It doesn't have to be New Years for a resolution.

I'm having trouble with myself.

I've tried writing a few sentences to elaborate, but it all boils down to that one statement. I can't get myself to do what I want. Things have been going so well for me that I have essentially said "eh, forget it" to most of the things I was working on. My weight loss efforts have pretty much fallen by the wayside, I feel lost without a school project to work on, my job is testing the limits of my patience and I am right smack in the middle of numerous unfinished projects. I feel very cluttered.


Pictured: my insides.

I have the rest of this week and all of next week off from work (insert hallelujah angels here), so I've decided it is going to be a kick-off to de-cluttering my life. Does that sound too Oprah-ish? Oh God. I promise I'm not going to go buy her book of the week or anything. Eff Oprah. Yeah, I said it.*

Because I need to see it in writing and I can't say no to a good list, here are some things I'm planning on doing during my week of freedom.

1.) Crafts. I haven't knitted in ages. I guess it's because nobody needs a wool hat or scarf in the desert in the middle of July. Who knew? I have also been wanting to re-do my room because it's my favorite room of my house. Hello, narcissism, how do you do? I bought some blank canvasses at Michaels (shout out to 2-for1 deals!) that have been sitting against my door for the past month. I guess I really should have thought about the fact that I have the artistic talent of a first grader before I committed to purchasing canvas and paints, but we'll see what I can make of it.

2.) Exercise. I haven't done much of this for the past few weeks because, well, it's fucking hot. I somehow don't look forward to having a trainer yell at me to "push it!". Yeah, I'll push it alright. I'll push it all the way to the goddamn Cold Stone Creamery. You don't know my life, YMCA trainer.

For realsies, though, I need to get back on this bandwagon. I have the combination gross/lumpy feeling that can only come from leaving a permanent ass print in the easy chair. I've found that I like the solitude of jogging, but I get really uneasy doing that in front of people. Oh don't mind all the jiggling, folks, just trying to jog a couple miles without hacking up a lung. I found a nature trail that's not too far from my house, though, so I want to do a bit of trail running. Although it's a gravel trail and birds can run it, I'm still counting it as trail running.

3.) Not watch (as much) TV. I know, I know, it's blasphemy. But I've noticed that I can't just watch TV. I'll read a book, play on the laptop, try to get Simon to chase his own tail or any other thing I can distract myself with while watching TV. So, why not just cut it down all together? There are so many other things I could be doing, which brings me to #4.

4.) Get the hell out of the house. I love my house and all the comforts it provides, but I gotta get out more. Usually, when I'm at home, I put on some sweat pants and prepare myself for a rigorous day of lounging and lay downs. It's hard work but someone has to be the lazy hobo of the house hold. That sofa isn't going to nap on itself. I usually would probably say "screw it, it's my vacation and I do what I please", but I'm bringing in reinforcements.

My younger cousins, ages 9-16, are coming to spend the week with me. Why? Does one ever need a reason to hang out with a badass cousin?** My cousins are all active, imaginative, creative and absolutely needy people. They need to be entertained and guess who just signed on to be the figurative magician at the birthday party?


Sadly I don't have a segway.

It should be an interesting week.

So, there is is. The 4 things I want to get accomplished next week. Will I do it all? Can I survive all week on one tank of gas? Will I end up strangling a cousin in the process? Only one way to find out.

*Oprah, please don't send your housewife assassins to murder me and re-arrange my living room.
**Answer: no.

What's the haps, broseph?

Fun fact: I heard someone say just that a few minutes ago. A grown-man, I might add. Wooooof.

I know I haven't been around these parts in a while, but it's because I've been learning one very important universal truth: having a life is exhausting.

Case in point, I spent Saturday night out at a "club" filled with "people my own age" and had a jolly good time. Whoops, that last one doesn't fit with the hip kid vernacular. I had a bomb ass, hip to the mother effing Twitter Facebook time of the Apple Bottom Jeans. That's all the cool terms I could think of.

As a result of spending the evening doing what every 21-year-old in the world does every weekend, I spent all of Sunday out of commission. I did nothing but eat Chinese food, sleep and watch old episodes of "The Office".

The past few days have been busy. My summer school classes are slowly sucking the soul (and a few hundred bucks for books) out of me, work is insane in the membrane and I have been a social butterfly with friends, family and an awesome, potentially meaningful boy situation.

So, because it's rare for me to be both upbeat and eloquent at the same time, here is a list of things I am currently grateful for. Here we go.

