The prodigal poster returns

So, I know I haven't been the best at keeping my "blog more and comment more" resolution, but I have to admit, this whole wedding planning thing is a real ass-kicker! But we now have an official date (after visiting the worst location ever for a wedding reception-- in the worker cafeteria at the BP building), a dress, a caterer, a cake, and possibly a DJ. So it's all coming together quite nicely.

But on top of that, I have been:

• working with the Aurora High School Class of 1997 Reunion Committee to pull together some semblance of a reunion. So let me just inform you right now that if you are a member of the Aurora High School class of 1997 and you read this blog, you will be attending this reunion. There's really no way around it. Jeremy. Thaddeus. I will come to your homes and get you and make you dance. We'll be doing the Macarena. Oh, the joy, the joy of it all!
  


• returning all the e-mails in my inbox. This does not include the seven bazillion e-mails I got in response to my "I'm getting married!" e-mail of 12/26. Those of you who sent one of those e-mails, I greatly appreciate each and every one of you, but I must declare e-mail bankruptcy regarding those messages, lest I be found dead at my computer.
  


• working out with my new arm and ankle weights I got for my birthday, in an attempt to not have big scary flappy underarms on my wedding day. Thus far, I have accomplished only Looking Like a Supreme Idiot, as I tend to talk on the phone while wearing the weights and walking the dog, so I can often be found standing in front of various neighbor's houses, pumping my arms wildly and apparently talking to myself while my dog sniffs around in the garbage.
  


• attempting to overcome my fear of the woman who runs the place where we're getting married, because she totally hates me, and I think it's because my mom mentioned to her that I drank too much at a party I once attended at the same party center, thus securing my reputation, in this woman's mind, as "the girl who will almost certainly get drunk and ruin her own wedding."

And so on.

So, I must apologize, but it seems likely that my posting and commenting will be sporadic, at least until we get past this initial phase of wedding planning. But I am reading everyone's blog, and thinking of funny comments in my head. Which has to be worth something.

If it makes you feel any better, my hair is turning gray at a fantastic rate, which is alarming not only in and of itself, but also because I cannot resist the temptation to rip all the gray ones out, which will only ensure that, while I may have tight toned wedding underarms, I will probably be bald.

Also, please enjoy this picture of myself as a seventh-grader. Please note that yes, that is my dad's shirt I'm wearing. And I'm out in public. And those really were my glasses.

I feel that this display of naked humility should excuse me from all further anger at my not posting very much. Thank you!

I can't stop scanning things, so this might be the bulk of my blog for a couple days. But, I feel that the things I'm scanning are excellent insights into my life. Life this weird modge-podge journal I kept for a few weeks in grad school:

My only good halloween costume

We finally got the scanner I got for Christmas working, and so, as a belated Christmas present to you all, I offer this picture of me as a Killer Bee, circa 1988. What made me a killer bee was that I had a machine gun, sadly not pictured here.

Considering I now have an insatiable urge to scan every flat thing in my house, you can expect to see many more images as compelling as this one in the days and weeks to come.

Hot off the presses!

Had another column in the Dispatch today-- those of you who knew me while I was in Wilmington will recognize the story of The Great Potato Fire, as detailed here. I'm really proud of this one, mainly because I've been dying to tell the story of the GPF since the day it occurred.

I'm going to be writing a few more for them to keep in the hopper, and while I don't want to scavenge from my blog, I might need some suggestions to get the creative juices flowing (that is SUCH a disgusting phrase). Your thoughts?

Sad box

So.

I've been trying to figure out how to tell you about the resolution of my wee box problem for about a week now, and I'm not really coming up with anything. So instead, I'll just tell you in the least grody way possible.

So after the "you're just wiping too hard" incident, I went to my lady parts doctor for a second opinion. His first opinion? "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. He is the stupidest urologist ever. What is his name? Dr. Stupid Urology?"

After this spite-filled (but quite true) rant, we got down to business. One exam later, I finally had the answer to a question that has been burning (yes, pun intended) inside me for almost a year:

Vulvodynia.

