Saturday, April 30, 2011

love can get tacky

This blog is for my boss, Diane, who found out a few months ago about my site and now really enjoys my blog and spams everyone in her life with it [Tangent: This is including, but not limited to her eye doctor, her teenage daughters and all the ladies in HR (yikes!)]. In our team meeting yesterday, she covered the very insurance-related topic of how I should cover some aspect of the royal wedding in my blog- the motion seconded by my British manger, in his best Union Jack shirt for casual Friday.  The idea had to grow on me- I mean, I think I have heard every possible aspect of everything Will and Kate, and am a bit fatigued by all of it. We all know I love a good spectacle, but seriously folks it's only a day later and my royal wedding fever is starting to cool.

Unlike most girls in my age bracket, I never really pined away for Wills.  Along with Leonardo Dicaprio,  the future king warmed the 90's teenage pedestal of lust that the Twilight monsters hold today, but if I recall correctly I never quite took the bait of the princess fantasy. [Tangent: Unless it was Princess Jasmine, because I would have loved to inhabit her satin shoes given my childhood crush on Aladdin. (Don't judge, he was a hot cartoon, and I am a sucker or a big nose.) Alas, I am not Arab and think harem pants look silly out of context.]  The royal lifestyle was not really part of my "when I grow up..." storyline. It seemed like a lot of etiquette and conditions, and frankly,  the act of being a lady is not my forte- so I took my hat out of the running. [Tangent: This is not to say I never had impure thoughts about a prince, because once Prince Harry became legal- BOOM! GAME ON!  I mean Prince Harry's a great catch: a hot ginger with that relaxed pothead appeal. Plus, his love of an inappropriate costume only makes him more a catch, by Kimmie standards at least. ]

As I watched the DVR'd footage of Kate stepping out of the car, I could practically hear the factories cranking out the shoddily sweat-shopped together versions of her gorgeous handmade Sarah Burton dress. That hurt my heart - Can't something iconic and gorgeous be just that? Instead it must be mass produced to delude middle America into living out some weird princess fantasy. It seems the people that buy these dresses are the same types of people that likely bought these heirlooms of people they don't know to commemorate events they were not a part of:



Welcome to the club, Kate Middleton ring and dress. You are joining the ranks of the Titanic necklace and the ill-fated J. Lo engagement ring-  brilliant accessories to a sad existence.  I'll be seeing you on the clearance rack at David's Bridal and the busted ring basket at Claire's come year's end. If not, I will eat my awkward wedding bonnet!
her hat looks like a uterus.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

a town by any other name...

the infamous nashville weather penis...behold!
If April showers bring May flowers, then horticulturally speaking, I expect great things in the coming month. For  the first time in roughly 24 hours, the transfixing brightly colored spell of the dopplar weather radar is being broken, and I am watching actual television that isn't urging me to move to a lower floor. [Tangent: Yes, I could have turned it or watched one of the 100 things I have queued up on the DVR, but what if I missed out on some crucial weather info because I was watching a week old episode of Conan? I decided not to take that risk and instead be lulled by the monotone voices of the local weather broadcasters.]

As a kid, hiding in the hallway during a tornado with the essentials (ya know...cookies, the dog, pillows and a book of mad libbs) was a fun springtime adventure that ranked somewhere between building a blanket fort and playing German Spotlight. [Tangent: As an adult, I am pretty sure German Spotlight or flashlight tag had its roots in something Nazi related, but I try to ignore that.] However, now tornadoes are kind of a downer- an aggravating way of throwing me off task (more than usual) and making my baby hairs frizz like mad.

The only bright spot of this month of bipolar weather [Tangent: In the words of Katy Perry circa 2009, "You're hot then you're cold...you're yes than you're no...you're in then you're out...you're up the you're down." That just happened.] is taking part in one of my favorite activities- heckling the names of the ridiculous neighborhoods/towns in Middle Tennessee. Its not enough that we have to reinforce Southern stereotypes of mental deficiency by mispronouncing everything, [Tangent: I mean, really, why is Santa Fe, TN pronounced Santa Fee? There is no excuse for that behavior. ] but we also have some terribly unfortunate town names. Most are so bad that they are never really mentioned until a cyclone is attempting to shred them; for that reason, they are deemed "tornado towns". Everyone has a favorite.

Kimmie's Top Tennesseee Tornado Towns*:
 *can you tell I like alliterative phrases? 

