Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Hoard Fest

It may have been Thanksgiving last weekend, but I feel my sister's real reason for a homecoming was to help me clean? Am I capable of cleaning on my own. Yes. Will I do a thorough job? Absolutely not. You see, I am genetically inclined to be a bit of a hoarder and will find asinine reasons why I might need things. [Tangent:  I am not to the point where you pick up a sweater and there is a dead cat under it,  mostly because I hate cats, but also because I am not insane.]

Point is, sentimentality lurks in every corner of my bedroom, and I have formed an unnecessary attachment to many undeserving items in my life [Tangent: This also occurs in other areas of my life if you are familiar with my TFLY vol 1, vol 2 and vol 3.]. I look to my sister, Kelly, as my less abrasive and more Caucasian version of Niecy Nash because she is unafraid to call out my "foolishness."

Examples I found of this foolishness:

  • In my bottom night stand drawer, I used to have a collection of VHS tapes. Why? No idea, I don't even own my own VCR [Tangent: However, my dad owns three. The hoarding apple doesn't fall far from the tree.]  Among these gems was a home videotaped soccer tournament that my brother played in roughly 20 years ago (likely taped over with Ghost Dad) and a circa 1988 shoddily taped off HBO copy of Airplane 2.
  • The metal rods that were removed during a back surgery 15 years ago. 
  • A large manilla envelope of old get well/birthday cards
  • About 15 projects from my college 3-D design class
  • Some floppy disks from my college computer literacy class (none of the house's 2 computers house a floppy disk drive). 
  • A free sampler cassette tape for a young Britney Spears...yes,there was a time when Britney was not a star.   
  • A Hello Kitty rubber stamper with my sister's name on it.
  • About 10 CD cases for CDs that have long ago been lost. 
  • The fact that I have about 12 purses that I no longer use, and each of them had a lip gloss and for some inexplicable reason about 5 batteries inside. 
  • A green velveteen vest.
  • The fact that I was easily able to compile enough garments to fill a giant rubbermaid costume box [Tangent: Clearly, I am 5.]
Well, you can rest easily, that all of these items are no longer cluttering my living space. They have been bagged up and dropped off at the goodwill. [Tangent: All except for the velveteen vest...its been added to the costume box.]

Friday, November 26, 2010

black friday, I'm not in love...

The economy is in a shambles, and I wish I could say I had the fortitude to help my friend B. Rock (that's my nickname for Obama) turn things around by shopping today, but I don't. Participating in all these doorbusting deals just does not appeal to me in the very least, especially when I could sleep in and sit by the fire instead.

I worked the black Friday sale day for 3 consecutive years (although at my former place of employment, they called it pink Friday...how clever.), and didn't like being there, even when I was getting paid to do so. Donning a very warm and itchy pink Santa hat, I would be quarantined to my little corner handing out shopping bags and listening to frantic updates on my headset. I bounced from screaming over the crowds, "Can I help you find anything today?" and being screamed at if we were out of one of the cheaply-made tote bags you got for spending $50. [Tangent: I never quite understood why people went so bat shit crazy for these bags, but they talked about them as if they contained a cure for AIDS. Instead they just packed some tiny travel sizes of perfume and lip gloss. The look in the eyes of these customers was as if they were a crackhead on day 2 of detox. MUST. HAVE. PLASTIC-Y. TOTE. OF. BEAUTY. PRODUCTS. STAT.]

However, all this sitting idle was getting to me, so I, along with my sister and mother,  braved the hordes to go see Love & Other Drugs, or as mom refers to it..."that naked movie." Yes, there was a lot of boobage and boy thigh, but not so much that it would drive me out of the theater, as it did the people adjacent to us. Were they really shocked by all the "sexy time?" The film's marketing campaign was pretty clear cut with the adult themes.  I guess those patrons were expecting something produced by Kirk Cameron.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

cream of thanksgiving

At some point while I was in elementary school, our grade put on a play all about the magic of Thanksgiving. I remember very little about the plot specifics, but because I was a little attention whore, of course I had a part. [Tangent: Among these scant specifics that I can recall are the fact that I played the personification of "Opportunity" and for some reason I was having a Thanksgiving day feast with other personified values like "Justice" and "Freedom"....maybe Pilgrims or Indians were present, I don't recollect. Its all a bit fuzzed out at this point.  However I do remember on Opportunity's role description it said, "Opportunity should wear a 'jaunty' hat." Why? I have no idea, but it was the first time I heard the term, and each subsequent time I've heard "jaunty" I think of my rad electric blue Nike cap covered in buttons.] I also remember at some point we sang a song about all the things we were thankful for...from our friends and families to panned pizzas. I guess 9-year-olds are easy to please.