I have vulvodynia. Which, apparently, is a fancy term for "depressed lady parts."

Long story short, something in my brain short-circuited after that first bladder infection-- apparently, the only bladder-related issue of this entire ordeal-- and caused my lady parts to go all out of whack, simulating a bladder infection, but not actually being one. They are, in short, depressed.

The best way to treat this problem, apparently, is with extremely old-school anti-depressants from the seventies. Because the new anti-depressants are too weenie and smooth-jazz to snap my lady parts out of their funk.

In addition, I am now required to wear only white cotton underthingies, refrain from using fabric softeners and harsh soaps, and keep horse-back riding to a minimum.

Also, I am expected to blow dry my lady parts with a hair dryer, to avoid the harsh contact that apparently comes from use of a clean fluffy towel.

I'm not doing this part. I don't even blow dry my hair.

So far, things have been going quite well. My lady parts seem to be cheering up quite nicely, and I no longer have to worry about my wee box.

I do, however, have to worry about the fact that I just willingly wrote the word "vulvodynia" on my blog, in reference to myself. A blog that my thirteen-year-old cousin reads.

Sorry, Katie!

Okay, seriously...

...I WILL be back to blog about my wee box problem. I realize that the problem is no longer of any interest to anyone, but believe me, it's super funny, and you'll die when you hear about it. But I have been very, very busy doing the following things:

• Buying my wedding dress (it's the greatest!). I so desperately want to show it to you, but I can't, for fear of The Ben Factor. I also really, really, REALLY was hoping that I'd be able to post at least one picture of me in a shockingly ugly dress, but really, I couldn't find any. Either that, or a lot of them were ugly, but they just looked good on me because I am so hot.

• Going to my first bridal show, which was a terrifying event of terror, even though I did get all the information I will need to actually pull off this wedding. At one point, though, I had a woman's elbow in my ear as I tried to walk past a "spin to win" booth that could net you either 14 nights in Jamaica or 5% off a night with The World's Most Annoying DJ.

• Staying up late at night worrying myself into nausea over my guest list, which isn't even slightly official yet, because my third grade teacher might find out about my pending nuptuals and feel really badly that she wasn't invited. (But sorry, Mrs. Brunswick. You were a bitch, and I never forgot that time you knocked over Leva's desk because she wasn't paying attention to you during math).

and many other wedding related things.

I know I promised not to be a crazed bride-to-be on this blog, but really, we're putting almost all of this behind us by the end of this week-- we're looking at one more site, auditioning photographers and DJs, and even securing Super Awesome Favor ideas. So once we enter that time where it's just list-making and envelope-licking, I will definitely have more time to talk about my wee box.

So, in short, stick with me! It will totally be up this week! Please?

Not to fear...

...the wee box story is coming-- I'm just thinking of the best way to phrase it without being totally gross. Here's a hint for those of you who watch Sex & The City, though-- Charlotte had it.

Vera Wang Terror Dress

I went dress shopping today for the first time, and felt very thin and sassy, which is actually the exact opposite of what I thought would happen. I realize, of course, that my thin-and-sassiness was mostly due to the corset and slip that actually left me dizzy for several minutes after removal, but I do not actually care, because even though I couldn't breathe, I was so. Hot.

Of course, for security reasons, I can't post any pictures of the actual dresses I tried on here-- while I do regularly inform Ben of my every move, including my need to poop, I am trying to keep him in the dark on this one. So if you'd like to see me in any thin and sassy dresses, just let me know and I'll e-mail some pictures over (but please be warned-- my mother did not tell me before she took any of the pictures, so in a fair number of them I look like a slack-jawed yokel).

So instead of posting actual pictures of me, I will instead share with you this picture of a Vera Wang dress model, whom I find very scary and upsetting. There are multi-page spreads of models just like these in every bridal magazine I pick up, and they all give me the heebie-jeebies. Why is she all hunchy like this? Why is she holding a stick? Is she going to attack me? Did she just fight a stag for superiority? Is that why her hair is so messed up, and she appears to be sporting the defeated stag's horns?