Fudgearound, TN

Bugscuffle, TN

Sweet Lips, TN

Lickskillet, TN

Hoodoo, TN

Gumm, TN

Love Lady, TN

Defeated, TN (not to be confused with Difficult, TN)

Finger, TN

Monday, April 25, 2011

grease monkey...that funky monkey


Cars are something I know very little about. [Tangent: When I learned to drive a couple years ago and was in the car buying process, I had about 3 options of mini vans, because that's about all that fit my adaptation specifications. I selected the one that looked the least like a pedofile's getaway car.  Even though all the vans I considered were missing a second row of seating so I could  exit and enter with grace and ease, thus making them look like a rape wagon to the untrained eye. Not making it better- I still (for some inexplicable reason) have a Wright Middle School visitors pass stuck to my visor from when I spoke for my friend Amber's class a year ago. It's a wonder perverted justice isn't staking me out.] I know even less about car maintainence. Ex: I just learned that one is not supposed to wait a year before getting an oil change. Who tells you these kinds of things?

The chocolate love wagon has been mine for 2 years this month and she has only gotten 2 oil changes and 2 professional baths. Some may call this irresponsibility; I call it tough love. I wouldn't her to get all spoiled and become a high maintainence bitchy automotive that needs a tanning bed allowance and a Victoria's Secret Angels card with a high line of credit. I would like to avoid that at all costs.

This week I have been trying to remedy my neglectful car ownership by running it through the car wash, vacuuming it out and getting the overwhelming coffee fragrance out of the floor mats. My van looked so sassy, I thought I would go balls out and get an oil change, which is something I only thought to do because I found a coupon when switching desks at work. [Tangent: I am perhaps the cheapest person on the planet and 95% of my life decisions are dependent on whether or not I get some sort of discount. Seriously, boys, the line starts here...] Or rather, I gave my dad the free oil change coupon and asked him to handle it. He likes projects and sitting in garages all day reading year old magazines, so I thought he was an excellent candidate. My father also takes the act of haggling to an olympic level.  When I am not being horribly embarassed by his persuasive frugality, I like to use to it my benefit. [Tangent: In fact, among my friends- his name has been made into a verb meaning "getting it done." The best example of this vigilante schmoozing is when my dad bought dish washing soap instead of laundry detergent at the grocery because it was on the wrong shelf (...and not to mention, he wasn't wearing his glasses.). Because of this error, he ruined a whole load of laundry. The next day- a word here and a word there...and Bibboty bobbity BOOM! The manager at Publix is buying him a bunch of new sweaters. That's some Harry Potter kinda shit.]
he will mind freak you...

To learn from my Jedi Master/father, I went with him to go to the tire place, which upon entering was appropriately blasting the terrible Rascal Flatt's reboot of "Life is a Highway." *shudder*  I will say if you are not getting your tire needs filled at a discount tire retailer, I feel bad for you. Because I am a loyal patron, they do any rotations, patches, balances for me free of charge as long as they are under warranty. [Tangent: As stated before, I am a moron when it comes to auto repair, so I am not even sure what all that entails, but I like the sound of "free of charge". ] Without me even having to remove the wheelchair card from the deck, my wishes are granted. It is highly likely I could go in there and request that they take of all four tires, juggle them and screw them back in...all while singing songs from the Dreamgirls soundtrack..and they would happily oblige. If I was Martha Stewart, being cheap is "a good thing."

Sunday, April 24, 2011

oh, yahoo answers...you've done it again


In keeping with my theme of stream of consciousness, not completely thought out Sunday blogs, I thought I would make up today's Easter edition completely as I go [Tangent: By the way Happy Easter, folks. I celebrated with a patty melt at Steak N' Shake and by keeping my best friend company as she worked her extremely slow bar shift today. Apparently, Easter is not a big drinking holiday. Maybe they should have offered wine specials. I capped it off with a nap and watching "It's Kind of A Funny Story." Nothing says Easter like a movie about mental patients. ] As a starting point, I once again looked to you lovely readers. As you know, my favorite thing about this blog is learning about my beloved and possibly mentally unstable followers, because I get to see things like this when clicking links on my stats page:


Some comfort should be taken that I was not #1 on this, because if there's one thing I lack, its hairy hands.  Make note of that.
see...
To me, the things that are the most hilarious are not intended to be. Human nature is funny enough, you just sometimes have to know where to look. Most of my friends share my odd sense of humor, which is helpful in not making me seem heartless or crazy. In fact, one of my favorite internet past times  is one I have gleaned from my friend, Turin- scouting Yahoo answers. [Tangent: He has at least 4x had to set up new accounts for Yahoo answers for giving people terrible advice, which makes me all the more glad he is my friend.] With very little searching, you will soon realize that they are unintentionally funny 75% of the time.  With great excitement, I noticed I was somehow linked with this site the other day, so out of curiosity, I typed the word "wheelchair" in to see what queries came up. As suspected, I HIT THE JACKPOT!


