I'd tap that like Riverdance

The other night I went out with some friends to a bar and we got to playing a little game. I don't know the official, clever name, but for all intents and purposes it was who would you date, do and marry. We wracked our brains (not an easy task after consuming cheap beer) thinking of the best celebrties to date, marry and get freaky with. After much internal debate, my three finalists were these guys:

Do- Ben Foster


Date- John Krasinski


Marry- Duh



My date and marry options generally went unopposed. But there has been some issue with my do, the gorgeous and, I imagine, completely edible Ben Foster. Take another scroll back up there. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Done? Yeah, he's stunning. Really, really, ridiculously good looking. I have been given shit about loving my he-mistress Ben. I get why people may sneer; he is dirty in everything he has ever been in. In some things, I would go so far as to describe his characters as, er, crusty. But he looks good all the while! ALL THE WHILE I SAY.

Thus, to all my nay-sayers, eat it. I don't care what you say. I've had my share of weird, celebrity crushes that don't make sense but Mr. Foster is not one of them.

Who is, you ask?

Jason Lee

Yes, the Jason Lee from My Name is Earl. I don't know what it is, but I see him with the mustache and southern accent and I'm hooked on whatever he's saying. Another reason I probably should never visit the south. Or date anyone with a van.


Jason Segal

Now, I'm not saying I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother and thought, "Hey, that guy is kind of cute." I'm also not admitting that I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall and thought, "Wow, that's quite a soldier you're givin' orders to below the belt." But I will say that if I ever saw Jason Segal walking down the street, I may or may not throw panties. What? They'd be nice panties.


Stephen Colbert

I have this friend who once said she thought Stephen Colbert was cute. I scoffed. I sneered. I said, "You are incorrect, madame," and then pointed to another friend and said, "Check out this one over here who thinks Stephen Colbert is do-able. Square alert!" Well, I came home and I took a long look at myself in the mirror. Then I went to IMDB and did some Colbert searching. And I'll be damned, she has a point.

Let's all be honest, we have all have weird celebrity crushes. Now that I've shared mine, I would like to hear the celebrities who get you all hot and flustered. C'mon, don't be shy. It's only a public forum that anyone could see at anytime.

How to Excrete Excellence: Sports Edition

So there I am, minding my business and checking my e-mail, when I saw this headline:

Unapologetic Coach of 100-0 Win Fired By School

The story, if you're too lazy to click on the link, is this girl's high school basketball team from Dallas beat another team so badly (100-0, as the title suggests) that the girls from the winning team apologized for it. In my head, the apology went a little something like this:

To the team that is still trying to pick up the pieces,

We're terribly sorry we owned you at basketball. Seriously, we didn't mean to take 3-point shot after 3-point shot, especially after it was painfully clear you didn't have a shot in hell at winning. Additionally, we apologize for pulling your pants down, licking the palm of our hands and spanking you over and over again in front of your family, friends and school mates while tears of shame streamed down your (face) cheeks. Our bad.

I get why an apology was necessary. It's high school basketball, not the (W)NBA. The coach refused to apologize though. He said, "Aw hell nah! There's no way I'm apologizing for teaching my players to be awesome, albeit kinda cocky assholes." But to be fired over refusing to apologize? To get shit canned from your job because you taught your players, oh, I don't know, to win? That seems a bit much. Granted, I don't really know much about basketball except for basic Phoenix Suns knowledge all Arizonans are required to know, but I think this might be a little much.



Raja Bell is my favorite because his name is that of my favorite Disney tiger from my favorite, racially stereotypical Disney Movie "Aladdin". Rawr!

Could the coach have told his players to scale it down a bit and stop showing off? Probably. Should he have told his players to at least pretend to be having a hard time for a while and show a little grace? Sure. But that's not how athletics work in the good ol' US of A. Sure, athletes here have talent. Bigger than talent, though, they all have gigantic mouths that run at a million miles an hour so everyone will know how awesome they are.