The dress I like does not look like this one. But I am so preparing my Big Stick bouquet.

2006: Angel or Demon?

Before I begin my annual year-in-review, I must share with you my make-your-own-South Park lady, as I was challenged to do by my Peruvian Girlfriend. I think she's pretty badass-- check her wicked cape:



Now, for the big review!

Up until about ten days ago, I was getting ready to give 2006 a relatively bad grade, although now for the life of me I can't figure out why. I do have a bias against even numbered years (2002, anyone?), so that might have had a lot to do with it, along with

• the thousands of dollars spent to cure my wee box problem
• the near-burglary of my home
• the continuation of my now two-year non-essay-writing streak
• the lack of visiting with my good friend Alan

But really, on the whole, 2006 was quite rad, offering such highlights as

• getting engaged to the man of my dreams (move over, George Clooney!)
• having three columns published in the Columbus Dispatch
• making not one but two trips to Wilmington
• the pregancy of my best friend Megan and my friends Deidre and Diane, along with Daren's wife Cassie and Ashley's sister-in-law, and probably at least three more people I forgot (I like babies. So sue me.)
• the marriages of my cousin Jennifer and my friends Karin and Dan (along with several others which I unfortunately could not attend)
• my first real vacation with Ben

And, to top it all off, I finally learned the real solution to my wee box problem, which was not, as previously suggested by The Worst Urologist Ever, "wiping too hard." However, I am reluctant to share it with you all, mainly because I happen to know that at least three guys from my high school class read my blog, two of whom I have known since we were little, and I totally think they do not want to know about it. But if they do, I'll totally tell you, because it's really about the single most hilarious thing that could possibly be wrong with you.

So, overall, I have to give 2006 an A+++ (there would be at least two more pluses due to the whole "I got engaged situation, but I felt the wee box had to negate at least one of them).

My resolutions for 2007? I generally don't make them anymore, because I used to be one of those people that would make impossible to reach goals and then bum severely when I did not meet them, but I think this year a few are in order:

1. Lose 10 more pounds, in order to be hot hot skinny bride

2. Immediately regain 10 pounds after wedding by eating nothing but sloppy joes and astronaut ice cream

3. Go to dermatologist to make preventative measures against future returns of the Evil Zit

4. Buy vitamins and actually take them every day, not just when I "feel" iron-deficient

5. Blog more and comment more

6. Write an actual essay

7. Get at least two more columns in the Dispatch, or maybe even the Plain Dealer

8. Kick ass in all life arenas

Happy New Year!

Sorry I've been away for so long-- I've been out of town visiting Ben's family, and then heading to Cincinnati to spend New Years Eve with some friends.

Oh. And GETTING ENGAGED!

(Oh, God. I'm such a girl.)

Ben proposed to me on Christmas, after all the presents were opened-- he reached into the tree and pulled out one more, noticeably ring-box-shaped box, which was addressed "To Ben, from Santa."

"Should I open it?" he said.

Come on, man! Open it!

Which of course he did, and there was a ring in it, and he got down on one knee and proposed and I said yes and then cried my face off and ran around screaming for about half an hour, when I finally calmed down enough for him to point out that he hadn't actually even put the ring on me yet. I called my mom and screamed at her about it for awhile, made a few more calls, and finally passed out around two in the morning.

Here, for my own greedy edification, is a picture of the cry-and-scream-inducing ring:

So, that having been said, I had just about the single greatest Christmas of all time. And as if that weren't enough, I got TiVo, too! You're so jealous. Mostly of the TiVo. I can tell.

Anyway, consider this blog post to be the end of my weeklong blog absence (blogsence?). And I hereby make a solemn vow not to talk about my wedding plans on my blog. Too much. Very much.

Seriously.

Merry Christmas to all...

