Friends like these

I avoid going to the doctor for anything except the most extreme circumstances. When I broke a rib a few months ago, I held onto the hope that the pain would just go away and didn't end up at the doctor's office until four days after the incident. And a few years ago when I burned my hand so badly that a chunk of flesh actually fell off my finger (how's THAT for a mental picture?) I just dunked it in cold water and bandaged it sloppily, convinced "it should be fine in a day or two."

I hate being a bother. I always think my complaints sound dumb and whiny.

"Well, Doc, I just don't feel very well," I'll tell him.

"Aww, does Princess feel yucky?" I imagine the doctor saying. "Well, Cupcake, maybe you just need to toughen up and stop wasting everyone's time with your widdle boo-boos."

This is why, even after three and a half days of excruciating head pain and nausea, I had absolutely no intention of making an appointment with the doctor. My roommates forced me (and by that I mean Gretchen physically picked me up, shoved a coat on me and plopped me into a waiting car) to go to the hospital after I blacked out while standing at the kitchen sink and slammed my head into the rock-hard linoleum. According to them (I don't remember any of this), I was decidedly against leaving the house and fought violently to remain exactly where I was on the floor.

Their stubbornness, surprisingly, exceeded my own and I soon found myself curled up in a wheelchair in the local emergency room complaining about the brightness of the lights, the coldness of the room and the "fish swimming in my eyes." I lay in the hospital bed shivering violently as the cold IV fluids flooded my system and Liz jumped up to get me another blanket. "No," I protested, "I'm fine. Really." She ignored me, as usual, and tucked extra covers around me tightly. I scolded her gently for fussing over me but still blinked back tears of gratitude.

As I regained my strength over the next twenty-two hours, Karen was ever-present with "Can I get you anything?" "Do you need anything?" "Can I get you something?" I might have pretended to be annoyed with "all the fuss" but, in reality, each question was translated in my mind as "I care about you," "I care about you," "I care."

And my dear friend, Keith, touchingly rushed to my side. He sat next to me, held my hand, made me laugh. He made me feel loved.

It's a strange thing, people doting over you, especially when you take pains to avoid this situation. These people I see every day were suddenly a troop of mothers whose only goal was to secure my comfort.

Sometimes it's easy to feel alone. It's easy to think and accept that no one really cares, that you're in this thing alone. And you learn to look out for yourself, to take care of yourself, to resist relying on anyone else. But someday you find a patient roommate lifting your sobbing, limp body off the kitchen floor, you'll get a text just checking on you, you'll feel gentle fingers pressing your own and then you'll know: you're not alone.

And you will feel loved.

With friends like these . . . well, a girl could do worse than friends like these.

Christmas Decor Ideas!

Merry Christmas, my darling friends!

Snow is the worst thing.

Is there anything worse than snow?

Well, maybe genocide. That's pretty bad.

Okay, snow is the second worst thing.

New Strategy

I got a melon the other day and saw a sticker on it proclaiming, "I am DELICIOUS!"


That's good marketing right there. Out of all the melons in the store, why are you going to choose that one? Because it tells you right on the front it's a good pick.


That gave me a great idea:



This is sure to get me a husband, right?

You know what's awesome?

When you're a snarky bizzo and then karma turns around and smacks you upside the head.

Wait.

Did I say "awesome"?


I meant "pretty gay."






Also, is anyone in the market for a reliable* Rodeo?

---

*slightly broken

To the guy who was driving too fast on icy roads this morning and caused an accident which delayed my commute by half an hour:

Thanks for being awesome.


Love, Kim

How to Deal With Co-Workers, Vol. 1

I have a co-worker whose motto is, "It could always be worse." Whenever anyone complains about anything, she's right there, in all her incredibly irritating glory, to tell you that's it's not so bad. I've discovered a great way of dealing with her. Take this exchange from this morning:

Me: "Brr! It's so cold!"

Co-worker: "Well, it could be worse. Imagine if you didn't have a coat."