*I feel like the fact that he began his question with "once again" infers that this is not the first time he has hosted a handi-party at his home, which makes me curious as to how the first one went...I can only imagine it was unseuccessful and riddled with awkward. The highlight for me was "should I pretend that I someday want to be in a wheelchair?" mostly because that is something I have never encountered. [Tangent: Although, I have always suspected that its everyone's lifelong aspiration.] This post was not an isolated incident, truly, the hits kept on coming.

 * I really wish there had been able to view the nine answers posted for this one, but for obvious reasons it was deleted by the asker. As a former bus rider, I can say race was never a factor in people getting irritated with me riding, but I feel it was a good starting point for a Katt Williams or Chris Rock bit. If that's the case, bring it, I would love to hear what they come up with.


*I can only imagine the people asking these questions are either joking or shut-ins. Surely, someone isn't this misinformed. At the rate of sounding like a Lifetime movie, "wheelchair people" can do any job they want...barring tightrope walker, Harlem Globetrotter or step aerobics instructor. People can fly out of their wheelchairs for many reasons[Tangent: For this I can vouch...I have a lot of scars.], but it worries me that someone is trying to find a reason to make it happen. Also, if you are going to get someone a wheelchair-centric gift- be prepared for backlash, unless they are like me and might find the humor in it. Moral of the story: don't buy your disabled acquaintance some kind of durable medical equipment.

Ok...That's all I got. I have a choco bunny to finish.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

things have gotten outta hand

this will make sense in a minute...patience.
Today has been a blah day...a 2 o'clock glass of wine nor a nap could keep that blah feeling at bay. Some big changes at work have left me feeling a bit numb, and left me a bit in a bit of a hole [Tangent: I know I am being vague, but whenever I feel thankful for something (like keeping my job),  I feel 200x the guilt that others have to lose theirs...curses to Catholicism for that feeling. I have a large office now and can finally get that cubicle shark tank that I've been dreaming about, but I don't feel happy. Grateful- yes. Happy-no.]
This kid knows what I'm talkin' about.
To remedy this shitboxy feeling- I thought I would divert myself by writing about another pressing issue in my life- my outta control hair situation. I know, I know...I have covered this already in this blog, but the crazy train has really run its way off the tracks in terms of my follicles. If you didn't know me, my hairstyle may lead you to think that I'm part of some strict religious sect.


For months my hair has been in perma-ponytail status. I have harvested a good 10 inches to donate [Tangent: That's what he said?] and given that I am elfin in stature, 10 inches is roughly half of my body. Plainly stated, I am a few months away from becoming Crystal Gayle [Tangent: That's a reference the youngins or non-Nashvillians will not appreciate. Sorry for the deep cut, folks.]

when I was 6, she was glamour personified


I've also noticed that when I try to just wear it down,  I get comments from coworkers like the following (which I have gotten in the last week or so):
  • "Um...you aren't letting your hair grow too much longer, are you?"
  • "Your hair is like a Whitesnake video."
  • "Whoa! Big hair."
My very vocal and unauthorized peanut gallery has some very valid points/concerns. This monstrosity that I call hair has reached out of control status, despite my decision to ignore it. [Tangent: Last year, when I told my friend Sam, who had undergone the process previously, that I was donating my hair to charity, she told me that no matter how much of a low maintenance girl I claim to be- that I would have second thoughts near the end. It's not that I want to get rid of it and spread "Kimmie wigs" to cute little baldies all over the world, because I do.  I just have a wedding to be in and a 10 year reunion to attend...I would like to enjoy my new found girlyness a little longer.] However the other day, a Facebook album and a background untagged picture made me say, "Holy mother of god, things have gotten out of hand."

...they tried to warn me.
Yeah..I know what you are thinking. This thing I call hair is not even pretty anymore, its just kinda sad and gross and making me resemble maybe a POW or someone who has been locked in a mine shaft for several years. In my delusional mind, I was thinking I was maybe a distant cousin of Lady Lovely Locks, my childhood icon. But on second thought, she had birds and rabbits living in her multicolored mane, so maybe I should reconsider my role models.
my childhood is ruined.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

thrift store mystery date.


My friends Jonni and Beth have been talking for about 2 months about this super secret gift they bought me whilst shopping together one day. They gave me nary a hint, but assured me it contained the cure for AIDS [Tangent: Ok...maybe those weren't their words exactly...but they assured me it was awesome.]  and that upon seeing it, I would likely urinate on myself. With all this buildup, I was bracing myself for disappointment, because nothing can match that level of hype. However, then Jonni showed me the gift:

nothing weird about this...at all.
 Yep. That's right, it's a $1.99 record from Goodwill and as my friends know I love awkward and ridiculous and am a follower of websites like these. In fact I have Google image searched "terrible album covers" more times than I can count, so of course I loved it immediately. [Tangent: Please, I urge you to do this sometime when you are sad...it will plummet you headlong into the internet rabbit hole, and you will leave happy.]

