Thursday, June 30, 2011

say ukraine, say me-craine?


Last week, my good friend and fellow blogger, Amber, wrote a earth shattering expose on the steamy toilet water situation in her temporary Saudi home, or as I like to call it "The Big Sandy." [Tangent: She is coming back to Nashville at the end of the month for her school holiday, and I am quite excited. I already have 2 standing dates with her and her hubby to gorge ourselves on Cracker Barrell until we are literally sweating sweet tea. I am unsure if I could exist in a country that doesn't embrace hashbrown casserole as a a viable side item. ] Because I am fascinated by the bathroom etiquette in exotic places [Exhibit A], Amber began the blog with a simple dedication/Kimmie shout-out. Ever since this simple namedrop, I noticed my daily hits were on the rise. Suddenly weird google image searches and my facebook weren't the sources funneling people into my blog vortex...instead I was getting linked by feeder sites like these:
















These screenshots may be hard to view, so I will save you some eyestrain and wrecked nerves...you won't be able to read any of it. It's like reading Russian...or rather it IS reading Russian, because my top blog feeds this week have been of the Baltic persuasion. As of this week, I am a huge hit in the Ukraine. [Tangent: Is it "the Ukraine"? Is that how you say it? That's how I have always referred to it, because you say "the US"...but you don't say "the Germany. Who decides these which countries deserve articles preceding them?]



Anyway, as you can see...for some reason Amber's little reference somehow spurred lots of interest in Kimmie among Ukrainians,  which in turn made me interested in them. Advertising 1010: Know your audience. [Tangent: I am trying to somehow use my diploma...I do that occasionally. The government paid a lot for my collegiate studies. They need to know that my degree was not in vain.] I have done this before when I realized I had a surging readership in random places like Latvia [Click here] and Germany [Click here!].


Basically my only immediate association is 90s figure skating sensation Oksana Baiul. [Tangent: Although I am not the sportiest of chicks, I am a MAJOR (all caps) Olympic nerd. I get very little sleep during Olympic season and caught "the fever" at a young age. Yes, I realize this makes me seem cliche and patriotic and ridiculous, but I cannot deny that figure skating was my drug of choice as a youngin. During the heydey of figure skating I was triple sow cow deep in  the Harding/Kerrigan fiasco, so of course the front of mind reference for Ukraine is Oksana.]

I really hope this bang style is still popular there.
Beyond that, I know very little about the Ukraine. I know it's adjacent to Poland and I'm half Polish so maybe I should feel a kinship somehow to my maternal grandparent's neighbors to the East.
I also learned that not unlike myself, Ukraine (at least in its days as a republic) is a November baby and a Scorpio, like myself. High five, Ukraine on being a badass! I am assuming, not unlike myself, you as a people, embody the following: [Tangent: I mean you fit the descriptions, not that you are a maracca-playing scorpion...although that would be amazing.]:
Maybe some of you new Ukrainian readers can teach me a thing or two...like how to do the Hopak like this:


I welcome the knowledge because as a fellow US patriot named Joe once told me, "Knowing is half the battle."

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

total garbage.


I am inappropriate. A lot actually. [Tangent: Actually, that's not fair, I am selectively inappropriate. I generally know my audience, and luckily most people I matriculate with are also fairly unhinged and share my odd sense of humor, so I don't have to tone down very often. ] Pinpointing why I am so odd is not easy to do. But sometimes I will tell stories and the listener will just look at me and say, "That explains a lot."



Today on my break at work,  that exact scenario played out again. I was telling my friend Josh how when I was about 11, my hoppin' cool kid saturday nights were comprised of Baywatch, [Tangent: For some inexplicable reason, my sister and I thought this show was fantastic with riveting plotlines about ATV races and haunted cabanas. If I even heard the first few bars, I can still sing you the entire theme song and the closing credits, which were different as you should know.] Tales from The Crypt and SNL. He thought this odd TV for an 11 year old girl. However he knows I also watched a lot of other horribly traumatizing things at a young age due to the dangerous combo of siblings as babysitters and premium cable:
  • The Who's Tommy
  • Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)
  • A Clockwork Orange
But then I remembered a conversation I had the other day, that possibly more traumatizing than my premature introduction to Malcolm McDowell and ultra violence were things intended for children in the 80s and early 90s.

