Friday, July 30, 2010

Never Too Early to Plan a Baby Shower.

Its Friday night, music pumping remixes of songs you haven't thought of in years are making it hard to talk to/hear what your friends are saying. Everyone's covered in that thin layer of sweat (that I have deemed "eau de recess") and is completely outta breath. The girls that wore shorts are sporting a bad case of rug burn on their knees. Years ago this introduction might have led me to believe scandalous things were going on, and the weekend was just kicking off with some drunken "where did my shoe go?" kinda ballyhoo.

This could not be more false, I am at a child's birthday party. We are at a place called Pump it up and the adults are sweaty from trying to keep up with 5 year olds. This is pretty much what my life has been like for the last few weeks/months. So many people in my various concentric circles are getting married or procreating or having those that they procreated celebrate a birthday or graduation of quinceneras or bat mitzvas. Nary a weekend passes where I am not celebrating something for someone. If my few gray hairs aren't proof enough that I am getting old, my new Friday night plans are.

[Tangent: The gray hair issue is traumatizing. I wish I had the awesome sauce and confidence flowing in my veins to allow me to just Emmylou Harris it and go balls out gray. However I just get sparse stranglers and am only 27, so I am forced to dye or pluck. Usually the latter. After an impending birthday freakout last November, I dyed my hair super dark brown, which I was later told by my friend PJ, "made my hair look wig-like." Seeing his faux pas, he followed with, "Well, not a cheap wig. Like a classy wig...a call girl's wig." Fantastic. High priced 'tute was precisely what I was aiming for. Mission Accomplished.]

This whole being around little people [not dwarfs] all the time is semi making me want one. Baby fever is something that I have never really had. I love kids, and frankly, they love me. I come with a lot of fun accessories. I drive a car that is part transformer so the appeal on their end is obvious. I love my single, no dependent freedom, but I think its normal to think about it...I am a girl, remember?

Since I was about 14, I have known that I likely wouldn't be carrying my own baby Kimmies. [Tangent: If you have even been with me after a binge at a Japanese buffet, you know why I think carrying a baby would be unwise. When my belly is completely at capacity foodwise, I get the grunts. My breathing is compromised, and to be around me is not fun for anyone, so to be inside me (as in a baby) seems miserable. My hypothetical baby would need to be fully oxygenated to allow for optimum cuteness.] I have also really liked the idea of adoption. Maybe its the same reason I love stray puppies, vintage clothes and boys that are jaded after relationships with bitches. One girl's trash is another girl's treasure [Disclaimer: I am not calling a baby trash. It's a metaphor. Put away your anti-abortion brochures.] I also have experience. My oldest brother is adopted and I love him as much as my other siblings. In fact, for a long time I sort of assumed everyone had a brother from another birth mother living with them. [Tangent: I also thought the child adoption process was akin to picking out a puppy at the pound. My sister and I both separately concocted the same vision of my mom and dad walking down a corridor with windows along the wall. Inside each window was a different child doing something in their natural element...coloring, playing with blocks, napping etc.] Its obvious that they will be ethnic, because if they aren't gonna have my genes, I want them to have completely opposite genes. I want my family to look like a Beneton ad or a children's tv show cast.

Every time I go baby shopping for a friend, I find multiple somethings my little mini mes will one day desire in their lives. This day is likely far off, so friend, go ahead and take mental note. These are some items for my future minions to make it obvious they are my kiddies, despite their divergent genetics. [Tangent: I am not crazy- most of these have even been bought my me before, or I have come across while baby shopping for friends. I don't spend my weekends outfitting babies that don't exist....usually.]

My kid needs good musical taste.

These are lullaby versions of Journey and Guns N Roses. How amazing is that?!?

Shit happens. Valuable lesson.

Halloween is an event for my family. Gotta train 'em young.

I go for nerdy this will likely prove appropriate.

Every little girl needs a pearl necklace. Please take that literally.

An actual baby scarf would be dangerous...this seems like the perfect solutions, and they will always match their mama.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Trumped by Facebook.

Wednesday, at about 3 pm, I was sitting diligently at my desk, processing claims and having my brain transitioning from jell-o to cream of wheat as it does everyday about that time. If I didn't see something other than that blaring yellow and Carolina blue bill review screen, I felt a nervous breakdown was nigh. As an intervention, I opened the tiny, easily minimizable half screen of facebook to see if I had missed any urgent goings on. [Tangent: I have a very unhealthy relationship with Facebook. I love it and feel like I need validation from it, but it does not love me back. It's like a Maury Povich episode where the girl in the polyester too-tight tiger print velour top and prom up-do is saying, "but I love him." Whilst the object of her undeserved affection just kinda shrugs and says, "Maury, I can't be tied down." That, in essence, is where I stand/sit with the social networking site. I am very attentive to it, and it is indifferent (such is life).].

Facebook used to be blocked at work, and I generally still try to imagine it still is on the blocked list to keep me from logging on. I'm only to assume somebody in corporate was really into Farmville or Yoville! or one of those other lame -ville's and had to lift the ban so that their crops wouldn't go untended.

To my surprise I saw the following in my brother's news feed.

Michael went from being "in a relationship" to "engaged." · ·

WHAT?!?!?! I mean, I knew my brother was in Russia with his girlfriend. Something told me my brother would do it big and ask her there, but I had no proof to back it up. However, I remained pissed that possibly randoms he met at a party once or people he hadn't seen since 8th grade knew about this before his own flesh and blood.

Damn you Facebook! How dare you scoop me. Facebook wasn't just keeping me on top of people's feelings about the death of Bea Arthur or about last night's Jersey Shore, but it was now telling me about important events going on in my family. TOO FAR! This unhealthy relationship I was having with social media was taking the bullet train to being abusive.

