I COULD Talk About . . .

I don't have a lot of time but I was feeling the pull of the blogger . . .

I am going to quickly sum up the things I could talk about in a lengthy,thought out post . . . and expound on the ones that suit my fancy later.

I could talk about . . .

Burning the crap out of my hand whilst roasting pecans
Making stuffing in . . . wait for it . . . a cooler
The most beautiful Christmas turkey EVER
Almost cutting off my thumb (the sacrifices one makes for finely chopped celery)
Rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal
Still trying to tap into Aretha Franklin . . . not working . . . howler monkey still present
My awesome new iPod Shuffle (it's seriously the size of a POSTAGE STAMP!)
FLYING TO UTAH TODAY FOR MY BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!!!!

But unfortunately (or fortunately, you decide) I don't have time.

So I wish you all HAPPY NEW YEAR! And love to all. We'll chat soon.

Merry Christmas!

Well, family has arrived and craziness will ensue, so I'm writing my Christmas post now . . .

This year has gone by so fast, with so many fun and crazy things happening. Matt got a new job, I got a new position and am finally out of the Admin funk . . . we're building a beautiful new home . . . We are so blessed and so lucky to have the things we have. We have amazing friends who keep us grounded, loved and happy. We have wonderful family who love and support us. We have each other, and our relationship is growing and becoming better every day (despite what appears to be my permanent state of PMS -- sorry Matt!!). My husband is amazing and I'm so lucky to have him. I am not an easy person to live with and he does a fabulous job.

I want to share one of my favorite Christmas traditions with all of you. For those of you who don't know, my Mom lived in Yugoslavia for six years when she was little. For that reason my family has special ties to the Serbian and Slavic cultures and stories. For as long as I can remember, every Christmas Eve, my Mom reads us a story about a little Gypsy shepard boy who is adopted by a Serbian family. Please enjoy . . . this story has always meant a lot to me and my family. It's long, but it's very worth it.

Merry Christmas to all and I send my love and prayers!

This Was The Christmas

It was midsummer when the great storm came. It swept through the cut in the mountains into the peaceful valley, ripping the roofs off, laying flat the fields of grain, swelling the river to overflowing. The men worked throughout the night to save their herds, their sheep and goats, driving them to high land.

When the sickly yellow dawn broke, no life had been lost, and one had been gained. On a rock jutting over the river, a young child was found, crying pitifully.
He was a swarthy, dark-skinned child. Whatever clothes he might have worn, the storm had stripped from him. He was too young to do more than babble a few words and these were in the gypsy tongue. His looks, too, spoke of the Cigani - the gypsies.

It was Father Janovic who found him and brought him to his own cottage, where Mother Janovic was dipping the porridge into bowls for their own children. Her arms reached out to him as mother's arms will for all helpless ones. She wrapped him in a scrap of blanket. She quieted his sobbing and fed him from her own bowl.

"He is of the Cigani. We will not keep him," said Father Janovic.

"He is very little and helpless. And watch his eyes." Mother Janovic passed her hand up and down in front of his face. There was no blinking. She took a candle that still burned and passed it so close that the wick almost singed the long dark lashes. But the eyes remained wide, staring. "You see?" said Mother Janovic. "He is blind. You found him. It is the will of God that we keep him." And for that one and only time she gathered the blind boy close to her heart and held him there, crooning soft, loving words over him.

The valley dwellers of Serbia are hard-working, honest people, deeply rooted to their land. They do not love the Cigani. They point to the caravans passing through and say: "there go tricksters and thieves. There go the accursed of the earth. Let no man among us give them harborage." But for all their rascally ways the gypsies have some virtues. They can tell amazing fortunes. They have been known to prophesy the great happenings in the world. They are good farriers and potmenders. And their music is beloved by all peoples.

But in that long ago time they were accursed; and the Janovics remembered only this as the blind boy grew older. They called him Marko after their greatest hero - partly in mockery and partly because the boy, like the ancient Marko, loved all small creatures and had a strange way with them. He could call the birds from the woods and they would feed out of his hands. A wounded hare or fox would come whimpering to him for aid. He had tenderness and understanding for all living things. Marking this the Janovic set him at an early age to tend their sheep. Summers he slept with them in the pasture; winters he burrowed under the straw in the shed, holing himself in like a wild creature against the cold. He learned quickly and would have called creature and man alike his brother, had not man despised him.

Because he could not see as other human beings did, he heard what they did not. His fingers and his bare feet soon made him familiar in all the countryside, feeling their way through pasture and woods and along the riverbank. Only along the village road was he a stranger. Six years after the great storm an old shepherd from Dalmatia crossed the pasture and stopped to make himself friendly. He bore a pipe, self-made; discovering the boy's blindness he played tunes on it and gave it into the boys hands that he might feel out the fashioning of it.

That summer Marko found a young willow and made his own pipe. Before the first frost came, the boy was making music of his own, strange, wild, haunting music. It stirred the hearts of passers-by; it filled the valley dwellers with wonder. Before another summer had passed, tales, hard to believe, were being bandied about among them. Some told how on a gentle night, with the moon full overhead, they had heard the lad piping the lambs and had seen them on their hind legs dancing to the music. Others had seen him pipe the wild hares out of the copses and set them to frolicking in time to a tune as free as the wind.

Mother Janovic did not stint him in his food; but it was ladled out of the big pot, and his bowl was given him to take outside the kitchen. Summers he ate in the pastures; winters in the shed. Only in bitter weather was he bidden inside, to share the warmth of the fire. They were not unkind; only he was set apart from other children, from all humankind. The valley-dwellers made him an outcast from their home and village life.

Do you know what this means - to be cast out from all festivals, all merrymaking? To be forbidden entrance to the church? Only one he dared to ask why this should be. "You are of the Cigani, cursed by all the world. The Church, God, Christ and his blessed Mother are not for you." Mother Janovic said it without unkindness. Father Janovic said it sternly. But the children taunted him with it so that he gave up waiting for them to depart for church, in all their best clothes; but he listened secretly to the music coming from its door, wide-opened to all but him.

He became a silent boy, save for the music he made and the words he sometimes sang between the pipings. His elders marked this with approval and quoted an old Slav proverb: "He who preserves silence speaks well." In lambing time Marko watched over the ewes so well that rarely was a lamb lost. Those that came into the world too feeble to fight for themselves the first few hours, he warmed against his own body, under his tunic. For all his blindness he would have been a happy boy had the people of the valley made him a dweller with them. Yet in an odd way, they were proud of him and stood in awe of his powers to make music and to call wild things to him. they listened stealthily to his songs and pipings; and often a stranger coming into the valley would hear a farmer, ploughing behind his oxen singing:

Harvest and thresh the grain, fill the full measure-

Bread for the making, Straw for the baking.

Fathers and mothers and little ones gather-

Let bread be broken, let thanks be spoken.

"Tis a good song, a new one to me, From where comes it?" This a man from the north or south would ask; and the farmer would answer: "Tis only a jingle made by one of our shepherds - a blind boy and not one of us."

How often Marko heard this! Yet it tied no strings to his pipe, it hung no bitterness across his heart. But he did know sorrow. Every time he turned toward the valley when the church bell rang; everytime he listened to a gathering of dancers in the village square, with old Stefan making music on his fiddle the sorrow deepened. But it was worse at Christmas time. To have no part in all the gaiety and beauty of Christ's holy eve and Day - that brought full weight of sorrow.

To lie in the cold and dark of the holy Eve, just before the midnight service and to hear Mother Janovic waking the rest of the children: "Come Vuk. Come Ivo. Come Draga; we have haste to make." But never "Come Marko."

To hear the bustling, the calling of one to another in the cottage; and know he was the outcast, forbidden to have a part in that Christ service; and later to hear the hurrying of feet along the road. That made sorrow a load almost too much to bear. Once, he followed, feeling his way across the barnyard to the road, following the sound of the ringing bell. If he could not enter, he could stand at the door and listen; and coming home he could whisper the part he was forbidden to sing in the carols.

But his feet knew not the valley-road. There were no familiar stones, rises, or hollows to guide him. All was confusion, until, having stumbled off and on again many times, fear came. He turned and somehow stumbled back to the shed. There he lay, shaking with the cold and the fright.

The priest, a kindly man, tried to teach him something of the church, of God and the birth of Christ, so he would not live and die in absolute ignorance. He would stop often when the boy was tending sheep and sit with him for an hour or so, letting the boy ask questions.

"This God - he is the Big King?"

"You may call him that, lad."

"And the Christ, who is the baby in the manger, he is the Small King, Yes?"

"Even so""And Mary? She was the Small King's mother - and very holy? Are they in the church yonder?"

