To Buy or Not to Buy?

I've been having a litany of computer issues lately...sometimes I think I talk about it entirely too much but since I spend about 80% of my life on the computer (sad, I know) and use it for everything from work to dating (long story-some other time), its very important that I have one that doesn't get a virus every 3 weeks. And yes, I have heard of anti-virus but let me just say that I have the worst luck with those too...so to buy or not to buy? I was going to go all out with the Pro but a friend convinced me that everything I needed to do, I could do with a regular macbook and its cheaper but I don't know if I can take the plunge....what I do know is that I can be persuaded and oftentimes need to be convinced to make purchases like this...

#4 in 2010

#4 Thing to Do in 2010: Burst into song randomly.

Due to the immense growing popularity of musical theatre and the new tv show Glee, busting into song is becoming more and more appropriate and relevant. However, it still doesn't make you cooler. However, if you aren't on Broadway or on a hit tv show, I suggest doing it anyway. Like a spoonful of sugar making the medicine go down, whistling while you work can help every task you undertake become a piece of cake. Now, don't raining on my parade, just try and defy gravity because I'd rather be blue than thinking of you not singing. Start at the very beginning...begin with Do, Re, Mi.

A side effect, however, can be very angry roommates because you maybe arent as good at singing as you thought.

Things to NOT do in 2010

Play a broomball doubleheader (thats two games) with no subs followed by an indoor soccer game with no subs against the best team in the league. Your body will hate you and wake up all sore and angry and decide it doesn't want to do things for you. And that does not help when you are trying to spend 2010 actually being productive...

#3 in 2010

#3 Thing to Do in 2010: Read something you never thought you would.

A majority of my friends and myself included were liberal arts educated. I'm not going to go on about what a superior idea I think that is but rather turn the conversation in a different direction and say, some of us, including myself, are, for lack of a better term, nerds. We can list off classical literature the way some people can list their boyfriends, we can quote obscure poetry lines and actually know what they mean, we like discussing theology, philosophy and history. Like I said, nerds. And I mean that in the most loving way.

And a majority of us would never aspire to read a contemporary piece of fiction or non-fiction that was on, say, Oprah's Top Books List or on the front table at Barnes and Noble or on the NY Times Best Seller List. However, for #3 of 2010, I suggest doing just that. Throw away your inhibitions and be that person who buys the books that were turned into movies and have the movie poster's cover on the book. You know what I'm talking about (I always feel like a moron when I pick those up because when I see people reading those, I have a sinking feeling that those unsuspecting souls didn't know it was actually a book first.) If anything you will leave with a greater appreciation for your liberal arts education. And you'll be thankful you've read the good stuff.

For example, I recently was re-gifted the book Eat, Pray, Love. The cover of the book proudly displays, "#1 NY Times Bestseller." The tageline is "one woman's search for everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia." Sound enticing right? I will confess I'm only 3 chapters in but already I find the protagonist shallow, selfish and completely devoid of any substance. She is one of those woman who has been married for 4 years and suddenly decides that she doesn't want to be married anymore and needs to take a life quest that no doubt will involve eating, praying, and perhaps cougar-like trysts with international men. Now, perhaps some women do indeed experience this sort of feeling but what irks me is that the woman uses prayer and God even to justify leaving her husband. She is not leaving her commitment for frivolous reason, merely she needs a "spiritual" journey to find God. Not to mention that she spends an entire chapter explaing why she chose God and not Allah or Buddha or anything else and ends up spewing nonesense in order to pacify readers of any religion. As if to say, "Dear Readers, I want you to keep reading so I'm going to go teach you about relativism." However, I am going to keep reading because in order to fully judge the book, I'll need to actually finish it, as painful as it is.

And, on a side note, the book is being turned into a movie starring Julia Roberts. I rest my case.

#2 in 2010

#2 Thing to do in 2010: Eat more fruit.