Here's a breakdown as far as I've been able to tell when it comes to sports in America.

1. Discover a sport your good at.
2. Make playing it your #1 priority. School? Fuck school. You're all about putting a ball through a hoop/putting a ball in another person's hands/messing around with balls in general.
3. Make money off of your ball handling abilities.
4. Become unbelievably cocky about numbers 2 and 3.
5. Film commercials for anything. Literally, anything that will pay you. Ben-gay and Wheaties sponsorships only go so far. Mercedes-Benz and Roy's Auto Body sponsorships last a lifetime.
6. Waste all your money on stupid things, like a football shaped pool or strippers.
7. Fall on hard times.
8. With no education to fall back on (see #2), re-discover love for your sport.
9. Don't call it a comeback (psst- it's a comeback!)
10. Raise children to repeat.

All in all, these girls did what they were coached to do: eat losers for breakfast. The fact that the losers they happened to be munching on were 8 girls from a school that specializes in "learning disorders", well, that's just sports in the USA baby. Is that Nike and Gatorade knocking at the door? I think it is.

It's Not You, It's Me. All Me.

Here's something you may not have known: my blog is suffering from a very real lack of love. Not from my faithful readers (which I hear is now up to 7, score!), but from yours truly. I can't really say why, something about being lazy probably. Or maybe it's because there's really nothing going on at the moment. The jury is still out.

In any case, I'll have updates. Glorious, awesome, hallelujah inducing updates. You're going to read my updates, poo yourself and then say, "She's right, those were some great updates. Anyone have a fresh pair of pantaloons?" Also, I've said the word update too much and now it's lost all meaning. Update.

However, tonight is Friday night and I have plans to watch movies, drink a little and not wear pants.

How do I do it? I'm very brave, that's how.

Days Like These

Today I woke up and something was off. Not bad, not good, just off. It happens occasionally. I can usually feel it coming the night before.

Sometimes I won't sleep. Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, feeling like I just missed something important. Other nights, I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what it is I'm supposed to be doing. There's always that nagging feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something, that there's something I can't quite remember.

The mornings that follow such restless nights are rarely good. I swing my legs from the bed and plant my feet on the floor. I take the first step of the day and trip on nothing. I bump my elbow on the door frame and burn myself with the straightening iron. I am definitely not in sync with myself.

I don't have an explanation for days like these. Days where I'm doing nothing out of the ordinary, but there's this force and purpose behind everything that wasn't there yesterday. Simple things feel so much more significant. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I can see my breath and the tiny, gusts of air that follow my fingers every time they move. Nothing feels real.

I am more suspicious on days like these. I don't understand how everyone else doesn't feel what I feel and doesn't see what I see. How can one go about their business on days like these? How can a person function with such force all around them? Days like these, I can feel my chest expanding. My brain is trying to take in too much and I usually end the day with a headache.

Days like these. How curious.

3D: The 3rd D is for "DANG! That Shit Is Coming Right At Me!"

Today is a glorious day. Why? Because tonight I am going to see this:



Yes, I realize it is a remake and remakes generally suck more than trying to drink a milkshake through a twisty straw. Normally I would be against any horror remake of any kind but this one has one magical thing that the original did not: a 3rd dimension. Yeah, you heard me. Paying $10 to see a psychopath take out some horny teens with a pick axe is ridiculous. But paying $10 to see some psychopath take out some horny teens with a pick axe IN 3-MOTHER EFFING-D suddenly becomes worth it.

If I walked up to the ticket counter and the pimply kid behind the counter said, "That'll be one human arm," I'd pull out a handsaw and start taking names (and arms).

If the ticket taker guy was like, "You can't wear any clothes in the theatre because it's a security threat," I'd take my pants off and eat my popcorn naked as the day I was born.

Point being, I don't think people realize how amazing 3D is. Sure, I could look around me and see things in 3D. The apple on my desk, for example, is in 3D and it's nothin' fancy. Apples is apples, right?

