Capital City

We ladies decided to drop into the city for a bit of history and culture.

But then we got distracted . . .

Because wouldn't it be a riot to pop in and surprise Dad at his office? And maybe convince him to ditch work and take his lovely wife, daughters and granddaughter out to lunch?

"SURPRISE!" we shouted. "AND PIZZA PLEASE!"

"Okay," says Dad because he's heard how stubborn Raynor girls can be. And because he enjoys having his picture taken with his mouth full of food.

We went to CiCi's Pizza, the best pizza value anywhere! Oh, I love CiCi's! I'll be straight with you folks: it's not the best pizza in the world but we used to go there as kids and you know how you love food you ate growing up even if it's not really that great?




*cough*In-N-Out*cough*




PLUS you get to ring the bell if you have great service! Who doesn't like to ring the bell at CiCi's? That is what I'd like to know.


Our tummies satisfied, we made our way to a very damp D.C.

We went to the Library of Congress where I gave into my seizures of happiness. They have a Gutenberg Bible, y'all! And Thomas Jefferson's personal library! And books also!

Rules for Viewing the Gutenberg Bible:

1. No taking pictures of the Bible.
2. No touching the glass.
3. No drooling a large puddle in front of the display.
4. No open weeping.
5. No arguing with Security.
6. Really. No drooling.

It cleared up so we headed over the the Botanic Gardens which was fun. I was in raptures over the gardenia bushes everywhere. I love gardenias and rue the aridity of Utah which prevents them from surviving here.

So lovely!

"Quack!" the ducks said in parting.

This is why you love me

If you're all wondering what song I sing to (about) myself when I'm getting ready in the morning . . .


here ya go!

Charm City

This is a story about crab cakes. But not just any crab cakes. The Mother of All Crab Cakes.

</drool>

Amy, Sandra and I packed up a few of their kids and headed into the city for some authentic Baltimore sights, sounds and seafood. And also because I was like, "Do you guys feel like discarding all your weekend plans and going to get some delicious crab because that is what makes me happy?"

FUN FACT: I crack up when people say "kwab" instead of "crab." It's the stupidest thing in the world but it makes me laugh.

We walked around the Inner Harbor, oohing and ahhing at all the boats and drunk hobos.

Also ice cream was involved. Don't be alarmed by my face in the above picture. That just happens when I get my picture taken. My brain thinks, "Oh! A camera! Better open my mouth as huge as humanly possible. All right!"

We skipped into the World Famous Lexington Market in search of the one and only true crab cake. The place smelled of fish and cigarettes and sweat and fried chicken. I was in heaven. 

We gloried in the sight of it all. There were people hawking every type of sea creature imaginable. We saw butchers selling fresh slabs of meat that looked like they had been hacked off the animal within the hour. Piles, I mean piles of pork, chicken, pigs feet, turkey, alligator, you name it. There were even signs for fresh raccoon meat (in season only).


We finally found our Mecca tucked in the back.

We couldn't seem to get the goodness inside ourselves fast enough. (They should make rocket forks!)


Thesis: Faidley's Crab Cakes have ruined me for all other crab cakes. I am doomed to be unsatisfied forever and ever. Baltimore, get ready! I'm on my way back soon!

GUYS! WHAT IS UP?!

Have you missed me? Yes? Yes?




But really, yes?


I'm dreadfully behind on everything these days but look forward to these posts coming soon:

Kim's Awesome Trip to Baltimore!

Kim's Awesome Trip to New York City!

Kim's Awesome Trip to Point Pleasant, New Jersey Where She Might Have Offended the Mafia and Also Saw Her Great-Grandfather Who is A Billion Years Old!



You guys are so lucky!


P.S. Back at work for about five hours and already I'm ready for a vacation. Who's with me?

Going to the doctor and other stuff I don't like

I think I've already documented my severe dislike of the doctor's office. But I'm not sure I've ever told you how deeply and passionately I hate going to the doctor.

I hate it.

Hate with a capital H. Hate to the thirteenth power. Hate, hate, hate.

Also? I hate it. Because . . .

1) It's flipping expensive. I have pretty good insurance (eh, eh, fellas? Want a piece of that action? I've got a bare finger!) but even still all those visits add up! I can think of a ton of things I'd rather spend $100 on than my third CT scan for the year. (A box of puppies is top of the list. Also, twelve Cafe Rio salads.)