Now this is a pretty simple thing. I'm not saying eat only fruit because that could lead to some severe indigestion or eat fruit everyday, I'm merely suggesting we all eat more fruit than we do now. If for some reason you are already eating mounds of fruit, then you have leapfrogged my expectations and I now hold you on a pedestal. But if you are like me and your fruit intake is mostly liquid and only consumed in the mornings (ie. orange juice), then eating more fruit might be just the thing to make 2010 better than 2009. Eating fruit just leaves you feeling fresh and tricks your mind into thinking that you are eating totes healthy even though a lot of the good tasting fruits have so much sugar, but whatevs, fruit is better than devouring a whole bag of Sour Patch Kids so I'd call it a win-win-win.

Why just today I helped a toddler overcome a severe case of constipation by allowing her only apples for lunch. She had had a wretched morning and spent a majority of it being miserable and crying randomly and throwing herself on the floor. Enter Fruit. Voila. Happy Baby.

So there you have it. An apple a day keeps constipation at bay.

(forgive the potty talk. i spent more hours a day with kids than i do adults.)

20102010201020102010

It's 2010. Hurray. And we are still here. Take that stupid John Cusack apocaplytic movie people.

I have a huge non-fan of 'Best of [insert previous yr] Lists' but I am not opposed to things like 'Top # of Things to do in 2010' lists. That may or may not be a contradiction or juxaposition or whatever other fancy term that I was supposed to learn in college being an English major and all but just didn't due to laziness and lack of brain power. So, I want to take this opportunity to politely suggest different things to do in 2010.

So...to begin 2010. Top #1 Thing to do in 2010 is:

Go here and start reading: www.thetvgirl.blogspot.com. Not only is the writer a dear friend but she is also a very talented writer and whether or not you like to watch TV as much as she and I do, no doubt you will find something you can relate to in her large canon of work. She has such a wonderful take on the television landscape and specifics of shows. Also, if you have an in with the writer, like I do, you can probably coerce her into writing about something you want.

So thats it. Begin your 2010 with a bit of coercion. I just did.

Merry Christmas!

Don't you dare put an X there. I hate that. I really do.

My Kind of Town

I'm baaaack.

I made the trek home without any hitches. All in all, it was a smooth drive even though I stopped 3 times more than is my wont. I guess I'm getting old and my bladder is shrinking. Either way, I made good time. There's something weird about coming home...you think you will fall right into the groove that you vacated when you left but you somehow you are never quite able to find the tread. It's been moved or altered or sometimes disappeared completely. In this case, it's just been altered but I'm still finding it hard to settle back in. A huge part of that is I miss the boys. I didn't think I would feel this way, but its been really hard not to think of them and cry. Real tears. And lots of them.

I've started my new job...watching another little bugger 3 days a week. It's moderate so far, kids okay, and parents are nice. More on that later. Sometimes I feel that nannying is sucking away my soul but I can't seem to get away from it. Damn me and my talents.

Despite all this, I'm happy to be home. There is something so familiar and wonderful about Chicago even when its 4 below freezing. I do miss my DC friends though...it was so nice being able to see them...and so often.

I will share this little list I found hanging on my bedroom door when I returned home:

List of Reasons We Love Asiankp:

1.) She would probably feel nauseated at the fact that we are making this list.

2.) She loves sushi.

3.)She will never lie to you or pretend to like you.

4.)She doesn't mind if you tease her about her foot phobia or her ethnicity and stuff like that.

5.)Her Chi

6.)She likes watching TV as much as I do.

7.)She introduces us to great shows.

8.)Her music selections

9.)Her facial expression when she sees the sword on the wall.

10)All the expressions she would have had if she had been here over the past month.

Long Trek

If you were to drive 12 hrs in a car by yourself, what would you listen to?

What Awaits Me...

So Long, Farewell

In about 4 days, I'll be heading back to the Chi-town. As much as I enjoyed myself here in DC, I'm excited to be heading home. I'm even relishing a 14hr drive with just me, the road and the music. Yes, I'm aware of how lame that sounds. But honestly, this extended vacay has been absolutely phenomenal. Dear Friends (you know who you are)-thank you so so so much for your hospitality and letting me crash in your houses over the weekend. I'm truly blessed to have friends like you and loved spending quality time with you all.