 While scanning the cover of this amazing gift and seeing such eerily named Jesus-centric jams like "Invisible Hands," I learned all about these identically dressed Kansas sisters who share a love of smocks, God and Corinthian columns. However, I neglected to realize there was another gift inside the cardboard sleeve.  My friends told me that on a nearby shelf, they had found this at the Goodwill and knew that it also had to be mine.

ladies...please.
Yes...that's right...someone donated an 8x10 glossy of this guy to charity. Shockingly, it had no price tag, so my friends found it as the ultimate thrifting find. SCORE! The first inclination that popped into my head was, "I could easily photoshop the wedding ring off, we should make this guy an eharmony account." [Tangent: Although it would have been worth the monthly fee just to amuse myself, I do possess some semblance of a soul and I couldn't do it.]

I felt I could glean a lot from just a headshot of a dude in a silk shirt and shiny suit. Something tells me his name is Jake [Tangent: Although Beth and Jonni autographed the back as "Dirk"] and he really enjoys both rollerblading and cross stitch, to keep his body fit and nourish his creative spirit. Likely, he is looking for a lady who will help him achieve his dreams of managing a Johnny Rocket's and to share his love of Yankee Candles.

Monday, April 18, 2011

nashville goes a' film festin'

damon wayans in a mini hat is one of my go-to giggle inducers
My friend Beth knows everyone in Nashville [Tangent: This is not hyperbole. I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times someone has said, "Oh, wow! How do you know Beth?!?!] , so I love that I am her friend, because it somehow keeps me on the inside track of goings on about town. Her cousin's wife was in a short film in the Nashville Film Festival and since I love the creative people and the illusion of pretention, I was all about it. Thankfully, the movie we went to see, entitled 30 Day Challenge was kind of amazing and funny and packed a lot of film into a half hour, so I didn't have to lie and say that it was "an interesting choice stylistically."

Because short films are just that, we decided to stay and screen several. Nearly each screening we saw were either brilliant or tore your heart out of your chest a little and made you look at it. Overall, I was impressed with Nashville (as I am 99% of the time, when I am not wanting to punch a stupid redneck in the throat.).

There was however one film that baffled me a little, and the whole 21 minutes of run time, I was baffled, thinking its high art was a reflection of low art [or as I like to call it "my art"]. Let me explain- The movie was about a drunken man dying in the gutter while events of his life were played in the background, and he came to terms with the life he had missed. The whole time I was picturing the below imagery in my head which basically matched frame by frame. [Tangent: This is, in turn, why I don't get invited to things like this, because everything I encounter, I try to somehow relate to an episode of Full House,  The Simpsons or 90210.]



The version above is the Spanish translated version [Tangent: Aside from about 20 reenactments of this made by drunken film students, all of the actual versions of "Pukahontas" on youtube were in other languages for some inexplicable reason. Trust that I wasn't doing it for the sake of being "artsy".] was Barney Gumble's submission in the Springfield Film Festival sometime during the period where I watched The Simpsons with zealot-like enthusiasm.  The entire time I sat through that film in the theater last night, I couldn't help but think I was watching a parody of "Pukahontas," which really just a satire of short art house films in general. How's that for being "meta"?

If that was the case, then the movie I saw yesterday was hilarious. Unfortunately, I am 98.5% percent certain that the film makers were not that self-aware [Tangent: A lot of hipsters don't watch TV. I know...it hurts my heart.], in which case the movie was just "meh" and felt like a long public service announcement.

In other news, go see Scream 4...it surpassed my low expectations. 

Sunday, April 17, 2011

kids table?

Lately I have noticed a trend at parties I attend that is kind of new territory for me - everyone is married. I don't know when the shift happened...I am guessing when I crossed the threshold of being closer to 30 than 25. This transition from keggers to dinner parties is kinda nice. It's a little refreshing to go to a party and talk about politics and books. Being around smart stable people keeps me on my toes and god knows I love a good conversation, but part of me misses the old days of single men, keg stands, "never have I ever," patio rap battles [Tangent:New Years 2005 was a good time.] and staying out past 10 pm.

My life was never a Katy Perry video, but I have had some amazing memories of being young and stupid, and have blackmail pictures to prove it.   I'd never consider myself the kind of girl that wants to "make it weird" when hanging out with couples, because I love them, I still kinda feel like I'm sometimes sent to the proverbial "kids table." Sure, I have responsibilities and expenses, but I am in no way a property owner or thinking ahead to what schools I am going to send my hypothetical children to.  When constantly surrounded by married people, I feel like my awareness is heightened to the fact that I am a grownup now, yet one that's in a very different place. I am OK with my place. Sure it sucks to be alone, but in other ways, I am living the dream...I can make large purchases without having to get approval and can flirt with a myriad of gentleman. Seems like a win/win. 

