These Are the Days to Remember November 20, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Photoblog.6 comments
It’s been a slower-than-normal work week, which if this is indicative of next week when half the staff taking is taking leave - I should probably plan to bring a book in every day. Not complaining though. In fact, I’ve been very productive the last couple days and finally uploaded and organized about three months’ worth of pictures, something Heather gently reminds me to do from time to time and like an asshole, I haven’t. I used to be ON THE BALL with pictures; I don’t know what happened.
Either way, here’s a photographic sampling of life here in the fast lane:
During the last part of the summer, we were lucky enough to spend a couple of days doing my favorite thing: being on a boat on a large body of water. Someone once told me it’s because I’m an Aquarius which is a water sign and that seems reasonable enough for me.
Been trying to get to the mountains on or around our anniversary for two years now and it finally happened this year.
Mid-October is a mite chilly in the North Carolina mountains.
A lot of people are saying Brian is starting to resemble Jesse James. I don’t know about that, but this hat is one of the reasons I married him.
The scenery did its job and was appropriately awesome. I’m not sure who that lady is, but she looks relaxed, doesn’t she?
People get creative when spending days on end in the woods.
Then, less than two weeks after the mountain trip, I took off for warmer (MUCH WARMER) climes and headed to Florida to spend Halloween weekend with the fam in Disney.
Sister dressed Little K up really cute, but then didn’t have time to fix her own hair.
Because Becky is my pretend daughter, my family was more than happy to have her there with us for the weekend and it was awesome getting to spend a few uninterrupted days with her. Some asshole once told me I better enjoy it now while the kids still think I’m cool, but I think and hope Becky will always feel that way about me.
November means football, specifically the toughest part of our schedule where we’re lucky if we win any of the last four games of the year. This was at the Florida game, where the weather was gorgeous, the food and company great and the game’s outcome very predictable.
Oh yeah – a couple of trees have fallen down in our yard lately. Looking on the bright side, we now have a really good supply of fire wood at our disposal.
Finally, last night one of my dreams came true when I got to meet Glenn Beck at a book signing he did here at a Books-a-Million store. The line was eight hundred long and he only had an hour before he had to get back on the road to make his next stop in Charleston, but the man was very cheerful, shook both of our hands, looked me directly in the eye, smiled and said hi and we were both so excited that all the pictures we took came out ridiculously blurry.
All in all it’s been a pretty darn good Fall so far.
Pie Wars November 15, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Baptists, Fam Damily, Foodies, Holidays.13 comments
This Thanksgiving is going to be a little different than the last two.
The inlaws usually drive two hours north and spend the holiday with George’s elderly mother and because is something I’d wanted no part of, I made up a simple, don’t-want-to-hurt-their-feelings story that we were eating with some relatives of mine who live in Hilton Head, two hours south of here. Relatives I haven’t seen since our wedding, but whatever. We both felt bad about the lying aspect, but agreed spending a nice relaxing holiday at home with me making a whole big traditional (first year) and then sea food (last year) dinner for us was awesome. Until this happened, I’d never even cooked a whole turkey before – it had to be done (and Laura, that’s when I picked up the awesome cover-the-bird-in-bacon tip I will swear by until the end of time).
But George’s mom passed away a couple of months ago, so this year they’re having the meal at their house. I’m actually happy about it – cooking a ton of food and cleaning up afterwards is hard work and I’m excited to be relieved of the duty this year. Seriously relieved, since when I asked the MIL what I could bring to dinner, she politely and sort of hestintantly told me, “Oh, I don’t think you need to bring anything…I’ve already bought everything I need…I think I have it covered.”
I wasn’t surprised by this, even though there are somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen to twenty people coming to eat and you’d think maybe deligating a side dish or dessert or at the very least a couple of 2-litres of something to drink…but no, what am I saying – this is the land of swate tay (sweet tea for those of us who speak normally), after all. In fact, I might want to break out that handy flask we own to fill with Diet Coke now that I think about it.
I don’t know if it’s a Woman Thing, a Southern Woman Thing or just My Mother-in-law Thing, but she is VERY territorial when it comes to all things food. A few years ago when I told Brian she deliberately left a couple of ingredients out of her squash casserole recipe when I’d asked her for it, he laughed at me. He laughed not because he didn’t believe me, but because he could totally see her doing that. And I’ve since been proven right, having watched her make it over the years and see her add a pinch of this or that to it that she conveniently neglected to tell me. Hell, she admitted to giving a different recipe to the church cookbook; why would she give me the real one and risk giving up her secret?
More proof of the crazy:
- She LOOOVES the fact I can’t make homemade biscuits and/or gravy. Whenever she makes it, she lets something sort of catty slip out like, “Briine (Brian, but spelled phonetically like she says it) sure loves his momma’s ______ (insert biscuits, gravy, cole slaw, whatever in the blank)!”