I snatched my cell phone of my desk and raced out to the elevator area (which I have been told by people I telephonically conversate is an area that makes me sound like I am in a mineshaft and/or cave, which somehow makes my job sound more interesting.), and dialed my dad's number. I needed to get to the bottom of this, then I decided after ring number 2 that surely my own father would have called me if he had this news [Tangent: Other reasons my dad has called me at work: He can't find a phone number. He wants to remind me its a sibling's birthday. He can't figure out the computer. He wants to tell me that some mail came for me. So to assume that he would call me to tell me about an engagement in the immediate family seems logical, right?] I had to tell someone who would care, so I called my sister. Turns out that she was as enraged as I was. Not about the wedding, we were super ecstatic about having Kristine in the Jones family, it was more that we were so clueless about it....and that Facebook knew about it before we had any semblance of a notion (Yes, I imagine that Facebook is a person. Don't make it weird. I imagine him looking strikingly similar to "The Claw" on Inspector Gadget.)

Luckily, I worked overtime on Wednesday, so didn't have to see my parents. I had a feeling that as soon as I saw my sweet mother and father, I was gonna explode and give them the news or implode and hide in the closet to avoid telling them the news. Luckily, all my coworkers had reinforced that it wasn't my news to tell. (To which I wanted to say, "His college roomate knows. The kid he rode carpool with knows in 4th grade knows. His parents should.")

Just to reaffirm, I am really bad at playing it cool.

Me: So, Dad....have you heard from Mikey today?

Dad: Yeah...he called earlier. I was in at the doctor, so I told him I would have to call him back.(Suddenly my dad had cell phone etiquette. Strange.)

Me: But, he was calling from St. Petersburg. That's expensive. Maybe he needed you for something.

Dad: Oh...well he'll call back tomorrow. He said everything was fine.

*cue my head exploding*

I tried to stay on the periphery of conversation all evening to keep the chamber of secrets intact and decided to go to bed at 9:30 when I felt fatigue set in. Everyone knows you cannot be at peak performance under great fatigue. That rule is not only for athletes and scholars, but also for ineffective liars, like myself.

About 11:30 pm, the bizarre dream I was having was interrupted. I heard the phone ring and heard mom and dad bumble around in the den getting all excited. About 4 minutes into the conversation, my mom comes into my room and playfully berates me for not telling her. Damned if you do...damned if you don't.

Congratulations! Welcome to the monkey house, Kristine. I hope you get some of the crazy out of this gene pool!

Monday, July 26, 2010

Happy birth-versary ADA!

*Me and Andraea circa 2002. Yeah, I'm wearing one of Draea's long ass weave in this picture. Try not to be jealous.

Yesterday, one of my best and dearest, Andraea, called me because she needed help with coming up with a name for a outreach project she was doing with kids. [Tangent: Andraea was my roommate my freshman and sophomore years in college. We were both Mass Communications majors and both completely ridiculous- so our friendship was immediate. Unlike me, Andraea actually got her dream job in DC and is kind of a big deal working with a government non profit for people with disabilities. She is off having sushi with Michele Obama (at least in my mind), while I am desk jockeying it. On the upside though- She has since become increasingly PC (at least when in the company of work people) and has removed the terms "wheelchair people" and "handicappeds" from her lexicon. I only work in insurance- so I am still allowed to throw around inappropriate terminology. However Its not completely out of her system, because she sent me the following text last week: "I wish you were here to see all these wheelchairs, limbless people, and little people tearing it up on the dance floor."] When I asked what the project was for, she said "Happy Anniversary by the way. Tomorrow's the 20th birthday of something."

I sat baffled as to what was meaningful in my life 20 years ago. The movie Ghost came out...but at 8, I was not really a Swayze fan [Tangent: I still am not. Yeah...I said it. That just happened. Just because he died, it does not mean I am going to act like I was a stowaway on the Swayze bandwagon. I always thought he came off very feminine in Dirty Dancing, and after he made To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar- I could no longer see him as anything but Miss Vida Bohemme.]

Hmmm....what else? The debut of the Simpsons? Its the anniversary of my cousin Mark's wedding and our family's vacation to the picturesque town of Detroit, MI. Its the anniversary of me buying school supplies in preparation for beginning 3rd grade? I mean I did have a super sweet 101 Dalmations pencil bag, which was pivotal to that school year, but was likely largely ignored by society at large.

the remainder of our conversation...

Me: I give up. What did I forget to buy a card for?

Andraea: Tomorrow is the 20th Birthday/Anniversary of the American with Disabilities Act.

Me: Is this a Hallmark holiday? What do you do to celebrate? Do I have to get all my friends with disabilities something?

*what I should have stocked up on for this occasion.

Andraea: No...but I'm crafty- I'll make you a card with Stanley on it, the ADA mascot.

Me: WHAAA? They have a mascot? (I felt like she was lying, and so I semi-imagined the weird Olympic mascot from the '96 Atlanta Olympics. I mean, he looked "special")

Andraea: No he's the little man on the handicapped parking sign. [Tangent: After much googling- I have learned this is false and Andraea took it upon herself to name him. I don't think this is weird at all because all of my plants and major electronics have names. Would you like to meet Bea Arthur (my Ipod), Bernie (my MacBook Pro) or Barney (my cactus)? Personification of inanimate objects is not a sign of mental illness- don't believe the hype. ]

This made me feel super out of touch with my people. I felt like a wee Chinese child who was adopted by a nice white family and didn't know how to use chopsticks. Why did I know so little about The American with Disabilities Act? I then went online and wiki'd and google'd my heart out. I have since learned the following valuable bullet points.

- My employer likely got a tax break for hiring me (cool?!?)

- Transportation should be accessible and available to those with disabilities (hahaha. not true)

- Disabled people should have their needs specifically met educationally.

*I am not sure what this has to do with anything, but it's adorable.

Ok: Now for a serious note. The next few numbers were really fascinating. I kinda felt like- "self, you have totally beaten the odds." Pretty crazy...

19% of people with disabilities said they did not get the medical care they needed in the past year, with lack of insurance coverage cited as the top reason.

• 21% of disabled working-age Americans had a job in the past year, versus 59% for those without disabilities.

• 17% of people with disabilities have not graduated from high school, compared to 22% in 2000 and 40% in 1986 — the first year the survey was taken.

• 48% of people with disabilities eat out at a restaurant twice a month, compared to 75% of those without disabilities.

• 34% of disabled people say inadequate transportation is a problem, compared to 16% of those without disabilities, a gap that has widened 5 percentage points since 1986.