1.) Saturday nights. Listen, all the best stories happen on Saturday nights. Lampshades get put on heads, alcohol is consumed, laughably bad decisions are made and dancing is had. Saturday night is the night of the week every other weekday is jealous of. Do you think that anyone is hooking up with a guy who looks like Geraldo Rivera on a Wednesday or eating tacos from a hut on the side of the road on a Monday? Pashaw.

Saturday night marked an important evening. My pals Deezy and Papa J officially ended their time as roommates and my friend Thurber is in town for a few days before moving to Portland. Having a trifecta of friends in town, I decided it was only necessary to take them out and get them all drunk. So, Saturday night, our group headed to one of my favorite bars for a night of drinking and debauchery. It was a blast. I have some pics that I'll put up later, but let's just say the night ended with a few new acquired phone numbers, drunken rambling, smokey hair and tacos at 3 in the morning. Verdict: success.

2.) Baby Miles. M and Garland are six months along and I get more and more excited every time I see them. M and Garland are like pioneers; my own personal Magellan into the cloudy waters of adulthood. They've handled everything beautifully so far and it makes me happy to know that, in three months, they'll have a son to add to their family. And I'll have a nephew who I already want to buy everything for. Because the baby is a boy, poor M has had to endure this question over and over:

KV: If I bought you and the baby matching hats/glasses/shoes/bowler shirts, would you wear them at the same time?

The answer every time: a shrug and a "sure". That's all I'm asking for.

3.) Laughter. Alright, before you roll your eyes and vomit on me because I just listed "laughter" as something I'm grateful for (what is this, Chicken Soup for the Cheesy Ass Soul?!), hear me out. I have laughed harder and more frequently in the past week than I have in a while. I've been hanging out with a new boy and he has me in stitches non-stop. Red is fine tuning his own sassy brand of humor with hilarious results. Even Simon, that smelly tan dog of ours, has been cracking me up. I laugh a lot as it is, but this past week has been out of control. If I keep it up, I'm pretty sure I can get abs of steel just through the magic of laughter. Suck it, P90X.

What's the opposite of 'buzzkill'?

Buzz-revival? Buzz-zombie? Buzz-survival?

Whatever it is, that is what's happening over on my side of the computer. Nothing has been able to kill my buzz. I'm happy these days. There's no real reason to be, I just am. Happiness is a bit of a double-edged sword for me. It's awesome because I wake up with the intent to accomplish things, like wearing clothes with buttons instead of elastic or seeing the light of day. I feel joy when I see my friends and family and don't have the sudden and overwhelming urge to cry and drink a lot.

The part I'm not so comfortable with is my creative juices stop flowing. Happiness is the Hoover Dam of my brain; it's cool because, hey, look, a dam used for hydroelectric power! but sucks because it blocks the water from doing it's natural, flowy thing. In this example, my brain juices are the water. Does that make sense? It if doesn't, blame happiness. It makes my similes suck.

In fact, y'know what, here's a list of things that are currently making me happy. So when I'm not around as much and when I write lame blog posts, you know what to blame.

I am happy because...

• People think I'm awesome. Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up, look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Why the hell does anyone like me?" I feel like this most days. I don't really understand why someone would go out of their way to hang out with me, let alone a whole group of people.
  

This photo proves that I was cool looking at least once in my life. So, y'know, score one for me.

I don't think I'll ever get it. So I'm trying something new. I'm saying a general "fuck it" and just rolling with it. Which leads me to my next point...

• New friends are fantastic. Once I started implementing my "screw it, I must really be rad if people keep wanting to talk to me" policy, things kind of started falling into place. I haven't been interested in making new friends until recently. Something very interesting has been happening in my group: everyone is a pair. There have been several occasions where I look up from my plate/salad/sake bomb only to find that I'm the only person around without a significant other. The 7th wheel. It's cool because I like everyone in the group, but it can get a little awkward when it's New Years Eve and there's nobody to make out with except a drunk cowboy. I need more single friends. Where all the drunk singles at?! Oh yeah, everywhere.

• I can shop in normal girl stores now. Many of you know my journey to become the Incredible Shrinking Girl, some don't. So here's a quick game of catch up. I used to be the biggest size at the big girl store. That's like being the fattest elephant at the zoo. An accomplishment in and of itself. but not really one you write home to mom about. I didn't have a light bulb moment or whatever the hell it is Oprah talks about, I just didn't want to have to start shopping in the extra-big girl/tent store. So, I changed some things and I can shop in normal girl stores now. I'm the biggest size at the normal girl store, but I'll take being the biggest monkey at the zoo over the biggest elephant.

