A Time Machine Would Be Awfully Handy Right Now

You ever do that thing where you are thinking something but, of course, you would never ever say what you are thinking aloud because it is incredibly rude, out of place, wrong, bad or otherwise inappropriate and then, quite by accident, the inappropriate thing you are thinking pops out of your mouth unexpectedly and you stand there horrified at the unsightly words hanging in the air like an ugly hummingbird? Yeah, me too.


I have been teaching my boss* how to do my job lately. Kind of a headache, but whatevs. This morning I was going over how to process the stack of forms to get numbers to plug into our monthly claim. Our conversation ran thusly:

Me: So then you take the sum of the totals in the yellow line and square-balance it against this line here and if it all checks out, you put that amount here in this box. Then you do the same thing for the pink line, but you put the total in this box here. Okay?

Boss: I like how you color-coded all these forms.

Me: Yeah? Well . . . uh . . . does this make sense?

Boss: Could I do the pink line first and then the yellow line?

Me: Well, you could but it’s best if you do the yellow first because it’s easier that way.”**

Boss: Well, it looks like it wouldn’t matter either way.

This is the point that those words I had been biting back all day, those hideous, hideous words, flapping around in my head all day that I only ever meant to think, never ever to say, burst forth with inconvenient force.

Me: Don’t question me, woman.




Dang. That’s not good. Not only did I reprimand my direct superior for “questioning me,” I called her “woman.” (Though, in my defense, Jesus totally called his mom that so it’s not like it’s the worst thing to say.)

Happy ending, though. Boss burst out laughing and, after a tenuous smile I laughed along, relieved and thinking, “Oh, good. She thinks I was kidding. This is good news.”

And that thought stayed right where it should have.


*I actually really like my boss.

**Don't tell my boss but I don’t know why I do the yellow first. I do know that I always do the yellow first that that’s just the way I do it and don’t even suggest to me to do the pink one first because that would just throw off my groove, man. Yellow comes first on the sheet anyway.

Taking a Stand (To Go)

Does anyone else refuse to eat at Arctic Circle on principle because they pronounce "Arctic" incorrectly in the commercials? (Two c's, folks.)

Or do you refuse to eat there on the principle of "that place is grody"?

Be Ye Prepared

I’m starting to consider my love handles part of my food storage. In the aftermath of a disaster, I’m calculating my body could live off its chub storage for a good month or two. Alls I need now is a couple cases of Diet Dr Pepper and I’ll be set.

GO TEAM!

Karen, Whitney and I went to the Jazz/Mavericks game on Friday night. We had great seats and a ton of fun. I just love my Dallas boys. We were served a plethora of dirty looks during the game (probably due to my exuberant support of the Mavs). In the fourth quarter Jason Terry grabbed the rebound, streaked down the court and dunked that ball, hard; I, meanwhile, had shot to my feet, fists raised triumphantly, and shouted, "YES! YES! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WO-AH! YEAH, TERRY!" Uh, the other fans didn't like that so much. And when I vowed to have Dirk Nowitzki's "little German babies" after a stellar defense/rebound/perfect arc of a shot, the ladies in front of me swiveled around, horrified looks plastered on their faces.


The most exciting part of the game was when Dirk got all hotheaded and angry, as he always does when playing Kirilenko (because AK is A DIRTY PLAYER AND TOTALLY COCKY ALL THE TIME AND I CAN'T STAND WATCHING HIM PLAY AND TAKE EVERY FOUL, THE BIG STINKIN' BABY), and "accidentally" slapped Harpring in the cheek with a closed fist. The ref ejected Dirk, to the Jazz fans' everlasting glee. Dirk threw his towel on the ground and ran out the tunnel, three officials huffing behind. My despair knew no bounds.

The Jazz played an excellent physical defense and the Mavs just couldn't keep up with them offensively. Jazz took the game 97-88. I wasn't too suprised due to the fact the Mavericks always struggle on the Jazz's home turf. The boys will be back in Salt Lake on February 5th and I'm trying to talk myself into shelling out another chunk of change for good seats. (Anybody want to go? I promise I'm way fun to watch basketball with.)

Mmm-hmmm!

Merry Christmas!

At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
~Thomas Tusser

Have a very merry Christmas! Thanks for reading!

All my love, Kim

Happy Tears

A portion of the children who attend my school come from low-income families. A few of the other teachers and I got together this year to purchase warm clothes and a few toys for the families who needed a little extra help this Christmas. Apparently one of the teachers talked to her parents, who talked to their church, who just delivered bags and bags and bags of coats, games, toys, socks, jeans, and food to my office.

Characteristically, I burst into tears the minute I saw the elaborate spread.

One of the students saw my weepy state and asked sweetly, “Ms. Kim? Are you crying?”

