Not Relocating, But Still Moving

"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, O Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

This quote is not really applicable but its been running through my head the last couple of days. A few months ago, I was offered an opportunity to move to D.C. with the family that I work for. As exciting as this prospect was, I have decided to decline. Not that I don't love cherry blossoms or the Capitol Building or the fabulous friends I have there, its just that Chicago is my home. I'm comfortable here, my parents are only 1.5 hours away (as opposed to a 2 hr. plane ride) and well, I'm happy here. At first, I thought the idea of moving to a new city would be perfect, it would jump start my life in a number of ways and force me to reassert myself in a new place. But then I realized, I don't need a new city to do that, I only need to harness my chi within and do it here. It came down to the fact that there are things I need to correct within myself regarding motivation, direction, drive, commitment, etc. and I don't need a new city to do that. Rather, I would be using the new city backdrop as an excuse already which is the very thing I'm trying to avoid. So, that is that. I'm not relocating, but I'm moving. Forging ahead. To what, I'm not really sure but I'm thinking of going back to school to get my interpretor's license. And for more info on that, you'll have to schedule some face time.

However, do not despair D.C. folks. I will be there for the ENTIRE month of November and possibly some of December as well. I'm going to be out there helping the family with the transition and watching the boys while the head goes on interviews and other such things. And on that note, I'm looking for a place to stay....so if you know of someone...anyone...you have a couch...etc. I can offer a small amount of payment or maybe some free babysitting...we can work out the brass tax later...

Until November then...

Recap

Meeting went quite well.

Favorite phrases:

"We Brits love our tea."
"When Child #1 doesn't get enough sleep, it can be a bloody nuisance."
"Is nannying a chosen profession or rather a sort of stop-gap?"

I'm thinking that stop-gap is the new funemployment.

Accent this...

I have a prospective client meeting tomorrow to pick up some more gigs. This family is a friend of a friend and I'm sure everything will go swimmingly. Except this family is British. And absolutely British.

My first phone message went something like this, "Hello Kay Pea, this is Mrs. UK. I'm a friend of a friend. Wondering if you might be interested in some babysitting perhaps once a month or so? Feel free to ring me on my mobile or call the house directly."

I call back and we exchange pleasantries and she says, "Well, yes, let's see, perhaps you could come over around 3pm. We'll have some tea and Child #1 should just be getting back from elementary so you can meet her. Child #2 is just about 3 and he's quite cute. They are quite lovely children. I'm sure you need to be getting on then, we'll fancy a meeting later."

Brilliant. I will enjoy this. Although, those of you who know me well know that I have a weird tendency to try and imitate an accent if its spoken at me. It's some weird thing I noticed when I was travelling Europe and I'm told its quite annoying. I only hope I can maintain my decorum and not screw this up.

Revisiting Brideshead

What happened?

The last couple nights I've been out, I've been trying to be social. This has upsides. However, the median age of these "people" has been 21. Now I'm not saying that 21 is young and immature, I'm just shocked that I've somehow managed to hit all the areas that are overpopulated with these fresh, young co-eds. Perhaps I should be hitting up Bingo Night at the local church or the canasta night at the YMCA. At least there I won't have high school graduates telling me that I'm like, so, like, SOOOO super old.

Me Want iPHONE

This has been dominating my thoughts lately. And for no good reason. I just covet it.

Moving On

Please forgive the teen-angtsy post below. I'm not really sure what thats about. I would delete it but maybe you already read it and then you'll think I'm embarrassed, which I am, but not enough to delete the whole post because it rings true in some respects and in others not. Either way, please forgive.

I've been trying to branch out lately. Yesterday I ate breakfast before 10am. And I also spent 3 hours at the library looking and reading the first and last pages of books that had interesting covers. Unfortunately, I was 0 for 6 on the "I actually like it enough to check it out" scale. I ended up coming home with Brideshead Revisited and a collection of short stories by Kurt Vonnegut. Reading is really quite a wonderful activity and I should take advantage of it before I have to start shopping in the large-print section because there are a number of good books that are not in large print and that is just sad. For the old folks. Plus, literacy is a gift and I shouldn't squander it.

On a slightly sadder note, my dear Animal is moving out in a week or two. This makes me very sad especially since she is the best cook in the apt., the best cleaner, best smoking buddy, sounding board, etc. She is also responsible for a majority of the decor in the apt. so our walls are now bare and look like a prison cell. A poorly lit prison cell. Think Dantes in the Chateau d'If. I've taken it upon myself to decorate the main room and I've found the following prints that, when I have more money, I'll buy. We are trying to go for an "old Chicago" theme. A sampling below.

Validation

Hello God, its me, Kay Pea. Are you there?

Many nights I've laid awake in my cell-block sized room muttering that phrase over and over again. And while I do not doubt the existence of God, sometimes I wonder what He's thinking. I feel as though I'm been living my life relatively well and relatively according to the purpose. I do not expect a reward here and now, of course, although at some point, I'd like to think that its paying off. I'm not exactly sure what I'm saying. Its Friday night at 1am. And I'm sober. Maybe thats the problem.

We Need A TV

Thats it. Otherwise the four of us will spend our weekday evenings huddled around a laptop. And while that is very good for bonding, it does nothing to help our posture or our rapidly burning retinas. Help.

RIP Patrick

Ah Patrick. As I sit here basking in this RED DAWN, I feel as though your GHOST is looking over my shoulder making sure that this post does you justice. At the risk of sounding like an OUTSIDER, I want you to know, POINT BREAK, that I will miss your DIRTY DANCING and your POWDER BLUE eyes. I will be sure to pass on my condolences to your NEXT OF KIN. So I hope you take ONE LAST DANCE and I won't be able to pass a ROADHOUSE without thinking of you. You were a BEAST.

THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, JULIE NEWMAR.

A Picture Says a Thousand Words

Today's Inspiration

The Day Creativity Died

It's small so you can't really see the tagline but it oh so cleverly says, "Tuesdays are a bitch." You are lucky I spared you the other CW advertisement for an already angsty show that rightly ended several decades ago that states, "Menage a Tuesday." Is it just me or has the CW hit a new high of trashy?

Yesterday I Took a Little Trip

No big deal.

26 Things I'd Like to Do Before Turning 27

1.) Become fluent in sign language

2.) Become fluent in Korean

3.) Make something for this.

4.) Bake a pie from scratch

5.) Finish reading this and this.

6.) Recycle

7.) Verbally reprimand the dogwalker who lets their dog poop on the sidewalk

8.) Make a sculpture out of fruit

9.) Make tapas

10.) Have a baby*

11.) Not second guess myself on anything

12.) Travel to the West Coast

13.) Travel to the East Coast

14.) Submit at least two more stories for this. **

15.) Begin ideas for the screenplay

16.) Donate blood

17.) Make slideshow for my parents anniversary

18.) Sort through all my old memorabilia

19.) Make the big plunge and move to LA

20.) Make a difference in the life of someone else

21.) Watch at least half of the Oscar winning films for Best Picture

22.) Write a legit fan letter and ask for a signed picture

23.) Start reading this trilogy.

24.) Take the GRE

25.) Run a marathon

26.) Abolish fear

*Obviously this is farcical.

**Already submitted one which was a huge step for me.  A story about live bull-riding. 

YESTERDAY

So, yesterday was my birthday. I've never been a huge fan of birthdays and I still think they are pointless but I had a nice one. It spanned the entire weekend and consisted of tenderloin, a movie, laughter, cigarettes, orangina, strawberries, whipped cream, funfetti cake, brunch, and golf. Like I said, a fun time. I think tomorrow I'm going to make a list of 26 things I'd like to do before I turn 27 because lists are fun. And I'm all about the fun.