Co-worker: "Ow! You just slapped me!"

Me: "Well, it could be worse. Imagine if I'd stabbed you!"



Seriously, I should be charging you people for this stuff. I'm like a professional-relationship genius.

Being clumsy is (not) awesome.

I speak run-on fluently.

Co-worker, as I make a (very) sharp turn while going (alarmingly) fast: Look at you careening around!

Me: Yeah. Hey, interesting thing about the word careen: it's so similar to the word career, as in "careering down the street," that some people use the two words interchangeably but they actually mean different things. Career means to go swiftly, careen means to go swiftly while also swerving or teetering. So you can be careering without careening, but you can't be careening without careering. You used the word careen appropriately because I was actually swerving around that turn. Pretty interesting, huh? The two words are so commonly interchanged that it might be priggish to insist on separate definitions but if you understand the origins of the words, it makes sense to distinguish between them. I mean, that's the whole point in having definitions for words: to reduce ambiguity. Right? So why would we want to strip away the distinct meaning of words which could bring greater clarity to the sentence? I don't know, maybe I am priggish but I don't see anything wrong with trying to keep language precise. I mean, sure, I'll admit that language is always evolving and definitions change so that might be the struggle of all language purists: insist on the original definition or allow what is commonly accepted?

Pause.

Co-worker: Kim. (sigh) Sometimes you make my brain hurt.

Me: I know. Sorry.

Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters.

If you've interacted with me at all in the past month, you've probably heard at least twelve times that my little sister and her daughter were coming to stay with me for Thanksgiving.

Because FUN and EXCITING, RIGHT?!

Shopping at Gardner Village.

At the zoo.

Seeing the lights at Temple Square. (Also, engagement photo?)

During our Black Friday shopping adventures.

There's something special about sisters. Yesterday, as I stood be-slippered and shivering at the end of my driveway watching Sandra drive off into the gray morning, I felt the burning pang of homesickness. Not for any place, but for my sisters. I love all my brothers, I have a great relationship with my parents and adore my dear friends, but my fondest and best memories are the times I spend with my sisters.




Amy, Sandra, Michelle? Any of you want to move to Utah? It's really cold here and sometimes the whole city smells like egg salad. C'mon! It's great!




But seriously, Sandy, thank you so much for coming. It was great to have you around. Can't wait to see you again! (We'll have to finish our Canasta game eventually, right?)

New Moon Highlights

A quick recap:

Twilight: Bella, an angsty teen, likes a boy but knows there's something strange about him. She finds out he is a vampire. They commence making out. The End.

New Moon: Bella, an angsty teen, likes a boy but knows there's something strange about him. She finds out he is a werewolf. Then she goes off to find a vampire to make out with. The End. (Oooh, burn, Jacob!)

---

My favorite scene:

Bella: I'm really, really sad.

Jacob: Would it help if I took off my shirt?

Bella: No. Well, maybe a little.

Kim: HELLS YEAH!

---

A creepy similarity:


Aro, the head of the Volturi, reminded me of the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It was freaking me out the whole 6 minutes of the movie that wasn't about how Bella was really sad.

This guy gave me childhood nightmares.

---

Why the people sitting next to me were shooting dirty looks my way:

On-screen, Edward disrobes.

Audience: Swoon

Kim: Holy crap! What is wrong with his nipple? Karen, do you see that?

Karen, crying with restrained laughter, is unable to comment.

---

Also:

Rawr.

Words of Wisdom

Donny called me the other night and offered a little insight into what it's like in an military training facility.



On the weapons requirement:

I have to have my M-16 and my 9mm on me at all times. If I want to go outside, I have to have two weapons. If I'm eating, two weapons. Even if I'm in the bathroom, two weapons. Basically the only time I don't have to be armed is when I'm in the shower . . . with 15 other men . . . who I don't know . . . who are naked.