It goes without saying that this beast of a year, I am definitely thankful for my friends and family and my health. It may sound biased, but I truly believe I have the best and most supportive inner circle, so I don't feel the need to hyperinflate their egos anymore.

However, I do think its important to take inventory of all the little things and count your blessings and all that jazz. Because I love a good cliche and because I cannot think of anything more seasonally appropriate to blog about, I give you the things that I am thankful for on this lovely cream of Thanksgiving (I am positive I am the only American doing this today...completely original, right?).

I'm thankful for...


Yes, its simple yet pivotal. I am especially thankful that I am not inhibited by bulky machinery to keep me oxygenated. My little lungs have certainly earned their stripes after being ruptured, surrounded by fluid and/or filled with blood just a few months ago. High five.  Keep up the good work.


In the last few months my taste buds and sense of smell have been highjacked, and I have lost my love for coffee and chocolate. It's traumatic, especially on cold mornings when I have to frogger across the parking lot to get into work only to be overwhelmed when I enter the breakroom, bombarded with a once-loved scent warped into the scent of dirty burnt plastic.  Luckily my old friend tea is still there to warm me in the morning like its caffeinated cousin coffee used to.  Two tea bags. Two Splendas. Perfection. Thank you for being a friend.

Cell phone time wasters. 

How did I lull myself to sleep each night or kill time on long car rides before I had a smart phone? I sincerely have no idea. However, I do know that I want to give a uncomfortably long hug to Angry Birds, Bejeweled and WordFeud.

I more or less want to marry whoever invented Pandora radio. I am not sure how it works and hypothesize that it somehow violates the Patriot Act because it knows me so well. I like to believe a little wizard is imbedded in its radio waves that worms its way inside my head and deciphers what I want to hear. Thanks, Pandora, you have gotten me through many a slow day at work. Round of applause.


Disclaimer: This is going to make me seem completely disgusting, but as I have previously shown I don't care. I don't love washing my hair everyday or every other day...it's just not healthy, so thank heavens for Pssst! dry shampoo. [Tangent: I am not sure why it is named Psssst...if its referencing the sound it makes when you spray it, or if it means "Psssst...wanna hear a secret...I don't like to bathe." It's your call.] I will say I'm working through my third can this year, so its good stuff and helps support my filthy lifestyle. Kudos.

Van Only Parking Spaces. 

There's nothing more refreshing than seeing a roomy handicapped space free of runoff puddles and/or abandoned shopping carts. Everytime I see one of these rarities in a crowded parking lot, angels come down singing "Happy Happy Joy Joy." I never saw their importance until I started driving and realized without them, I run the risk of letting my ramp down ripping the paint job off of a nearby car or getting completely stuck on the mount/dismount. [Tangent: Thanks to the random stranger at Target the other day who helped me backup into my car when the parking lot designer gods decided to frown upon me.]

Green Bean Casserole. 

Since it's the holidays, I thought I would give a special recognition to my favorite autumnal side dish. Theoretically, cream of mushroom soup, french cut green beans and french fried onions don't seem like a culinary delight, but for some reason it's the thing I look forward to most on this day of many casseroles. Thank you, I will be savoring you again tomorrow thanks to my sister's forethought to make a double recipe. You're the gift that keeps on giving. 

Monday, November 22, 2010

who has 2 thumbs and has written 50 blogs? this girl!

Yesterday as I was posting my love letter to Latvia [Tangent: To further prove my nerdiness, let it be known I got super jazzed that within 24 hours of posting, I had not only gotten comments from a Latvian, but one that was correcting my misinformation of Latvian culture.], I noticed that I was on the verge of 50 blogs. Good Lord. I really didn't see this milestone coming. This blog is not really something I saw as a lasting endeavor, but it came to me at a good time in my life when I needed a bit of consistent distraction. Thanks, internet, for validating me. [Tangent: Afterall, one of my favorite funny women, Diablo Cody, started out as a blogger and she has an Oscar...so maybe its not all a big waste of time.]

