Give 'em the old...

Razzle Dazzle. RIP. We'll miss you and all your wit.

Dont stay away too long...

Mommy...Wow

I'm a big kid now. Today I went to Target and dropped some serious bones on a set of nice sheets and a nice comforter. As I was perusing the aisles, I started to second guess myself and had to immediately call my shrink, aka. my mother. She simply stated that "yes, this is a good purchase...no, you wont regret it...yes, people do spend money on these kind of things...yes, it does matter sometimes...no, I'm not judging you....for gosh sakes, KP, you have the same sheets you had in college, its about time."

So, I have new nice sheets and a new nice comforter. And I feel great. I also bought a Map of the World shower curtain. I've always, always wanted one of these and my good friends D&A have one in their house and everytime I visit, I spend an extra half hour in the shower looking at the map. (FYI to D&A, you can send me the water bill.)

My new functional and educational shower curtain:



The old sheets-BOO:




The new sheets:

And yes, this blog post is entirely about sheets and shower curtains. My life is just that exciting.

It Dont Matter...

If I could, I'd ask you all to stop mourning Michael Jackson for one minute to pay attention to me.

Thanks.

Now that I have your attention, I must admit that I watched a good portion of MJ's memorial tribute on tv. what the what? I know, its weird but the boys were both sleeping and I finished my book and the family has cable. From my perspective, it wasnt as beautiful and moving as people will say. I thought it was cheap, exploitive way to honor a person who spent a majority of his personal life trying to keep it just that, personal. Pack some 100 plus celebrities and some obsessed fans and, rather than a nice ceremony, you get random people shouting "I love you Michael" and celebrities who may or may not have really known the guy tearing up on national television.

Enough.

Some things that I am liking though:

-photos on facebook. enough said. if you dont believe me, check out the pics from my fabulous Star Spangled Bash. You'll get the invite next year.

-pandora. i'm all about keeping it fresh.

-Without a Trace-a small show that probably didnt get much of a following (does anyone watch CBS anymore?) but lets just say, its got me hooked.

-writing letters of complaint to various big time companies-you know they will never answer but its still fun.

-YOU. thats right, i like you.

A Love Letter

Dear Garlic Bread,

I want to begin this letter by stressing that words can never describe the pure, unadulterated love I have for you. The way you sop up delicious juices of all kinds and your crispy butter tinged coloring is to die for. Lets not get started on the main ingredient that gives you your name...oh Garlic...you do so much. You vanquish vampires and give girls across America their very own version of a muffin top. People say you have nasty side effects like bad breath but I say to them...thats why your good friend Colgate is around. Or Crest. But enough about them, lets talk about you.

The minute I smell you cooking in the oven, my hear flip flops. I have a sudden urge to exercise so I can eat more of you but your wafting, inviting smell squashes those thoughts immediately. I wait patiently for you to cook to your full potential and your slow burning only heightens my addled pate. You are sinful, delectable, and possibly, Earths greatest gift to mankind. If I could eat you and only you for the rest of my life, I could die a happy girl. Honestly, I would swim oceans and climb mountains just to taste your yummy goodness on my tongue and hear your crackling, as I slowly and deliberating chew you, in my ears. The carbohydrates are a girls worst enemy but I say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And you dear GB, you will never be too far away from this girl.

Until then, I'll keep salivating.

Sincerely,
Kay Pea

(If this makes anyone uncomfortable, I feel you. Who writes a passionate love letter to their favorite food? The answer: Me.)

THE FARMA

I recently returned from a week long vacay at the Farm. No, I'm not talking about my good friend's beautiful house/estate on the Chesapeake Bay...I'm talking about the rather infamous psychiatric facility on the south side of Jersey. Does Jersey even have a South Side, you may be wondering...and yes, yes, it does.

I checked last Friday late evening after a rather hectic drive, in which I had a dream that my companion and I spun about 360 degrees on the freeway and ended up in a ditch. It was raining too except the raindrops have mouths and hair and they were saying things to me like, "Told you so" and "Dont speed" and "You idiots." So that was disconcerting. Upon arrival, I was given a room in a rather luxurious house that contained several other rooms which were reserved primarily for "married couples." Now I put that in quotations because "married couples" at this particular farm were not necessarily "married" but rather raging alcoholics. Could never figure out why they used those terms. The rest of the week dissolved into scant memories of cute dogs (or were those kids???), cartons of cigarettes, loads and loads of some kind of pong (must have been ping), and all in all, general merriment. I can't wait to go back. To all my friends still dealing with their recovery, you can do it. I miss you all. Thanks for the memories. See you next year.