- Whenever I’ve asked for a recipe of anything, she gives me her standard answer: “Oh, I don’t really follow a recipe for that; I don’t even usually measure the ingredients!” (Why is it then, in the other room behind the french doors there’s usually a cookbook open to the page that corresponds with the recipe we’re eating?) (I would never have the balls to ask.)
- Whenever she talks about one of her friend’s food, there’s always, ALWAYS a little insult thrown in there. “That Elsie sure is a nice lady, but boy her soup could’ve used a little more flavor! No wonder Ed stays so skinny all the time!” (George is pretty slender as well, but again – no balls, would never bring up.)
- I couldn’t think of anything, moreso than usual to get George for Christmas last year so I made him his favorite dessert, my first apple pie. I don’t personally like apple pie, but it looked so perfect when I took it out of the oven I actually snapped a picture of it – I’d even managed to do that lattice top of the pie crust thing and added little red cinnomon sugar sprinkles on top. I was proud of this pie. I brought it over when we spent the night there Christmas Eve and since she usually only makes appetizers to eat the night before the big day, suggested the pie for dessert. George loved it and he and Brian each ate two pieces over the course of the night. She had a weird look on her face the whole night and did not eat one bite of it, at least not in front of me. And she always has dessert.
So here’s what I’ve decided to do, in a little passive-aggressive move. I don’t like pumpkin or pecan pie, the staples of Thanksgiving dinner. But I do like dessert. So I have this recipe, an entire recipe with nothing left out of it, for a chocolate pie/dessert thing I’m making and bringing over there for Thanksgiving. I’m not telling her about it ahead of time, but instead just showing up with it and saying in my sweetest tone of voice, “Oh I just felt so bad about not bringing anything – I just threw this together really quick!”
It’s really a win-win, if you think about it. If no one else shows any interest in it, I still get to eat a dessert I like and Brian loves it too. And if someone else prefers chocolate over pumpkin and pecan, I get to see that weird look on her face again.
Reboot November 12, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Shopping, Work.10 comments
This week has been kind of an asshole. It has had its moments; I’m just glad it’s almost over. There’s still Friday the 13th to get through tomorrow, but that’s actually always been a lucky day for me. And the good luck even came a little early this time.
I’ve kept pretty quiet at work, which has always been fairly easy. Until recently. Now that I have my two friendly office neighbors, it’s much harder to get away with keeping to myself. I would’ve loved to have worked with my door shut on several occasions this week, but then they’d give me a hard time and have hurt feelings. Why do I care about the feelings of people I barely know? I wish I knew. But I do, so I left my door open and suffered through their jovial interactions and exhausted myself with the effort of faking happy.
I already described some of the annoying qualities of K, but this week J actually got to me more. She’s a social worker, so of course is very, well, social, and somehow manages to keep the conversation going almost non-stop pretty much All. Day. Long. It doesn’t even really matter if anyone answers her back – she’s one of those who can keep a running dialogue going with herself like a champ. But today was when I realized she posseses a quality I despise in people.
She’s a one-upper.
It doesn’t matter the topic. You’re sitting there having a perfectly pleasant conversation, maybe sharing something about yourself. Oh yes, she’s done that. She knows exactly what you’re talking about, because the same thing happened to her, only it was a few years before it happened to you. A cool restaurant you like? Oh yes, she’s been there. And personally knows the owner. Or, she knows an even better restaurant, one you should go to this weekend, it’s so great.
She came breezing in after lunch today, excitedly telling us about the best salon she just discovered. They’re inexpensive, quick, friendly and the location is the most convenient ever. Her nails did look very nice. She told me to go; they weren’t busy today at all. I started to politely protest, saying I do my own nails and that I don’t really like acrylics, but no. I have to try this place. If I don’t want acrylics, I should just get a regular manicure because it would be the best ever. When I declined, she actually told me the next time I wanted to get my hair cut, I should go there. If I had any balls I would’ve asked her if she owned stock in the place, but instead I just told her my sister-in-law works at a salon and cuts my hair for free, TOP THAT, YOU FREAK.
Even with the blustery rainy weather, I knew I had to get out of there. I practically ran out the door, not even sure where I was headed. But an idea quickly formed and I ended up at my favorite consignment shop.
On my ongoing mental wishlist there’s been a pair of perfect boots I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. Preferably black and knee-high and hopefully leather. Preferably and hopefully very affordable. Also I’ve bought and sold a lot of clothes in this place because the owner is this tough, kind of scary girl who is always hungover and bitchy and full of awesome gossip, mostly about herself. I love her a little bit and knew her surly attitude would be the perfect remedy to all the exhausting perkiness I’d been dealing with.