On communal showers:

You're in the shower and you turn around and some guy is standing there and your first instinct is to say, "Hey! What are you doing in here?" But then you look around and see you're in a big room with twenty shower heads and a dozen men and you say, calmly and a little sadly to yourself, "Oh. Yeah. I remember."




On the threat of being court marshaled and discharged:

Oh, yeah, that'd be awful. I'd have to go home. To my wife and kid. Where it's safe. Sheesh! I really want to avoid that at all cost.




On the applicability of his training:

I had to take training on Maintaining a Dominant Physical Stance. So, basically, How to Look Tough. The cool thing about this is it's something I can totally use when I get back home. "Oh, you won't give me a loan?" (strike pose) "How about now, buddy?!"

Ratio

Upon reflection, I've noted that the amount of times per day I get annoyed with my boss is directly proportional to the daily number of times she asks me to come fix her computer.

Don't-nuts

A parent brought doughnuts into school today for all the staff. He put them on my desk and I, being all willpowery, declined to take one and asked someone to take the box to the teacher's lounge.

Critical mistake.

Within three minutes of the doughnuts being whisked away, I started craving one of those sugary little delights like you would not believe. But, after making a big show about how I Don't Want One, Thanks, I can't just slink over to the teacher's lounge now and get one. I would need an excuse to go to the lounge and do something then act all surprised to see doughnuts there and then say something like, "Oh, doughnuts? Where did these come from? I guess I'll try one."

But what excuse could I use? I considered my options and realized the only legitimate excuse would be to go refill my water bottle. Yet, I realized with chagrin, I'd filled it when I got to work and had almost a whole liter of water in plain sight on my desk. I have to drink it all first.



So now here I am, chugging water and thinking about how much I want a doughnut.


My life is ridiculous.

This girl is bananas.

My little sister called me the other day.

Sandy: "Hey, I was thinking about hermaphrodites today."

Me: "Best. Conversation. Starter. Ever?"

Sandy: "Huuh, yeeeeaah."

Later in the conversation she offered to send me a picture of her uterus.














I declined.

I guess they're in season

I went to Steinmart last night to buy something for my grandmother's birthday. I've seen old people milling around that store before and I expected it to be a good place for grandma-ish stuff. What I didn't expect was how pear-y it was in there. (Sorry for the poor picture quality; I only had my phone with me.)

Bowls of pears . . .

and tubes of pears,

special drawers for your pears,



pears on trays,



even pears in a punch bowl.



Look at these nice pea . . . . what? What is that? Get the hell out, lemon! This is a pear-only area!

I'm surprised the pear-holding capabilities of this tray were overlooked.

Steinmart, I'm a little disappointed.

Open Letter

Dear Kim,


Where have you been? We miss you!


Love,
your REM cycle

Afeard

Scary movies scare me.

Yeah, I know you're thinking, "Duh, Kim, that's the point." But I don't think you understand. Scary movies really, really scare me.

The other day I was watching a scary (edited for TV) movie in the middle of the day with all the lights on and commercial breaks and two other people within shrieking distance and I still couldn't take it. That's why Karen walked in the room to see me with my Snuggie* pulled over my head and me whispering, "I don't like it! I don't like it! I don't like it!"

Recently I was over at my dear friends' house watching The Omen (p.s. not really that scary). At one point something onscreen frightened me into a severe panic and I lunged over the coffee table, onto the couch and into the lap of a very startled man. On the way over the table, unfortunately, I knocked a glass and sent it shattering across the room. Yes, I am awesome.

To make amends for my lunacy, I purchased a set of the glasses and brought them to my friends with a note:

Gentlemen,

So sorry my spastic and reckless behavior has brought such destruction to your home. Here's hoping this peace offering makes up for my behavior. (I purchased a full set in faith that I might be excused for any future occurrences of temporary insanity.)

Always,
Kim

I hope the friendship can be salvaged. Also, I am really entertaining to watch scary movies with. Want to be entertained? Rent The Shining and invite me over. (Note: use only plastic glasses.)