"They are in Heaven. Their images only are in the church."

"But if I entered I could feel their faces? I could feel each line until I knew them as I know my sheep."

The Old priest sighed. "It is the law of the Church. We cannot break it. The people of the valley would not permit it. They have consecrated the church with their vows - even as a bishop of long ago consecrated it with holy water. No Cigani may enter."

"And my entering would defile it?"

"So they think. When God bade Joseph, Mary and the Child flee to Eygpt, the Cigani- the Eygptians- denied them shelter, food and care. It is a long tale. Sometime I will tell you it."

"For this we are cursed?"

"Truely"

"And shall we never have a part of Christmas?"

"Short of a miracle, never, my son, never. It is the mark you bear, the mark of the outcast."

Marko drew in his breath; slowly he let it out with the words: "take my hand. Put it on the place where my body bears the mark, and I will cut it out."

"It lies not upon your body, my son, but on your soul."

There followed a long silence; at last the boy asked his final question: "Why do you call me 'my son'?"

The Old priest sighed again: "Truely, I know not. I am but a simple man."

On Christmas day, early, it was the custom for the other boys to gather wood for the great village fire, where sucking pigs would roast all day, turning on their spits. Some one chosen boy would go from house to house and greet each household: "The Christ is born!" and the mother scattering a handful of wheat to bring plenty into the house, would answer: "In truth, He is born!" The the boy would beat the Christ long on the hearth until a great streaming of sparks mounted and he would wish: "May the Holy Christmas bring as many sheep and goats, pigs and cattle and bees as there are sparks mounting the chimney."

Marko wished he might have been that boy just once, to wish plenty on the valley. He wished he might have taken his place, just once, for the feast and had his share of the sucking pigs. But never for him! Had not the priest said it would take a miracle, nothing short of that would lift the curse? Yet, if he could not share the Christmas, worship in church on the Holy Eve, sing the carols, he could make a carol of his own and worship in the shed. That would not be so different from the place the Bethlehem shepherds had come to, to worship the Small King in his manger.

It happened in that year when he was twelve. Father Janovic had marked the years since the great storm in notches with his scythe against an upright of the shed; and Marko, with his fingers checked his age. He had been two or there-abouts when rescued, and there were ten notches. That Holy Eve, a ewe-lamb became tangled in a thorntree, and being frightened she jumped about so frantically that her leg was broken. Marko tore his tunic to strips, and taking wood bound the leg. Kneeling he lifted her across his shoulders, and holding her fast by her good legs, he bore her to the shed and laid her down in his corner of straw. Then, stretched beside her he talked to her softly, as if she had been kin and human: "This is the night that Christ was born. We will keep the Christmas, thou and I. Thou shalt hear my carol, made through the long days of ripening wheat. Thou shalt worship with me, here, when stroke of bell rings out from that church we may not enter."

The ewe lay quietly beside the boy, each warming the other. They slep a little, I think, awoke, and slept again. Then, through the cold of approaching midnight came the voice of Mother Janovic calling her children: "Come, Vuk. Come Ivo. Come, Draga, we must make haste." If only she might call one more name, call it joyously: "Come, Marko."

But that would never be, short of a miracle. And when had a miracle taken place in the valley here? The blind boy's hand felt for the lamb; his fingers worked in and out of the thick fleece. His other hand held his pipe close.

"Thou knowest it not, small one, but when a human stands in dire need of help - when calamity comes and he needs a friend, a protector, one to be to him as might a brother be, he can ask for such help and it cannot be denied him. That is a law among the Serbian people. Dost thou think that, if I should pray this night - in my great need - that holy ears in Heaven would hear?"

There came the sound of many feet, brisk and eager feet, young and old. The slow ringing of the bell began, calling all within the valley to come and worship the newborn king.

Marko rose to his knees. Again he spoke to the lamb: "Small one, I have heard it said that on Christ eve all dumb creatures kneel upon the hour the Christ was born. Canst kneel?"

As if at his bidding the ewe-lamb shook herself, rose upon her hind legs, even upon the one that had been broken, and bent her forelegs on the straw. Again the blind boy's hand moved comfortably through the thick fleece. He prayed: "Big king - send someone to sponsor me - one who will speak for me among the valley-folk. For I would be as other boys, welcome at table, called to church by the bell, having a share in worship and the Christ Eve."

The bell stopped ringing. Marko felt a stirring not far off, feet rustling the straw. Then a strang hand was placed upon his shoulder.

Marko spoke in wonder: "Can words reach Heaven faster than a bird flies?"

"Some words can."

"Did the Big King send you to be my sponsor?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps to bear you company, that you need not be alone this Christ Eve."

"Who are you?"

"A boy, even as yourself."

"Blind?"

"Not blind. But are you blind? Think."

"People call me blind, and I would see. I would see the whole world and all it holds."

"No one sees that. But think - in the little piece of world that lies about you, have you not found more beauty than those who see? Do they know the small loveliness of a bird's feather? Do they hear what the wind whispers? Have they caught the song the morning stars sing? And can they put all these things into music and play it on a pipe as you can?"

"But I would see."

"It is not given for any one person in this life to have too much. Have you not seen more with your eyes of faith than those who live by sight. Would you bargain your music away for the power to see only what most humans see? Think."

"I am thinking. This I know. I would see once the face of the Small King."

A hush had fallen on the shed, on the valley, on the whole world. The words Marko heard were barely whispered: "Put your fingers on my face. Trace every line, slowly, so you will remember."

Lightly as winter snow the hand of the blind boy touched the face held close to his own - tracing forehead, feeling the wide-set eyes, the rounded cheek, the slender clear-cut nose, the strong molded chin. He nodded, his own face lighting with exaltation as each feature became familiar, possessed. Then he sighed with deep tranquility: "I will keep the music. I will be a singer for the people of Serbia."

He put his pipe to his lips and blew the tune for his carol. Between the pipings he sang the words he had made:

This is the Christmas.To Mary most blessed, Jesus, the Savior, is born.

These are the angels - Singing through heaven, all curses forgiven this morn.

These are the shepherds.They seek for the Stranger, they kneel at the manger, to pray.

And I - a blind shepherd -Give prayer to the Big King, give prayer to the Small King - this day.
The midnight service over, the valley-folk poured out upon the road. A dazzling light filled the sky. It shone over the whole valley.

"It comes from there!" said one.

"No, from yonder it comes." said another.

Hands pointed everywhere. The Priest, who had shepherded them to the doorway of the church, pointed to Janovic's farm: "It is there from which it comes."

He led the way. When they came to the farmyard, they found the small, mean shed bathed in light. No word was spoken. Massed about the low doorway they stood, unbelieving what their eyes told them. For they could see within, kneeling on the straw, the blind boy; and kneeling with him were a small ewe-lamb and one who could only be the Christ. A circle of light shone about his head, making such brightness as the valley-folk had never seen on earth.

All bent their heads as in church worship. The old priest spoke in low humility: "The miracle. It is we who have been blind. It is upon our heads the curse come home to rest." And picking up his robe he knelt on the fringe of the straw. The valley folk knelt with him, making no stir in the night. The blind boy piped on, singing his carol over again and again in his great gladness.

Merry Christmas!

I'm baaaaacccckkk

So, um . . . I sort of stumbled into a part in a musical.

It's really a good thing because oh have I missed the theatre, and singing, and dancing, and, and, and, and. You get the point.

It's a 1960's musical review called "Suds" and has been running at a local theatre for almost five months. They've decided to extend the run because of what a hit it's been (largely due to the huge population of 50+ Snowbirds, no?!?) and the cast is sort of worn out. SO, they're double casting the whole show.

I tried out for Beauty and the Beast at this theatre a few months ago and was offered the part of the Wardrobe (aka the FAT PART.) I didn't really have it in me to dedicate the time and energy if I wasn't going to be a lead, so I declined. It was a stroke of luck though, because right before the show was set to open, I caught the New York City Plague and was out for the count. SOooooo needless to say it all worked out in the end.

Then they called me asking if I would do a part in "Suds" because they had been really impressed with my previous audition and wanted to cast me as Belle but unfortunately for all of us, the guy playing the Beast was a shrimp. Doesn't exactly work out to have a mean, scary Beast who is four inches shorter than Belle. And probably weighs less. (Damn my sister and her teeny tiny genes!)

So I met the director and badda bing, badda boom. I have a part. AS THE FAT GIRL. Ok, well, she's not written to be fat, but the girl currently playing her is . . . um . . . very . . . large. AMAZINGLY talented, but very large. The character is the sarcastic sassy one in the show and I'm really excited to play her.