I was catching up with her, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted them. If I was starring in my own cheesy chick flick, a dramatic ray of light would’ve burst forth through the clouds and the ceiling of the store and onto the shelf where these boots sat, along with the comedic chorus of angel music.
I didn’t let myself get excited at first, because come on. This stuff doesn’t happen to me. It’s a consignment shop – what are the odds they were my size? And then I saw – size 9. Well, there it was. I wear anything from a 6 to a 7 1/2 in shoes, depending on the brand. But then I rememered something about going up in size when it comes to boots, especially ones that cover the calf. Could it really be?
Yes, it could. I slipped that beautiful buttery badass thing on and suddenly all was right with the world. I stood up and looked at my leg in the mirror, already picturing the outfit I’d build around it. The owner came up behind me and said, “They were made just for you, girl.” I hesitantly turned the other one over, scared to see the price. Eighteen dollars. She saw me do it, and before I could shout out with joy, said, “For you, ten bucks.”
Whomever said shopping is an empty way to fill an void and that material possessions can’t bring true happiness is a moron. Or at least not female. No, my new boots aren’t going to actually solve any problems, mine or others’. But damn if I could wipe the stupid grin off my face all the way back to work.
Until I told the girls what happened.
“Oh wow, that reminds me of this awesome shoe store I go to whenever we’re up in Virginia…”
The Innocents November 10, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Life, Nail Biter, World.8 comments
When I was in Florida visiting with my pretend daughters, the conversation turned to sex as it always occasionally does. They’re getting to that age (14 and 17) where I’m starting to get very a little nervous about some situations they might soon be facing and since I’m not actually their real parent, they’re a lot more open with me. This is both heartwarming and terrifying for me.
We’ve somehow established a funny little routine where I ask them “Innocence?” and they know they have to tell me yes or no. Yes as in they still have it or no as in okay, let’s take a ride down to the health department where we can stock you up with condoms and then we’ll need to stop at the liquor store on the way home so I can buy myself a bottle of whatever will obliterate my memory the quickest. I’m guessing tequila. Anyway, so far they’ve both always answered yes, (and then we have a moment where I freak out for a few seconds, wondering if I asked the question wrong and they’re telling me yes they’ve had sex then they reassure me no they haven’t had sex and we all share a nervous laugh) but then the conversation heads towards more uncomfortable ground and they inevitably start asking ME questions. I feel obliged to answer of course, because if they feel I’m open with them they will hopefully continue to be open with me. I’m really hoping that’s the case anyway, otherwise I’ve done nothing more than filled two teenage girls in on way, way too many details regarding my sexual history.
They’re growing up in the same small town I grew up in. I used to think this was a benefit, as small towns seem more innocent than big cities in a lot of ways. Less drugs, strong sense of community, parents who all went to school together and who are more than happy to rat out somebody else’s kid should they catch them doing something wrong, etc. But then I remembered the late 80’s/early 90’s in that same small town and the ridiculous lack of things to do there. Movie theater. Roller rink. Hanging out in McDonald’s parking lot to see where the party was, finding someone of age who has done nothing with his/her life to buy alcohol for everyone, then going out to the woods to drink beer and have sex. Unless somebody’s parents were away for the weekend, in which case there was the luxury of having a house to fornicate and underage drink in. That’s about it.
One of the cliche’s I reiterate to them is it’s always, ALWAYS okay to say no. This sounds like a big ol’ DUH, I know, but saying no is something I’ve had a problem with throughout my life, whether it’s a thankless task at work no one else wants to do to going to a social function I know I’ll hate to doing sex stuff with a dude I didn’t necessarily want to do. I was lucky enough never to have actually been pressured to the point it became a crime, but looking back I know there are several guys I could subtract off my List had I just been persistent enough to stick with my first instinct and not give in because it was just easier. I know I’m what’s known as a “pleaser,” and I see that trait in both girls as well. I think it’s a female thing to begin with anyway, for the most part. And while my husband certainly benefits from it, those girls don’t need to be pleasin’ any-fucking-body.
Even with their virginities intact (thankyougod, thankyougod) they’re both way more sophisticated than I was in my mid-teens. While it’s shocking to hear them joke around and use words like “jizz” and “vag” and “fingerbang” (okay, I’ll admit – I taught them that last one – but still), I think they’re actually at an advantage compared to me back then. The world in general is a lot filthier now and their parents are way more liberal in what they’ve allowed them to be exposed to than I was. At 14, Elizabeth sees almost every Rated R movie that gets released, whereas I had to carefully scheme and plot and hope my parents would sleep deeply to be able to sneak and watch Endless Love when it finally premiered on HBO by sitting two inches in front of the TV with the sound turned almost all the way down. Becky is on the Internet so much, SHE showed ME where to find the naked pictures of Pete Wentz. A lot of people view this as the crumbling of civilized society, but I see it more as de-sensitization. Oh, look at that – another penis, big deal.
