For The Colts

I received the following forwarded e-mail from Therese this afternoon. I don't know where it came from, but to the person who originated this forward, thank you. To the person who took this photo, you should be applauded. I was at work when I received this, and lucky for me, someone was running the copy machine at the time so my snorts of laughter were muted. I already passed this along to several people, but with the upcoming Super Bowl, I just had to post this for all the Colts fans.

"So this is the guy who's supposed to lead da Bears

to the Super Bowl???"

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The Farting Tuna

Saturday evening at Mom's house, I am downstairs in Ella's bedroom with her and Mom. Mom and I are lounging around and chatting while Ella plays with her toys. She brings over her baby doll and tucks it into the bed. I ask what the baby's name is.

"Tuna."

Your baby's name is Tuna? "Yes. Tuna," she says completely matter-of-factly. Really, Ella, are you serious? Her name is Tuna? "Yes, she's Tuna." Tuna?? "TUNA. She's TUNA." She raises her voice a little and looks at me as if she's talking to a moron, because she just cannot understand why I might question a perfectly acceptable, traditional name such as Tuna. She's three; I'm not pressing the issue any further.

Next to Tuna is her stuffed cat she recently got from Build-A-Bear. It's an orange striped kitty, dressed in a button-down shirt, vest & tie - clearly, a boy kitty cat. What's kitty's name? "Jenna," she replies without hesitation. Ohhh-kay. I'm definitely leaving that issue alone because who am I to say that Jenna the girl cat can't dress like a boy or that Jenna the boy cat can't have a girl's name? That's just not Aunt Kimmie's jurisdiction.

What does *ahem* Tuna eat? She rushes over to her toys and starts digging, digging, digging, searching for what I assume is going to be a baby doll bottle. Finally she does bring over a bottle. But she also has in her little hand a plastic orange slice, which she proceeds to try to cram down pour little Tuna's plastic throat. "Owenges! Tuna eats owenges!" She answers triumphantly. At this point, Mom and I are practically crying from laughing so hard. This is one strange baby Ella has, I'm thinking: Baby Tuna feasts on oranges and hangs out with a gender-bending cat named Jenna. Have I mentioned lately how much I absolutely ADORE my little niece?!

Since Tuna obviously dances to the beat of a different drum, I decide to play along and make the situation worse, because I like to think I'm good for something. I grab Tuna and make her stand up. In my best Fat Albert voice (Fat Albert because, hey, why not?), I make Tuna speak. "Ella, feed me my orange. Give me my bottle of bean milk. Or I'll fart on you! I'll fart right on your face. Give me my bean milk 'cause I need more gas!" PTHHHHHHHHHH!! (loud obnoxious fart sounds)

Oh my God, I don't think I've ever seen Ella laugh so hard or for so long before. The girl dropped to her knees, gasping for air, and put laughing hyenas to shame. Then, right in the middle of it all, she abruptly sat up, stopped laughing, and had this strange look of surprise on her face.

"I peed."

Aunt Kimmie is crude and disgusting, but I don't care. I made my three-year old niece laugh so freakin' hard she peed her tiny little pants. Life is sweet.

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I Don't Know How I Lived Without It For So Long

I really, really hate to admit this, because for the longest time I was against this whole, stupid thing. I thought it was the new fad among teenagers, and anyone older than nineteen or not living in a dorm room was weird for having one. How self-centered you must be! What on earth could you possibly have to say? Do you really think you're so interesting that people other than yourselves are going to read it?

Oh, silly, silly, silly me. I really should have known better. I'm notorious for catching onto things about two lightyears after everyone else does, which is approximately two months before society decides to completely throw that to the curb and move onto the next big thing. Cycle repeats, and I'm always left almost in the dark. For instance, take flare-legged pants. The first couple of years those came back in style, I was totally anti-flare. Ugh, that's so 1970s, I would never wear those! Then one day out of the blue I decided I needed new jeans, and not just any jeans. FLARE-LEGGED JEANS. And now what? SKINNY pants are in?! Yuck! That's soooooo '80s! I'll never wear skinny jeans again! (Or at least not for two years after the rest of you start wearing them.) Or, take my feelings on Norah Jones. For the longest time, I could not stomach her. Actually, it wasn't really about her - I always thought she had a nice voice and I definitely liked her style of music, but I got so sick of her. Everyone I knew loved her. Every other song on the radio was one of hers. It seemed like every movie had a song or two of hers on its soundtrack. Enough already, I hate you, go away! This past week I suddenly heard one of her songs and thought, this is really good, I'm going to like her now. And that's how I am. I can hate something one minute, and the very next minute something about it will strike me in a different way for some reason and I'll just start loving it out of nowhere and will be loyal to it until the very end. I'm not fickle; I'm just very cautious about getting involved in things.

