Do you guys realize that February is almost over?
I should probably stop procrastinating and send out my Christmas cards.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Foiled again!
My “new-thing” for February was to get red highlights in my hair. I know that’s not life-changing, but it was a big step for me.
On Saturday, I went to the salon and explained what I was looking for. I believe my exact words were, “very subtle” and “nothing too flashy.” My colorist, Phillip, showed me some swatches and
explained the whole process to me. I was feeling pretty confident about this choice. He foiled up my hair (I’ve never had that done before. I looked like an alien.) and let it set for a while. After he washed and dried my hair, he asked what I thought. I looked in the mirror.
On Saturday, I went to the salon and explained what I was looking for. I believe my exact words were, “very subtle” and “nothing too flashy.” My colorist, Phillip, showed me some swatches and
explained the whole process to me. I was feeling pretty confident about this choice. He foiled up my hair (I’ve never had that done before. I looked like an alien.) and let it set for a while. After he washed and dried my hair, he asked what I thought. I looked in the mirror. I WAS A REDHEAD. There was nothing subtle about it. I had 100% coppery-
red hair. I wanted to cry. The color was pretty but not right for me at all. It was awful. I told him that it really wasn’t what I was looking for at all. He tried to fix it, but it still wasn’t right. So I went home, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I thought my roommate was going to pass out when she saw me.
After a weekend of furiously trying to make my hair anything but orange, we were reduced to a $9 box of hair dye from Wal-Mart.
Now my hair looks great. It’s a deep brown with reddish undertones: exactly what I wanted in the first place.
red hair. I wanted to cry. The color was pretty but not right for me at all. It was awful. I told him that it really wasn’t what I was looking for at all. He tried to fix it, but it still wasn’t right. So I went home, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I thought my roommate was going to pass out when she saw me.After a weekend of furiously trying to make my hair anything but orange, we were reduced to a $9 box of hair dye from Wal-Mart.
Now my hair looks great. It’s a deep brown with reddish undertones: exactly what I wanted in the first place. Thank you L’Oreal Feria 40 Espresso.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Maddie-bug
This is Madeline, my favorite niece. She is just the cutest little girl I've ever seen. (No, I'm not just saying that because she looks like me.) I don't get to see this girl very often, but her mommy keeps me updated with pictures as often as possible. They came out to visit for Christmas and it was so fun! Maddie told me that I was her favorite aunt and if she had her way, she would spend more time out here. I have a picture of her in my office at work and whenever I get frustrated with the world, I just look at that sweet little face. Love you, babe!!!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
How ya bean?
I work with children which means that you have to be prepared for anything.
Like today when a three-year-old boy was jumping around with his head bent to the side.
“Jun, this is not a time for jumping. We are having quiet time,” I said.
“But I have to get the bean out!” was his reply.
“What bean?” I asked.
“The one in my ear,” he said.
I look in his ear and, sure enough, there is an uncooked kidney bean shoved inside. I had qualms about trying to get the bean out because I feared pushing it in further. My boss and I decided to call his mother to remove the ear-bean.
Now, Jun’s family is from Korea. His father speaks English fairly well but his mother speaks only a few words. We once had to call her because Jun fell down and hit his head and required a doctor. After unsuccessfully trying to convey this message, we reduced the conversation to caveman talk: “You come. Jun head. Hospital now.”
This is how our conversation went today:
“I’m calling because Jun has put a bean in his ear and we can’t get it out. We’ll need someone to come remove the bean or take him to a doctor.”
“Bean? Korean. Jun? What is bean? Korean.”
“Yes. A bean in his ear. It is stuck.”
“Korean.”
“We need you to come to school and get Jun.”
This continues for a few minutes, neither of us understanding the other.
And, finally, “You come. Help Jun. Ear owie. Bean stuck.”
It worked. I feel bad talking to her like that. I know she’s an intelligent woman and I’m no idiot myself but we have to communicate through two-word sentences and gestures. Maybe I should learn a few phrases in Korean, Chinese, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, and Japanese so I can talk to all the parents in their native tongue.
