal shelters in Kansas City announced they will be closing due to a lack of funding. I have personally worked with this shelter over the last few years through my volunteer work with the International Interior Design Association (IIDA). The architecture and design community in KC has donated much of their time and talents to this shelter, and I am saddened to hear that it will soon be gone.

But let's forget about what the humans have contributed. 130 animals need homes NOW. Pet Connection is waiving all adoption fees and sending pets home with food, crates, etc as they prepare for the closing.

If you live in Kansas City, or know someone in the surrounding areas who lives nearby, please direct them to Pet Connection's website at: http://www.thepetconnection.net/

I don't want to be pushy but - yeah, I want to be pushy. Adopting a pet from a shelter is one of the greatest gifts you can ever give to yourself and your family. You are saving an animal's life, and trust me, making your own better. There are so many amazing animals all over this country that don't need a piece of paper from a breeder to declare them special. Each and every one of them is special in their own way, and they deserve a chance to live with a family who will give them the care they deserve.

Below I've posted a little story that I received in my inbox the other day. When I read it, I naturally cried, and wished more people could realize the amazing benefits of adopting a pet from a shelter. Now with the news of Pet Connection closing, I realize I have to reach out to help, even if it only saves one of the animals.

I've also posted pictures of my animal shelter kitties, Oreo and Cupcake. A self-proclaimed dog lover, I was very leery of adopting a cat two years ago. Naturally, Hubs knows me better than anyone and assured me that now only would I love our cat, I would soon love every cat I came in contact with. Three months after we brought Cupcake home, we went right back to the shelter and picked up Oreo. Now I can't imagine my life without these two amazing creatures.

Read the story below and please pass this blog entry on to anyone you know who might be thinking of adding a pet to their home. Encourage them to check out local shelters before they go to a breeder.

Thanks for tolerating my break in funny stories for a cause I truly believe in. Remember that when you adopt a pet, you save two lives. The pet you adopt, and the pet who fills the spot of the animal you adopted.

Oreo

Cupcake

I RESCUED A HUMAN TODAY

Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she wouldn't be afraid.

As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want her to know that I hadn't been walked today. Sometimes the shelter keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them.

As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make a difference in someone's life.

She got down on her knees and made little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head up against the bars to comfort her. Gentle fingertips caressed my neck; she was desperate for companionship.

A tear fell down her cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well. Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe. I would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes. I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. So many more to be saved. At least I could save one.

I rescued a human today.

caught green and red handed

2010-11-15T14:51:00.002-06:00

I have a confession. Some of you might find this pathetic and sad, but...it's who I am.

I love Christmas music.

No really. I love it. Even the weird jazzy Charlie Brown music.

You know those people who say, "Oh, I love Christmas, but I prefer to wait until after Thanksgiving before I start listening to the holiday music."

Well I'm one of them. Except I'm lying. I listen to Christmas music whenever I get the chance. June, August, January, it doesn't matter. And I allegedly have a station on my Pandora radio called "Christmas Lovelies."

(I also have this problem with Christmas movies, but that's another post.)

I generally try to keep this secret under wraps because frankly, I've already given people enough reasons to think I'm crazy. I don't need to fuel that fire. But after today, my cover has been officially blown.

This morning I had to drop off a large piece of furniture to a client for a project she's working on. And when I say large, I mean over 100 pounds.

Upon my arrival at the client's office, I realized that the piece of furniture I had (which, just in case you're wondering, is this) would not fit through the front door. I asked the receptionist if there was a warehouse person or facility guy who could help me unload the albatross chair from my car.

So the receptionist calls in Phillip.

And Phillip is cute. Not *swoon* cute, but cute enough that I become acutely aware that I might need a breath mint.

Phillip tells me to drive around to the back to the loading dock, where he will be happy to assist me with the unloading of my furniture.

So I do. And whilst I drive, I realize Josh Groban is singing "O Holy Night."

O Holy Crap.

The holy grail of Christmas songs. It's my fave. I turn it up super loudly and sing at the top of my lungs until I see Phillip in sight.

(After which I continue to sing, except through my teeth so he can't tell what I'm doing.)

I pull up to the loading dock and realize I have to back in. This is not good. I would proudly award myself the Worst Backer-Inner in the World Award if there were such a thing.

(Immediately followed by the Worst Puller Into the Garage-er Award.)

I cut the engine and jump out of the car, smiling at Phillip.
And then this happened:

Me: (awkwardly) Um, Phillip, I am really awful at backing in. And since there are railings on both sides of this loading dock, would you mind backing my car in for me? I'm sure your building will appreciate it.

Phillip: (nodding) Sure, no problem. I understand. It can be tough with those railings there.

Me: Well, be careful. That chair blocks the entire back windshield so you'll just have to use the side mirrors.

Phillip: (possibly rolling his eyes) Uh huh.

Me: (standing outside my car, and MAYBE trying to look really sophisticated and business-y.) You'll have to start the engine, I just turned it off.

Phillip: (Nods, hops in my car and starts engine)

Josh Groban: OHHHH NIGHT, DEE-VIIIIINNNNE! OH NIGHT....OHHH....NIGHT...DE VIIIIIINNNNNEEEEE!

Me: (looking for a hole to crawl in and die.)

Phillip: (Turns music down) Good song.

Me: Uh...yeah. It is. It's almost the holidays, so, ya know, I listen every now and again and usually I don't listen a lot but kind of felt in the mood today since it was chilly and...(trails off)

Phillip: This will just take a second. (backs my car into the correct spot and retrieves my heavy chair out of it.)

Me: (cheeks blazing) Well, thanks a lot. I appreciate it.

Phillip: Sure thing.

***

I quickly get back in my car and drive away like a bat out of hell, mortified that my Christmas secret has been uncovered.

But then "Merry Christmas Darling" by the Carpenter's came on and I forgot what I was upset about.

phoning it in...

2010-11-08T14:00:00.000-06:00

OMG.

Okay, look. I'm not a patient person by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I don't think it would be going too far to say that if patience were one of the attributes to get into heaven, the Devil and I are going to be real good friends.

That being said, I would say I have manners. In spades. I'm genreally pleasant, I say my please and thank you's, and I would never scream profanties at a stranger for having fat fingers.

Did I just do a fly by?

Let me explain.

About fifteen minutes ago, I looked up the phone number for my step-daughter's dentist. She has an appointment this week that we're not going to be able to make, so a reschedule needed to happen.