Let that simmer. and consider buying me this for the birth-versary of the ADA

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Flair Me.

I have been driving for a year and a half. I love my brown mini van with handicapped plates as much as I think it's possible to love a brown mini van with handicapped plates. The Chocolate Love Machine or Sexual Chocolate has worn through a set of tires and has had her oil changed- yet, I have I have yet to add any good flair to him/her. [Tangent: In my sick mind- vehicles should be female, but part of me thinks since I am female (I hope that's not news to you) that I should objectify my car and make it male. Since I couldn't decide on this weird ethical dilemma- Sexual Chocolate was my way of remaining gender neutral and giving a little nod to Coming To America. Yes, my car is a shim.]

The general flair is accounted for. My mom left a lei in there after a July 4th picnic, because, apparently, she thinks that I need to decorate my car like I am returning from Spring Break '97 in PCB. I also have the standard above the sun visor cd holder and my little bearded Irishman named Shamus who sits in my little dashboard ridge. He's my navigator.

I still lack flair. When I was little and dreamed of a car- I envisioned that it would look like the suspenders of a TGI Friday's waiter or the walls of a Cracker Barrel [Tangent: could play a drinking game with the amount of mentions CB get in my blogs...and you would be shithammered, so I don't recommend it.] I thought maybe I would have weird bobble headed dogs on my dash and hula dancers and seasonally appropriate Jack-In-The-Box heads adorning my antennae. I have since realized that's slightly tacky.

Maybe the bumper sticker route is where I should turn my attention. My dad gifts me witty liberal stickers on a bi-monthy basis, but I live in a blood red county. Additionally I like my paint job and don't enjoy being undeservedly cursed in traffic (trust that I give my fellow drivers plenty of reason for vulgarity without exacerbating the matter with stickers.) I was also given the following sticker which I love and feel fits me to a T, but also feel sort of invites sexual assault upon myself. [Tangent:I already drive what my friends refer to as a 'rape van'...I need not add fuel to that fire. For that reason, I think it's more an 'indoor sticker.']

Today when we were driving out in rural Tennessee, I decided maybe I should go with the classic Chevy pees on Ford Calvin and Hobb's sticker [Tangent: please click here if you are unfamiliar. Why do I find it so funny that you can select the peeing direction?], but I don't really have ill will towards any particualar automaker- so maybe I should just kick a defunct manufacturer while they're down. Chevy pees on Saturn. Chevy pees on Datsun. Chevy pees on Edsel.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

It Can't all be Wedding Cake

* Again...If you don't find this picture funny...we're over.

I love weddings. I have no idea why. I am not in a relationship, never have a date to them....but I am definitely NOT one of those girls that sees a wedding as a reason to dwell on their own lack of wedded bliss. I really see it more as a reason to fantasize about an amazing theme wedding. [Tangent: This is a weird hobby of mine. As a subsidiary of my past time of having ridiculous hypothetical conversations- I am really good at themes for weddings and parties that will never come to fruition. I do imagine one day when I choose to become one half of an old married couple, it will be after a brilliantly executed theme affair.]

I think it all started when I was a little girl. At 9 years old, I
was semi hell bent on walking down the aisle under water (not completely submerged, but waist deep). This way I could literally walk down the aisle due to the buoyancy of the water and the fact that it makes me weightless, maybe at the YMCA during rest period. The lap swimming lane would be my aisle. My wedding planning involved me wearing a sparkly white bathing suit with veil and my groom wearing black swim trunks with a bow tie (but no collar and faux cuffs or top hat, we wouldn’t want to be gaudy. After all, we need to keep our swimming pool nuptuals classy.)
Later in life, I realized maybe this wasn't the best idea. There was far too much room for error. Not many people like to be photographed in swimwear
(I don't pal around with Hawaiian Tropic contestants.) Furthermore, what if my guests couldn't swim? What if it rains and everyone gets called out of the pool during a lightning threat? What if my black friends didn't wanna mess up their perms? I needed to be reasonable.

Then one Sunday morning I was at my favorite white trash eatery, Cracker Barrel [Tangent: yep...thats two blogs in a row I have mentioned my affinity for ol' CB...get used to it. It's a bigger part of my life than most people.]. When discussing my infatuation with the old country store, I had the brilliant idea that they could cater my one day ceremony complete with a hashbrown casserole (or HBC for those in the know) layer cake and a buffet of delicious bacon-laiden veggie options. But I take everything a step further than usual - I thought why not make it a complete Cracker Barrel affair? Music of course would be courtesy of Johnny Cash/Alabama/Conway Twitty/George Jones/Dolly Parton/_________(<----insert other Cracker Barrel favorite country artist here).

My bridesmaids would wear homespun outfits from the clearance rack. Preferably with embellishments or gorgeous horses emblazoned on them. My groom would don either a "Property of Nashville XXL" shirt or maybe "Nothing Runs like a Deere." I would leave that up to the gentleman who gives me his last name. [Tangent: Unless he wanted us to wear brown aprons with our names and number of years together portrayed in gold stars, because that is just not part of my vision.] Some sort of centerpieces would also be concocted out of Goo-Goo clusters and rock candy. Possibly even a signature cocktail using Stewart's root beer and rum seems in order.

*The wedding favors are obvious.

Don't get me wrong, I am not completely greedy with this wedding planning genius. A couple years ago my friend Ashley lost her wedding ring at work [Tangent/important back story: My friend Ashley has more convictions that any person I know (not convictions as in felonies, more like strong moral beliefs). She is a strict Vegan who doesn't wear or buy anything non-organic or made in China. In fact many items in my closet are there because they were not made in America, so went against her beliefs. It goes without saying it has been years since she set foot inside anything capitalist or with any ounce of shady business practice like a McDonalds or a WalMart. It also should be obvious that the ring in question was not a diamond, lest we forget what Leo Dicaprio taught us about the diamond industry.]

To cheer her up, as she made her quest to find it in the cubicle maze, I told her now was her chance to reinvent her image with a new blood diamond ring and a new wedding ceremony to accompany it. Nothing says 'I love you and want to be your forever mate' more than knowing thousands died in genocide to bring you sparkly jewelry. Imagine the possible directions to display conspicuous consumption and Un-PC-ness (when you say that out loud, it sounds like penis...and that just made me giggle...It appears I'm 12).