If anyone knows any of those languages, please translate the following sentences for me.
“Welcome to school.”
“I need you to come to the school.”
“Have a good day.”
“Bean.”
Like today when a three-year-old boy was jumping around with his head bent to the side.
“Jun, this is not a time for jumping. We are having quiet time,” I said.
“But I have to get the bean out!” was his reply.
“What bean?” I asked.
“The one in my ear,” he said.
I look in his ear and, sure enough, there is an uncooked kidney bean shoved inside. I had qualms about trying to get the bean out because I feared pushing it in further. My boss and I decided to call his mother to remove the ear-bean.Now, Jun’s family is from Korea. His father speaks English fairly well but his mother speaks only a few words. We once had to call her because Jun fell down and hit his head and required a doctor. After unsuccessfully trying to convey this message, we reduced the conversation to caveman talk: “You come. Jun head. Hospital now.”
This is how our conversation went today:
“I’m calling because Jun has put a bean in his ear and we can’t get it out. We’ll need someone to come remove the bean or take him to a doctor.”
“Bean? Korean. Jun? What is bean? Korean.”
“Yes. A bean in his ear. It is stuck.”
“Korean.”
“We need you to come to school and get Jun.”
This continues for a few minutes, neither of us understanding the other.
And, finally, “You come. Help Jun. Ear owie. Bean stuck.”
It worked. I feel bad talking to her like that. I know she’s an intelligent woman and I’m no idiot myself but we have to communicate through two-word sentences and gestures. Maybe I should learn a few phrases in Korean, Chinese, Taiwanese, Vietnamese, and Japanese so I can talk to all the parents in their native tongue.
If anyone knows any of those languages, please translate the following sentences for me.
“Welcome to school.”
“I need you to come to the school.”
“Have a good day.”
“Bean.”
Restaurant Review
I usually bring my lunch to work but when I don’t, I’ll either pick something up at Subway or Rubio’s or I’ll go to the grocery store and get some fruit or a bagel or something. Today, I was headed to the grocery store on my lunch break. On the way, I passed a restaurant called Costa Vida. I had never been there, so on a whim I decided to check it out.
Oh, wait. I have been here before because it is exactly like Café Rio and Barbacoa and like 7 other restaurants in the Salt Lake area. Oh well. It’s nothing new but I decided to eat there anyway.
Yeah, the food is exactly like Café Rio except less tasty and more “throw-uppy.” It was not a good choice.
I got it to-go because I had a book on tape in my car that I was very interested in listening to. I sat in my car in the parking lot and watched the people passing by as I ate and listened to my book. (And if you promise not to laugh, I’ll also tell you that I felt like I was on a stakeout and started to imagine what I was staking-out and then had to remind myself, “Kim, you are not a cop or detective of any kind. You are not on a stakeout. Quit being a nerd.”)
After I was finished eating (I could only eat like half because the food was how-you-say-in-America-nasty.), I went back to work thinking, “I don’t feel good. I paid for that? Did I eat it or rub it on my face? My back hurts!”
I don’t think I’ll be returning to Crappa Vita anytime soon.
P.S. My boss doesn’t think “throw-uppy” is a word. Nerd.
Oh, wait. I have been here before because it is exactly like Café Rio and Barbacoa and like 7 other restaurants in the Salt Lake area. Oh well. It’s nothing new but I decided to eat there anyway.
Yeah, the food is exactly like Café Rio except less tasty and more “throw-uppy.” It was not a good choice.
I got it to-go because I had a book on tape in my car that I was very interested in listening to. I sat in my car in the parking lot and watched the people passing by as I ate and listened to my book. (And if you promise not to laugh, I’ll also tell you that I felt like I was on a stakeout and started to imagine what I was staking-out and then had to remind myself, “Kim, you are not a cop or detective of any kind. You are not on a stakeout. Quit being a nerd.”)