I found the dentist's website and quickly dialed the number.

Now, maybe I ate too much salt this weekend. Maybe I drank too much sangria at my friend's wedding shower yesterday. But for whatever reason, my fingers were clearly larger than usual and unable to handle the small Nerd candy's that Blackberry calls keys on my cell phone. Because this happened.

Me: (dialing number)

Phone: (ringing, ringing, ringing)

Me: (tapping fingers,irritated that it takes more than two rings for a dental office to answer a telephone.)

Female Voice: (loudly) Some crazy WHITE B*TCH on this phone?

Me: (wondering if I accidentally dialed one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta) Um, hello?

Female Voice: Mmm hmm! What you want? He don't wanna talk to you, lady! Bobby said STOP CALLING!

Me: Um, I'm sorry? I thought I was calling XYZ Dentist Office.

Female: WHAT? Does this sound like a DENTAL ASSISTANT? What do you want?

Me: (hanging up quickly before my call can be traced and Billy's girlfriend shows up at my doorstep.)

I have no idea who I called or how in the world Bobby has managed to keep a girlfriend (or mother?) around that acts like that. I either caught someone on the worst day of their life, or I have finally met someone with even less patience than me. Because really, this woman was mad before I even SPOKE. How did she know I was even a woman?

Either way, today I am considering myself more patient than Ghandi for not having given that crazy lady a lesson in manners and kindness.

(This will hopefully overshadow the fact that I am a total wimp and too scared to stand up for myself over the phone to someone who can't even see me.)

But seriosuly people, this woman was MAD.

The great part is, I still have the number since it's the last one I dialed. Maybe I'll call later and tell her Bobby's candlelit reservation for The Bristol at 9:00 with Candy Whitefield has been pushed up to 9:15...

on the way to the top

2010-11-01T12:20:00.017-05:00

I spend a lot of time in different kinds of buildings for my job. Shiny new office buildings, rehabilitated urban lofts, and even the occasional strip mall.

Most of these buildings require the use of an elevator for me to get to the correct office.

For the record, I hate elevators.

(Except the one I met Hubs in.)

Elevators are like a portal of death to me. They creak, squeak and are one of the most uncomfortable places on earth to be.

I dream at least four times a week that I am in an elevator when it comes crashing to the ground and I die in a fiery blaze.

Anyways...there is a silver lining to the elevator cloud. Funny stories.

The other day a friend of mine texted me about a bizarre conversation she had in an elevator with a stranger. This got me thinking about how many hilarious dialogues I've participated in/witnessed over the years.

So in honor of Monday sucking, here are a few stories to bring a smile to your day. I'll start off with my friend's story and move into my own. Feel free to comment and add some of your own!

Story 1: Courtesy of my friend J

J: (standing in elevator)

Women Stranger: (sniff, sniff) Mmm, you smell good!

J: (smiles)

Women Stranger: I'm not gay.

Story 2:

Me: (sigh)

Man Stranger: This is sure a long ride.

Me: (laughs) Yeah, it seems to be!

Man Stranger: At least Desperate Housewivesis on tonight. I love that show!

Story 3:

(ridiculously crowded elevator)

Man Stranger #1: Wow, I can't believe how many people we just got in here!

Man Stranger #2: Carl, if you fart, I will kill you.

Story 4:

Me: (waiting ten minutes for an elevator with 30 pounds of crap in my arms)

Man Stranger Waiting Next to Me: You have a lot of stuff! Looks heavy!

Me: Yeah, it is.

Man Stranger: (waits a moment) Well, I'm going to take the stairs! Have a good day!

Me: (silently flips him the bird)

Story 5:

Me: (riding in an elevator silently)

Man Entering Elevator on Cell Phone: I'll probably be home in twenty minutes. I'm on the elevator right now. What? On the 17th floor, from my office.

(Elevator begins to move)
Man on Phone: Yes, it's moving right now! I don't know why it isn't cutting out, but I'm on it....Well,sometimes it doesn't cut me off....I don't know why not.(glances at me) Can I call you back? (sighs) Yes, I love you. I LOVE YOU.

Story 6

Woman's Cell Phone Rings on Elevator: Hello? I'm in the elevator, on my way home.

Elevator opens on 2nd floor, woman exits. Doors begin to close. Woman looks around and realizes she didn't exit on the 1st floor.

Woman: Oh shit! This isn't my floor!

(doors close before I can hit button)

Woman: CARLY, I GOT OFF ON THE WRONG GOD DA-

(Elevator drops out of earshot)

Story 7

Riding on elevator with about 4 alpha males all discussing stock portfolios or something I know nothing about. A large woman enters the elevator on floor 6 and gets off on floor 7.

Jack-ass Alpha Male: OH DAMN! She needed to use the stairs.

Jack-ass Alpha Male 2: (to me) Thank goodness you're riding more than five floors or we'd be giving you a hard time!

Jack-ass Alpha Male 3: But she isn't fat, Paul.

Jack-ass Alpha Male 2: If she got off after one floor, she would be eventually. Right? RIGHT?

Me: (making mental note to hug Hubs' mother for giving him manners the next time I see her.)

***

I have loads more stories, but we'll save them for another day. What about you bloggies...what's an uncomfortable moment you've had in an elevator?

larry, the table guy

2010-10-28T07:27:00.000-05:00

There are people in this world that can say things, do things and act ways that are inappropriate, and never seem to get their comeuppance.

I am not one of them.

Based on this next story, I've determined that my karma wheel is smaller than my current shoe budget, so perhaps I should focus on doing only good from now on.

Last Friday night, Hubs and I went to dinner at a little Irish pub/restaurant we discovered near our house. We had only been there twice before, but Hubs' love for Guiness and shepherd's pie brought us back once again.

We settled into our booth and ordered drinks and sliders from the young waitress. (Well, she's younger than me, which in my book, makes her an infant.) It was the perfect way to start a relaxing Friday night.

And then this happened...

Hubs: (stretching his arms overhead) Man, what a week. I'm so exhausted, I can't wait for my Guiness.

Me: (nodding) I know, me too. I've earned this glass of wine tonight. Who are you playing in your fantasy football league on Sunday?

Hubs: (thinking) I honestly don't remember, I think I -"

(Waitress arrives with our drinks. We thank her and begin drinking. It is sooooo good.)

Me: I think I'm playing Kristen, and she beat me last year so I'm hoping I can pull it out this time, but it will depend on whether Romo shows up and throws some touchdown.