TOTES IN LOVE

With this:

Clooney's voice is like French Silk Pie and coffee with a cigarette after a long existential debate among old friends. It's good.

More Awesome

As readers know, Asiankp has held a number of different jobs. Some range in the awesome category (PR firm) to the not awesome (custodian). Because of my different career choices, I've been lucky enough to have several in-between awesome and not awesome jobs. And one of those happened to be moolighting as a photographer's assistant. Now, the next Annie Liebowitz, I am not, although I heard that chick got in trouble with the SEC about some serious debt. Regardless, I did learn a thing or two about editing, taking photos, and how important it is to hydrate when you are shooting a 10 hr. wedding extravaganza. But my scant knowledge can only take me so far. I have taken some good shots (can't show them here due to legal reasons) but I am not talented enough to make it a reality.

And that is why I'm so proud of my friends who are talented and taking that next step. Best of luck! Check them out here and here.

"You Moved Your Head..."

I've been seriously slacking on this blog and that is not awesome. I resolve to be more awesome about this blog, that is. And maybe in life too, but baby steps...baby steps.
I've had some time to process my little run-in with the PD. Once my legs stopped shaking and my eye stopped twitching, it was actually a funny story. Or at least one to tell the grand kids.

So my companion, KD and I met up with some friends at a restaurant/bar. It was more a restaurant than a bar. It's not like it was some bourgeois watering hole for the upperly mobile but rather a "cool" restaurant/bar that caters to families and middle-America. So we weren't pounding the drinks. A bit of background for you. I had a beer with dinner around 7pm, another beer after dinner around 8 and then another immediately following around 8:30pm. So lets just say that 3 pints of the Lumpy Dog does not whip me into a verbal frenzy of Bacchanalian splendor. We left the restabar (restaurant + bar=restabar) around 1am. KD and I had parked in a garage that was so narrow, I thought that one wrong turn would certainly land me in the front window of the nearest establishment. Needless to say, I successfully winded my way through the garage levels and was about to pull out when a police cruiser approached from my blind side. I saw him sure and took note but I had the right of way so I paused a little and then continued to pull out ahead of him. Another cruiser was pulled to a stop in front of me exchanging verbal assaults with some intoxicated girl on the sidewalk. I tried to pull around and he pulled forward, I tried to pass and he cut me off. Finally the guy pulls forward and then proceeds to whip a U-turn in the middle of the intersection. Cops.

At this point, I figured I probably looked a bit like a maniac since I had been pulling forward and stopping and moving left and right trying to figure out what exactly the cruiser was going to do. This idiotic maneuvering distracted me enough to not notice that the cruiser from the parking garage was following me the whole time. We pulled up a to a stop sign and I stopped. Now at this point, KD was giving me directions and we were a bit turned around at this point so my stop at this stop sign was not the full 3 second stop and it may have been a bit far into the crosswalk. However, I wouldn't have endangered anyone and it was hardly a punishable offense. Next thing I know, I turn right and I see the bright red and blue lights flashing. My stomach sinks. KD stops lighting her cigarette. We both silently scream, "WTF."