I was trying to think of what would be a good topic for my "golden" blog and nothing seemed worthy. After much consternation, I settled on an homage to some of the blogs that I have somehow stumbled upon and that have been the makings of many a facebook posting or mass email. [Tangent: This stroke of genius inspiration befell me yesterday afternoon. My friend Beth and I were celebrating Gimp Squad Sabbath Coffee, when she looked up at me and offhandedly said, "Goodness, your hair is long. You look like a senior picture." We both laughed til we were both nearly incontinent because I knew kind of what she meant, sort of. Every girl (except me) had ridiculous long hair when they were seniors in high school, swept over one shoulder with a pearl necklace and the classic black drape. I had my laptop handy so I quickly google image searched senior pictures to see if her assessment was accurate. This frantic googling led me to my inspiration for this blog: Sexypeople-blog.com!]

Although many of my friends and loved ones blog away brilliantly, (I appropriately highlight them in the "blogs I love" section) there are many in the blog-o-verse that warrant a silent fan girl shriek because their blogs are so ridiculous or brilliant or ridiculously brilliant that I cannot contain my enthusiasm any longer.  My term for these sites are "time sucks" because once typing in the URL, I am pulled into a strong vortex where I can't be bothered with my day to day activities, and I must tell everyone I know about the treasure that I have found. Whether they be Tumblr, Wordpress or Blogspot users, I won't discriminate- I just want to shake their hand and tell them, "You're Awesome."
*an artist's rendering of what my award would look like- kind of janky, I know.

This blog is brilliant in so many capacities, and I cannot look at it without having my breathing hindered due to hilarity. I feel angry at myself for not learning about this blog sooner, because it seems like the cooler cousin of awkward family photos. Being that I am a sucker for neurotic details, extra adulation and kudos should be given for the subcategories located in the margins narrowing it down by occasion, backdrop or styling choices. If you only have a few minutes, check out the following sections:

Laser background (I am really disappointed my elementary school never used one of these galactic backdrops.)
'Staches?? (an homage to the everpopular DTM- dirty teenage moustache.)
Double Exposure
Glamour (spoiler alert: you'll see a feather boa or two)
...and Renzo's faves (the greatest hits of Sexy People!)

Admission: I have actually written a fan letter to the creator of this blog because it made me so euphorically happy. I might add that she replied, so that scored her an infinite amount of cool points. If you were ever an avid reader of The Babysitters Club as a child- you will appreciate this writer's niche: She writes about the popular books focusing with laser backdropped precision on the outfits worn by the zany fashionista of the Stoneybrook crew, Claudia Kishi. Yeah, that's specific...specifically amazing. Here is a little taste:

"She believes clothes should do more than cover our bodies and keep us warm. Instead, she sees dressing as one more creative outlet, and it shows. She always looks fabulous, and she never looks just like everyone else. She'll pair a long white shirt with a colorful vest, accessorize with handmade jewelry, pull her hair up into an outrageous ponytail, and look like a million dollars."

Girl slow down. What the heck is an outrageous ponytail? Is she wearing a Jem & the Holograms scrunchie? And where are her pants?

3. www.totallylookslike.com
In my humble opinion, if the internet ceased to be tomorrow, it would have all been worthwhile due to this site alone (forget social networking, distribution of information or watching men get kicked in the crotch on youtube). It has also changed my vernacular- because now something doesn't "resemble" something else, it "totally looks like." [Tangent: As if I needed help sounding like a valley girl. That nice white upper class upbringing didn't skew me in that direction or anything...] If you appreciate this, I have a sinking feeling this site will also be up your alley. Prepare to "lollerskate" or fall victim to the dreaded "lollacaust."
It goes without saying that this would make my list- mostly because it combines two of my favorite things, making fun of hipsters and adorable puppies. My favorite captions: "measle still cringes whenever she has to use the word 'jeggings'" and "chet heard you watched the vmas and can’t sigh loud enough." I have also tried desperately to get my dog and my sister's dog to get their shot at internet celebrity per this site. Since I have come up short both times, I present to you hipster Newman and hipster Andre, because it is my belief that the world needs to see how pathetic I am. 