(Waitress suddenly appears again.)

Waitress: (awkwardly approaches our table, smiling at Hubs) Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I ask what your name is?

Me: (internal dialogue) His name is "I'm Married And You're Jail Bait."

Hubs: (smiling) Sure you can. It's Hubs.

Waitress: (slightly frowns and cocks her head) Oh. So it isn't Larry?

Hubs: (eyebrows raise) Uhhhh, no? Just Hubs.

Waitress: (straightening up) Okay, sorry to bother you. One of the other waitresses swore she knew you and wanted me to check. (slaps table) Thanks! Enjoy your drinks, dinner will be up soon!

Hubs: (confused) WOW, I must look really old if someone thinks I'm a Larry. Right? I mean, really.

Me: (staring coldly back at Hubs)

Hub: WHAT?

Me: (arms crossed and only half-serious) So, is Larry the code name you use when you're leading your double life here at the bar? Is this where you bring your little hot peppers and booze them up when I'm out of town for business?

Hubs: (points his finger at me) Yep, you got it. I intentionally brought you to the one place I WOULD NEVER bring you if I was cheating. Think about it. If this was my cheating spot, why would I bring you?

Me: (glad Hubs has played directly into my hands) BECAUSE, Hubs. It's the perfect disguise! By bringing me here and having your cover name be something as ridiculous as Larry, you can say 'I'd have to be so stupid to bring you hear if I was cheating.' It's the PERFECT excuse. People do these things, you know.

Hubs: (rolling eyes) Like who?

Me: (hands swinging) It happens on those weird based-on-reality Lifetime movies like, "The Lost Past" and "My Husband's Double Life". IT HAPPENS!

Waitress: (setting our plates down) Here you go. Anything else I can get you? Sorry about that weird question.

Hubs: (taking the plate) It's okay, although you have no idea what you've done. My wife is a bit paranoid and now thinks I'm leaving a double life here at the restaurant.

Waitress: (uncomfortable) Uh, ok. Enjoy your meal! (walks away to serve the table full of mullets across from us)

Hubs: (laughing) Trust me, babe, this is the last place on earth I'd live a double life.

Me: Whatever, Larry.

****

Fast forward to Tuesday afternoon. I return home from work to find a large white box on the kitchen counter addressed to me. This is not unusual as I receive multiple packages each week for my job.

But most aren't like this.

The return label doesn't show my company's home office. Instead, it reads "Christopher Elbow Chocolates." I immediately tear into the box, excited to see what's inside.

A beautiful brown box of chocolates sits in the carefully wrapped box...and it's all for me.

Excited to be receiving my first EVER box of delivered deliciousness, I hurriedly tear through the box looking for a note.

There isn't one.

I smile ear to ear and pick up my phone to text Hubs. Here's our text conversation:

Me: Had a box of chocolates sent to me today with no card...hmm, I wonder who they're from? You are SO sweet!!!

Hubs: I saw those earlier. Not from me, though. Probably some Facebook boyfriend. And I have a double life?

Me: WHAT? Are you kidding. Sersly. Don't eff with me.

Hubs: I'm not.

Me: Maybe it's a promotional thing?

Hubs: (silence)

(Quickly I dig through the box the chocolates arrived in again, but still find no note. Suddenly, I look back at the cute box of chocolates and notice the note is attached to the chocolates! A HA! I pull the note out and read. And want to kill myself.

Me: OMG! I found the note! They're from the design company I've been working with thanking me for all the lunches I paid for last week. HA ha ha! The card was attached to the box and I didn't even see it!

Hubs: Right.

Me: Whatever. If I was cheating on you, my boyfriend would have to be the biggest idiot alive.

Hubs: (silence)

Me: I'm not cheating on you!

Hubs: (silence)

Me: Don't punish me for a misunderstanding!

Hubs: (probably laughing) It's fine. This is Larry...signing off.

***

Like I said, my karma wheel is small. And my ability to dish it and take it is apparently even smaller.

have a glass of pinot moron

2010-10-27T07:14:00.000-05:00

Setting: Panera Bread with "P", a good friend of mine who is also a sales rep. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Me: (sipping soup) So what do you have going on today?

P: (taking a bite of sandwich) I have discontinued products that I have to go pull from shelves.

Me: (wrinkling nose) Ew. I hate doing that.

P: (shrugging) It's okay, it'll go fast. What about you? You busy today?

Me: (sighing) I have a huge project that's supposed to be ordering in the next few days, so I have to get it all buttoned up and ready to go. And I need to take my product binders over to XYZ Firm now that they've moved into their new office.

P: (smiling and clapping her hands) Oh fun! I love the girls over there.

Me: I know, me too! They're all so sweet. And I love that Kim Doe is over there now full time. She'll fit in so well with everyone.

P: Oh, that's right! Her last name is Doe now. It used to be Smith, right?

Me: (thinking hard) No, that can't be right. She got married awhile back and it changed from from Crawford to Doe, didn't it?

P: (silence)

Me: (determined) Yes, that HAS to be right. Kim Crawford to Kim Doe. I don't know where you're getting Smith from, honey.

P: (leaning in and whispering) Um, isn't Kim Crawford the.....you...when you go to....with your friend Tracy?

Me: (leaning closer to hear) Huh? What?

P: (practically hissing, but still trying to maintain privacy, for my sake.) Isn't Kim Crawford the wine you drink when you go to Houlihan's with your friend, Tracy?

Me: (light bulb goes on) Oh. Holy. Crap. Did I really just confuse one of my client's names with a BOTTLES OF WINE???!!

P: (leaning back in her chair) Apparently Kim Crawford is VERY good client of yours.

Me: (nodding head) True, very true. And really, she is the best client ever. She always makes me feel good, she listens, and there's always plenty of her to go around.

P: Yeah, but you have to buy her to meet with her and get her love.

Me: (smiling) And how is that different from any of my other clients?

ring around the rosie, a wallet full of embarrassment

2010-10-25T12:00:00.069-05:00

Today has already been a bit of a challenge. I'd love to blame it on Monday, but if I'm going to be honest, my problems generally stem from my continued lack of concentration at any given time.

For example...

I drove to the gas station this morning to fill up (running on fumes is SO not a good idea when you're as disaster prone as myself). I have quite a few things to accomplish today (mostly due to a complete lack of planning and a large helping of procrastination) so my mind was, shall we say, otherwise engaged.

Speaking of engaged...