Ashley could wear a floor length chinchilla coat over a wedding dress made of genuine clubbed baby seal carcass. Very rare endangered flowers would be cut and put in her hair. Perhaps we could find a skilled craftsman (or an illegal immigrant) to build a hoopa out of 200-year-old California Redwoods, under which Mel Gibson could perform the ceremony (He made a Jesus movie, so I imagine that makes him an official of some sort). Dinner would be served on bone china (literally made from the bones of dinosaurs) and ivory handled cutlery. The buffet would feature exclusively veal and assorted pesticide-enriched fruits and veggies. [Tangent: The snow leopard shanks with a side of empire penguin eggs were slightly out of the budget- we would not want to get out of hand or else we would seek out a sponsor. WalMart of course being the go to].

For entertainment, a band of homeless people and performing puppy mill dogs would dance around a constantly flowing fountain of water from the Amazon as guests sip their non-fair trade coffee. At the end of the evening, guests would be treated to a pyrotechnic display. A historic building would be blown up with elaborate fireworks and "Ashley and Clay Forever" would light up the night sky, filling it with smog and ash as the lovebirds drive away in their getaway car, a Hummer. That wreaks of love and class.

*Trashley's actual wedding photo!

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

You Were Always on My Mind

*If you think this kitten is adorable you may not want to read this blog...

I love the idea that someone is thinking about me, even when I am not around. As if I am omniscient and ever-present; Its a reassuring feeling. The weird thing is the times I get brought up or thought of are usually the following:

"I was at Cracker Barrell eating hashbrown casserole today
and totally thought of you."
This makes sense because I LOVE Cracker Barrell and make no secret that it is my 'happy place.'

"I thought of you today when I was sitting on the toilet..."
This makes less sense to me and sadly has been uttered to me on numerous occasions..maybe someone can help me out on this one.

Today I was sitting around the break room lunch table with some of my lovely coworkers. We had just listened to my friend Carri, a sweet little mother of 4, tell us all how she made a turkey sandwich for Peter Frampton when she was 15 at the Hilton in Brentwood. He was so pleased with her kindness that he kissed her quite firmly and emphatically on the right side of her mouth. [Tangent: This launched into a long discussion how she should sensationalize this story and sell it to the Star. Carri is 31 and looks roughly 16, so it can be assumed that when she was 15, she looked 8. A kiss from an aging rock star seems like an odd reciprocation for simply making a turkey sandwich, especially a full on mouth kiss. (I mean unless it was on, lets say, fancy Sarah Lee bread with the perfect ratio of mayo and mustard...oh and thinly sliced turkey...then that seems a completely legitimate response.)]

OK....back to my point. Conversation turned to one of our newest web obsession, which I refer to as time sucks. The site my coworkers are currently obsessed with is, which is basically where an impressively assholey fella answers craigslist ads, horrifying people in the process. It is truly right down my alley. Dawn, my friend and follower, interjected, "Oh my god, I totally thought of you last night while I was reading one of those. It reminded me of you."

As she recounted the post to me in gorey detail, I sat horrified and thought, "Why the hell did you think of me?!?"

The following is the post that reminded her of me. DISCLAIMER: The following is kinda graphic. Hilarious, but graphic. I may dislike cats and think some cat people are strange, but I would never do the following.

Original ad:
670cc commercial wood chipper/shredder for sale. Little bit of rust but works great. Contact Joe - ***********
$4000 OBO
From Me to ***********

Hi Joe,

Is the wood chipper still for sale?



From Joe ****** to Me:

Yes, I still have the wood chipper.

From Me to Joe ******:

I don't have $4000, but what I do have is $200 and a need for use of a wood chipper for about half an hour. Would I be able to rent it from you for $200?


From Joe ****** to Me:

I don't see why not. What are you using it for?

From Me to Joe ******:

Don't worry about that. So would I be able to swing by and pick it up in my truck, then bring it back about an hour later? I can leave my driver's license as collateral.


From Joe ****** to Me:

First you need to tell me what the chipper is being used for or you can find someone else.

From Me to Joe ******:

Okay, I'll try to explain my situation. My cat just had a litter of kittens, and I can't get rid of them. I tried giving them to my friends and putting ads online, but nobody wants them. I even tried releasing them into the wild but they keep coming back to my house. I can't stand these little fuckers pissing everywhere and clawing up my furniture. So I figure my next option is to put them down. I can't afford to have it done professionally, so I think a wood chipper would be the next most humane way. I looked up your model and saw it has a 6 inch input, which I think will be perfect for me.


From Joe ****** to Me: No.

From Me to Joe ******:

Why not? It is an easy $200 for you. Can't you just pretend I took it to mulch some wood?


From Joe ****** to Me:

No. You are a sick sick sick sick sick person.

From Me to Joe ******:

I'll give you $250 and throw in a free kitten (not mulched, of course). Plus, I thought about my plan some more, and I decided to put meow mix all around the input, and just leave the kittens near it. That way, if they get shredded, it is their own damn fault, and my hands are clean.


Ok. That was a strange correlation, I'll admit. But sadly, I am kinda flattered that I was thought of, and I do see the connection...vaguely. I mean I am more of a dog person.

Monday, July 19, 2010

"You Should call your next blog 'drunks on parade'"

*If the picture above doesn't make you giggle, even a little bit,
our friendship might be pending.

Every since I have become a big girl (not sizewise, but based on maturity) and have begun a steady 9-5 (really, its usually about 8-4:30. but that doesn't have the same Dolly Parton panache that rolls off the tongue so fluidly), I have begun to fully appreciate the magic and importance of a weekend. Its like a present that you receive for paying your weekly dues...and I love presents.

This week has been busy and restless. I lay down to sleep and feel like within minutes I am back awake and at my desk only to start the cycle again. To put it bluntly, though the money is awesome, mandatory overtime is kicking my ass. Five hours extra a week seems easy enough theoretically, but in actually sucks donkeys [Tangent: I brought back that phrase earlier today. I don't think I have used it since 8th grade, so I think it's about time it made a pop culture resurgence.]

