Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Death and Poop.

As mentioned a few posts ago, I had a couple of blogging topics to talk about that got back-burner'd because the internet at the house in Mexico went out suddenly.  This is one such post.  Hopefully that internet comes back on soon because seriously, Fiance I'd like to Skype so I can see your FACE.  (I actually just said this out loud.  "Face" was appropriately emphasized to go with the caps, don't worry.)  Also I kind of want to know what Mac will do when he hears your voice/ sees you in the computer.


My leaving Mexico with the critters means that Fiance doesn't technically have a reason to live in that house any longer.  Mac, and my need for space were the only reasons a house was rented in the first place.  Otherwise we would have stayed in the hotel for the entire time we lived south of the border.  It's only a 9 minute drive from Fiance's work, everything is taken care of for us, the staff all speak English, and there's a pool.  It was fairly easy to predict that he planned to move back to the hotel as immediately as possible upon my return to the states.

Thus, in my final week, I took to using as much food up as possible, since you can't bring food over the border, and Fiance would soon have no reason to cook while living next to a restaurant in room 4-0-something.  I came up with a few creative things, just for the sake of using up the stuff we had on hand.  I made tamales using chicken and apple juice instead of pork and lard (they were much tastier than I just made that sound).  I was also all set to make one last batch of diet coke brownies (aka brownie mix + a can of diet coke = low cal goodness), but then I realized that we had about a bajillion mangoes that were on the tipping point of ripe.  So I cut up 6 or 7 mangoes, switched the whole can of diet coke for a splash of diet sprite (I just felt like coke and mango would clash), mixed it all up, and threw 'em in the oven.

Okay first things first, if you've ever done the diet coke brownies and thought "these are so dry," try putting mangoes in them.  Pretty darn good if I do say so myself (Fiance ate them like they were going out of style, so it's not just me).

Second things... second, if you have a dog who loves mangoes (Mac drools so hard when you're eating a mango in front of him that you'd swear his head had suddenly become a sprinkler), well then... okay whatever, you see where this is going:  It's a bad idea.

My very last night in Mexico Fiance took me out for sushi because he's lovely and ohgoshimisshimalready.  We got home and Mac met us at the door, giving us his classic "I did something I knew I wasn't supposed to but just look at how happy I am to see you come home and never look in the living room" face.  He'd eaten a ziploc baggie, which is, annoying, but I really think he's got a blood relation to goats because he's eaten them before, he'll eat them again, and they don't really do any harm.

Fiance and I realized just what was IN that ziploc baggie at approximately the same moment:  The last three giant CHOCOLATE mango brownies.  (Which for the record had been left as far back on the kitchen counter as possible.)

If you are not aware - Dogs cannot process chocolate.  It will KILL them.

So, you know, I flipped out.  Hard. Fiance and I were both frantically googling on our cell phones to see if there were any good at-home remedies to make him puke.  All while Mac was bringing me toys to play with him, and sneaking up on the couch to sit next to me for attention.  (Looking back on this moment, I keep replaying this clip from Louis CK's visit to the Conan show.  A good laugh.)

Eventually, Fiance, being a thinker, had me look up the ingredients in the brownie mix.  Here's a fun fact for you: Great Value Brownie Mix does not contain real chocolate (yay cheap generic brands!).  Additional fun fact: while I do not recommend feeding Great Value brownies to your dog, fake chocolate flavoring apparently will not poison them to death.

Still, I was skeptical.  So Fiance looked up the symptoms to look for if Mac started to get chocolate poisoning (thank goodness for internet capable phones!) and we watched him like  a hawk until bed time. He was acting 100% normal, or at least as normal as he could act when both Fiance and I were being super paranoid around him.

With so much going on in my head, it's amazing that I fell asleep that night; but somehow I did, and I slept hard.  You know, until like 3AM, when I woke with a start and sat up to stare at the dog asleep on the floor.

     Was he breathing?  It was dark I couldn't tell.

     I got up to check, assuming that he'd wake up at the sound of me getting out of the bed.  He didn't move.

     I walked up to him and he still didn't move.

     I knelt down and tried to listen for a doggie snore.  Nothing (to be fair, it's impossible to comfortably sleep   in Mexico, in May, without the A/C blaring).

But I didn't want to wake up Fiance unless something was really wrong because he was going to be driving me to the border in the morning and that was a big stretch to get through.  So I did what any sensible, rational person would do at 3AM to their dog who had not showed any harmful signs of non-chocolate chocolate poisoning:  I shook Mac like a shake-weight and whisper-shouted at him.

The poor guy woke up and looked at me with such a "I don't know what happened to you, but our thing is over."  face (If you did not click that Louis CK link above, you really should take a second and watch it now).  And then he went straight back to sleep.

In the morning we set out to drive home.  Day two we stopped at a rest-stop in Arkansas.  And Mac pooped.  He pooped a bright orange poop that smelled like poop... and chocolate.

With that association fresh in my mind, I'm pretty sure chocolate is ruined for me forever.
Which I guess might help with the whole "Dreaded 29" thing.  So... Good Dog?

Monday, May 28, 2012

End of the Road

Howdy howdy howdy from K-to-the-zoo.

Ready for the final day of driving recaps?  Here's where we're at:

(visual joke.  we're at the little flag.  and if you're curious, our route was the blue line.)

