"Subtle Highlights" = "Platinum Streaks" at Lyle's School of Hair Design

In the wake of the hurricane, I'm not sure it is appropriate to write about ridiculous things like the fact that you had someone at Lyle's School of Hair Design give you "subtle highlights" which turned out to be platinum streaks, but there you have it anyway. I should've known this was a bad idea when I arrived and saw the sign on the door, "We are no longer accepting checks because of the high number of returned ones." The clientele was not exactly upscale (me included). And of course all I HAD was a check because, as you know, I lost my wallet and even though I had found the wallet by the time I had the stripes added to my sinaberry, I had cancelled all my cards. And because we don't have a local bank (we only do online banking), it takes a couple days to get a new card in the mail. Now just try to explain all of that to the woman behind the desk who is about 117 years old and not in a friendly mood. Her response: "I don't know nothin' about no internet bank."

But I am a sweet talker and finally after much persuasion, she agreed, stripes were added (and some longish bang-like things) and I emerged from Lyle's feeling like a new woman. I'll post a picture whenever I work up the nerve to look at myself on film. The girl who did my hair is a friend of a friend and needed the hours to get her certificate. At least it was cheap. Actually, I'm being so melodramatic about the whole thing. I know that's REALLY unlike me to be melodramatic, but truthfully, I sorta like the stripes and the bangs. But I don't own one of those $100 straightening irons, so my version of fixing it is WAY different from the stylist's. In fact, I liked her a lot and will likely continue to go back to her since she is DIRT cheap and doesn't try to make awkward small talk.

ION (you know that I have to have at least one bulleted list in all of my posts) ...

• The Goose's croup is better but there is still lots of snot and he missed school this week.
• The class reunion is cancelled, as is my entire trip south. My parents and many friends are without power (some are without homes altogether) and so I am again reminded of the simple comforts of my life. If you are in the hurricane-affected area, please write or call so that I know you're OK!
• I LOVE my classes and the job in general. I have students from all over -- Kurdistan, Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Mexico, El Salvador, Russia, Ethiopia, Sudan, Somalia, Bangladesh, and more. They're everything that you want your students to be: eager, polite, respectful, etc. I don't know how I got so lucky.

That's about it for now. More mindlessness to come, don't worry.

Croup, Poop, Hurricanes, Neuroticism, etc.

1. Goose has croup and is making me want to contact an adoption agency. Imagine constant screaming and whining, lots of snot, and a seal-like bark. AROUND THE CLOCK. Finally today the barking has been replaced by a "junkie, smoker's cough" but the snot and the whining/screaming continue. Lord help us all. The night before he developed it he was crawling around in his room without a diaper on, "airing it out," and pooped on the floor. He has done this so many times before that it's not even funny (and he always does it in the same spot) and STILL we continue to let him air it out to prevent diaper rash. This time, however, we didn't realize that he had pooped until it was too late. He was thus given the opportunity to paint himself and many other items with the poop. It got down into the cracks in the wood floor. Then when I finally looked around and noticed what was going on, I just stood there and screamed for Husband to come help because what do you do in that situation? There was poop EVERYWHERE and there were no good options. So I finally just picked him up and put him in the tub without water thinking that he could just play nicely in there for a minute while I went to the top of the stairs to yell "HELP" a few more times because Husband had not heard me screaming and was still unaware of the disaster. In that split second, The Goose slipped in the tub and bonked his head and started screaming. By the time the night was over we were all covered in poop as was the bathtub, several books, and three rubber ducks. Nobody ever tells you how really dirty you get in just the routine of baby life or how hard it is when they scream a whole lot and you can't make them stop. It's hard. It makes you nearly insane, as if you needed any help.
2. Hurricane Katrina has struck and most of my family/friends in Mississippi are without power. I'm sure the class reunion and my trip down south will be cancelled. And I thought that the Poop & Croup were disastrous ... have you seen footage of the Gulf area? It's awful. Total devastation. There's nothing else to say about that.
3. I lost my wallet but then found it again four days later. NIGHTMARE. Stop what you are doing right now and go through your wallet and make a list of everything you would need to replace if you lost it. I, being the over-organized, neurotic type A that I am, had done this and it was a life saver.
4. Started teaching last night. I arrived to total chaos ... the tropical storm was hitting Nashville just as class started. We had no classroom and there were students everywhere who didn't speak English and were freaking out. I have ten students in my academic listening/speaking class and will meet my Literacy II students tonight.
5. I am getting my hair cut today and highlighted (for the first time ever) by a new girl who is still in school for hair design. What in the world is wrong with me? I take chances like there is nothing to lose.