Rehearsals are kicking my butt. It's sad when you realize, at only 25 (ok almost 26) that you have not even half the energy you had a mere four years ago in college. We have been rehearsing until midnight the past three days and I am POOPED! We only have a month to rehearse though, and most of us are out of town for at least two weeks, so we really have to get this all the way ready by the time we leave for our random vacations.

So there you have it. I'm back in business. I guess it's a good thing that I use my degree for SOMETHING right? I mean that diploma is pretty and all but it doesn't exaclty say "Bachelors Degree in Marketing." I have a BFA. I am a bachelor of fine arts. What that means exactly, I have no idea. But I have it. And now I'm using it. On a purely volunteer basis. Sweet.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Aretha Franklin and ask her how the hell she sang R.E.S.P.E.C.T. without sounding like a howler monkey.

Glitter is COOL

Hi, I am a 25 year old adult woman with a flourishing career (depending on the day), new home being built as we speak, a fabulous batch of creamed corn on the stove, loving husband upstairs working away at his second job to save money for said new home and I have a confession to make.

I. LOVE. GLITTER. I love it with the passion of a hundred five year old girls.

I especially love glitter at Christmas.

Here is today's current glitter favorite:

OOOOh glitter glue! Sparkly AND sticky!

Why, you ask? Why do I love glitter glue today?

Because it allowed me to do THIS:

And not JUST this one. I did one for every person joining us for Christmas Eve dinner on Sunday. As you can tell, I'm a little overzealous with the whole . . . decorating thing. It's my first (and last) Christmas in our first house and I want everything to be oh so pretty and perfect. And GLITTERY!!

The table looks like this: (it's missing goblets and silverware. . . the goblets needed a little TLC and er, uh . . . cleaning, after gathering dust for a year and I haven't yet taken the silverware our of it's boxes. Ahhhh wedding silverware, unused but OH so beautifully preserved after a year and a half of marriage) but you get the general idea. There will be seven people total (the OCD in me hates that number for setting the table . . . it makes the table uneven. But oh well right?!?)

Well folks, it's late and my flourishing job (hahahaha) requires me to bust my butt tomorrow to make some deadlines.

In our next edition:

Fine Food grocery stores: "Let our fabulous produce entice you to spend your life savings on eggs!"

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I have the COOLEST friends ever. I know it, they know it . . . it is a known fact.

But this year, they have elevated from coolest to . . . I don't even have words to describe it. Cooler than cooler than cool. (Hi, I'm five.)

I have been VERY homesick lately for Utah. I know, I know, I live in Arizona and it's FABULOUS weather this time of year and I shouldn't really want to return to the blustery miserable cold, but it's HOME and I MISS IT.

So, for my birthday this year, two of my bestest friends pitched in to pay for A PLANE TICKET HOME FOR MY BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!!!

I am GIDDY with excitement. So giddy that I'm pasting a picture of my confirmation.

I seriously thought I wasn't going to be going home at all this holiday season. And now, thanks to Rhonda and Jewels, I am. And I don't have the words to say thank you.

Ohhhhhh (difficult to put up, pain in the butt yet oh so beautiful) Christmas Tree!

Seriously.

I LOVE Christmas. Anyone who knows me, my mother or my grandmother knows that any woman with Grandma Shirley genes LOVES Christmas. I love everything about it.

Sunday, however, I hated Christmas for just a few minutes. (Don't panic - I got over it, I swear.)

Matt and I had finally gotten a beautiful (yet WAY too expensive) tree. It was in it's complicated stand, all set up and ready to be lighted. (yeah I know it's "lit" but it's my blog and I reserve the right to make up rules for writing to sound cooler.) I had ten strands of lights, ready to go. The beautiful, small twinkly white lights.

I forgot that I am an anal Christmas decorator. Ten strands of lights covered about . . . the bottom three feet of my tree. Seriously.

So off to Wal-Mart I went to get more lights. (I KNOW, I KNOW I was breaking the Shabot. Trust me it comes back to bite me in my sorry tuckus in about a paragraph.) I bought five more strands of lights. (I was on the phone with Sheila at the time (aka not focused) which becomes important in about two seconds.) I got home, strung the five more strands and "oh crap (kick couch here) i'm out of lights again and have to go BACK to the store." Teaches me to talk on the phone while I should be focusing on Christmas.

Back to Wal-Mart. Five more strands of lights.

Walk in the door, ready to attack the final three feet of the tree. And then . . . I saw it . . .

OH. MY. GOSH. ALL. THE. LIGHTS. ARE. OUT. allofthem. Every single last light on the tree is TURNED OFF.

Teaches me to break the Sabbath.

I panic. And start cussing. And kicking things. My tree is about ten feet tall people. And at this point it has about 15 strands of lights tied in knots on every single branch and every single bough. Except of course the top three feet.

"Breathe." I tell myself. It must start at the bottom because there's no way ALL the strands kicked the bucket right??

Then I realize I have NO IDEA where the first strand ends and the second one begins.
NO FREAKING GOSH DARN HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO IDEA.

Breathe, Kate. Breathe. In . . .out. In . . . out . . . screaming "MMMMAAAAATTTTT COOOMMEEE HEEELLLLLLPPP MMEEEE I THINK I'M GOING TO CHOP THE TREE DOWN IN THE HOUSE"

Naturally he comes to help but I'm in too much of a panic to LET him help so I just send him off with a (non used) half burned out strand of lights to try to figure out what's wrong with it. That way I feel like he's making an effort, but he's not in my way, see?!?!?

So, I find a point about three feet up the tree where one strand ends, and plug that into the wall. PHEW. Now at least the tree is lit from the 3' mark to about the 6' mark. Progress. This is good.

So I start untangling. Now is where I should tell you how awesome I am at putting lights on a tree. It looks AMAZING and twinkly and all kinds of starry starry night lit up. But see, I accomplish this by pretty much wrapping lights from the back of a branch to the front, twisting and turning over every possible inch of the tree. Then re-wrapping back to the trunk and starting on the next branch. Round and round I go like this to the top of the tree (see why I needed twenty strands of lights?)

So what, you ask, does this mean to the story?

You try taking that mess off.

An hour later I had finally removed about seven strands of lights and discovered the bastards that caused the problem. THE BOTTOM TWO STRANDS HAD TOTALLY DIED. Bastards. They are the Grinches of Christmas lights I tell you. They tried to ruin trimming the tree day for me. And they almost did. But, despite my frustration, cussing and kicking, I had juuuuust enough patience to re-attach five strings of lights to the bottom and complete the tree.

What I did NOT have, my friends, was the patience to add ornaments at that point. No siree.

I stuck the angel on the top (with Matt holding on to the seat of my pants as I struggled to reach the top from my chair perch) and called it a night.

Yesterday I did have it in me to add the ornaments. So, my faithful readers (all four of you), as a reward for sitting through my ridiculous story, I give you pictures of our 2nd Annual Christmas Tree of Wonder. (Or you may call it Kateastrophe #7,459,762 . . . but who's really counting?)

Ta Daaa!

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Manolo, Atwood and Gucci, meet Stacey, Kate and Agata.
They'll be worshipping at your shrines for the rest of their lives.

My Love Affair

Be still my beating heart . . . the black one . . . in the middle. Isn't she beautiful? I think I'm in love.

To find a dream shoe of your own, please visit www.brianatwood.com . . . you won't be disappointed.

I Still Belong in High School

So last night I went to a Relief Society Progressive Dinner for our Christmas/Quarterly Enrichment Activity. I was in a group with most of the girls I go to Boot Camp with, so that was awesome, but we determined something disturbing.

We all belong in high school, not as married women (some with kids) owning houses and being, like, responsible for stuff.

We talked about the following innappropriate subjects and laughed like twelve year olds:

-sex
-plastic surgery (detailed lists of what we want done)
-botox
-lip injections
-farting
-expensive jeans we all want and manipulative ways to convince our husbands to let us get them
-expensive shoes we all want and manipulative ways to convince our husbands to let us get them

Then, we talked about how lame we were for talking about the above subjects, and laughed until our stomachs hurt about that. Mind you we weren't the only girls in the group. Sigh . . . we're so lame.

Then, this morning at boot camp, we talked about it all again.

As I said, we belong in high school. Someone needs to take my job away from me, their children away from them, take away our driving priveledges and ground us all.

Calling All Newly Single Men!

Woah, that title sounds more suggestive than I mean it too. Let me 'splain.

I RULE at shopping with newly divorced men. It's probably one of my best talents. I mean this in no provocative, inappropriate way. I am and will remain a happily married woman. But I am so good at taking a guy who is feeling a little down and helping him look FANtastic.

