My grandmother passed away at this time last year and for some reason I've been keenly feeling her absence right now. I was tearing up the other day as I was driving down the road and as I frantically searched for a tissue to wipe my eyes, I remembered how my Grandma used to keep a tissue tucked in the front of her bra. That was enough to make me smile.
In the intervening years it has never crossed my mind to keep a supply of tissue in my bra, just in case, like my grandmother did. I no longer have to contemplate doing that because I now have a wonderful beau who is the gallant and old-fashioned type who always carries a clean handkerchief that he silently passes to me. He doesn't even bat an eye when I discreetly blow my nose in it and hand it back to him. THAT, my friends, is the definition of chivalry...
(Thanks to Beth for her blog entry that got me thinking about this)
I never believed I would get old. I bought into the whole '60's youth oriented culture and the Baby Boom idea that our generation had it all figured out, unlike those old folks that came before us. I always felt that age was a state of mind and because of that, I could be perpetually young. Now here I am on the other side of 40 and I'm finding out that I was mostly right.
I rationalize how much I like revisiting the past, however. Just because I reminisce I don't consider that to be an old behavior. Look at VH1. They are looking back in nostalgia at the '90's for crying out loud, and not the 1890's either. Is life coming at us so fast now that history becomes history that much sooner?
I have a friend who calls me up so we can watch the same TV programs via phone together (don't ask me why we don't just get in the car and go to each other's house, that would take all the fun out of it). He called me up last night and said "Quick. Turn on the History Channel." I was just in time to watch another amazing episode of "Modern Marvels". We marveled as we watched a farmer harvest his walnut crop from 2 months ago with this cool machine that shakes the tree trunks until the nuts fall off. You hear those footsteps? That's history sneaking up on you.
I think I stay young because I still find great pleasure in doing much of the fun things that I loved doing as a youth like bike riding, camping, and reading. Lots and lots of reading. And mainly what I call trashy novels. I love a good trashy novel. The trashier the better. I like being able to share my favorites with other people who like reading trashy novels too. Unfortunately, that usually relegates me to people my own age, as I find that today's young people haven't really discovered the joys of pulp fiction.
One of my 2006 goals is to write the great American (trashy) novel. My mind is cluttered with enough garbage that I'm sure I could do it. Wish me luck.
Time for my haircut this weekend. Send prayers...
He now prefers to be referred to as "Your Royal Highness". I've asked the new First Lady of Hyrum to use the royal sceptor in a way that it was not originally intended to be used...
Hearty congratulations go out to my Dad who was elected Mayor of Hyrum, Utah yesterday. He soundly defeated his opponent Gary Clawson with a final vote tally of 727 to 513.
Personally, I attribute Dad's victory to the fact that he recognizes that Hyrum, while not exactly a cosmopolitan place, has changed over the years. This town now has a fairly sizable ethnic population and more and more non-Mormons live there and need to have their voices heard in city government. His opponent on more than one occasion, used his leadership status in the Mormon church as some kind of endorsement that he was the man to be mayor. Dad stuck to the issues of running a city and left religion out of it.
I remember the time when he was on the city council and a new pizza parlor opened up in town and wanted a license to sell beer. Well, all of the good Mormons on the city council (who of course don't drink alcohol) were opposed to granting the license. Even though Dad was a bishop at the time, he voted to grant the license. His reasoning? Not everyone is a Mormon, and they should have the right to have a beer with their pizza if they want it. If you don't want a beer with your pizza, DON'T ORDER ONE. You go Dad!
Even though I love my Dad and respect and admire him greatly, in my opinion he really is going to make a good mayor who will serve ALL of the citizens of Hyrum. That's what representative government is all about.
I watched at least part of the faux live debate that was part of the West Wing episode on Monday night. I was impressed and depressed at the same time.
I was impressed with the quality of the writing for the debate segment and equally if not more impressed by the skills of the actors Jimmy Smits and Alan Alda. Because I was able to forget about the delivery and concentrate on the message, I actually HEARD what these fake politicians positions were on some real issues. These few minutes of lively interchange had a bigger impact on helping clarify my own views than the hundreds of TV ads I've seen by Arnold Schwarzenegger over the last 2 months.