1. Today while I was in the midst of passing a semi truck, another car full of people came zipping up behind me.  The driver was clearly upset that he had to slow down to avoid rear-ending me, banging on his dashboard angrily.  So I kept my eye on him.  Then his passenger got excited and pointed at the back of Dora and started yelling.  He saw the Mexican plates.

Then... four guys in the car took off their shirts?  Really truly this happened.  I... I can only speculate that they thought perhaps this Mexican car contained some crazy Mexican Drug Dealer, and they were going to try and intimidate this "Esse."

I'd say that theory was mostly confirmed when they pulled up to the side of Dora and saw a white girl in pigtails driving the car.  3 of 4 guys were instantly very clearly disappointed.  The 4th one waved emphatically at me.  So I gave him a courteous little nod, and they sped off into the horizon.

2.  For the curious, here is how you travel with a Bubba-cat and Mac-dog.  Bubba likes riding shottie more than your average tabby.

(this is how they ride, anyway, until Bubba gets all antsy.  Then he gets stuffed in the box, where he meows constantly so I can not forget he is less than pleased.)

3.  Best sign today:


4.  Hey, you remember that time, in the last post, where I mentioned that the people staying in the room next to mine were being really loud... in the biblical sense?

Here's where this blog post gets funny.

So 3AM rolls around, and apparently they decided to have a round two.  This woke me up, and of course it work up Mac.  Mac decided that the noises must be coming from the wall, which was clearly possessed, and I needed to be protected from it.  So he started growling at the wall full tilt - hackles raised, teeth bared, the whole nine yards.  I can't really explain Mac's growl, except to say that you probably don't want to ever be on the other end of it.  

The "noises" stopped about 30 seconds into Mac's growls.  About 30 seconds after that, my room phone rang.  Front desk.

"Um, hi.  We're getting complaints about your dog barking?"

So here's the thing: I am a pretty nice person generally speaking - to the point where Fiance has once or twice become upset about me not holding my own.  However, Fiance would also be the first person to tell you that you will get a much different result in personality if you wake me up and do not immediately hand me coffee.  Loud 3AM sex and a call from the front desk about how I was being disrupting had no discernible likeness to coffee, and thus, Hulk Kp came on out.

It should also be noted that we were at the end of the hallway, so literally the only people who could have called to complain about Mac were my neighbors.  Thus, my response was such:

"Yes, the dog is growling.  He is growling at the wall because - and I'm going to say this loudly so that they can hear the reason too - HE IS GROWLING AT THE WALL BECAUSE THE PEOPLE NEXT DOOR ARE HAVING SEX SO LOUDLY WE CAN'T SLEEP AND HE THINKS I'M IN DANGER.  If they could just, cool it down a bit, I'm all for live and let live, but seriously, it's 3AM and we'd both like some sleep."

The poor front desk girl was clearly embarrassed for the complainants.  She thanked me and quickly hung up.  And then the noises stopped.  I don't know if the front desk called them back, or if they heard me.  I suppose I don't care.  I also couldn't help but feel like I was back being a Live-On College Administrator again.  That's a job that never had two days which were the same, but there were constants.  Absurdly loud and disrupting sex could be depended upon to come around once a month or so.  At least this time I didn't have to sit anyone down and have an educational discussion about choices and living respectfully as part of a community.  

Sometimes it's just nice to be immature.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Intended super long post

I spent most of today's drive (roughly from Dallas, TX to Carbondale, IL) drafting up a blog post in my head.  And then I got here and I'm exhausted and hearing Mac snoring under the covers next to me is making me even more tired, so here's what I've ended up with for today:

1.  Mac's doing swell, thank you for asking (I think everyone I've talked to today has asked how he is).  The last 50 miles or so of the car ride today he was getting antsy, so I opened the window for him.  50 miles of sticking his head out the window was a euphoric experience for him, he's all puppy smiles.

2.  Bubba's less well, but still doing alright.  He's been refusing to drink much water, so we had a brief scare at a rest stop in Arkansas where he started panting and I got very concerned about dehydration/ overheating.  You can make a dog drink by simply holding the bowl of water at their snout level.  Wanna know how you make a cat drink water?  You dunk them in water, and they drink what they lick back off of themselves.  So just in case you didn't connect the dots, Bubs is super mad at me for pouring a bottle of water on him.  There may have been hissing involved.  It was a rough day for the gato.

3.  Best  Most interesting road sign I saw today:
"Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you beat him with a rod, he  you will save his soul from hell."

Now, I will be the first person to tell you that I was spanked as a kid, and I totally deserved it (I once bit my mother.  On the butt.  In the middle of a grocery store).  But this billboard... there was NO context.  It was just the "beat your child" bible quote, and then a church's URL listed underneath.  So... awesome.  Way to spread that message.

4.  I'm starting to believe that literally no one else is capable of driving like "not a giant bag of on-fire poop" except for me.
Seriously though.  if you're going to cut someone off so you don't have to turn off your cruise control when you get stuck behind a semi, thus making that other car slam on their brakes and/or swerve off the road... at least give me the .5 second warning of a damn blinker.  Next time, 
I will murder you in your FACE, stupid FIB  (oh yes, it was totally a FIB.  If you don't know what a FIB is... that's a post for another time.  Or find a friend from Wisconsin and ask.  They'll know.)


