Sunday, August 21, 2011

breaking news: I am kind of a big deal.

So I realized today, in the midst of my sunday night "what should I write about?" dilemma, that I had not yet shared this interesting tidbit with my blog people [Tangent: I feel a kinship with you all and feel you will care about this thing that I am about to tell you...because you clearly care about the same weird shit that I find earth-shatteringly important. You may not. It's a roll of the dice I am willing to make for lack of other blog topics on the docket.] A couple weeks ago, I found the following in my gmail box: 

The name of my new followee rolled off my tongue like wet jolly rangers off a linty sweater [Tangent: Exhibit A- I am not so good with the similes today.], yet somehow it seemed oddly, albeit remotely, familiar.  Additionally, this person had hoards of devoted followers (mostly female) and he tweeted things like:

"Let it blow freely in the wind."

"If we want our dreams to come true we must wake up."

"With all the chaos throughout the world that tests our courage have faith and turn your stumbling blocks into stepping stones."

Reading through his new agey tweets made me feel like I was shopping in a Successories store, but it really made me want to know more. [Tangent: How did those stores exist? All they sold was motivational posters and possibly wall calendars. They deserved maybe a kiosk at best.] His picture was too small to be sure, but he looked I googled him. 
I feel like this picture needs no caption. Its that fantastic.

sweet moto cross jacket

After seeing these pics, I realized it was better than I could ever imagined. JACKPOT: Tony Dimera, of 90's Days of Lives infamy,  wished to follow little ol me on twitter! I HAD A CELEBRITY WHO WANTED TO FOLLOW ME! [Tangent: Ok, I used the celebrity pretty liberally.] This was a first that clearly warranted a little pat on the back from me. His request came on the heels of this soap opera themed blog so in my convoluted mind- Tony Dimera was a fan of That Girl in The Wheelchair, and saw that blog as an in roads to our online friendship. 

As in most soap opera storylines, this one also has a dramatic Shamylan twist. When I went today to do a screen print proving that Tony Dimera was indeed my follower...I realized he was no longer following me. Bum bum bum... Had I offended him somehow? Or did he just lose interest like so many gents before him? The world may never know. 

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

further monkey business

People that don't know the limits of my depravity might have thought I tapped out on primal matters yesterday with my blog about wanting a monkey. However, ever since clicking the "publish" key yesterday- I have been struck with more monkey related inspiration. The long and the short of it is...I still want a monkey. Unfortunatly, googling "monkey adoption," mostly out of morbid fascination, led me to believe that doing so would put me on the fast track to "shut in." [Tangent: Read this article to learn all about the apparent fad of "monkids." I tried to embed this video clip from the TLC documentary My Monkey Baby, but its protected.] I can't decide if monkey adoption is more or destined for wacko status than those people that treat creepy lifelike dolls like real babies. They seem about even.

i kinda feel like these woman are interchangeable and don't have a lot of friends. call me judgey.
[Tangent: If you would like to lose some sleep and sink further into disturbia, learn about the "reborn" company that produces lifelike baby dolls. Eeks.]

After telling my friend Alex at work today that I wanted, nay NEEDED, a monkey... named Jelly Bean. She reminded me that I already had a dog...named Newman. I informed her that Newman is always in need of a playmate, and she suggested the following: [Tangent: I hope you are sitting down because what I am about to show you will likely explode your mind all over your couch cushions.]

Monkey Jockeys! Yes...I repeat. MONKEY. JOCKEYS. Clarification: Its called the Banana Derby and is apparently a big thing at state fairs. Monkeys wearing teeny colorful satin jockey uniforms and racing atop dogs. Its the strangest, yet most utterly brilliant concept I have ever encountered. Need proof:

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

haven't you always wanted a monkey?

I am 99% certain the impetus behind my high school Barenaked Ladies fanaticism was the lyric in "If I had $1,000,000," where either Ed or Steven counters with "Haven't you always wanted a monkey?!?!" because YES...YES I DID WANT A MONKEY...and frankly, I still do! Due to this chimp adoration, and because I loved the original, I decided to go check out Rise of the Planet of the Apes. [Tangent/clarification: the 1960's original... not that horrid Mark Wahlberg version they made in the 00's. Let's make that clear as crystal!]