Anyway, back to the thing I hate to admit: Blogging - what I once stuck my nose up at, now I'm addicted to. It's up there now with Sudoku. The inner craving I have for that game I blame completely on my mother-in-law, who taught me how to play it last year and then proceeded to let me borrow her Nintendo DS for two weeks so the addiction would have plenty of time to take hold on my soul. Now blogging has sunk its claws into me, too. I have to blame this craze on Angela & Jeff, who casually mentioned back in October they thought I should start one. One? How about two??

Yep, last weekend I started another one. Just what I need! Seriously, I have what I'd call a VERY boring life; boring in a good and happy way, but boring nonetheless and definitely nothing to write about. A 90 year-old woman who hasn't left the nursing home in 20 years probably could have a more interesting blog than mine. And now I think I need two? I've completely lost it, I know.

Stephen's been working a TON the past couple of weeks, so I get bored and need things to occupy my time (you know, pointless things, because heaven forbid I use this time to clean or go grocery shopping). I've been going through all our pictures from the past few years and thought, maybe I'll start a blog that's photo-based. Because, hey, who DOESN'T want to look at a million pictures of my cats and my niece?! I've added a link to my new blog, Picture Pages, under "Special Links." It's sort of false advertising listing it under that category, because the only way it qualifies as "special" is in the short-bus way, but it made the most sense to stick it under there than anywhere else.

Do I really think I'm so interesting that people other than myself are going to read this? No, but I guess walking around the house talking to myself just isn't satisfying enough anymore. Now I've become so desperate I have to talk to myself in writing on the internet AND post pictures of my cats on a separate site so I can have TWO "fulfilling" projects to tend.

Actually, the realization finally dawned on me not long ago that having these blogs, at least for me, is not about other people reading them. It's about having a place for me to document my life, my feelings, and, yes, my cat pictures. If someone does happen to read this and check out my cat pictures, and retrieve any sort of amusement or insight (HA!) in doing so, then that's just an added bonus. A gift with purchase, if you will. Speaking of which, I need to go shopping. I want to get a Norah cd and I need a new pair of jeans. No skinny-legged ones, though. I'm not quite ready for that just yet.

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Probably Not the Best Way to Attract Potential Home Buyers

Tip: If your house is on the market, keep in mind that there's nothing more welcoming to visitors than a dead reptile who's had a little work done by the local taxidermist. Place him in a prominent location, such as in the sitting room, preferably in a ridiculous position, and, if possible, add a prop, such as a cigar in the mouth or hand (paw?). This shows potential home buyers that your house has been well-maintained and decorated by a completely sane person with very classy taste, and reassures them that there isn't anything scary lurking behind every door of your home. Another plus? Once traumatized charmed by your stuffed creature, any negative qualities of your home, such as the extreme clutter bursting throughout your house or your kitchen which hasn't been updated in 20+ years, will surely go unnoticed.

Thanks to Therese for the photo. Unfortunately for her, she was said potential home buyer.

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The Genius of Premature Shopping

I am so excited. Yesterday I bought my first piece of baby clothing.

Before you start freaking out (Mom, and I'm talking to both of you), no, I'm not pregnant. But you know, God willing, one day I will be. I hear pregnancy can be a very stressful time of a woman's life. The more shopping I do now, the less shopping I'll have to do then, which will be less added stress on me. And, babies are also very stressful on the pocketbook. Stocking up ahead of time will even the financial blow a bit. Besides that, how many times in my life have I been scolded for my sweet procrastination skills? Numbers go on for infinity; I've been scolded that many times plus one. All I'm trying to do is overcome my problem - after all, they say the first step to recovery is admitting you have one.

I have sweet procrastination skills and sweet rationalizing skills.

Truth be told, I saw this little sleeper yesterday and couldn't resist. But really, it wasn't that easy. When I first picked it up, I felt all warm and squishy inside at the thought of buying it. But as I approached the register, my heart started pounding and I began to reconsider. Seriously, buying baby clothes? That implies we're planning to have a baby one of these days. Not buying it would be much safer: it wouldn't imply we're planning on having one, but it wouldn't imply we weren't planning on having one, either. I like safe. I like having all my options open. But, wild and crazy me, I forced myself to buy it, almost as if to prove a point to myself.