Cop gets out and comes to the window. Usual rigmarole. "License and registration. Blah. Blah." I ask him what exactly I'm getting pulled over for. "You didn't come to a complete stop at that stop sign." I tell him that I'm sorry, I'm from out of town and my friend was giving me directions and we were trying to figure out where we were supposed to go. "You don't know what to do at stop sign?" Silence. This guy is obviously a comedian. "How much have you had to drink this evening?" I tell him one beer. I panicked, okay? But let me reiterate, I was fine. FINE. "I'm going to ask you to step out of car, ma'am." I don't ask why. He makes me stand on the curb and wait while he radios some mumbo jumbo. My license and registration are shoved into his breast pocket and I make a mental note to admonish him if my registration papers get all crinkly. Meanwhile, hordes of fellow co-eds are making their way down the very sidewalk I stand on, staring and pointing but sympathetic, I imagine, for they know this old song and dance. Cop returns. "I'm going to give you a serious of tests and I want you to pay attention and I'm also going to have someone come by and give you a breathalyzer. Its voluntary and cannot be used against you in a court of law. Are you ready?" I nod. In my head, I'm thinking this is all b.s. but I may or may not be about to get arrested. "Follow my pen with just your eyes. Do not move your head. Ready." I follow the pen but move my head. "You moved your head. Do not move your head. Just your eyes. Eyes only. Ready?" He proceeds to wave the pen back and forth, slowly at first and then holding it waaay out in my periphery vision. I follow with just my eyes. He then starts whipping it back and forth like he's erasing a blackboard. I follow with my eyes but I'm getting dizzy. This guy is a maniac with this pen. He slows down and then starts up again, faster and faster. Then he stops.

"Okay. Now I want you to take nine steps heel to toe, like this." He demonstrates. "Count out loud to nine and then take a series of slow steps and come back and do the same thing. Be sure to count out loud. And don't start until I tell you." I wait. His "and don't start until I tell you" was so direct, I imagine he was the sandbox playground Nazi back in his youth. He nods. I walk heel to toe but start wobbling all over the place. I turn to him and tell him I'm wearing heels. "Well, take them off if you think that will help you." I do. I'm now standing barefoot in the freezing cold on the pavement desperately wishing I had not quit ballet. I walk heel to toe, count to nine and then stop. He had mentioned something about a serious of small steps. I panicked again. How many steps is a series? Like two? Maybe a shuffle? A couple? I ask with a slight sarcastic tone. "As many as you need to turn around." Now, at this point, I'm getting angry. I'm fine. KD is sitting in the front seat mouthing "I'm sorry." Its almost 2am. I'm tired and cold and my feet are freezing. I pivot on my now steady but freezing feet and with a bit of flair, I turn around and walk heel to toe, nine more steps. "Okay. Now I want you to stand on one foot, I don't care which foot, and look at your toe and count 1 one thousand...until I tell you to stop. It will probably last about 3o seconds. Don't start until I tell you." Again with that 'don't start until I give the word'. Someone likes being in uniform. I make the very conscious decision to stand on my right foot since my right side is dominant and raise my left foot and begin counting. However, when I get to 20 one thousand, it gets awkward. Have you ever counted past 20 one thousand? Try it. It's hard and you feel silly. Seriously try it.

Now that you've tried it, imagine doing that while standing on one leg and beginning to feel like you will get arrested and have your life ruined because you can't pass a simple counting test. If I hadn't been so cold and shaky, I may have just laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. I could see KD still staring out at me from the passenger window. She was texting furiously and looking up at me with some serious sympathy.

I lasted until 27 one thousand. I then began to waver and had to step down to adjust my balance. He stopped me. "Okay ma'am, I'm going to call another unit over here to give you a breathalyzer, but based on what I've seen, I think you've had too much to drink tonight." Seriously?!!? Seriously??! At this point, I was done. I'd had enough. I was also way too nervous to really get angry because I thought that now would be an incredibly inopportune time to be a smartass. I could only nod angrily. I hoped that my eyes conveyed how futile his interrogation was. Another cop pulled up and came out with the breathalyzer. He gave me the same speech as earlier. Voluntary. Cannot be used against you in a court of law. Blah. Blah. I was so nervous and angry that I didn't even care. They were probably telling me something important and it was probably useful information should I actually get arrested but at this point it was way past 2am and I was in no mood. He inserted the white tube and I blew. I blew and blew and even when he told me to stop, I gave it an extra blow. Small acts of civil disobedience. He and first cop went into a little huddle and I came over to KD's window. We didn't say anything just sort of looked at each other in silence. I think we were both thinking the same thing, 'I could really use a cigarette and a beer right now.'