Example: Pee Wee's Big Adventure. That movie was fantastic when I was younger, but I tried to watch it a few years ago and it was hella creepy. I had completely forgotten how innocent childhood things can haunt your dreams as a grown up.
The large Marge scene is terrifying, no?
Let's be honest- this eeriness was true of all things Pee Wee. His playhouse was also filled with sinister marionettes and other things that make for irrational adult fears.
my childhood fantasy is now my worst nightmare.

And then there is the case of Garbage Pail Kids cards, which my sister and brothers and I used to hoard at the local general store. [Tangent: No, I did not step out of a Steinbeck novel. The nearest Stop & Shop was called The Concord General Store, therefore I speaking literally and not pretending as if I lived in ye olde times.] I remember my parents thinking the stickers were gross and a little inappropriate, but they were never ones to shelter us or deny us trading cards packaged with rock hard nasty bricks of bubble gum. My mom and dad were not big fans of the word, "fart" so I can imagine they may have taken issue with some of the characters.

see, it started out subtley disturbing...and then...

dear sweet lord...clifton hung himself with a helium balloon, and I am pretty sure Catie self mutilated herself with safety scissors 
 How was I not completely terrified by these things? [Tangent: Let's not even bring into this the live action Cabbage Patch Movie which 24-year- old Kimmie found completely unsettling when she caught it several years back on cable. Thank goodness my parents shielded me from that.] 
Egads! That's creepy as hell. Some things should not be live action.
What am I getting at? Ok. At the time that the Garbage Pail Kids were in their heyday, I was scared of ET, Harry and The Hendersons and 99% of Halloween masks, yet apparently a dismembered cherubic looking child flew under my fear radar. That explains a lot.

Monday, June 27, 2011

still the master of my domain.

So....today, this happened:

 If you have read my blog, [Exhibit A and Exhibit B...trust there are more exhibits] you are familiar with my inner fatty who is destined for a TLC special. Today that chubby greasy fingered girl inside may have gone into a diabetic coma after eating a potluck treat made by my friend, Alex.  Your eyes do not deceive you...that's a lump of chocolate chip cookie dough and a full sized oreo encased in a fudge brownie. If this is not already featured on this website, then clearly someone is slacking. Needless to say, it was delicious and I wish I had another right now, maybe smothered in whipped vanilla frosting and scattered with those pretzel M&Ms I recently discovered.




Also today, this happened:











I officially renewed and re-registered this domain [www.thatgirlinthewheelchair.com] as my own, which means you will likely have to put up with my incoherent ramblings and serendipitous google images for at least another year.  I made the decision to own up and pay the $10 domain fee last year after deciding that I had likely made more questionable $10 purchases in my adult life. If you have looked through my Itunes backlog- that is apparent. [Tangent: I still stand firm that bluegrass covers of Barenaked Ladies songs was a valid need in my life at that juncture.]

Thank you friends and creepy awesome internet stumblers upon for continuing to read, comment, share and stop me when you see me and tell me you read it and don't think its terrible.  It really is sometimes the daily affirmation I need at that very moment, so keep it coming...

Friday, June 24, 2011

hot coco.

conan made of cheetos. yep. that happened...and its incredible.
Its another hoppin' Friday night in Kimmieland.  After debating between Avatar and Ferngully which are concurrently airing on cable despite being the same film,  I instead opted to clean off my DVR. [Tangent: I am officially the coolest girl on the planet...I am waiting for my trophy in the mail.] Right now I am screening some Conans from last week because I am apparently 78, and I'm incapable of watching late night television in its normal time slot.