Okay, not really. But it helps me sleep at night, okay?
‘Ello, Govnah! November 5, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Work.20 comments
Things have improved greatly at work from where they were a year ago, when I shared an office with Crazy McShittybritches. Not only do I have my own office with its own door (yes, that still excites me after all these months), but I now have two new co-workers as office neighbors and the three of us get along well. After two years here, I finally have some decent companionship and it’s been a nice change.
Disclaimer: I like both of them, so what I’m about to say is not actually a complaint, but more of a poking fun at a personality trait. Good fun, that’s all.
I don’t know your policy on sharing stories about your personal life at work. Me, I’ve always been pretty middle-of-the-road. With the exception of the one or two people I usually become close friends with at a job (well besides Avatel, where we were for all practical purposes a family to the point we knew each other’s menstrual cycles, bowel schedules and sexual preferences), I limit it to brief and relatable anecdotes. Basically, until I get to know you fairly well, I’m not one to share too much of myself. Of course once you become one of my people, I will then overshare to the point of inappropriateness – ask any of them. Or hell, just read this blog.
Anyway. One of the new office friends – K. She’s a very pleasant woman; wife, mother of four and church-going. Very, very frequently church-going. But not too obnoxious with the church talk. Early on, I pulled the Jew card (which has to be the queen of diamonds, right? Hahaha!) (Oy.) and also added we sometimes attend a Baptist church. This is very effective in confusing people to the point they won’t try and save me. So, we’re cool on that front.
No, her main quirk so far isn’t as big as religion or politics. It’s the scope and nature of family stories she shares. All day. Every day. My other work friend J nor I cannot say anything to her, work-related or not, that doesn’t have her immediatley responding with a cute tale starring her husband and/or kids. I mean – not a biggie in the great scheme of things. Regardless, here’s an example from yesterday morning:
I arrive in the morning and walk to our common area, where our coffee set-up is located. (Aside: A few weeks ago I told them there was a spare coffee pot in the main break room not being used anymore, and that it belonged to me. I’d brought it in long ago when the office’s maker went kaput but we’ve since gotten a new one. We decided to confiscate it and use it ourselves, bringing in our own supplies and sharing and it’s working out great). Anyway.
We said good morning and I held up the container and said, “I brought our replacement coffee!”
Her reply: ”Oh, it was so funny this morning. I didn’t brew any at home like I normally do because I knew I’d have a cup once I got here and my seven-year-old came downstairs and said, ‘Mommy, where’s my coffee!?’ It’s so funny, but about two or three years ago I got in the habit of making him a cup – mostly milk of course - when I made mine and it just became a little routine with us! I had to tell him, ‘Joshua, Mommy didn’t make any this morning but I promise I will tomorrow!’ He was so disappointed!”
My reply back: “…Awww…that’s…funny…”
Another one, just for fun:
Her: “How was your trip to Florida?”
Me: “It was great. I had a lot of fun, especially at Disney.”
Her: “Oh, that’s good. You know, Sam and I have always promised the kids we’d take a trip to Disney one day, but with everybody’s schedules being so different now and my oldest being away at school it’s just so hard. The age difference between my girls and boys really make it difficult for us to find things we can all do as a family, so whatever we end up doing someone is usually pouting a little – haha!”
Me: “…Oh…that’s…true…”
I mean, sweetgeorgiabrown! Maybe it’s because the two examples I just shared both happened fairly early in the morning and I’m not what’s commonly known as a “morning person,” or even “awake before 9 a.m. even though I get to work at 8,” but my God. In the month or so I’ve gotten to know her, I could pretty much give you a play-by-play of the entire inner workings of her household and a good portion of each child’s life history.
Do I prefer this over the sullen silence and occasional rudeness I used to get from Shittybritches? Of course. Does that mean I’m going to stop making fun of it? Ha!
Other fodder for future stories:
- Her humming and/or singing of religious music. I think I posted on Facebook the other day how I hate hummers (insert blowjob joke here) and that I’ve worked near them before. Seriously, with the humming. Do you think your co-workers are enjoying it, that we’re really getting into the melody? Or do you just not care. Or do you not even realize you’re doing it. See, the possibilities here are endless and I feel quite sure I’ll be exploring them all.
- Her breaking into a bizarre, British Cockney accent for no discernable reason, to the point that when she does it J has started calling her Nanny McPhee. I had to bite my tongue from adding, “Or Mrs. Doubtfire,” because I refuse to acknowledge the fuckery out loud for fear of encouraging it. It’s funny when Andy from The Office does it, so I’m not quite sure why it doesn’t work for K. But it doesn’t. So shut it, you silly git, before you drive me nutters!
I wonder what people say about me when they talk about what an asshole I am.