As I approached the gas station, I felt an unfamiliar emptiness on my left hand. Drat. In my hurry to fill my car with gas and my stomach with Dr. Pepper, I had forgotten my wedding ring on the bathroom sink. This posed an issue because:

a) I am incredibly superstitious. Forgetting my wedding ring immediately filled my head with thoughts of "Does this mean I subconsciously think my marriage is in trouble so I left my ring behind to wake myself up?" or "Is Hubs secretly cheating on me and my seventh sense is picking up on his infidelity?"

b) If there was ever a creature of habit, I am one. If I don't brush my teeth with the correct hand, my whole day is thrown off. Not having my ring on my finger is just an invitation for a mental tail spin for the remainder of the afternoon.

c) My cats love sparkly items. They thoroughly enjoy picking them up, chewing on them for fifteen minutes, and dropping them in somewhere in our house that I would never dream of going in a million years. Like the laundry room.

With all this in mind, it goes without saying that I was slightly preoccupied as I pulled into the gas station. Ring was missing, deadlines were looming...I was distracted.

I put the car in park (so at least this isn't a runaway story again) and set the silver flappy thing on the pump so the car would fill up on its own. Checking that all was well, I grabbed my credit card, ran into the gas station and bought a Dr. Pepper.

(This all took less than a minute, because nothing gets in the way of me and my caffeine.)

I returned to find my car filled and ready to go. Amazing. I shoved the pump back in its cradle, grabbed my receipt, jumped in the car and took off, noting that my masterful quick skills had given me enough time to head home and grab my wedding ring before my next appointment.

And then I heard a thump.

Flat tire?

Did I hit a small child?

Did I run over a raccoon?

A quick check of my rear view showed nothing behind me. Looking over both shoulders, I determined it must have been an invisible rock. And I didn't have time to check if the rock was hurt.

With the gas station a mere 100 yards from my house, I quickly backtracked up the road and retrieved my bauble from the bathroom sink, where thankfully it still remained.

As I drove back down the road, I had to smile at myself. Here I was, engrossed with a million things on my mind, and I managed to come out ahead. No injuries, I had my ring back, and I was running four minutes ahead.

Yay for me!

At this time I happened to be passing the gas station from whence I had just come. And I noticed something in the near empty parking lot. An object, near where I had filled up.

What was that?

I almost decided to pass on by, assuming it was a bag of chips or candy left behind by a rude customer. But something called to me. So I pulled in.

And there, a mere 50 feet adjacent to the gas pump I had just utilized...was my wallet.

Oh my God.

Clearly my quick stop at the gas station had entailed me placing my wallet on the roof of my vehicle and leaving it there as I pulled away...hence the thump noise I heard earlier.

Embarrassed, I pulled up next to the wallet and attempted to discreetly grab the wallet.

"IS THAT YOURS???!!!" A young blonde gas station employee called to me from the entrance of the gas station.

"Uh, yeah, it must have fallen out when I left earlier! I've got it now, thanks!"

The girl laughed. How rude.

"We saw it from in here," she said. "You took off so fast, it just flew off your car! We thought about bringing it in, but assumed you'd come back for it. I tried to get your license number, but you were going too fast!"

Well excuse me for not driving like Morgan Freeman in "Driving Miss Daisy". I'm a busy girl.

"Yeah, I was just in a hurry," I replied. "Thanks so much for your help! I've got it now!" I waved the wallet in the air to confirm that all was well and she could go back to her People magazine.

But the girl didn't stop there. Jesus, she was chatty.

"Well, if you didn't come back we probably just would've mailed it to you and kept whatever cash and credit cards you had at the store for you to come back and get. Thanks goodness you realized it and drove back!"

I didn't feel like sharing with Barney Fife-tte that I had no clue my wallet was missing and likely wouldn't have realized it until I went to purchase a client lunch...which on an embarrassment scale would have registered off the charts.

Instead, I just smiled and waved, ducked back into my car and drove away. Slowly. Very, very slowly.

'tis the season to be grumpy

2010-10-18T07:22:00.002-05:00

Setting: Sitting at the breakfast table with our daughters and Hubs' Mom this weekend. Discussing Halloween.

Hubs' Mom: I haven't put up my Halloween decorations in a few years now that I think about it.

Me: (sidelong glance at Hubs) Yes, well...I'm not allowed to put up decorations at our house.

Hubs' Mom: (eyebrows raise) Really? Why not?

Hubs: (scoffs)

Me: Because Hubs doesn't allow decorations. He thinks they're tacky and ridiculous.

Hubs: (shrugging shoulders) Well? What do you expect me to say? They are tacky.

Me: Yeah, okay, I understand Halloween decor is pretty dumb. But forget Halloween. You won't even let me buy cute CHRISTMAS decorations. And I don't even want the crazy stuff. It isn't like I want a gigantic nativity scene!

Hubs: Yet.

Me: (turning to Hubs' Mom) All I really want is a cool wreath to put on the door.

Hubs: (chewing thoughtfully) Christmas wreaths are a gateway decoration.

Me: WHAT?

Hubs: (nodding heavily as he realizes the validity of his claim) Yeah, a gateway decoration. It starts with a wreath, but then, next thing you know, you say, "OOH! I need to get these matching yard snowmen to go with them!"

Me: HA! I don't even LIKE yard snowmen.

Hubs: Yet.

gimme a ring

2010-10-12T21:49:00.000-05:00

As a young girl, there were many occasions when I would fantasize about the man I would marry. What he would look like, how he would talk, how many presents he would buy me on an annual basis...

I also fantasized about that important event that every married couple must experience before they say "I do". The proposal. In fact,I used to run through hundreds of scenarios of how my future husband would ask for my hand in marriage.

(For the record, Hubs had an amazing proposal which I will someday show the video of. Maybe if I get to 300 followers I'll post it. So tell your friends to follow me.)

But today, since this blog is basically an outpouring of every strange/funny/embarrassing/mortifying event that's ever happened to me, I'm going to share a story with you, my dear bloggies, that I very rarely tell.

I've referenced Ex many times. It annoys Hubs to pieces that I continue to tell stories about this past relationship, but the truth is? They're comic gems.

Seriously. Remember this one? Or this? I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

So let's go back to January 29th of 2005. I'm 25 years old and living on my own in Kansas City. Ex lives 60 miles away in my hometown of Topeka.

It's my Mom's birthday. The entire family (Mom, Dad, sister, sister's two children, Ex, and myself) have gathered together at Texas Roadhouse for a celebratory birthday meal with Mom.