The reason I'm depressed is because I will never see a live debate like this between actual candidates for President of the United States. Does anybody remember what Richard Nixon said in the Kennedy debate, or is the only thing that is remembered is his sweaty upper lip?
I'm not sure what the answer is. Here in California we've tried electing actors as politicians and we've all seen how well that has worked. San Diego as a city is in a hell of a mess, and we've got the opportunity to try to get new people in place to try to correct it. I'm glad there are people who are willing to at least try.
I couldn't avoid all of the political ads on TV, but I tried not to let them influence what I thought of the initiatives. I tried to find objective information as well as informed position statements both for and against and then I made up my own mind. That's what a democracy is all about. I take my responsibility as a citizen seriously, especially as I've seen what other people in the world will go through just to be able to vote.
I voted today. Did you?
Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time.
- George Carlin
Trust me, this is not the answer...
I was watching VH1's One Hit Wonders with William Shatner and I realized that not only did I know every song they played, I also knew all of the words. How pathetic is that?
Is this the reason I can't remember where I put my car keys last night? Is it because the space in my brain that would normally be reserved for that piece of information is now being taken up with the fact that the former first lady's CB handle was "Big Mama"?
Today was Boni's birthday and I know in my mind that today should have been all about him and what he would like to do, but damn if it didn't devolve into being all about me.
He's always so considerate of what I'd like to do and I know that he is completely sincere when he tells me that he just enjoys spending time with me no matter what we do. And so I only feel a twinge of guilt when we spend his birthday doing stuff that I like.
Yes today was a perfect Kimday. Getting up late. Browsing through the book sale at the library. Eating a late lunch at Phil's BBQ. Going to Extraordinary Desserts, but not the small one in Hillcrest but to the big one in Little Italy because they have a better selection of decadence.
So, happy birthday Boni. I want to celebrate your birthday with you every year....
*sigh* my poor hair
Instead of looking like Carol Brady, my hairdresser has now managed to make me look like Keith Partridge. As a note of warning to everyone else out there: Don't let your hairdresser get started talking about her rat bastard ex-husband when she has a pair of scissors in her hands. If you do, expect emotional messiness to come spilling out of her hands and into your hair. I don't know why it is that when she gets upset she starts channeling the haircuts of awful '70s TV stars. I need to remind her that she's supposed to be MY cheap therapist, not the other way around.
I've got to start looking for a new hairdresser pronto. Her teenage daughter is about to get her drivers license and I'm starting to get anxiety attacks about what other TV shows she watched. What's next? Little House on the Prairie?
Anybody know of someone who can feng shui hair?
I'm trying to use the small gym here at the office on a more regular basis now and I happened to get there right at 12:00 today before everyone else arrived. Sweeeetttt! That meant that I could turn on the TV and satellite feed to whatever channel I wanted. I wanted to see what the latest news was on Hurricane Rita, so I turned it to MSNBC.
A few minutes later a couple of 20-something workers from the other company that share our building came in and started fiddling with the other TV set to find something to watch. From the 100's of choices on satellite TV what did they choose?
People's Court.
OK, I'll say it. I'm definitely afraid for the future of this country....
Remember those beds they used to have in cheap motel rooms that you put a quarter in and the bed would vibrate? Wish I had access to some magic fingers right about now....
- Return overdue library book or wait until I move again.
- Send audition tape to RealWorld or Elimidate.
- Break up with boyfriend or change phone number.
- Hire a maid or a personal trainer.
- One baby and two dogs or two babies and one dog.
The company I work for is consolidating the rest of our office from two floors to one floor. Somehow they've figured out this means that there is a surplus of plants, so I now have planters on top of my cubicle walls with this vine type plant that is growing DOWN into my cubicle. The shoots are on top of my monitor and obscure at least half of my whiteboard.
The feeling of being a contestant on Survivor is now complete.
*beep*
"Kim? This is your Mom calling. No special reason and you don't need to call me back."