“Yeah, honey,” I replied, “But, it’s okay. These are happy tears.”

Touched as I have been in the past by anonymous generosity, I continue to be amazed at the human spirit’s capacity for compassion. I’m grateful for the many occasions this season my eyes have prickled with happy tears.

P.S. Did anyone else watch "Dawson's Creek"? It was on for 6 seasons so I know I can't be the only one but whenever I make a reference to it, I just get blank stares back.

Movie Memories

A standard in the Raynor family media gamut is the film Sense and Sensibility. I first saw the movie when I was about 12 or 13 and read the book when I was 15 or so. It is one of my go-to novels when I want to read something lovely.

Amid swells of nostalgia, I recently watched the movie again. In my mind, that film is inextricably intertwined with memories of my mother. Even as I watched the romance unfold between Elinor and Edward, I could picture the movie playing in the family room of my teenage years: my mother, always and forever at the ironing board; my dad, book in hand and fast asleep in the floral armchair; my sister and I curled up on the couch amidst a multitude of blankets; my kid brother stretched out on the floor in front of the TV with Teddy, our astronomically chubby dog. My mom, ever a teacher, would always prompt us to a deeper understanding of the story. I cannot watch some scenes without hearing her voice saying, “Look at the differences of expression in the faces of Mrs. Dashwood and Fanny. How do you think they are feeling?” or “See where Marianne put the flowers from the Colonel and the ones from Willoughby? What do you think she meant by that?”

It's funny how often movies are linked to memories of my youth. Take Last of the Mohicans, one of my top five favorites. I remember watching that movie with my older sister years ago. Right after Uncas dies, Alice looks down at his body and slowly turns back to Magua. At this point in the movie, I vividly remember Amy whispering, "She's so beautiful!" Every single time I see that scene, I hear my sister's voice: "She's so beautiful!"

And Titanic. When I see that movie I remember the time our parents were out of town and Sandra and I dragged all the mattresses and pillows in the house into the family room and perched on top while we ate chocolate cream pie and watched Leo and Kate. Of course, I'll always remember my sister Michelle and the night we decked the house out in owl-shaped luminaries in preparation for our in-home screening of the first Harry Potter film.

My memories aren't always pleasant ones, though. My mom let me watch Beethoven one time when I was home sick with the flu. I still get queasy when I see that movie.

I think sometimes the affection (or abhorrence) I have for certain movies is not based on the film's merits alone, but on the memories they invoke. And I know that there is no bout of homesickness that cannot be eased by a quick screening of Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Back to the Future, or Three Men and a Baby.

True Love

Dear White Rhino,

Thank you for getting me to work through all this yucky snow. Thank you for having four-wheel drive and those special winter brakes that make driving in snowy weather so much easier. I'm sorry you had to hear all those wretched things I said about the other drivers.

Thank you for having a great sound system to make my commute so much more enjoyable. Also, thanks for the 12-disc CD changer to facilitate my attention-span issues. I'm very sorry about the singing.

I'm sorry you haven't been washed since August. Sorry I bought new floor mats instead of vacuuming. Sorry I haven't treated your leather interior in months. Sorry I whistled at that BMW this morning. I didn't really mean it. Also, sorry about that thing with your bumper back in 2006.

Thank you for being a good sport about the wreath on your grill and the Scentsy thing on your mirror. Thank you for the sunroof so I can see the stars at night. And, speaking of nights, thanks for the summer of 2007 (wink, wink . . . you know what I'm talking about.)

You are the best car in the whole world. I love you, babe.

Love, Kim

Now you shouldn't even get into who I'm givin' skins to.

For my morning musical pleasure, I always hit “Random” on my iTunes and enjoy a haphazard assortment of music to gear me up for work. I love this system (or, more accurately, non-system) I have because it provides for me an agreeable medley that is new and different every morning. Some days I walk into work whistling Aerosmith, and others, it’s the BYU Men’s Chorus.

This morning’s collection featured both Salt ‘N Pepa’s “None Of Your Business” and Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative.”

I double-dog-dare someone to talk to me about my life choices today.



Which reminds me, I should probably call my mother back.

Dumb as a Stump

My boss has somehow inveigled me to discard all my pressing work and help out with interviewing candidates for several open positions here at work. (I really don’t know how she gets me to do some of this stuff.) I’ve had a steady stream of absolutely ridiculous applicants over the past week and we might just have a problem if the next person does not know how to correctly utilize an adverb. Is it wrong to reject a candidate because of poor sentence construction and grammatical errors?

Here are some cerebral treasures I’ve gleaned from the past few interviews:
“I have a few friends that have teached for some years and they really like it.”
“I think kids are more cuter than adults.”
“I had to learn that very, very quick and it was acrost the whole company.” (two-for-one-special!)
“I had to use precise . . .ness in that job.”
When asked about her work ethic: “I don’t believe in lying or stealing or anything like that.”
When asked what was challenging about a former job: “They kept asking so much from me. Hello! It’s only a job!”