But the apple isn't doing anything. It's not killing teens with a pick axe. It's not dancing off the screen and making me feel happy or scared or excited. Mostly though, it's sure as hell not entertaining me. And really, that's all 3D movies are; a better, more intense form of entertainment. Yes, the crazed killer is scary looking, but now he's scary looking AND COMING AT MY FACE. It's essentially just more bang for your buck.

When I was a kid, I went to Disneyland and saw Captain EO. This was, of course, before Michael Jackson touched all those kids. Whoops, I mean allegedly touched all those kids. When I was a teenager, I saw Terminator, Shrek, A Bug's Life and Honey, I Shrunk The Kids in 3D. Now, as an adult, my 3D adventures continue. My thirst for movies in 3D shall never be quenched.

Really, at this point, it doesn't even matter to me if the movie is good. Obviously, I hope it is. But as long as I get to wear those awesome red and blue 3D glasses and see some good ol' fashion slashin', I'll be pleased as punch.

January 15, 1992

Well, ladies and gentleman, it seems that yesterday I suffered from what is commonly known as "an overreaction". It can also go by freaking out for no reason, momentarily losing one's shit or just straight up being an unpleasant dickface.

The rest of the day turned out fine. But, what's in the past is in the past and now it's time to focus on the future. What exactly does the future hold today? This guy:



That's right, Red, everybody's communal little brother, is entering full blown teenage sassery and turning 17 today. It seems like just yesterday we were making fun of his red hair and telling him we found him in a bathroom when he was young.*

So, in celebration of Red's glorious, goo filled entrance into the world exactly 17 years ago, I now present 17 things that make me glad Tomas is around.

17. He knows the cool, teen slang that all the kids are using these days.
16. He entertains me with his high school stories.
15. His hair is awesome. Somehow two Mexican parents gave way to a redhead, which has served him quite well over the years.
14. We stick together during family parties where we don't know anyone.
13. Whilst participating in #14, we also make fun. I love having people to make fun with,
12. He cracks me up during driving lessons.
11. He has given me the gift of knit. As in, the kid taught me how to knit and didn't stab me with a knitting needle when I almost lost my shit over pearling.
10. He's smart, like almost to a freakish degree. I don't think there is any problem Red couldn't figure out eventually.



9. He let's me call him "Fatty" even though the nickname doesn't really apply.
8. His fashion sense is pretty rad. Did I mention he KNITS HIS OWN ACCESSORIES?!
7. He owns accessories.
6. Red is his own person. He's not afraid to do out of the box things and he never apologizes for it.
5. He's a smart ass.



4. I can share comfortable silences with him.
3. He sings, loudly. Like big, fat lady singing. It's awesome.
2. He is one of the funniest people I've ever met.
1. Because even though we're related and I have to love him, I would still do it anyway.



So, here's to the littlest member of the group. Happy Birthday, Fatty.


*May or may not have actually been yesterday.

Wednesday Boycott

I'm in a mood today. A terrible, face melting, punch in the head inducing mood. I went to bed tense last night and woke up with my entire body rebelling. The area between my shoulders and the small of my back insist on spasming every five minutes. Hey, guess what back of the body area-- I didn't forget that you existed. So chill the fuck out with all this spasming business and let me be. Live and let live, right?

Aside from feeling like someone sat on me all night, I'm trying to cheer myself up. It's not really working. I think it's cause I don't really want to be cheered up. I want to be angry today because I'm just that filled with rage. Karina angry, Karina smash!

So, in the spirit of being a bitch, I am officially saying that today can eat it. That's right, I declare this entire Wednesday a complete and total waste of time and effort. Eff Wednesday, in other words.

Tuesdays? I'll take it.

Thursdays? Hell yeah.