When I started this blog earlier today, I was chatting with my married friend Amber in Saudi Arabia [Tangent: Or as I like to call it "The Big Sandy"] about this topic.

Amber:  I was just looking at the rundown of the top 50 songs this week and thinking about how much I would LOOVE so many of those songs if I was still in college they would be my going out songs

Me: I KNOW...thats a point I might address...like when I was in college ....i loved Ludacris...past tense...but I can't see myself getting really hyped about a new luda album.  when did I get old?


Amber: exactly!! I could see college me dancing to Britney's new single like a BAWSE

Me: EXACTLY. although in college I tried to pretend that I didn't love Brit Brit, but I totally had the CD with Toxic and the uncomfortable "touch of my hand" song. 

So what am I trying to say (besides the obvious creepiness of "Touch of my Hand")?  I am not sure. I just know that sometimes I get those little reminders that "geez, I'm an adult now."  Ex: Today I saw this metal Hello Kitty lunch box at Old Navy and thought "ahhhh...to be in 7th grade again." [Tangent: Yes, I realize Hello Kitty is targeted at a much younger demo, but when I was in middle school, you weren't cool unless you had a Keroppi pencil pouch.]


Thursday, April 14, 2011

what the oprah?

I hate "LOL cats" but this one seemed too perfect.

Everyday, I get home from work about 2:30, meaning I am home in time to shape shift into a middle aged woman just in time for the back-to-back TV cupcake that is Ellen and Oprah. [Tangent: I realize it sounds super pathetic, but we all have our vices...and one of mine just happens to be talk shows. It's much more affordable and not as life ruining as hard street drugs, so shh....accept it.].

I giggle so hard at this. so staged yet so funny.

Ellen was something I never watched until I was out on temporary disability last year. Since then, I have become way too excited to watch it everyday. Without her friendly androgeny, I may have never know the glory that is Double Dream Hands! [Tangent: By the way, my mother rocked these moves at my brother's wedding, so imagine a 5'1 Polish lady doing it and it makes it all the more fun to watch.]




Then comes 4:00 and OPRAH'S ON! Despite her superiority complex and inclination to shout at odd intervels, I gotta back my Nashville gal, O. Her stepmother was the assistant principal at my high school for a year or two when I was there, so I feel like that virtually makes me and The Oprah BFF. Because of this two degrees of seperation, I feel it is time for me to take aside my dear friend, Oprah and have a little girl talk. 

Dear O-

I love you. Throughout the years you have become a part of my daily routine. My roommate in college and I wrote you multiple letters to buy me a van when I was poor and without transport. Despite the lack of answer on your behalf [Tangent: Being that we were both PR majors, we thought we had it in the bag. We played every card in the deck: The wheelchair card...the black girl and white girl best friends card...the Nashville hometown girl card... the school of journalism card. etc. ad infinitum.], I still followed you and built my course schedule around you for multiple semesters. I even made a point to read a couple Toni Morrison books.

For these reasons, with baited breath I have tuned in and set to DVR each episode in your final season. Now, O, here's a light bulb moment- you have 29 episodes left, and you need to bring it. I know you have your own network now and a school for girls and are making people read again and shutting down puppy mills whilst encouraging Veganism (even though you aren't a vegan).  Yet, something about your shows as of late have made me wonder if you may have lost some  bets with some of your Harpo studio workers. Example: today you did bring on C Lo Green to sing your theme song from 10 year ago, Run On. [Tangent: The Goodie Mob is sooooo proud right now.]
At least C Lo is relevant in an "As heard on Glee" kinda way, I don't mean to be judgmental but here are some examples of "timely" stories you have covered as of late: "A reunion with the cast of Love Story"; an hour with Tony Danza;  "Stevie Nicks, Pat Benetar and more!"; The Judds. I just feel like this is your moment. Now is the carpe diem time and not the time to start skimming your trashcan for subject matter. I can't wait for these last 29 episodes. Please make me feel like a douche bag. I beg of you- prove me wrong Mama O!
xoxo, 
 Kimmie

Although some of her recent shows have not been my cup of celestial seasonings, I can't fault Miss O. It's like your last week of work when you have already put in your 2 weeks notice- you're allowed to phone things in a bit. If my childhood dreams of being a talk show host were realized, I can't say I wouldn't do things simply because I always wanted to see it occur [hence a Miley Cyrus/Joan Jett duet]. Otherwise, whats the point of having your name sandwiched between the words "the" and "show"?  
there are an alarming number of Oprah Jesuses on the interweb. a bit shocking.