And my personal favorite:
Me: Tell me about some of your long-term goals, personal and professional.
Applicant: Well, I really want to go overseas and teach English.
Me: That sounds very interesting. If you had a choice, where would you like to go?
Applicant: Well, my two favorite countries are Italy and London. So probably one of those.
Me: (sputtering) Oh. Sounds . . . nice.

Never mind that London is not a country, you can’t go there to teach English because, guess what, they ALREADY KNOW ENGLISH IN FREAKIN’ ENGLAND!!

Someone I Love

From my bedroom, I heard my roommate cleaning the kitchen a few evenings ago. Scrubbing and sweeping, she filled our house with a joyful lilting song. After listening to her for several moments, I was overcome with affection for my darling friend.

Karen is good humor personified. She is happiness. She is fun. Karen understands the personal obligation to make one's own happiness. Karen doesn't wait for circumstances to fall into place to bring about contentment. Karen is the girl who sings whilst scrubbing the kitchen floor.

I love my roommie.

Two Amusing Anecdotes

Story One: Self-Fulfilling Prophesy
One of my roommates moved out last month and our friend Gretchen “Too Legit to Quit” Dutson is moving in on Saturday. She stopped by the house on Tuesday to pick up a key and was given a quick rundown of the odd little quirks about our lovely home. Karen and I also provided her a taste of how it will be living with two of the most amusing people in the state. I notified her that I “often spontaneously burst into song and dance about,” and Karen warned that waking her against her will is "more dangerous than rousting a sleeping, hormonal bear." I cautioned as we headed downstairs, “Watch out for these stairs. I always seem to slip on them.” Three seconds later, Gretchen and Karen are grasping their sides, doubled over in laughter, while I am sprawled at the foot of the stairs moaning incoherently.


Story Two: Supermarket and Starcraft
After examining my debit card at the store last night, the cashier looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Your last name is Raynor?”
“Yup.”
Impressed, he exclaimed, “That’s awesome!”
“Is it?” I asked.
With notable gravity, he leaned forward and said, “You have the same last name as a guy in Starcraft.”
He solemnly examined my face for the expected elation such a declaration would naturally trigger.
“Oh.” I nodded. “Neat.”

The Most Fun Thing in the World

Well, I don't know what the most fun thing in the world is, but I know what is NOT the most fun thing and that is getting yelled at by three people in one day. That is definitely not the most fun thing in the world.

And also something un-fun is when, after the third person yells at you, you quietly hang up the phone, close your office door, let all your calls go to voicemail, and just sit there and cry for 5 minutes. That is also low on the fun scale. Very, very low.

The only thing that could make this day worse is if I turn on the radio and every station is playing "Christmas Shoes."

I hate that damn song.

Best Newscast Ever

You know when you are watching the news and they show a picture on the screen that has nothing to do with the story they are reporting? Usually not a big deal, right? Or is it?

Tonight on KSL they were reporting on the Blackwater case (the military contractors who are charged with 14 counts of manslaughter). While telling about one of the men charged who had pleaded guilty to manslaughter and was testifying against the others, they showed a picture of the man. Or did they?

No, they showed the picture of the man from the next story. The man who had pulled a woman out of a car submerged in an icy river. The hero.

This guy did not kill any Iraqis. At least, I don't think he did.

Hilarious and also sad.

Letter From Me

Recently, I was called to be in charge of the monthly newsletter for my ward. I was encouraged by a few friends to include a letter from the editor in each issue. I wrote the following for the December issue but I was never really satisfied with it overall. The night before D(istribution)-Day, I went back and forth with putting it in and taking it back out. At the last minute I decided to yank it. I can't put my finger on what's wrong with it but, upon reflection, I realize that I'm never completely satisfied with things that I write. That is the reason why I have a folder on my computer filled with short stories, poems, articles and 2 rough novels. I dread to open that folder, knowing that I cannot be satisfied with what it contains and I will finally come to the realization that I can't write and have no talent and that my dreams of actually publishing something will never come to fruition and I'll be here in my mediocre job for the rest of my pathetic live. Or something like that.

Anyway, I thought I'd share this month's ne'er-to-be-published letter from the editor, because (no offense) I care less that you think I'm a crap writer than I would if my whole ward thought so.


The Christmas season seems to overtake our lives and rational thought processes the moment we waddle away from the Thanksgiving table, distended with poultry and pie. The crazed shopping, the endless festivities, the TV specials—oh, save us!—the TV specials, all conspire to induce us to remember Christmas! celebrate Christmas! venerate Christmas! It seems, when bringing to mind things cherished: faith, family, love and hope, the holidays are no longer a gentle reminder but a tremendous and awe-inspiring wallop. Presents are a dreaded obligation, the parties are a chore and eventually December turns into drudgery as the tedious stress eats away at our cheer.