After a few minutes, cop one sauntered back over. He looked like a man who knows he's defeated but he's still pissed. "You are free to go." And that was it. Just like that. He didn't even look me in the eyes when he said it. I could almost feel the tension and hesitation in his voice as he handed me my license and registration. He had wanted to bust me. And I had won. I got back in the car and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Almost every fiber of my being was pumping with wild adrenaline. I couldn't stop shaking. KD handed me a cigarette and we drove away as carefully as possible. I had escaped a significant blemish on my, thus far, pure personal record. And it felt good.

We all know that drinking and driving is horrible and should be avoided at all costs. Always have a DD. However, when even your DD is getting pulled over, perhaps its time to throw in the towel and quit drinking all together. But where is the story in that?

Living the Life

T.I. wrote this song called Live Your Life before he went to jail. Isnt it ironic? Or not.

Either way, D.C. living is fabuloso right now. I think part of the reason I'm enjoying myself so much is the fact that I'm here for such an elongated period of time yet I know I'm going home eventually so it feels like an extended vacation with work sprinkled in here and there. Weekdays, I am nanny extrordinaire and weeknights and weekends, I'm a party animal. Well not animal, maybe mammal, or probably small woodland creature. You get the idea.
My accomodations are quite comfy and the beds I've stayed in so far are a thousand times larger than my bed in Chicago. However, nothing beats the water pressure from my shower at home, so until DC can match it, I'm glad I'm not moving. Water pressure?? Who have I become?

I have a very funny anecdote for you all...I will tell it tomorrow. It involves the Bethesda police, high heels and a breathalyzer. Discuss.

MIAMI

So I'm in Miami. It's nice. Very nice. The folks I'm staying with have a house right along the Biscayne Bay. I'm sipping iced tea on the veranda while boats float by blasting Jay-Z. I recently purchased a new solid gold bikini for the occasion so I'm sporting that right now. My porter is out fetching stone water crabs for dinner. I'm going to dip them in a large vat of butter. Oh wait, Will Smith is here...he says, "Holla" and "Isn't this scenery just like that one hit song I wrote several years ago?? Am I the man or what?" I told him he was and that he, Jada, and the rest of the family should join me for crab legs this evening. After that, I hired some local youths to set off firecrackers from a raft in the middle of the bay. Then we are hitting up South Beach to dance our pants off. Good times. Can't believe this is all "work-related."

Halloweenie

I'm not usually a big fan of Halloween...I like wearing clothes and this seems to be a holiday where people relish in the fact that they have to wear little to no clothing. There is a word for it that is not printable for this blog. Anyway, this year, I decided to get "creative." Without further ado, I present my costume...Stick Figure.

DC FRIENDS...

SEE YOUR FACES SOON!

I will be heading to DC for a month after a short trip to Miami. And its all for business. Bizznazz. I'm looking forward to hanging out with my favorite person in the world...yes, thats right, Evelyn Ruth. See you soon friend!

My 2nd Story Story

So, many of you know that I'm a producer for this. But what you may not know is that I was once a writer. Not a good one. But a writer still. And I'm writing a story for them. Its a brand new territory and I'm not quite sure and I need all the help I can get. So, from time to time, I'll post part of the story and you can give your brutally honest opinions.

In the words of my friends Jermaine, "Be more constructive with your feedback."

RIOT

HA. That last post was not for serious. I wanted to see what sort of rage I could ignite in the blogosphere. So far, I've got no responses except one very emphatic "WHAT THE H" written under a pseudonym. You disappoint me, blogosphere. But never fear, I'll be back to annoy and incite your rage again.

On to happier things, I've been picked to be on America's Next Top Model. Watch me compete with other like-minded ladies on Tuesday @ 9 on the WB. It's really good stuff. Trust me.

Drinking the Kool-Aid

Get on the train. The blogging train. Everyone's doing it. Why don't you? Start a blog, upload some cute pictures, write some funny anecdotes and shazaam...a blerg.

Oslo Doesn't Always Know Best

Whatever. The only good thing that has ever come out of Norway is Eucerin.

In other news, how cute was this??!!!!

This is how I feel today

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?