Crazy things I would do if I had a talk show:

  • Re-enact Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead using marionettes
  • Reunite the cast of Empire Records
  • Steel Magnolia's quote of the week
  • Have a weekly segment where I rant about American Idol to a degree where I just come off really sad
  • Use my power to meet hot actor/musician types
  • I end each show with a ribbon dance routine to the first song in my Itunes shuffle
  • 4 words-  house band: Barenaked Ladies [I mean...really? what are they really doing now?]

OK. That's all I got right now. Oprah I love you....to prove this, I just submitted why I am an unlikely Lady Gaga fan via your website. Pick me. Choose Me. Love me. [Tangent: And I will let that whole grudge about the van slide.]

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

the app happy chronicles: I feel pretty

Some things will always make me laugh...the word "wiener"...animals dressed as humans...candid pictures of David Hasselhoff...and ridiculous conversations with my mother. My sister has similar kryptonite...with the addition of celebrities in fat suits. It doesn't matter how many times she sees Hairspray, she giggles like a four year old whenever she sees the following image. I am not sure if it's the cross dressing aspect or the fat suit itself (or the combination of those two things), but I know as she is reading this and seeing this image, she is producing an embarrassing amount of laughter.
No...fat people aren't funny....but seeing someone who isn't usually tubby as a thicker person IS! [Tangent: If this was not the case, Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence would be short a few million dollars. ] Where am I going with these statements? Riddled with insomnia the other night, I was feeling a bit  "app happy," so I downloaded the "Fat Booth" application to my phone. I haven't been overweight since I was in 5th grade, and I had forgotten what I look like with multiple chins. [Tangent: It was dark, so I had to use existing images on my droid to transform myself into my chunkified alter ego. Also, apparently I only take face-on pictures of myself when I am in costume. Go figure.] Because I love to make myself look as ridiculous as possible, I wanted to share with you how I would look should I decide to let myself go.
if kelly kapowski had jaw elephantitis...

yeesh. this one is a little too realistic.    


Thoughts? Conclusions? I sent the picture to Andraea, my BBF, [Tangent: That stands for black best friend. Lest you start to think I'm racist, she calls me her WBF- so it's symbiotic. Also, would a racist person have a BBF? No.]. Andraea's response was:  "OMG! YOU NEED NOT GAIN WEIGHT, EVER!" Honestly, I don't think it's that terrible...I just have an extremely stout jawline and now resemble the female baby of these individuals:




 Also I felt a "totally looks like" was in order for this occasion:

Me without makeup in Fat Booth 

Totally Looks Like
Poppin' Fresh



I wish I could say Fat Booth was the only ridiculous application housed on my little droid, but it's not. I have three versions of Angry Birds, two incarnations of Scrabble, two satellite radio providers and multiple weapons. [Tangent: Yes, you heard correctly. If you know me, you know that I hate guns and they freak me out even being within a 100 yard radius, however I have a shotgun app on my phone which makes "realistic" gun noises when you load, cock and shoot it.  It makes no sense, and I am feeling shameful with this admission.] Every few weeks, I will have a new app obsession, which will inevitably grow tiresome/frustrating, forcing me to find a new succubus of free time.

This happened most recently with Alchemy, a game where you play God to make things by combining the base elements of Earth, Fire, Air and Water, [Tangent: Did the Captain Planet opening just transpire in your head? Oops. That was just me.] Sometimes it's good to know a little about biology, but other times the concoctions are more fuzzy logic than science. Ex: metal + bird = airplane.  I obsessively stayed up at night to play it and even went online to find "cheats," but then one day it got old, so I just downloaded another version of Tertis.


Moral of the Story: Fat Booth is a novelty and it will surely run its course. However, this week, my goal is to "Fat Booth-ify" everyone in my life. 

Moral #2: I should do commercials for smart phones!

Sunday, April 10, 2011

...so this is filler?


I intended to blog about something else today, but was feeling lazy and unintelligible and just thought instead, I would share some fun things that have been making me giggle lately.

As I have established time and time again, I am obsessed with seeing what weird back alleys lead people to my little dog and pony show of a website. Google is like Big Brother, and I know that some of you sickos were googling something altogether different when you fell upon this post.   In addition to the disapointment they received from my blog and its lack of fetishism, those pervs deserve at the very least a Tim Gunn look of disapproval

see. doesn't that make you feel worse about your actions. good.
Then there are the more innocent, but no less bizarre Interweb queries that pop up on my Blogger stats page:

"Wheelchair girl ribbon dance" [Does someone have video of my 4th grade gym class rendition of an Amy Grant song?!?! God, I hope so.]
 
"Turtles in girdles"
 
"picture of brushing the teeth of a male patient in wheelchair" [To me, this seems awfully specific.]
 
"I’m sporty" [Really!?!?]
 
"Meth bumps" [This comes up A LOT.]
 