Let’s together aver to disallow “Christmas” to detract from Christmas. Let’s remember that Christ is love, and to honor his birth we need not be jolly and festooned, merely good and kind and full of love. Let’s undertake to smile a little brighter, serve a little longer, comfort a little more and stress a little less. Let us embody the words of my father’s favorite carol: “God is not dead nor doth He sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to men” (Longfellow).

Crikey!

The girls and I saw Australia last night. On the whole, I liked it. I did. But, boy howdy, was it long. Too long. It kind of felt like they skipped the whole editing thing before the film was released. Some of the performances felt forced and artificial (I hated Nicole Kidman's for the first half-hour or so) and the plot was semi-mediocre.

But the film did have several redeeming qualities. Firstly, it had a war in it. I freakin' love war movies! I also really liked the cinematography and the use of light in the film. I liked the music quite a bit. The sweeping vista shots were also nice (well, the first couple hundred or so) and I found myself chuckling (and tearing up) more than I expected. And, of course, there was this:

(Yowza!)

I left the theater feeling pretty content with the film. And with a strange yearning for a harmonica-toting aboriginal kid. Verdict: definitely worth the 8 bucks.

Winter is (kinda) awesome!

As a true child of Texas, I lovelovelove summer and sunshine and heat. Love it. So when big, bad, horrible, miserable winter rolls around I'm none too pleased.

However, I’m trying to focus more on gratitude (like my awesome friend Becca) and less on how much winter totally blows. So here are some reasons why I’m grateful for winter:

1. Hello! Christmastime!! Yay!

2. Sweaters are just so dang cute.

3. Guys wearing sweaters are just so dang cute.

4. My house is really dry because the heat is on, so my hair goes from shower to bone dry in 10 minutes flat.

5. It gives me a chance to use all those scented lotions I get for every occasion by every acquaintance, distant relative, and co-worker who doesn’t know what to get me.

6. Fires in fireplaces are so cozy. (If I can just get one of those be-sweatered guys to come light mine . . .)

7. It gives me a chance to use the line: “Look, we’re under the mistletoe . . . well . . . that’s awkward.”

8. The snow is pretty to watch (kind of a beast to drive or walk in, but I digress.)

9. The extra blankets on my bed make snuggling down with a book so much more inviting.

10. Fuzzy socks (they are always on sale at the Gap right before Christmas, so remember to stock up—they’re my favorite! They also have really nice ones at Bath & Body Works on sale this week.)

11. If you look a little chubby, you can blame it on the three layers of clothes you're wearing and not the Kit-Kat you had for breakfast. (True story.)

Why are you grateful for winter?

Morning Quandry

I like lox on bagels but I don’t like cream cheese. I could get it sans cream cheese but then it would be just bread and fish, and that’s a little too biblical for me.

At least I would have enough to share. (baa dum bum)

Unfounded Fear #3

Sometimes I worry that I will fall in love with a Korean guy whose last name is Kim and then if we got married my name would be Kim Joy Kim and that sounds so ridiculous.

Into the 'Hood

Liz and I went to see Hale Centre Theatre's Into the Woods on Saturday. HCT is, as you may know, located in the heart of West Valley. I am, as you may know, a certifiable east-side snob. I unabashedly proclaim to not venture west of State Street if I can help it. But the lull of the theatre is enough to roust me from my comfort zone and hazard the west 'hood.

Into the Woods is one of my very favorite Sondheim musicals (second only to Sweeney Todd) and it was performed extraordinarily well. My favorites were the debonair princes; their sweeping gestures and manly voices are enough to make any girl swoon.

In the second act, Cinderella's prince tries to seduce the baker's wife as he sings, "Right and wrong don't matter in the woods, only feelings." At this point Liz leans over and whispers, "We need to spend more time in the woods."

It was a great time. Fortuitously, we even got to see our dear friend Molly in action as she played Snow White. And guess what? She really was the fairest of them all.

For Jacob

I have recently fallen under criticism by my eldest nephew for not having anything -ahem- "funny" on my blog for quite some time. Well kid, this one's for you. Here's a funny video to annoy your mom with for a couple hours.



Just giving the fans what they want.

(Also, if you're an adult you probably don't want to watch it because you will be humming it to yourself for three straight days.)

I probably should have stopped listening to this band in college.

I was listening to an old Ben Folds CD this afternoon.

Now I'm feeling all angsty and misunderstood.

I'm so sorry, Stephanie Meyer.

Okay roommates, I know we all swore not to ever tell anyone what we did last night. I know we made a pact that it would stay between the three of us, but I can't help it: it's too funny.