5.  The people in the hotel room next to ours are clearly a very... amorous couple.  Mac is concerned about the noises.  I wonder when they will be concerned about the noise of a large growling dog coming through their wall.  Hmm.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Also, and another thing

Hi all.  oh yes, the blog, she lives.

Let me catch you all up as quickly as I can.

1.  This past Monday, Mexico decided to give me one more good kick in the balls and blow out the internet to the house.  This means all my final thoughts on living in Mexico, and my processing of moving out, and some other things went unblogged.  (I'll post them later, no worries)  It also means my school loan went unpaid.  But priorities: I logged into blogger first tonight.

2.  I am posting this from a king size bed at the Holiday Inn Express located in... I honestly have no idea.  It's a very small Texas town in-between Dallas and Texarkana.  So I'm back stateside.  But I also spent literally all day driving through the state of Texas while Bubba screamed at me about the injustice of cat carriers and or cat seat belt harnesses.  It the SIXTH hotel that I stopped at.  There was no room at any of the previous Inns.  Here's hoping I don't give birth to the next Baby Jesus tonight.

3.  Getting through the border was far easier than we anticipated.  We didn't get searched, the border agent gave only a cursory glance at our paper work.  I'm not complaining, I'm just in awe.

4.  Fiance made me some "mix CDs" for the trip.  I thought those would be a whole lot of awesome 90's nostalgia to bop to on the drive, based on his music collection.  It turned out to be kind of that, but more a whole lot of super sappy love songs.  Which may or may not have made me sob so hard I debated pulling over.  Because I won't see him for 3 whole months now.  See also: Why I could not be a military wife, and why I have an insanely profound respect for the women who are.

5.  Mac got to pee on real grass at a rest stop today.  And immediately after some little kids who were not at all afraid of him asked to pet him/ give him high fives.  He was pretty excited about the whole thing.  Thought you would want to know.

6.  The best road sign I saw today:
"Prison Area: Do Not Pick Up Hitch Hikers"

7.  Today at a gas station, the attendant looked visibly relived when I said "Hello" to her, then said "You're American?"  And when I said yes, her reply was "See? I KNEW you weren't dark enough to be one of those Mexicans.  Why do you have Mexican car plates?"  ...Oh Texas, I didn't miss you.

Stay tuned folks, more exciting things tales of driving cross country coming down the pipeline.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Ripe with Love.

Have you ever heard of the game "Honey I Love You But I Just Can't Smile?"

Basic jist: The person who is "it" must single out another player, look them straight in the eye, and say the phrase "Honey, I love you but I just can't smile."  ...Without smiling.  If they succeed, then the person they said the phrase to is "it," and the game goes on.  If they fail by smiling, they must try again.

Actually, I just googled it and realized I explained that all wrong.  Here's a link to the real rules, but the above is how I explained it to Fiance the other night.

I was first introduced to this game in high school - it was a warm-up exercise before rehearsal when I was in One-Act Play competitions.  It helped loosen up the group, and was good practice for staying in character, not breaking the fourth wall.  And, you know, it was hilarious fun for a bunch of teenagers.

Newsflash?  Totally fun for a couple to play too.  Especially because both Fiance and I are TERRIBLE at not smiling.

So we're playing the other night, and I have latched onto the tactic that Fiance is totally incapable of saying that phrase to me without smiling, particularly if as he starts I look at him with a ridiculous smile and crazy eyes.

Something like this.  You laughed too, didn't you? [you're it.]

Then he found his own loophole:

Fiance: So basically, to win this round I have to distract you so that you can't distract me, and then I have to say it quick.
Kp:  I guess.  Good luck.
Fiance:  Can you smell that?
Kp:  Did you... did you just OH MY GOD FART.
Fiance: HoneyILoveYouButIJustCan'tSmile.  I WIN!

... We may have different definitions of the term "win," Fiance.  

What silly games do you play with your significant other?  
As we're a mere week away from me leaving Fiance in Mexico for the next four months, if you have one that can be played over phone or internet... Seriously.  Hit me up in the comments.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Got a Brand New Vacuum, Cleans Up My Liiiiiife

Quick back story: Fiance has a particularly Irish surname, and as such, many of his family members have used "Mac" as a nickname. I find this amusing, as you may have noticed I named our dog Mac before I ever met Fiance. I think his family finds it to be fun as well.

 My surname is Peterson (just in case you didn't know), and most of my family members (including myself for a short time before Kp became, quite frankly, cooler) have used "Pete" as a nickname. Thus, I have resolved that our next puppy will be named Pete. It rounds everything out nicely, and it kind of "goes" with the names Bubba and Mac, right? Right.

Last night, Fiance and I were chatting as we were waiting in the checkout line at the pet store (Mac needed Mac food), and the following conversation took place:

Fiance: Well, looks like you're going to have your Pete sooner than expected!
Kp: [thought process: We are in a pet store.  He is totally gonna buy me a puppy. OMIGOSH SQUEE] Yeah?
Fiance: Yep, in just 8-10 weeks
Kp:  [thought process: You can't get a puppy until it's 8-10 weeks old.  TOTALLY GETTING A PUPPY.]  YEAH?!
Fiance: Yeah, that's what the contest terms said for shipping, right?
Kp: [thought process: I have just caught on. We are not getting a puppy.  No puppies for Kp.]  We are not naming the Roomba Pete.  And you have just ruined my world.
Fiance: Huh?
Kp: Don't talk to me.

