Ummm . . . . is this bad?

Happy Friday, everyone!

I think it's official.

Being white trash is one of those things that's hard to define, but you know it when you see it.


And I think I see it.


In myself.



Reason #1: The sheer amount of time I spend at the Walmart is alarming. And the fact that I call it "the Walmart". A quick search of the ol' blog shows I've mentioned that horrible store 7 times. This far surpasses my mentions of a non-WT store:

(Well, I guess there's one now.) Any given week I'd say I'm at the Walmart at least two times. And that's a modest estimate.



Reason #2: I love sweatpants. I have about a dozen pairs of black or gray sweatpants and I don one each night within minutes of my return home. My very favorite pair are so soft, it feels like you're wearing pants made out of rainbows and babies. They have pockets, too! Do you even know how hard it is to find sweatpants with pockets? This particular pair is black but once I dripped a little bleach on one of the legs BUT THEN I colored in the little spot with a Sharpie. And you can hardly even tell. 



Reason #3: this is what my feet look like 95% of the time I'm not at work:

Oh, I love flip-flops! They are certifiably trashy but, oh, do I love them!




Reason #4: I cannot bear to throw something out if it still works. That's why I've never owned 2 working cell phones in my life: the phone must be completely inoperable before I will consider shelling out for a new one. And I don't know if any of you saw the Rodeo in her final days but, seriously, that baby was finito. And then one time one of the legs on my coffee table broke off and I super-glued it back on. Therefore many of my belongings are in various stages of deterioration and I'm okay with that. Call me a cheapskate but I can't live with the idea of filling up landfills with stuff that still totally works!

Gotta Love Her

One of my favorite friends and I were out shopping the other day. As we were leaving the store, we passed a small girl who looked to be about two years old. I grinned at her as we walked by, taking in her charmingly chubby cheeks, her hot pink coat and miniature boots.

My friend turned to me and said, "You know, whenever I see a little kid like that . . . "

"Yeah?" I responded to my dear friend and mother of three, expecting some profound words on mothering or commentary on the magic of childhood.

She continued, "I just think how funny it would be if I knocked them over as I walked by. You know, like just like 'BAM' they hit the floor and I keep walking." She jerked the jug of laundry detergent we'd just purchased up and pantomimed whacking a toddler with it. "Like that."


After I laughed for about a hundred years, I told my friend, "I'm so . . . happy you say the things you say."

I have a crush . . .

. . . on the UPS guy.



Is it his cute little brown uniform?

Or the mad dolly skills he's got?

Or maybe the way he slides the tablet-signy thing onto my desk?



Either way, I just can't wait for shorts weather to come back.

Confession #381

Sometimes I get "Ayatollah" and "Iacocca" mixed up in my head. Then sometimes I'm a few seconds behind in conversations about Iran and/or Chrysler.


(Does this mean I'm dumb?)






(Don't answer that.)






(But really, does it?)




</insecurity>

More and Less

Resolutions freak me out a little. My brain just doesn't do well with them. I just can't do specific, quantifiable things. I might say, "This year I will be better about going to the gym," and I'll be fine. But if I say, "This year I will go to the gym three times a week," something in my brain will snap, stress will overtake me, I will throw up emotional blockades left and right, I won't accomplish anything and when I realize I've failed my resolution, my soul will collapse upon itself like a dying star. Don't get me wrong, it's entertaining to say the least but, unfortunately, a bit counterproductive.

After years of trying to retrain my brain to actually, you know, be normal, I've accepted to ol' thing for who it (she?) is. And now I know to word my goals very specifically as to not induce any panic attacks. So here we go.



In 2011, I will be more loving.
I will be less annoyed.
I will be more compassionate.
I will be less worrisome.
I will say more nice things to others.
I will think fewer snotty things about others.
I will accept more.
I will judge less.
I will make more soup.
I will drink less caffeine. (That one is kind of a joke, you see.)
I will be more concerned with being kind.
I will be less concerned with being right.
I will be more patient with my roommates.
I will be less worried about how tidy the house is. (Well, at least I will try.)
More smiles.
Less eye-rolling.
More Conference talks.
Less In Style.
More service.
Less downloading games on my phone and playing them during Sunday School.
More willingness.
Less whining.
More parties.
Less Redbox.
More temple.
Less Target.
More phone calls.
Less texting.


