Woe is Desk.

My desk, the desk that was so pristine just this morning, is not scattered from here to Never-Never Land with the most alarming assortment of half-completed projects.

It's so discouraging (isn't it just really?) to begin a beautiful work day at a beautifully clean desk knowing that in 9 short hours it will look like the aftermath of one Hurricane Wednesday!

It's just the kind of thing that makes a girl want to look up old boyfriends on Facebook and not ever begin anything at all!

Deeply Embarrassing Confession #531

Right Said Fred's hit "I'm Too Sexy" is my favorite song and I sing it every time I remove anything from something else. 

When I'm getting undressed, it's "I'm too sexy for this blouse, too sexy for these jeans, oh so sexy!"

And in the shower it's "I'm too sexy for this dirt, too sexy for this grime." When I take off nail polish I remind myself that "I'm too sexy for this pink!"

Even if I were to eat an orange, I would be singing "I'm too sexy for this rind, too sexy for this pith, too sexy for these seeds!"



And I also tell inanimate objects what they're too sexy for. When it's time to do the dishes I hum, "You're too sexy for this spaghetti, too sexy for this oatmeal!"  And when my baseboards get scrubbed, they know they are "too sexy for that dust!"

Maturing is not really my thing.

When I was a teenager I used to drive around town with all the windows down, listening to Weezer a little too loudly, sipping an icy-cold Diet Dr Pepper and trying to imagine how anyone in the world could be cooler than me.



Today I drove around town with all the windows down, listening to Weezer a little too loudly, sipping an icy-cold Diet Dr Pepper and still trying to imagine anyone cooler than me.

Ten Reasons Going to the Utah Renaissance Festival was the Best Decision I Ever Made

1. Gretchen practically hyperventilated upon finding out it was not only a Renaissance Festival but a FANTASY FAIRE as well. And then I had to stop in the middle of the road with cars impatiently revving their engines behind me so we could snap a picture of the sign.

2. The parking lot was out in someone's field and it was so crisscrossed with tractor ruts that we were catching air the whole time. And then there's this guy who was gesturing like, "The awesome is that-a-way."

3. The lady at the jewelry booth thought Gretchen and I were lesbians. That was awesome.

4. Where else can you get a picture of your roommate (or lover) wearing a pretty princess tiara in front of a giant skull flag?

5. Because who can have a Renaissance Faire without an inexplicable pirate ship in the middle of a field?

6. Conversations like this:

"That's a really cool dragon."

"Um, it's not a dragon. It's a unicorn."

Obviously.

7. Seeing two grown men in costumes and tights hit each other with swords . . . .

 . . . until one of them gets hit in the manhood . . . .

. . . . so the other men in costume had to take over.

8. Jousting. 'Nuf said.

9. Gretchen volunteered me to wear the ridiculously heavy helmet so she (and several others) could mock me.

10. Roasted turkey legs. Holla!

I can't recommend it enough.

This is really the kind of stuff that happens to me.

I got hit by a car last week.



Well, okay, not technically hit by a car. More like the car and I made contact.



Okay, FINE. I hit a car. By walking into it. (This car was in motion at the time. Did I mention that?)


I was waiting for a car to pass before I crossed the street and, just as he passed me, he inexplicably slowed down (maybe it was for a duck that had wandered into the road, maybe not. Maybe we'll never know). And, what do you know, I stepped off the curb just as he slowed down and walked right into the back of his car.

The driver, bless his little heart, jumped out yelling, "Oh my gosh! Are you okay? What happened? Oh my gosh!"

"Uh, well," I mumbled, "I think I might've run into your car."

He stopped short, eyebrows sky-high. "You . . . ran into . . . . my car?"

"Looks that way."




Because, apparently, I am that awesome.

Actual Conversation That Actually Happened in My Actual Office Like Two Minutes Ago

Boss, typing an email: "Kim, how do you spell 'Tigger'?"


Me, without looking up: "T-I-double guh-er."


Boss: "Uh . . . "



Me: "Wait. Are you asking for real?"



And then I sang this for her:





Because Monday and all, you know.

This wouldn't be so funny if it weren't the third time this has happened.

I set out this weekend to buy a basic pair of black pumps for work. Plain black, closed toe with a sensible heel.

This is what I came home with:

Because who needs sensible black shoes when you can have these?

Also one time I accidentally ate a whole package of bacon.

During a discussion about food last night, dear Robin made the most audacious claim!

"Well," he says, "people shouldn't be eating pork anyway because it's really bad for you."


!!!!


And so I kicked him right in the teeth.


Okay, I didn't*. But really would anyone have blamed me?

I mean, good grief.

---

*That might have had something to do with him being all the way over there on the other couch and my toes being so nice and toasty due to me slowly inching them under dear Keith's derriere**.

**Keith, thank you for having a warm tushie to offer such coziness to a silly girl who wears flippity-flops during a rainstorm. You're the best!

Scenes from last night

Liz walks past Kim's open bedroom door.

Liz: "How's the game?"

Kim: "Thereare25secondslefttoplaytheJazzareupbythreeit's Denver'sballandtheyjustcalledatimeout."

Liz: "Oh."

(pause)

Liz: "So . . . why are you standing on your bed?"

Kim: "Uh, it got really intense there for a minute."

Liz: "Hmmm."

In which I save the day.

One of my co-workers is, there's no other word for it, a babe. She is smokin' hot. It's the profusion of platinum blond hair, the legs for days (seriously, how long are people's legs these days?), the gleaming smile and the perkiness, dear heavens, the perkiness. She's basically hot. And she walks around like she doesn't realize that her very existence is what makes the self-esteem of short, podgy brunettes deflate faster than Popeye pancakes on a cold morning. (Because we really need more help with that.)

One day my office phone rang. It was SHB (smoking hot babe, obviously). She sounded panicked and asked if I could come unlock the door for her. She was trapped inside a classroom and needed to be rescued. I was confused as none of our classrooms have automatic locks and, even if the door was locked, shouldn't you be able to open it from the inside?

I asked a few clarifying questions and soon discovered the problem.



She was pushing.




She needed to be pulling.



So sure, she's stunningly gorgeous and has a rack you could bounce quarters off. But me? Well, I can open a flippin' door by myself.

 She's not much to look at but man can she open doors!