Short Break: a Haiku

Going out of town
Please don't bump me off your list
Back on Monday night

Sick puppy

Ben has had the worst cold for about a week now-- probably the worst cold he's had in years. Which is interesting, because whenever I get a really bad cold, he gets one that seems way less intense, but which he firmly believes is just as bad as mine. Bad enough, in fact, that he should be allowed to watch copious amounts of golf all day, even though I'm the one that just hacked up a small but probably necessary portion of my lung.

This always used to make me kind of mad, because I am the type of person who once had bronchitis for over a month and still managed to live a totally normal life, despite the fact that my voice inexplicably went up two octaves and that I was expelling custardy-looking globulets of phlegm from various holes in my head, so I don't like it when other people try to steal my sickness thunder.

But now that he is so sick, I find myself waiting for even the slightest onset of a sore throat, or an errant sneeze, and with every passing moment that it doesn't come, I'm just a little disappointed. I still don't know what it means, but I'm starting to see where he's coming from-- it's kind of no fun being healthy when your husband and best friend is sick. And, you have to give up your rights to the couch for an indefinite period of time, which is enough to make anyone wish for a tickly throat.

Traders!

Because I know dudes think it's hot when I discuss sports (okay, so Ben does, anyway), I feel compelled to share with you the news that the Cavs have entered into a mamoo three-way trade, just before the trade deadline, that has us saying goodbye to Drew Gooden, Larry Hughes, Donyell Marshall, Ira Newble, and Two Guys I've Never Heard Of. In exchange, we will be getting Ben Wallace, Joe Smith, Delonte West, and Wally Szczerbiak.

I consider myself to be more educated in Cavs basketball than most girls, but I still don't pretend to be an expert on the subject, so I'm not sure how this trade will affect the team as a whole. (According to three different, totally unrelated guys in my office, we have "traded garbage for garbage," a phrase I feel must have been issued to them in their Meaningless Things That Guys Say Handbook.)

My own thoughts on the trade are varied.

Bad For Cavs:

1. I totally love Drew Gooden, even though most of the time he looks like he just escaped from an asylum for the mentally deranged. See above. In general, I become overly attached to sports figures, and nearly wept at the news that Drew was leaving town.

2. I do a really, really good impression of Donyell Marshall. Which would be impressive, if anyone had ever heard Donyell Marshall talk,but it turns out no one has. No one I know, anyway.

3. Ben Wallace plays center, and we already have a really good center in Zydrunas Ilgauskas. (See, I had to bust some actual sports knowledge on you there for a second.

Good For Cavs:

1. Wally Szczerbiak? Smoking hot. See left. And also, he went to Miami of Ohio for college, and it's always nice to have some hometown guys on your team. Word on the street is that Ben Wallace is from here, too.

2. We now have two players that could inspire a Wig Night at the Quicken Loans Arena, and a Ben Wallace wig would be even cooler than an Anderson Varejao wig.

3. Even though he hasn't played for Detroit in awhile, it might be nice to rub Ben Wallace in the Pistons' face.

So really, I guess my reasoning about the trade is more about what's good and bad for me, rather than for the Cavs. But no matter what the outcome, I would like to bid a fond farewell to Drew and Donyell-- you will be missed. Some people might miss Larry. But those people are idiots.

The girls in my neighborhood are unacceptable.

Why, for instance, do the girls in my neighborhood travel in packs down the sidewalk in the dead of winter, talking so loudly that I can hear their entire conversation from a block away? Because you know what? I am not even slightly interested in what happened to Lakeisha in Mr. Palmer's third period today. But I know what happened. And it wasn't even interesting. Why talk so loudly about such boring things, Lakeisha? Perhaps, just perhaps, this is why Mr. Palmer has not taken a liking to you.

Also, why do I develop a paranoid fear of having to talk to these girls, to the point where I will yank my dog at a breakneck pace down an icy sidewalk for a whole block just to avoid having to interact with them? I don't have this problem with the boys in my neighborhood. Of course, the boys in my neighborhood, in general, are not interested in talking to a weirdly-dressed woman with a big, crazed dog.

(As a side note, I always feel poorly dressed when I'm walking the dog, mainly because of every episode of What Not to Wear, where Stacey and Clinton made it REAL OBVIOUS that they feel that you should still wear heels and an expensive scarf and a tightly tailored black blazer while walking the dog, even in the dead of winter.)

But I will totally go out of my way to avoid talking to the girls. One, because they talk too loudly, and I'm afraid if I'm right up next to them they might actually burst my eardrum. But two, because they scare the crap out of me.

I don't know if this is a leftover from middle school, where interactions with big groups of girls usually ended in tears, or what.

Point is, they are unacceptable. Or I'm unacceptable. Or something. I don't really know what the point is. I just got back from walking the dog, and ran into these girls, and now I'm in here, blogging. Quietly. Mr. Palmer would be proud.