*Have I not mentioned my Snuggie before? Funny, I thought I had.

Quiz

Who can guess the point in the meeting where my ADD kicked in?

It's a mystery.

Me and Corey Hart

Within two-fifteenths of a second after my alarm sounds each morning, my little hand shoots out of my blanket cocoon to the nightstand to hit the OFF button. On the way back to back to bed, the hand takes a detour to grab my glasses and shove them on my face so I can see the clock and determine exactly how many minutes I have to snuggle in bed and fantasize about unemployment before I absolutely have to get up.

This morning, the same routine: alarm, hand rockets out, alarm off, glasses on. I sat up, startled, in a bleary-eyed panic as a wondered, "DID I GO BLIND OVERNIGHT? I CAN'T SEE!"

It was then I realized I was not wearing my glasses; I had on my sunglasses. All is well. I'm not blind.


Now if you'll excuse me, I must go call my mother to inquire if I suffered severe brain injury in my youth for I'm fairly certain I'm kind of an idiot more often than is normal.

Vicodin, like meatball subs, is really good but only in moderation.

I joined a flag football team a little while back and was surprised at the intensity of some of the other women in the league. Um, they’re incredibly intimidating, like, "ARRG! Football! I am totally hard-core and buff and that's why I'm on a football team!! ARRG!"

I, on the other hand, joined because one day I was thinking, "You know what would be hilarious . . ."

Our game on Saturday was pretty intense, and by "intense" I mean "horrifyingly vicious". There were injuries and penalties all over the place and it seems that everyone threw the instinct for self-preservation right out of the game. It was ferocious. By the end of the game I had given myself over to ugly-girl-cry sobbing. Because I'm tough.

I woke up Sunday and thought, “Good mornOW, OW, OWOWOWOWOW!” I gingerly pulled myself out of bed and inspected my poor, battered body*. Various contusions on my arms, legs and face greeted me along with a bruise the size of a loaf of bread covering my ribcage. It kind of felt like I had been hit by a truck but while I was getting hit by the truck I was tackled by a bear and then the truck ran over me and then the bear punched me in the jaw. I determined some serious painkillers were in order. Luckily, I happened to have a bottle of Vicodin from back when I had surgery a little while ago. Yay, Vicodin! I popped a couple of those babies along with a muscle relaxer and was feeling good. So good I was singing Journey at the top of my lungs on my way to church and I think I might have accidentally hit on my home teacher afterward. I made it through church and back home before the pain hit me again. So I took some more Vicodin.

And then I got really sleepy and then I freaked out because I've seen those commercials with the people who accidentally overdosed on painkillers and fell asleep and never woke up and I don't want to die! So I drank about a liter of Diet Coke so I wouldn't fall asleep.

I realized eventually I would need to actually sleep sometime so I wrote a touching note to my roommies that read "In the off-chance I don't wake up in the morning, I just want you to know I've really enjoyed living with you. Also, would you please return my library books? Thanks!" Instead of the expressions of concern and worry I would expect from my closest friends right before I'm going to die by the way, they just started calling who gets what when I go. Karen claimed my books and Gretchen wants my movie collection and my aquarium. Thanks, ladies.

You'll all be happy to know I did, in fact, wake up this morning and have a new zeal for life because I freaking cheated death last night. What, what!



*As much as we all wish to be one of those classy women who exude sophistication, there comes a time when we find ourselves standing in front of a mirror rubbing IcyHot on our bare bum. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Conversation with a three-year-old. Also, I am seriously so awesome with kids.

Child: I LOVE THOMAS!

Me: Who's Thomas?

C, holding up a small toy: THOMAS THE TRAIN!

M: Well, that's technically not a train. A train is a series of connected railway cars with an attached locomotive. What you have there is a tank engine. (patronizing chuckle) I'm surprised you didn't know that.

(Child pauses to examine toy.)

C: I LOVE THOMAS!