Even after knowing that genetically altered, computer generated primates have the capability to rise up and overtake humans as some new master race, I still really want one. They are so very adorable. [Tangent: If you doubt this...please refer to the picture of one sporting overalls above or this video below. Once meeting Elmo, I dare you not to morph into a puddle of mush.]

After seeing this little bundle of genetically superior furry rebellion in the opening of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, I was gone. I wanted one for my very own to teach to break dance and dress in an adidas jumpsuit...unless it's a fancy occasion, which calls for a tuxedo. [Tangent: Judge away...what you choose to do with your ape is your business.]
wittle monkey hands!
Soon enough though little adorable baby chimp, Ceasar, [SPOILER ALERT!] went ape shit crazy [Tangent: pun shameless intended.] and the movie got pretty darn spicy!
There were some things that I took from this reincarnation that I would like to share with those that have seen the film or are considering it. Here they are:

If you are a high paid biochemist working on cures for disease for a major company, you likely drive a late 80's Jeep Grand Wagoneer. [Tangent: My family had a 1986 Grand Wagoneer when I was a wee one...they do not hold up that well. Ours broke down all the time, and ran mostly on good intentions and duct tape until the mid 90's. I find it a little unlikely that a single guy with a good job and nice house in present-day San Francisco would drive this vehicle. Just Sayin'.]   

    A monkey wearing pants is always cuter than a pantsless monkey.
    And lastly, I am incapable of a straight face when I see a monkey riding a horse. You just can't fight a giggle.

    Monday, August 15, 2011

    tomato, tomato

    This weekend I spent my Saturday getting a sweet farmer's tan at the Tomato Arts Festival in Hipstertown, aka East Nashville. [Tangent: Despite some of my inclinations like owning 30 scarves and dating a hipsterry gent that collects records, I can never be a credible hipster. This realization is A-OK with me... I actually don't mind conformity in some aspects. After all, I own a Taylor Swift album. I vote for American Idols. I've never been inside an Urban Outfitters. I love East Nashville, though...I really do. Dogs and lesbians as far as the eyes can see. It's a beautiful thing.] It's my second trip to the tomato fest and I had a good time. To keep with the East Nasty theme of doing as the hipsters do...some of the pictures I took for this blog were taken using a pretentious hipstamatic smart phone app that make it appear that I am a skilled photog. [Tangent: I can't be a complete hater, I love those pretentious apps.]

    So what do you do to festively celebrate tomatoes in the arts? Well, I drew inspiration from my favorite movie involving  strawberry festivals, John Leguizamo, small town America and drag culture: To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar. Because I had no genitalia to tuck or locals to tart up, I opted instead to simply sport some red clothing and just eat tomato-y things.
    some boys in dresses gearing up for the "Red Hot and Wild Strawberry Fest"
    a girl in a dress at East Nashville's Tomato Arts Festival...practically a mirror image, no?
    In the above picture I am eating tomato sorbet from the very adorable Jenni's ice cream. I tasted it with no intention of making the commitment to an entire cup, but that shit was delicious! [Tangent: I assumed it was gonna taste like pureed salsa mixed with heavy did not.] It was mixed with cucumber (yes!), lime (yes!) and port wine (yes!), which theoretically sounds like the worst strong stomach incarnation ever, but was legitimately yummy. The only downside was the afterburp, which was like pasta sauce, which was a little jarring. [Tangent: I know that is likely an over share, but this is my blog and that is what I do best.]
    yummy melted bad burp sorbet
    I was so busy ingesting dairy in blistering heat that I completely neglected to check out one of my highlights, the redhead pageant. Yes that's right; a bunch of gingers on one stage...It's like a Kimmie dream come true.
    an artist's rendering of what the pageant looked like, since we couldn't find it.
    or maybe this?
    I secretly think my ginger hipster male counterpart purposefully distracted me with delicious thematic desserts, because he knew I might throw myself or my undergarments onstage during the ginger pageant. Either that or I would have peer pressured him into entering. Come on... in those Jewish old lady sunglasses, he would make a pretty pretty tomato princess!

    Friday, August 12, 2011

    junk and stuff

    Today I was reading my friend Rae's blog Say it Ain't So, and was inspired to tell my own junk related story. [Tangent: I love her blog, because I like to live vicariously through her passion of acquiring really cool things at estate sales and Goodwill. "Junking" is one of my favorite things to do, but Rae takes thrifting to a new XTREME level. Somehow, she finds amazing things (and not just naked barbie dolls with chewed on feet or pleated jorts.)] Last week, I went somewhere that I drive by on a weekly basis and always wanna go inside. Just the pepto pink exterior and swank window dressings of Pre to Post Modern on 8th Ave across from Zanies always catches my eye. I finally decided I was gonna carpe the diem and go inside with my ginger, who as previously stated loves old stuff as much as I do.