I'm not sure if I mentioned this before but I'm learning sign language. I feel like its important to constantly increase your brain power and I wanted to learn a language. So far, my favorite phrase is "This dress is ugly and difficult." Although with my abnormally small and un-manicured hands, I feel as though I have the deaf person's equivalent of a speech impediment. However, I've found that studying while listening to Celine Dion actually increases memory and helps focus the brain on the task at hand.

Speaking of music, I'm digging Matt&Kim these days. Why? Because they have a good sound and they don't have some weird, ironic band name. Also, Moby's "One of These Mornings" has been on heavy rotation. I don't know why but I find its rather haunting melody and lyrical redundancy rather comforting. Like an old shoe.

And so, as I embark on my 26th year of living, I pledge to increase my carbon footprint by 10 and blog more. You can thank me later.

Out of My League

I'm often felt this way in certain situations but have always managed to come up with some slightly awkward, humorous way of deflecting my feelings of inferiority. It works, most of the time. In college I was lucky enough to meet some people who were talented, gregarious, intelligent and all around kick ass. They even became close friends. And my need for snarky comments deflecting my inferiority became less of a need and more of sideshow trick.
However, that need is returning.

Check out this blog where my friends do fascinating feats...its cleverly titled All Gussied Up. I have yet to contribute since my skills in the "crafty" department score -100 on a scale from 0-10. I sense they know this and have only included me on this blog to flaunt their wonders in my face. HA. I kid. But seriously, they must know that I will only do stuff like this for a project of such magnitude that actually requires real work.

The need for the snark returns. I've missed it. But honestly, I am working on hand-carving a new gravy boat for Easter.

Summatime

Brilliant.

I'm in Milwaukee, freshly burned from a day at the lake. The fam headed up there to reconnect with relatives that we havent seen in forever and relatives who happened to be in town conveniently for a gathering. Most people call it a reunion. I hate that word.

At this gathering, we decided to play Scrabble and my 6 yr. old cousin had to help me since I seem to have lost every creative bone in my body as well as my grasp of grammar and my command of spelling.

Someday I would like to live in a lakehouse complete with a loft, a jetski and some sort of boat. I will now spend the rest of my adult life scrimping and saving my pennies for one. Goodbye luxuries...hello nice lakehouse where I can retire and eat pie all day.

I've decided that my life narrator is going to be the guy who narrates that show Pushing Daisies. He has a good, strong, clear voice with a hint of British accent and knows to put the right emphasis on the right syllable. He would properly hit the right highs and lows of my life with gusto.

I am extremely thankful for Youtube these days. I'm able to do a significant amount of celebrity stalking thanks to this wonderful invention. I'm also able to watch random movies (Me Without You) and obscure British television shows (The Streets-not bad) for free with a semi-clear quality.

My mind is in fragments right now due to the significant amount of stress that has been piling and festering. Hence the broken, slightly inane post. Here's the thing: I have misplaced that rat's ass I could give. I'm sure it will turn up someday.

Kay Pea, out.

Old Lady

I'm starting to feel like a real old lady. My back and neck are constantly hurting. I can't sit in the same position too long without having to get up and walk around. Varicose veins are starting to seep in. I watched a documentary last night about septua-and-octo-genarians and bawled my eyes out. I'm about 3 cans of Ensure away from becoming the spitting image of my Nanna at 80.

I become increasingly cranky and ornery after dinner. I'm this close to hitting up Kohl's for a mu-mu and a stocking cap. And don't get me started on granny panties. Those have been in the drawer since '99.

Despite all this, I manage to live with some very vibrant, sassy and young ladies who attempt to keep me "young and fun." They have turned our apartment into a lounge of sorts which brings in all sorts of interesting characters. Their energy sometimes forces me to sit in my room alone and cry about my gray hairs and my "growing as I type" varicose veins. Yet, I am so thankful that they are here. And I would probably be dead already if they weren't.

Consider our now weekly summer schedule:

Monday-darts and beers at our local bar

Tuesday-Movie in the Park (Chicago does this every summer, they show movies on a big screen at several of the local parks around the city. Think drive-in-movie scene except its a huge lawn and there is wine and cheese.)

Wednesday-Game and/or Movie Night

Thursday-Bar Specials (side note: This is also a soccer night for me. Even old people need to exercise sometimes)

Friday, Saturday, Sunday-dancing or beach or sun-bathing or cookouts or neighborhood festivals or downtown or dining out and, on a rare occasion, sleep.

Thank goodness for the youth. They really are the leaders of tomorrow.

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.

A Constant Reminder

I've never been real comfortable with the concept of flirting. In grade school, it was gross. In middle school, it was foreign. In high school, it was all the rage. In college, well, in college, flirting meant that you should probably be ready for marriage. Or maybe not. Either way, I sucked at it.
Presently, in the post college adult years and as a single lady (thank you beyonce for ruining that phrase from now on), I've had to resurrect those long lost or perhaps, never acquired, skills from the past. And let me tell you, its been Rough. With a capital Rarrr.

A couple of weeks ago, I'm at this bar in my neighborhood with some friends. We've been dodging the much older bar owner who is creepy and over enthusiastic about being surrounded by girls half his age. We plant ourselves at a table with a booth that makes us look wholly unapproachable as we stare and judge the patrons surrounding us. A brave guy in a Detriot Tigers hat tries to strike up a conversation.

"Did I hear the word beersicle? You ladies want a beersicle?" He proceeds to ask the bartender for beer on ice. We give a perfunctory HA to his rather unusual gesture. He then comes back for more. We respond by all getting up and moving, at the same time. All 6 of us. He follows with his friends. By this point, we realize we've been rude and seat ourselves at a round table that allows for a bit more interaction with others. Detriot and his friends move in. They are pleasant, drunk, but pleasant. I start talking to this Indian guy in a Michigan state hoodie.
"So...are you guys originally from Chicago? How do you all know eachother?"
"Oh we all went to college together. Most of us are from Detriot."
"Michigan State I assume."
"Yeah, how'd you guess?" he responds, laughing. Then silence. "So Michigan St. What happens to you guys in the championship? You just choked," I say in a playful tone.
Now, mind you, I am referring to Michigan St.'s run to the NCAA Championship. Basketball. This is the extent of my flirting. Talk sports and inevitably insult the man's alma mater. But I used a playful tone? He didnt pick up on that??!

"Excuse me. We did not choke. If we had all the money and the endowment like North Carolina who are just a bunch of bleep bleep bleep who take their bleep bleep bleep and bleep it and bleep that." He then stops. A petite brunette wearing half a shirt stumbles by drunk and throws her arms around this guy. "Buyy me a drink whoop whoop." He kind of sways with her and they disappear in the crowd. FAIL.

I try and chat with the rest of them. We talk about how we love Chicago in the summer and the really drunk one shouts, "Yeah Obama. Are you Obama? For Obama? Obama is my boy." He is met with silence from us. "What, I totally thought there would be more Obama fans in this part of town. You all suck." FAIL.

One of them pulls out a cigarette. Oh, common ground. Lets bust out those skillz. I try a coy smile and say, "Oh nice. Time for some fresh air?" He gives me a weird look until I pull out my own pack. "Nice. Do you want to come with us?" I nod and he even pulls out my stool and holds the door. A few puffs later, the conversation turns weird. At one point one of the guys told my friend to "kiss me, kiss me right now on the mouth." FAIL.

It then starts to pour. I mumble something about my hair getting frizzy in the rain and they mumble something about going home to smoke weed because the bar scene is lame. I couldnt agree more at this point. And those flirting skills...well, I'm beginning to think its not just me.

OMG!! CAN IT BE??

Is Cameron Diaz finally going to try (gasp) ACTING??!?! I'll believe it when I see it...