When You're Bored...You Start Searching for an Identity

Its Saturday night. I've been up since 6am this morning and my day has been filled with a myriad of upper crust activities including, but not limited to, golfing at a country club and sailing on a nice boat. The evening ended with a viewing of not one, but two documentaries, both of which I am tickled to praise. The first, Man on Wire, follows the fantastic and slightly deranged psyche of Philippe Petit, the famous wire walker who walked between the Twin Towers in NYC. He also walked between the steeples of Notre Dame and a big bridge in Australia that overlooks the Sydney Opera House. Pretty neat stuff, as my father would say. I think the man is slightly crazy but he's French so that explains it all. The next was Planet B-Boy which explores the world of break dancing and follows a couple crews of breakdancers as they battle it out for the ship, as in championship. Its actually a rather fascinating doc that focuses primarily on the dancing but briefly touches on the feud between b-boys and the hip-hop culture as well as the role of b-boys in more traditional and rigid cultures. The film also follows two crews from South Korea who are, to put it plainly, effen awesome. Its a very gripping human interest story mixed with some rediculous dance moves. And cleverly shot angles.

Now, its late and I'm bored so I decided to turn to Facebook to help me forge an identity. Facebook is so awesome not only because it allows people to stalk strangers and strangers to stalk you and strangers to stalk your friends, it also provides these quick and easy quizzes which allow you to really find your true self in just a few simple clicks. It then can post the info for all to see so all the girls who should have been Belle from Beauty and the Beast can now friend eachother. New friends just like you.

So far, I'm having an identity crisis. I'm like Gollum and suffer from multiple personality disorder which would explain why on some days, I'm the Teletubbies. I'll have four kids but I'll be arrested soon after for a jet packed oriented crime and I dont speak Bermudian well but my heart is purple which is funny because I'm evil like Castro and I should have gone to Penn.

This is too much for one night. I'm going to bed.

A Peeve

Sooo...this is random but I'm not a big fan when people use numbers to substitute for words. Sure, its catchy and perhaps at times clever and faster and, on rare occasion, slightly humorous but for gosh sakes, its overdone. Like a song in an ipod commercial, its overstayed its welcome and now you never want to hear it on the radio again. Ever.
So, take back your H8 and your comiser8 and consum8, particip8, magistr8, gener8, obliter8, compens8, mastic8, popul8, and I'm sick of thinking of more.

Booyah. Also, here's another gem I came up with straight from the mind of Kay Pea. I overheard some dudes talking about how they smoked weed in Amsterdam and how it was totally cool and blah blah blah and I wanted to lean over and say, "You idiots. Smoking weed in Amsterdam is like eating a gyro in Greece."

Booyah again.

My Week

Sometimes a blog is quite a chore. Especially when you realize there are actual, live people reading it.

Here's a rundown of the recent happenings in my life. My days are spent changing diapers and picking up train sets so when I get home, all I want to do is smoke cigarettes and drink heavily. Which I do. All in moderation, of course. And then sometimes I tweet. And sometimes I check Facebook pictures to see who has a new baby. Or who is expecting. Or who is now in a relationship. Sometimes I de-friend people for the heck of it. Sometimes, I harass my neighbors about their incredibly poor parking job on our cramped street. Sometimes I secretly curse my lazy mailman who can't walk up five steps to put our mail in the actual mailbox. Sometimes I go to the park and push an empty swing and pretend to talk to a non-existent baby in the swing. I'm hoping one day someone will see me and call a psychiatric institution. I've always wanted to see what those were like. Sometimes I walk to the underpass and swap stories with the men who live under the bridge. Sometimes I lie down in traffic to see if anyone will stop. Sometimes I see how many cotton balls I can shove in my mouth. Sometimes I sing ridiculous children's songs at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I think about calling the cops on my neighbor who lives downstairs who smokes weed in his apartment and possibly deals. Sometimes I pretend I'm paralyzed and crawl around the apartment on my elbows.

And sometimes, sometimes, I sit up late at night and think of ridiculous things to write on my blog. But only sometimes.