Wednesdays? Wednesdays need to roll themselves in a carpet, walk itself out to the nearest dumpster, pour a bowl of day old lo-mein on top of itself and wait to be taken to a landfill where it truly belongs. Better yet, Wednesdays can stroll on down to Uncle Tony's Footlocker, invest in a pair of nice, comfy cement shoes, walk itself down the most remote fishing harbor, take a leap in and get to know a couple of great whites. Mafia deaths are only fitting for snake in the grass Wednesdays. You think you can rely on this unassuming day of the week? You are mistaken. Wednesday is the day your car will run out of gas. It's the day you'll realize you owe money all over town. Hell, Wednesdays will sleep with your wife if you let them. They're the biggest dick of all the weekdays, besting even that dingleberry wiener Monday.

Worst of all, Wednesday blog posts are totally irrelevant.

"I thought I was coming here to read about something entertaining," you thought.

Well, guess what? It's Wednesday, and Wednesdays are assholes.

I Work Here

Today I got the opportunity to take my work to the great outdoors. By that I mean some of my amazingly awesome co-workers let me tag along with them to see something truly badass: nature. All went swimmingly, except for when we were all climbing a hill and I beefed it. I totally ate dirt and buffed my hand on a rock. The funny part (aside from eating it in front of everyone) was I didn't really care. Why not? Well, because we were outside and it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

It was like being a kid again. When I was a kid, my life really wasn't all that complicated. There were a couple times, though, when everything felt like it was caving in. Small things got to me and I'd be very close to loosing it. Then I would go outside and everything just faded away. Hunting for horned toads, building tree houses or just laying in the grass playing pogs, it was as close to perfection as anything in my life has ever been. The problem is, you grow up. You discover the wonders of TV or the phone or, god help you, the Internet. Suddenly, outside doesn't seem that cool anymore.

The thing about life is it tends to lead you places you never anticipated you'd be. Every plan I've ever had has gone to complete shambles. Every.One. Sometimes it's a positive thing, other times it makes me want to smash my head on my keyboard. This time, at this job, it seems to be working out. Today was the day I began a courtship with my job. I won't say that I love it because I don't yet. I am, however, entertaining the idea of being in very strong like with it. Maybe someday I will love it and I'll feel like I'm actually doing something that matters. Today was the first day in my entire time at this job that I felt like I could potentially do something meaningful. It was delightful.

Aside from that, I saw some bugs today! Serious, hardcore insects. I saw a beetle the size of my forefinger and more spiders than I knew what to do with. A bee landed on my head and I only sort of freaked out. Then on the way home some roadrunners jotted across the road. ROADRUNNERS.

I know you might be asking yourself, "What kind of job does she have that she sees roadrunners all day?"

Well here's a picture of me out in the field today:



I think we all know how that one ended. Really, really well.

And I Miss My Uncle Charles

I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I love getting forwards. I don't know why. By all accounts, they're annoying and I'm almost positive going to be the downfall of society. They make your computer run slowly all for an image of a dancing cat and the words "Have a fancy feline day!" By all means, I should say "No, I will not have a fancy feline day. I will have an average, uneventful day, thank you very much."

But I don't say that. I'm grateful for the distraction, actually. And then I try to imagine what was going through the sender's head when they sent this.

"She'll think it's cute," is prolly the the most common thing. Followed by, "Fuck her, this'll show her smart ass. Send, dancing hamster clip, send!"

Like I say, as someone who (sadly) spends the majority of the day in an office, forwards can be a very welcome distraction. Tonight, I got an amusing one. Well, amusing for a forward.

An aunt sent me this link: http://www.joshhosler.biz/NumberOneInHistory/SelectMonth.htm

Also I'm waaaaay too lazy to spruce that up in html. My blog, my rulesies, capish? Anyhoo, it'll take you to this page where you can find out what the #1 song in the nation was the day you were born. Mine was "Alone" by Heart. Not bad. That is, until I saw the list for the 90s.