My good friend Stacey also rules at it. She suggested we start a business.

We just took a poor little guy who's been supressed in his fashion decisions and made him a new man. We had a lot of help from the guy at Nordstrom, but we freaking rule.

About a year or so ago I also assisted another good friend of mine who'd been suppressed in his fashion decisions and made him hot. Just ask Stacey. (and again, I don't feel THAT way about it, but you have to be able to admit when a guy looks good thanks to your fashion tips.)

So, the millions of faithful followers of this blog (HAHAHAHAHA yeah right) if you happen to know a fasion challenged, newly single man (or maybe many of them) who live in the greater Phoenix area . . . send 'em my way. I'm going to only charge them one HOT pair of jeans per shopping trip. A steal fo my services!

Little More Junk in My Trunk

I have a post-it pad that has the following quote on it:

"I thought I worked my butt off, but it followed me home"

I have this as the quote on my MSN Messenger as well.

This morning I got an IM from an old co-worker about it. The conversation went a little bit like this:

OC: "Bummer about your butt"
Me: "Yeah I know, I used to be so hot."
OC: "I know, crying shame."
Me: "Now I'm all married and stuff, with a big butt."
Me: "Wait, I take it back. I'm still hot . . . I just have a little more junk in my trunk. Kinda like J-Lo, but whiter. Much whiter"
OC: "Oh, like that. Yeah, you're still hot then"

Mind you this guy is happily married, with a baby on the way. We were just buds like that. We always told each other how good the other looked on a particular day. He's like my gay friends . . . only . . .not . . . gay. Right.

So in case any of you were wondering (who haven't seen me in a while) I am still hot . . . but instead of being hot like, say . . . Ginger Spice (was she even hot? I donno) . . . now I'm hot like a white J-lo.

Sweeeeeeeet.

Christmas Presents . . . For Me!

Have you ever notice that when you've been given money or an allowance to go shopping, you can NEVER find anything you want? But, in contrast, when you have SERIOUS shopping to do for anyone else, all you find ALL kinds of stuff for you and NOTHING for anyone else?

Welcome to my day.

My bestest friend Sheila and I decided to go to the mall to do some shopping. Now I did have to find something for myself at Bebe, since I was recently given a $150 gift certificate to that fabulous store, and I have a company Holiday party coming up (not Christmas Party, HOLIDAY party. We are veeeeery particular at Vcommerce.) But I was really hoping to start the Christmas shopping I haven't begun yet. I have found a really cool gift for some of the creative ladies on my list, but that's pretty much it.

I bought myself one of these as well as this lovely number

oh and pretty much everything at Forever 21

What did I get for everyone else you ask? Uhhhhh . . . the joy of seeing me looking HOT? Excellent.

Kate: 1
Everyone Else: 0

Let the Gluttony Begin!

With my newly found life of fitness, I can only look on the coming days of feasting with a slight twinge of regret. So, without further adieu (hahah, I am so funny. Without further goodbye . . . hahahahaha.), I begin my Thanksgiving mea culpa (no, don't go look it up, it means "admission of guilt." And don't think I'm that smart. I used the thesaurus to look up another word for "apology" since I wanted to sound clever and funny. All of which I probably did until I admitted all of this. OK. stopping. now.)

Ahem

Ryan, leader of my Booty Camp, I apologize in advance for the blatant slap in the face to your diet and nutrition goals for me. (I'll refer to Thanksgiving as my Boot Camp Sin of Commission because that's SO what it is) .

Body, I apologize to you in advance as well. Prepare for the stomach to be stretched to capacity, for the ingestion of a 12,000 calorie meal (ok fine you caught me, I'm exaggerating again. The average Thanksgiving meal is only 3000 calories and 229 grams of fat, but STILL!) and the gluttonous regret afterward as I lay on the couch, unable to move for fear of what will happen to me if I do. I also apologize for round two, in which I will put you through all of that torture again. And maybe for round three, depending on how hungry everyone else is and how much food is left over.

New pants, I apologize to you to, as I'm sure you will no longer fit after Shirley's cooking helps add at least five pounds back on to my newly shrunken bottom. We had a good two week run, didn't we? I promise to find you again someday. Hopefully you're not horribly out of style by then.

New bathing suit for Mexico, I feel especially bad for you, as you may never see the glistening waters of the Pacific Ocean or the gloriousness of the infinity edge pool at our rented villa, since I may just be wearing a wetsuit to try and suck in the holiday LBs.

Fat pants, you're the only ones I feel I can say that I don't have to apologize to, as you will be once again welcomed back into the rotation to clothe your voracious owner. I can't say I'm happy about it, but I bet you are.

Mashed potatoes made from cream cheese, real butter and cream . . . come to Mommy. I've been waiting for you all year.

The RFP of Death

What's six inches thick, has seven billion questions, is ridiculously unorganized, is basically red tape and nearly impossible?

The RFP I've been working on for the last few weeks. (Request for Proposal is what that stands for . . . I had no idea until a few months ago when I was assigned my first one) This is apparently part of my new job, which is actually cool because I'm learning a lot of the nitty-gritty technical details of what our company actually does . . . and we are actually pretty cool! It's amazing some of the stuff these techies can do!!

This has been consuming almost every moment of my work life and every moment of my life after work. I haven't had to work overtime in a long time, so I don't actually mind.

I did find time to do something fun today though . . . I got a microderm abraison facial. It hurt quite a bit but it's SO NICE to get all the built up dead skin off my face. A fabulous new girl moved into my ward . . . Her name is JoAnn. She and her husband James own a ton of laser skin centers all over the valley and they do facials, botox, lip injections, laser hair removal and all kinds of stuff. JoAnn is six months pregnant with a little girl (Alley Grace, what a cute name right?), and she has decided to set up a studio in her house and hardly charges anything for the stuff she does.

On top of all the cool benefits, they are the COOLEST couple. He has four wheelers and some really fun cars and boy toys as well as lots of things in common with Matt, and she and I have a ton in common and already feel like we've known each other forever. We have decided that we're going on a double date next week after Thanksgiving. We're so excited! We're also planning a camping trip for sometime in the near future, if we cna find a place where it's not too cold.

So now I have fresh, clean skin . . . freshly waxed fabulous eyebrows, and finally Matt and I have a couple here we can go on double dates with.

Today was busy, but it was a good day. I like good days.

Boooooooooring Blah Blah Blah

Today was Sunday . . . the day of rest . . . and I was bored. Apparently I don't do so well at the whole "resting" thing.

I slept in later than usual this morning and missed Sacrament meeting, which I feel bad about but I was SOOOO tired this morning -- this whole week actually. I just wanted to sleep and sleep. Until I woke up that is . . . er, yeah. What that means is that I couldn't take a nap once I was awake. Right. MOVING ON.

I am SO EXCITED that Thanksgiving is this week. I get to see all of my siblings AND my Momma AND my Grandma and Grandpa this week. It's like the best week EVER! I love it when all my siblings are together for a holiday. We have so much fun. We laugh and sing and dance and make fun of each other and it makes me realize how much I love my family. Matt, I'm sure, will stand by and roll his eyes, but he'll love it too and maybe I'll even get him to dance! There will be pounds and pounds of delicious Lynsky food consumed and I'll get to see Sheila and Andrew and their new house and the babies and some of my aunts and uncles and . . . oh it's going to be SO GREAT!

THEN, THE CHRISTMAS SEASON BEGINS! Anyone who knows me knows how much I love Christmas. I am so excited to get a tree and decorate and make cookies and, and and . . . I should stop now before I get going to fast and furious to stop. I'm like the energizer bunny . . . the CHRISTMAS energizer bunny!

Oh, before I go, congratulations to my old friend Bryan Gibson. He found out on Friday that he passed the Bar Exam in California and then early Saturday morning his wife Melanie gave birth to their second little girl, Gracie.

OK, I'd better go to bed. Booty Camp starts promptly at 6 AM!

THE Ohio State University

In case you live in a cave and hadn't heard, Ohio State beat Michigan. It was touch and go there for a while, but they pulled through and conquered.

On they go to the national championship game (and it's rumored there might be a REMATCH OF THE RIVALS?!?!?!) held in Glendale, Arizona (aka the town I LIVE IN. Which I won't be here for . . . *sob, sniffle, sob, cry*

I guess I'll have to console myself with a week on the beach in Mexico!