It's a lovely meal. It's delicious. Dr. Pepper flows freely, rolls are warm and buttery. All is well.

And then...

"You know what, Kim?" Mom says between steak bites. "I just realized what I'd love for my birthday present."

"Mom," I reply, shocked. "I got you a nice watch! Didn't you like it?" Truthfully the watch had been rather expensive and sucked up most of my paycheck from the week before.

"Yes, of course, I loved it!" She holds up her wrist and displays the watch. "But I thought of something that would make my day completely perfect."

I place my fork on the plate in front of me and look at my mother. What in the world is she driving at?

"What is it that you want, honey?" My Dad asks, putting his arm around his wife.

"Well," Mom looks across the table at Ex, who is checking out a waitresses ass three feet away. "I think we should all go over to the mall...." She takes a deep breath. "And you and Ex should look at engagement rings!"

Ex's food catches in his throat and I swear he's going to have an aneurysm right there in the restaurant. His eyes are bulging out of his head like he's being grabbed by the nuts.

I cough. "Um, Mom?" I say. "I don't know if that's really something that you do as a family."

Ex takes a huge drink of water and looks at his lap.

"Oh stop making such a big deal out of it, honey," Mom replies, waving her hand lightly. "I'm not saying he has to BUY something today. But you guys have been together almost 6 years! Why wouldn't you go look at rings?"

Mom takes a bite of roll and points at Ex. "You know what, Ex? I think you just need to go and experience it, see what it's like. I think you're just a little intimidated, and if you saw that it isn't a huge deal, you'd feel better about it."

I sit in the booth, incredulous. I can't decide whether to plunge a steak knife straight into my heart or run screaming from the restaurant into oncoming traffic and pray for a semi-truck convention to be coming through town.

Then I stop and think for a moment. Mom has a point. Ex and I have been dating over 5 years. I have a good job and live in a great apartment all by myself. I drive back and forth every weekend to visit my boyfriend who still lives with his father. It's ridiculous.

Besides, Ex and I have talked about getting married thousands of times. Granted, I always bring it up and he usually breaks out in hives, but we've at least discussed it.

And why should it be such a big deal? We're just looking. For fun. Making light of it and it won't seem so heavy and scary. Plus, if I'm honest with myself, I DO want to look at rings.

(Okay, okay, I've been looking at them online for the last 2 years.)

(And I might have three of them bookmarked on my work computer.)

"Well," I say slowly. "If Ex doesn't mind...do you mind, Ex?"

"Huh? What?" Ex says, coming out of whatever safe place his mind has taken him to.

"Would you be up for it?" I ask again. I pat his leg and reach for his hand, which he bats away. He looks around the table, and,seing he is outnumbered 6:1, shrugs.

"I guess, Kim. I guess."

The two minute drive to the mall is absolutely horrific. Mom looks like she's going to spontaneously combust with happiness. Dad looks completely confused. My sister's children are screaming for ice cream, and Ex looks like he needs an oxygen mask.

Once inside, we immediately see a Helzberg Diamonds adjacent to the front entrance.

Trying to exude confidence, I grab Ex's hand firmly and start walking toward the store. He immediately tries to pull away, but I hold fast. No way in hell am I going to walk into a jewelry store with my boyfriend and NOT be holding his hand.

"Welcome to Helzbergs!" a young brunette sales girl chirps as we cross the threshold. Her shirt is so thin I can see her nipples, and her lower half appears to be wrapped in a black loin cloth rather than a skirt. I am fairly certain her shoes came from Priscilla's.

"Um...hi!" I finally say after it's apparent that Ex is not going to speak. He's too busy staring at her boobs.

"How can I help you today?" Nipple Girl asks with a smile.

"We're here to look at, um, rings? Right, Ex?" I stare into my boyfriend's eyes, hoping for a glimmer of happiness. There is nothing but embarrassment.

"Oh great! Well, I'll be with you in just a second," Loin Cloth replies and points to the entrance. "Let me just greet these customers."

"Oh, no," I gesture toward the crowd of five people filtering in behind us. "Those are just my, uh, family," I stutter. "They're here to -" I pause to think of the right word. "Watch."

Loin Cloth can barely contain her laughter. "Well, what a neat idea! Keeping it all in the family! Come on back this way, and I'll show you what we have."

Hooker Shoes leads us to a large display case with a gigantic offering of diamonds and baubles. For just a moment, I get caught up in the possibility of it all. Any one of these rings could be on my finger soon. Something that shows the world I belong to somebody. Someone loves me enough to buy me this special piece of jewelry.

"MOMMY!" My niece Jacque screams, only a few decibles below an ambulance siren. "It's HOT in here! I want to LEEEAAAVVVEE!"

"SHHH!" My mom hushes her quickly. "I'm so sorry about that. Please ignore us. We're just here to help if you need us!"

"Um, thanks," I mutter. I turn back to the display case and contemplate what I'm supposed to do next. Ex is busy examining his nail beds. I nudge him gently with my elbow.

"So!" He snaps to attention. "Did you see what you wanted to see? Are we done?"

I giggle uncomfortably and glance at Hooker Shoes. "Ha ha! Come on, Ex. You aren't even looking!" I point to a small round diamond in the display case. "That's a nice one, don't you think?"

Ex's eyes follow my finger as he shrugs indifferently.

"Would you like to try that one on?" the sales girl asks.

I turn to look at my parents who are both staring at me like it's my wedding day. And suddenly a thought enters my head.

Is it supposed to be like this?

I had never really thought about what an engagement ring shopping experience would ential. But I did know that I never imagined that it would be so uncomfortable...or crowded.

"Yeah, I'll try it," I finally say.

Ex immediately pays attention when the jewelry case is opened and Nipple Girl bends over to retrieve the ring. She slips it on my finger and my Mom and Dad rush over to look, their comments spilling on top of one another.

"...so beautiful!"

"...I like that setting, honey! It's so you!"

"...not a horrible price for that carat, you know."

"...come back here, Jacob! Don't put stuff from the floor in your mouth! It's FILTHY!"

As the happy compliments and words of encouragement pour in, my ears pick up a quiet conversation I'm not expecting.

"...Yeah, I'm just looking at these because her parents are making us. We're not getting engaged for a LONG time. Do you work here for your full time job?"

I can't believe it. Ex is actually HITTING ON THE SALES GIRL while I am trying on an engagment ring.