Another skill I've perfected throughout the years is incredible indecisiveness. Again, I'm just trying to better myself.

Honestly? I'm happy I bought it. The more I look at it the more excited I get. As corny as it sounds, it's not just baby clothing: it's a tangible symbol of our planned future life together. And that's pretty thrilling, if you ask me.

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Get Well, Get Well Soon...We Want You to Get Well

Reading the most recent post on Angie's blog makes me cringe. In it, she has some pretty rotten things to say about the year 2006, and was thrilled that 2007 is here. Surely it will be a much brighter year; after all, a year with butt surgery as one of its highlights shouldn't be too hard to top.

And I thought I was the only one with the special powers of jinxing myself.

Though it wasn't surgery on her rumpus, this past Tuesday she had to have an emergency appendectomy. As if that wasn't bad enough, she got so sick after the surgery that she had to make a second run to the emergency room yesterday. I spoke with her this evening, though, and she sounds 200% better than she did when I spoke with her last on Thursday night. My fingers are crossed that this is an indication that she's going to make it, because I really wasn't looking forward to having to take the poor gal out back and shoot her Old Yeller style to end her suffering. That would just be quite the bummer.

I feel just awful that, being several hours away, I can't do anything to help her. I am thankful that she has a few good friends up there who have been taking care of her, but then my territorial side also rears its ugly head whining, Hey, that's supposed to be MY job! Because, once again, you know it's all about me. How dare she get sick when I can't be there for her! Doesn't she know that makes me feel like a bad friend? The nerve of some people.

This is a picture of me and her from last month when we went to Chicago to visit her. Ang, I hope you'll be in good spirits again soon, but in the meantime, when Becky and Sarah are taking care of you, I hope you're picturing it's me.

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60 Years of Neener

Today is Stephen's Dad's birthday. In honor of his big day, I thought I'd list my top ten reasons why he's the best father-in-law ever:

1. He loves his kitty probably more than I love mine. This, from a man whose favorite saying to me used to be, the only good cat is a dead cat. Anyone who loves their kitty as much as he does holds a special place in my heart.

2. He's one of the smartest people I know. He knows the subject of history like the back of his hand. I can't help but admire that, because I absolutely suck at history. Remembering things is hard!

3. He can appreciate a couple of glasses of red wine and the effects are practically magical.

4. He's a cute little apple-faced man.

5. He calls me Neener, and lets me call him Neener in return. Anyone who humors my retardation also holds a special place in my heart.

6. He's the hardest working person I know.

7. He could give Bob Villa a run for his money. If you've seen their house, you know - the man has talent!

8. He thinks MXC and Seinfeld are as funny as I do.

9. He grills Boca burgers especially for me in the summer, when everyone else is enjoying grilled meat. Again, anyone who humors my retardation holds a special place in my heart!

10. He gave Stephen his handsome genes, and his sense of humor.

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Yes, I Am a Stick in the Mud

Indianapolis is in an absolute tizzy after their beloved Colts won the game on Saturday. Yes, I'm happy the Colts won. Did I watch the game? No, I did not. Let the gasping begin!

I swear, all I have heard today in the office is people rejoicing over the Colts' win. When that wasn't being discussed in the most insane amounts of depth for insane amounts of time, people were planning for the big game on Sunday - fretting, predicting, betting, and I kid you not, one person in particular was so excited she started squealing and kicking her legs at the mere anticipation of watching the game. You would have thought that Ed McMahon had visited the majority of the people in my office and gave them each a million dollars cash. I am very happy that the Colts won, but will I watch the game this Sunday? I don't know, maybe, but probably not. I am going to make sure my sweet husband gets to relax and watch the game, though. Stephen chose to take me out to dinner this past Saturday instead of staying home and watching the game, so I owe him big time for being such the sweetheart that he is. (So there it is, Stephen - when I start whining Sunday afternoon about how I want to go do something, you have my written permission to tell me to sack it up and let you watch your game in peace.)