Here's the sitch:  Roombas.  Have you heard of them?  They are a tiny, circular machines made by the iRobot corporation which can vacuum your house for you at the simple press of a button.  Cats apparently like to ride them.  Also: We want one.

Fiance really likes robots, I really like clean houses.  It seemed like a no brainer for the top of our wedding  registry. (number 2 on the list?  The Scooba, which will MOP your floor.  *drool*)

Then a few weeks ago, the iRobot corporation announced a dance contest to see who could "out-robot the Roomba."

If you did not immediately leap to the conclusion that we dressed our dog up in tin-foil to look like a robot, while making him dance to the Roomba theme-song, then you haven't been reading this blog long enough.


This is my favorite.  The "I just want you to be happy, mom." Face.  
Easily confused with the "I just hope this ends in cookies, mom" Face.

Wanna hear something really, really, flipping cool?  WE KINDA WON.

Or more specifically, Mac, Aka the Roo-Bug K-9000, won.  We are ecstatic.

We were a bit fuzzy on the details originally, but the contest is still going on.  Here's what we know:

  • We're one of the 20 finalists.
  • Which means we have ALREADY WON a free Roomba (yay!)
  • NOW, the contest changes from a judging panel that choose the top 20, to inviting people to vote for their favorites.
  • The top three vote-receivers get a trophy of some kind.
  • Fiance REALLY, really wants a Roomba trophy.
  • YOU can totally help Fiance realize his wildest dreams.

1.  Please go to this link to visit the contest submissions:  

2.  Click the "skip" button in between the two "vs" videos until you see a thumbnail of our Dancin' Doggy pop up.

3.  Click on Mac to watch him shake his groove thing.

4.  Click the "Choose" button below Mac to vote for him.

5.  Lather, rinse, Repeat.  As many times as you like, until the 29th of May.

6.  Get the Roomba theme song eternally stuck in your head.  To be fair, it's not the worst theme song I've ever heard.

In exchange for your participation, I humbly offer this blooper reel.


1.  I finally finished re-styling our dining room chairs.  And I'm really excited about them.  Originally, our dining room chairs were from Fiance's bachelorhood days - they were shiny (mostly chipped) black and upholstered in white (at least I think the seats where white at some point), and they were proudly placed around our brown dining room table.
 The before and after

Okay one, I hate strongly dislike black for home decor.  It's too cold to me.  And two, they had stopped functioning as chairs a few months ago.  The joints were all coming unglued, and at any given time you could be in the middle of dinner and suddenly collapse into a pile of chair pieces.  Which, you know, hurt.  We were concerned that eventually it wouldn't be just Fiance or me falling out of those chairs, but eventually a friend, guest, or heaven forbid, one of our friend's kids would take a tumble.  So they needed an overhaul.

Finished products (minus the one that Fiance took for the Man Cave)

Cue Kp with a couple cans of spray paint, light green fabric, a tube of liquid nail, sand paper, and a staple gun.  And now they're lovely and stable and Bubba approved.

He likes the chairs.  The camera in his face? He is... less than pleased about.

I approve too, which is good, because after sanding all the original black paint down, I've been blowing my noise to find black snot the last few days.
Labor of love.

2.  It's official:  I start my journey back to the states on the 26th.  Which would probably make you be all "man, you should totally start packing."  But to me it says "I really need to play more Legend of Zelda before I leave the TV behind for a few months."

3.  I'm not addicted to Zelda.  I can stop anytime I want.  Just not right now because... reasons.

4.  Never fear, the robot costume didn't go to waste after the taping.  We used it to upgrade our home security system.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Coping with the Fear

You may have noticed I neglected to post my usual Friday entry last week.

I could say this was because I was too busy continuing preparations for my return to the states in a few weeks days oh gosh it's just days now.
I could say it's because I was otherwise preoccupied working on a quick project (More on that Wednesday).
Or I could say that I just plain didn't want to put forth the effort to make a post.  You don't own me, I don't have to if'n I dun wanna.  Because I'm five now.

Or I could just be 100% honest and say that I didn't post on Friday because while I was putting on my socks that day I realized that one of my socks had a dried up dead cockroach on it*, and I subsequently lost my nerve to do anything for the rest of the day outside of ball up on the couch and watch cartoons.  Wow, I really am five.

I am... totally a wuss.  I'm scared of a lot of stupid stuff.  Well, I mean, I don't think it's stupid.  But usually when I run down the top contenders people look at me like I'm weird.