    There was a lot of awesome to be found and it was all presented really magically...especially if you consider vintage glassware with all the McDonaldland characters (especially Mayor McCheese) magical. Unlike my adventures in flea marketing, I thought ahead and dazzle you with some of the high points.

    I not so secretly still want this disturbing Charo photo...who wouldn't?

    these paper dolls were adjacent to the Charo pic...and equally creepy.

     $12 was a little steep, but to have a poster of the Dan Akroyd classic(?) My Stepmother's an Alien would be pretty sweet.

    statues of obese children with bulging eyes and speech impediments- adorable.

    my boyfriend was obsessed with this...but who wouldn't be?

    Unfortunately, due to my own poverty, I left empty handed, but fear not candy colored vintage emporium, this is not the last you have seen of Kimmie.

    Tuesday, August 9, 2011

    you readers be crazy

    For some unfathomable reason, some of you readers love hearing about the goings on aboard by Blogger stats page, which I had previously just considered good, clean narcissistic fun for me. If you haven't read about it before, the stats page shows me what sick bastards you all really are. The following search terms have somehow led googlers to my little web page over the last month or so.

    anime couple kissing from the waist up

    Sweeney Todd killing

    creepy facial hair

    toilet paper jokes

    picture of a fat bald girl in wheelchair eating pizza
    toilet-office combo
    lenny kravitz hair
    meth heads
    dharma and greg wallpaper
    moron in a mascot
    rebecca black Friday checklist
    bacon orgy

    fat kid anime costume

    macho man shemale pep rally

    When you read all these out of context, I think one gets the wrong impression of my witty, informative musings. One might instead think I am auditioning to be the next John Wayne Gacey. I am not. My murderous creepy tendencies are slim to none. I promise. However, I do wanna see what a fat kid in an anime costume is all about...

    Monday, August 8, 2011


    these are lungs knitted for me by my friend Rachel...they are intact.
    So, today August 8th is the official lungpopaversary day [Tangent: Well, not completely...I guess August 7th was, but it was right around midnight- and I was not exactly alert and looking at my Timex that evening, so it's hard to tell.] How did I celebrate my livelihood? I worked all day processing bills...ate some Chick-Fil-A and took a two hour nap before doing some blogging. Aside from the work aspect, this day really has been ideal and there is no other way I would rather spend it...

    I also had a really amazing weekend and am completely sure that I have the most amazing group of friends on the face of the planet...loud and inappropriate-absolutely, but lovely and awesome nonetheless. After Saturday,  I have also realized that my friends are a filthy pack of liars.

    For the last week or so, I was assuming my "I'm glad I didn't die dinner" was going to consist of 5 people who were there with me the night I got sick [Tangent: This small group was mostly due to my own laziness. I tried to invite a couple others, but everyone was booked so I figured fate was just telling me to keep it intimate.] However, when I arrived at the restaurant, I saw a long table of about 15 people that I love dearly, from every aspect of my life {high school, family, college, work, summer camp, etc}. 
    they didn't have a "you made death your bitch" I settled for a happy birthday and a creepy candelabra

    the girl who put it all together.

    more celebratory fun.
    those balloons say "kicked death's ass" not "licked death's ass"...don't be vulgar.

    Come to find out, my best friend had been scheming, with assistance from my sister, my boyfriend and Facebook, for weeks trying to put this together to surprise me. [Tangent: Also apparently when I wrote the previous blog about the dinner....all my friends who were in on the surprise, and had been lying to me about their mysterious Saturday night plans, had a minor shit fit, thinking I somehow had caught wise. I hadn't...I just wanted a reason to wax nostalgic on old episodes of Days of Our Lives.] It was complete overstimulation in the best way possible...I felt like that last scene in Big Fish where Edward Bloom is returning to the river and he passes by all those people in his life all together in one place. [Tangent: Only I wasn't dying this time, I was just about to gorge myself on Buca Di Beppo deliciousness.]
    My friends are almost this random...just minus a Devito and some conjoined twins.

    Saturday, August 6, 2011

    who is shawnee toots?