Last night my roommies and I went to a private screening of Twilight. (I know! I know! I hated all the hype. I disliked the books. I stoutly refused to get involved in the craze. And yet, there I was at the Gateway last night.)

After the movie I gave Liz my concise Twilight review: I think the only thing more painful than an actual vampire bite is watching that movie.

Guys, it was so bad. Ridiculously bad. It was reminiscent of a Provo-style, made-for-BYU-film-class type movie. (Sorry to everyone who made a movie for a BYU film class. I'm sure it was great!) Britni and I irritated all the enraptured girls sitting around us because we physically could not stem our laughter after the first 20 minutes. During the closing credits, when I audibly wondered that the movie could possibly be any worse than the books, I was struck with a death glare from a middle-aged woman seated nearby. Seriously, I think there are people who really believe that Twilight is the single greatest love story of our time. Like our generation's Romeo & Juliet or Pride & Prejudice.

People, this has got to stop. Let's be clear. As a fantasy-based, chick-lit book directed at the tween-to-teen crowd, it works. Not great, but it works. And the movie, as a low-budget (I don't really know if it was low-budget or not, but I can hope) movie, again directed at the teenage audience, it was fine. Like a made-for-Disney-channel movie. In fact, if it was on TV on a Saturday afternoon, I'd probably watch it (or at least Tivo it).

But ladies, it's not the greatest book or movie of our time. Not by a long shot. Let's, as a society, move on.


Dear Stephanie Meyer,
I'm sorry I didn't like your books. From their wild popularity, it's evident I am on the smaller end of the spectrum. I know the exhaustive effort of writing, the laborious task of taking the swirling words and images in your head and forcing them into structure and sense. I know the feeling of proffering your written work to someone, exposing not a completed task but a part of your very heart, your baby. You are absolutely not devoid of talent; I liked that other book you wrote, the one about the aliens. That was pretty interesting. Don't take me seriously. I don't like reading Faulkner either, and he was a freakin' genius or something.
P.S. How old is that guy who played Edward? Is he at least 21? Basically I'm asking if it's okay for me to be lusting after him. He's not one of those 17-year-old prodigies is he? Cause, gross.

Spellchek

I have my work email account set up so it automatically fixes any typos before sending mail out, thereby avoiding the old typing-too-fast-and-leaving-out-or-transposing-letters shame. This morning I sent an email out to a colleague with a question about a pdf. Of course when I sent the email, “pdf” was an unrecognized word and automatically changed.

So my co-worker gets an email from me that says, “I need a little help working with a puff. Could you give me a call when you get a second?”

Half a minute later I got an email from him saying, “Daddy or magic dragon?”

Nice.

Best Shopping Trip Ever

I was at Wal-Mart* tonight and I was flat-out ring-checked in the cleaning aisle. Guys, I haven't been ring-checked in ages. I started giggling when I saw what he was doing and grinned the rest of my shopping trip. And then later in the frozen food section I got a full up-and-down check-out by a guy examining the selection of Popsicles. And in the baking aisle, an obliging young gentleman got a box of cornstarch off the top shelf for me and then winked at me as he handed it over.

I called my roommate on the way home and said, "Uh, in case you were wondering, I've totally still got it goin' on."



*Okay, before you start lecturing me on "evil empires" and "impact on the local economy" and "sprawl" just remember it was for my non-profit school that helps little children learn to read and stuff and can't afford to pay its incredible teachers enough anyway, so just chill.

Sweet Baby James

My little brother James crossed the MTC threshold today. He is now an official full-time missionary for the LDS church. I love that kid and I’m so proud of him but I’ve been slightly forlorn all morning. This is Jimmy, sweet little Jimmy. Who am I going to call for all things computer and car related? Who will call me to vent about bad calls and missed shots after Mavericks games? Where am I going to find someone who’ll watch cheesy sci-fi movies late at night with me?

I know these two years will fly right on by, but I’ll sure miss him in the meantime. He’s such a good kid whose ultimate aspiration is just to be nice and helpful and friendly. He’ll be a great missionary. See ya, Jimmy. Have a great time in Mexico. (Don't drink the water.)

Oh by the way, a primo spot just opened up on my speed dial. Anyone? Anyone?

Just a thought . . .

If Mark Cuban goes to prison for insider trading, does that mean Rick Carlisle can go away too?

AJ, I miss you and your squeaky little voice.

Picture Perfect Monday

I headed out yesterday afternoon to spend some quality time with my dad & brother.

You'll never guess what they wanted to do.

I was fairly put out.

After dragging James away from the lull of technology, he shot me the famous "Blue Steel" scowl. (That's how he gets all the ladies!)


Dinner followed at Five Guys . . .

where James and I got different memos on the faces to pull for the camera. "Okay Kim, now look really crazy like you're going to stab someone, okay good, and James, uh, just look drunk. Awesome picture, everyone. Yep, frame this sucker."