  • Balloons.  I actually try really hard not to tell people I'm afraid of balloons.  Because for some reason people interpret that as "oh, let me just go get this balloon and pop it right next to you.  That will be hilarious."  NO IT WILL NOT.  I have been known to both pee my pants when a balloon pops next to me, and/or have a legitimate panic attack.  It's not funny, it's cruel.  Don't do that.
  • Clowns.  Lots of people are afraid of clowns.  This doesn't make it any more legitimate of a fear, it just makes it common.  
  • Knives.  I sincerely don't understand why knives are not a more wide-spread fear among the general populace.  They can CUT you, people.  Wound, scar, maim, kill!  I always feel a little nervous around knives, (or exacto knives or or box cutters axes or really anything with a blade) but I don't usually get scared until someone besides me has one in hand.  Fiance can attest to this.  In the height of his "impress Kp" dating stage, he offered to make me sushi, and it required the use of a very, very sharp "ninja" knife. He asked me to record him chopping things on his phone to show it off (I was in "impress then-Boyfriend" dating stage so I agreed), and he thought it would be funny if he pretended to accidentally cut off his thumb with the stupid thing.  The video ends with me tossing the phone on the counter and yelling "Holy F***!" while trying my damnedest to exit the room as quickly as possible.  
  • Storms.  I think this really has the same base-fear as balloons: namely the unpredictable loud boom noises.  I don't like being startled.  But, you know, storms could totally kill you, so excuse me if I will never understand people who are all "Let's go dance in the puddles while this thunder and lightening threatens to steal our very lives!" I've managed to pass this neurosis off to both Mac and Bubba as well, so in climate weather is more or less a circus at our house.

[I need to take a second right here right now to add that I should probably amend this list of fears to include eye-injury by jalepeƱo.  Because that literally just happened while I was in the middle of typing said list. 

I rubbed my eye, and since I had been working on making a pot of beans for dinner earlier, I managed to get pepper juice in my orbital socket.  It was like if someone had poured kerosene on my face and lit a match.  Also quick pro-tip: yelling and running in a circle blindly doesn't help.  Sticking your face under a running faucet while beathing through a straw does. A little.]

Further, I've never really gotten why people enjoy being scared.  Horror movies and haunted houses; I don't get them.  They're just not my bag.  I've successfully made it all the way through 2 (two; dos) haunted houses ever.

Of the two houses I successfully navigated, one was Terror on the Fox, which is an annual haunted house in Ashwaubenon (suburb of Green Bay where I grew up).   I made it through due almost entirely to the fact that I actually KNEW 75% of the actors from high school, and therefore was mostly certain they weren't going to chainsaw me to death.

The second house I got all the way through, was kind of cheating, because was an actor in it.  I was in college, and it was run by the RAs (myself included).   I had helped to decorate (if that's what you would call it) the space, and I did a lot of the makeup for the zombies.  I was cast as the creepy Cousin-It type girl from the Ring, since at that point I was a junior and therefore I hadn't had a haircut in roughly three years.  Add a white nightgown and I stuck that role pretty well.

One of our first customers that year was a popular priest on campus (when you go to a Catholic College you end up meeting some pretty cool Padres), who had agreed to check it out in support of the RA staff.   He cooly chuckled at the first room (where I was stationed), jumping mildly as I crept up behind him while he was watching the static-y old TV, and tossing a "great job Kipper," over his shoulder, he moved on through the rest of the rooms.  I could hear his progress, because our 'walls' were made of tarps.  He got to the room where the Dr. Clowns were performing surgery (see the other thing I dislike is that haunted houses don't have any sense to them.  This isn't Patch Adams here people; Dr. Clowns!?), and for reasons I will never, ever understand, one of them successfully made Father jump, as the other one screamed: "Where is your God NOW!?  Ahahahahah!"

Things to maybe not say to a man of the cloth... I heard it and I knew that year's haunted house was sunk right there.  I was more sure when Father immediately let himself back out of the haunted house by pulling up the tarp walls and walking out the door he came in.  Good job, stupid Dr. Clowns.  Poor Choices.

I've tried many more haunted houses/ train rides/ cornfields/ etc. than that, because, you know, peer pressure and all.  I fully admit I was an easy target for the actors in those places:  I looked terrified the second I got out of the car in the parking lot.  And as soon as they fixed themselves on me, they didn't have to do anything more than walk really close to me in a dark room and I would start screaming with the fully capacity of my lungs for them to let me use the emergency exit.  I finally realized that I wasn't having fun as much as I was wasting my money on an admission fee for a space I would only get 50 feet into.

Along those same lines, I have sat through approximately 5 horror movies in my entire life, and every one of them can be attributed to peer pressure.  But with movies I've noticed there is always this point where the peers I am with start to get concerned for me, because I'm not just jumpy, I'm visibly disturbed.  That's when they will always ask "Hey, you wanna leave/ turn this off?"  But then it's too late.

You can't stop in the middle of a horror movie!  That's the height of your immersion/belief in the plot!  If you stop then, there is zero closure, and I will spend the next month or so thinking Samara's going to jump out of my TV and make me look like some kind of cracked out mummy in the fetal position.  Come on now.

This was the case last night, when Fiance turned on a movie which he thought was a historical action movie about the Apollo 18 mission, but was actually a terrifying movie (if you are a horror buff, please keep in mind that terrifying is a subjective term, but note: I didn't even watch that trailer, I just linked it) about how the rocks on the moon are actually tiny crab-like aliens who will burrow inside you, infect you, and then basically make you explode from the inside out.  An hour in Fiance asked if we should turn it off.  But I had to see the end, because what if they made it to Earth and infected us all.

After that movie ended I made Fiance stay up extra late and watch old Big Bang Theory episodes with me to "cleanse the pallet" of my mind.  It occurred to me that comedy and cartoons are totally my coping mechanism for fear.  Which I'm okay with, because generally cartoons and comedy are pretty awesome at any point.  It also occurs to me that I should work on expanding my cartoon collection, because you never know when a rogue balloon is going to pop within my general vicinity and I'm going to need Oliver and Company to make everything okay (would it be wrong to use our wedding registry to register for a whole bunch of Disney movies?).