    I wanna know will, too!

    About two weeks ago, my gingerry boyfriend and I were eating dinner together, and as per usual when we socialize, we periodically check our social media because we are just that lame. While going back and forth with tweets that made us giggle, he asked me, "Do you follow Shawnee Toots?" After shaking my head no, he took to reading me some of her ballsy, not always coherent  but always all caps tweets. I knew I had to start following her immediately.  Here are some examples of her brilliantly ridiculous tweets, which for some reason make me incontinent with laughter in minimal characters:


    I am not sure why I find these so funny, but they all have made me either snort liquid or immediately read it aloud to someone. I'm not sure its because I envision this stout sassy black woman yelling these things at me or because they are generally so randomly offensive. [Tangent: I have removed the many instances where she tells the subjects of scorn to eat a d#*k...but that does always make me chuckle].  

    I obsessively have followed this woman since becoming introduced to her, and nearly daily I will text my boyfriend commentary about them getting especially excited when she returned from her vacation and exclaimed, "SHAWNEES BACK, BITCHES!". We have concluded that there is no Shawnee Toots. The whole personae (name, picture, tagline and all caps-ness) is much too perfect to exist naturally. It must be the contrived brainchild of some out of some comedian. Part of me wants to know who is the real wizard behind the curtain, but part of me knows I would only be disappointed.

    Friday, August 5, 2011

    "I'm glad I didn't die" parties

    I was a huge watcher of "the soaps" when I was in grades 5-12, focusing on the ridiculous NBC 1:00-3:00 time slot of Days of Our Lives and Passions. As a child, my mom was never one to be obsessed with these shows, so I got into them when my older sister became that age when teenage girls start acting like middle aged women, reading VC Andrews books and watching daytime melodrama. [Tangent: Judge away at their stupidity, but I dare you to look away once you get into a storyline. Example: In the late 90's Marlena from Days was possessed by the devil. Even given my semi-Catholic fear of possession, I found this plot incredibly unintentionally hilarious, even at age 10. Marlena would spout things in a weird slowed down tranny voice and sometimes shape shift into an actual creature in cheaply made demon suit.] 
    this kept me entertained all summer!

    Anyway, one lasting impressions that my stint as a soap opera watcher has left on me is that people on these programs LOVE any excuse to have a party (that will inevitably last for 2 weeks). I remember specifically a Days episode where a character had gone missing for years because she was on a desserted island, yet somehow got one TV channel on this remote location that for some inexplicable reason was broadcasting her hometown's memorial service for her. Minutes later, you saw the character paddling home in a boat. When she returned back to Salem, her friends and family threw her a party which my mom and sister and I always referred to as an "I'm glad you're not dead party." 

    Anyway- cut to this weekend, which has been closing in on me for about a month. This weekend marks the 1 year anniversary of me "getting sick." [Tangent: That term is one I use all the time. All recent events in my life are generally described in conversation as BS or AS (before sickness or after sickness), because my life has changed quite a bit since August 8, 2010, in terms of how I've prioritized my health and myself above lots of other nonsense. 'The sickness", for those that don't know was acute respiratory acidosis made worse by a collapsed lung when I was intubated in the emergency room and my lungs filling with fluid. Everything I have done since the day from eating non pureed food to breathing on my own to being able to speak normally is crazy. All of those things were things specialists told me may not be possible.] For those that were there with me the weekend that the shit hit the fan, hauled my blueish body to the ER and spent sleepless nights with me in the ICU hallucinating from too many narcotics and interpreting my clicks and sign language for the nearly 5 weeks I couldn't talk, I owe the world. To show some tiny percentage of the appreciation they deserve, I am taking them out to dinner tomorrow to celebrate...let's call it an "I'm glad I didn't die dinner."
    look how stoked I was when they took out that trach tube!!!
    I'm sure this won't be the last you read about this considering its consumed my emotions for weeks, but I will try to keep it light and pepper in dirty words to keep things interesting. I love you all.

    Tuesday, August 2, 2011

    shark sandwich.