 *Andre hasn't shopped at a WalMart in 4 years, not because of their shady business practices, but because they don't offer Icees in their food courts.
 *Newman truly believes he is the only tortured artist in his beginner's still life at The Learning Annex.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Where's Latvia again?

Weekly Page views by Countries
United States                                                       
United Kingdom                                                  
Hong Kong                                                          

One of my favorite OCD past times is checking the stats page on my blog site. I have made no secret of this self indulgence and have mentioned it numerous times [Exhibit A, Exhibit B]. One of the most interesting statistics is seeing who around the world is reading my blog. I do have friends that live in other countries, but find it odd that those countries aren't even cracking the top 10. Way to go, international friends!

What's stranger than the fact that people in Hong Kong understand English and all my pop culture references is that Latvia is in second place for page views, and I wasn't even entirely sure where Latvia fell on the map. [Tangent: I should go ahead and say that Geography is not one of my strong suites. Although I am the proud owner of a passport, I have never left the country. It is also one of the only tests I have ever cheated on in high school...how else was I supposed to know all the countries in Africa and their capitals. There are a damn lot of them, and then there are  all those little coastal ones in east Africa. Remembering them is just not feasible for a girl who at the time garnered all her vitamins and daily minerals from a tray of curly fries at lunch.] I felt ignorant and despite that maxim, ignorance is NOT bliss. I turned to my guidebook, Wikipedia and learned that all I could about this magical land of Latvia. 

Although I didn't find any direct connects between my blog material and Latvia- I did find some correlation between my life and Latvia. Stay with me:

Latvia was founded November 18, 1918. Kimmie was founded (born) November 18, 1982.

By Demographics, 2.86% of Latvia's population is Polish, whereas 50% of Kimmie is Polish.

The main religion in Latvia is Roman Catholicism. My main religion until the age of 18 was Roman Catholicism.

Latvia's main import is wood products. I appreciate wood products. I mean, who doesn't? [Tangent: Ok that was a bit of a stretch. I will admit.]

All these factors should make it crystal clear that if Latvia was a person- I would either be its BFF or hate it completely. My intention is that this blog will further endear me to the fine Latvian people, and they will spread the Kimmie Gospel to all the Baltic countries. Oh wait, they speak "Lettish" there and are likely only finding this site in error and see it as gibberish with bizarre pictures?  Dangit.  Foiled again.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

how my 24-year-old self viewed life.

Disclaimer: Today I found this entry in my documents folder. Written only about 4 years ago, it had gotten completely eternal sunshined from my mind. Although it really isn't all that interesting, I reread it today and wanted to share [Tangent: I am fairly certain it was supposed to be the introductory entry for a blog I never started. Pardon the ridiculous font usage- I am not sure why I thought that was a good idea.]...

A very wise Discovery Channel special about cavemen and the wooly mammoth once said “When going on a journey, there is either the chance for discovery or complete oblivion.” Post college, I was convinced that discovery was on the horizon, but not so much. Oblivion seems much closer a description. Hmmm..lets see. Checklist of the pathetic existence of a 24 year old: no car, no boyfriend, co-habitating with the parents. On top of all these factors, I perform a job a monkey could do, but would probably get paid more that $7.84 for because hell, they’re a freakin monkey and that would be fun to watch!

But people seem to enjoy my stories, so I figure why not share my journal. Surely I am not the only one enveloped in what the angsty poet lauriat, John Mayer, might refer to as “a quarter life crisis.”

Oh yeah…I am in a wheelchair, but that is neither here nor there. I think I have always felt on some kind of track…and now I just feel like I am waiting for a bus, but I don’t know what the bus number is. Also, by the way, I refuse to ride a short bus, so I have to wait a long ass time to find a regular bus, that just happens to have a wheelchair ramp. [Tangent: I think my fuzzy logic is losing you…just know that my life is remarkably lame. Then why would I want to read her lame ass ramblings? Well, I think richness lies in simplicity and the minutiae of everyday life. You may disagree…but you are reading this…so I am guessing you at least are partially intrigued…GOTCHA!]