Summertime

So summer has hit the Chi-town. The patio furniture is out, bar windows are open, and people are beginning to shed that extra white layer of skin accrued from those long harsh winter months. I usually dont enjoy summer...I mean, I love the sun fo' sure but I hate tube tops, swimsuits, and boys who wear colored flip flops. Especially boys who wear flip flops any color other than brown or black. Embrace the fact that its okay for you to wear leather, just this once. On your feet preferably.

If you are like me, you associate music with summer. Specifically live music. Or any music. For example, at Ravinia this year, the 4 Tops/Temptations cover band will be playing. I plan to hit that up with the 'rents. If you dont know who either of those bands are, google them, then hit yourself in the head for googling them.

Summer in our apartment begins with a summer song. Last year it was Umbrella by Rihanna. The year before that it was Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. This year, we have yet to determine an appropriate summer song. Any suggestions? The Ting Tings are a strong contender this year or perhaps the Killers or maybe its a throwback year....suggestions welcome.

HIATUS

So, I've decided to take a little hiatus from this little dealio and put my efforts behind another project.

Check it out at: www.thegreatmovieadventure.blogspot.com

Or dont. Maybe you are sick of me. I'm sick of myself as well. Thats why I like to take on projects like this that may, in hindsight, be a complete waste of time. But then again, whats time to a hog?

False Advertising

Subs so fast you'll freak??!!

More like subs so slow you'll freak out and wring your hands and tear out your hair and bite your nails down to stubs because you are so hungry and you dont care about the snow or the safety of the driver or the unsuspecting pedestrians who may get struck down because your driver is picking up on your negatory, hungry vibes all because you are hungry and wouldnt have ordered if you hadn't been so taken with the subs so fast you'll freak line and now you are freaking out like a diabetic who hasnt had sugar.

Whew. Take a breath. This is what happens when you are too lazy to cook and its effen freezing in Chicago and fortunately for you, the city offers a wide variety of tasty food delivery options. And because you are slightly hung over. The start of a great (?) weekend.

Things to Keep you Busy

Kay Pea has a new job. This is great news for Kay Pea since she now will have the money to pay off that extremely high gambling debt and that ill-advised purchase of a thoroughbred horse complete with a jockey. She is not ready to part with Little Pennypants and Ralph. She is also going to stop writing about herself in the third person because her brother told her that it was annoying and just lame.

So yes, I have a new job which is great since I was coming up to a relatively long period of funemployment. For the record, funemployment does not mean that I dont work. I work. I just dont do it regularly with normal hours and a steady paycheck. Its quite liberating except for the whole no steady paycheck thing. So I will be monitoring new chickens now, feeding, caring and tending them. And yes, this is a metaphor. I dare you to figure it out.

However, this new gig does allow me a bit of free play. And since I've exhausted all my favorite websites and my favorite bloggers are taking a hiatus, I've sunk to a new low. Celebrity blogs. Yes, I know. Shameful. Yet quite entertaining. For example, did you know that a certain musician (dating Jennifer Aniston) has a penchant for cake-baking? Did you know that MK&A sign each blog entry with double X's? Did you know that not all celebrity blogs are designed to plug their latest clothing line or pimp their new film project? Some of them actually ponder the world and all its glory and some even venture into the political world and societal problems like global warming, gay marriage, and taxes. Fascinating stuff for us real people. So the next time your favorite Kay Pea takes a hiatus because her little chickens have been let loose from the pen or they need to be walked to school, I urge you to fill the void with this.

OOOO,
Kay Pea

Lazy Saturday

There is nothing better than waking up late on a Saturday morning and then spending the whole afternoon in your comfy pants with a carton of Thai food and piping hot cup of coffee.

That is, until you decide to go out on a whim and watch Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Then you are left sitting with an empty carton of Thai food, a cold cup of now gross coffee wondering where the last two hours of your life went.

Thank you Mr....Hitler??

A few weeks ago I worked the polls. Dont remember that election? You know, the one where America fell in love with itself and when we elected the first African-American president that is subsequently splashed all over the news and shoved down our throats. Yes, that election. I dont mean to downplay the significance but it is turning out to be slightly annoying now.

Anyway, I have many memories of said election; some horrible, some hilarious. Needless to say, my favorite, slightly awkward moment was this:

When first arriving at the polling place, you give your name to me and I find it in a big book that lists if you registered to vote. Once I find your name and verify that you are indeed eligible, I'm required to say your name loud and clear for all to hear before passing you to the next station to get your ballot. I'm still not sure why we do this but apparently its the way its always been done. After a while, it gets pretty lame and awkward. Mr. Smith does not know why I insist on saying his name so loudly and then Mr. Stanislawukuwitzch gets annoyed that I dont pronounce his name right. Then comes Mr. *Walter Hitler. Obviously, Walter is not his real name but you get the idea. Our exchange went like this:

Me (without looking up): Hi, name please.

Mr. Hilter: Walter. Hitler. H-i-t-l-e-r.

Me: (head shooting up-I want to see this Mr. Hitler) Okay, Mr...Hitler. Here you are. Walter...Hitler. Please sign here MR. HITLER

Mr. Hitler: (obviously annoyed and probably dealt with this a million times) Thank you.

Me: No, thank you MR. HITLER for coming out and voting. America thanks you.

Mr. Hitler: ........

Me: You can go proceed to the next table Mr. Hitler and recieve your ballot. You are ready to vote.

Umm....can anyone say hilarious? You can only imagine my delight when his wife came in about 2 hours later.

Wish #4

I wish it was okay to be rude sometimes. But its not. Not ever. Kids reading this, dont go to your parents telling them that Asiankp said it was okay to be rude. Because its not.

However, sometimes, I wish it was okay. Yesterday, I worked the polls all day in my precinct in what is now known as one of the most historic days in America. Voting is apparently all the rage these days. So is stupidity. I can't begin to tell you all the rediculousness I put up with yesterday. People refusing to stop their electioneering even while they are behind those makeshift private voting booths. People making all kinds of mistakes on their ballots after 20 plus explanations. People complaining that we didnt give out those snazzy "I Voted" stickers. People complaining how we didnt have electronic ballots. Seriously America, if you only vote to push buttons on a screen and get a shitty 20 cent sticker, then you are a sad, sad citizen and I dont respect you.

I also wish that the city of Chicago would do a better job of weeding out these poll workers. I can't tell you how excrutiating it was to work these other women. "Cindy" was an short lady sporting grey sweat pants, a dirty red t-shirt, and a purple sweatshirt with a box of Marlboro Reds sticking out of the pocket. "Michelle" was elderly lady with impeccable make up but missing some serious brain cells. "Sarah" was an tall, portly lady who boasted of once being in the medical profession but left because she didnt like sick people. When Cindy and Sarah werent at eachothers' throats arguing they were either yelling into their phones at Election Central or commenting on the voters in line. Michelle was utterly useless since you had to talk to her like a 3 year old. "Yes, put that there. NO, there. Yes, slowly. No. NO. Drop the pen. Sign here. On the line. On the line. NO MICHELLE, ON THE LINE." That was my day from 5am-8pm. No wonder the voters in our line complained about us about 5 minutes after the polls opened. We were a disaster. More on election central later...

But back to my wish, sometimes its just easier to be rude...and deal with the consequences later.

Sidebar: A letter to the world

Dear World (well mostly the American majority),

You now have the candidate you have always wanted. All your whining and moaning and 3rd grade behaviour has paid off. Congratulations to you. Yes, it is historic. Yes, it is monumentous. Yeah for you.

NOW WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT IT ALREADY. He hasnt done anything yet.

Sincerely,
Ms. Liberty

Wish #3

I wish my friends lived closer.

Now, dont get me wrong. I have TONS of friends in Chicago. TONS. I'm got so many friends that I dont know what to do with them. Ive got more friends than their are Chins in a chinese phone book.