    There's a lot of hysteria that I don't get overly wrapped up in. Example: Despite being a total book nerd, I was never overly into Harry Potter or Twilight or any of those things involving wizardry or corpse love. [Tangent: Harry Potter: I read 1 book for a paper, and I saw 2 movies and can't begin to tell you anything about their plots. Twilight: I tried very hard to get through all those books but the characters pissed me off and I got bored with that whiny bitch, Bella, midway through the last book. An E for effort, I say.] I don't judge others for hysteria, because everyone has their passions. Mine is reality TV shows, specifically of the "terrible human" variety, i.e. anything on Bravo. [Tangent: Take of the white wig, and stop judging me. I dare you not to get sucked into a marathon of Millionaire Matchmaker.]

    Around this time every year, another hysteria overwhelms my facebook feed and permeates general conversation, and it's one that I have never quite been able to get into: SHARK WEEK. Sure, they are cool animals...I guess. After all, they are the rogue badasses of the underwater community, but I don't have the kind of shark lust that makes me want to devote 1/52 of my year to them. Maybe, an hour- tops!

    I think there are other underwater animals that are markedly more deserving of an entire week. Nothing would please me more than to see more platypus or narwhal programming.  A shark is just a shark, but a narwhal is like a shark/unicorn hybrid...and come on look how stinkin' cute baby platapusses (platypi?) are.

    I daresay MORE badass than a stupid shark.

    I could stare at this all day. So much cute.
    Given that I love educational programming, I will likely watch some episode of shark carnage discovery channel style this week, but I make no promises. It's not like this is the puppy bowl...for that I drop everything.

    Monday, August 1, 2011

    warm fuzzy weekend.

    When i was in elementary school, interspersed with library and music day- we went to guidance class once a week. [Tangent: As I have grown up, I've learned that not all schools did this. Maybe that's why so many in my privileged school system had a strong, yet sometimes misplaced, sense of self importance. Regardless, it was basically a class that taught you all about McGruff the crime dog, how to say no to drugs, and what to if someone tries to touch your no-no bathing suit area.] The one thing I took away from Guidance [Tangent: Aside from all the ways to say "no" to drugs...EX: broken record...sassy comeback...cold shoulder etc] was the concept of "warm fuzzies" and "cold pricklies". 

    Warm fuzzies were those good feelings you get from someone or some situation. They put little mittens on your heart and make you feel good inside. Cold Pricklies were their antagonist, they were the bastards that just, to put it bluntly, make you feel like shit. My guidance counselor, who was a very soothing woman who loved chunky jewelry and flowy blouses, was OBSESSED with warm fuzzies. She read us stories about them, had us make them out of yarn etc. If "warm Fuzzy" was the word of the day and her portable classroom was Pee Wee's playhouse, our voices would all be long gone from screaming each time the phrase was uttered. To borrow an advertising phrase, warm fuzzies had a high "stickiness" quotient. IT STUCK.

    Anyway- cut to this weekend- I had a great one and was repeatedly bombarded with such warm fuzziness. Nary a cold prickled douchebag to be found. One of them came to me on Saturday via email from, my friend Alicia with the following pictures. Her 6-year-old daughter, who is my faux niece, was playing legos and informed her that she had made her lego people a wheelchair- "like Kimmie's."

    wheelchair attempt #1

    wheelchair attempt #2 after she remembered that mine had front wheels
    [Tangent: If that doesn't give you warm fuzzies, I daresay you are dead inside. In which case, I don't want you reading my that little X now!]

    The next bout of warm fuzzies came at my high school reunion, and they were a direct result of this blog, which I haphazardly spew my random thoughts into. Because I am a gentile Southern lady, [Tangent: By the way, this description has NEVER been used to describe me...and likely never will given my penchant for four letter words.] I decided I would write a thank you letter to my blog for inadvertently giving me warm fuzzies at my reunion.

    Dear Blog,

    Thanks for giving me something to talk about at my 10 year reunion, other than my "meh" job or the fact that I'm pushing 30 and live with my folks.  Your existence and unexpected popularity was such a fantastic icebreaker. "Hey, I follow your blog." or "Who do you think is gonna win this thing?" was a markedly less awkward approach than to say, "so...what have you been up the last 10 years?" or "What do you do?" [Tangent: the latter is followed by the all too familiar puzzled half smile, because no one fully understands what it is that I do.]

    It was shocking that nearly half the people I talked to at the shindig were familiar with my writing and it seemed that they really were fans. All the praise for you really lit a fire under my ass to make blogging a priority. The kind words and admittance of creepy blog stalking also gave me that false sense of importance that my guidance counselor instilled in me 20 years ago.

    Thanks again for the warm fuzzies.

    Your friend, 
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