We headed to Amy's for FHE after dinner where Sandra took dilligent notes,

Jake colored contentedly,

James got attacked by a bunch of babies,

Amy demonstrated how Moses parted the Red Sea,

and Dad just sat there lookin' sly.
It was a great Monday.

Lesson One: Eye Contact

The other night the family was out to dinner at a local Mexican place. After dinner, my grandmother reprimanded me for not flirting with the waiter.

"He was clearly interested and you were not even slightly more than polite!" she said.

"He so was not interested," I argued. "He was just being a good waiter."

Later I found out that, unable to convince me I should have "turned it up a notch," she enlisted my brother to teach me how to flirt. Yes, my little brother. My two-days-away-from-the-MTC brother. Teach me? How to flirt?

Okay, granted I could use the tips. I think most of the time I attempt to flirt, my flirt-companion is either baffled, offended, or wondering if I have special needs. Fine, G-Ma. You win.

James, whaddya got?

I am not a blue blood.

My family is in town. Did I tell you that? Yep, Dad and little bro Jimmy and little sis Sandy are here hanging out for a week or so.

I come from a family of storytellers. We love to hear stories and don’t mind sharing a few of our own. The other night we were sitting around my sister’s kitchen table playing cards and taking turns sharing a memory or two.

That was all well and good until my dad pulls out this story: once upon a time my grandfather was out on the porch drinking beer as he was wont to do. He tossed his beer can out in the backyard and somehow it got caught high in a tree. The rest of the family sat around the rest of the evening trying to shoot the beer can out of the tree with bottle rockets.

As Dad was relating this story, I came to an ugly realization: we are total rednecks. Oh man, you can’t get more redneck than the whole family shooting explosives into a tree to dislodge a beer can.

Hey, I love my family. All I’m saying is my husband better be one classy guy to counteract all the hick genes I’ll be pouring into our kids.

Sir, I am very sorry about that.

Have you ever accidentally hit a prospective client with a rubber band during a meeting?

I know someone who has.

Hint: It's me. (Note to self: stop playing with office supplies in meetings.)

Close, but no cigar.

The nurse put a Band-Aid on my arm today after she gave me a flu shot. The only problem is she put the Band-Aid about a ¼ inch above the actual injection site. Which means my arm has a trail of blood running down it. And a superfluous bandage.

Very funny, nurse-lady, very funny.

Kim is a Junkie

My sister Amy tagged me, but since I've totally already done this, I decided to list 6 things that I love to excess. And I tag: Mom. (Oh, look at you Ms. I'm-Too-Cool-To-Have-A-Blog, looks like you're going to have to start one.)

Here we go: 6 Things Kim May Love a Little Too Much

1. I am a history junkie. Nothing excites me more than learning about how a civilization, a religion, a person developed and formed. Even when I hear a new word I wonder, “What is the etymology of it? Where did it come from?” I have an insatiable appetite for knowledge of origins. I love biographies. I love reading about war. I love the History Channel. I just love it.

2. I am a music junkie. I simply can’t start my day unless my iTunes is pumping something. Just this morning I was dancing around my room to Frank Sinatra before work (and yes, I tripped over the three pairs of heels that were scattered about my floor and yes, I have a bruise.) Lately I’ve been listening to hymns in my car as I’m driving. I find it cuts down on road rage. (It’s hard to call someone a “gormless weasel” to the accompaniment of “Nearer My God to Thee.”) There’s something about a really, really good song that makes my insides (figuratively) swell.

3. I am a nature junkie. I love outdoors. I’m not an accomplished skier or biker or kayaker, I just like to walk around and see what I see. I like to feed the ducks, watch the leaves turn, and listen to the crunch of snow under my feet. There are a few vistas here in the valley that bring on the twinge of tears faster than any chick flick I’ve seen.

4. I am an alone time junkie. I don’t know if it’s a cause or an effect from my status as a Singleton, but I really enjoy being by myself. I like to go to movies alone and try out new restaurants alone. Last year I took a gourmet cooking class by myself and it was really, really fun. I do love to spend time with my family and friends (shout out to my girls: Holla!) but, almost as much, I like to be at a table for one.

5. I am a girlie stuff junkie. My whole life I’ve been a pretty casual jeans-and-t-shirts type girl, but a few years ago, I got all girlie. It’s so weird. As I’m typing, I look down at my pink (yes, pink!) cashmere sweater and pinstripe skirt, smell a faint wave of floral perfume, feel my hair pulled into a sleek bun and think, “Who is this girl?” I haven’t gone completely over to the pink side, but I enjoy putting on make-up, I enjoy doing my hair, and I enjoy being a girl.