Okay, so I dont have tons of friends which you obviously deduced from my aforementioned wish.

But I had a fantastically solid group of friends from college, many of whom are now married, having babies or living in foreign countries. They are all special and great and pretty much the coolest people around. And I wished they lived closer. I wish I could go hang out at their houses and play with their adorable children. I wish we could hang out on balconies and smoke cigarettes like the old days. I wish they were around so I could be in a serious conversation without having to defend my morals and beliefs. I wish they were around so they could back me up. I wish they were around so we could commiserate together. I wish they were around so we could laugh together. But they arent. And sometimes you realize that you can still be pretty lonely even when you are living in a city with over 200 million people.

Case in point. A good friend from college left me a message this evening pretending to be "Sandra" from the McCain campaign and reminding me to get out and vote. She even used a fake accent which I easily saw through since all of her accents sound the same. Still, I loved it.

And that is why I wished my friends lived closer.

On a side note, I have to get up in about 5 hours to work this election. Wish me luck. I aint puttin up with any parties crap especially at 6 in the morning.

Wish #2

I wish it was November 4th already. Why? Because people have been wishing it was November 4th since last Christmas. And I want it to be here already so I can stop being bombarded about it. Sure, I'm going to vote. Or not vote. Wait, I'm confused Hollywood, you dont want me to vote? Or wait, you DO want me to vote? I'm confused. Sarcasm? Oh, you are being sarcastic. Glib. Treating me like an idiot, talking to me like a child. I totally get it now. You think the average American citizen is an idiot. Thanks for clearing that up for me. I totally respect you guys now.

But seriously, I wish it was November 4th yesterday. That way, it would be all over and we can get back to the things that really matter like North Korea's impending annihilation of South Korea or, even more important, voting for celebrities on their respective reality TV shows.

By the way, my money was on Cloris Leachman...I'm out $20.

November is Wish Month, Not NAMOPOBLOFO

Apparently, in blogger world, the month of November is some celebration termed some big compound word acronym. Is that even possible? Anyway, the gist is that you post something everyday for an entire month. Most of the bloggers I know do that anyway making this a mindless event that people get excited about but really it holds as much significance as Columbus Day.

However inane I find it, I do appreciate the consistency and commitment to doing something every single day besides bathing, grooming, and eating. Lately, I've found myself engaging in wishful thinking and to give these delusions the credence one reserves for delusions, I figured I'd write about them in a forum that caters to folks who wish to do something constructive with their mindless thoughts. (Read: A blog)

#1) Sometimes I wish I had some kind of juvenile delinquent skill.
Let me explain, on several occasions, I or my friends have locked keys in our car. This usually ensues in much cursing, frustration, high-pitched voices, occasional tears and an overall buzz kill for any event. How cool would it be to whip out a hanger or one of those useful tools that people on TV carry around and say, "Dont worry guys, I got this." Then in five minutes flat, you have successfully opened the door, saved the party, and gained throngs of fans. Or, at the very least, saved your friends money. This wish is not limited to lock-picking skills but any other type of minor law-breaking skills. Maybe snatch and grab skills. Or car jacking skills.

I guess I'll just have to be content with my nunchuk skills.

Dear Barry

Apparently, my below post has some how found its way to upper management. I should know better than to use real names of businesses. As a result of my scathing review, apparently I hate America and your eyes. I am an evil person who hopes that your retinas burn in the sun and that you go blind.

This is not the case. I care very much about your eyes. In fact, if my post has at all, in any way, caused you NOT to buy sunglasses for fear of fashion suicide, please send me an email and I will personally purchase sunglasses for you from any store of your choice. I only meant to comment on how the ad made me laugh and reminded me of the follies of childhood. So to Barry and the rest of the folks, I apologize. Twas not meant to harm. I guess I'm glad to see that you are still live and kicking. Keep on keeping on. God Bless!

Oh Craigslist...you crack me up

Due to our current economic crisis and what seems to be my permanent state of funemployment, I peruse the Craigslists ads at least 3 times a day. Today, in the part time section, I unearthed this gem: (names have been changed to avoid lawsuits)

Love to work in Fashion? Come join us at (random sunglass store)!

Fashion? The (Random Sunglass Store)?

Hmm...lets see. When I think of the Random Sunglass Store, I picture some bleached blonded adolescent who couldnt get work at the Hip Clothing Store. In our mall, the Random Sunglass Store was placed right outside the Hip Clothing Store. The Random Sunglass Store boys would sit there and salivate at the young high schoolers exiting the Hip Clothing Store with large bags and Daddy's credit card. If they were lucky, a girl from that group would look over in their direction and wave. But no one ever bought sunglasses there. You could get sunglasses at Other Hip Stores. Not at the Random Sunglass Store. It was fashion suicide. Maybe it still is.

I'm glad to see their still working on their marketability.

F.A.G.

Heres a story for you. My great uncle, Uncle Frank, was a fabulous man. He was a joker, a smoker and a midnight toker. In fact, that song was written about my dear old Uncle Frank. Okay, so he wasnt a smoker. And I have no idea what a toker is. But my Uncle Frank was still a fabulous man. He was my grandma's brother and ever since I was a little girl, I always remember him depositing himself in my grandfathers leather chair, soaking in the circus that consisted of myself, my brother and my 8 cousins. With 10 children constantly running around and constantly demanding attention, Uncle Frank was always there to lend a hand, a pair of eyes or some discipline when needed.

When the dinner was done and all the children satiated and fed, he would sit in the corner partaking in the "adult" conversation, his dark brown eyes shining. He always had a small, sharp moustache that he liked to rub with his fingers especially when telling a joke. He was a killer poker player and his bocce form was envied throughout southern Italy. My father likes to tell me that Uncle Frank was the original Renaissance Man. A great man. A family man.
I was only 7 years old when he passed away. In fact, his was probably the first funeral that I can actually remember. His cold, lifeless hands scared the crap out of me and I didnt understand how these could be the same hands that showed me how to make a cross out of palms or showed me how to throw the bocce ball with back spin. Children process death very differently than adults. This is a fact of life. And a story for another time.

However, several years later in my teenage years, my grandparents moved out their house to a smaller condo. While helping them move, my brother and I found a large box with miscellaneous items labeled F.A.G. We snickered. Like typical immature teenagers, we thought it was hilarious that my grandpa had actually labeled stuff FAG. Everything in the box had a big F.A.G. taped to it. My grandpa didnt have a mean bone in his body so this trite label was both fascinating and scary. We finally showed the stuff to my mom who put on a very somber face. She informed us that these were Uncle Frank's possessions. My Uncle Frank. Frank Antonio Gallo. F.A.G. My brother and I felt like someone had just slapped us in the face with a wet seal. We silently took the box to the trailer, let our hands linger on it for while and pulled the door shut.

At some point during all this, I managed to swipe a mini magnifying glass that my Uncle Frank had used to read the paper. There in big letters on the front, a bold F.A.G. I slipped it into my pocket thinking that it would come in handy some day. To this day, I have not used it. But it sits on my dresser for all to see. Some people see it and snicker. Some hold it up and give me a sort of WTF look. Others ignore it. But every time I look at those three letters, I think of my Uncle Frank's twinkling brown eyes, his sharp grey moustache and that magnificent bocce form.

Guests of House

I have some houseguests coming over this afternoon who I dont really know. Now, I am not in the habit of inviting strangers over for dinner or to enjoy a beer or two during a warm summer afternooon, but every once in a while, I will open up my home to be used as a meeting grounds of sorts. Such an act results in strangers showing up at your door. I have met a few of these people once or twice before but both times, either party has been a.) in a drunken stupor b) ridiculously distracted or c.) not interested or some combination of a, b, and c.