1999- "If You Had My Love" by Jennifer Lopez
1998- "The Boy Is Mine" by Brandy and Monica
1997- "I'll Be Missing You" by Puff Daddy and Faith Evans feat. 112
1996- "The Crossroads" by Bone Thungs-n-Harmony
1995- "Waterfalls" by TLC
1994- "I Swear" by All-4-One
1993- "Weak" by SWV
1992- "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot
1991- "Rush Rush" by Paula Abdul
1990- "Step by Step" by New Kids on the Block

Hold the mother flippin' phone. You mean to tell me all those gems were #1 the day of my birth? Wait, wait, wait. You're saying that I get to claim Bone Thugs, Sir Mix-a-Lot AND Puff Daddy back when he was still Puff Daddy and not P.Diddy or P.Silly or whatever he's calling himself these days? Hey-o!

Aside from the fact that in 6th grade coolness was measured solely by whether or not you knew the rap part of "Waterfalls" and in addition to the sad, sad fact that I would insist someone be the Monica to my Brandy during my always stirring rendition of "The Boy Is Mine", these songs completely summed up the 90s for me. The sweet days of my ghetto youth. The carefree days when I rocked cholla bangs and answered people's questions with "Sup?" Things were simpler then. I didn't say things were in style, but simpler.

I suggest giving the link a try and seeing what comes up.

If Being Old Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right. Now Get Off My Lawn.

Yesterday I met up with my friend Thurber who I've known since high school. Remember high school? More specifically, remember the end of senior year in high school? Everyone was crying and swearing up and down that everyone would always be friends with everyone else? You wrote things like "Luv u man!" and "Have a rad summer*" or "Do you like me, check yes or no" in each others year books. And no matter what, everything you wrote in your friends' yearbook ended with three to five exclamation points.

Well, Thurber was one of those friends who I promised to know forever. I believe we even exchanged letters before graduation explaining how awesome we though each other was and how we'll always be friends. Fortunately for us, that proved true. I don't see Thurber much anymore because she lives in Flagstaff and I live in Tucson, but when I do see her we pick up right where we left off. She is, hands down, the most fascinating person I know. I can never get enough of her stories.

Yesterday, for example, when we were talking about her adventures abroad, she said, "When I was in Luxembourg, three people assumed I was a prostitute." Classic Thurber.

Aside from being one cool chick, Thurber knows how to give a good present. One year for Christmas, she gave me a broomstick with the word "Thunderbolt 3000" painted on it and a stick she labeled as a wand. That was when I was going through my Harry Potter phase and I appreciated someone who could empathize with my geekiness.

This year, Thurber rocked the house again and got me something I didn't realize I needed, but now I don't see how I could possibly live without. Ladies and gentleman, I present Gerta LaReaux:



Gerta is a vintage, working condition typewriter. She's beautiful and I am in love with her. It was pointed out to me that Gerta only adds fuel to the old lady fire. So let me take this opportunity to set the record straight. Yes, I knit. Yeah, I make myself a cup of tea before I go to bed. Okay, sometimes I go to sleep at 9:30 because I'm sleepy. And hell yeah, I blew off going to the DMV yesterday so I could come home and get down to business with Gerta. If all that makes me an old lady, then so be it. I'll start subscribing to the AARP magazine and eating dinner at 4 p.m. if that means Gerta and I can live a life of joy and never ending ink ribbons.

Thanks to Thurber for giving an amazing gift to a sweet, old lady like me. Much obliged.


*Someone actually wrote this in my yearbook. And once in middle school, someone wrote "Always use CONDOM sense, ha ha ha". Middle schoolers have such sophisticated humor.

I'll Have An Irish Coffee, Hold The Coffee

I'm waiting by the coffee pot for the sweet, sweet caffeine to brew. I'm not a coffee drinker by any means. I'll drink it if there's nothing else and I can dump three pounds of sugar and Splenda into it, but ordinarily, I prefer my old lady tea with just a hint of honey or peppermint. But, the office is cold and I'm tired. And since my office generally frowns upon giving it's employees cocaine or, y'know, maybe a blanket, I have little choice left than to suck it up and wait for the coffee. This must've also been the sentiments of one of my co-workers, Charlie.