In sum, there are LOTS of seeming catastrophes in my life right now. I'm trying to remind myself that in reality none of these events are TRULY disastrous and that we are still lucky beyond belief even though I don't know why. What if it runs out, our luck? I hate the whatiffing but also I can't stop. There's too much at stake. This whiny, poopy, croopy baby has brought too much love into my life and now I'm nothing but a blob of worry and Almay.

I hope all is well with the readers. Stay dry and if you're bored, take heart! There are always babies to be taken care of ... come on down.

Progress Report

Here's a report about my progress in various areas:

• Dieting for 10-year high school reunion: BUST! (As in bust a whole in your jeans because you ate too many sweet rolls at your in-laws house last week.) My failures are exacerbated by my hatred for Tammilee (of the Arms/Abs of Steel videos). Today I was trying to just lift my stupid five pounders and she was going on and on about how water and rubber bands or tubing are bearable weights and that weight-weights are not. And how we don’t know how much weight we're "bearing" with water, but with a weight, we know. Then she says, “Like this weight I have here is five pounds. It tells me it's five pounds.” My question: If water/tubing/bands are bearable, then what’s the name for other types of weights … UNbearable? In my opinion, yes.
• Being Mother Goose: OK. I didn't sneak into the school. Rather, I marched proudly to the door and peeked through the window like any normal overprotective parent. Tonight I went to open house and met the teacher, Miss Sarah, who was just a titch unfriendly yesterday when we first met her (she was running late and all four of the kids in her class were SCREAMING). But tonight she was better and I found out that she is studying at the community college where I teach. A community college, I might add, that has an entire degree program in Early Childhood Education. Interestingly enough, she opted for photography. Whatever. She is certified in infant CPR and she is brave enough to attempt projects with them that involve glue/paint (they're 10-13 months old!).
• Keeping up with current events: GREAT! Next to internet stalking, this is my second-favorite hobby. Today I read two fascinating articles in the NYT online. The first was about how maggots and leeches are coming back into vogue in the medical world. Yeah. The second was about a robotic baby doll named Amazing Amanda (does that sound creepily like a porn star to anyone else?). Amanda can respond to certain voice commands and can also interract with her accoutrements. For example, if she asks for peas, and you give her a cookie, she'll respond by saying something like, "I asked for peas and this is a cookie. Cookies and peas are very different." Now, what are we teaching little kids by having polite dolls? That actual children are polite? First of all, I've never heard a kid ask for peas. Secondly, I've never heard a kid, when given a cookie, protest. And third, I think a more natural response would be something like, "COOKIECOOKIECOOKIECOOKIE!!! NOW!" rather than some overpolite robot crap. She probably also says, “I just had a BM” rather than “Oh no, I just shit my pants again. Didn’t I just do that like twenty minutes ago?” Which is probably what my child will say, given his input.
• Killing BRs: So-So. We had an exterminator come and check us out and his recommendation was NOT to spray due to the sucking-on-everything baby but instead to put out glue traps. The glue traps are to be placed under things (ideally so that the baby cannot get to them). The traps are covered with a BONDINI-like adhesive which can catch all manner of varmints, including huge beetles and even MICE. However, we have caught relatively few WHOLE adult BRs. They seem to be good at getting away (minus a couple legs here and there). The babies get caught, but the adults, apparently, are stronger than mice. Am I just being a worry wart, or does that bother anyone else? The babies are actually harmless because they're not strong enough to penetrate the epidermis (or rip their legs off trying to escape from a glue trap). But the adults, which look like this: can cause wounds that look like this (WARNING: Do not click on the previous link if you are squeamish). p.s. We found one in our bed and on The Goose's changing table.
• Preparing my will: NOT SO GOOD. I just can't decide who to give all my stuff to! I mean there is really a lot of really really very really good stuff around here. Like the cardboard entertainment center on top of which sits the 13-inch, circa 1993 TV! And the Barbra Streisand records! And the bulk-sized box of Absorbine Junior! And the broken breast pump! And then there's George the Lizard and the girls! Do we have to set a custodian for them? This is important stuff, I know. Not the kind of stuff you can just die and leave unattended.