"Girl in sexy bear suit"
 
"Sexy adult baby costume"

Also, apparently Maury Povich fat babies are super "hot" right now, because they continue to pop up like whack-a-moles everyday as search terms. [Tangent: Not to mention that the blog that covers that very topic is currently my second most read blog, and it's only a month old. What is going on in the Maury-verse?]

Don't even get me started on "if you sprinkle when you tinkle" and why three people found me that way this week.  Apparently that old southern adage was also trendy in the last several days.

Ok, do I still have your attention? For those that read through this batch of gibberish: I leave you with a present which has been entertaining me, my coworkers and several of my friends all week. If you don't think its funny,  our friendship may be pending. It's a kooky lady in Florida who owns a sugar bush squirrel and puts it in really inappropriate historical scenarios. Have you ever wondered how a squirrel would interpret Michael Jackson's death, Suri Cruise's birth, Sadam Hussein's capture or pay tribute to Jean Benet Ramsey? Well, click here and wonder no more..

Saturday, April 9, 2011

#imoneofthose


Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been 20 years since my last confession. [Tangent: Semi-Catholic fact: one of the rites you must do as a Catholic, before first communion, is your first holy reconciliation where you confess all your sinful behavior to your priest. Oddly enough, this is done in second grade. It's uncertain what an 8-year-old has to repent for; I likely asked for forgiveness for reading my sister's diary and dressing my brother's Macho Man Randy Savage figure in Barbie clothes.] I did something this week that I thought I would never do. I joined Twitter.

To some people, Twitter is part of their lifestyle, but for me, it has been something I have tried to avoid. If there is one thing I don't need, it's another Internet time suck. I am not sure why I have always been so completely resistant to tweeting [Tangent: Even saying "tweeting" makes me a little uncomfortable, and because I'm inherently 12, I give it perverted connotations.], especially considering I have already been whored out by linked in, goodreads, facebook and the wasteland that is myspace. Something about twitter, just made me seem "too available."  Now I was officially not only plugged into The Matrix, but I was hardwired to it.

Aside from curiosity,  I had a couple hours on my hands, so decided to undertake a new project [Tangent: The grand majority of my life's undertakings/decisions have been made within those confines.]. Instead of doing something with an easy open and close, like doing a painting drafting an essay, I turned to twitter, which would likely call for daily (or at least weekly) upkeep.

After logging in and signing up,  I immediately felt like I was 90-years-old and just sitting down in front of the computer for the first time. Despite the fact that I am a fairly intellectual gal, I had no idea what the hell to do or how to get people to be my followers. [Tangent: I would like to commend twitter on using the term "follower" instead of "friend" because let's call a spade a spade, the great majority of people that are your "friends" on facebook are not really your friends. They are rather people you haven't spoken to in years who you once met at a party.] I was also completely puzzled by what all the hatch marks (#'s) were all about and puzzled as to why 99% of tweets were complete gibberish. Most tweets follow the following illogical format:

RT @________ + twitpic + #nonsense + link to something else


It all seemed like Algebra...and I've always been terrible at math- hence my communications major. Despite not feeling good about it, I was soon doing as the Romans do and tweeting my little heart out, sometimes even using the above format. [Tangent: However, not as much as @Kevin Smith, who despite being a person I love should really should lay off the smart phone tweeting every 4 minutes and focus instead on writing Dogma II.] Due to the magic of the interwebs, I was also now directly connected with @andersoncooper and @augustenburroughs, two of my most favorite famous smart gays. as well as 75% of the original cast of Saved By the Bell. 
...oh and @dannydevito
So to close up my confession, I am not particularly proud of my new tweeting hobby, even though as in most cases, I am a late adopter of trends (thank heavens I catch on quickly). It may or may not make me even more of a shut-in and keep me from being a benefit to society, however now I know what @ZackGalifinakis has for breakfast...and that is a license to print money as far as I'm concerned. It has already provided me with many a blog idea. We shall see. For now I will just have to get used to looking in the mirror and coming to terms with the fact that I am a twitterer. 
#imoneofthem
So now you all should most definitely follow me @kimmiejonesin. Do it. Join me in being one of "those people."