"I didn't know you drank coffee," he tells me.

"I don't," I say. He snorts. I love snort-laughers. You know they're genuine because nobody fakes a snort-laugh. Snort-laughing is embarrassing and it usually sounds like an indirect result of someone dropping you on your head when you were an infant.

There's a pile of chocolates by the coffee pot. Call me a traitor to my gender, but I'm not really a chocolate fan either. If I'm going to splurge on something, then it's going to be a cheeseburger or a burrito or a cheeseburger inside a burrito. Charlie can't stop looking at the chocolates.

"Want one?" he asks me. I make a face and shake my head. "Nah," I say. "There's only enough room in this tumsy (Karina slang for tummy) for liquid."

Charlie steps a little closer and grabs two chocolates from the bowl. "I think you want one," he says.

"Whoa," I'm thinking. "You need to step up off me. I am cold, I am cranky and I fucked up my liquid eyeliner this morning and now I look like a raccoon. Cute look on them, scary, soul sucking look on ladies. So fuck you, I don't want any chocolate." But, being an essentially nice girl, I sigh, take the chocolate and stuff it into my pocket. Charlie looks wounded.

"I'll eat it later," I say.

"You didn't even look at it," he says. I pull the chocolate out and look at it. It's one of those alcohol filled chocolates. Jack Daniels chocolate, to be exact.

"What?!" I exclaim. "Who brought these in?"

"I don't know, man," Charlie laughs. "I didn't think you were ever going to get it."

Charlie and I crack jokes about who brought in the chocolate. "Is this even allowed in an office setting?" I ask.

"I don't know. But if these were my chocolates, there's no way I'd share 'em with everyone. I'd horde them all year," Charlie says.

"Yea, and turn into a massive alcoholic," I say.

Charlie looks at me as I unwrap my chocolate. "Are you even old enough to be eating those, little girl?"

"Charles, I am an adult," I say biting into the chocolate. Gooey, carmel-esque Jack Daniels spills onto my chin.

"I thought this would be more, uh, liquidy," I say. Charlie snort laughs again and pours his coffee. I think from now on, I'll just bring my old lady tea.

Sweat Fueled Revelation

Tonight I got home and did what I normally do: I ate dinner. Chicken and chili stew, it was everything a dinner should be. Hot, tasty and homemade, it frolicked in my mouth and danced down my throat. I had a large bowl and then sat around wondering what I could do to burn off all the calories I'd just eaten. That's all that my mind thinks about these days.

If I eat that, how much would I have to do to clean the slate again? To be on even keel?

It's incredibly tiring and most of the time, takes the joy out of eating. Tonight I took Simon for a walk. I chatted on the phone with an old friend for a long time. I missed talking to my friend and before I knew it, half an hour had passed. We said our goodbyes and Simon and me headed home.

I got home and plopped into the kitchen chair. "Great," I thought. "I'm done now. I can shower and not worry about calories for the rest of the night."

I looked down at my lower body and knew that wasn't going to be the case. Some nights, I'm proud of what I've accomplished and the parts of me I've lost. Other nights, I am disappointed in myself. I'm angry that I haven't accomplished more. But tonight, I felt selfish. I had left the girl I used to be behind. Physically, I don't remember who that girl was. I see photos of her and I don't recognize her. I feel sorry for her. But I forget sometimes that I was her. That I used to laugh in her body. That I had friends who cared for me no matter what I looked like on the outside. For all the times I was insecure or angry in her body, I was also happy. I told jokes and stories and had really great times. I loved and was loved in her body.