I love meeting new people. This is what life is all about. Well not completely but life is half comprised of the people we know and love and adding to your circle of friends will give your life more meaning, or so the fortune cookie said. Regardless, these things still stress me out. Do I need to go hide that book because its contents are offensive to the Buddhist coming over? Do I need to take down that painting because it causes my guests to go into hyperventilation? Does the sofa color remind my guest of some horrific childhood accident? All these things cause Asiankp to sweat like a mule pulling a 200 pound man in the Grand Canyon. I know its never good to sweat the small stuff and I shouldnt really care what these people think of my house and my decor but dont pretend that these thoughts never go through your head. Because they do. And it makes me never want to have guests over. Ever.

I Miss the Rains

It has been incessantly raining in the Chi-town. I hear there are hurricanes elsewhere and tragedy striking the southern states but here I am, acting like a pre-pubescent teenager frolicking in the rain:

Anyway, rain can be fun. Very fun. However, rain is also incredibly damaging. Since my poor little apartment is probably an eyesore to the large condos on my block, it is no surprise that our roof is leaking and the ceiling is starting to crack. Its a little scary since the crack resides right over our staircase and every day is a challenge because I know that just when I least suspect it, the ceiling will start to crack and ginormous pieces of plaster will fall on my head giving me temporary amnesia.

In order to save our pathetic carpet, we have devised a very advanced and cutting edge way to stop the rain.

Thats right. A bowl. And not just any bowl but a large, mother of pearl colored plastic bowl. We are a fancy lot. However, this bowl does nothing for the aesthetic of the staircase nor does it detract from the ridiculously dirty carpet or the walls which happen to be painted 3 different shades of white. Nor does it hide the semi-dead flowers, a love token from our previous roommates' now husband, that hang on the wall.

Inspired by my friend Leah, who has two of the most adorable children you will ever see in your life and the most creative person I know, I decided to "make-over" our slightly trailer-park esque aesthetic.

The result:


Ha. These things dont happen overnight. I'm probably better off getting hit by the plaster.

I'm a Horrible Person

For many reasons. One particular glaring reason is the fact that I didnt realize it was 9/11 yesterday until 8:00 this morning. Most dates come and go with little to no significance for me except holy days, close friends birthdays and national holidays. 9/11 however is a date that holds significance for pretty much any American. Even if you dont agree on the logisitics or the vast conspiracy theories surrounding the day, a sane human being cannot argue that 9/11 is most certainly a day to be remembered. To mourn those lost and to remember the sacrifice of so many.

Now I've never been one of those extremely patriotic folks...dont get me wrong, I love my country, support my troops, and appreciate democracy. I dont, however, get weepy every time I hear the national anthem nor do I own American flag print boxers. My apartment does not boast the American flag from our doorstep nor do we have bald eagle busts on the mantle. For those of you who think thats crazy, I should mention that my grandmother used to have not one, but two bald eagle busts. One for the kitchen and one for the study. She also used to have a small sliver of the orginial American flag that her ancestors suppposedly passed down to her. In addition, she had several George Washington prints adorning the walls of her modest retirement home condo.

However, even to a slightly jaded mid twenties freelancer, 9/11 remains an important event in history and perhaps even more significant because it has become my Neil Armstrong moment, my JFK assasination moment, my US Hockey team beats Soviets moment, my George Washington crossing the Delaware moment. Its a moment that someday I will share with my children. I will tell them how I was scared, college freshman sleeping in and about to miss my English Lit. class when a air horn went off and I heard the pounding of feet in the hallways of my dorm. I will tell them how I gathered with hundreds of my fellow students watching footage of the attacks in stony silence. I will tell them how the entire university gathered in our chapel to pray for those who perished. I will tell them how moving it was to hear stories of courage and how our nation handles crisises with dignity, resolve and compassion. I will tell them that however cliche and corny it sounds, it is always important to never forget.

I only hope that I can follow my own advice from here on out.

A Peeping what?

There is a small window in my front door. It slightly resembles a doggy door but at eye level. Its backed by several small steel strips that create a sort of pattern or formation and offers a slightly obstructed view to those looking in and those looking out. Some days I am very happy that this window exists because it allows me to spy on the occupants outside the window, offering me a small view of the outside without betraying my position. On the other hand, sometimes I hate this window because if a person places their hands against the window and peers in, they have a direct and clear view of the couch and our subsequent main living area as well as a slender of the kitchen. This makes it difficult to sit on the couch and ignore who ever is knocking because they can clearly see that you are ignoring them causing them to knock harder and maybe even wave, which is utterly distasteful, especially when you are intent on ignoring them. Its almost by waving they are acknowledging that you are ignoring them, yet they continue to make a fool of themself with a pilthy greeting. Its like they know that you know that they know they are annoying you with their presence. I do abhore pyschology.

Anyway, this occured today with a certain subject. I was enjoying a late breakfast when I heard a knock at my door. I craned my neck to see who it was but said person had already placed their hands against the window and was looking in. Our eyes met and I had no choice but to walk over and open the door, interrupting my breakfast and my reading of a highly informative website. Said person had been going for a run and was sweaty and then proceeded to walk around the apartment to "cool down" and then sat on my couch. I could do nothing and after a bit of hemming and hawing, said subject left and I resumed my morning routine. But it got me thinking about Peeping Tom and the legend of Lady Godiva and I wished that I could place a spell and that all folks who peered through my humble window while pressing their dirty paws against the glass would suddenly and swiftly be struck blind in the eye.

If only life imitated legends...

Random

My commuter paper has recently taken on a new look. It is now wider and fatter and less newspaper-y but more Rolling Stone-esque. Modern writing template and bigger pictures and smaller type. I dont like it.

Dont they know that wider and fatter is never better? For a newspaper, of course.

Good Gawd

Its been a while...I dont really know where to start seeing as my lack of blogging was due to a lack of content in my life and since my life hasnt changed that much, I can't imagine my blogging will thrive.

However, I am 25 now. Yes, thats right. The big 2-5. A quarter of a century old. Being 25 feels like 24 and 23. No big significant change. Only a slight reminder that I'm closer to 30. And most of my friends who are 25 have two children already.

But I digress. What I really want to talk about is sheets. You know, sheets on your bed. Well, far be it from me to judge other people and their cleanliness or their hygenie but seriously people...you should wash your sheets at least 3 times a month. If not more. You excrete so many bodily fluids that you arent even aware of, that washing your sheets is the only sane thing you can do to prevent any kind of weird infection. AND...lets not get into odor. I can't think of anything nastier (except feet) than that distinct sleep smell. Even describing it, is starting to make my coffee come up...that slightly hazy dreary smell which washing sheets eliminates or abates. Either way, its time that the masses take a page from the Asiankp handbook of hygenie and wash your damn sheets.

Did I mention that now that I'm 25, I've become increasingly anal?

Gets Me Everytime

I was cleaning out my favorites section and found this:




Cracks me up everytime.

Sloth

Watching Michael Phelps on TV makes me feel slothful. Like if I was an animal or if I believed in that weird animus/daemon/spirit creature crap, I would be a sloth. A horn-toed sloth. But maybe I would have a colorful tail, like a parrot. Or perhaps I could be a mixture of parrot and sloth...a paroth. Still with horny toes.

I'm sorry. I dont know where this is coming from. You know whats funny though? After 8 Olympic gold medals, Michael Phelp's mother still breaks down in tears. I know its an emotional rush but still after 8 medals and 14 total golds, you think the woman would be used to this by now. But I digress...I'm not a mother nor will my children ever win 8 Olympic gold medals in swimming. In archery maybe but not swimming. Oh you didnt know? Koreans are expert shots. Expert. We also excel at pistol shooting apparently but I love how we are not very good at Taekwondo, even though the sport originated there. And I thought it was a young Korean boy's way of life. The hand-and-foot combat. I guess they just dont make foot soldiers like they used to.