Ann Arbor is a Whore

I saw that sentence on a T-shirt last year at the Fiesta Bowl (Ohio State vs. Notre Dame) and I decided it was my favorite T-shirt ever, being that I was born of two Columbus Ohio natives, who were also born of Ohio natives . . . in fact the the chunky buckeyes running through my veins go back THREE generations, so yes, my family believes that Ann Arbor is a whore. (I also saw a hilarious T-shirt last year that said Muck Fichigan, but I decided it might be a wee bit inappropriate for the title of my blog. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it -- but I sort of had to. We really do hate Michigan about that much!)

This year the rivalry game is probably going to be the BEST ONE EVER. Ohio State is ranked, in all three college polls, NUMERO UNO and Michigan is ranked NUMERO DOS. This is basically the national championship game, but the BCS is too stupid to fix the system . . . so whoever wins this game will play in the national championship game -- WHICH is being held here in Arizona. But, as fortune would have it, I cannot go. We will be in Puerto Vallerta. Worst year to not be here for the BCS game!! Oh well . . . another year perhaps.

Anyway, all that's not really important . . . what IS important is that we all wear RED tomorow and root the mighty Buckeyes on to victory!!

O-H

I-O

Those found rooting for Michigan will be flogged mercilessly with a wet noodle.

Just for Kicks and Giggles

In an attempt to say SOMETHING funny today, I am going to post a quote written by a friend of mine. I spit Diet Coke when I read it. (I spit Diet Coke a lot . . .hmmm, future post idea. Excellent.)

"I suppose a friendship between a man and woman is like a…break dance tango? Where like, you spin on your head, but then you slap each other with a rose in your mouth?"

Maybe it's not as funny to all of you as it was to me, but I find that to be one of the funniest mental images ever.

And now, in honor of Julia, I say this:

I'm going to go get in my Vinn Vinn car and go home. Neorm.

I FORGOT TO POST YESTERDAY!

I'm officially disqualifying myself from the NaBloPoMo. Oh well.

Yesterday was craziness . . . we have a huge RFP (Request for Proposal) for a large public company due next week and I'm in charge of collecting, organizing and distributing the answers and we were trying to get a rough draft together. I also had a bunch of random tasks from my old job pop up that only I could do . . . they were things that it would have taken YEARS longer to explain to Suzanne than it took me just to do it myself, so . . .yeah.

Also, there was a HUGE traffic jam on the freeway -- it was an accident right at my exit, so it took me an hour and a half to get from my house to the exit a mile away from my actual exit. THEN, i apparently crossed over some line that I wasn't supposed to in order to get in the exit lane and of course there was a cop there so of course I got my first Arizona ticket. $110 for crossing over a Gore Line and I don't even know what that IS!

Needless to say, not the most fun day ever, but what can you do right? I signed up for this new crazy job and all the overtime that goes with it and I did cross the Gore line illegally, whether or not I knew it was illegal!

And this is the most boring post ever . . . but what can I say, every once in a while I have to have a boring day right!?!

Right.

All I Want For Christmas

Is THIS WHOLE STORE

Just in case any of you were wondering.

WHICH I KNOW YOU ALL WERE.

***DISCLAIMER: Ok, not the WHOLE store. Whatever I can wear with my garments. Please call if you're not sure of the specifications. I look great in red, blue, pink, green and black. I love knee length pencil skirts and the slightly puffy sleeves on their shirts. I also love all of their shoes. I am a size L in shirts, 12 in skirts and 10 in shoes. Things that are on sale or clearance are perfectly acceptable. Thank you for your consideration.

Julia's List of Reasons Why Kate Should Move Back to Provo

Julia has decided that I need to move back to Provo. In her negotiations on the matter, she has accrued a list of reasons why:

1 - I live here
2 - Going to girly movies together
3 - Burger Supreme
4 - Shopping trips
5 - Actual Seasons
6 - The delightful late night drive-by of old boyfriends houses
7 - Slacker Sundays
8 - Sleepovers
9 - I don't live in Phoenix
10 - Los
11 - Being able to have parties and BBQ's together
12 - Getting slurpees in the Summer
13 - Driving around with music blaring
14 - Talking each other into making ridiculous purchases we know we can't afford
15 - Getting bevs
16 - Current late night IM conversations can be taken care of IN PERSON and they will be FUNNIER because we'll be laughing TOGETHER
17 - OZZ!!
18 - Hours upon hours spent at Taco Bell on University Ave. talking about naughty encounters
19 - And finally, you need to move back to Provo simply because you are one of my Best Friends and we are missing out on some golden years by living apart!!

Well, what can you say folks?!?! This is a very persuasive list of reasons, and besides that I'm homesick right now . . . I guess I should try to convince the man I call husband and try to find us both good jobs!

Mommy, do you know what a sheriff is?

OK, so everyone has a weird ward if they belong to the LDS Church. I get that.

But today my ward takes the cake, I swear. It was a very . . . uncomfortable sacrament meeting for most people, I would imagine.

We had three speakers today. Two of them were actually really good. One was a young man leaving on his mission this week and the other was a lady in the ward that I'm not HUGELY fond of, but her talk was well thought out, well planned, educational, spiritual and funny.

Then there was the OTHER lady.

Her talk was on how apostasy comes on slowly. It started out awesome. She was talking about slowly changing clouds and how that made her think about sin and Satan.

Then she hit us with the bomb. She said the phrase: "Soft Porn" in church.

Now, that, in and of itself, is not so rare or odd. But when it's in the following context, it's really uncomfortable.

She was talking about the TV show ER. She said she liked it the first season, then the second season it got a little racy. Then in the third season it got downright sexual. Then she she said that the commercials she's seen lately for the show (since she quit watching it when it got sexual) now indicate that the show is nothing other than SOFT PORN.

Now, here are several reasons why that statement was uncomfortable:

1.) I bet that most of the congregation watches ER or something like it (er, Grey's Anatomy anyone?)

2.) Soft porn, in pretty much anyone's opinion, including the rating system's, shows actual boobies and whoo-has. Last time I checked, TV didn't allow that.

3.) There were SEVERAL prospective members of the church in the congregation that day. This missionaries had brought them. Accusing most of them of watching soft porn on a weekly basis probably isn't the best move, wouldn't you say?

I swear to you almost every head in the room sunk a little lower or into a hand with the common thought "oh my gosh she did not just say that."

I, being the psycho that I am, just started laughing. The silent, shaky church laugh. Come one, you know the laugh I'm talking about. Hunched over, tears streaming down your face, yet, no sound comes out. I don't know why I thought it was so hilarious. Maybe it was the thought that one woman had just made 250+ people REALLY uncomfortable. Who knows.

Then, during my fit of laughter, I hear the following conversation from the row behind me:

"Mommy, do you know what a sheriff is?"

"Yes Josiah I do."

"I bet you don't. A sheriff is a principal dressed up as a cowboy. That's what a sheriff is."

Que uncontrollable laughter.

Being Lame on a Friday Night

Soooooo

I was supposed to not post anything until Jewels sent me her FAB list of reasons that I need to move back to Provo, but people, she's extremely busy starring in a PLAY and I'm sort of addicted. I can't let a day go by without posting and not be irritated by that. Besides I found out it's NaBloPoMo which apparently means National Blog Posting Month or something scary like that? Don't ask me how I found this out. I don't want to admit to being any more lame than all of you think I am. Because I know I am, ok?

OK. ANYWAY, what this means to me and all of you, is that in November, those of us who Blog are supposed to do so at least once a day. I fully plan on doing that even though no one probably really cares. So be prepared for the most. boring. post. ever.

See the title? 'Splains it all. Especially the LAME part.

Tonight I did the following:

Read my husband's new Sports Illustrated from cover to cover. HOW LAME IS THAT?

Partially painted the downstairs bathroom. And when I say partially, I mean PARTIALLY. I didn't do anything that didn't involve the large roller. And those of you who paint know that means I just painted the middle section of the walls. The two walls that I could use a roller on. (It is a very small bathroom)

Hung the laundry room door.

Hung new doorknob on laundry room door.

Went shopping for half an hour with Karajean, who is in my ward.. Yeah, you heard me. Half. An. Hour. Somewhere in the craziness of the weird things I did tonight I went shopping with Karajean. We drove 25 miles to shop for 25 minutes. And yes, I'm just as confused as you guys probably are right now. I bought a shirt that was on clearance at Bebe. Karajean bought nothing. We did laugh and chat about some funny stuff though.

After that I spent an hour on the phone with my Aunt Alex and my sister Meagan. I totally forgot about the ability to conference call. How cool is that? All three of us were talking to each other. Man I miss those guys. Half the time we couldn't hear each other because all three of us were trying to talk at the same time.

I am now . . . wait for it . . . transferring all my music from my laptop to our new computer. Why you ask? Well, I'll tell you. My laptop is company issued, and I want to make sure that, if they ever take it away from me or if I ever lose it or drop it or something, that I have a back-up copy of my AWESOME music somewhere. Now here's where it gets funny.