I often have the sneaking suspicion that much like the Royal Tenenbaum children, I peaked too early in life. I do not feel alone in this though. Today while working at a certain overpriced lingerie store, that rhymes with Mictoria’s Pecret, I spotted another lady that I can only assume peaked too early in life. The difference is, I am 24 and this lady had to be in her mid 5os. However, I am almost certain, that she did not know that she peaked way earlier in life…in fact, I know that she still was under the misguided assertion that she was the hottest shit in town. 

Let me paint a picture- her skin was the color that one can only achieve by daily visits to the mystic tan or by gorging oneself on beta keratin for years on end. Her hair cut into a very 80s dutch boy hairstyle in platinum blonde. Her eyebrows very reminiscent of Divine from the John Waters movies and her lipstick, of course, a very frosty pink. Thank God that she had her hot pink sunglasses, hot pink Chanel bag and her hot pink 4 inch wedge heels to top of the look. Otherwise, she might have looked silly.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

being forever 27 would be hell.

In exactly one week, I will be 28. Instead of harboring resentment against the inevitability of aging- I have decided to embrace it with arms opened wider than possibly imagined. In fact I would take the age of 28 out to a nice steak dinner if I could [Tangent: Like a Ruth Chris dinner...not a Logan's dinner.]

Early in the summer, I mentioned my age to someone and they immediately countered with, "oh...forever 27." [Tangent: This is not to be confused with Forever 21- the clothing store that is like a classier Wet Seal (I know...being classier than Wet Seal is like being smarter than a fifth grader.)] I asked what they meant, and they informed me that many influential people died when they were 27: Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Kobain and a ton of others. Clearly this person was not trying to be a Debbie Downer... but in my head I heard: "I'm gonna die." Though I am in no way on par with someone of that calibar,  I do know that I have been repeatedly kicked in the crotch by fate (who was wearing a golf shoe at the time) since the phrase "forever 27" entered my lexicon.  Each time I have had to weeble-wobble back up, and frankly I need a year of rest from all this back and forth. I haven't died yet and refuse to let it happen in the next week.
As the queen of the silver lining, I can't even fake one for the age of 27 with a roll of tin foil. Its not possible, so I can only say good riddance to 27. You were no friend of mine. [Tangent: I am somehow envisioning a cheesy slow motion photo montage set to Green Day's Time of Your Life. Photos of me intubated, relatives in rehab, brothers with Cancer diagnoses, mothers having open heart surgery, anxiety attacks, friends moving away and shedding more tears than I thought the lacrimal glands could produce. It would all be terribly depressing and cliche.] I can't wait for 28; I have a good feeling about it.

Monday, November 8, 2010

nothing gold can stay.

As I posted earlier, mom has been in the hospital all weekend and will be for the rest of the week getting her ticker tweaked [Tangent: Today the docs threw in an extra surgery and mama got a pacemaker. And I know what you are thinking...yes you can operate a microwave with a pacemaker. That was the first thing I asked and I was promptly informed that unless our microwave was made in 1987, mom should be in the clear. Yay. Hot pockets!]. Because of this heart tinkering, I have logged even more hours sitting in hospital rooms. I imagine 1/6 of my year has been spent in a white walled facility of some sort.  I wonder if its like Sweet CiCi's, getting a punch for each visit. In that case, fingers crossed I will have earned a free enema or heart cath by year's end. A girl can dream.

Over the weekend I determined that hospital waiting rooms are the most depressing and strange little nooks in society. Everyone's sad. Everyone's edgy. Misery loves company so everyone is comparing war stories. Also the magazine selection is atrocious. My sister and I determined that either the lamest person alive has donated all their magazines to Centennial, or the ordering is handled by some zany shut-in who lives in an adobe home. The magazines available for our enjoyment:

 *This is the official magazine of the USO... very high profile publication. 
Somehow they snagged an interview with Gary Sinise (a class act.)
 *yep...thats yet another RV magazine.
 *My sister thought this was the best of the bunch...and then realized it in no way applied to  her because Tennessee is not located in the West.

*This magazine was my favorite because it had a lot of terrible articles about quilting, porch swings and small town opera houses. If I start subscribing to this kind of magazine ever...even when I am 87, please intervene somehow.

After learning all we could about RV travel, homespun handicrafts, hummingbirds and Gary Sinise- we transferred waiting rooms where I found the following two disturbing things. Draw your own conclusions...