Boats, Buses and Golf Carts November 3, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Fam Damily, Friends, Holidays, Jews, Vacation.7 comments
There were only a couple of things that prevented this trip from being 100% perfection. One, the Florida weather. It’s always a little warmer down there than it is here, but it really showed itself up this time by not getting the memo it was the END OF OCTOBER and not the BEGINNING OF AUGUST. Seriously, it reinforced the fact I am very happy I live someplace that has actual seasons instead of just Hot and Not as Hot. The other thing was Brian deciding to have his weeks-long cough turn into bronchitus-almost-pneumonia and texting me from the doctor’s office that they had him on a breathing machine since his blood wasn’t getting enough oxygen. That was a stressful half hour and I had to forcibly stop myself from getting in the car and driving back twelve hours after I’d arrived. But, he’s doing much better now after a few days of antibiotics and codeine-laced cough syrup (dude canNOT handle his narcotics, btw) and after that scare I went on to have a kickass vacation.
Highlights:
- Even though I hate Summer weather in late Fall, I must admit it was nice to be able to go riding around on Bob’s boat to watch the late afternoon big orange sun slowly drop down through the pink and purple sky over the lake while listening to beachy boat songs. It was one of those moments when life has the perfect soundtrack running and it hasn’t happened to me in awhile.
- Elizabeth had too many social obligations (being a high school cheerleader is a lot more demanding than one would think and I’m not being sarcastic since I now believe she has some real anxiety issues going on) but her cousin Becky, my other daughter-from-another-mother decided to join me for the weekend in Disney. She’s 17 and the fact she still deems me cool enough to hang out with means a lot to me. We stopped at Walmart to get her a costume and we lucked out. For twenty bucks she got to be a guitar for Halloween – I can’t adequately describe how cute she looked.
- To you non-Floridians Disney really isn’t in Orlando, it’s just easier to say that. It’s actually in Kissimmee or if you want to get even more technical, it’s its own little city (a.k.a. Lake Buena Vista) and if the company takes over any more property it will become obvious in its goal to take over the entire state. All this to say, I took the wrong way getting off the turnpike and we almost ended up in Daytona Beach, reinforcing Kim’s Law: If there is a choice between two ways to go, Kim will choose wrong Every Time. Always, no exceptions.
- I’m not sure if Disney pumps Prozac through the air along with the upbeat-but-subtle music, but it truly does live up to its nickname of the happiest place on Earth and that feeling has never changed for me despite having been there close to a hundred times. They might be evil corporate monsters plotting to take over the world, but I’m fine with that.
- Fort Wilderness is the campground there where we stay every time we go and has so much fun stuff to do, I don’t ever feel cheated when I don’t go into one of the parks, which was the case this trip.
- We did manage a short trip over to Downtown Disney however, an annual tradition where I immediately fall under the souvenier spell and feel an intense urge to buy myself and others many Disney-themed gifts. It’s a sickness, I tell you. I haven’t gotten to the point where my aunt is, where most of her casual wardrobe is now made up of Disney character clothing, jewelry and accessories, but I’m sure that’s coming eventually. Prozac air, I’m telling you.
- Cousin Scott and his family didn’t make it down from NY this year which was a bummer, but his younger brother cousin Matt is always a good stand-in and like always I had good fun hanging out with him. We spent the majority of the weekend riding around on tricked-out golf carts (if you’ve never been in a camoflauge colored golf cart that’s jacked up on ridiculous sized wheels and goes 24 mph you haven’t lived) and even when he accidentally crashed the cart into the back of a Disney bus due to looking sideways while driving forward (a serious but common affliction in my family), it only served to send Becky and I into hysterics and will forever be referenced in our collective Remember Whens.
- My niece might just be the cutest, most well-behaved 2-year-old on earth. Yes, obviously I’m biased, but Becky said the same thing. And yes, she’s biased too but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I love her so much I almost can’t stand it. She was Belle from Beauty and the Beast for Halloween and she has unknowingly but single-handedly made me re-commit to uploading my pictures to Flickr. Not today but before the end of the week for reals.
- The kids loaded UP on candy. My cousin Lori summed it up perfectly when she said, “It’s trick-or-treating in the nicest, cleanest, safest neighborhood in the world.” Plus, again – golf carts. Where were they when we used to trick-or-treat, huh? I spent most of my time jumping on and off the back of the cart to take pictures of all the decorated camp sites and offer Becky moral support while she got loaded down with sweets. After inspecting all the kids’ hauls, I was amazed to see there was not a no-name brand in the whole bunch, but Nestles, Hersheys and Wonkas all the way. Nice.