The weekend made a rough beginning. I went to sleep Friday night super uneasy because as I was preparing for bed, the news reported there was a murder in my neighborhood earlier that night and the news was being very shifty with details. Fear overpowered me and made me positive I wasn't going to wake up the next morning. If they could just confirm it was a domestic incident rather than a murderer on the loose I feel rest would reach me more easily.

Additionally, I had to get to work at 8 AM Saturday morning, and upon waking up, I realized that everything in my home is falling apart. The most pivotal of these things being the air conditioning. How convenient! The heat index is over 100 degrees! I love having air that is bayou thick and feels like it should smell of cedar sauna planks. (I am laying on the sarcasm fairly heavily). I am used to my home feeling like an operating room, so I prepare for sleep with plush blankets, and fuzzy socks, so to awake dehydrated is fairly jarring. Especially after being coated in cold compresses and facing my small yet mighty oscillating dorm room fan. For this reason I made it a point to be home as little as possible.

After going to a wedding shower for a friend, I went to my bar [Tangent: I say my bar because so many of my friends work there; its right down the street from my house; never overly busy, etc etc.] to escape the raging inferno I call the Jones estate. Perhaps while at the shower I should have ingested more delicious finger food and petit fours (which someone at the shower called pedophiles and it made me giggle like a 12-year-old boy every time) because at the bar- I neglected to order food. By the end of the evening, drunk Kimmie had definitely come out with her party pants on.

I realized later I was ridiculous... I will fully admit to acting tacky, but frankly there is nothing I needed more in my life than a night of being trashy. It was overdue. [Tangent: Drunk Kimmie comes out maybe two or three times a year. Usually I am Kiminy Cricket who plays mama to those over served people I keep company with, and enjoying the spectacle of ridiculous goings on that usually accompany me, but when drunk Kimmie comes out- batter up!] I wish I could remember the particulars of the ballyhoo because I promised Josh, my bffbf (best friend's boyfriend for those that speak moron) that I would blog about it but I couldn't do justice to the blog topic he requested at the beginning of the night. My memory of the evening are as if recorded with a 2001 camera phone through a murky fish tank. Hazy at best.

The next morning, Beth as sole representative from my Sunday Gimp Squad saved me again from wandering the roads and sucking every ounce of freon from my car or wandering the mall like a vagrant embracing the coldstone at Coldstone Creamery, because as Glen Fry would say- The Heat is On. In my afternoon with Beth, we covered such important conversation topics as public vomitting, the adult baby community and vegans. This all preceded an afternoon of knick knack shopping, hipster watching and lots of in car karaoke.

You know, just another weekend in Kimmieworld.

Ok. That's all I got tonight. I promise I will do better tomorrow. I am eager to go to sleep in a bed that's cool without having to spoon some frozen Lean Cuisines.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Doggy Style

I hate people like me. I hate when people talk about their pets or their kids and have some false sense of superiority thinking their creature/child/rosebush is somehow greater than upping anything you should bring to the gauntlet. I am that person I get so irritated by. [Tangent: I can only see this increasing tenfold if/when I have children...I mean I won't enter them in pageants or anything, but I can see myself leaning towards being one of those ladies that carries an arsenal of pictures everywhere and who has to force herself not to emblazon her children on sweatshirts and tote bags and anything else that an iron-on will afix itself to (if iron-ons are indeed still the way to transfer images in the future)]But, for now, I will just have to brag about my furry 9 lb baby boy, Newman. I'm sorry, I really can't help it- I kinda have the most awesome dog in the world.

[Tangent: Many speculate that I have named him after a portly Seinfeld character...which although humorous and eerily accurate because he can be annoying, is not true. When we got him, he had blue eyes and was kinda pitiful looking. I wanted to give him a name that was more butch than he was at him measly 2 lbs. Who is more of a blue eyed stud than Paul Newman....NO ONE!]

Well, its not all sunshine and lollipops. I may enter a room and I see Newman surrounded by chewed up toilet paper with his own poop sticking out of his mouth like a fat cuban cigar, but let that not overshadow his awesome. This little brown Chiweenie (or at least that's what we think he is, although my father is convinced he is part pit bull, because he is a conspiracy theorist) was found in a shoebox on the side of the road by Critter Calvary Rescue, which is where we got him.

He was homeless. I like to imagine him with a dark past, a tramp with a stick over his shoulder turning tricks (and I mean that literally not sexually) for a scrap of food or to support his habit, but that is not completely accurate. Newman was likely an unplanned pregnancy (as are most puppies) and was dumped in a box out of lack of options. He then came to live with a nice white suburban family. Its just like the 'Blind Side' only we are not a family of Republicans and we will likely not exploit his talents. [Tangent: another back story I have given him is that he was presumed dead and left in a box by the garbage and the fact that he came back from the dead and was rescued by us is a miracle. (I know I have way too much time on my hands.)]

Regardless, I have had him for about 4 months, and he has basically taught himself to fetch and get in his crate when its bedtime. Plainly put, he's a genius. Once I coerced him into picking up an item I dropped. I did so by giving him false hopes that I would then use it to play fetch with him (Gotcha, sucka!). This leads me to believe that he is on his way to being a service dog. Not that I desire to have a service dog in the least (and I feel his service is terribly hit or miss). I just think he would look adorable in a little backpack.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Who's "That Girl"?

Dedication: The following blog is dedicated to my friend Alex, who when I couldn't think of what to write about said, "hey write about me!"....She is a fascinating specimen, who I affectionately refer to as "that girl" because in one of our first conversations she was talking about getting drunk and dancing on a bar, my response was "'re 'that girl'....aren't you?" and since then I have bore witness to various other scenarios to support her nickname.