SINCE the laptop is company issued, I cannot use our home network to view it, due to the anal security measures my company takes with all our technology. SO, I have to use a 1GB jump drive to transfer the music wee tiny bits at a time. Needless to say, I have lots of dead time.

There's actually a lot of other things that went on today, it was one of those insane days where you get to the end of it (it's actually midnight on the dot right now. PHEW!) and you think "wow, a lot of stuff happened today! I should make a list! I was super productive" Some not so productive stuff went down today too, but I'm sort of . . . over it, I guess. I sort of went through an entire grief cycle today or something . . . the whole shock, denial, anger, despair and acceptance thing . . . except I also added my own phase in the cycle -- uncontrollable laughter. I don't know if it was early morning boot camp, lack of food or WHAT. I just got sort of goofy by the end of the day and decided that everything, even the bad stuff, was just funny. I highly recommend it if you're having a bad day. Down about ten caffeinated beverages and find out what you're REALLY made of!

This may explain why I was uber productive tonight. You think? Ten Diet Cokes in one day? I think that should do it. I should press 'DELETE' on this little tangent, but I'm sort of writing just to write and get some thoughts out of the old noggin, so WHY NOT LEAVE IT says me? Besides, it's a free plug for Coca-Cola. EXCELLENT.

Coca-Cola. Proven to eat away at metal. Tastes good. Drink up!

Oh and Jewels? You have my word that as soon as I get your list, I will post it tout suite (ps - did you know that means 'quick fart'? You probably did, which is probably why you decided that you will name your racehorse that, but I did not. I had to go look it up just now for spelling purposes and I laughed really hard after reading the definition. I've been saying it ever since our Mexico bash and haven't known I was basically saying fart a lot.) and, it will be the funniest post ever. As opposed to this one.

But in fairness to me I did just write a paragraph about the word 'fart'. If that's not comedy, I don't know what is.

Ahem.

How to Drive Yourself to Drink (otherwise known as 'How to Re-finish Cabinets')

Step 1: Start with a kitchen that looks something like THIS

Step 2: Watch 'Design to Sell' about ten too many times and thinks "dude, I can TOTALLY do that AND make more money on my house!

Preparation Days 1-14

Step 3: Go to Sherwin Williams and ask the scary question "Do you think it's too hard if I try to paint my cabinets myself?" The answer is always "no! it's easy!"

Step 4: Buy all supplies you think you need

Day 1

Step 6: Get all hopped up on sugar and decide to tackle the SOB

Step 7: Take cupboards off one by one

Step 8: Throw up when you see how much CRAP has been stuck in the hinges

Step 9: Attempt to wash cupboards one by one

Step 10: Throw up when you see how much CRAP has been stuck in the crevices

Step 11: Use toothpick to remove built up crap

Step 12: Stab self in hand with toothpick

Step 13: Swear a lot

Repeat Step 11

Lather, rinse and repeat, particularly Step 13

Step 14: Decide cupboards are clean enough (or decide you're going to paint over the damn dirt no matter what anyone says)

Step 15: Move everything in living room to accommodate as many cupboards as possible at one time and lay them all down.

Step 16: Realize there's no place for you to actually sit while painting

Step 17: Remove about ten of the cupboards to make room for your huge butt

Step 18: Find primer in pile of paint and supplies

Step 19: Apply primer to one side of cupboards

Step 20: Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . .

Step 21: Get distracted and forget you were doing a project

DAY 2

Repeat Steps 19-21

DAY 3

Step 22: Apply first coat of real paint to one side of cupboards

Step 23: realize there are paint drips everywhere but decide you don't really care, you're going to antique the edges anyway. We're going for the "old cottage" look here.

Repeat steps 20-21

Day 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Repeat Day 3 until all cupboards are complete

Day 12

Step 24: Sand edges of all cupboards for that "antique look"

Step 25: Spray Polyurethane coating on one side of cupboards for that shiny finish

Repeat Step 20

Repeat Step 25

Repeat Step 20

Repeat Step 25

Day 13

Repeat Step 20

Repeat Step 25

Repeat Step 20

Repeat Step 25

Step 26: Attempt to clean grime off of hardware

Step 27: Take a short and annoying detour on cabinet project due to THIS

Day 14

Step 28: Slowly start re-attaching cabinets, realizing that it's not as easy as it looks and you're not quiiiiiite sure which ones go where or how to make the Step 13 things straight

Step 29: Start attaching new knob pulls and realize that, naturally, it's not as easy as it looks either. Oh no, it involves the use of several different drill bits (plan on breaking at least one or two if you're anything like me) and many more of Step 13 and many Macguyver maneuvers to ensure that everything is attached, straight and looking decent.

From Day 15 until you move out of the house

Step 30: Stand back, take a deep breath and realize that it was, in fact, worth it, because now your kitchen looks like this:

I still think I might need a drink though . . . PHEW!

Let there be money

Well, after all my bellowing, I finally have received my 90 day review and my raise. It went a little bit like this:

"Kate, by the way, we talked to HR this morning and we're going to offer you a raise to $XXXXX and you will also get a quarterly bonus of $XXXX. Cool? Cool."

All in all, as I add up the figures, it gets me an additional, like, $150 or so a paycheck . . . but it's actually a pretty decent raise as far as percentage of current income goes.

Most likely I will get the raise retroactive to October 1st, so that's nice and might pay for 1/10 of Christmas expenses or something.

I'm not saying any of this to brag or imply how cool I am, I just wanted to mention the end of my whining and moaning and the start of my new life, making $300 more a month. I feel so much richer already. I might go buy some expensive shoes.

Oh wait, that goes straight to debt and a new house. Silly me!

Whooooooppiiieeeeee!

Today at lunch I did two things I'm proud of and one thing I'm not.

Let's start with the bad, shall we?

I paid $10 for this sandwich

I mean, it's HUGE and all (and that's just a picture of half of it) but TEN DOLLARS PEOPLE?!!?! SERIOUSLY?

The two things I'm proud of?

I walked to the deli (that's apparently reserved for millionaires) in order to work off just a few more calories.

I ordered french fries on the side, then I said NO, STOP. Fruit salad. I want fruit salad. I really wanted french fries, they sounded so good. But after my weekend of gorging myself on Whoopie Pies , I needed the fruit salad. Then it only had melon and two pieces of pineapple, no strawberries, no grapes. I don't eat melon. So basically instead of fries I got two very small pieces of pineapple. Saved me a lot of calories.

I'm giving myself a pat on the back with one hand while smacking myself in the face with the other. I mean I did pay TEN DOLLARS FOR A TURKEY SANDWICH.

That kind of decision is going to make us very poor. But hey! At least I'll be skinny!

If you happen to be a girl and are just a little bored . . .

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock. A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything. No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

ALSO

You Are Confident Sexy

You're one sexy chica, and you know it. You've got the confidence to strut your stuff... And approach any man who happens to catch your eye. You may make a guys run away, but the true men will appreciate your moxie.

What Kind of Sexy Are You?

OR

You Are A Little Snobby

And being a little snobby every once and a while is totally allowed. Because if no one was ever snobby, no one would ever try to dress up or look pretty. And while you do enjoy the finest things in life (that you can afford), you tire of superficiality. You know there's more to life than what's just on the surface.

Are You a Snob?

OR

You are Dark Chocolate

You live your life with intensity, always going full force. You push yourself (and others) to the limit... you want more than you can handle. An extreme person, you challenge and inspire the world!

What Kind of Chocolate Are You?

Only in Scottsdale

Man, I wish I had pictures of my lunch drive today.

I went to pick up a birthday cake for a co-worker and lunch for myself. I drove less that 1/4 of a mile to do these things. In that time I saw the following strange "only in Scottsdale" things:

1. An 80+ year old man riding a scooter - and not one of those old people help you get around scooters. Like, a Vespa scooter -- complete with a little "carrier" on the back for his . . . purse?. He was all hunched over the handle bars and driving about 5 miles an hour in front of me. I would have been mad but it was HILARIOUS.

2. A little girl dressed in some couture outfit for three year olds, complete with what looked like designer sunglasses, eating the "sand" out of a cigarette disposal receptacle


3. Another 80+ year old man on a two wheeled apparatus, but this time it was a giant Harley Davidson

4. A porn star looking character with a barking toy dog sticking out of her Chanel bag, buying A banana at AJ's. Just one . . . and nothing else. Mind you AJ's is the luxury grocery store around here that charges you triple for everything, so she was buying A banana for the price I usually buy a whole BUNCH of bananas for. And let me tell you, if I had dropped the wad of cash it would have cost to buy a Chanel bag, you bet your britches no darn DOG will be getting a ride in it! It would, most likely, be in a glass box in my closet with motion detectors attached to it to keep things completely away from it.