6. I am a kids junkie. A product of having 8 younger siblings is you just really like kids. I interact with kids daily in my work and have officially been dubbed “the cool aunt” by my nephews. (Amy, it’s okay. They still like you. I’m just a LOT more fun.) There is something magical about seeing a child's eyes light up when something finally clicks, when they can finally write their name or when a joke finally makes sense. The triumph in their expression is incomparable. I love being a big sister. I love being an aunt. I love being a teacher. I cherish these roles as much as I will cherish being a mother someday.

Miscommunication

This morning, someone was talking to me at length about D'Nealian. I was really confused for most of our conversation until I realized she wasn't talking about the car in Back to the Future.

Don't do it.

You should probably not click here.

It will make you freakin' crazy.

Winner, Winner!

We Americans sat with bated breath and white knuckles tonight, glued to our TVs, hoping and praying for a victory.

That's right.

The Mavericks won tonight! By 17 points! Yay!




Oh, and also, we have a new president or something.

My second favorite part of voting?

The sticker.

Why I can't pay attention in Sunday School.

I get distracted pretty easily.

There was a bald guy sitting a couple rows in front of me in Sunday School yesterday. I was trying to pay attention but, uh, there was a bald guy sitting in front of me.

So my train of thought ran thus: "His head is really shiny. I wonder if he puts something on it to make it shine. Like oil? Do people oil their heads? Maybe it's just naturally shiny. I wonder if he washes it. He must wash it. I mean, gross if he doesn't, right? What does he use? Probably not shampoo cause there's no hair. Just soap? Does he use the same stuff that he washes his face with? I would use body wash to wash it. I mean, it is part of the body. I wonder if he uses a loofah. Do guys even use loofahs? I think I would use a loofah if I had a bald head. It's actually pretty funny to think about washing your head, isn't it? That'd be weird if I were bald. I hope I never get cancer."

Yes, I spent several minutes in church thinking about some guy's head. Which is why I should probably always sit on the front row. Unless the teacher has a moustache. Or some kinda mole.

Fax Pas

To replace the ink in my fax machine, I have to lift the top up and keep it open while I swap out the cartridge. There is a little arm that holds the top open while I change the ink but that arm, like everything useful, has broken. Well, no prob. When I need to change the ink, I do what every red-blooded American does: I improvise. Improvise in the form of a three-hole punch as a fax top prop arm.

I’ve been doing this for several months but I didn’t realize how dumb I look until my coworker paused outside my office door today, watching as I, an adult, opened up my fax machine and stuck a three-hole punch inside.

“Uh, Kim?” he said, “That’s not exactly how to use that, you know.”

My comeback? “That's not how you use . . . the . . . thing . . . shut up.”

Hey

Best ever

My New Best Friend

My back has been aching lately. Enter this:

Oh, it is so good. I think I'm really audible in my enjoyment. My roommates keep referring to a certain diner scene in a certain Meg Ryan/Billy Crystal movie.

After several minutes, Liz asked, "Kim, can I have a turn on your porno machine?"

Wait, what?

It's a dog's life.

I had a meeting downtown today. I spent some time afterward walking around the city and enjoying the beautiful day. As expected, I encountered several transients on my way.

It's astonishing how many homeless veterinarians there are in Salt Lake.

Mental note: that is one profession NOT to explore.

Funny moment

I usually set my alarm for 10-15 minutes before I actually have to get out of bed, allowing myself those few precious minutes to ease into consciousness. During my waking-up period this morning I curled up with my, um . . . well, I call it my pillow-husband. It's just a pillow that I often unconsciously cuddle with at night. (Am I setting myself up to be mocked?)

Anyway, this morning I spent a few extra minutes in my semi-wakeful state and found myself rushed to get out the door. After I stumbled out of bed I quickly made my bed before starting my day. In my hastiness, I just pulled the covers up around my pillow-husband and tucked them in all around.

Tonight when I got home from work, I entered my bedroom and burst out laughing. I had forgotten about my pillow-husband tucked safely in my bed; at first glance it looked as if someone was snoozing in my bed, a very short stocky someone.


By the way, this is my official 200th post on this blog. Should we have a give-away like SSB? Okay, leave me a comment and I'll pick a winner who gets something very special. Like we'll go get pineapple smoothies together or something. And if you live too far away, we can have virtual smoothies.

Bread Blobs

Liz and I ordered breadsticks from Papa John's tonight.

I opened the box and screeched, "What are these!?!"

From the other room, Liz yelled, "They're breadsticks!"

"Uh, more like bread blobs!" I yelled back.

Seriously, that's messed up.



You might not think this is funny (my roommates sure don't) but I've been laughing for an hour over it.

Halloween Prep

Last night I carved my Halloween pumpkin. (If you can't tell what it is, let me 'splain. That's a cat on the left and the bottom right says "Boo" and up top: that's the moon.)