I rolled my mini-trampoline (the min-tramp) into my bedroom, put on some music and jumped on. The music was upbeat but I didn't really hear any of it. My body was moving but my mind was still thinking about the girl I used to be. A while back, I put up an old Polaroid of that girl on the wall for inspiration.

"So I'll know I can never go back," I thought as I tacked it up. It caught my eye as I was bouncing. Suddenly I heard the words of a song I'd heard a thousand times before.

I'm going on, the song said. I looked at the Polaroid. "Well, I guess that's true," I thought. I bounced more and listened to the words. It was like hearing them for the first time.

But every once in a while, I think about her and smile, one of the few things I do miss, it said. "Good Christ," I thought. "That's exactly right."

But baby I got to know, baby I've got to show, baby I've got to prove it. And I'll see you when I get there.

I was completely consumed. My legs were aching and my chest was tight, but I couldn't stop. I felt weightless. I am not leaving her behind. I'm ditching the bad parts and taking the rest of her along with me. Sure, I'm terrified. I've been terrified since the beginning. The fear of failure and regression tug at me every day. It probably will forever. But looking at that photo and listening to those words, suddenly everything made sense. There is no going back, ever. There is no failure, not with this. There is nothing but what I choose to do.

And I promise I'll be waiting for you. Goddamn right.

In A Nutshell

Things have been hectic. Not in a bad way, mind you, but there are times when it feels like the earth is spinning way too fast and I can't seem to catch up. This morning I was a little late to work and felt really rushed. I had so much on my plate. Install my new computer, file months worth of neglected files, work on a project I'd been putting off. Catching up was the name of the game.

I started to unload some of the contents of my purse that I brought specifically for work. Some snacks, a book, chapstick, things like that. I looked at the way I had laid them out and realized that these few things could represent what my life has been about for the past few days.



The new year is a great jumping off point for dieters. Well, it would be, but I'm not a dieter. I eat whatever I want, just in limited amounts. I've been trying to watch what I shove into my mouth* so I can keep myself on track. Watching what I eat is important to me, almost as important as say, oh, zombies.

I think I've made it pretty clear how I feel about the undead. Sure, zombies are fascinating (as is this book), but it's not just them I'm fascinated with. I love the idea of being able to say peace out to the real world and focus on whatever I want to. Be it zombies or the awesome DVDs that were bestowed upon me by "Santa", I've been enjoying being able to check out from real life whenever I feel like it. I won't be able to do that once school starts (barf), but until then, I plan on escaping into the zombie apocalypse, the world of Rocky Balboa or Scranton, Pennsylvania as often as I can. That is, when I'm not mini-trampolining.** Because let's face it, sometimes made up worlds are way better than the one I live in. Take that, Earth.


*Yes, that IS what she said. I heard it with my own ears. She's such a pervert.
**Sweet God, mini-trampolining is the best exercise ever! More tomorrow.

Never Too Late for 2008

It's only 5 days into 2009 and I don't think it's too late for a holiday update. Even though the holidays are so 2008. Well guess what? I don't follow the general principal of time. I make my own time. That was one of my resolutions in 2009, to make my own time. So now that it's 17:0x o'clock, it's time for a semi-late to the party 2008 in review.

Holiday 1: Christmas

Christmas was amazing...amazingly cold! When it snows in New Mexico, Mother Nature doesn't mess around. She's like, "You stole my land and, y'know what, eff that. Eat snow, ya bastards!" It was freezing. I stepped off the plane and looked a lot like this:


You better believe I was NOT doing lunges. It was so cold, I'm not even positive I could feel my legs.

But I'll tell you something: nothing gets rid of the coldies then some chili. If it's one thing New Mexico knows, it's chili. I had chili with posole, chili with tamales, and I can't be sure, but I may have chased a shot of tequila with a spoonful of yummy, delicious chili. My eating plan went to hell in a handbasket (full of chili).