I'm putting together a birthday wish list and all I can come up with is a new planner. I feel like I should be turning 50 with a possible Alzheimer's approaching.

Olympics Schympics

Olympics have consumed me. Entirely. They have even consumed my dreams. Last night I had a dream that Michael Phelps was really a robot and on his final swim of the evening he banged his head against the Timex wall and his skin peeled away and it was revealed that he was indeed, non-human. I know everyone is in awe of the man and his swimming prowess and his endurance and his ginormous sized feet and the way his wingspan is twice his height and blah blah but what fascinates me is how he manages to keep on those legging suits during his swims. You know the ones that come just below the hip bones of males almost revealing what lies beneath. I feel at any time, those things are just going to come sliding off and Phelp's celebrity status will skyrocket. Or plummet. Depending on what lies beneath.

A good reader

I've come to the realization that I'm a much better reader than a writer. I have not blogged in weeks but I've added at least 7 new blogs to my Favorites tab on my old school but dependable PC.

I'd like to say the spirit hasnt moved me in a while but the real reason is that I got locked up in prison and I got my hand chopped off a la T-Bag. But never fear, I scored some batteries from my guy in Kitchen and swiped a pillow case and beat the living daylights out of the birdie who decided to sing about my recently acquired contraband hidden in my toilet. As it turns out, I had the wrong snitch so I've been doing everything I can to get my ass to solitary so I wont be jumped in yard. The DOC out here is corrupt but if I can swing a couple weeks of good behavior, I could be in out in 20.

Ohhhh....I'm sorry. Did I mention that I'm completely enthralled with Prison Break? Not familiar? Well you should be. Otherwise I've got a shank with your name tattoed on it.

Getting High with Odd Thomas

One of my fellow bloggers has taken to mentioning Dean Koontz and this book Odd Thomas for quite some time so I decided to take him up on it and read the damn thing. I liked it. I liked it alot. Not only do I love Koontz references to classic literature (William Blake, hells yeah) but the story is masterfully crafted. Great, now I sound like a pretentious asshole.

Anyway, this isnt a book review. If you like good stories, I recommend it. However, this is about getting high. No, for those of you out there who dont me, I didnt really get high. Unless you consider reading a quality book akin to the hallucinogenic high that comes from smoking herb, then yes, I did get high on good literature.

I checked out Odd Thomas from the library and have been reading it straight for a week and half now. Except for the occasional Arrested Development show, it has become the essential part of my daily bedtime routine. Brush. Floss. Wash Face. Curl up with Thomas. With 100 pages left to go, I realized that the book was due today. With a break from work, I decided to plop myself on my deck with a glass of water, cigarettes and the steely resolve to finish Odd Thomas before noon.
After 50 pages or so, I knew the goal was in sight. Thomas has just discovered a body and...well, I wont ruin it but it was a good, good part. As I flip to the next chapter I spot something pressed into the creases of the book. It was green with a slight hint of orange. At first I thought, oh great, a booger. Thats rich. And original. Some idiot didnt like the book so he picked his nose and left his nasty green gooze in between the pages for people like me to find.

Looking closely, I realized it was not a booger. It lacked the sticky consistency of a booger. Rather than attach itself to my finger, this "booger" crumbled like the Walls of Jericho. Because, like all humans, we have a fascination with all things gross, I began to poke and prod and like a 3 year old kid, I let some of this "booger" linger on my finger and slowly drew it up to my nose.

The distinct smell of mary jane hit me square in the face and I think I may have accidentally snorted a piece of it in nose during my "holy crap, its weed" reaction. I picked at it some more and noticed the small trappings of weed crammed into the spine of the book. I laughed. The idea of some high school pothead reaching the climax of Oddie's story, freaking out and promptly rolling a doobie to offset the drama is, in fact, hilarious.

Curious to find out more, I flipped through more pages and noticed small specks of greenery lining the spine of the next several pages. Wanting be a 100% percent sure of my discovery, I jammed the book into my nose, inhaling and exhaling that rotting skunk smell. This was weed all right. Real cannabis.

Still reeling, I finished the book. I'm about to return it to the library this afternoon and part of me would love to walk up and say, "Excuse me, but someone left some weed in this book, its not me, but I thought you should know." Or "I believe some lowlife street thugs are using this paragon of literature to traffic drugs."

Perhaps I'll just quietly slip the book into the large steel dropbox and leave it for the next patrons. Maybe a little high will brighten their day.

Are you Pregnant?

For some reason, I've been having a insane fear that someone will ask me that question. They will catch me wearing one of those empire waist dresses (that are oh-so-comfortable and my current summer wardrobe of choice) and my belly will slip through and then they will utter those three words. Ridiculous, right?

Now, I'm not pregnant in any way, shape or form, nor do I wish to be pregnant at this juncture of my life. And I'm not fat...but not skinny. Healthy is a word I like to use. Perhaps this fear of the question is only, as my friend TV Girl says " projecting negative body image issues" onto to my perfectly normal sized figure, but still, I'd like to be prepared should someone decide to get nosy. So, I've come up with a few responses to the question.

-"No. But I love what they've done with your face. How long ago was the surgery?"

-"No. Its only a boob job gone completely awry."

-"No. I have the largest tumor known to man and I've got 3 months left to live."

-"Yes. No thanks to your husband."

-"No. I have stomach cancer. Thanks for bring it up. You are a bastard."

-"Ohh my gosh, I am...what the...who the...." (followed by intense wailing and crying and falling down on the ground)

Best Wedding EVER.

This past weekend, my roommate of almost 6 years got hitched. To a great guy. My roomie and her new mother-in-law have the same name. First and last. Random factiod. I guess its true that guys want to marry girls like their mothers. Or maybe not. Either or, it was amazing, beautiful, fun and all around the best party I've ever attended. I was trying to think of how to write about the wedding when I noticed Fort Knock's post so you can go ahead and read it there.

There a few details that do not apply to me but its still a spot-on description. I probably shouldnt be riding on his coattails and write something original but I'm just too tired. Why beat a dead horse? Does that saying even apply?

Either way, my newly nuptialized friend is swimming on a beach in Mexico and I wish her all the best. Thanks for everything.

Going to the Chapel...

So B is getting married in T minus 2 days. I dont really have any idea what the whole T-minus thing means but it sounds very official. I'm standing up at the wedding (meaning in it) so I had to get a dress. A black one. And I did. It was all very last minute and worked out perfectly reminding me that my penchant for getting things done at the last minute is still working in my favor, at least for the time being.

However, I decided to come home to shop for this particular dress because I wasnt having any luck in Chicago (aka. didnt really look hard enough). Something about shopping in my own hometown where I dont have to pay for parking or get accosted by tons of other out of towners coming to the BIG CITY to do the whole shopping thing relaxes me and gives me the space and time I need to do this thing I usually abhore. Plus, my mom can come with me. And we always have a good time. In fact, I do have a particularly funny story about the two of us shopping for some new brasierres but since part of the readership of this blog is male, I dont know if its appropriate to tell the story. Oh what the heckfire, I'll tell it anyway.

Nanny Diaries

So my nanny job is coming to an end. In fact, tomorrow will be my last day. I know what you are all thinking: "Man, that was fast." And I bet I know your next thought: "Does this mean more funemployment?" Unfortunately no, funemployment has been replaced with wedding craze which begins a week from Saturday and continues through September. A note to my friends seriously dating someone, please dont get married until at least after Christmas.