That's all I can put a name to right now. As evidenced by the zoo bit up there, my brain is not helping me out today. I'm on my own which, today, is pretty okay with me.

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.

If I only had a brain

Today at work, someone called and asked for directions on how to get to our building. I'll admit it; our building is kind of difficult to find if you're not from Tucson. The freeway is a mess of orange tape and rubble and hasn't been open in years. It's like the apocalypse happened only on this little strech of freeway. If you're coming from Phoenix and looking for our building, it's not going to be an easy quest. Many people don't survive the journey. But you know what's interesting about people: most of them can take directions. If I say, "Head east down Broadway towards the grey building" most folks will know what that means. Most folks, but not the dumb girl who inspired today's post.

Dumb Girl called a bunch of times looking for our building. I said head east down Broadway and she heard "find a hotel parking lot". I said turn around and head south towards the Art Museum and she heard "find a Baggins". She's dumb and passive aggressive.

"There's no grey buildings. You said you were in a grey building," she says.

Lady, we're the only grey building. Downtown looks like it was painted by a six-year-old on a sugar high with a new box of Crayolas. We're the drab looking one on the left. The only building left uncolored in a sea of bright pinks, beighes, magentas, blues and, fuck, every color except grey.

"Wait, is it the one with windows?" she asks.

Yep. We're the only building in the entire city to have windows. It's a recent development, something the rest of the city hasn't caught onto yet.

God, Dumb Girl really gives a new meaning to dumb. Finally she gets here and looks exactly how I imagined her. She's wearing a shirt that doesn't fit right and is way too low cut for an office environment. And not that I looked (note: I totally looked), but her chest blossoms were nothing to write home about. If you're going to pull out the girls to give yourself an extra advantage, then at least have something to show. It was a lot of hype for nothing, much like college and my first kiss (zing!).

Her skirt also was revealing a bit too much, like say, glitter body lotion. How on earth is glitter body lotion appropriate for a sales pitch or job interview or whatever the fuck she's here for? That means that wherever she sits, there's going to be a greasy, glittery residue left behind. Which means that whoever sits in the chair after her is going to be covered in second-hand glitter and the cycle will just continue until we're all covered in stripper glitter. I don't want to be covered in stripper glitter. Not again.

I hate Dumb Girl with every fiber of my being for no other reason than she's a moron. I might be a bitch, but at least I know how to dress appropriately for my job and follow directions. Which reminds me, she even printed something from Google maps to find out how to get here. Google maps knows everything. I could type in "my purpose in life" and then click the "get directions" button and Google would direct me to my purpose in life using clear, concise language and a map for easy viewing. Come to think of it, that might be easier than actually doing all this soul searching.

I've compiled a list of things Dumb Girl could get directions to on Google maps:

- A brain
- A properly fitting shirt
- Victoria's Secret (if you're going to be a slut, at least own a good push-up bra)
- A shower
- On-coming traffic
- A better handshake. Pussy!
- Conversational skills. I can hear the meeting and she's bombing. I don't mean that in the sense that she's awesome, I mean that in the sense that she's dropping out of the sky like a destroyed fighter plane. War analogies are always appropriate. You don't know.

Backup Plan

Today I feel like this:



Which sucks for two reasons. The first of which being that feeling like I resemble a 50 foot tall dinosaur doesn't quite give me the self-esteem boost I'm looking for. The second reason being that if I were going to be any monster, I want to be a zombie. That's right. I want to be a rotted, green, eyeball missing, people eating zombie.

I'd make a good zombie because it'd be the easiest profession* ever. Their only goal in life, er, un-life, is to eat. Granted, what they eat is human flesh, but that's just a small price to pay to be a member of the everlasting un-dead party. All my worries about school, work, social standing and self-esteem would be gone because I'd be dead and wouldn't care. The only thing Zombie Karina would care about is eating and trying not to trip over my decomposing peers. My estimation of what a day would be like in the life of a zombie would go a little something like this:

7 a.m.- Wander around looking for food.
8 a.m.- Wander around looking for food.
9 a.m.- Wander around looking for food.
10 a.m. -Wander around looking for food.
11 a.m.-3 p.m. - Groan.
4 p.m.- Wander around looking for food.
5 p.m.- Wander around looking for food.
6 p.m. - Stare at something off in the distance; wonder to myself if it's food.