My hand begins to shake and I'm certain everyone has heard what Ex has said. But over the loud bustle of my nephew crying and my parent's excitement, Ex's intuition to lower his voice has kept anyone else from hearing.

Slowly I remove the diamond from my hand and place it back on the counter.

"Thanks so much," I say, fighting back tears. "But this one doesn't look quite right. Thanks for all your help."

I turn and begin to walk out of the store. Seconds later, I feel Ex behind me as he puts a hand around my waist.

"I have to admit, that wasn't so bad, babe!" He kisses my cheek and smiles. "Wanna go to another store?"

The excuses swirl through my head before I even realize I'm thinking of them. Maybe I heard him wrong. Maybe he's insecure because he doesn't have a lot of money and was just making light of an awkward situation. Maybe he's pretending to be bored because he plans to come back and buy the ring tonight and really surprise me.

So, just like I will do a million more times before we finally break up, I forgive him. I put on a false smile and go to three other jewelry stores that afternoon. Because I love him, and I'm pretty sure he loves me.

***

Looking back, I am able to laugh at this story because it was SO ridiculous. Five adults and two children shopping for an engagement ring...and the potential groom hits on the sales girl. Sometimes I want to go back in time and whisper in the ear of that silly, insecure version of myself and say, "It's going to be okay. You're going to meet the most amazing man that will WILLINGLY take you to an engagement ring store and promise to make you the happiest you've ever been."

Because I did. And Hubs did. And I have my happy ending.

the grass isn't greener

2010-10-12T07:45:00.003-05:00

Monday night: Hubs and I walk to our car to go pick up some dinner.

Hubs: (digging keys out of his pocket) So what do you want for dinner, babe?

Me: (walking around to my side of the car) Um...I don't know. I had Mexican yesterday and I don't want a burger, so maybe some - OH MY GOD!!

Hubs: What? What's wrong?

Me: (leaning over to look at the grass) Our yard is covered in POOP!

Hubs: (waving his hands nonchalantly) Well, we share a yard with people that have a dog, babe.

Me: (beginning to hyperventilate) No! I mean like COVERED. It's EVERYWHERE! And they're all the same size! I thought the neighbors took their dog out to their backyard.

Hubs: (shrugging shoulders) Nah, I've seen them bring him out here every now and again. It can't be that bad.

Me: (incredulous) YOU. DO. NOT. UNDERSTAND. I have never seen so much poop in my life. (looking around neighborhood at other lawns) And it's in other lawns! Look! On the other side of the street. They have it, too!

Hubs: (looks around slowly. Hint of recognition comes over his face) Um...wait.

Me: (getting angry) You know what? It isn't our neighbor. I know who it is. (hands waving over my head) It's that craaaazy lady down the street that always walks her dog RIGHT next to our house and she never carries a plastic bag and she knows we're not home very much so I bet she intentionally-

Hubs: BABE! Are you talking about these? (Points to poop on his side of the car)

Me: (sad that Hubs is so slow) Yes, Hubs. Like I said. Poooooooop (waving hand grandly) everywhere.

Hubs: You mean these pieces of lawn that have been aerated throughout the entire neighborhood?

Me: (crickets)

Hubs: (shaking head) The maintenance people aerated our lawn over the weekend. See all the holes in the ground? The "poop" is the dirt from the holes.

Me: (determined) There's no way.

Hubs: Look at all the other lawns. They look exactly like ours. Trust me, it's from aerating our lawn.

Me: (thinking) So...the Home Owner's Association doesn't take the time to WATER our grass or rip out the trillions of weeds, but they take the time to aerate it?

Hubs: Yup.

Me: So we have an already ugly yard made uglier by aeration in an attempt to make our ugly yard breathe better?

Hubs: Guess so.

Me: And we pay $300 a year for this?

Hubs: Yes.

Me: I'm moving to an apartment.

You Got Nailed

2010-10-05T17:17:00.035-05:00

Forget phone apps for Twitter and Facebook. I'm also not interested in purchasing pizzas through my phone or downloading an app to find the local weather in Tokyo.  No. Away with you all.

Instead I am begging somebody, anybody, to invent a new app guaranteed to save the lives and careers of many a fast typer in this world. 

This app needn't be fancy. Or pretty.  It simply needs to interact with Blackberry, iPhone, iPad and htc phones.  I don't know all the fancy legal jargon for what it should do, but it basically boils down to this...

I DON'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT IN MY PHONE EMAILS.

Let me assure you, 99.99% of the time, I check my phone email responses with the careful eye of a New York times editor. I edit content, delete superfluous language and double double check spellings. But sometimes, I clearly don't edit carefully enough. And, naturally THOSE are the times I end up looking like a total and complete jack hole.

Like yesterday- this string of emails happened...

To: Kim Antisdel
From: really_nice_designer@architecturefirm.com

October 4, 2010 11:12 am

Hi Kim,

I'm looking for a chair that would meet specifications for a busy cafeteria application. What ideas do you have?

Thanks,

Really Nice Designer That I Want To Impress

****

My response from my Blackberry...

To: really_nice_designer@architecturefirm.com
From: Kim Antisdel

October 4, 2010 11:24 am

Hi, Really Nice Designer!

The Strive is a great option for heavy use cafeteria seating. There are multiple versions so if there's a sample you need, just let me know. I'll be farting all over the city today so I can stop by my storage shed and bring one by anytime!

Thanks,

Kim

*****

And the response...

To: Kim Antisdel
From: really_nice_designer@architecturefirm.com

October 4, 2010 11:15 am

Oops! Did you mean "darting"?

Thanks,

Designer Who is Laughing Her Ass Off and Showing This To All of Her Colleagues

****

When I received the client's email, I just sat there thinking, "what in the world is she talking about?" So, I scrolled down to re-read what I sent.

Oh my God.

I definitely just told a client I was FARTING ALL OVER THE CITY. Immediately I blamed my Blackberry's spell check. But, to be sure, I retyped the word "farting" into an email and sure enough, spell check did underline the word to warn me there was a misspelling. Apparently though, six small dots under the misspelled word is not enough for me.

Hence the iAppropriate app.

iAppropriate will revolutionize the spell check and grammar industry. iAppropriate can be (and should be) installed on all career-driven devices that support emails. When a questionable word that is spelled correctly (i.e. fart, toot, poop, pee, lick, dick....okay, you get the idea) iAppropriate will automatically recognize that word and notify its user with the following message:

WARNING: DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TELL THIS CLIENT YOU HAVE GAS???