5. A Scottsdale cop ordering a vegetarian rice bowl with brown rice. I thought cops only ate doughnuts and unhealthy MAN food!

Now I know why we can never live in Scottsdale. I mean, with super inflated house prices I knew that already, but now I REALLY know! At least not until I have my body completely altered with plastic surgery and we win the lottery. Then maybe we'll fit in.

The Difference Between Men and Women

The biggest difference between men and women (besides the obvious PHYSICAL differences, duh) is that we both know our way is better 100% of the time.

And since Matt doesn't remember the password to our blog, or the fact that he can, in fact, post to it, guess what? My way is officially always better. Especially when it comes to home improvement projects. :D

SO, I am FINALLY finished with the cabinets. And if I do say so, whilst patting myself on the back rewarding myself with chocolate and a new pair of these fabulous jeans that were on clearance, the cabinets really are so great looking. I'm now hoping they add maybe . . . $20,000 in value to my home!! Hahahaha. No. Seriously. If not I might sue that show "Design to Sell" for convincing me that painting the cabinets would do that if I don't get to raise the asking price of my house by that much money. And I promise, as soon as the kitchen doesn't look like THIS
anymore, I'll post pictures of the whole beautiful thing.

Also, in other home improvement fun, tonight we did this:

And also this:

P.S. Who's idea was it to call a garbage disposal the BADGER?

And as you can tell from the first paragraph, we did a liiiiiiitle bit of this:

Size Matters Not

OK, HOW FREAKING CUTE IS THIS???

This is Isaac, my best friend Anne's youngest son. I just had to post about how cute he is in his Yoda costume!

You'll all be pleased to know that I won a cube decorating contest at work today. I just put up spiderwebs and lights and played spooky Halloween sounds, but hey, $25 on an American Express card is totally worth it!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!! Hope you have a spooky night!

Mission: Only For the Severely Stupid

We played construction this weekend . . . it was . . . um. . . er . . . fun???

I'm not posting any pictures yet because I want to be completely done with the projects so I can give you a complete beginning to ending idea of the torture I put myself through for the past month or so, but I promise that I will!

The one interesting/stupid thing I did is worth posting about though. A true Kateastrophe . . .

I got a screw stuck in the garbage disposal.

Not rolling around in there.

Completely. Stuck. Wedged. Not. Coming. Out. EVER.

As if we didn't have enough broken crap in this house. Now we'll probably need a completely new garbage disposal. Cross your fingers and say a little prayer that the home warranty we bought covers . . . well, Kateastrophes.

How, Kate, did you get a screw STUCK in said garbage disposal?

WELL, I'll tell you.

I took the final five cabinets off of their hinges today. These were the cabinets I was saving for last because they are the NASTIEST. The hinges are covered in twenty years worth of dropped food and whatever the hell else might have snuck it's way in there. I haven't cleaned them yet because every time I thought about it I almost threw up. But, in order to finish the cabinets I obviously had to remove the hinges. So the were all immediately dunked into a concoction of vinegar and water (don't ask my why those two ingredients . . . I just thought it might clean the sludge off.) and set aside to soak for . . . well, until I thought they were good and ready.

Five hours later I'm pouring out the vinegar mixture to get at the hinges with a toothbrush. Cut to stupid Kate forgetting she was also soaking the SCREWS. Slow motion, cut to THREE screws falling into the disposal. Cut to Kate's braing counting the clinks as the screws hit the bottom. One clink . . . two clink. "Well (insert vulgar, naughty word here)" says I and then immediately cut to Kate sticking her hand in the disposal to fish out the two screws she heard drop. (NO it was not RUNNING. Give me at least a little credit.)

So anyway, enough with this third/first person mess I created in that paragraph up there. On with the story . . .

Needless to say I got two screws out. I did feel around to see if by any chance there was a third one. (picture me sticking my hand into the very old, probably very nasty (but I don't want to think of the nastiness at that particular moment) garbage disposal to see if there's one more screw. Nope don't feel anything.) So what do I do next? Oh don't you worry. I TURN THE DAMN THING ON TO MAKE SURE. Do I find a flashlight to check and see? Nope. Do I ask Matt to help me and check it out and give me a second opinion? Nope. I TURN IT ON.

Imagine the sound of crushing metal.

And. Then. The. Screw. Was. Completely. Jammed.

Matt got a flashlight and explained it to me like this: "Well, you somehow managed to get the teeth that go around in there to get stuck on the long thin screw part and the head is visible. I've used pliers, a screw driver and a hammer, tried to move the teeth manually . . . it's not going anywhere. We need to call a plumber."

Well at least we needed to call one anyway to get our master bathroom shower refitted for the new faucet we bought this weekend.

Before I screw up again, can I ask for volunteers to help me with the following tasks?

Put up new ceiling fan in family room

Put up new ceiling fan in kitchen

Put up new ceiling fan in master bedroom.

Install new kitchen faucet (and just throw in a garbage disposal while you're at it, k?)

Install new shower pan and walls, along with new drain, faucet . . . ah hell, any volunteers to remodel our entire master bathroom from floor to ceiling?

Oh new houuuuseee! Are you done yet? Your new owners are badly in need of you!

Oh wait. I remember now. You're at least a month behind and the utilities aren't even in.

How long do you think I can go without accidentally turning on the jammed garbage disposal?

I'm taking bets. All proceeds go to our remodeling fund. I'm also taking donations.

Thank you for your consideration.

What's Your Name?

Another fun game!

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)
Christian Electra (OH MY GOSH HOW COOL IS THAT?!?!)

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your mom's side, your favorite candy)
Ok normally it would be Shirley Musketeer, but let’s be creative and use my Grandpa’s name . . . and my second favorite candy . . .
James Godiva . . . ooh that’s fun! Even for a girl.

3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your middle name)
K-Ann . . .eh, not so great. Now if we used my maiden name I’m K-Cot HEHEHE, or I could even be K-Murph if I really wanted . . . Ok in reality it all sounds WAY to much like K-Fed so I’m going to pretend I don’t HAVE a Fly Girl name.

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal)
Green Conure (that’s pretty lame)

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Anne Golden . . .yaaaawwwnnn

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of mom's maiden name and first 3 letters of the town you grew up in.)

MurKaLyPro (AHAHAHAHAHAH)

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (your favorite color, favorite drink)
Green Coke? Maybe I should go for Purple, my second favorite color and my favorite non-alcoholic beverage that COULD have alcohol? So . . .
Purple Daiquiri .. . little better, but it doesn’t sound very bad-a does it?
I could stretch a little further and go for the drink Dan Clarke always orders me whenever we’re at dinner together .. . a shirley temple
Green Temple . . . Green Shirley? No none of this is working.

Kate Needs

I found this fun game when I was bored today. I'm sitting here cracking up at how hilarious it is.

What you do is go to Google and type in "(your name) needs" and see what comes up in the headings. It's HILARIOUS.

Here is, according to the almighty Google, what Kate needs.

1. Kate needs a shave
HOW DID THEY KNOW? Google must really be all knowing if they know I haven't shaved my legs in four days.

2. Kate needs the Dramaturge at Home.
uhhhh, no idea what that means. But apparently I need it . . . so dramaturging at home I go.

3. Kate needs your help
Oh how true. All of you, I solicit your help. We all know I need it and I can't live without it. You can decide what I need your help WITH. All I know is that I need it.

4. Kate needs a hand
well, I'm sure I do. I've been trying to finish my cabinets, and if any of you want to lend me a hand with that I will not protest one bit. I have a list of things I need a hand with. First one to my house gets delicious homemade macaroni and cheese! It's totally worth it I swear! Just ask Rhonda!

5. Kate needs a twinkie
YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Althought I don't really NEED a twinkie . . . but I WANT a twinkie. Maybe since Google told me I need a twinkie that will justify to my trainer tonight that I had to have one?

6. Kate needs a trust angel
uhhhhhh, sure!? Can Google tell me what a trust angel is, exactly? I'll ask Google and get back to you.

7. Kate needs to ride
I could go in several directions with this one . . . I'll just stop right now.

8. Kate needs editor emulation for Emacs and/or vi
I don't even know what to say. I probably do need . . . whatever it is.

9. Kate needs to go away!
RUDE. I think Google just lost my business. Bastards.

10. Kate needs standard right click menus
Don't we all need standard right click menus? Unless you use a mac. Then you're screwed when it comes to right clicking!