The highlight of the trip was when my parents took us to Santa Fe. They went to college there and just wanted to show us around. Santa Fe is awesome. It has all these galleries everywhere and everything smells like, well, you know.*

However, if there's one gripe I have with New Mexico, it's the fact that we saw these creepy bronze statues hangin' around. Some were kids, some were animals, and a couple were bears. Now let me say this-- bears scare the shit out of me. I am terrified of them. I don't like statues, paintings or any other sort of bear replicas, but I'm not afraid of them. I'm uncomfortable around them because of what they represent: 600lbs of rage covered in fur. Bears will rip your face off and eat your legs all because you just so happened to walk within 200 feet of their cubs. I didn't see your name written on this forest, you selfish ass bear. It's not like you can outrun them either. They're freakishly fast for being fatties. You can't out climb them or out swim them either because, oh yeah, THEY'RE FREAKISHLY FAST FOR BEING SUCH FATTY McFATTERSONS. It's astonishing and really quite terrifying.

Of course, my family was thoroughly amused and fascinated by these statues. So much so, there was posing involved.









And then this happened:

Family: Look, KV, a bear! Go stand by it.
KV: No.
Family: C'mon! It's not a real bear.
KV: I hate it anyway.
Family: Go on. Pretend like you're punching it in the head.
KV: What?! No.
Family: C'mon. We'll take a picture and it'll be funny.
KV:...Fine.




Holiday 2: New Years Eve and New Years Day
Since this was the first year I was legally able to go out and make a fool of myself, I decided to take advantage. And take advantage I did!


Myself, Garland and Cris, Garland's sister


Cousin Noodle and her gentleman friend


Cris, her fiance B, Beezy and her boyfriend R.A.


Noodle was not impressed with my booth dancing. She must not have been using her eyes.


M and Garland


Who likes to rock the party? I like to rock the party!

Now, dear reader, I'd like to tell you about the songs I danced to and the jokes I told. But honestly, I don't remember a lot of the night. I suffered from a common ailment called "selective memory" or what some people like to ruin and call "blacking out". Here's what I do recall. Dancing was involved, as was alcohol and sequins. Bad decisions and laughing were also involved, the latter mostly being at my expense. But y'know what? I had a blast. Not just a regular blast, but a rocket flying, bomb exploding blast. If there's one thing I regret, it's drunk dialing everyone in my phonebook, including Directory Assistance. Oh Directory Assistance, you always take my calls.


Holiday 3: 1st Wedding of 2009
Alright, I realize this isn't a real holiday. But this is my blog and I'll write about what I please! This past Saturday, my cousin Bride got married. I love going to family parties because my family is awesome and on most occasions, alcohol is served. After spending most of New Years Day cuddled in bed watching The Office and my new copy of Rocky Balboa, I vowed that I would stay away from the liquor. Then I heard about this magical place at the wedding reception called "Open Bar". Oh, and what a magical place it was. I had fairy sparkled drinks like prickly pear magaritas, Washington Sour Apples, tequila shots, Negra Modelos, Fat Tires, sips of dirty martinis and the most delicious/disgusting shot called a peanut butter and jelly.

An after effect of hanging out Open Bar was my dancing abilities improved ten fold. I put Tina Turner to shame the way I rolled down the river on that dance floor. This was your dance area? Sorry, I own it now. Oh, what? You're going to play "Cotton Eyed Joe" in an attempt to get all the brown people to clear the area? Psych! You didn't realize I knew how to throw my hat into a ho down. It was amazing.


The always awesome lady cousins.


Nothing beats being fancy and drinking.


Me and Mama D


The scary ones, Poppa D and Armando


The lookers in the family.


The end of 2008 turned out to be a whirlwind of fun. I had so much fun with my friends and family. I am choosing to believe that all the fun I've had in the past few weeks is an indicator of what 2009 is and should be.

So, here's to 2009. It's going to be fine.**


*Hint: CHILI.
**Another one of my resolutions is to rhyme more. I think it's working out really well so far.