Dammit Mom, you know that I'm on a frickin' dial-up connection here and whenever you call and leave me one of these asinine messages it knocks my computer offline without me knowing it. I had written a most eloquent essay for my blog that was going to win me the praise and admiration of the entire blogosphere and when I pushed Publish, I got the dreaded Page Not Found error message.
*beep*
Oh, bloody hell! I forgot to wait for the beep and this message too is somewhere floating out in space somewhere....
I don't claim to be a particularly good photographer, but with a subject like Nicole, how can you possibly go wrong?
Well, it looks like the blame game has begun in earnest over Hurricane Katrina and the response, or lack of response by government agencies. I'm not going to get into my feelings about that here, but like so many others I've been watching in stunned silence the wave of misery that is pouring out of the Gulf Coast area. I've donated money of course, but I still feel helpless.
I was inspired by this article from a doctor on the frontlines so starting today I'm going to be looking for volunteer opportunities here in San Diego that may help. I'm mandated by my employer to take off from December 23 - January 3 for the holidays and I'm hoping to convince a number of my co-workers to spend at least part of that time in Mississippi with me helping with the rebuilding effort.
Even if we can't do much, we should at least do what we can...
I've always thought of myself as a low maintenance woman.
I'm definitely not a high maintenance woman who has to have acrylic fingernails and a spray-on tan. I don't buy designer clothing. I don't get anything lasered or waxed. I don't expect the man I'm dating to be available to cater to my every whim (and with an open checkbook to boot).
I'm also not a no maintenace woman either. I shave and pluck on a regular basis and not just because I might be getting some horizontal action with a man. I do my own manicures and pedicures and treat myself to a trip to the spa on occasion. I get my hair cut and colored every 6 weeks mainly because it needs it. I buy nice clothing, but usually when it's on sale.
Lately I've been rethinking whether I truly am a low maintenance woman or not. Maybe I'm a high maintenance woman who is lazy. My life is pretty busy with things already, but if I really wanted that fake tan, couldn't I find the couple of hours a week to get it? Probably. If I really wanted a designer outfit couldn't I buy it? Sure.
My problem is that I'm unwilling to give up things I find interesting and fun in order to make time to read fashion magazines, go to the mall, and lay still while someone lasers a landing strip into my bikini area. Do I want to go to the park to take photographs or do I want to let some random woman at the Clinique counter in Nordstrom's draw on my face? The answer to that question is no contest.
I guess what I am is a high maintenance woman with common sense (and a limited amount of cash)...
I admit it. I'm thinking about turning into a hair whore.
Lately I've been seriously considering sneaking around on my current hairdresser of 4 years. I mean she's OK and everything, but where's the excitement? The newness? The wild and crazy stuff of bygone times? She and I have gotten into a rut and I'm seriously contemplating letting someone else touch my bangs (and maybe more if I like that). Me bad?
This all started when I woke up one morning to get ready for work and realized that somehow my hairdresser had introduced the Carol Brady flip into my hair without me knowing it. We used to be able to talk about things like this. She used to take my opinions seriously. Where, oh where did it all go so wrong?
I know I should do the right thing and break it off with her BEFORE I go out and start shopping around for her replacement, but I think it's only fair that I get to test drive a new model before I commit to it. Right? I mean what if the next one isn't as good as she is? Then I'd be totally screwed, you know what I mean?
I will do the right thing however, and not sneak around with Michael, the gay guy at the next station. That's just wrong to flaunt a new relationship in front of your old one in that way. If she happens to notice that my hair color is a little more red than the last time she colored it, I'll have to somehow come up with a convincing lie. Can the sun bleach your hair redder?
I'm not a good liar. At all. *Note to self: take up poker playing BEFORE turning into a hair whore.
...but only because when I scroll the directory on my phone, looking for someone to call and commiserate about my day with, it's the same 5 people who always seem to get a call from me at 5:45 pm saying, "Whatcha doing? I'm sitting in traffic and I'm bored so I thought I'd start dialing..."