Anyway, today is Thursday which is usually a soccer night. My little man, T, now knows that Thursdays are soccer nights so every Thursday he asks me: "Asiankp, are you going to fall down in your game tonight?" The reason for this question is that 3 weeks ago Friday I showed up with a pretty big scar on my leg when some wanna-relive-my-athletic-days-Lincoln Park-ex-frat boy tripped me. I told T I fell in the game. For the last couple weeks leading up to today, T has dropped hints about me trying to run without falling and wearing pillows on my legs for when the bad people come to hurt you.

So today our conversation:

T: Asiankp, are you going to try not to fall in your game tonight?

KP: Well, lucky me, we dont have a game tonight T.

T: Why? Because you always fall?

KP: No, because we lost our last game...it was the playoffs and we lost in the very last second.

T: (pause) Well, at least you wont have to feel clumsy tonight.

I have NO idea where he picked up that word and equated it with me falling and well, I guess some of my genius is rubbing off on him.

Shun the Non-Believers

Unicornicopia lives.

For those of you too lazy to click:

'Unicorn' deer is found in Italian preserve

A deer with a single horn in the center of its head — much like the fabled, mythical unicorn — has been spotted in a nature preserve in Italy, park officials said Wednesday.
"This is fantasy becoming reality," Gilberto Tozzi, director of the Center of Natural Sciences in Prato, told The Associated Press. "The unicorn has always been a mythological animal."
The 1-year-old Roe Deer — nicknamed "Unicorn" — was born in captivity in the research center's park in the Tuscan town of Prato, near Florence, Tozzi said.

I got new posters for my new room

This one for my love of Chicago and my recent love for Devil in the White City. Havent read it? Read it.

This one for my love of the novel and my love for Atticus Finch.

Obamamania.

So this Obama fellow...he's taking over my city. And its annoying. And believe me, its not just because of the politics. I mean, whether you are a Democrat, Republican, white, black, red, yellow, anytime the media/television/print world focuses on just one, singular thing, its annoying. However, since the man has secured the Democratic nomination, perhaps the public will be granted a reprieve for at least a few weeks. I fear it will only be weeks and not months and years like I hope.

Another pseudo-celeb dominating the print world is R. Kelly. My commuter newspaper, The Red Eye has a little feature called Trial Watcher. Basically it gives updates on the Kelly case and serves to annoy the living daylights out of me. Now you could say, "Asiankp, just ignore it and move on" but since I am a bit OCD and have to read EVERY part of the paper ( I just do, I can't explain it) having to read verbatim cross-examinations is about as fun as getting teeth pulled. On a side note, the Red Eye calls itself a sib of the Trib. Whatever, it's more like the bastard child of the Trib's second cousin.

So beside R. Kelly and Obama, whats up with all this rain? Floods and more floods and tornados??!!

Something is rotten in the state of Illinois.

Life Lessons

Never judge a book by its cover.

I know its an old adage that you've heard from your parents, grandparents, teachers, condescending friends and pretty much any person who likes to lord stuff over you.

But, I have to be honest. Its really very true. And nothing is more sobering than realizing the annoying and obnoxious things that some of your peers say are, suprisingly, the troof. The real troof. I say troof because my ego doesnt allow me to write the actual word. To do so would be to admit to actually learning something from someone else and owning up to the fact that, on a rare occasion, Asiankp is wrong.

So back to the judging the book. I'll start small. A certain friend has been hinting that I should watch a certain television program. She is an accomplished writer and television reviewer and has a number rating system for the various shows that she watches with 10 being life changing and 1 being really not worth a damn and you might actually be dumber for watching the show. October Road falls into this category. But I'll not go into that. She surprised me for a visit about 2 weeks ago and brought along the first season of what is now at the top of Asiankp's list. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

I'll admit, when I first heard about this show, I was tempted. A visit home and my dad's support for the show quickly kiboshed any hopes I had of getting in too deep. I mean, come on, my dad's favorite show is American Idol. How can I trust that? After that, I got too involved with other stuff like looking for a job, blogging and seeing how many movies I could watch in one day, that my interest was nothing more than lint in the dryer. When she told me to watch it, I put it off and put it off and procrastinate and procrastinate. Finally, I relented. If the girl could fly over 300 miles in one day to visit me, she had to be on to something. Let me say, I was wrong. The show is above and beyond what I expected and has my full support and my undying love.

But this is not about my unhealthy obsession with things on the small screen. This story only reminds me of another story where my prideth went before the falleth. Almost a year ago, I embarked on a trip to NYC to see a holy man. I went with 3 close friends. Another girl who was an acquaintance of one in my party was going to meet up with us for a few hours. Now, I had met said girl a couple times before. She was a model. Yes, a model. A runway model. She was no Gisele or Tyra or Heidi but give her a few years and she could be. Lets call her Gitydi.

Regardless, I scoffed at her. I scoffed at her profession and what she was like even though I had only spent about a total of 5 minutes with her and I never directly spoke to her. In fact, I made it a point to avoid her and try to throw withering and judgmental looks her way. When everyone else told me that Gitydi was the nicest girl and so down to earth and really cool in a grounded way, I laughed and said, sure and Hitler was misunderstood. Which didnt really make sense then and doesnt make much sense now either.

So the idea of spending a couple hours in the presence of Gitydi in NYC, her mecca, I assumed, was less than thrilling. I did the brat act for the entire 4 hours before meeting up with her. Throwing out mean comments, being snotty. Basically, I reverted back to the age of 5 when mom and dad wouldnt play the game I wanted to. Here were my friends forcing me to hang out with someone who was going to be perched on a high horse and flaunting her beauty in our faces. Of course, no normal human does that unless you are on a reality show but I firmly believed in the theory that the pretty girls are always mean and bitchy.

To make a long story short, after smoking all my cigarettes and calling all the people I could so I wouldnt have to go and sit with all those adoring Glamazons, I reluctantly headed into the Starbucks and took a seat across from Gitydi. Immediately after sitting, Gitydi focuses her attention on me, "So Asiankp, so-and-so says that you are interested in casting? Thats so great..." I cant really recall the entire conversation but let's just say she was down to earth, friendly, unassuming and perfectly normal. Not to mention that the girl was just plain nice. I learned that she was a few years younger than the rest of us and had a hard time struggling to remain modest and grounded in a profession that does its best to make the polar opposite. We chatted for a few more hours and she even held her own when I threw my sarcastic, dry humor her way.

When we left, I turned to my friend and said, "Never again. Never again will I pre-judge. This was a great lesson. Dont ever let me do this again." So here I am, ashamed to say that I have to remind myself of that mantra again. And not just with TV shows but with life. I like to walk down Michigan Ave, past big groups of people carrying Abercrombie bags and Burberry purses and I like to pass judgements. But who knows whats going on behind those bags and purses. Maybe they are for a friend or maybe they have tastes just like I have certain tastes and while those tastes may not seem normal, they exist to make us each individual.

So there is power in those old sayings. The truth can set you free.

Holiday

Yesterday was Memorial Day, making last weekend Memorial Day weekend and consequently one of the most emotional weekends of my life. Okay, so thats a bit dramatic but still, it was emotional. My roommate of over 6 years left for Beantown. I can only say that the night was drowned in a giant pool of gin and tears. Okay, no gin. Asiankp seems to have hit some sort of alcoholic barrier. ANYWAY, as a result of my long time friend leaving, I was having a phone conversation with another great friend who lives many many miles away and casually said, "Hey, you should come to Chicago this weekend." Lo and behold, the next day she texts me saying, "My flight gets in at such and such a time at O'Hare." HOLY. MOTHER. AMAZING. Said friend and I had an absolutely fabulous time, chilling, smoking, talking, walking, marveling at all the "famous Chicago landmarks" and just catching up and enjoying the company of a good friend who knows you so well that you finish eachothers sandwiches. Thank you friend! It meant more than you know.

Unfortunately, the little peeps that Asiankp has been watching have been sick so, natch, Asiankp caught the bug and was sick for a majority of the weekend. Said friend braved this all like a champ and even had comforting words for my sickly soul.