An open book, she is unashamed about things that she does or likes, which I have to respect. Case in point, she actually really likes Nickelback (yikes!) and was unembarassed to go willingly into a Target store and buy a Justin Bieber CD. She loves Twilight and keeps me up on what the kids are into (oh...I should clarify...she is 23, not 14!) I know she will never steal a boy from me, because her dream lover is a country boy with a John Deere tattoo and who voted for Bush (..and I mean George Herbert Walker Bush...because she a refined older gent). She is very honest and kind of weird [Tangent: In another one of our early conversations she told me very randomly that she had an irrational fear of being killed by a serial killer! How can you not be intrigued], so that explains why I love her so much. So here goes.
Imagine the scene. A bunch of coworkers (who have a friendly relationship outside of cubicle wasteland) are sitting around a conference table enjoying a meal to celebrate a birthday. [Tangent: Conversation has temporarily drifted from the typical "who would you eat if you were reduced to eat one of your fellow employees due to a centralized nuclear holocaust?"...yes we have had this conversation on a regular basis and each have our subjects picked out (that's just good planning)]. Everything is going swimmingly and then for some reason the subject of paralysis is addressed. We all share our individual anecdotes on the subject, and lovely Alex, between bites of lasagna says, "God...I Think if I couldn't walk I would kill myself!" All the ancillary conversations were silenced and pin drop silence was implemented. About 10 seconds passed of people poking at their salads and glancing at me awaiting for my reaction. I couldn't contain it any longer. I laughed hard...I mean really really really hard (to the point where I became silent because my laughter was keeping me from breathing. Alex, having realized what she had just said, joined me in laughing.....apologizing between snorts. No one else got it.

The Alex "rather be dead" incident happened over a year ago, but today we were retelling this story to someone and Alex said very honestly, "Jones, I don't think of you as being in a wheelchair." Awwwww Moment! Its kind of the best compliment to get...and I get it a lot which makes me think I am doing something right.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Most Ineffective Zombie Ever

Today at work, I began listening to an audio book called WWZ. Its somewhat out of my genre, but I love a good postapocolyptic and or future distopian storyline (that is basically a really fancy way of saying I am kind of sick and twisty and like to imagine what life would be like if all of society was thrown in a blender and society and government are reshaped completely. Ex: Children of Men, 28 Days Later, Brave New World, The Handmaid's Tale and even The Giver. I think they instill a sense of fear and thankfulness, even if you are not super stoked about the way things are going.) WWZ is written from the perspective of a documentarian interviewing survivors of a zombie apocolypse 10 years after the "giant zombie wars or WWZ." (hence the book's title...see how I did that there?)

I imagine after listening to this I am going to add a new irrational fear to my growing list of irrational fears....zombies. I don't want to go through life questioning the livelihood (and yes, I mean that literally) of those around me. I already am terrified that I am going to get attacked by seagulls at the beach, fall through a sewage grate or get struck by lightning- let's just throw one more onto the pile.

[Tangent: Having been raised, with two older brothers who loved to torture me, I grew up with a lot of scary movies in my periphery- one standout being the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974 edition.... not the one with Matthew McCaughahey and not the one with Jessica Biel.) As I recall the guy in the wheelchair, Franklin didn't withstand the wrath of leatherface. In the event that there is a Zombie-pocalypse- I would surely be among the first to perish. My battery would surely give out long before I could outrun the undead. If/when that occurs, I would become a zombie...but a poor contribution to zombie race at that. To prepare for such an occurance-I have already built a strong case, relying heavily on my "wheelchair card" to escape becoming a meal: 1. I am not particularly menacing looking lady and 2. if the person whose tasty brains I am after runs up some stairs or down a gravel road- I am shit outta luck. If the undead avenger needs further evidence that the disabled make ineffective monsters, check this out.]

As I listened to this audio book, I also wondered why are zombies so hot right now? Really...whats next? When are mummies gonna get their time in the sun? Dragons, Witches and Wizards have had their pop culture moments and I think it goes without saying that Vampires have gotten plenty of airtime. (Tangent: If you disagree that vampire chic has gotten out of control- go walk around a hot topic store for about 10 minutes on a friday night....yes, willingly.)

Overall, the whole love affair with zombies is awesomely ridiculous to me (like animals wearing clothing or drag queens). Movies like Zombieland and Dawn of the Dead and Books like WWZ, Pride and Predudice and Zombies and The Zombie Survival Guide are making brain-eating, decomposing oozing beings interesting again. But, as is the cases with most things...Michael Jackson was doing it before it was cool.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Sorry Doesn't Seem to be the Hardest Word

I am a terrible Catholic. I don't go to church (haven't been in about 10 years). I don't go to confession or necessarily eat fish on fridays. Every year, I do give up something for Lent [Tangent: I do it more as a practice in restraint and have successfully been able to give up cursing and impulse least for 40 days and 40 nights.] but I don't get ashes to begin the practice or celebrate an overly Jesusy Easter [Jesusy Easter= going to church; Non Jesusy Easter= getting super exciting about the abundance of chocolate covered marshmallow eggs.]

However, I have the guilt and ability to ask for forgiveness down to a fine art. Its my vice. I apologize profusely for everything even things that are no way my fault. If you hold the door for me- I will likely say "sorry." If there is a line at a restaurant I will say "sorry." If you tell me to stop apologizing, I will immediately respond "sorry." It's something other people have always noticed about me, but I never noticed about myself until a few years ago- when those aforementioned people decided to call me out on it saying "Kimmie, you really need to stop."

I know when you are little and you do something wrong (example: throwing a bottle of nail polish remover at your sister's head or punching your brother in the crotch for relentlessly impersonating your buckteeth), you are immediately told to apologize for your actions...I think my parents did too good a job on this moral lesson. To my defense, I have always had to use that term a lot, so much so that it has become reflex. You see I have a hidden, yet to be formally diagnosed disability- I have no internal filter. I was once even told that I must not have an internal monologue because all my thoughts come out.

I am trying to get better with it, so I have vowed to, beginning today, stop apologizing (for a week...lets not get hasty).*

*sorry this blog was kinda boring....dammit!

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Gimp Squad Assemble

"I like to drive in handicapped spaces, where handicapped people make handicapped faces...
I'm an asshole"
- from 'I'm an Asshole' by Dennis Leary

Nearly every Sunday I have a tradition...a tradition that kind of came about out of nowhere, but a tradition that I have come to look forward to at the end/beginning of every week. Its G.S.S.C (Gimp Squad Sabbath Coffee) and it's awesome. Beth, Binkley and I met in college...over the years we drifted but never too far.