Do you have any stupidly illogical fears?  
Tell me in the comments - what do you do to un-terrify yourself?

*Fiance, when you read this, that little crispy corpse is still upstairs, next to my sock drawer.  I can't find the gumption to get rid of it myself, and I managed to block it out of my immediate mind all weekend, so I didn't get the chance to tell you.  But it's still there, and I saw it this morning and almost barfed.  PleasemoveitsoIcangobacktopretendingI'mnotinsane.

Just 1 today friends - The Dreaded 29 Update: -12, 17 to go!  Kickin ass and takin names, it's what I do.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

The Prom Garter

I knew I wanted to ask him to be my date to the Junior prom when he came to our creative writing class one day dressed as Pan.  Pants made of fake fur, with a matching patch of fake fur tied to his chest, and a set of plastic goat horns atop his head.

I wish now I could remember what he was presenting that he found that appropriate attire, but a quirky sense of humor has long been my Achilles' heel, and Pan here clearly qualified in this getup.  Added bonus?  He had approximately 5 chin hairs which, as I'm sure you know, qualified in high school terms as a full-fledged goatee, and I thought that was quite dashing.  You may have noticed I have kind of a thing for facial hair.

Pan was a senior, and honestly I knew extremely little about him other than he was pretty much #1 in line to take away the class clown superlative for his graduating class.  And I knew his name (Which for our purposes is just going to be Pan here.).  So, in my head, I knew enough.

I didn't think any of my prom planning through real thoroughly.  I knew I wanted to go, and I knew for that I needed a (1) date and a  (2) dress.  Sadly, I knew it was too close to the actual event for me to hold out hope that someone was going to ask me - all my friends had already paired up with other friends or significant others.  Popularity and I never saw quite eye to eye.  You understand.  

Anyway.  I was on my own for this one.  So, with the confidence only a insanely naive teenage girl can possibly possess, I found him sitting at a table in the caf during the Snowball dance, and I asked him to prom, all in one word.  He and his friends all looked a little shocked.  I figured this was probably because we had literally never said two words to each other and shared no common friend circles.  But wouldn't you know it, he agreed.  My brain hissed at me to be polite enough to thank him and say good bye, but then I turned tail and almost ran back into the gymnasium.  It all took about 30 seconds, and I thought my heart was going to hammer through my rib cage.  A sight which of course would have been only slightly more mortifying than my barrel-roll bangs, entirely polyester purple button down shirt and accompanying purple floor length skirt, and of course, braces with matching little purple bands.  (How did the boys resist all that sexy?)

Turns out the shocked faces at the table were probably due to the fact that the girl sitting at the table was his girlfriend at the time.  I didn't know.  I didn't even know who she was, and no one told me her role in all this until well after this string of events.  Still, I was a totally unknowing home[room]-wrecker.  To be fair, she probably looked much prettier than I drew her, I don't remember much of the actual situation other than "HOLY CRAP HE SAID YES."  She was probably thinking the same thing.  

Leading up to the prom, we chatted approximately 3 times over AOL instant messaging.  In one of them Pan asked me what color my dress was, he needed to know so his tux would match.  I'd never done this formal dance thing before, so I was instantly thankful that the delay of IMs let me play a cool "oh, of course, I was totally aware you would be requiring this information."  And then I giddily explained that my dress was a spring-green shade.

Back in the day, prom meant you bought a big poofy princess gown that was floor length and some pastel hue, and you didn't hang out your lady bits for the world to see.  LESS IS MORE, you hoochie current day prom goers.  *ahem* It's my blog, I type what I want.  Moving on, the more interesting tidbit here is that I had gone with a friend to the mall to pick out our dresses, and we were both elated to find that you could buy a dress at Maurice's for a mere TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS!  Which meant I could avoid an embarrassing trip into the public with my *gasp* mother, because I could totally afford 25 big ones without dipping into parental pocketbooks.

Looking back, I'm pretty sure the few hours I would have spent being all indignant and bratty about being at the mall with my mother would have spared me from getting a dress that was at least 4 inches too short for me.  It was that perfect awkward length that clearly stated "no one helped me buy this!" Plus again, it was Spring Green, which in and of itself is just a poor color choice for my complexion.  Regrets, I has them.

Know what happens when you put two people outfitted in "Spring Green" next to each other?  Pretty much all of your pictures where there is sunlight make you both look like you're radioactive.  Even more unfortunate if you pair that with a date who rocked a top hat, pants that matched my dress in terms of too-short, a cane, and hiking boots.  In short, we were a gorgeous pair.  (I'm sorry I can't even type that without laughing.)  Thankfully, my parent-phobia also lead to me refusing to let them take any pictures of me and Pan.  I said we would get plenty of pics at the prom, and almost pushed him out the door to escape.  Did we get any pictures at the prom?  Not a one.  So at least there is little to no photographic evidence of this ensemble.

Pan had come to pick me up in his van.  He rang the doorbell like a gentleman and when I let him in the house he said something to the approximation of "Damn, you look F***ing Hot!"  Thank you mom for A) pretending not to hear that and B) not making a scene in front of my date.