In my case, the client knows me fairly well and was comfortable enough to call me out on my blunder. And of course it will serve as future fodder every time I go in and see her.

But seriously, if any of you bloggies know of a really great web-savvy person that could create this app like, yesterday, my reputation would very much appreciate it.

In other great news, I get laid on Friday.

I mean PAID.

Please, seriously. iAppropriate. NOW.

For my mother...

2010-09-16T18:01:00.000-05:00

Things I Will Always Do, Thanks to My Mother Lodged Firmly in My Head

...feel catastrophically guilty every time I throw away a Ziploc bag. "YOU CAN REUSE THOSE! They're eight cents a piece!!!"

...leave my car unlocked in church parking lots. "If someone from church is going to steal our car, God help us."

...resist the urge to buy treats at a ballgame/amusement park/concert. "Just get a drink before you leave the house or bring a cooler in the car with iced drinks. It's easy and it saves TONS of money!"

...apologize for my cooking before anyone has even taken a bite. "I KNOW the chicken is dry and I'm SO sorry. It's disgusting, you don't have to eat it."

...expect endless praise for my awful cooking. "WELL? Don't you all APPRECIATE my efforts in making this meal??

...find a way to tell Hubs how expensive his Christmas gift is, without really telling him. "Hubs, I was going to get you that really nice 9 iron you wanted, but it was $250, which was about 25% over my budget. I'm so sorry!"

...assume that Hubs hates my Christmas present unless he throws a parade in my honor. "Hubs, you're not even SMILING! I made that photo book myself! I worked on it for NINETEEN HOURS. You're not even getting mooshy about it. You think it's stupid, I know it. I don't even know why I try."

...continually insist that I'm right, even if it means making up ridiculous details to prove it. "I'm POSITIVE I put the scissors in this kitchen drawer, so you must have moved them, Hubs. I even remember that I was wearing my blue button down shirt when I put them away. And my hair was in a ponytail."

...act completely shocked and surprised when my details are proved completely false. "The garage? Now how did the scissors get in the garage? And what do you mean my blue button shirt has been in the laundry for three months? I KNOW I WORE IT THE DAY I PUT THE SCISSORS IN THE DRAWER!"

...spend an exorbitant amount of time thinking of how to get something free. "If I buy this popcorn and eat it REALLY fast, then go up to the lady at the counter and tell her I accidentally spilled it in the bathroom, she'd probably give me a free bucket. I mean, how could they prove I didn't?"

...convince myself the neighborhood is fraught with danger. "Hubs, did you see that car drive by our house three times? And the third time he was driving REALLY slow. Maybe he's scoping out the house? Oh wait, we do have the house up for sale. Good point."

...try and give our daughters financial lessons at every single opportunity that arises, no matter how inappropriate. "Do you like your birthday gift, Makayla? It was really expensive. That's why it's important to save. Here, I've drawn you a graph..."

...make completely bogus statements about things I know nothing about. "Hubs, you want to put hard woods in the basement? That's going to cost SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS at least!"

...buy ridiculous things in bulk, just because they're on sale. "Hubs, these cans of Mint Mocha Strawberry flavored coffee are on sale for less than $3.00. We should get ten."

***

Yes, my mother and I may or may not be a bit neurotic. But if we weren't, we'd sure be a lot less interesting. So there...

get your head in the game...

2010-08-13T12:31:00.001-05:00

This post is going to fall squarely in the "Yes, I Realize I Am Completely Crazy But I'm a Woman, So Get Over It" category.

(But aren't those the best kind?)

This weekend I'm going to Green Bay, WI for work.

(And by "work", I mean my company is taking me there to booze and shmooze clients and make them like me so they buy more of my company's stuff.)

(If you're a client reading this and would like to partake in a similar adventure, you definitely can. See me for details.)

While in Green Bay, I will be embarking on the following adventures:

Packers pre-season game in "the special seats" (aka The Box)
Attend the PGA Tournament on Sunday(booyah)
Eat my weight in Wisconsin Cheese
Take a factory tour of my company with my clients (this being the part where they love everything and use it all the time)

Admittedly, I am not excellent at thinking in advance. Someday when I birth a child, I will be the woman that doesn't pack her bag until her water breaks and ends up running all over the house leaking goo and screaming, "WHERE ARE MY CUTE GO-HOME JEANS??? I HAVE TO HAVE THEM!"

That being said, it should surprise no one that I did not begin to pack a single thing for Green Bay until this morning. When the first moments of panic began to set in, I thought to myself, "How hard can this be? I need football stuff for Saturday, golf stuff for Sunday, and dress clothes for Monday. Easy."

Not. Easy.

First of all, I do not own anything related to the Green Bay Packers. Not even a cheese head. My sports wardrobe consists of old KU t-shirts, Iowa State hoodies (thanks Hubs) and a large amount of Chicago Bears paraphernalia. No Packers gear.

In addition, when it comes to dressing for a golf event, I'm like a gay man attending a hunting show. Totally clueless.

Me: (standing in front of Hubs as he watches morning sports programs) WHAT am I going to wear to this Packers game? Hubs, help me!

Hubs: (trying to look around me) Just wear something green. I have that green v-neck t-shirt you can wear.

Me: (gasps) I am NOT going to wear a MAN'S shirt at a work event, Hubs. It'll be huge on me and unflattering!

Hubs: (comping on his banana) Babe, that green shirt of mine from Target is actually pretty small. And it's uni-sex.

Me: (rolling my eyes) Target does not sell UNI-SEX clothing, Hubs. UGH! I'll just go to the store and find a green shirt, I guess.

Hubs: Great. We also need kitty litter.

Me: (looking at television sports show) Okay, but hat should I wear to the PGA tournament? Should I buy a plaid dress and a big hat like at those derby races?

Hubs: Ha! Um, no. Just wear something comfortable.

Me: Like jeans?

Hubs: (shaking head) No, don't wear jeans.

Me: (exasperated) But I'm most comfortable in jeans! (Pointing to the television) Change the channel to the PGA tournament and I'll just look at what those people are wearing.

Hubs: (clicking through channels) It's not on right now, the game was delayed because of fog.

Me: (screaming) THERE'S GOING TO BE FOG at the PGA Tournament? (Slapping thigh) Well, there goes my hair for Sunday.

****

In the end, I went to Target. (For the record, there are no uni-sex t-shirts offered anywhere in that store.) I found a green tank top for $10 that will probably work for the Packers game.