- Sister booked us into one of the Disney resort hotels – All Star Sports/Movies/Music – something like that, but our building was the 101 Dalmations one and it was so freaking cool. Besides the fact it was about ten minutes from the campsite and the first night we headed over there Sister got lost and it took us an hour and a half (the unhelpful hotel front desk person when we called for directions: “Have a magical evening!”), it worked out really well for us convenience-wise and respite-from-family-wise. I love my family but even moreso when I don’t have to sleep in the same space as them. Their loudness transcends sleep and it’s just no good for my sanity levels.
- Awesome fireworks show set to a Halloween story and music on the shores of the Disney lake. Could’ve done without the flying insect I accidentally inhaled and swallowed, but walking barefoot through the sand at night and seeing a chillbump-inducing light show was totally worth it.
- Even with the whole Daylight Savings ending (I highly recommend planning a vacation that ends on this beautiful extra hour day) I ended up tacking an extra 20 hours or so onto the end of my vacation and didn’t leave to come home until yesterday morning at 10:00. This put me back home exactly eight hours later (would’ve been 7 1/2 but my car automatically veered off the exit where the Gap outlet store in Georgia and I was forced to spend a half hour in there to pick up a couple of tees and sweaters that sated my constant Gap jones). I probably should’ve figured on just taking yesterday off from the get-go, but it’s actually more fun when it’s a last-minute decision, like that one extra night feels like a gift. And we made the most of it back at Grace’s house, what with Elizabeth’s hair dyeing adventure, baking brownies, taking another couple of trips around town to various stores and ending the evening with me finally watching Twilight for the first time. Verdict: Uh…didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would? That’s about all I can say about that.
- Me and the girls also stopped by the cemetery and visited my dad and Elizabeth’s grandparents, all of whom are coincidentally located very close to each other. It was just getting dark and it was really peaceful. At the same time, we all kissed our hands and touched my dad’s stone, one of those moments. And did the same to her grandparents and I was sorry I hadn’t thought to buy flowers first but didn’t realize I’d be stopping there until I did. So it happened that I visited my dad, but skipped seeing my mom again. Oops.
- As much fun as it all was, it was also so good to get back to the man, dog, seasonably correct weather and a fire in the fireplace that was happily crackling for me when I walked in the door. I doubt I’ll ever be able to come to terms with loving living here but missing the hell out of my favorite people in the world who are all 400-ish miles away. I guess as long as we all keep making the visits happen, it’ll all work out.
October is over for another year. Holy shit.
Huh? October 27, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Bloggie, Whatever.3 comments
I have no idea how or why the comments closed on that last post. I certainly didn’t do it on purpose, as what is the meaning of life without comments?
It’s an even less exciting post than normal so I’m not changing it at this point, but does anyone know what the hell happened and how I can prevent that from happening again?
Signed,
Tech Tard
Home is Where the (Startled) Heart Is October 25, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Home Life, Whatever.comments closed
Today literally started with a bang (that’s what she said).
I’m sitting at home alone on this pleasantly cool and cloudy Sunday morning (now afternoon) doing some multi-tasking (laundry, internet, minding my own beeswax) (what is beeswax?) when out of nowhere I hear a couple of no-shit, unmistakable real live gunshots. Actually two quick ones in succession and then a couple seconds later, a third.
My first thought was, “Uhhhh….” Which leads me to believe I’m not the person you want to have around in the event of an emergency. After a couple of minutes sitting here trying to justify a reasonable explanation for a firearm being discharged in the middle of my surburban neighborhood on a Sunday morning, I got up and shut the front door which had been purposely left open to let in the lovely Autumn breezes. Thanks a lot, gunshots – now my house is being deprived of that fresh nature smell that Febreeze just can’t replicate.
I’m very comfortable in this neighborhood. It’s a nice blend of young-to-middle-aged dog owners like ourselves who live in small but respectable houses whose yards tend to have more dirt than grass, the lively apartments behind our back yard where you can sometimes hear the equivalent of a Cops episode on a Saturday night (Brian has now given in and finally joined me in this sport. He’s still laughing over the argument a young couple was having a few weeks ago where the girl got so frustrated she yelled, “I’m not sayin’ nothin’! I’m just sayin’!”) and a few streets over, the Bigger Nicer Homes (I don’t know why I refer to them as “homes” and our house as a “house,” but it just seems right) with grass yards and who probably don’t appreciate living so close to us, the non-SUV driving, non-grass having, having to go to work for a living, lower-status neighbors like us. I like the balance of being on the middle tier and don’t harbor any expectations of ever moving up from this station in life. Lowered expecatations = less disappointment, a good code to live by.
And we’ve certainly lived in much scarier places. I look at our years in Lake City, Florida as one long social experiment where the guinea pigs were us and the test was to see how long we could live in a town that is basically a detour off the interstate and a portal straight to hell without cracking up. We failed that experiement.