Shortly thereafter we were on our way to the "night of a lifetime!," back in that aforementioned van, which had a cassingle of They Might Be Giants' "Particle Man"* stuck on repeat in the tape-deck.  A van which had a passenger side door that sometimes worked like a door, sometimes didn't, and at least once during the evening required me to leap in through the window instead.  Classy?  Oh yeah, you betcha.

I have to take a second to state that I now know almost all of this evening's unforgettable strangeness was my fault.  You ask a class clown to the prom and you're going to get a weird evening.  Unfortunately, at the time, I worked at the movie store as a video clerk, so I had this perfect image of the evening in my head, where I was played by Rachel Leigh Cook, except with bangs.  Because I thought those were working for me.  So by the third time Particle Man started playing over the van stereo, I was getting a little concerned.

A concern that grew throughout the evening, particularly during the Grand March (where each couple is announced and is expected to walk around in a little circle... which seems dumber and dumber the more I think about it) when he whispered to me just before our turn: "Wouldn't it be hilarious if I tripped you?  What would you do?"

I believe my horrified response was "I will kick you so hard you will go back in time to earlier this evening and have to get kicked all over again."  (Seriously?  I really said that?  I was a horrible bitch.)

I also believe it was around the time I physically threatened Pan that our communication kind of... broke down for the evening.  I coped by dancing with my friends.  Pan coped by dancing with a sock puppet.

Re-read it.  I know I'm funny, but there is no way I could have made that up, come on now.

One of Pan's equally eccentric friends had also come to the prom, and instead of a date, had put a sock on his hand and gone with that.  Around the time someone pointed out to me that I was sitting out of a slow dance because my date was dancing with an old gym sock, I was pretty done with prom.

Once the song was over, we got back in the van and I asked him to drop me at the school-sponsored "after-party."  I didn't invite him to come WITH me to that party, because he had jilted me for a sock, and as previously concluded, I was akin with a female dog, who also happened to hold grudges like woah.  Either way, he seemed more than happy to be rid of me at that point, so he dropped me off.  But before I climbed back out of the van, I did what I believe was my duty as a girl at the prom:

I reached under my dress, pulled off my garter, and handed it to him.  
"Here."  I said, with no additional pomp or circumstance.  

Really truly, I was naive enough to believe that this was exactly how every boy "earned" their prom date's garter.  My parents are probably reading this with a sigh of relief.  Sheltered, party of one.  In any case, he was so confused at this exchange that he silently took it from me and left.  And that, my friends, was my prom.

It was also the last time I ever exchanged words with Pan.  I was socially awkward, and he probably felt cheated in the expectations boys are lead to have about prom night.  That's what you get for taking a girl to prom who isn't your girlfriend.   Just kidding, I have no idea where he's at in life by now, but back then he was a nice (albeit quirky) guy who took a semi-loser to her prom.  And let's be real, I'm all about an interesting story.  Which he more than delivered on.

I tell this whole story for one great tie in:  That damned garter.

I've been looking a lot at garters lately, for ideas toward the perfect little ring of lace and elastic to go under my wedding dress, and it continually reminds me of that absolutely baffled look on Pan's face when I handed over the last garter I wore.  I'd like to, you know, get it right this time.

Fiance and I are all about the bouquet and garter toss at our reception, but if I'm going to put in as much work as I'd like to on making this garter (and I do have a plan), I kind of dislike the idea of just flinging it away into a crowd.  And then I saw some online forum on the topic which stated: "no worries, just wear two!"

I guess that's a good solution, but what does that look like?  Would Fiance just take the one off?  Or would he take them both off at the same time and fling the secondary garter while keeping the other?

If you have experience in this from a wedding, I'm honestly asking here.  I wrote this whole post about my ridiculous prom just to ask this question about garter toss etiquette.  So take a second and hit me back with your opinions/ thoughts in the comments.  Thanks!

*Mad props to Tiny Toon Adventures for introducing me to TMBG back in the day.  I might not have liked it on repeat that particular night, but that group is too fun not to enjoy occasionally.

Monday, May 07, 2012

We are Far From "Glistening" Over Here.

14 weeks in, and I think it may finally be safe to say: "I'm A Runner."

I didn't want to write this post any sooner.  I didn't want to jinx myself and fall off the wagon.  They say "It only takes 30 days to make a habit," ... but then they also say "Girls don't sweat, they glisten."  

Friends, I do not glisten when I run.  I sweat like a previously well-hydrated pig, so you can understand that with one popular idiom proven horribly, HORRIBLY wrong, I needed to give the other phrase just a little but of extra "cooking" time.

Here I am, 'glistening.'  Oh yeah, I look totally hot.  As in temperature.

Can I be really honest though?  It's a mighty powerful feeling to keep myself running long enough to make my clothing look like I forgot to take my clothes off before a shower.  If only I smelled like I had taken a shower.  But whatever, this isn't smello-vision, so you're not suffering by any means, and it's paying off slowly but surely.  (and I take a shower immediately following the daily run, stop judging)

I'm really proud to be able to say I'm in this so far now.  But it was really, REALLY, hard to motivate myself enough to actually start.  I thought I'd share, because I feel like maybe my original reason for continuing to just sit on the couch is a similar reason for other gals.

What's that reason?