I think you get the idea. If my plans to be a professional, well educated and well adjusted adult doesn't work out, I plan on becoming a zombie. So if in the distant future you see me wandering around, dead with half my arm missing, you'll know that behind my cold, lifeless eyes I'm smiling. But, uh, you probably don't want to get too close.


*This is of course assuming that being a zombie is on scale with having a full time job. You would have to have qualifications like, "Can eat up to 10 pounds of brain" and "Has 2+ years experience in being un-dead" and "willing to work holidays, weekends and dark, foggy nights".

Slowly turning into Macho Man Savage (on the inside)

I can't decide if I'm having a good day or not. I think I am, maybe, kinda, a little, sort of having an alright, not terrible, eh, fine day. I can't settle on adjectives that I like! I feel like I'm split into two folks: Happy KV and Turning into The Hulk Inside KV.

Here are some things that are making Happy KV so damn chipper:

Friends
I'm just going to put this out there: my friends are bomb. They're amazing, hilarious, fun, ridiculous and all around mother effing awesome. But most of all, they all seem to have this sense where whenever I feel like blarg they happen to show up or call just to see what's goin' on. It also just goes to show that I don't keep crappy, lame, silly or redonk people around in my life. Homie don't play that, which leads me to my next point:

Silly Phrases
I think I get it from my cousin Beezy, but I will occasionally latch on to a word and say it until I have taken all meaning and coolness out of it. For example, I'm trying to make the word "woof" catch on. I've been trying for a while. Let me set the mood for you. Say you're at the mall/store/eatery and you see a girl dressed something disgusting. It's terrible. She's wearing something horrible like moccasin boots, cutoffs and a bedazzled sweater with feathers. And not only is her hair stringy, but she's wearing sunglasses inside. And her sunglasses are smudged. You have to squint to look at her because if you opened your eyes at full capacity, your brain would laugh in your face and then quit. You turn to your friend to point out the walking atrocity and the only word you can muster to describe it is, "Woof." It's a powerful word. Go ahead and try it out.

Halloween
There's something about dressing up as someone you're not that's wonderfully comforting.


And since I said it's a 50/50 sort of day, here are some things that are making me die a little inside, even as I write this. True story. I'm 1% more dead than I was a second ago.


The word "excellent"
This word has become dangerous to me. I started using it as part of the words I'm trying to bring into my vocabulary, but it has since gotten horribly out of control. I can't stop saying it. And try as I might, I can't say it without sounding like a.) a surfer from 1991, b.) stoned or c.) feeling like I should be in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. I am officially looking for a new word to bring into rotation that hasn't been popular since the late 80s.

My contacts and my eyeballs
Yesterday I went to put my contacts in and found that one of them was ripped. Ripped! Granted, I've been using these monthly contacts for 6 months now, but what the hell? There's nothing that will make me fly into an unsubstantiated rage quicker than having to break out my glasses. I feel like a huge geek and for some reason there's hair spray residue all over them, even though I haven't used hair spray since I was 14 and rocking the chola bangs. But I tried to make peace with it. Tons of people wear glasses, what's one more? Then today at work this happened:

Co-worker: Hey, I really like your glasses!
Me: Oh, thanks. (feeling less mutant like)
Co-worker: Where'd you get them? I'm trying to find some like that because I'm going to be Sarah Palin for Halloween.
Me: *sigh*

Sound effects eaters
Alright, this is a serious topic that needs to be discussed. I absolutely cannot stand people who make moaning, groaning or otherwise questionable pleasure noises whilst eating. Hey, I get it, that pear is delicious. It's so tasty it might even make you let out an involuntary moan or two. But I don't want to have to hear your sex noises because you're so smitten with your fruit. It's gross and kind of baffling. How is it possible to groan and swallow food at the same time? Any scientists in the house who can explain this to me? Mostly, it's just weird and makes me feel a little uncomfortable. In fact, sound effects eaters have just joined my own personal Axis of Evil.

Boys
Every last one of them are confusing and stupid. I remember thinking this when I was in fifth grade and a boy tripped me with a jump rope because he liked me. I remember thinking this when I was in 8th grade and had my first boyfriend. And I remember thinking it after every bad date, every bad argument, and every bad everything in between. Boys are silly and there is no point in trying to figure them all out.

Now that I think about it, tonight is Dollar Tuesday night at the local theatres, so perhaps my day is more 70/30 in favor of Happy KV. Good thing my love for cheap movies far outweighs any gripes I have with life at the moment. You win, Dollar Tuesday. You always do.