The grossest word I can think of

globule


Seriously, how gross is that word?

I have a Facebook quiz that might disagree with you.

I had lunch today with my awesome friend. This is the same friend who told me I remind her of a character from The Office.

Which character?

Is it Michael, the impetuous idiot who needs a lot of attention?


Karen, the sexy but totally fun and cool girl?


Andy, the toady anger-management case?





No, no, no, no, no, my friends.














Is that not awesome? I mean, this is not the most flattering comparison I've ever been involved in but I just can't be offended because it's like the most awesome thing I've ever heard. I can't stop using the word "awesome" because that is the only way to describe how I feel about being compared to Kevin Malone, the man who once said, "I just want to lie on the beach and eat hot dogs. That's all I've ever wanted." I am overcome with awesome.


And now, my very favorite Kevin moment ever.

Logic

On my key chain, I have a rape whistle. Just in case.



And in my purse I carry a second, backup rape whistle. In case something happens to my primary rape whistle.



This makes perfect sense to me.

*cough, cough*

I have a cold and, while I'd love nothing more than to be curled up under a pile of blankets right now, I'm plugging away at my desk.

Not without the help of a few necessities, though.

(Seriously, who invented this stuff? It's amazing.)

Ahh, I almost have motivation to work today. Almost.




P.S. Someone half-heartedly rolled out of bed 20 minutes before she had to leave the house this morning and grabbed the first clothes her hands landed on in the closet. After sitting at her desk for over an hour, she realizes her outfit doesn't exactly match. Like at all. Not even close.

I've give you three guesses who this person is.

My Life is Sometimes Kind of Weird

Jeff the Musician was at my house last night. He wanted to share with me a new song he had written but he didn't have his guitar with him. He was disgusted with us for not having an acceptable alternate instrument.

"I could go get my accordion," Gretchen offered.

There were a few seconds of silence then, slowly, every head in the room turned toward her.

"I'm sorry, your what?" I asked, dumbfounded that I could live with someone for so long and still be so unaware of her musical holdings.

"Uh, my accordion?" she repeated, disappearing into the basement. She was greeted with squeals and applause on her return a few minutes later, laden with a dusty accordion.

The apparatus was passed around the room; all of us immediate children, giggling as we pushed buttons and made funny noises. Keith called in the middle of my (fantastic) composition. He asked, "Hey, what are you up to?"

"Uh, I'm playing a freakin' accordion, that's what I'm up to."

He paused and then said, "Hang on, you're pla . . . what? Where are you?"

"I'm on my couch, Keith," I said. "I am on my couch playing an accordion. Can you even deal with that awesome?"

Then I put him on speakerphone so he could hear me play the accordion because I didn't want him to think I'm one of those girls who will tell people on the phone that she's playing an accordion when she's really not. You know the type.

He told me it was the best accordion music he'd heard all day*. Aww, shucks.



*Did you just think of Roy from Season 3 of The Office, too? "Your art was the prettiest art of all the art."

Bubba-o-lantern

We carved pumpkins for FHE this week. Robin wanted to make a scary, gut-y type pumpkin but I really wanted something cute. Robin, ever the gentleman, obliged.

I was very excited.

Heeey, guuyys! Doh-do-do!*

I knew I needed a knife to carve but I wasn't sure if I'd have time to go home after work so I put one in my handbag before I left in the morning. Aaannd then I walked around all day with a large knife in my purse. I went to the supermarket, a meeting, the dry cleaners oh yeah, and work. Like the school where I work. You know, the one full of children. The one where you probably shouldn't be carrying knives into. And somehow this didn't set off any alarm bells in my mind?


*I wish I knew how to upload an audio clip so you could hear the way I say this. I've been cracking myself up all week. Heeey, guuyys! Heh, heh, heh.

Identity

My mom always signs her text messages with Sherrie/Mom.