Apparently there were even more literary gems like this one that someone had neglected to take home with them. I will check them out tomorrow. [Tangent:Maybe by the end of my mom's hospital stay I will find out "What if Wishes Were Horses?"]

Along with my mom trying to scare me all weekend with her medical woes, I learned two of my most dear luxuries are trying to weasel themselves out of my life. First and foremost being the Wendy's Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. Although the tasty tiny square pattied delight has just been moved off the 99 cent value menu by raising its price to $1.49, to me, that basically means it may as well not exist.  [Yeah...line up gentlemen, because I am the cheapest date ever! ] Since childhood, I have only ever ordered off the value menu at Wendy's and I could order my meal of a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, 5 piece chicken nuggets, frosty and small Mr. Pibb [Tangent: Mr. Pibb is the evil stepbrother to Dr. Pepper. I try not to be too hard on the soft drink because I imagine that it's hard to live in a Dr's shadow.]- all for under five bucks.

Possibly the most disturbing thing I learned (yes...more than that creepy purple chair stain) over the weekend was that legislation is currently trying to be passed making it impossible to purchase sudafed without a doctor's perscription. This is apeshit craziness. I love the 'fed.  Its absolutely my drug of choice. There have been many days where I required a bump of 'fed to get me from point A to point B. It clears your sinuses and amps you up without all that gross Red Bull flavor. Once again, Meth Addicts are ruining life for all the rest of us who just like to breathe easy and not fall asleep in the middle of the work day. Thanks again Meth heads....
*I am sure they did it for those killer cheek bones.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

ring around the heart valve.

I just got home from a place I have gotten intensely acclimated to- the intensive care unit. Only this time I was not the one with tubes coming out of every hole I was born with (and some I wasn't); my mama was there. Today my mom successfully made open heart surgery her bitch. Although she was a doped up and fell into snoring every few minutes of the half hour visiting allotment, she was still mama- which was all I needed to see. She  only said a few words, "I'm not dead."; "I'm thirsty."; "Beer."; and oddly enough, "How's Newman?" Yep. That's mom.

About a month ago, an unprecedented event occurred in the Jones house. Without it being a holiday, all six of us were gathered around the table to eat dinner where no one rushed away after stuffing their face, no one argued, no one was even overly curt. [Tangent: Despite being extremely tight, we all possess a tinge of abrasiveness in our genetics, so as with sandpaper- sometimes, we rub each other raw with too much interaction.] My brother, Mikey, whipped up some ridiculous stuffed flank steak and kabob situation, that he no doubt picked up from his new Armenian family. [Tangent: As you may know, my brother's fiance is Armenian, and I noticed today he has more and more of a choppy yet deliberately accented Armenian twang every time I talk to him. I wonder if Kristine will start talking fast and with a slight Southern mumble. I hope not] All was delightful, painfully delightful and going way too smoothly.

Towards the end of the meal, dad said that he had a little announcement to make. He had a couple beers in his belly so he seemed eerily lighthearted when he announced, "Your mom and I have decided to get a divorce." I looked at Chris. Chris looked at Kelly. Kelly looked at Mikey. We all looked at mom, whilst Mikey raised his hand to high five a confused-looking mom telling her, "It's about damn time." We all laughed that weird uneasy laugh that takes place when a doctor tells a corny joke or an old person says something laced with racism. My parents have been married for nearly 40 years, and it seemed like a weird time to hit the splits.
*My dad is going to get so pissed when he finds out I posted this picture, because I don't think he wants people to know he isn't serious all the time, but its my absolute favorite picture. 
This is my blog after all.
As all eyes looked to a clearly delirious father, who then began laughing his ridiculous North Carolina laugh and quickly rushed out the words, "No, I'm just kidding. But your mom is having open heart surgery next month." This bait and switch may seem like a terrible way to break news to your children, adult or otherwise, but it seemed very appropriate for my family. [Tangent: If you don't know them or haven't gotten the impression from my blogs or stories, the Joneses are dysfunctionally delicious. We are all fairly ridiculous and have a very weird sense of humor...I mean divorce is something most families totally joke about....right?] Although it took us aback to hear that this major thing was going to occur, and in less than 30 days,  it was not a completely out of the question. I have known mama had a fragile heart.