After I was finished eating (I could only eat like half because the food was how-you-say-in-America-nasty.), I went back to work thinking, “I don’t feel good. I paid for that? Did I eat it or rub it on my face? My back hurts!”
I don’t think I’ll be returning to Crappa Vita anytime soon.
P.S. My boss doesn’t think “throw-uppy” is a word. Nerd.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Fun Quiz!
Q. What is decidedly not fun? 
A. Being the only single person in a group of Smug Marrieds.
Great Movie Idea!
I just had a great plot idea for a movie. It would be about a group of unathletic nerds who learn to play baseball by basing it on mathmatical and geometrical principles. It would be called "Angles in the Outfield." Yeah! And Danny Glover could play the hardened coach who learns to believe. And Christopher Lloyd could play that creepy guy who's always hanging out by the bleachers. Or maybe somebody's dad.
The Kidd is Back.
Jason Kidd made his re-debut with Dallas tonight. I remember sitting with my dad watching the Mavs play back when Kidd was on the team the first time. (What was that, James? Like '95, '96ish?) Crazy.Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Y'all are Utarded.
I love words. I'm a real lexiphite. (Ironically, I'm pretty sure that's not a real word.) I also love learning new words. I subscribe to dictionary.com's Word of the Day email and I try to use the word naturally during that day. (Usually people can tell when I've learned a new word because after using it, I look extraordinarily pleased with myself.)
I also love grammar and I use correct grammar whenever appropriate. My elder sister may argue that anytime is the right time for correct grammar, but someone once told me that she didn’t mind that I spoke with proper grammar but she did mind that I had to look so insufferably satisfied with myself when I did so. (It’s okay, Mom. All is forgiven.) And, yes, I know that there is a glaringly obvious grammatical error in my entry titled “Excellence” but I’m not changing it so you can stop emailing me, for the everliving love! (Note to sticklers: I very rarely proofread my entries before posting. Until recently, I figured the only people who read this were my mom and my adoptive father, Donny.)
One of my greatest joys is hearing someone pronounce a word correctly, especially one that is oft mispronounced. It is quite painful to me when I hear someone using a word improperly.
And then I moved to the Land of the Missing Syllables. In Utah, it is quite common for someone to say that he backed his car out of the “grahdge” and then his “famly” took their “anmul” to the “vetinarian” who was so “ignert” and loved looking at himself in a “meer.”
Holy Crackers! It makes me crazy! I never correct people who do so, but I whimper inside every time.
P.S. I just looked it up. The word I wanted is not lexiphile. It's linguaphile.
I also love grammar and I use correct grammar whenever appropriate. My elder sister may argue that anytime is the right time for correct grammar, but someone once told me that she didn’t mind that I spoke with proper grammar but she did mind that I had to look so insufferably satisfied with myself when I did so. (It’s okay, Mom. All is forgiven.) And, yes, I know that there is a glaringly obvious grammatical error in my entry titled “Excellence” but I’m not changing it so you can stop emailing me, for the everliving love! (Note to sticklers: I very rarely proofread my entries before posting. Until recently, I figured the only people who read this were my mom and my adoptive father, Donny.)
One of my greatest joys is hearing someone pronounce a word correctly, especially one that is oft mispronounced. It is quite painful to me when I hear someone using a word improperly.
And then I moved to the Land of the Missing Syllables. In Utah, it is quite common for someone to say that he backed his car out of the “grahdge” and then his “famly” took their “anmul” to the “vetinarian” who was so “ignert” and loved looking at himself in a “meer.”
Holy Crackers! It makes me crazy! I never correct people who do so, but I whimper inside every time.
P.S. I just looked it up. The word I wanted is not lexiphile. It's linguaphile.
Friday, February 15, 2008
My Dad's a Pilot Light.
Yesterday morning, when I got in the shower, the water was cool. Not icy-cold. But definitely not warm enough. I just figured that my roommates had been all showering or running the washer or something and I didn't give it a second thought.