I just want to vent for a minute about all of the crazed fans out there. I think it's great that people find such pleasure in football, basketball, baseball, ping pong - whatever it may be - but they don't seem to realize some people like myself just don't get off from watching sports, and that doesn't make us heartless bastards. On Friday we were allowed to wear our Colts apparel or at least something blue to the office to show our support for the Colts. I showed up to work wearing my tan dress pants and a black turtleneck, not because I dislike the Colts but simply because I don't own any Colts apparel and I didn't feel like ironing the couple of blue shirts I have. Good grief, you would have thought I had shown up to work naked with the reaction I received. You aren't wearing blue?! Kim, where's your spirit, why aren't you wearing a Colts shirt? Don't tell me you hate the Colts?! You obviously hate the Colts, the City of Indianapolis, the State of Indiana, the United States of America, North America, the entire world, ALL OF HUMANKIND!! Seriously people, get a grip.

Anyway, my point being, I think it's wonderful that people can get so excited over sports, but I'm just not one of those people. My interests lie in different areas that aren't sports related, like the music of Coldplay or Fischerspooner, a new Coach purse or cashmere sweater, the sitcom "The Office" or "Scrubs," a road trip, or getting together with a good friend and gossiping over a cup of coffee. So, wear your blue, paint your face, call in sick next Monday because you're incredibly hung over from the amount of hardcore partying you did the night before while watching the game, have fun and enjoy yourself. I hope the Colts win, I really do. But don't make me feel like a freak of nature when you ask me if I watched the game and I say no. Seriously people whose names will remain nameless, that doesn't make me the anti-Christ.

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...Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

This morning I've finally managed to force myself to sort through the bazillion pictures on our digital cameras and move them onto the computer. Having large memory cards in the cameras is great, but it also enables me to be lazy and just keep piling the pictures on there until two years down the road we actually fill up the cards and are left with an absolute mess on our hands. Another resoultion: be more organized. Sure, that could happen, and monkeys could fly out of my butt, too.

Jeff published a scandalous article on his blog this month pertaining to the sexual orientation of his feline brother-in-law, Major Skiffington. I thought of his post when I came across some rather incriminating pictures of two residents at the Barr Estate that were taken in the summer of 2006. I'm pretty sure the pictures speak for themselves, but you be the judge of what's going on. It's pretty obvious from the looks on their faces that they aren't ashamed of who they are; rather, they look a little pissed off that I'm interrupting their quiet time together. All of the time they spend lick fighting - where they pin each other down and lick and bite each other - makes so much sense now. Honestly, I'm just happy that they're happy, and as long as they aren't killing each other, their relationship ain't none of my biznass.

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If Birds Could Talk

Yesterday as I was getting into my car to go home for lunch, I stopped to admire several sweet, chirping birds that were on the ground in front of my car. How cute, I thought, they're gobbling up red berries - those berries are almost as big as they are! Silly birdies, gosh they sure are cute, look at how they hop and skip around, chirping and eating red berries! I thought about the damn birds the whole time I drove home, with a stupid smile on my face. Seriously, it was pretty pathetic and I actually momentarily contemplated how I could snatch a couple up and take them home as pets.

Then I got home. I turned the car off, stepped out, shut the door, took one step forward and looked up.

The entire hood of my white car had been absolutely pelted with red berry bird poopie.

Of course my car has had its fair share of bird droppings, but never ever have I seen so much bird poopie on one car, let alone bird poopie of this variety. Between the quantity and the quality of the poop, I was very embarrassed to be seen in that car. I opted to park elsewhere upon my return to work in my red berry bird poopie coated car, but I imagine those wicked feathered creatures were laughing hysterically at me from afar. And to think I didn't eat even a damn bite of turkey this holiday season...

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Birthday Greetings to Our Favorite Big Brother

Another year older, another year wiser, and another year more handsome! I hope you got "Annie" on DVD like you were hoping for - you know, to go along with the copy of "Heidi" that you received for Christmas. Happy birthday, Adam - we hope you're having a great day!

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Why We Can't Get Anything Done: Part IV

Charlie Chompers McPurdles loves paper. LOVES paper. Packing up a bazillion glass Christmas ornaments requires the use of a bazillion sheets of tissue paper. You can imagine my frustration, as every single sheet of paper I lay out across the table for every single ornament has to be fully sniffed and laid upon by Charlie.

Needless to say, I haven't been able to get many of the Christmas decorations packed away.