So that was my weekend. It was also nice because long time roommate and her fiance made their trip to Beantown safe and sound and in one piece. Oh, did I mention that I finished it up with a little Chicago by the sea sailing trip and some delish BBQ pork?

Fear of the Drool

Okay, so I know that babies who are teething drool. All the time. No really, all. the. time. I know its painful for them and its very messy and one of those things in life that can't be avoided and something we all experience but when I have to change Baby X's outfit 3x in one day because of the drool, I wonder if something is off. By the by, Baby X is the name I'm giving to the ADORABLE baby I nanny for. This is to protect my own rear end and so in the future, she can never google herself and find that her old crazy nanny wrote all about her baby days on the world wide interweb.

Back to the drool...it doesnt just cover the front of her onesie right under her chin. It covers the ENTIRE front of the onesie and, like a sponge soaking up water, it keeps seeping in so much so that it forms a rather perfect oval down the front of the onesie. If someone saw her, they would say, "Why did someone pour water all over that baby in the shape of a giant egg?" Seeing as I have to do the kids laundry once a week, changing the outfit 3x in one day does not bode well for me.

However, the face that she makes when I give her that baby Tylenol is so freakin cute that I can't help but forgive her for wiping her snotting nose and drool stained face all over my shirt and pants.

Do Yo' Chain Hang Low?

So, I'm not sure why but this video cracks me up. Animal showed it to me and I must say, she has good taste. I dont know if the butchering of the nicey nice children's song or just the teeth on this mutha but its worth it.

Sounds of Summer

I love summer. It's my birthday season and the weather is nice and you can dine al fresco and you could barbecue everyday and there are lots of people out and you can wear sundresses and did I mention the weather is nice? I have a rather obsessive personality and I love to pick a song for the summer, a song that I can constantly replay over and over until my roommates kill me and forever and ever amen, I'll always have this song to remind me of the summer of 08. Anyway, this was last years anthem:



It's Drive Somewhere by the Vuglar Boatmen.

Anyway, here is Summer Anthem of 2008 for Asiankp. Its an oldie but a goodie and even though everyone and their mom will be like, "Oh Asiankp, that song is so old" I dont care because thats just like, your opinion, man.

2008 Summer Anthem: Young Folks by Peter Bjorn and John

Samantha Who? I love you.

I am aware that the premise of this show is rather sophomoric and borderlines on a fluffier Sex and the City wannabe but for some reason, I really enjoy it. I dont know if its seeing Barry Watson onscreen again (Oh Matt Camden...) or the resurrection (?) of Christina Applegate's career but the show makes me laugh and regardless of the predictable plots, its like biting into a crab rangoon. It looks a little weird on the outside but oh so tasty and delicious and something you can count on in times of need.

Damn. I'm just not as good on the metaphors as TV Girl.

A Picture is Worth...

I noticed in previous posts, I had pictures. They were fun and it adds a fun aesthetic to the blog to those folks who are too tired to read or too lazy to scroll down. I've been there. So, I'll post a recent photo. I got a haircut and the glasses are fo' real.

Little Irks

So I went for a run today. I'm trying this new thing called exercising to increase the endorphins to my brain and make me a happier, healthier person. But dont worry, I've still got the cigarettes if all else fails.

Anyway, as I was in shower after my run, for some reason, a draft was entering the bathroom and the shower liner kept sticking to my body. This is annoying on many levels. One, I cannot properly clean my body when there is a nasty old shower liner sticking to it. Two, everytime I swatted it off, it kept coming back on a completely different part of the body. Third, I tried to direct the shower head to keep a steady stream of water pushing the liner against the tub eliminating the stickiness problem but since the shower head was spraying in the direction of the liner, I had to get closer to the liner to stay under the water bringing me in contact again with the dreaded liner. I know there are starving children in India and thousands of Chinese students suffering from an earthquake and here I am, bitching about my shower liner. I am aware that my priorities are out of line here but seriously, this liner problem is just one of those things that irks me. Its like a misquito bite that wont go away and can't be cured with Benadryl.

We all have those things in our lives. Those little annoyances that, in the large scheme of things, are not worth it at all but they still just bother us enough to make us stand up and take note but not big enough to go on a crusade. Sometimes, they bother us just enough to write an entire blog post on.

Here are a few others:
-There are 6 steps from the street level to the door of my apartment. My mailbox is located next to my door. For some reason, my postman refuses to walk the stairs and leaves our mail in our neighbors mailbox on the street level. This annoys him, me and the rest of the residents of the 1713 block. Plus I dont want Jimmy to know which magazines I'm subscribing to.

-When other people open your mail. I am a Netflix member and a majority of the movies I get are for the apartment. However, please refrain from opening the envelopes until I get there. For two reasons: one, you (and you know who you are) consistently rip the return envelopes in the wrong way and refuse to follow directions and two, I dont want to be subject to explaining my movie choices to a judgmental, un-informed movie police.

-Leaving laundry. This is a minor detail. It happens to the best of us. But seriously, if you throw a load in knowing full well that you are leaving for the afternoon and the better part of the evening, where is the logic in that? Granted it is not hard for me to put your clothes in the dryer but what about when I accidently shrink your favorite mu-mu or have to sort through some questionable stained underwear or your wide array of colorful thongs? Awkward level: HIGH. And for the record, this applies to more than one person.

So, what bothers you?

NO STANDING

You know those signs...the ones around big cities usually situated right below a streetlight that say "No standing." Well, yeah, those signs. I'm not exactly sure what they mean. I guess they refer to cars double parking and no standing/waiting/being an asshole and parking in a non parking area. Well, the point I'm trying to make is that I dont like those people who turn those signs into photo ops. You know the type. They take pictures while standing under the no standing sign and give a goofy grin and point at the sign. Hohohoho. So funny.

Granted, when I was in London, they have this fabulous tradition of painting directly on the street saying LOOK LEFT or LOOK RIGHT. I have a picture of me looking left making the goofy face and pointing at the street. But give me a break. I was in Europe, I was in college, I was probably drunk.

Anyway, those people give me ulcers. It's been a rough week here in Asiankp land. There is some stuff going down with the folks at home and my little charges keep me busy and tired. And there is the festival that I'm assistant producing that closes this weekend. All in all, I'm looking for a break.

This post is mindless and half rant and half update. I'm going to quit now because I'm giving myself an ulcer.

Evitetation

Evites are funny things. Speaking from experience, my dealings with Evite are mostly love/hate. I love how easy it is to send information about a party to millions of people and then how easy it is for them to invite other people and pretty soon you have a party of 1 billion. Okay, so thats never really happened. Yet.

But, I hate the essence of the evite. I hate the colors they choose and the themes and the whole ridiculous responses and the layout and even that you have to register. Of course I am one of those people who tries to come up with witty replies to my evite rather than the standard, website provided crap responses. Maybe its the impersonal personal nature that I love/hate. Getting handwritten invitations to events are flattering and look pretty but they cost money and then you have to pay for postage. Evites are free. And you can feel a bit like Big Brother because as an administrator, you can see who looked at the evite and how many times they looked at it and then you can send mean, nasty emails to your friends saying, "WTF? Why havent you responded to my evite?"

However, you can't tape an evite to your fridge and then everytime you go to get milk or cream or ham, you can't be reminded of the fun bridal shower you have to go to in 2 weeks. Well, technically you could tape it to your fridge but honestly, who would do that?

Here's one thing I know...it is NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ACCEPTABLE TO SEND WEDDING INVITATIONS VIA EVITE. I think its important to reiterate this cultural and perhaps moral wrong because with the way technology is creeping into our everday lives, some sucker out there is bound to send one. Dark days indeed.