2) They tell you that you're going to die. Okay, maybe not in so many words but I know what they're implying. I don't think I'd want to know if I were dying. I'm probably that person who would do crazy things like buy a Lamborghini (spelled it right on the first try! Kim wins life!) on credit and dye her hair purple. Also if I knew I was dying soon I would tell people that every time yOu do ThiS oN yOur bLoG, a puppy is born without paws. If you make the text multicolored, the puppy loses its legs and will to live.

3) Your personal space is not respected in a doctor's office. They're like, "I'm not sure what's wrong with your head but why don't I just stand here breathing on you until I think of something else to do. Oh, and maybe I'll massage your face with my armpit because, why not?" Also, sometimes they make you be all nekkid. And sometimes they poke you with things.

<tangent>

Things Kim does not like
a. being poked
b. being nekkid in front of strangers
c. being breathed on

</tangent>

But, guys? Sometimes the doctors pull through for you and are 100% star-gazing amazing. And they finally figure out what to do to make you all better.

And when that day comes, you will forgive all the bills and the poking and the incessant breathing because finally, finally, finally you are back to normal.

And that is a very good thing.

I have a problem, I think maybe.

Dear Spinach Tortellini,

If I am not supposed to eat you every day then why are you so delicious? That is what I would like to know.

You are what is called "yummy". Also my plan for losing 10 pounds before I go visit my parents is what is called "canceled". I blame you*.

I wish I knew how to quit you,
Kim



*And maybe that tub of ciliegine that has mysteriously disappeared from the fridge. But mostly you.

I am basically ruled by a thirteen-year-old girl living inside of me.

I am a dyed-in-the-wool sun baby. Oh how I love that delicious sunshine! And boy have I been getting a lot of sun these days. Yesterday I was putting on my make-up and I noticed a new smattering of teensy freckles all over my tanned little nose. Adult Kim tsked and carried on about skin cancer and loss of youthful radiance and so on. Thirteen-year-old Kim clapped her hands with delight and examined the tiny speckles of sun damage because I am tanned and lovely and also freckles are darling, but didn't you know that?  

And just last week my coworker stared at my face strangely in the way that makes me think that maybe I had something coming out of somewhere you don't want things coming out, but then she says to me sweetly, "Kim . . . are you . . . . sparkly?" And that is when I realized my new bronzer is the kind that makes a girl look all glittery. So Adult Kim decided she should not wear that particular cosmetic anymore because, honestly,  respectable adults can't just walk around with glitter-faces, now can they? But thirteen-year-old Kim squealed because SPARKLES and UNICORNS and FAIRIES and also I should put this stuff EVERYWHERE!! 

So when you see Adult Kim walking around covered in freckles and sparkles and looking ridiculous, just know this is one of those instances when it's useless to argue with thirteen-year-old Kim.


(She really can be quite stubborn sometimes, you know.)

"What do you mean 'people aren't into sparkles anymore'?" Edward asks worriedly.

Ramblin' Wednesday

I am a little bit insomniac-ish. No matter how tired I am, I simply cannot sleep through the night. And I don't like to take sleeping pills because they make me so loopy it's not even funny. (Actually it is pretty funny.) So I'm generally up at all hours of the night. Sometimes it is very boring to be awake all night. Doing anything (reading, watching tv, cleaning the bathroom, making potato salad) wakes me up even further so I generally just lie in bed and think. I think about all kinds of stuff. Sometimes I make up jokes and write them down next to my bed and when I wake up in the morning I'm all, "Ha! These are some terrible jokes!"

Often I will write down ideas for blog posts in the middle of the night. They are all very terrible ideas. The other day I wrote, "Tell them about all the stuffed animals you've ever had." See what I mean? Very terrible stuff.

---

My four favorite stuffed animals were:
        1) Butter Bear
        2) Bunny
        3) Cinnamon Bear
        4) Mrs. Rabbit

---

I am not very creative at naming things.

---

I am very absent-minded. I write myself post-it notes about everything so I don't forget stuff. That is one of the reasons (from a very long list) I am scared to have children. I'm afraid I would stick the kid somewhere and forget where I put it. I would have to write myself notes like "Baby in kitchen" or "Stuck it in the crib" and that can get expensive. Do you know how much post-its are going for these days?

---

I am apparently just as creative at naming kids as I am at naming stuffed animals.