I am thoroughly jazzed because I found out yesterday that this little gem of documentary is being released at our local hipstery artsy fartsy theater The Belcourt, and I couldn't be more thrilled:



The documentary follows Conan on his 32 city tour after being banned from television and royally dicked over by super douche Jay Leno last year.  Because I am a bit obsessed with Mr. O'Brien, its a little shocking I have never used this blog as a forum to express this devotion. [Tangent: I regularly make allusions to Conan bits and usually get a cold stare, but I will my friendship with one of my favorite people, Alicia, hinges on her recognizing a vintage Coco reference from the below skit. This one skit has forever caused me to often say the word "inappropriate" with a cockney accent and she picked up on it. Thanks Conan for forging a friendship.]



Due to my superfandom and because he is slightly indebted to O'Brien for forming my soft spot for carrot topped gents, my ginger preordered our tickets today. Both of us separately waited in line last June outside Jack White's Third Man Record label for hours to see a "secret" Conan performance that is featured in the film. [Tangent: The performance wasn't really "secret"....it was just not announced till the day before on Facebook and Twitter. The short term notice meant everyone that had a full time 9-5 job was shit outta luck. Thankfully I was taking a half day to get my doggie neutered that day, so as is my way- I pawned that responsibility on my father so I could go see Conan and/or wait in line with the rest of the homeless people hipsters of Nashville.] Being that I didn't have a blog last June, I didn't get to write about it...but it was a fantastic day spent with some of my favorite people. We waited in hot hot heat for hours and got grossly dehydrated with a bevy of other summer scarved pretentious folks, only to have the line got cut off at capacity roughly 15 people in front of us. BURN!

I may have gotten nothing but a halfhearted "I'm sorry" for the oddly sexy and possibly undead Jack White but all in all the day sitting on 100 degree pavement wasn't wasted. I mean saw a girl pee behind a dumpster with about 200 onlookers.

Let's take a little walk down memory lane:

Were you anticipating a picture of the girl peeing behind a dumpster. NEVER! One word: Inappropriate!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

FBO?

yep...that's about how it goes.
For about a month I have been in cahoots with a lovely ginger fella who treats me sweetly and who digs me a great deal. I refer to him as Jamie or my boyfriend.  This led me to do something I always vowed was dumb...I am now facebook official in my relationship.  I have long considered this update the kiss of death for a relationship in its fledging stages, given that you get 25 "likes" when you announce it. Then if you break up, though it may be amicable, it becomes a huge festival of frowny face emoticons and half hearted "you could do betters" all over your comment thread. I didn't want to deal with that, however, my lovely new boyfriend informed me he was gonna make it official when he set up his facebook this week [Tangent: No, he doesn't have a facebook account. I know...its appalling...and no he's not in his mid 80s or Amish.  Apparently he has yet to join the new millenium of passive communication...and I had to change that because I didn't want people thinking my fella was imaginary.] Since he was going to go all loud and proud about his lady, I felt I needed to beat him to it...mostly because I am ultra competitive and wanted to be FBO first.



I need to start specifying when I say "FBO"

The whole concept of "being FBO" got me thinking that it has now become a crucial step in relationships. I kid you not, many intellectual people have been asking me for weeks if we had "made it official on facebook."  The whole thing is lame...but now apparently so am I. But at least I am lame and happy.
Here some emo weebles explain the importance of it all.

Monday, June 13, 2011

get in shape, girl!


Blog comments, to me, are the best thing about maintaining this blog [Tangent: Coming in a close second: search terms. I mean, someone found this blog by googling "Avant Garde Catsuits" the other day. How amazing is that?!?!?] Nine times outta ten, they make me smile. This one, posted by my sister in randomness, Rae, after reading this blog about my favorite used bookstore inspired me to write today:

"also, i own all the sweatin' to the oldies, ON DVD. and i paid full price. because i LOVE THEM. it also came with a fake talk show about self esteem. have you seen richard's reach for fitness video? it's for the handicapable. crystal and I tried to do it once and it was TOO HARD. it was embarrassing."
happy crippled folk- for the win!

This single comment led me on a 30 minute internet quest to find some footage from this video...because I felt it would be ridiculous and something I needed in my life. [Tangent: I am not saying the handicappeds don't need fitness, because lord knows I am outta shape as hell and have heaps of atrophied cuddly muscle to prove it...but for some reason I just knew that there was gonna be overly PC or be completely inspirational and  Wind Beneath My Wings vibe about it (and yes I secretly hope that link is gonna up my readership among enthusiasts of "Avant Garde Catsuits") After youtubing every single search term that I could fathom, I still came up short of a short shorted flamboyant gay prancing around with sassy wheelchair folks.
He's gay?!??!? I know you are shocked!