Afterward, Liz and I practiced our scary faces. Take a long look because as soon as Liz finds out I posted this, it will be coming down like lightning. And also I may have to move.
Come on, Liz! This picture is priceless!

(The above is a doctored photo with Liz cropped out because someone is a whiny whiner from whinersburg.)

I like going to the park.

I sat in Liberty Park this afternoon and watched the leaves fall. There is a large elm tree on the south side of the pond under which I often sit to read, watch the ducks, and ponder the mysteries of life.

Today the waterfowl watched with me as the wind murmured through the mighty branches and graceful cascades of yellow and brown snowflakes tumbled all around us, brushing over my lap, tangling in my hair and showering the the water with delicate little plips.

The geese visited next, eying me expectantly until they ascertained I had nothing edible in my bag save a Special K bar in which they were decidedly uninterested. Gravely disappointed, my avian friends chastised me with their gentle squawks as they waddled nearby. Their leisurely pace was interrupted by a passing overly-friendly golden retriever. They hastily retreated to the safety of the water, their angry honks merged with eager barks and my laughter.

Oh, to sit on a bench in a park on a golden autumn day: this is the good life.

Go outside and enjoy the delightful fall. Go to the park. Watch the ducks. I might see you there.

Hang on a second . . .

Something's missing . . .

Ah. There they are.

Love thy neighbor.

Dear Neighbor Across the Way,

Dude, I'm a nice person. Okay? I'm nice. So when your mail accidentally gets delivered to our box and I bring it over to your door, you don't have to grunt and slam the door in my face. Especially since you answered the door in your underthings and I kept a straight face the whole time. You think that was easy?

And yesterday when I was pulling out of the driveway and you were pulling in? Remember how I smiled and waved at you and you just rolled your eyes back at me, irritated with my very existence? Not very cool.

We're neighbors. Let's be friends.

Date Night

I had a date last night with this guy:

And this one:

This is where we ate:

This is what we ate:

Life is good.

Pretzel Problem

Whenever I eat hard pretzels, I first like to bite off the little nubbins on the bottom and then eat the rest. Today I opened a bag of pretzels at lunch and was shocked to find nubbin-less pretzels inside. Where are my pretzel nubbins?

I feel so cheated. These are not nearly as fun to eat.

That's the last time I buy store brand pretzels. I'm going back to Rold Gold. They know what makes a pretzel a pretzel.

Post this in a conspicuous location.

I tend to forget things if I don't write them down.

Hence my fondness for Post-Its.

Hence my computer looking like this:

Seriously? I see twelve of 'em. My boss just laughed when she saw this today.

I totally almost died.

I caught a black widow spider with my bare hands this week. That's right, I said my bare hands.
Pretty much every time I see a spider my first inclination is to kill the little bugger but when I saw a big black spider at work on Wednesday, I thought, "Hey, maybe I should catch that guy and show my students!" (I always have such great ideas . . .)

I grabbed a plastic jar and was trying to cajole the spider into the jar. It was pretty adamant about not going in the jar but I persisted. I had to pick it up (bare hands!) and place it in the jar with my left hand. (Hang on . . . shudder)

When I told one of the little girls I touched the spider she said, "Ms. Kim, that is so brave." She continued to tell me what she would do if she saw a spider. "I would step on it and then punch it. In the face. With a knife!"

I didn't punch it in the face, but I did give it a healthy dose of Raid. (I know, I know . . . "poor Charlotte." Whatever. You weren't there! It was huge!)

Ponder Point

http://www.mccaincomics.com/

Everybody what now?

Some days you may be feeling downtrodden and discouraged but then maybe your iTunes, which is set on random, will play C+C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat" and then you'll be like, "Hey! Now this is a song!" and eveything will feel all better.

Also, you may find yourself in your bedroom wearing nothing but your skivvies when this song begins to play and you may feel a very strong inclination to do a funny dance and you also may be sure that your bedroom door is locked when you do your funny dance, but it's not locked and your roommates are watching you.

Trust me.

Cry for help

Guys, I seriously have a problem. I'll admit that I have a problem. Okay, here goes . . .

My name is Kim and I am addicted to crossword puzzles. I have been doing them for years and I do at least one (or two or three or four) every day.

Do you think they've got a support group for this?

Indistinct Memory

I was right in the middle of a conversation with my coworker on Friday afternoon when my phone rang. I asked my coworker to "hold that thought" for a second while I grabbed the phone.

I remember my side of the conversation. It went something like this: "This is Kim. (pause) Hi! (pause) Yes, that's fine. (pause) Sure, I can do that. (pause) Sure. You're welcome. (pause) Okay. Bye."

I just can't remember the other side of that conversation. And I can't for the life of me remember just what I agreed to do. It's been bugging me all weekend.