After work, Jaime asked me if I'd had warm water all day. I checked and, sure enough, we only had icy-death-finger-cold water. Dang.
We squeeze into the tiny crawl area that houses the water heater between the washer/dryer and the furnace, get down on the grimy floor and pop open the door that covers the window to the pilot light. It was dark. The dreadful dark of disappointed dreams. (Apparently we were dreaming of not having to relight the pilot.) I called the landlord. He's in Hawaii and could we possibly relight it ourselves?
Sure, no prob. Except I have no idea how to do it. Despite his reassurances that it's "super easy!," we are unnerved by the large red and yellow warning signs that explain that "failure to follow these directions exactly could result in damage to property, personal injury or loss of life."
So I (the bravest one, really) get down there, read the directions twice, ask Alisca to call my mom if I explode, turn the gas to "lighting setting," flip the control to "pilot," and click the lighter.
Nothing. What? I click again. And again. Nothing. Not even a spark. I click the thing 8 times. Uhg! It won't light! On the directions it says if the pilot doesn't light, wait 5 minutes for the gas to disperse ("disperse where?" we ask) and try again. We did this little routine over and over. Try it, wait 5 minutes, try again. All three of us tried it. We saw some sparkage but no flame.
Lily came home with her boyfriend. We tell him what's going on. This is what he says: "Oh no. Did you get it yet?" and walks out. WHAT? We are GIRLS! This is a boy job! He didn't even offer to help. Alisca suspects that he was busy trying to figure out what a pilot was doing in our laundry room. "Pilots fly planes! Where's his plane? I don't see a plane." I suspect that he was busy spraying on more Axe Deodorant Spray.
Well, we can't get it to light. No problem. I'll just call one of my guy friends to stop by and try. So I start flipping through my cell's contact list. Call a few guys. No one's picking up. Weird. My roommate points out that perhaps they are out on dates owning to the fact that it's 9:30pm on Valentine's Day and isn't it an eensy-bit embarrassing to be calling every guy I know the night of Valentine's Day and not even leave a message? Oh, right. Well now I'm mortified. OK.
We start to get a little silly (perhaps it was the dispersing gases?). I know Alisca got some priceless pictures of me crouched next to the water heater, gasping with laughter.
We gave up around midnight and went to bed. This morning I steeled myself up for another cold shower but when the time came for it, I just couldn't do it. It's too cold and I am a wimp. So I turned back time to the 18th century instead. I boiled a pan of water, mixed it with some cool water and had a bath. I felt so rustic.
Jaime called me at work about an hour ago to let me know that the owner had sent over a plumber who turned on the pilot light on the first try. Well, that's embarrassing. Even following the directions carefully, we couldn't get the results that Andy the Plumber did. Apparently, you have to "pump" the gas feed as you click.
So if your pilot light goes out and you want someone to mess with it for 3 hours without making any progress, you know who to call.
After work, Jaime asked me if I'd had warm water all day. I checked and, sure enough, we only had icy-death-finger-cold water. Dang.
We squeeze into the tiny crawl area that houses the water heater between the washer/dryer and the furnace, get down on the grimy floor and pop open the door that covers the window to the pilot light. It was dark. The dreadful dark of disappointed dreams. (Apparently we were dreaming of not having to relight the pilot.) I called the landlord. He's in Hawaii and could we possibly relight it ourselves?
Sure, no prob. Except I have no idea how to do it. Despite his reassurances that it's "super easy!," we are unnerved by the large red and yellow warning signs that explain that "failure to follow these directions exactly could result in damage to property, personal injury or loss of life."
So I (the bravest one, really) get down there, read the directions twice, ask Alisca to call my mom if I explode, turn the gas to "lighting setting," flip the control to "pilot," and click the lighter.