Our first house there was in a neighborhood so ghetto and bizarre, it’s hard to describe, but a good example to sum it up is this: some people one block over from us kept peacocks and emu’s in their front yard. The kind of place where cats appear out of nowhere and dogs actually travel in packs. Every time I drove up to our house, which boasted a good amount of lawn garbage leftover from the previous tenants and which the landlords didn’t see a need to clean up, I would automatically start singing the theme song to Sanford & Son. Which soon became a trend amongst all our friends because that is the most fun instrumental song to sing in the history of the world. Our roommates were once asleep (since it was the middle of the night) and were awoken by a girl opening up the front screened porch door who was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear asking if they had any Valium. I’m still sad we were out of town that night so that I missed that.
For the most part though, it seems like wherever we’ve lived, our place is always on the cusp between the Good houses and the Bad ones. Which is very symbolic in my opinion. And it brings just enough in the way of sordid entertainment to keep things interesting but also a feeling of safety that lets me wander around outside on the phone at night without a care in the world. Of course I usually have the vicious teddy bear dog with me, but that’s beside the point.
And anyway, there are no guarantees no matter where you live. My sister and brother-in-law planned and chose carefully and a few years ago built their home in an upscale, very respectable Orlando neighborhood, one of those where there are rules about what kind of vehicles can (or more importantly canNOT) be in the driveway and you get a nasty letter if your yard gets too tall or part of your fence is left unpainted (they found that out when they didn’t finish painting their fence right away) and now live next door to what we can only guess are Mexican drug overlords who may or may not have rennovated their house into a meth lab, causing them to move all the furniture into the garage, where they seem to live. My sister is not pleased. Especially since they have yet to offer her any free drugs – what kind of neighbors are you, anyway?
This isn’t the area I pictured us moving back to when we came back here to live. A few towns over is Lexington, a lovely, sprawling, bucolic mid-sized town where I’ve lived before and was extremely happy there. Far enough away from the “big city,” but close enough to be able to work and play in Columbia, it is my ideal spot and top pick for favorite cities in South Carolina. However after two years here in Forest Acres (a weird town-within-a-town situation) where the residents seem to outlive the tree limbs that come crashing down around us on an almost daily basis lately, I have grown to love it here as well. I know I’m lucky whenever I can look out of my own kitchen window and love the sights I see.
And the gunshots? Well, it is deer season after all. And not too far from here there are a lot of wooded areas; it’s very possible one of them could have wandered out and into our neighborhood, looking for some adventure and is now going to provide meat for a deserving family. Right? Right.
Trippin’ October 23, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Friends, Travel, Vacation, Weather.10 comments
I’ve been annoying the shit out of myself, trying to find the time and patience to put together a picture post of last weekend’s camping extravaganza and now here it is already a week later. Time flies when you spend your spare time trying to catch up on sleep. Then I figured it’s stupid to wait on the pictures when no one is really that into them anyway and if they are there’s always Flickr. Not that I’ve gotten them up there yet either, but get off my ass, okay? I tend to forget other people aren’t quite as fascinated with Fall foliage as I am, because (A) they live where the leaves also turn, or (B) they just don’t give a crap. For me though, yes. As soon as we got to the top of that one hill on I-26 West where you can see the first of the Blue Ridge Parkway, my cold black little heart started beating a little faster and I immediately knew whatever happened over the course of the next two days, it would all be worth making this trip. Mountains do it for me.
And it’s a good thing I had that attitude, because there were a couple of challenges that were somewhat difficult to deal with. I knew it was going to be cold. I didn’t know by Saturday evening it would be so cold I’d literally be wearing EVERYTHING I PACKED. Oh yeah. At one point I started doing jumping jacks, simply because I couldn’t figure out any other way to get warm. That works, by the way. What I was mostly concerned with was sleeping, because God knows, do not get in the way of my precious sleep. And actually that worked out okay the first night – the $2 Coleman handwarmers were very effective shoved in various parts of our under-most layer of clothing – next time I’ll just know to buy more than four of them so I’ll be able to duct tape them all over myself.
No, the main problem came from the fact that at various times throughout the weekend it would get cloudy and drizzly and once I get that cold damp feeling, I find it mostly impossible to function normally. Then I made the biggest mistake ever by climbing in the van “just for a few minutes” with Joan to get warmed up. I did not climb back out of the van until the following morning, not really worring too much about my husband’s possible death-by-frostbite alone in the tent. I did check on him first thing to make sure he was breathing – I’m not that mean.
But Joan. Poor little Joan. She was already starting not to feel that great on the drive up there. By the next morning she was officially and very obviously sick. I felt horrible for her, but she remained a trooper the entire weekend – way more of a champ than I would’ve been. Turns out she now has bronchitis coupled with the flu, so yeah. I feel extremely lucky I came away from it with a stuffy nose and some congestion. She and I agreed next year should we choose to do it again (which I wouldn’t mind doing at all, it was that much fun), we will be staying in a cabin. When I told my cousin Scott about it he said, “Yeah, no kidding, Kim. I was going to warn you Jews don’t camp in tents.”