Thursday, April 7, 2011

"I'd give an arm and a leg to be an amputee"

this is a lamp.
 On Tuesday, i went on a very overzealous buying spree at Borders. [Tangent: Since Borders is going bankrupt, they are closing several of their locations, I went to peruse the 50-70% off reading material. It wasn't all quality, but I did learn that the unfamous ambiguously Asian member of the Black Eyed Peas has a memoir on the market and so does Lo Bosworth, co-star of season 4 of The Hills. REALLY?!? Despite my intention to be a conservative shopper, when there are markdowns and books involved, I have very little to no self control. Towards the end of the "Supermarket Sweepish" jolt through the store, I was left sorting through my loot, like a kid with their Halloween candy. Despite this chatter that the Kindle has killed the written word, literature is forever alive and kickin...at least on my book shelves.] Ten books have now been added into my hefty to-read pile. Atop the pile is a book called Freak Nation about weird/interesting subcultures of people. (Ex: Model train enthusiasts...Trekkies...hoarders...etc.)
holy nerdgasm, batman.
Although I am very excited to read it, I know they couldn't have possibly covered every niche out there. The internet has shown me that there is a world of strange people out there, and they were not alone; each odd subculture imaginable has hundreds of members. This point was proven today when my friend and fellow unabashed conscierge of oddballism, Alex, asked me, "Have you heard about this documentary, Whole?"  I had not, so she preceded to explain the concept, which is explained on the website for the film [Tangent: I would use Alex's words verbatim, but I was so horrified with the initial plot explanation that I zoned out due to my mind reeling.]:
WHOLE takes you into the world of people obessed with becoming an amputee. Some are "wannabes" while others succeed in ridding themselves of a limb.

They are healthy people like Kees, a Dutchman who pretends to be an amputee up to five times a day; Dan, an American who loves to hike and bike in the French Alps; and George, a man so desperate he shot off his leg with a shotgun. This courageous documentary reveals the impact the obsession has on loved ones, and also examines how medical professionals are dealing with the growing worldwide network of amputee wannabes. It dares to ask questions without obvious answers, questions about body image, cosmetic surgery, and the lengths people will go to in order to complete themselves.
I should not be shocked or weirded out; my mind is generally propped wide open...I just can't imagine someone trying to make their life more complicated. Sure, we disabled people lead a very glam lifestyle; who can blame someone for trying to ride our coat tails? But in this case I don't think imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Instead I find it a little short sighted...like they see the attention aspect, but not the rest of the piles of baggage that come with. In the instance of the people why are part-time amputees, how does that work out? Where is their commitment level?

Is Lt Dan one of them?

Since I have all my limbs, I feel ill equipped (?)  to get too enraged about the way the faux amputees get their shits and giggles. However, I would point out there is an equally head-scratching group out there that I can more easily relate (?) to: Disability pretenders. That whole subculture makes me slightly  uncomfortable. These characters first fell on my radar when I was researching for my essays.[Tangent: Yeah...yeah...yeah...this book of essays which will one day reach completion.] According to the interweb, which would never provide false information, these pretenders sometimes feign their disability to a point where their faux malady becomes a bonafide defect due to atrophy. [Tangent:I guess this supports the schoolyard scare tactic that if you make an ugly face long enough it stays that way. Jury is still out on whether swallowing a watermelon seed will result in giving birth to a watermelon baby.] 

Seems like this should be the equivalent of donning black face, something I, as a wheelchair chick, should take offense to on some level. However, I don’t. I think it is super bizarre and if I could walk, it's likely not something I would do.  But if its not hurting anyone, should it really bother me?  Anyway, part of me finds it comforting to know that there is a channel allowing these odd balls to come together. As I always say, there is a hole for every peg.

...its like when the bee girl found her fellow bee people.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

baconalia?


The other day while spending some time catching up on blogs I follow on bloglovin, I came across my blogger friend Chris's blog, Pooping With The Door Open, where he expresses his concern that bacon is becoming too trendy and thus about to jump the shark. [Tangent: Yes, I am talking bacon as in the delicious salty breakfast meat, not the actor Kevin Bacon...he hasn't been trendy since the late 80s.]At first I disagreed a bit with his theories.  Who doesn't love bacon? [Vegans.] Also, I had seen the extreme eating videos on youtube where they deep fry twinkies wrapped in bacon (or things of that high class nature), and I've seen bacon bandaids/tshirts/sunglasses/koozies sold at novelty stores. Things for bacon really seem to be sizzling. [<---worst pun ever.]
bacon floss? I'm intrigued.



Maybe a day after reading his post, the point was made when I actually saw the commercial he referenced, for  Denny's new ALL BACON MENU and Baconalia ad campaign. [Tangent: I am super curious if the Denny's demographic knows that the term is based on the "bacchanalia" which basically means a boozy orgy (Its one of the few vocabulary words I remember from 10th grade).  I love bacon, but I don't wanna get freaky with it. ]
so apparently a hearty bacon laiden breakfast should make  you randy?

...just add bacon.

It's no wonder that other countries think we are ridiculous [Tangent: My blog is likely not helping.], and that we as a people are so overweight...







I am not sure why this fad happened, and it makes me feel a sense of sorrow that other meats are getting neglected due to all this culture proliferation by bacon, who is coming off as a bit of a d-bag now. I love salami...maybe 2012 will be its year. Until then...

yikes.
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