Nothing. What? I click again. And again. Nothing. Not even a spark. I click the thing 8 times. Uhg! It won't light! On the directions it says if the pilot doesn't light, wait 5 minutes for the gas to disperse ("disperse where?" we ask) and try again. We did this little routine over and over. Try it, wait 5 minutes, try again. All three of us tried it. We saw some sparkage but no flame.
Lily came home with her boyfriend. We tell him what's going on. This is what he says: "Oh no. Did you get it yet?" and walks out. WHAT? We are GIRLS! This is a boy job! He didn't even offer to help. Alisca suspects that he was busy trying to figure out what a pilot was doing in our laundry room. "Pilots fly planes! Where's his plane? I don't see a plane." I suspect that he was busy spraying on more Axe Deodorant Spray.
Well, we can't get it to light. No problem. I'll just call one of my guy friends to stop by and try. So I start flipping through my cell's contact list. Call a few guys. No one's picking up. Weird. My roommate points out that perhaps they are out on dates owning to the fact that it's 9:30pm on Valentine's Day and isn't it an eensy-bit embarrassing to be calling every guy I know the night of Valentine's Day and not even leave a message? Oh, right. Well now I'm mortified. OK.
We start to get a little silly (perhaps it was the dispersing gases?). I know Alisca got some priceless pictures of me crouched next to the water heater, gasping with laughter.
We gave up around midnight and went to bed. This morning I steeled myself up for another cold shower but when the time came for it, I just couldn't do it. It's too cold and I am a wimp. So I turned back time to the 18th century instead. I boiled a pan of water, mixed it with some cool water and had a bath. I felt so rustic.
Jaime called me at work about an hour ago to let me know that the owner had sent over a plumber who turned on the pilot light on the first try. Well, that's embarrassing. Even following the directions carefully, we couldn't get the results that Andy the Plumber did. Apparently, you have to "pump" the gas feed as you click.
So if your pilot light goes out and you want someone to mess with it for 3 hours without making any progress, you know who to call.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Mid-day Email Exchange
My roommate and I frequently send each other emails during the day to encourage, entertain, or vent.
Today, Alisca sent me this:
They are trying to get under my skin today at this dumb place and so far it's working! I'll be lucky if I survive the rest of the day! Hope you are having a lovely day today. I will see you this evening (once again, if I survive).
This was my response:
You should do what I do: Tell everyone that you have a rare skin disorder that is very contagious and very fatal and that everybody better not come too close or they could catch it and they should be nice to you or you'll come back and haunt them when you inevitably die from your disorder. And make up a really cool/scary name for it. Like Fhurflauxun Leprosy.
Today, Alisca sent me this:
They are trying to get under my skin today at this dumb place and so far it's working! I'll be lucky if I survive the rest of the day! Hope you are having a lovely day today. I will see you this evening (once again, if I survive).
This was my response:
You should do what I do: Tell everyone that you have a rare skin disorder that is very contagious and very fatal and that everybody better not come too close or they could catch it and they should be nice to you or you'll come back and haunt them when you inevitably die from your disorder. And make up a really cool/scary name for it. Like Fhurflauxun Leprosy.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
That's the plan, Stan.
If I didn’t already know that time is either a real factor that is an integral part of our world or a relative system to give order to the passage of events and that either way it is not able to be owned and in no way respects ownership, I would say that 2008 is my year.
I’ve concluded that this year, I am going to take chances. I’m not living a stagnant, trite life. I’m so going to own this year!
So here’s part of my plan (hereafter referred to as The Plan): I am going to try something new each month in 2008. Real things. Not just, “I’m going to try driving to work wearing mittens.”
For example, in January my “new thing” was to make a (relatively) large investment into a small business. I really don’t know if it’s going to work out or if it will be something I really regret, but the point is: I DID IT. And right now I feel good.
So if anyone else desires to join me on my quest for self-fulfillment, please do. We can try new things together. And if anyone else who doesn’t need a plan for taking chances wants to give me some ideas or encouragement, I’m all about that.
I’ve concluded that this year, I am going to take chances. I’m not living a stagnant, trite life. I’m so going to own this year!