As if I have a ton of friends named Sherrie who send me texts reading, "Have a good day, punkin!" and she is just clarifying that she is the Sherrie who is actually also my mom. Or maybe she thinks I have other moms and she wants me to know which one is sending me "Hey are you up yet? Call me when you wake up," at 5 am on a Saturday.

Should I start signing my texts back Kim/Your Child?

My Trip to the Old Line State

It's always lovely to pop back East for a visit. Actually it doesn't matter where you pop for visits, it's always lovely to do things like not work and eat Mom's apple scallop by the fistful, both activities in which I engaged with much vigor.

A few highlights:
I hit the Inner Harbor and Fort McHenry with Amy and her family. We also went to Arlington where I found some people who may or may not be relations. The National Archives was my favorite part of our foray into D.C. We were walking out of the Rotunda when I asked Matt (7) what he thought of the Constitution.

"The what?" he asked.

"Um, the Constitution. Of the United States. Didn't you see it?"

When he replied in the negative, I circled back with him and held him aloft so he could secure a viewing. I mean, come on, you can't go to the National Archives and not see the Constitution.

"Is it that?" he asked, pointing to a painting on the wall.

"No. The Constitution. Right there." I said.

"Uh, where?" he asked.

"Right there. Right there. In that big case with all the security personnel. Right in front of you."

"Oh. You mean that big paper thing?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I saw that."

On the way out I gave Matt a quick (relatively) history of this country's constitution to which he responded that I was "being more boring than 500 boring teachers put together." Ouch.

Mom and I took a day trip to Monticello, which was simply delightful. We wandered round and round the gardens and grounds, both reluctant to leave such a lovely place. If you find yourself near Charlottesville without anything to do, I strongly recommend checking this place out. Like, seriously, strongly. Like, I can't wait to go back strongly.

Would you like to see some of the five thousand pictures I took? Welp, have at it.

Shake your bootie!

My sister had a kid last month. I'd usually be gushing all over the place about how perfect this kid is and how he's the sweetest lil' thing to come out of the East Coast since Boston Cream Pie and all but I haven't actually met the guy yet. Who knows? He might actually be kind of a jerk. I'll be all, "Hi, Baby," and he'll be like, "Dude, whatever. Talk to the slobber 'cause the face won't bother," or something like that. Then I'd have to give a redaction on my pre-meeting gushes and that would be embarrassing. I'd hate to have misrepresented something here because, as we all know, this blog is about the truth, plain and simple.

So that's why I've played it safe and kept mum on the whole thing, but now I just can't hold this in any more. I'm heading to Baltimore to visit the fam and see the baby [insert obligatory Seinfeld reference here] in like nine hours (I should probably be packing, huh?) so tonight I stitched up a little giftie for the little guy.

Are you ready for this??

Shut. Up.

Did your heart not melt into a little puddle of goo just then? Are you clutching your ovaries and weeping right now? Seriously. If you are not physically ill from the cuteness overload here, you clearly have no soul.

I'll let you know how the baby takes to them when I see him. If he says, "Why the crap did you make me shoes? I'm a freaking baby. Meaning I can't walk," I'll be pretty ticked.





Hey, look! The missing Seinfeld reference!

Buffalo!

There is nothing like an adventure, is there? Unless it's an adventure with good friends.

Andrea "A-Slice", Robin and I headed out to Antelope Island over the weekend. Can you believe I've lived in Utah for 5 years and I'd never been there? Crazy.

On the way, we stopped at Burger Bar in Roy. Robin was much pleased.




Once we were in, we got all excited about the buffalo. Seriously, is there anything cooler than a buffalo? If you said yes you are a liar.




Hey, let's take a picture of the sun! It's way arty and I bet no one else has ever thought of it!

Sweet.

"Hello up there, tall Robin!"

A besotted couple was having a romantic evening. Until we showed up, that is.




Hey, Kim. Why don't you try to take a self-portrait as you balance precariously on a large boulder while the wind is whipping you to and fro? O-kay!

Sunset or forest fire?


Seriously! Buffalo!