11. Kate needs special indentors for php & perl
I THINK I have an idea of what php & perl are . . . i guess when I double check that I'll determine whether or not I really need special indentors . . . whatever those are.

12. Kate needs a cat and twenty mindless Monday games
Um, no I don't actually need a cat .. . but I would love twenty mindless Monday games since I don't so much like Mondays!

13. Kate needs a date
Google is so fired. Unless they mean a date with my husband . . . which I do need.

14. Kate needs a priest
According to my father and his catholic family, this might be true. They're probably searching for me so I can do my first communion finally.

15. Kate needs doggy day care
Well that's just rude!

16. Kate needs to focus on work and not the internet tomorrow and actually get some work done so she still has a job and won't need #17- a new job.

Update

You'll all be disappointed to know that Matt Leinart didn't show his face at Sapporo last night.

Oh well, maybe next time, right?!?

Agata, Suzanne (my executive admin replacement) and I did, however, have a blast, just chatting and gossiping and laughing.

If there's a Leinart sighting, I'll be sure to let you all know.

I'm a rotten wife . . .

Ok, I realize I've posted like FIFTY times in the past two days . . . but I had to do something really quickly.

I've posted about my love for the following men:

Matt Leinart, Christian Bale and Brandon Routh.

I have neglected to post about my love for the best guy of all.

My husband. I'm not going to go all mushy yucky on you, oh no, not the sarcastic B that I am.

I'm just going to say that I got really lucky when I met this man and even more lucky when he loved me back.

Meeeeoow!

I mean I got REALLY lucky. I can't think of any other guy who would put up with me making him dress like THIS for Halloween

Plus, can you imagine what I've been like at home for the past week or so with all my self-pitying trauma? It's been like the "kick the dog" syndrome at our house, but I'd like to point out that we don't HAVE a dog. I have a Matt. And he is pretty darn sweet when I'm being rotten.

SO despite my love for Superman, Batman and that hot quarterback, I love Matt more.

Digging myself out of the self pity pit

My posts over the past few days have had an aura of doom about them, and for that I apologize. I have never really been a negative, depressing type of person and somehow I allowed myself to wallow for the past for days and it's time to get up and see the light, people!

Have I mentioned that Wednesday Boot Camp makes me hyper? On Wednesday's we do calisthenics and for some reason I am like a freak for the rest of the day, bouncing around, spazzing out. I mean, this stuff kicks my butt. They're some of the hardest exercises I've ever done, but somehow, as soon as I get out of the shower after a Wednesday workout, I turn into the poster child for ADHD.

This gets interesting as I try to work. My boss comes to say hi and I just start running my mouth and laughing at myself. And I read a sentence like "pick your horse and experiment" as "pick your nose and experiment" and I read it again and again trying to make sense of why my boss would tell me to pick my nose and work, all the while snorting and spewing Diet Coke all over my keyboard. (**Just a funny side note, my boss DID in fact write me an email that had the sentence "pick your horse and experiment." That alone would have caused the snorting and Coke spewing but add insult to injury and misread it as "pick your nose" and it just gets funnier and funnier. Especially when you're stuck in SPAZ MODE.)

My other random story for the day involves McDonald's. The place I swore I'd never eat at again after seeing "Super Size Me." But one day a few months ago I was STARVING for breakfast and I was at Dan and Agata's house and the only fast, easy food near them is McDonald's, so I tried a McGriddle sandwich. Small bit of advice. Don't try it. It's the best little breakfast sandwich in the whole world, and once you eat it, you'll NEVER go back. This morning, I was fifteen minutes late to work (not like I can ever really be late, but I try really really hard to get here by 8:30 and I get mad at myself if it's any later than 8:40 and this morning it was 8:45 when I was getting off the freeway - stupid traffic.) and I was STARVING so I decided I'd better go get a McGriddle. FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I am still sitting in the stupid drive-through line, stuck between the window where you pay and the window where you actually get your food. Just sitting there. I'm not sure WHAT was going on inside. The girl taking the money kept sticking her head out the window to look and see if the car at the pick-up had moved . . . like she couldn't ASK the people inside what was going on?!?!? It was a debacle for sure. So I rolled into work at about 9:05, thanks to my stupid McGriddle fascination. The Work-out Gods were mad at me . . . and I probably deserve their wrath.

In other fun news, I am going out to dinner with Agata tonight. We're going to Sapporo, the "hip and happening" Japanese restaurant in Scottsdale. It's the only place we've ever gone together. I'm not sure if it's because she loves it that much or because it's "the place to see and be seen" according to high Scottsdale society. Needless to say I put on my sassiest fat clothes and will try hard to fit in with the barbie doll that is Agata and the rest of the Scottsdale princesses. It's not going to be easy! Then I'll really give myself away when I don't order a cosmopolitan or Appletini! I'm so "out" aren't I? Last time we were there I saw Danika Patrick. Today I'm crossing my fingers and PRAYING that Matt Leinart is there, and that he thinks girls with big butts are hot. HAHAHAHAHA. *Disclaimer: My husband is aware of my Matt Leinart obsession, and he knows that if in fact, a miracle ever occurs and Matt Leinart wants me, I'm probably not going to be able to resist his lusciousness. I mean I fit the profile right? His last girlfriend was Paris Hilton . . . and the girl before that WAS in fact LDS and a volleyball player. I'm totally his type -- I'm LDS and Paris Hilton and I have the same yacht sized feet. When we meet, he will immediately fall for me. That's what I tell myself every time I see his beautiful face on TV.

Petey's Party

er . . . wedding.

Yeah, Pete is my favorite co-worker and he recently got married at the swanky Phoenecian. The ceremony was awesome, the food was delicious and the party was AWESOME. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure:
**these were taken by Agata . . . and Matt was there, he just wasn't in any pictures!

Agata and I dancing

Agata and Carrie, obviously the bride

The proud Groom (apologies to any virgin eyes)

My friend Stacey, co-worker Chris (liiiiitle punch drunk) and Agata

Fun had by all!

I took home one of the floral centerpieces and it pretty much took over my kitchen counter!

The dilemma of the day

So I mentioned my stomach ailment.

What I didn't mention was the stress headaches and cramps.

So here's the dilemma:

Do I take a painkiller to ease the cramps and headache, thus causing the stomach ailment to rear it's ugly head?


OR

Do I not take any painkillers and just sit here numbly staring into the blackness rubbing my neck hoping for some relief?



OR




I honestly can't decide which is worse. So I sit here staring at the five advil I grabbed out of the first aid kit. And that's all I'm doing with it. Staring. Wishing.

And here's what's totally sad . . . I'm blogging about this! I guess it's sort of like virtually reaching out to all my friends and whining! And that makes me sound really mature!

On to other matters - I went shopping today at lunch because I figured I needed shoe therapy or SOMETHING right? Apparently not. I just wandered through the store, looking at Christmas Decorations but unwilling to commit, trying on shoes but unwilling to commit. This is so not like me. I passed on shoes AND Christmas decorations? Shirley would be disappointed (ps- Shirley is my most awesome stylin' Grandma who gave me my love of shoes and all things Christmas)

This week is turning me into a Grinch!! A Grinch who can't find SHOES!

And then the heavens opened up and shouted "Kate we hate you!"

My brother Sean used to say that all the time and we'd all laugh.

This week I am saying it and honestly, not so funny when you're the one feeling compelled to say it.

After finally fighting off my plague, I am now struck with my other common ailment, the stomach monster called "Gastritis" (and it is not as that phrase implies, just FYI) and I am now only allowing myself to eat white bread and bananas in hopes of preventing my entire midsection from cramping up every time I eat anything.

That was yesterday.

Then today happened. Stupid, stupid today.

My boss told me today that I am being too much of a victim. Maybe that is true and maybe it's not, but it was sort of like a slap in the face to hear that. Let me explain why . . .

My 90 day review for my new position as Marketing Specialist is due this week. I brought this up last week to make sure everyone knew I was expecting it this week. And now, somehow, it's not happening because there is a "process" and in the "real business world" it doesn't happen right when us measly employees expect it.

In my mind I'm thinking "wow is it really to much to ask that after two years in this company, busting my ass and doing humiliating tasks, after I FINALLY get promoted, that I get a raise the day I was promised I'd get a raise? Is that really too much to ask?" More specifically I thought (and later actually said) "I brought this up last week to facilitate having the review THIS week so I could get my raise THIS week."

I was told I was being completely unreasonable and I could STOP being unreasonable and be patient or I could quit. Except his words were "You can stop being unreasonable and be patient or you can walk."

Right now my walking shoes are sounding pretty dang good.