Just because I didn't find any of the footage from this video series doesn't mean I came up completely without cutting edge wheelchair people workout information:







And for those of you unlucky ambulatory individuals, you can always do this to break a sweat [Tangent: Is it wrong I want this to be my ringback tone?]:

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Who drives the sin wagon?

The other evening, my good friend Ty and I were having lady bonding time. This included happy hour at a classy establishment (or Chili's) and The Hangover 2 [Tangent: My synopsis: Exactly like the first one but with more penis and a Bangkok setting. If that is your cup of celestial seasonings, Its worth the $10.50 to see Zach Galifinakis in a rice picker hat drinking fanta out of a bag.]
that image will never grow tiresome. 
Anyway en route from Chili's to the cineplex, something horrifying caught my eye. Thank God (pun intended) that Ty was there and able to snap pictures as I sped up to follow it. This was vigilant blackberry photojournalism at its best:

A gentle reminder?

satan is jacked. 
After being inundated with images of bloody JC and a ripped Lucifer, I was reminded how much I love freedom of speech and how much crazy stuff like this makes me giggle and makes me glad I grew up in the environment that I did (moral and spiritual without the crazy). Proven fact: No one has ever had a come to Jesus moment after being cut off by a guy who custom airbrushed a U-Haul with religious imagery.  I immediately imagined having this guy as an acquaintance and needing to borrow his Evalgeli-wagon to move into a new place. AWKWARD. Ty and I both rattled off what we thought he was transporting: Bibles? Sinners? Virgins? What could be inside?

I sped up to check out what kind of character drives a sin wagon. It was an older gent, and his young son was riding shotgun. The urge surged in me to steal the little boy and throw him in the back of my van (one that doesn't have the word "abortion" emblazoned on the side) He needs a chance to grow up open minded...because after all...

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

some problems are concrete.

this will make sense soon...

I'm officially douchey, because once again...this blog is going to revolve mostly around my rad whip [Tangent: That means 'cool car'...I'm not hip enough to pull off that kind of phrasing...especially given I awkwardly counterbalanced my hip hop car slang with an adjective that hasn't been relevant since the late 1980s.]My morning began very focused on my automotive. I was running super close on time, per usual, and luckily snagged the last close handicapped space ensuring that I would get to my desk perfectly timed at 9:00. After hitting the electronic door open button on my console and attempting to let my ramp down, I realized it wasn't gonna happen. It was stuck. I was trapped in my car and would likely have to A.) cut off my arm for survival or B.) call inside and get someone to help me figure out why the hell my door was jammed.

Luckily, my angel in dark framed glasses, Alex, heeded my phone call. After surveying my sliding door and opening and closing it a few times...she found the object that was obstructing what should be a pretty open and shut case [Tangent: PUN INTENDED!] My door wasn't opened because a mini airplane sized bottle of hot vodka was blocking the door jamb. I later had to explain to my boss the whole situation. Luckily, I have no shame. At least it was Grey Goose and not that plastic bottle nonsense. I am a classy dame afterall.
only the best to leave in my 97 degree automobile.
Ok...now on to the other recent car-related blog matter...and its a fascinating one. Concrete. [Tangent: One would have thought I would have exhausted my ability to rant on ground covering after this blog, but trust, I could discuss it for days. Don't get me started on cobblestones.] I happen to know more about concrete than anyone should. I know it's a huge industry and apparently a very lucrative one with high starting salaries and job placement. [Tangent: How do I know this? At MTSU, when I was a Freshman, they were just starting their Concrete Industry Management program (yes, its a legit thing.) Aside from having it shoved down my throat in orientation and Freshman seminar class,  I had many friends over the years lured into the warm arms of the concrete program. The promise of job security came for the low cost of well...learning about concrete all day. I can't put it down- all of these people probably have high paying jobs now that use their education, whereas I had the most fun amazingly stimulating education ever,  but my degree is dusty. Its a Catch-22. I will reiterate what my friend Josh Branum so brilliantly put, "A degree in Mass Communications is like a degree in hugging."]

