A single girl's version of posting pictures of her cute baby.

Okay, everyone. Please take a moment and revere the amazingly green-thumbed Kim who can make plants grow through sheer force of will . . . and by tilling the soil for hours, wading through bags of steer manure, placing each seed gently in its appropriate place, coaxing said seeds to life through careful application of hydration and fertilization, obsessively removing weeds and evil insects, and tearfully wishing and praying. Just that simple, folks.

I'm really getting into this gardening thing. Next year I'll be donning denim overalls and a plaid shirt, leaning against my fence while chewing on the end of a dry wheat stalk and shaking my head slowly. "Yep. The summer of '38 . . . that was a dry one. Lost 'bout half the crop, we did."

Does anyone know where I can get a tractor cheap?

Radishes

Ornamental Cabbage

Lettuce

Marigolds

Onions

Carrots
Spinach
Zucchini
And one little sweet pea shoot (collective "aww!")

I'd show you the tomatoes but, uh, I guess I didn't pray hard enough for those guys. So sad because garden-fresh tomatoes = big red balls of heaven. (Which would be a pretty cool name for a rock band.)



Dibs!

Last Night

10:30 pm - Decided to go to bed.

11:45 pm - Went to bed.

12:00 am - Dozed off in blissful slumber.

3:50 am - Awoke with a start because never received confirmation email from auto-payment for car insurance this month. Lay awake fretting for several minutes, worried bill would be late.

4:00 am - Pulled out laptop to double-check payment actually went through. It did. Relief.

4:15 am - Wide awake now, decide to track Amazon shipment, return emails, etc . . . End up watching Eddie Izzard bits on youtube.

6:00 am - Glance at the clock and reel in horror, realizing have just burned up 2 hours of precious sleeping-time. Put laptop away, determined to sneak in additional hour of sleep.

6:10 am - Still wide awake, tried to cajole myself to get up and go for jog before work. Realize getting out of warm blanket-cocoon to run around outside ranks on the list of appealing things somewhere between getting kicked in the teeth and spooning with a wild boar.

6:20 am - Doze off.

7:00 am - Alarm goes off. Laugh at its pathetic attempt to rouse me. This cycle continues for some time. Finally succeed in getting out of bed a whopping 40 minutes after alarm sounds.

7:45 am - Stumble into shower and promptly dump a quarter-cup of shampoo on loofah. Drop razor and bang head on shower door. Determine today will be an interesting day.

Which may come in handy if I'm ever on Jeopardy

When my sister was giving me her new phone number, she offered a handy mnemonic device to remember it. The last four numbers were 1-6-0-2 and she brightly told me, "And you can always remember it because that's the year Shakespeare's Twelfth Night was first performed!"

I laughed because of course that's exactly the first thing I would think.

A few years have passed but I think about Twelfth Night every time I dial her number. She'll be getting a new number in a few weeks and you have no idea how much I am hoping it contains a date with some significance to Elizabethan literature. I'm waiting for her to call and say, "And you can remember it because that's the year Christopher Marlowe died!" or "This one's easy because it's when John Donne became an Anglican priest."

Please, please phone-number-assigner guy. Give her a good one.

Happy

I took a drive up Big Cottonwood the other day. Sun shining, windows down, the exhilarative mountain air flipping my hair six ways to Sunday and me singing at the top of my lungs to Bruce Channel.



There might be something happier than this but I can't imagine what.

Give me a break, I may have recently suffered a stroke. Also, a great way to profit on my death.

For six months or so I’ve been getting frequent, debilitating headache attacks. I often get headaches if I skip my daily caffeine intake but I’ve been patronizing the local Top Stop with usual vigor so I don’t think that’s the problem. It was proposed my headaches were caused by too much caffeine, and I countered with the idea that Godzilla or the Baba Yaga was to blame because, seriously, is there such a thing as too much caffeine? (I know there is. Leave me alone, Judgy McJudgers.)

Well, because I have special powers, I was convinced of, you know, the Worst Thing. Brain parasites also crossed my mind, but that’s all House’s fault. In order to further my unease, I headed over to WebMD, the gathering place for the hypochondriacally-afflicted. Now my options are aneurism, malocclusion, aseptic meningitis or stroke. Yeah, I’ve been sleeping really well lately.

So here's where you folks come in. Vote on my headache poll (in the sidebar) and tell me what you think is causing my pain. Then I'll go to a doctor and, if you're correct, I'll name you as beneficiary on my life insurance and then when I die, you'll get a sweet 50 grand (to be divided among the people who voted correctly)!