2010 pretty much kicked butt. Here's to a just-as-awesome 2011.

And now back to your thoroughly-caffeinated, alarmingly-ridiculous regularly scheduled programming.

Guys. Seriously. What. is. up with . . .

a) having to go back to work?
b) Christmas? Is it over?
c) having to be an adult?
d) me not blogging for two weeks and getting exactly zero fan letters telling me their lives are an endless pit of agony and despair without my darlingness? Ahem.
e) all of the above?


Sigh.



For real, y'all.



So, what have you been up to? Actually, enough about you. Let's talk about me!

I went here: 

 

for this:

 Marvelous times were had by all! Do you know that my family is totally rad? 'Tis true.

 Here's my dad cooking some bacon! Isn't that a wonderful sight? Is it wrong to like bacon more than you like most people? I don't know.

My little brother should know better than to fall asleep when I have a marker in my hand.

I was afraid my crotchety old dog wouldn't welcome me back home after I cheated on him with two other dogs (oh the scandal!) so I picked up a large bag of ham jerky before I arrived. For the next several days, he was constantly at my side with those pleading eyes saying, "Oh, Kim. Would not you like to fill my mouth with that hammy deliciousness? Mightn't I trouble you for a small bite of ham? Please, sir, may I have some more?" That is, unless I wanted to take his picture. Then he would lay motionless on the carpet as I repeated, "Teddy! Teddy! Look at me, Teddy. C'mon, boy! Teddy." If I persisted for more than a few minutes, he might lazily open one eye and glare at me for a few seconds before his eyelids would droop closed again and he would pass gas in my general direction and then I would promptly evacuate the room and he would go back to sleep. A clever one, he is.

My little brothers have not ended that whole "getting taller than me" thing. I spent much of my time standing next to the guys and marveling at the longness of each. And then they would take turns giving me noogies.

We spent some time in the Inner Harbor where I realized it was high time I started buying some Baltimore souvenirs after visiting the place annually for five years running. Also, I think I saw Candice Bergen in the bathroom at Barnes and Noble. But maybe not.

Dragon boats? Man, this place does have everything!

Other trip highlights include:

• The whole family got hooked on the Bed Intruder Song until we were all sick of it and when we finally got it out of our heads, someone would go "You don't have to come and confess," and the whole room would respond, "We lookin' for you. We gon' find you. We gon' find you." Have you ever seen 18 people do a gangsta head-bob simultaneously? Surely it is a sight to behold. 
• My dad built a potato launcher for my bro-in-law. Like a genuine Dwight Schrute-esque spud gun that shoots potatoes at 60 pounds per square inch. Can you imagine if he were deranged?
• Speaking of shooting things, my two brothers-in-law discovered the cache of Nerf guns in the basement which means that you couldn't walk into a room without getting hit in the face, neck or head region with a Nerf bullet. After several days of this tomfoolery I lost it and yelled at one of them, "Stop it! Stop! You think you're being funny? You're not! You're just being really annoying! Stop hitting me!" At which point he roared with laughter, took aim, and shot me again. At which point I stuck out my lower lip and stamped my foot. Because we are both adults over here, by the way, in case you didn't know that.    
• The lake near my parents' house froze over and we had a pick-up soccer game on the ice until my mother's worrisome hollering that we'd all die if we didn't get off that ice right now because she could hear it cracking from all the way over there brought us back to shore. 
• Two years ago Donny and I were see-sawing and he went down too hard, making me fly over the handle and smash my face on the board. We were out see-sawing again and I was all "Hey, Donny, remember when I totally smashed my face on this very see-saw?" Literally three seconds later I'm clutching my face after flying over the handle and smashing my face on the board. This New Year's Resolution: stop see-sawing with Donny.

 Obligatory group photo:

Okay, now that I'm done, what have you been up to?