Its true, I originally met them due to our disabilities [Tangent: Fact! MTSU, there are possibly 50 wheelchairs on campus every semester (if not more) because it is by far the most accessible university in the southeast, and Fact!...I knew all of them...if nothing else then at least by name and maybe a corresponding fact.] It just kind of happened. I tried to avoid it and not be lumped in with the masses, but when you have a wheelchair- you acknowledge others in wheelchairs. It's kinda like when you have a Jeep, you do the Jeep wave, acknowledging others in Jeeps. Its a sign of respect and solidarity. We used the same accessible facilities/dorms on campus and just kinda got to know each other, despite our individual attempts to remain non stereotypical.

However, the reason we remain friends is because they are equally as ridiculous as I am. [Tangent: to further prove this fact - you notice my dear Binkley sports a handlebar moustache which he grew for (please...for the love of all that is holy, click that link to see his page. I dare you not to fall into a moustache vortex...happens to me everytime.)]

Beth is probably one of my favorite people. She was born with Cerebral Palsy and is pictured next to "friggin ray of sunshine" in your Mariam Websters...just go check. I daresay she knows everyone in Nashville, including Ben Folds. I know this because we were celebrating GSSC one day...Ben Folds walked into our coffee shop and said, "Hey Beth!" Who does that happen to??? Beth. That's who.

Binkley is another one of my favorites, he and I met around the same time, my Junior year in college. I had heard he had had the same spinal fusion surgery as I had, and his hadn't gone quite as planned... so I immediately felt we had some kind of weird kindred spirit thing going (mainly because we bonded after talking about our lopsided boobs and curvy spines...isn't that most most buds talk about). When I met Binkley, he was in a chair. I had never known him any other way, so when I saw him standing upright in my doorway leaning against his cane the first time (after a summer full of therapy), my little black heart got all warm and fuzzy. I haven't seen him use his wheelchair since (instead opting for the ever -dapper cane), but he is still a gimp. He can't escape us!

We secretly love the spectacle of the three of us going someplace together- its as if the center had its big field trip day or we have day passes for good behavior. Beth and I usually pile out of my van, struggle with the door as we enter the coffee shop, juggling our coffee cups as we find our way to our seats and watch as other hipster fair trade coffee drinkers scramble to rearrange our seats so we have places to sit. And you better believe, if seating is limited- Beth will likely throw down the wheelchair card so fast to make someone move (its one of the perks of this situation....let us have can keep your walking. Deal?)

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Master of my Domain

I have made the plunge. It's official. Yesterday was the big day. I actually paid the $10 annual domain fee so now the domain name is MINE! I have officially dropped the ".blogspot." like a bad pill habit to become the master of my domain.

[Tangent:I love the Seinfeld reference....if you can't tell by using it three times already in this blog and it only being the introductory paragraph. I will stop now, because if I learned anything in 10th grade drama class it's "the first time, its funny. The second time its funnier. The third time its redundant." I don't want to find out what the fourth time brings. I fear its plague or locusts]

My logic is as follows: I can easily blow $10 impulse buying products in the Target $1 aisle (one of my biggest vices), so this seems like more lasting investment than holiday post-its, pet toys or flimsy gift bags.

I really thought long and hard about my blog title. I even called my sister, Kelly, very stressed one day because I was trying to think of something witty to call it. The conversation went as follows

Me: I am thinking about starting a blog. I want to use the word 'Pith' in the title but somehow make it a play on words with 'piss' like "get pithy" or "pithed off"

Kelly: I don't know. I don't think people will get it or know what 'pithy' means.

Me: It means succinct and witty and full of meaning....don't people know that?

Kelly: Probably not...and I think when you tell people the title, they will just think you are saying 'piss' but have an awkward lisp.

That ended that line of thought, I was then grasping for names. Apparently what I thought was clever was not. I settled on 'that girl in the wheelchair' because that is what I am...not saying that's all I am (because as a friend once told me I "have a mojo which doesn't allow me to just be that"), but it's always been the fastest way to pinpoint me in conversation.

If someone says, "oh which one is Kimmie?" and you answered "you know the eyes...wears glasses sometimes...sparkling personality"... the person inquiring would just blankly stare at you because your generic description would would have only slightly narrowed down the pool of women in the area. Though not particularly PC, "that girl in the wheelchair" immediately results in a lightbulb. "Oh, yeah I know her!"

When I was growing up, I really was the only girl in a wheelchair in my age group, hometown and peer group, so its kind of how I came to be known. I don't mind it. Its not offensive, its a time saving frame of reference. It would be harder for you to say "that girl with the ridiculous knowledge of 90s TV shows" or "That girl who owns an ungodly amount of ballet flats."

Friday, July 9, 2010

Do you like music?

So the other day, I was on facebook, and in the page's margins it said "you 'like' painting- do you also 'like' music?" My immediate response was, "Who the hell doesn't 'like' music?...How sad are their lives?" [Tangent: The only possible people that might answer NO to this are cloistered nuns, but they also probably don't have facebook pages, so that rules out that exception] I suddenly felt bad for this demographic and wanted to have some sort of intervention where they were given a bunch of mix cds at random and forced to go listen to them in seclusion.

Or...they could just come to work with me for a day. I have the luxury (?) of having a job where I am pretty much in my own little cubicle bubble, and can listen to my Ipod for 8 hrs at a time. Its kind of cathartic and makes my workday worthwhile (gross I just typed that). I even have my musical uppers and downers cued up. When my shuffler gets too somber [Tangent: One day I inadvertantly activated the genius option while Damien Rice was playing and I was convinced that my Ipod was trying to drive me to suicide. Thank Allah we were on the 2nd floor and the windows don't open from the inside.], I cue up the GaGa or some any of the plethora of showtunes I have waiting for me beyond the comfort of my skull candy earbuds [Tangent: yes to both the questions I see popping up in your minds. YES! I am a big gay man inside and YES! skull candy is the most obnoxious name for a product...but those earbuds are like an oddly invasive ear embrace.]