So here’s part of my plan (hereafter referred to as The Plan): I am going to try something new each month in 2008. Real things. Not just, “I’m going to try driving to work wearing mittens.”
For example, in January my “new thing” was to make a (relatively) large investment into a small business. I really don’t know if it’s going to work out or if it will be something I really regret, but the point is: I DID IT. And right now I feel good.
So if anyone else desires to join me on my quest for self-fulfillment, please do. We can try new things together. And if anyone else who doesn’t need a plan for taking chances wants to give me some ideas or encouragement, I’m all about that.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Passive Agressive Kim
This is an actual conversation I had with a co-worker today.
CW: (slamming a huge stack of papers on my desk) You don't mind if I set these here for a minute, do you?
Me: (muttering) As long as you don't mind me smacking you in the head.
CW: What?
Me: Nothing.
CW: (slamming a huge stack of papers on my desk) You don't mind if I set these here for a minute, do you?
Me: (muttering) As long as you don't mind me smacking you in the head.
CW: What?
Me: Nothing.
Abstinence . . . kind of
I've decided to only have 1 Diet Pepsi everyday. Today is the first day. I only brought 1 can to work and told myself to put off opening it as long as I could because it was the only one I was getting, young lady, and don't come crying to me if you drink it all up and still want more.
I made it to 9:23am.
I made it to 9:23am.
Night thoughts.
I always have "really good ideas" at night while I'm sleeping but I can't ever remember them in the morning, so a few nights ago I put a pencil and a yellow legal pad right next to my bed so I can write down some of my brilliant ideas.
The first few nights didn't produce anything, but last night I struck gold. This is what I wrote down in barely legible scrawl: (I swear I'm not making this up)
Ideas
oilcan jokes
contacts umbrellas?
Joe Rogan
I think I had a "really good idea" for objects that double as contact lenses and, yes, umbrellas. I remember that Joe Rogan thought it was a great idea.
Not sure about oilcan jokes. Really have no idea.
The first few nights didn't produce anything, but last night I struck gold. This is what I wrote down in barely legible scrawl: (I swear I'm not making this up)
Ideas
oilcan jokes
contacts umbrellas?
Joe Rogan
I think I had a "really good idea" for objects that double as contact lenses and, yes, umbrellas. I remember that Joe Rogan thought it was a great idea.
Not sure about oilcan jokes. Really have no idea.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Bloody Knees
Salt Lake is a huge sheet of ice right now and I am a huge klutz always so you can probably already tell where this is going. Also, I often wear heels, which may be appropriate for the workplace, but not so much in the outside world.
Today I was outside work walking with my boss. We were chatting and walking along when I hit a patch of ice and totally biffed it. Not just a little slip and fall, but a flailing-arms-shouting-loudly-contorted-faces-horrible fall. Right on my knees. Ouch. She was so sympathetic and I was so embarrassed! I told her I was fine and managed to walk normally, grinning horribly, back inside and all the way to my desk. Once there, I peeked at my knees under my desk.
Pure carnage.
So now I’m stuck at my desk. I really cannot get up without some sort of involuntary gasping and cursing and I don’t know if I want all my co-workers to see me all bloody, hobbling to the ladies room. I’m also dissolving in giggles right now because this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Winter sucks.
Today I was outside work walking with my boss. We were chatting and walking along when I hit a patch of ice and totally biffed it. Not just a little slip and fall, but a flailing-arms-shouting-loudly-contorted-faces-horrible fall. Right on my knees. Ouch. She was so sympathetic and I was so embarrassed! I told her I was fine and managed to walk normally, grinning horribly, back inside and all the way to my desk. Once there, I peeked at my knees under my desk.
Pure carnage.
So now I’m stuck at my desk. I really cannot get up without some sort of involuntary gasping and cursing and I don’t know if I want all my co-workers to see me all bloody, hobbling to the ladies room. I’m also dissolving in giggles right now because this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Winter sucks.
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