Just went back and corrected the grammar on my previous post. Spelling and grammar are important to me because I think that you should care enough to choose your words carefully to express your ideas. I regret the trend in this country that text messaging and other forms of electronic communication have reduced us to. Yes, communication is possible in these shorthand times, but I feel that we lose the richness of language that weaves a beautiful tapestry around our experiences by succumbing to the temptation to take shortcuts like these. Am I out to lunch on this? Can I get an amen out there?
I especially find it irksome among the men online who are looking to meet quality women. Hasn't someone told them that it's kind of important that they don't look like a 3rd grade dropout if they want to meet that intelligent and witty woman of their dreams? I'm going to continue to keep my standards high in this regard and anyone who uses 2 when they mean too, will automatically find themselves in the reject pile.
(This is not directed at my friends who speak English as a second language. I'm actually in awe of your ability to negotiate the quagmire that is English).
My pathetic gardening efforts have resulted in a lone, golf-ball sized tomato that is finally ready for harvesting. As you can see from the grave condition of the plant itself, the patient isn't expected to live much longer, but at least it can die now knowing that it will return to its Creator having fulfilled its purpose in life. And no, its purpose wasn't to produce a beautiful fruit for me to enjoy, but rather that it taught me that even a little bit of love and care can produce beautiful results...
Update: The tomato was sweet and juicy but still the flesh was firm. I'm not a huge fan of tomatoes, but I've also never enjoyed a tomato more.
I have to admit I get envious at times when reading other people's blogs in which they have all kinds of cute "look at what my little darling did today" moments to report. My brother-in-law told me about Nicole's first visit with the kindergarten teacher before school started. They were doing some preliminary testing like having her count as high as she could, whether she recognized colors and then they asked her about whether her Mom and Dad read to her. She answered that yes her Mom and Dad read her stories.
"What is your very favorite book, Nicole?" asks the teacher.
Without missing a beat, Nicole says "Walter the Farting Dog". And then she proceeds to go into great detail about the plot points of this literary masterpiece.
Yep, I bet that teacher is REAL impressed with Nicole's comprehension skills.
Not sure why, but lately lots of old friends and family have been calling me and sending little "thinking of you" emails. Is the karmic energy I'm giving off into the cosmos one of being distraught? I don't think I necessarily feel distraught, but I appreciate all of the expressions of love and concern, nonetheless. This is a sincere thank you to you all.
I've been planning for awhile to buy a new mattress and box springs, so yesterday I took the plunge and did it. However, I wasn't content to merely buy that. Nooooooooo. I decided that my new bed needed to be encased in a new frame too. So here's the new look for Kim's boudoir. Here's hoping that at some point I will actually have to share this new mattress with someone else other than myself.
*sigh*
I love craigslist. As a matter of fact I think I might be in need of a 12-step program to help me with my addiction to craigslist. Since I discovered it, I can't seem to stop going there for a daily fix of finding things I REALLY DON'T NEED OR HAVE ANY USE FOR. Kind of like an eBay for the more hip and technologically with-it geek.
Nevermind the fact that I actually used craigslist to find the apartment I eventually moved into here in San Diego. Also nevermind the fact that I found a gullible (and poor) college student and bought her dining room table set, but only after I haggled her down to a measly $125. Hey, I paid cash, so what do you expect?
However, I find myself cruising the postings for the perfect leather furniture at a steal of a price. I don't NEED leather furniture. I also don't need the vinyl records from my teenage years that I keep hoping to find. (Anybody know where I can lay my hands on an Ohio Players "Fire" lp with the original cover art?)
Do I really want to admit that I read the Men for Women postings? Or that that mid-50's guy that posts over and over and over again is really creepy? I wandered into Casual Encounters and found myself in utter shock at what some people will flat-out state that they are looking for in a sex partner. Thank goodness the firewall at work prevents me from accessing THAT on my lunch hour.
Forget Google. I have full confidence that should the time come that I need a liver transplant, craigslist will be right there to not only help with the search, but help me find someone that will deliver for an extra $25....
For several weeks now, my right ear feels like I'm on an extended plane ride where the pressure NEVER equalizes inside my head. I'll have brief glorious moments of being able to hear the world around me in stereo, but then almost immediately it's like going back to having only the left speaker in your car working.