Do you have boobs?  I do.  In fact, I happen to be "blessed" in the boob area, as some may say.  

Somewhere in the world there is a picture of me stuck in my bed from freshman year, because I had stuffed myself between two ladder rungs in order to adjust a pillow on my bed (my bed was the bottom bunk), and then was unable to pull myself back out because... boobs.  My room mate may remember this. I believe she was the one to take the picture,  and point / laugh at me, while yelling across the hall to our friends to help pull me out.  To be fair, I saw a pretty good amount of comedic gold in the situation too.  

If you have boobs, you know where I'm going with this.  If you don't, here is why I didn't want to start running, in animated gif form:

I made this look far more flattering/ Bay Watch-like than it really is in real life.  That kind of crazy bouncing is wildly uncomfortable.  Basically what I'm saying is I was reluctant to start running because I didn't want to smack myself in the jaw every time I took a step.

And then my penchant for reading internet comics saved me:

TWO sports bras at the same time?  Brilliant!
And thus, Couch to 5K and I became friends.

If you haven't heard of Couch to 5K, and you have ever wished to start running, friends, I urge you to try it out.  It's a 9 week program which will start you out very slowly (running in increments of 1 minute with long walking interludes in-between)  and even though I'll be the first to admit that the first week I was all "ugh running for an entire MINUTE without stopping for a break?  I'm gonna die," 9 weeks later I was totally capable of running for 30 minutes straight.  So I moved on to the Couch to 10K program, and I'm well on my way to being able to run for somewhere around an hour straight.  A few more weeks left on that one.

Now we're planning my return trip to the states in a few weeks, and I find myself wondering; "If I've put all this work into training for a 5K and/or 10K, wouldn't it be kind of trippy/awesome to actually RUN in one once I'm back home?"

I've never actually registered for a run, and so before I hit the "Search" button on google, it had not occurred to me that there are some WEIRD causes/ reasons to organize a 5K out there.  And yet, here are some races in which I could feasibly participate, located in Michigan - I haven't put a single joke in here, these are all 100% legitimate.

  • The Mud Run - the cause is getting clean water to 3rd world nations.  The premise is that you run through a veritable obstacle course that is designed to make sure you are head-to-toe coated in mud once you're done.
  • Beat the Grandmas Race - If you run in this race you are expected to dress up like a grandmother (including a mask or makeup).  The faster contestants will win grandma-themed prizes at the end like cookie jars.  
  • The Nude Run - I believe the premise here is fairly obvious.  See above bouncing gif for one of many reasons that I shall not be running in this race.
  • Strut for the Strays - a benefit for the Humane Society.  Nothing really out of the ordinary about this one, I just wanted to copy the link here so I could find it faster later when I actually make a decision and register for one of these.
  • The Color Run - You start the race with a white shirt.  Throughout the run, people pelt you with colored powder.  At the end there's a celebration much like you'd see in a Holi celebration.  Come on, that's just awesome.\
  • The Dare Devil Dash - This race includes a giant slip-n-slide at the end.  ...That's... well you know me, that's super tempting.

I'm not sold on any one race yet - I need to get back to the Kalamazoo area and back to running (it's going to be a bit tough to get my legs going during my drive) - but friends, am I missing a good one that's taking place in late June- August?  
I'd like a 5K FUN RUN in or around Kalamazoo.  Let me know in the comments!


1.  Did you see the Pin It button there?  I figured out how to pimp myself on pinterest now.   So if you like what you read and want to share it in a non-facebook capacity?  Feel free to pin away friends.  I also have set up a KpQuePasa pin board that you are more than welcome to follow if you like. :)  I've gone through and put a pin on my more popular stuff, and I'll put a pin on each post from here on out I think. Woot!

2.  Fiance takes such good care of me.  See what he did here?  

Friday, May 04, 2012

Audience Participation Friday (10)

See Kp.  See Kp procrastinate (kudos to Facebook for tipping me off to that purrfect link.) a ridiculous amount today.

I need to go grocery shopping.  Which means I need to shower.  Which means I need to get exercising out of the way for the day.  And I dunwanna.

I'ma suck it up in just a minute, but first one last effort to push that inevitable climb onto the treadmill a bit longer.  Time for Audience Participation Friday!

I think, what would be most helpful, would be to have some sort of phrase to motivate myself.  A mantra. Or, if you will... my own personal CATCH PHRASE.  Want your own illustrated catch phrase?  Awesome, 'cause that's what's on the ticket today.

As always friends, here's the rules:

  1. Go HERE.
  2. Discover your catch phrase by clicking the brick wall (or your kid's  catch phrase, or your pet's  catch phrase.  I don't care, have fun with it).  Try not to weep in joy at how perfectly this simple exercise embodies your personality and existence into one beautifully described sentence.  
  3. Post your  catch phrase in the comments. 
  4. I'll read the comment, and create masterful pieces of art*
  5. You return to this post later and I will have added a doodle of the  catch phrase which represents the very essence of your soul.
  6. You have until Saturday at midnight central time to make the above 6 steps happen.
*Example of aforementioned Masterful doodle:

My catchphrase - Bash the Bike!

Which is excellent, because I can run, but I fail hard at "spinning."

What are you waiting for?  Get to Clickin!
...yeah yeah. i guess i'll go run.

[EDIT] Here they Come Folks!