Isn't this the coolest blog contest ever?

How True

I bet my friend he wouldn't be able to finish the fried chicken meal he ordered at dinner. When he showed me his plate covered with picked-clean bones, I still protested.

"Look at all that stuff you didn't eat!" I said.

"That's just skin," he argued. "Skin doesn't count."

Another of our dining companions smirked, "That's not what the bishop said."

Match Made in Heaven

I've said it once and I'll say it again, my roommate Karen is my long-lost twin. (She got the looks, I got the awkward social skills.) The synchronization of our minds is so complete, we can carry on complete conversations with no one else in the room following along.

So the other night Karen confesses to me she adores men in glasses. I nod in furious agreement. For attestation of my enchantment with men in frames, let's review all the guys I've dated who didn't wear glasses: Graham . . . Nate . . . and, uh . . . Ken. That's it. Three non-bespectacled guys in the history of my dating life. (A history that would provide hours of entertainment for you all if I were so inclined to share. Seriously.)

A few minutes later I comment on my attraction to guys with puffy hair, a la Colin Firth and Jeremy Northam. "Ooo, yes," Karen concurs.

Then she pulls out, "Hey, what about a puffy-haired guy in glasses? Hot right?"

I respond, "I don't know how I would restrain myself."

The doorbell rings seconds later and I hop up to get it. Standing there was a puffy-haired guy wearing glasses. Dead serious. Somehow Karen and I bridled our passion, but not our giggles which persisted late into the evening.

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Karen, thanks for being stupid with me.

I Wonder

When someone begins counting, "1, 2, 3, 4, " am I the only one who continues in my head, "Get your woman on the floor"?


And yes, it is 1996. Can I get a what-what?

O woeful day!* Also, the post where I use excessive parentheses.

I hate to cry. It's quite possibly my least favorite thing in the universe. (And that's saying something, what with the Dixie Chicks and leggings paired with skirts still on the table.) Usually if I feel the urge to cry I'll tell myself, "Snap out of it! You're a grown woman!" And then if I still need to cry, I allow myself a couple of tears and then clear my throat and say, "Snap out of it! You're a grown woman!" I'm not kidding when I say I very rarely cry.

But this week . . . ugh . . . this week has been a week. Basically, everything is sucky and lame. (No, I'm not at all prone to exaggeration. Why would you even ask?) And to top it off, my sister moved yesterday to flippin' Baltimore. Geez, who would even want to live in Maryland? (Except for roughly 83% of my family.) For your information, folks: Maryland=nerdy. I'm just saying.

So I've been mucking through in my usual non-weepy state, but then this:

They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.*

And this:

'You ought to be ashamed of yourself . . . a great girl like you . . . to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!' But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.*

And really how can you argue with that? (Don't question my logic.)

So let's review the times Kim has cried today:

1. When she went the wrong way to work this morning resulting in a six-mile detour. (You may wonder how a person can go the wrong way to a place she's been going every weekday for four years, but hey, it happens.)
2. When her boss asked for her new emergency contact and she couldn't think of anyone. (Sad.)
3. When her chicken breast on ciabatta was undercooked at lunch. (Yeah, I ate it anyway so if I mysteriously stop posting or answering emails, I might be dead. Farewell. Thanks for reading.)
4. When she heard a song on her iPod from EFY 1997. (What? You didn't upload 4 years' worth of EFY soundtracks on your iPod? Well, I'm not saying anything but I'd sure hate to be you on Judgement Day is all.)

So I've cried 4 times today. I have got to snap out of it. Seriously. Tell me a joke. Or call me and sing me a funny song. C'mon, because All By Myself sung by Eric Carmen is getting old (and so is Eric Carmen).


*Name that literary work and get a prize! (Prize: me saying "Awesome. You are cool." Unless you want to go get pineapple smoothies with me later tonight. My treat.)

Broken Dreams

Last night I dreamed about doughnuts. Chocolate-frosted doughnuts. I've been craving chocolate-frosted doughnuts all morning.

But . . . disgusted, guttural noise . . . today is the first day of my junk food purge. So I can't indulge this craving for . . . another disgusted noise . . . sixty freakin' days! Because somehow I got it in my head that, for two months, I should eschew from my diet anything that makes life worth living.


If I can't hold out for one day, I will be seriously displeased.

Exciting News!

Dear Ladies of the Office,

We are excited to announce the women's bathroom is now stocked with ½-ply toilet paper! A scientific breakthough to be sure, we have devised a way to actually split 1-ply paper in half and thereby offering the thinnest toilet paper in existence! Yes, it's true; you will now be required to utilize approximately 14,327 sheets to ensure a dry undercarriage. Don't worry though, for we promise to never leave more than a single roll in each stall. Enjoy!