(Rachel Zoe would never be caught dead in it, but then again, she'd never got to a football game, either.)

All was good until I came home...and found myself typing "Green Bay Packer's Women's t-shirt" into Google.

Holy overload.

Bloggies, the ADORABLE t-shirts I found for Packer's fans...it's just unfair. Green ones, yellow ones, black ones, grey ones, long sleeve, short sleeve, 3/4 sleeve, tank tops. It was never ending.

Then I went a little bananas.

I ended up with three different Packers t-shirts in my online cart at $29.99 each. Oh, and an additional $25.00 to receive them by 10:00 tomorrow morning.

Crazy? Yes. Unnecessary? Probably.

But isn't this what women do? We obsess over what to wear to certain events until it drives us to the point of insanity. Think about any event where you didn't know what to wear. Isn't it easier to just buy something new?

And just like any other crazy woman, I found myself rationalizing the purchase of the shirts.

I could wear these again. I mean, Kansas City people don't HATE the Packers, so I wouldn't be ex-communicated or anything.
Perhaps I could be a Packers fan for Halloween??
Maybe I could wear them, but leave the tags on and then return to the internet store? (My sweating problem eliminated this option.)
I could sell the shirts after the game on Craigslist??

Eventually I emptied out my cart and went with the green Target tank top. Wah wahhh.

As for the PGA tournament, I'm opting for simple capri's and a nice top.

I think.

Just in case, I may or may not have asked my boss if I can quickly run to the mall in Green Bay before Sunday's tournament.
After all, it's quite possible that if I look good enough, I may catch a Tiger by his toe...

(That was a joke, Hubs. I only want you.)

Teenage Wasteland...no more

2010-08-09T16:58:00.003-05:00

Last week I was in Topeka (my home town) for work.  On a whim I decided to drive by the house I grew up in, which happens to be a mere mile from my high school.  I drove by my old house, slightly concerned that this would happen again. 

It didn't.  

After seeing my house and realizing that nothing on my old street ever changes except the size of the trees, I  took an extra minute and drove quickly past the jail.  I mean, high school.  But it wasn't a jail anymore.

Let me explain.

My high school used to look like this. 

Okay, it didn't look EXACTLY like this.

(It had windows.)

But in all seriousness, my high school was not conventionally pretty.  It was essentially a big block of concrete with windows, a gym, a sad excuse for a music room and a small art department.  Oh yes...and systems furniture for walls.

Yes that's right.

We did not so much have dry wall in the interior of our classes.  Oh no.  We had partitions.  Which, looking back, was quite convenient if you wanted to get answers to a test from someone in the room next to you.  Partitions aren't great with acoustics.

I make fun of it but the truth is, my high school had character.  

(If it were a cartoon, it would be Goofy, but it had character none the less.)

A few years back the school underwent a renovation. I was there for the walk-through of the renovation and was impressed with how much the school had changed.

The exterior had aesthetically pleasing architectural elements like glass and brick and metal.

The music room was much larger with fancy-schmancy acoustical wall covering.

The science labs were much science-ier. (Clearly not one shred of scientific knowledge stayed in my brain after senior year.)

All in all it was a beautiful renovation. Spectacular even. But it made me a smidgen sad.  I mean, a lot of the things that made my high school my high school were the ridiculous elements that are no longer there.

It's just like the crappy apartment you lived in for three years in college.  You hated the refrigerator with the broken light bulb and the dishwasher that only worked if the bathroom light was on. You hated the kitchen faucet that dripped to the beat of  "Jingle Bells", and the air conditioner that sounded like a rocket ship deploying into deep space. But when you finally saved up the money to move into the Falling Leaves and Fancy Free townhome with amenities you desperately wanted for so long, you suddenly missed that bare bones apartment.  It wasn't fancy, but it was your home.

My high school is the refrigerator with the broken light bulb. It was a home to me for three years, crappy partition walls and all.  It's where I met some of the best friends I still have today.

(And possibly some people Facebook affords me the ability to laugh at today.)

It's the place I still feel immense anxiety over when I pass by eleven years later.  It's the place that still haunts my dreams (Did I really pass French?  Did I really convince those teachers I deserved a diploma?) and stars in some of my most embarrassing stories.

I'm sure my high school still maintains a vast number of annoying faults for future generations to whine about.  Ten years from now when the school undergoes yet another renovation, some snarky kid like me will swear that the new high schoolers are SO spoiled.  In his day,  Channel One was viewed on a clunky 42" HDTV flat screen and each student had to borrow a Kindle from the library, they didn't just get one. For shame.

And so, I've decided to accept it.  Things are going to change.  My old school will get improvements that I never had.  Kids now have a parking lot that doesn't land their car in the shop twice a month for re-alignment. Students can't pass notes THROUGH THE WALL any longer. Science labs will be more memorable with the equipment to back up the curriculum. There's no harm in that.

So, my high school can go ahead and improve all it wants.  Because I'll still remember the way it was. 

And cringe.

With love.

Take me away...

2010-07-30T07:15:00.004-05:00

Sorry kids, no super embarrassing or potentially life-scarring story  today.  I'm still quite spent from the whole "Worst Gift Ever"  debacle story from yesterday.

I'm still recovering.

Instead, today I will tell you about one of my best gifts ever.  Not  surprisingly it came from Hubs and ironically, I finally get to have it today.

Two  weeks ago, Hubs and I celebrated our three year wedding anniversary  (applause).  We also celebrated that Hubs has managed to live with me  for over three years without being inspired to string me up by my toe  nails and leave me for dead.

(Or if he has, he's resisted the urge.)

(He's very Zen like that.) 

On our anniversary, Hubs presented me with a  stay-cation package I certainly didn't expect.  One of my fave  comedians, Bill Maher's comedy tour is coming to the Ameristar Casino in  Kansas City tonight.  Hubs not only bought me tickets, but also  reserved a room for us at the casino.  Mostly so I can play this slot.

So, tonight I will be sipping on wine.  Or a margarita.  Or a beer.  Or maybe some Courvoisier.

Okay, maybe not.  But I will be having a helluva good time with Hubs.  And maybe, just maybe, Bill Maher will look out into the crowd and decide he wants to take me along with him on the rest of his tour.

A girl can dream.

I'll leave you with a little ditty from Bill Maher's show "Real Time with Bill Maher" that always makes me laugh.  Have a great weekend, Bloggies! See you on the flip side.