But, all in all – so much fun. The food tasted awesome like it always does in the outdoors. The food we brought, plus the best cappucino, spinach & mushroom pizza and homemade lemonade ever. The music was awesome, even with standing in the rain to hear some Cowboy Junkies. There was a tent that had nothing but Celtic music all weekend long and we couldn’t walk past it without stopping to listen. Even though our anniversary was supposed to have an aluminum or tin gift, Brian got me an awesome necklace made from recycled glass. We laughed a lot together and I realized like I always do we have a lot of fun whenever we’re someplace different, exploring and away from the daily grind. I mean, who doesn’t – but still. We don’t have a lot of opportunity to do that and I’m thankful we managed to do it for this.
The trip home was cool too – Brian napped, Joan worked on trying to remain amongst the living and Delorme and I had a great conversation in which pretty much every sentence began with, “Remember that time when…” which are always fun to have when you’ve known the other person practically twenty years. Not fun for the people who weren’t there, but luckily they’re both pretty patient about listening to old stories.
And now I’m getting ready to get ready to leave for Florida next week. Two trips in two weeks isn’t my idea of sane planning, but that’s the way it worked out this time and I’m not bitching. A little tired, but not bitching.
Overshare October 20, 2009
Posted by Kimmothy in Experience, Life, Lists, Youth.16 comments
We had a super-fun weekend and hopefully tomorrow I’ll be able to do a picture post. My camera was being a crackhead today and decided to upload 267 pictures, most of which I thought I’d deleted off of the camera a long time ago. Silly me – hitting the “delete” icon that looks like a trashcan, answering that yes I really do want to delete the picture and watching it disappear apparently isn’t enough to really make the picture go away. Must figure out this problem somehow or else maybe throw the camera into the nearest brick wall and watch it smash into many small pieces, something I fantasized about doing this afternoon during the upload debacle. I mean, if you can’t immediately post your vacation pictures on Facebook, what good is it to actually go on vacation? It’s like it doesn’t even count or something.
Aside: While walking around the festival Saturday, I overheard a dad say to his daughter, “See, this is better than Facebook, isn’t it?” I didn’t hear her answer but it made me laugh. In my opinion real life is still better than a social networking site but maybe it wouldn’t be if I was fourteen.
I was talking to a friend today and the subject turned to sex as it oft does amongst women. (I have a theory that we female folk discuss it more than men do and in a way more raunchy manner most of the time, but maybe that’s just been my experience.) Anyhoo, we were talking about the old days, back long before we were married, when sex seemed like an all-consuming activity. I mean, the amount of energy we used to put into thinking and planning and talking about it, let alone doing it, is staggering to me now.
I’m now going to share some of the fascinating details of my sexual career – you’re welcome.
- I was ten days into being sixteen the first time I did it. Weirdly, that is the exact same age, to the day, how old a good friend of mine was too for her first time.
- I’ve been impaled by fourteen penises (penii?) in total (not all at once). That never sounded like a lot to me until just now.
- Not only do I know all the last names of the guys I’ve been intimate with, I know most of their middle names too. And knew them before Facebook and Myspace were around.
- I’ve done it with a few boys who were only one-time deals, but never had a one-night stand in the sense where I met the dude that night and we boinked, never to speak again. In fact, I’m still on friendly terms with roughly half my list. And yes, that is thanks to the internet.
- I think a lot of this has to do with the fact I grew up in a very small town. A small, uneventful, incestuous town.
- Most of my non-monogamus action happened between the ages of 19 and 21.
- I once was forced to crawl out of the bedroom window of a double-wide trailer after doing it with a guy a friend of mine liked. I was quickly caught, since I really had no plan figured out beyond that and had to turn right around and enter the place through the front door, thus letting her know we’d both spent the night there. That kind of sucked.
- I once hooked up with this HOT-ass dude, a blonde, blue-eyed player way out of my league. It was the most boring sex I’ve ever had (and I was only nineteen or twenty at the time but even back then I knew it sucked) and when my friend knocked on the door to tell me she had to go home, I made him stop in the middle of it. He was pissed, but luckily not an asshole about it like he sort of had the right to be.
- I’ve only done it with one Jew. We ate bagels and cream cheese afterwards and I’m not even making that up.
- I’ve never done anything with a girl besides kiss. It was midnight on New Year’s Eve, we were at a hotel room party and her boyfriend was drunk and being a dick and wouldn’t kiss her when the clock struck twelve. So I did. Her name was Kate.
- I’ve had sex in Florida, Alabama, New York, Virginia, and both Carolinas.
Sooooo…what’s new with you?