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Time to Un-Deck the Halls

I am feeling much better today, almost back to normal, so I am going to attempt to pack up the Christmas decorations this afternoon. Usually we do this on New Year's Day because of a tradition my clever Mom had made for my sister and I when we were little. On New Year's Day, we'd have to start un-decorating at the bottom of the tree and work our way up. At the top of the tree, she'd place a small wrapped gift for each of us, so once we'd reached the gifts (i.e., once we'd taken all the ornaments off the tree) we could open them. We were none the wiser to her bribery, and actually looked forward to taking down the decorations to get to the last presents of the season. This year, we heard that you should keep your decorations up until at least the sixth of January, because that's supposedly when the three wise men arrived to see Baby Jesus, or something like that. I am not quite sure whether or not this is true (here's a link to an interesting article on Snopes.com regarding the wise men), but since I hate letting go of Christmastime and packing away all the pretty decorations, I've decided to jump on this bandwagon, as it buys me a few more days with my tree. Unfortunately, we didn't get presents to put at the top of the tree, so I'm still not feeling completely motivated to complete this task...all I'm saying is, had there been a pretty blue box from Tiffany sitting at the top of the tree, that tree would have been packed away at the crack of dawn!

The kitties are going to be so sad to see the trees leave, as they spend much of their time lounging under them, chewing on them, and playing with the ornaments. This post is a good opportunity for me to show off a cool picture that Jeff took of Sophie under the tree - it's so perfect, it could be a kitty Glamour Shots photo!

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I Hate Sick

Apparently, there's this intestinal bug that's going around that I was unaware of until yesterday morning when - lucky me - I started showing symptoms that I'd caught it. Wednesday was my first day back to work from a week and a half break I'd taken for the holidays, so even though I felt a little icky yesterday morning, I figured I'd better sack up and go in anyway. Let's just say things progressed negatively, and I ended up leaving at noon. Throughout the evening, my condition continued to worsen and around 10 p.m. I decided I must be dying. I left what I'm sure is a pretty pathetic message at 2:15 a.m. on my boss' voicemail telling him I wouldn't be in today, which probably left him thinking, "TMI!" At 3:30 a.m. I finally fell asleep and then awoke around 6:30 to overwhelming nausea (which I'm sure you can guess what that led to). I napped for a few hours this morning and actually awoke feeling quite a bit better. So, maybe I'll make it after all! I'm still only eating Jell-O and Saltines, washed down with Powerade and Sprite, but this "diet" has thus far been keeping my nausea away. (Knock on wood.)

Anyway, I'm publishing this "poor me" post because: (a) I thought it would be quite a funny follow up to my last posting about the new year (I really know how to start off the new year on a positive note!); (b) I wanted to forewarn all of you (the whopping two or three people who occasionally glance at this!) about this bug so you can arm and protect yourself, *melodramatic tone* as I didn't find out about it until it was too late; (c) being confined to my bed for 24 hours straight has not been fun for the mind, body, or spirit, and I needed a break. I just don't know how the grandparents on Willy Wonka supposedly spent all those years in bed...

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Ah, The Smell of a Clean, Fresh Year

2007...it has a good ring to it, don't you think? I predict many good things will happen this year. Or at least I hope many good things will happen this year. And, here comes my pessimism, right on cue. My good friend, Laurie, seems to be a big believer in self-fulfilling prophecies; she's always telling me that if I think nothing good is going to happen, then nothing good will happen. (I have to gratefully admit that my life thus far has been pretty darn good, despite my rather pessimistic persona, but there are areas in my life that could stand to improve a little.) On the other hand, in talking with Laurie, I've discovered that we also share the odd belief that if we're too optimistic about something, we'll jinx it. (We're very complex ladies.) So, I suppose that's one of my resolutions: be more positive and feel deserving and open to good things happening to us (but, of course, not too positive to the point where I'm expectant of said good things because that's just setting myself up for failure). Anyway, there are several important goals we've made for the year, but we'll keep those to ourselves so as not to jinx the year!

Smaller, and hopefully easier to accomplish, resolutions for myself include, but are not limited to: cleaning and reorganizing the office (AGAIN); exercising (notice I didn't say "exercise more" because I currently don't exercise at all; therefore, if I can even manage 1 sit-up a day, I can mark this one as accomplished); having friends and family over more often (because, hey, I get lonely sometimes!); finding some really good vegetarian recipes out there to keep me on the wagon (it's been a year, but fried chicken and Wendy's burgers are still calling my name); actually having some money saved by the end of the year (even if it's just a few bucks!); flossing my teeth every single night (I'm known to skip a day or two, and don't say "gross" because I know you do the exact same thing); find a church or churches to possibly attend (which will be interesting, considering neither of us have attended in forever, and Stephen is Catholic whereas I am not).

Anyway, cheers to a happy new year and lots of half-assed attempts to better ourselves! (Damn, there goes my positive attitude out the window, again.)

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