Yesterday, the pressure built to the point where there is actual pain involved. I went home early from work (yeah, it surprised me too), stopped at the drug store to get a heating pad to place on my ear. That helps, but it still hurts. I'm on my way to the doctor to see if I can get some relief soon.
The doctor is a good second choice I guess. What I really want is my Mommy....
- My child is inmate of the month at Folsom State Prison
- Go Annie Duke!
- Guess what my Guiness World Record is
Today I had a strange dream early in the morning. I dreamed that a bright green tiny frog somehow found it's way into my house. As I was wondering how it got into the house, it merrily started hopping toward my bedroom. Giving chase, it eluded me until it made it's way into my closet. Strangely, it now blended in with the items sitting among my shoes on the floor of my closet. Just as I was going to reach for the frog, my "belts" started to move. They were snakes! I snatched my hand back just in time before these small green snakes caught and devoured the frog. Ewwwwwww!!!!
This is a relatively benign dream (and I'm aware of what these symbols are referring to in my waking life), but what scares me is that I might be slipping back to the place I was at in my mid 20's when I was sleep walking and I was afraid to go to sleep at night. I'm hoping this is a one time occurence and it's only because I happened to mention that time in my life recently to a friend of mine. Why does the unknown have to be so scary?
I admit it. I'm an anti-Zionist.
Please note gentle reader, that this statement has nothing to do with Judaism and the state of Israel but rather with Mormonism and the state of Utah.
I love my RELIGION, but I'm not all that crazy about some of the cultural and social stuff that goes along with it. Especially as that culture is being grown in the petri dish that is Utah.
You know it's bad when your religion has it's own set of jokes that can't be translated into any other religion or ethnic group. I mean how many blonde jokes can be retold as college co-ed jokes or regional jokes? Unfortunately, most Mormon jokes don't translate at all well as Catholic jokes. Peculair people indeed.
She's baaaaackkk....
I go down to the garage yesterday morning and see it literally wallpapered with flyers that this chick has made up addressed to Jack saying stuff like "You really hurt me, Jack" and "Tell the truth, Jack". Plus there are printouts of emails between the two of them and a picture of someone and their tatoo. Plus many, many more. It was freakish like every cliche of a stalker you could think of.
I feel sorry for poor Jack, it's like he's living a Lifetime Movie with this psycho kitty...
Don't sue me David Letterman (I'd rather be sued by Nick Hornby anyway)
Top 5 household tasks that I will avoid doing today even at the peril of my health:
5. Vacuuming
4. Sweeping
3. Mopping floors
2. Washing dishes
1. Cleaning the toilet
Patrick got us wonderful seats along the first base foul line to see the Padres play the Phillies last night. Too bad the Padres FELL APART in the 9th inning and allowed 4 runs to lose 5-2. I love everything about the baseball experience: over-indulging on hot dogs and peanuts, nearly getting your head taken off with a foul ball, yelling helpful advice to the coaches and players ("If you just would have let that pitch hit you Klesko, we would have scored with the bases loaded. Don't be such a wuss and duck, that's why you're wearing a helmet you know. Next time take one for the team, wudja?")
If it wasn't such a darn expensive experience, I'd be ditching church today and worshipping at the altar of Babe Ruth's bat. Sorry, God....
Last night I swear I died and went to food heaven. If there isn't scrumptious stuff to eat in the next life, don't bother taking me Lord, cause I ain't going. I'm going to place a list of demands on God right here and now of things that must be stocked in the fridge and pantry of my mansion in the sky when I arrive:
- A full rack of ribs from Phil's BBQ
- An entire array of desserts from Extraordinary Desserts
- A full gallon of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
- Fresh raspberries and blueberries from Henry's
It goes without saying that all of this would be calorie free of course. Thanks in advance.
OK, I'll admit last night was entertaining. I mean REALLY entertaining. And that's the only reason I didn't call the cops.
I'm a small town girl that has little experience with living in the big city. I've seen in movies the kind of scene that went on last night, but never in person. I mean, how cliche is it to have your drunk former girlfriend show up at your apartment building and start yelling at you through the intercom at the door downstairs? And at 1:00 in the morning to boot?