Some days I will come across a song and listen to it 5 or 6 times in a row until it fully sinks in. Today's songs that had to "marinate" were "To Be with You" by monster ballad-rific Mr. Big and "A Comet Appears" by The Shins. I also have the advantage of working with lots of other people who listen to music all day so we borrow and burn cds fairly consistantly and introduce each other to new artists. Even though those two examples are not super current, I have finally become that girl that is not 10 years behind on music [Tangent: the last time I was into current artists and actually kept up with 'what the kids are into' was when I was in middle school to early high school- so sometimes I am surprised to realize that bands like Better Than Ezra and The Gin Blossoms are no longer considered hip.] In fact, sometimes I am even in front of the curve, musically. Get me a fedora, some ill fitting jeans and a summer scarf, Stat! I am a hipster. [psych! Thats not happening! I am too old to be a hipster and old hipsters are sad.]

Ok. So in honor of this, and because I couldn't think of anything else to's a generic survey I found when I googled "generic myspace itunes survey." [Tangent: It is clear that I am the coolest girl ever on a friday night!]

Take the itunes shuffle survey?
First, the Rules:
1. Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write that song name down no matter what.
4. Add a comment - how random/true did the song title turn out to be?


Still fighting -off ben folds acapella cd - (That is quite an odd response, but I like it and I think I will adopt it. It will be like when religious people answer by saying "blessed)

Defying gravity-via the cast of Glee (Again, I like it and think it works.)

Sex and candy- marcy playground (mwahahahahahah. thats so creepy and spot on.)

Human of the year- regina spektor (wow…that’s positive)

Wind- cat stevens (am I a planeteer?)

These apples- barenaked ladies ("can all this fruit be free?" on so many levels)

Forever for her (is over for me)- the white stripes (I have a devoted following. BONUS!)

The Lowering (a sad day in greenvilletown)- the avett brothers (aww..perfect…actually my parents did live in Greenville when dad was in school. Perfect. And the Avetts make me sublimely happy and so do mom and dad)

Kalifornia love- 2pac (all the time...constantly. 24/7)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Caravan- van Morrison (never good at math…)

The Mountains Win Again - Blues Traveller ( perfect because Kristen and I almost skipped senior prom to go see Blues Traveller, back when John Popper was still fat and awesome, at River Stages)

The joker- steve miller band (absolutely…. that's the common thread of boys I like)

Rock and roll lifestyle- cake (not exactly. listening to 8 hrs in a bulletin boarded cube hardly qualifies)

Not crying- flight of the conchords (well that would be a good thing)

Einstein on the beach- counting crows (wow…that’s specific. I do love a smarty!)

You can’t always get what you want- rolling stones (DAMN! cold-blooded)

Koala Bears- mitch hedberg (I would love to dance to comedy bits! Especially about the cutest infestation ever!)

Killer Queen- Queen (hahahah…..amazing. I want to have a Queen themed funeral. There I said it...and its emblazoned on the internet)

Dust Bowl Dance- Mumford & Sons (sounds like a fun way to spend your time)

Oh no! – Justin Timberlake (I guess that’s your answer)

The Drugs don’t work- Ben Harper (so this survey is inferring that either all my friends are druggies or I have to take drugs to endure their company you decide)

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Keanu's Russian adventure

Disclaimer/Dedication: I couldn’t think of what to write about the other day as I was sitting in my cold medicine coma talking to my brother Mikey (yes, he’s 33 and I still call him Mikey, wanna make something of it?). Mikey is perpetually stuck in LA traffic, so that's when we usually talk to him. After telling me he liked my new blog, he expressed his disappointment that I was two entries in and hadn't mentioned his great news: his latest possible celebrity sighting. You will see many things from this blog, but the foremost being that I am maybe the most normal member of my family.

Mikey has lived outside of LA for about three years and has encountered the following stars about town: John Stamos (at Starbucks, and in honor of him, Mikey copied his order exactly), Larry King and John Lovitz [TANGENT: Yes, he saw them both at a Dodger game, but not the same Dodger game. Lovitz and Larry aren’t best friends, although that would make for a great sitcom premise. Maybe a buddy cop picture where they have a monkey that helps them fight crime]. He also files Christina Aguilera as one of his star sightings, because he walked by her while filming an outdoor concert. I don't think that counts. If that were the case, then I have encountered all the Titans merely by driving by LP field on game day. TRY AGAIN!

Anyway- Mikey called with palpable excitement because he "might" have seen Keanu Reeves while visiting the Russian Consulate in West Hollywood [TANGENT: my brother's girlfriend is Armenian (no...he's not dating Kim Kardashian...or one of the other ones with an unfortunately spelled "K" name. Who thinks Khloe is at all an appropriate spelling?) and they are going to St. Petersburg in a couple weeks...he doesn't just hang out in the West Hollywood Consulate district]. He said his girlfriend was positive that it was him, and she should know because she was an extra in Miss Congeniality 2 (that's her to the right of Sandra's Bullock's nose) and an episode or two of That's So Raven. She's an expert on celebrity.

I was on the phone with him and he kept saying, "I have never been in a situation where I had to decide if someone was or was not indeed Keanu Reeves." [TANGENT: Neither have celeb sightings have always been very clear cut like when I became tight with Aaron Neville in an elevator.] He said the man was wearing basically his costume from the Matrix, all black, and was quite tall and thin, much moreso than he had imagined. Thus begging the question- why had my brother contemplated these things before? Within minutes, I am furiously googling


"How Tall is Keanu Reeves?" (This only after I figured out how the hell to spell Keanu.)




"Much does Keanu Reeves weigh?"


"175" (my he is thin)

It would seem all signs Point to Keanu. Such is life. Don't all roads lead to Keanu? Maybe my brother lives in The Matrix, thus explaining this odd visionquest with Keanu at the helm. SHAMYLAN TWIST! [Admission: I have never sat all the way through The Matrix. I don't do drugs recreationaly, so I don't get its underlying messages....therefore I don't know if my previous statement about my brother living in The Matrix even made sense. For me- Keanu's legacy always will be the Paula Abdul Rush, Rush video.]

In closing, thanks Mikey for giving me something to write about. And thank you Keanu for the sweet sweet music video memories.

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