Dear C Store Owner/Proprietor,

I don't know if you're aware, but the dictionary definition of "convenient" (which, I can only assume, is what the "C" in "C Store" stands for) is as follows:

1.	Suitable or agreeable to the needs or purpose; well-suited with respect to facility or ease in use; favorable, easy, or comfortable for use.

2.	At hand; easily accessible

That have been established, I feel that your store does not lend itself to this word in any respect, considering that you are always closed when I walk the dog in the morning (and I am not one of those freakishly-early dog-walkers-- no, C Store Man, I walk the dog at the perilously late time of 7:00 a.m. every morning-- even later on weekends, and you are still not open), and you are already closed by the time I get back from work at the relatively early time of 6:00 p.m.

For whom, exactly, are these hours "convenient?" Are there many people in my neighborhood who find themselves in need of cigarettes, soda or lottery tickets (which is, I assume, all that you sell, since I have never actually been able to make it inside to check out your wares) between the hours of eleven and three in the afternoon? Even the convenient store I used to frequent in Wilmington, which turned out to be a front for a heroin ring, was open from six a.m. to midnight!

Therefore, I am afraid that I must insist that the "C" in "C Store" be changed to stand for "Crap-ass", or "Clearly Unacceptable." Because you are never open when I need candy, or soda, or more candy, or bread, which you may or may not sell. And this forces me to drive all the way to Willowick (I could stop at Euclid Mart, but it also a Clearly Unacceptable store, in that it does not take credit cards, and as any decent shopkeep should know, the only good way to buy candy is on credit), which, though it is only six minutes away, it about five minutes too many, since you are located directly across the street from my house, next to The Overly Doughy Pizza Shop and the Intermittently Open But Otherwise Very Satisfying Custard Stand.

In closing, I hate you.

All best,
Kim

What's the frequency, readers?

Okay, let's not beat around the bush-- I am not blogging as much as I should be. I understand that, but as of late, I have also come to understand a terrible truth:

I'm just not as in to blogging as I used to be.

I don't know why-- part of me thinks that (downer alert) I might be having a little bit of a depression problem again (which might be great, because as everyone knows, I'm at least 30% more hilarious when depressed, although 90% of you aren't actually around me to witness it). But then, it might be that The Part That Wants to Start Writing a Book is becoming more aggressive, and wants more time for that. Although if that's the case, I wish it would just Get Started, as opposed to stranding me on the couch for hours a night either reading books by other people or, even worse, honing my Guitar Hero skills.

But either way, I've either got to shut the blog down, or get off my ass, because my posts just aren't good enough to sustain a twice-a-month posting schedule.

So here's what I propose-- from now until April 1, I will attempt to blog every day (barring times that I go out of town, which should only be once or twice), but the blog posts will probably only be a paragraph long, max.

Is this something you guys would be interested in? Or is the twice-monthly post sufficient? Or is it just time for me to hang up my spurs completely? Wait, don't answer that one. Because it's never really been a dream of mine to hear the phrase, "Yeah, it's probably better if you just quit writing now." If I want to hear that, I'll check in with my old poetry professor.

Please advise.

Scared: straight?

As hard as I try to focus on the upcoming presidential election, I cannot escape the demon that has been chasing me around every corner, greeting me every morning in the mirror, staring back at me from countless photographs:

I think my hair is turning straight.

This, I believe, is totally unfair, as it took me until the age of 21 to even embrace the fact that I had curly hair; until this point, I wore my hair in a puffy haystack configuration, seen below:

(I got the idea for the parted bangs from Madonna's Immaculate Collection liner art, and stuck with it for far too long.)

Upon finally understanding that, like being left-handed or severely awesome, both of which I am, curly hair can be a major attribute in life, particularly in Attaining a Dude, I began to wear it that way all the time, thus ushering in a seven-year golden age the likes of which few hair-wearers have ever had the chance to experience.

But lately-- specifically since one week after my wedding, when I got my hair cut short again-- I have noticed a terrifying de-curled trend in my hair. Witness the artfully-crafted before and after shot below:

The photo on the left, taken at my cousin Jennifer's wedding in 2006, shows a shiny, sassy head full of super springy curls. The photo on the right, taken just a few weeks ago on my trip to Richmond with Megan and Matt, tells a much bleaker, limper tale.

So what has caused this grim transformation? A few theories:

1. After wearing my hair long for so long, it was not prepared to shrink back up into curls upon this, my most dramatic cut in a few years. However, I have had this cut since October now, and it is clearly Still Horrible.

2. My hair is turning gray at an alarming rate, and gray hair has a different texture than straight hair. Unacceptable.

3. Now that I have a super-sexy husband, my hair has given up the fight needed for Dude Attaining, and is taking a much-needed break.

4. The price of gas has uncurled it.

I could go on and on. But now is not a time for words, it is a time for action. And for spending lots of money I don't have on expensive conditioners and gels that I found on the Internet (they should be here next Wednesday!). In the meantime, I ask that you keep my curls in your thoughts, that they may recover from this malaise and return to their peppy selves, before they give up the fight completely, and I end up looking like Julie Andrews in Victor/Victoria.

Thank you, and God bless.