Since I'm going out of town for awhile after Christmas to visit Ben's family, I wanted to swing by and wish you all an early Merry Christmas! Most of you know that I'm not the most religious person in the world, but Christmas has always been by far my favorite holiday. When I was little, of course it was for the presents-- it was for the presents probably for much longer than it should have been. But as a teenager, I started flagging in my Christmas spirit-- it wasn't as easy to wake up on Christmas morning, where only a few years before, I had been up since four, eagerly awaiting my chance to go downstairs and see what Santa had brought.

Only in the last few years have I learned how much more fun it could be to be Santa, instead of just waiting for him-- and this year, I have tried to be Santa to the T. Decorated house? Check. Christmas cards actually mailed out, not just bought and stored in an empty space in the linen closet? Check. Sugar and spice pecans, oatmeal cookies, and copious amounts of Chex Mix prepared-- and meant to be shared with others, and not simply gorged on in my darkened living room while watching Clue? Check. And thoughtful presents for all? While not enough to compensate for the years of presents my parents have so thoughtfully purchased for me before I finally caught on about this whole giving v. receiving situation, check.

I hope for myself, and for all of us, that this Christmas, we wake up feeling like we did when we were six years old. I wish you all the happiest of Christmases.

PS: Crunchy is very mad that I wrote such a mushy Christmas post, and wants to remind you all that Christmas spirit is for jerkwads.

Harry Potter and the...

I'm sure most of you already know it by now, but I don't want to spoil the surprise for those who don't: the title of the final Harry Potter book was just revealed.

We need some serious discussion of this. While the name hints at insane amounts of drama and intrigue, it seems a little too Nancy Drew-ish to me. Also, could it be a reference to Godric's Hollow?

Oh, man. I am such a geek.

That having been said, let's discuss!

Dear Thaddeus,

Can I just tell you that about every fifteen seconds, I nearly pee my pants with glee because you're reading my blog? And it's getting really gross and messy, so I hope I get over that soon.

Anyway, I know this is super exclusive of every other person in the whole world who reads my blog, but I had no idea how else to get in touch with you, so I'll keep it quick-- when I try to click on your Blogger name, it won't let me see your blog, and therefore allow me to greedily read about every single thing that has happened to you since 1997 (or at least since you started your blog). Is there a way you can enable that? Because enquiring minds need to know.

Otherwise, we need to find a way to exchange e-mails. Because I cannot wait for the (most likely not going to occur) AHS Class of '97 reunion to catch up.

Sincerely,
Kim

PS: My mom says hi.

**Resume blog content for all people. Sorry for the interruption!**

Happy birthday...

To two of the greatest guys I know!

Jeremy and John celebrated their third annual birthday extravaganza last night, and were kind enough to invite Ben and me. And considering I've had this party marked on my calendar since mid-July, you know it's a good one!

It was great seeing everyone again, and I sincerely hope that we will actually get together more than once in the upcoming year, as opposed to claiming we will, which is two different things.

Also, on a somewhat related note, AHS Class of '97? I think I might have been tricked into joining the reunion committee. So you are now OBLIGATED to come. Please?

Mystery solved

After three weeks' postponement, I finally had my cystoscopy today (those of you coming to my site looking for an answer to the age-old question "What happens during a cystoscopy?" will be glad to learn that it really ISN'T as bad as you think... honest!) And the doctor says there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my bladder at all, and has come to the conclusion that ALL my wee box troubles of the last year are caused by…

Are you ready?

…Me wiping too hard.

Seriously? You might have mentioned that possibility to me BEFORE the CAT scan and ultrasounds and four rounds of antibiotics.

So, thus ends a year-long chapter of my life totally devoted to my excretory system... not with a bang, but with a Whipple.

(Oh, my God. I just made a Mr. Whipple joke. Please come to my house and kill me now.)

Creepy Ronald, the marionette

I would just like to say that I had the greatest Yankee Swap present ever, in the form of this marionette:


Originally a wedding gift to my friend Denise, it ended up in the hands of Kibby, who then mailed to me upon leaving for Peru. And it stayed on my bookshelf for a year and a half, biding its time. Until Yankee Swap.

