Jersey, pizza and also some mobsters.

(This post may offend an organization I will not name but I will give you a hint: it rhymes with "The Bafia".)

My mom took her girls on a tour of her hometown this summer.

After we visited her childhood home:

and her school:

"How'd you get to be so awesome?"
"Duh. I went to High Cool."
(Mom jokes are great.)

we went to lunch at Vesuvio's Pizza

an appropriate decision as we had only eaten pizza 37 times the previous week.

PIZZA!

PIZZA!

PIZZA!

PIZZA!

We were all excited about the garlic-and-onion pizza my mom extolled repeatedly but we I was even more intrigued to know the place was run by a well-known member of the Bafia.

It's a great thing that the pizza was excellent as you can't buy pizza anywhere else in the area, according to my mom. Years ago there was a rival pizza joint on a nearby corner but it wasn't open very long. It's apparently hard to stay in business after your restaurant mysteriously explodes.  

These are the stories my mom tells about her childhood. It's never, "One time my dad took all us kids to the zoo." It's stuff like, "One time my dad had a disagreement with the mob and they shot him right in the arm and my mother had to pull the bullet out with tweezers." This story was usually preceded by one of us kids crying about some triviality and followed by the admonition to "come to me when you're in real pain."

As we ordered and ate at Vesuvio's, my mom chatted easily with the men there. (You know, the ones in the mob.) She recalled all the time she and her sister spent there as teenagers. Guys, she has shared memories with the Cosa Nostra!

As we walked along the shore (no Snookie!), I saw my mom in a new light. She comes from a world so unlike my own, a place foreign to my white-bread life.

She *knows* people in the Bafia!

I guess what they say is true: you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take Jersey out of the girl.

(Do not cross this woman. Because she probably has a knife.)

---

Despite the lack of photographic evidence, Amy actually was in attendance on this trip. She just a little camera-shy I guess. Or maybe she just doesn't like having her picture taken while shoving pizza in her mouth. Whatever.

Don't even get me started on Mark Paul Gosselaar

Wings has been off the air for thirteen years. 

Still haven't gotten over my crush on Steven Weber.

Sometimes I'm kind of like a dog

(source)

One time a friend of mine commented, "Kim, you are like the happiest person I've ever met." 

Which I took to mean, "Kim, sometimes you act a little retarded."

But I really can't help it. You wouldn't believe the running dialogue going on in my head when I get up in the morning. I talk like I'm in an infomercial. It goes a little something like this: 

Ah, morning! My bed feels so good! This is seriously the best bed in the world! Oh and the sunshine? That is so awesome! That's the best sunshine of my life! This shower feels so nice and that soap smells so good! And these jeans are the best jeans ever! I love these jeans! And this straight iron is awesome. Oh my gosh I love this thing! And on and on and on . . . .

I wish I were kidding.

When people ask me how I'm doing I always answer, "So good!" in my peppy, cheerleader voice. I think people assume I'm joking but I'm not. I really am doing so good! (That is unless I am PMS-ing. That's when everything is lame and stupid and I hate it and I hate you and why don't you all just go to hell?)

I feel like I walk around all day with my head spinning over the fact that the world could possibly contain so many wonderful things specifically designed to make my life awesome. It's perfectly astounding!

Here are some things that make my life awesome:

1. The newspaper. I get the newspaper delivered every day and I love it. My favorite thing is the letters to the editor. And I also read all the obituaries and wonder about the people who've died. I wonder what they were like and if we would have been friends (because I have an ever-present need to be liked, even by dead people). And every night I curl up in bed with the crossword puzzle and I'm not allowed to go to sleep until I finish. And then the Cryptoquip too. Getting the newspaper makes my life awesome.

2. Basically every voicemail my sister Amy leaves for me like ever. They are the highlight of my life. I'm sometimes tempted to ignore all her calls just so I can get another hilarious voicemail. (But I wouldn't do that, Amy. Never.) The last one I got was pretty short and simple:

"Kim! Do you know anything about catching wild turkeys? Please call me back. I need you!" 

Amy's voicemails make my life awesome.

3. The "90's Hits" channel on DirecTV. I listen to it every morning and it puts me in the best mood. There's something wonderful about putting on your make-up to the same music you put on your make-up to when you were in junior high. And bonus! I know all the words to all the songs so I get to sing along. And it doesn't even get annoying to my roommates. Nope. They love it. 90's music in the morning makes my life awesome. 

4. Pie.

What makes your life awesome?

Maybe auto makers are just really pessimistic.

How come when something lights up on your dashboard, it's always bad? It's things like "Check engine" or "We're kind of about to break down" or "Seriously, how is this thing still running?"

I think they should balance the bad out with a few good messages. Things that say "Good driving!" or "Everything is working fine!" or "You smell nice today!"

Then I probably wouldn't say so many curses to my car.

Maryland Folks

Going to visit my parents is such a trip (joke) because as much as they protest they "live right outside a big city!" they are definitely out in the sticks. When you have to drive through a pasture and honk at a cow to get home, you know you're in the backcountry.

But once you get used to the winding two-lane highways often blocked by dawdling tractors, the air heavily perfumed with livestock, the shock of how dreadfully out of reach Target is, well, it's nice. It's really nice.

It's playing pick-up baseball with the brothers in the field off to the side of the house. It's slurping grape popsicles at dusk on the porch swing while the kids run all over the yard after fireflies. It's driving down the road with your arm resting out the window to raise it in that casual two-fingered salute neighbors exchange as they pass each other. It's getting directions based on barns and bridges rather than street names. It's the sweet smell of grass that never washes off.

One lazy day out there my brothers and I decided to grab the kayaks and head down the Monocacy.

We slithered our way down the river easily, splashing and goofing and paddling along. We had no schedule to keep, no pressing appointments, no nothing. It was just us in the sunshine, the somnolent cawing of birds periodically breaking the stillness of the day, and always the slow plops of our paddles hitting the water's surface. 



When we were halfway through our leg of the river three gunshots rang out in quick succession, shattering the quiet and raising a veil of birds to the sky. We looked around confusedly and spotted this:

near the shore. 

An elderly, shirtless man in a fishing boat with a shotgun.

We continued down the river giggling, reminded once again that we are in hick-country. But I think I'm okay with hick-country. I think I'd fit right in.

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.