Sincerely, The Custodial Staff

Because I'm usually so subdued . . .

Yesterday my roommate was in the kitchen cooking. Yes, actual cooking. Not my version of cooking which extends to reheating Spaghetti Mama's leftovers and putting a slice of Schmidt's chocolate cake on a plate (rather than eating it straight off the platter).

Anyway, roommate is cooking and calls to me, "Kim, do you like mushrooms?"

Heh. Do I like mushrooms?

I called back, "Gretch, I would rather cut off my own face than eat a stupid, barfy mushroom."

As she continued cooking, I could've sworn I heard "As long as you're not going to be dramatic about it," but she denies saying anything.

My Angel Mother

"When the real history of mankind is fully disclosed, will it feature the echoes of gunfire or the shaping sound of lullabies? The great armistices made by military men or the peacemaking of women in homes and in neighborhoods? Will what happened in cradles and kitchens prove to be more controlling than what happened in congresses?" ~Neal A. Maxwell

I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

Weird Crushes

My roommate and I were recently discussing some of our celebrity crushes which are a little unusual. She recorded her odd ones here and I am nothing if not a follower. So here we go!

First up, Ricky Gervais. There's just something about a chubby, pasty guy that gets me.


Next, Darius Rucker. If you don't see this, you are officially crazy.


Of course what list would be complete with my one true love, Alan Rickman? I think it's the voice. "The air is full of spices." Shivers, I tell ya. Bonus points if you can name that movie.


Tony Hale. I think this one stems from his nerdy roles. Ooh, I love me some geek.



Then, Steve Zahn. Mmm-hmm.


And Will Ferrell. *shrug*



Also, Edward Norton. You know, the "creepy psycho-killer" angle.


Here's an odd one: James Spader. I can't even explain this one.


And the most embarrassing one by far is John Malkovich.



Do you have any weird ones?

Dating Discussions

One of the great things about having good friends is the insightful conversations you can have about relationships and dating. Here are some snippets from the latest.

Work Friend: Dude, [mutual friend] totally likes you!
Me: I find that unlikely.
WF: Naw, really! He told me! You guys should totally date! Awww! Cute!
Me: Well, if what you're saying is true, I certainly will not be dating him.
WF: Whhaaat? Why?
Me: I try to avoid dating men who are actually interested in me because the fact that they are is clearly indicative of severe psychological problems and I just can't deal with that. Thank you but I supply enough crazy for the both of us in relationships.
WF: You are so weird.
Me: Right?
__________________________________________________

Me: I think every woman tries to relate to Elizabeth in Pride & Prejudice, but I have this awful feeling that I'm more like Lydia.
Roommate: Lydia?
Me: Oh wait, no. Lydia was taken in sin and thereby actually snagged a man. I'm Kitty. She's obnoxious and still ends up alone in the end.
RM: Nice.
__________________________________________________

Friend: Hello, he will for sure fall for you as soon as he gets to know you.
Me: Sorry?
F: Yeah, like once he talks to you and sees how cool you are.
Me: Dude, did you just "great personality" me?
F: No! That's not what I meant! I mean, hello, you're gorgeous and awesome.
Me: If you start telling people about my "special spirit," I swear I'll hit you
F: Whatever! I tell people it's a good thing you're pretty because you're kind of a crappy person.
Me: Aww, thanks!
__________________________________________________


I'm going to be out of commission for a while, but fear not: I will be back with plenty of snarkiness in a few days.

Pig Jokes

My boss’s husband thinks he has swine flu. So not kidding. The boss and I have getting our kicks teasing him a little. Okay, a lot.

I asked how he was feeling when he called this morning.

"Horrible! This swine flu is terrible . . "

I said, "You have swine flu? In a pig's eye!"

"I’m not kidding! I’ve had this fever for days."

"Well," I assured him, "It’ll break and you’ll be sweating like a pig soon enough. Let's just hope you won't make a pig of yourself just because you're ill."

"You’re not as funny as you think," he tells me.

"Aww, pearls before swine, I tell ya," I respond.

The boss, meanwhile, is doing her devoted wifely duties by leaning against the wall and seizing with laughter.

He finally gets sick of my shenanigans and asks if his wife is available.

"Well, she’s snorting with laughter at the moment. Heh, heh. Snorting. Get it?"


He hung up.


Now I’m Googling "pig and swine idioms" so I’ll be ready when he calls again. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun mocking sick people.