Several years ago she was diagnosed with a mitral valve defect, or what my mama bug always refers to as "a heart woosh." [Tangent: It basically means one side of the valve is lazy and isn't holding up its end of the bargain. As unfortunate as it is that her blood is not processing oxygen as needed, it sounds really neat through a stethoscope.] Her cardio woes are something I always forget about because she has downplayed it so much over the years,  as is her way, never feeling the need to make a fuss over herself. She got the news about the heart nip & tuck while I was still in the ICU from my body's summer practical joke, and didn't want to make it an issue , wanting to focus on getting me better. [Tangent: In fact, she told me later that while I was in medical rehab, Barbara Walters returned to The View after she had her heart surgery. She sat in my room and cried while I was in Physical Therapy.] If there is one thing mom has taught me it is to take one thing at a time and one day at a time.

As the 30 minute visiting time wound down today, I could not stop the tears from completely making my eyeglasses translucent [Tangent: They started rolling as soon as I saw the words "Cardio-Vascular Intensive Care" and saw my mom in a big aquarium-like room by herself.] I was so happy she was doing so well, but I was also sad that I couldn't stay with her, sleeping on an uncomfortable pullout and just hold her hand when she woke up all druggy every few hours having that momentary lapse of "what the hell happened" panic. So badly, I want to give her back what she has given me, because I don't make it a secret how completely enamored I am with my mother. Who wouldn't be? She's a badass. Who else has a ring through their heart valve? They completely stopped her heart for several minutes. That's pretty extreme. 

Monday, November 1, 2010

I am barely breathing

Fall is amazing, but with it comes a loving spoonful of allergens which don't jive well with my immune system. Allergy season and myself have what I like to call a failed relationship. I should have learned my lesson from past interactions, by now knowing how to handle its rogue trickery, but I don't. Not unlike an ex boyfriend, it just leaves me flustered and angry each time it comes a'courtin'.

However, I refuse to stand by and let ragweed laugh in my face as I soak my pillow each night with snot and eye leakage [Tangent: Too graphic? You have no idea. That was the Disney version, kiddos.]. Today I made a hopefully life-altering purchase, and it was only $10.99 at Walgreens. I bought...wait for it... a Neti Pot!  If you are unsure as to what that is, watch as this hipster demonstrates it on a youtube video that goes on a little too long for my liking.

As far as excitement levels go, this is the Kimmie equivalent of a Chanel Bag. Something I have considered purchasing for years, the Neti Pot just seems disturbing enough to work. Pour hot saline up one nostril and have it come out the other along with all the gelatinous funk that has been clogging your nasal cavity. Sounds like a winner.

This need to clarify myself by reprehensible means is not shocking.  For years, I have been not so secretly obsessed with any weird medical remedy that reveals how disgustingly fascinating the human body can be. I am like the low rent Dr. Oz - I live to be grossed out.

The obsession began with the popularity of Biore Strips when I was in high school.  When the Biore strip was launched, it was perfect timing because my skin was greasier than KFC, and I am a whore for drug store beauty products. Looking back,  I likely peeled off at least 5 layers of epidermis making sure I got absolutely every inkling of pore clogging goo. 

Then came the oil blotting sheets, a portable way to be gross. Those things were second coming of Christ kinda exciting, and I still have vivid recollections of sitting in the back of US History and passing the pack back and forth, comparing my results with my classmates [Tangent: To this day, I may not be 100% on what president passed The Stamp Act, but I could tell you who among the class of 2001 had extremely overactive oil glands.] Why was it so oddly refreshing when the film you peeled away from your forehead looked akin to the bottom of a Burger King bag that has been sitting out for awhile? Better out than in, I guess.

Its that same line of thought that makes me giddy at the thought of my next homeopathetic (<---yes I just coined that term myself. Feel free to spread it, but recognize the Kimmie trademark.) purchase- the ear candle. After heavily hinting for years that they would be an amazing stocking stuffer, I have yet to get them. Although I am certain that the body is not supposed to be completely devoid of any waxy material, I still reel from excitement at the thought of laying back, sparking up an ear candle and seeing what materializes.  I could be as happy as this little Purtianical schoolboy...
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