It ended up in the hands of Rich, who was most happy with it, posing it in many Christmassy ways and, finally, embedding it deep into the tree, where we would forget about it for awhile, only to be creeped out again by its withered face whenever we glanced at the tree just right.

Ooh, baby. Is that mistletoe?

Attention, everyone:

Please buy me all these t-shirts. (Come on-- they're on sale!)

I tip my HAT

Welcome, HAT, to the Land of Blog. I think you will find it pleasant, although sometimes people will tag you and force you to name six weird things about yourself. Which is what I'm doing right now. So do it! Or else!

Meanwhile, the rest of you should check her out-- many of you know her, you love her, and you wish you could be her. That is, when you're not spending all your time wishing you could be me...

I cannot be stopped

I will bring Christmas cheer no matter what, at the cost of the well-being of all those around me, as well as those brave knick-knacks who sacrificed their prime places on the entertainment center and writing desk to make room for Christmas Cheer in the form of Yukon Cornelius and Hermey bobbleheads, as well as other Christmas paraphernalia (mostly purchased at Marc's).

Above is our tree, which, while the picture is small, you can probably tell is decorated in 95% cartoon character theme (Patrick Starr being the most prominently featured, for some bizarre reason). This was the first year that we even had enough ornaments to do the back of the tree, which we usually neglect because it is not easily visible.

The rest of the house, also not pictured, is similarly Christmas-laden, and officially ready for the full-on, practically disgusting Christmas obsessiveness I bring out every year around this time.

I don't know why I do this, but I always have, ever since I was on my own, starting with a one-foot tree I purchased at AC Moore my first year in Wilmington, after my roommate took the TV and couch (but before I set the kitchen on fire). I think it's because I was one of those kids-- unless we're all one of those kids, and I just assumed I was overly Christmas obsessed-- who so fanatically waited for Christmas, and was sad to see that feeling inevitably wane as I got older.

But with the presence of Rudolph-themed bobbleheads, the Christmas spirit is alive and well. And bobbling.

(I know these aren't the aforementioned bobbleheads. But I believe this to be the most sickeningly cute ornament ever-- my mom made it for us.)

Santa's little helper

Despite the 60 degree weather and the the decidedly un-Christmassy feelings it inspires, I have begun, in earnest, the purchase of this year's Christmas booty. And this year, I'm doing it with a budget, which is serving no purpose whatsoever other than

a) to give me a reason to write in my new "I Heart AU" notebook and

b) to drive me absolutely insane.

But my Real Simple magazine said that using a budget was the best way to shop for Christmas without going broke, so I'm going for it. This is in stark contrast to last year, in which the theme was Buy Everything, No Matter How Much People Will Scorn Its Lameness, So That a Large Portion of the Presents Under the Tree Are From You, Even If They Suck. This was both expensive and unfulfilling, mainly because the vast majority of Christmas 2005 presents with "Kim" on the "from" line are now defunct, if ever opened at all.

That strategy itself was a large revolt against my previous previous shopping plan, which was Be Cheap and Blame It On Being Poor. Which I actually was poor, but, coming from a family with very generous relatives, I felt downright chintzy. So now that I have a real job (sorry, Day Spa!), I feel it is my duty to buy the very best. Or at least, to buy something that isn't from the Mikasa outlet at the Aurora Farms. (Or, I shudder to mention, from The Paper Factory, where the majority of Christmas 2002 was born.)

So far, the budget is going well, even if it is frustrating (I have a ledger AND charts explaining who got what gift and how much it cost). In another very un-Kimmish move, I have completed at least half my shopping in just the last two days, using nothing but the Internet (and, in future days, the friendly nature of my office's front desk receptionist, who will be thoughtfully receiving my packages for me, as I fear that whoever broke into my house this summer will be lurking around to swipe whatever the hapless delivery guy may leave on my porch). I'm kind of bummed that it's looking like I'm going to miss out on the Mall Experience, but at the same time, how can you not like something that involves Super Saver Shipping?