Anyway, in terms of concrete maintanance, I have but one arch nemesis...and thy name is the Old Navy Cool Springs parking lot. We have never been friends. Given this is what it looks like on a sunny afternoon, imagine what it looks like after a heavy Middle Tennessee rain:


Yep, That's exactly as janky as it appears on camera phone photojournalism [Tangent: I took these pictures about a month ago with every intention of raking some muck and raising a ruckus about it after sludging up my newly steam cleaned interior with wheel marks...but alas, I am lazy so the evidence just stayed on my phone.]. It's as if a phantom silty creek bed ran over and left a permanent sludge puddle centralized on the only "Van Only" space in the entire parking lot. It has aggravated me for years, especially before I started driving and would drag my feet through the ever-present puddles in my manual chair. Given I can't turn down reasonably priced casual wear, I have to lay aside my convictions regarding parking lot upkeep and go there anyway.

However, Monday, upon pulling into aforementioned lot on a quest for new summer sundresses- my nose began to burn from the smell of hot asphalt and my eyes were greeted with this happy sight:

It goes without saying that I looked like a creeper with a jort fetish taking this picture.
After years of under the breath cursing and mental muckraking, my space was being repaved. My level of excitement over this is exponentially greater that any other possible reaction to concrete. This elation and feeling of changing lives is why more people should go into Concrete Industry Management program. MTSU, feel free to use my blog in your recruitment package.

Monday, June 6, 2011

mmm kay?

So yesterday, in addition to playing some heated games of Bananagrams with my favorite people,  I got to go visit my idea of a magical kingdom: McKay's Used Books. I know digging through dog eared tomes and scratched CDs for hours seems less than thrilling to some- but its my favorite thing to do. I never go without things to trade, otherwise impulsive Kimmie takes the wheel and things get a little outta hand.  I'll end up leaving with Garth Brooks double live CDs and a circa 1991 Babysitter's Club postcard book [Tangent: Oh wait, that happened yesterday even with trade in credit, but tell me that you would have the self-control not to buy that...and I will call you a liar. Especially given my 75 cent superfind: the Reality Bites Soundtrack!]
my co-pilot checking out my awesome purchase. 
In the past, I have always found some of my favorite heartfelt gifts at ye olde needle in a haystack book peddler. Among my favorites being the $1.99 Sweatin to the Oldies VHS that still sits on my friend PJ's desk at work and this treasure which I bought my brother from a Puerto Rican mother,  Turin, that still lives on in infamy.

yep...spock was a romantic.
Halfway into the trip yesterday, I decided I should have been photoblogging all my almost purchases [Tangent: Only...I was too lazy to go back get photographic evidence of everything that I had missed, and it was busy and didn't wanna seem like a creeper]:
whatever the price was for this...it was too much.

If I saw this in a guy's car...I would run. Yes. I WOULD RUN. I would suddenly make myself walk to get outta that situation.

Beth is still angry that I didn't purchase this...and frankly so am I given my love of the chosen people.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

some people are assboles!


Nearly everyday posted around my office (affixed to the vending machine or the refrigerator or somehow enclosed in an email)  I see something that could easily be submitted to this website, I always think about snapping a pic to submit...but never do.

While getting in my car to go to work tuesday after my blissfully happy Memorial Day weekend, my father handed me this off my windshield:









































Apparently it happened while I was "creatively parked" outside my friend's apartment complex in the greater Nashville area. [Tangent: Creatively parked = parked kinda diagonally between 2 regular spaces so I can let my ramp down and not scar the vehicle parked to my right. It is usually done as a last ditch effort when people with no dicernable handicap other than being overweight have jacked the last of the handicapped spaces.]

The note was not upsetting; it was more hilarious. I secretly wished he had seen me getting back in my handi-van after visiting a friend who was also disabled. We could have really gimped it up and showed this improper colon using ghostwriter who the real "assbole" is.
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