Unfortunately, I only heard HER side of the conversation so I can only interpret the situation based on that. All I can say is, dude, I think you dodged a bullet by breaking up with her. She's a shreiker when she's upset. She also curses like a sailor when she's begging you to let her in. Also the fact that she was banging the phone against the wall when you wouldn't let her in to me is a big red flag. I think you are well rid of her.
I have a question for you though. You told her you loved her? Are you insane???? I'm assuming you're not 20 years old (based on the appearance of the shrieker in the street), so I gotta ask. What possessed you to tell her you loved her? I'll just assume your brain was sex addled at the time.
Piece of free advice for ya. Next time make sure the woman you're with knows what kind of woman she is. I mean a woman who thinks she's a queen bee when she's really a bar fly, is just a recipe for trouble.
Wearily yours,
The Woman in Apartment 40C
My worst fears were realized when I was told at the DMV this morning that because my old California license had expired, I was required to take the written driving test in order to renew it. After getting my mugshot taken (complete with deer in the headlights open-mouthed stare), I was given the dreaded #2 pencil, a multiple choice test, and was shown to a long counter where I could stand in complete silence with other similar panic-striken adults.
I handed in my test in the little wire basket and then slunk over to sit in one of those hard molded-plastic chairs to nervously await my fate.
"Kim?"
I scurried to the counter, hoping to avoid having them yell my score across the room at me. Though why I should care that a room full of strangers should know that I failed my driving test is beyond me.
"Yes, I'm Kim."
"You passed, ma'am."
"I passed?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Can you check the score again?"
"Yes, ma'am, you missed one question."
"I did?"
"Yes, ma'am, congratulations. We're taking a short survey to understand better our patrons preparation for the test. How many hours would you say that you studied for the test?"
"I didn't study."
"You didn't study?"
"No, ma'am."
"Not at all?"
"No, ma'am."
And that, my friends, is how I came to be allowed to drive the freeways of California with impunity...
I'll be spending this morning at the California DMV. 'Nuff said.
Pride weekend in San Diego was loud, flamboyant, and well.....wonderful. Makes me very glad that I've moved to a place with so much diversity. It also has me thinking a lot about how far gays have come in our culture and just how much more needs to be done. Miss you, Kirk and Larry....
I've been thinking alot about age lately.
I took a blogging class over the weekend and I found it interesting that of all the samples that the teacher gave in class, most were written by apparently young people. And yet the makeup of our class was decidedly on the older side. I wondered about that disparity and whether this older generation will begin making up for lost time in the not too distant future in the world of blogging. I think that my generation has plenty of interesting things to say, perhaps even more than the young. We just need to embrace the new mechanisms available to us to voice those thoughts. We're not all Luddites, you know.
As I tried in vain to come up with a clever and catchy blog title and URL, only to get the frustrating message "That name is unavailable" over and over again, I finally came up with the brilliant idea that no 20-something is going to even know what a digizine is (or was). For us old timers, it was short for "digital magazine" and was actually the precursor to what blogs have become. My early career in this internet thing was to create a digital version of an existing print publication. Ahhh, the good ol' days of the infancy of this whole web phenom.
I skipped around from blog to blog, reading the exploits of these young hipsters and their wildly exciting lives. "Well, we did it. We eloped and got married in Las Vegas. This is the first of the three weddings we'll be having over the course of the next month." "I'm on an extended road trip through the US with no way to get home even though my tourist visa expires in 6 days!" "I just got back from trekking through the Amazon with 5 people I recently met online. Anyone know of a job that pays well but allows me to drop off the face of the earth on a whim?" This lead to another epiphany for me: I didn't do enough rash and foolish things in my youth. Damn my parents for teaching me to be responsible before my time.
I guess it's quite telling that I never did a single rebellious thing in my life until I reached the ripe old age of 38. I think I might be a late bloomer. Because my misspent youth didn't begin until I was nearly 40, does this mean that I'm actually going to live until I'm about 120?
The thought of me having a midlife crisis in my 60's and getting liposuction and a boob job is faintly disturbing to me....