ION ...

I am teaching TWO classes this semester: Communication Skills (advanced academic listening/speaking) and Literacy II (beginning reading and writing). With that plus my Spanish conversation partner and the creepy-crawly baby, I know I say this a lot, but Lord Help Us All. This is looking like one helluva fall (pun intended).

Angst Explained & a Story about Pumpkin Barf

Aha! The source of the Kimbalance has revealed itself in the form of a returned menstrual cycle. Is that TMI? Well too bad. The angst and the pizza face and the falling asleep last night at 7:30 p.m. all has a good explanation ... it's the first period I've had since November 2003. We're all so proud.

ION ...

Yesterday we decided it was a good idea to feed The Goose some pumpkin pie and then go swimming. Yeah. On the way home he barfed it all up (mixed with some Yo Baby! vanilla yogurt) into a pool in his car seat. Then, upon entering the park, we discovered that the governor was filming a commercial at the trailhead near our house. Here we are driving by waving ... I'm premenstrual and in a soaked swimsuit with zits and wet, messy hair (and no eye make-up), Husband is also wet and is shirtless in his swimtrunks, and The Goose is covered in pumpkin barf. "Hi Gov! Wanna kiss the baby?"

Today is Start School Day. Now what is the likelihood of me starting my period and The Goose starting school ON THE SAME DAY? This is not looking good. I'm going to go to MY school and sign my contract and then attempt to distract myself in some other productive ways so that I'm not tempted to go check up on him by scaling the brick wall and tiptoeing through the backyard of the school to peep through the windows. Not that I've planned how to do that or anything. I mean, it makes perfect sense for me to take my morning walk through the surrounding neighborhoods and then OOPS where does this trail through the woods lead? --- GASP! --- to the back of a church! And LOOK! It's the same church where Goose is enrolled in preschool! The coincidence is astonishing! What are the odds?!?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been musing lately on luck, good fortune, destiny, providence … call it what you may, and wondering when my streak is going to run out. And even though my wannabe-zen mind knows that I should just enjoy the good parts of life and focus on the present and all of that crap, my inner Anxiety Demon takes over and I start whatiffing. A time of really good luck and happiness can't last forever, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That's about all I have now. Happy Hump Day to all.

Googling Yourself

Here's what you might find if you search for my name on the internet:

http://www.herbiceps.com/menu/videoclippics/kimbeckerpics.htm

The internet is a scary, scary thing people. And here I am uploading my son's pictures like mad and making cutesy comments as if PREDATORS are not standing by waiting for me to make a wrong move. Ugh.

Quotes of the Week
"I think there can be a happy medium between punishment styles: smack 'em while you talk to 'em." --Husband

"Someone asked me if I was worried about turning 29. Turning 29? Once you have kids you just become 38." --Hottie J

Kimbalance (and a small note about tiddies and killer bees)

Tiddy Rat .

WARNING: This post contains adult language because I am kimbalanced.

Photo explanation: I'm still nursing this baby. Actually, I think he would almost wean himself if I weren't too cheap to buy formula and forcing him to do this at least four times a day in order to get his dairy. Isn't that weird that I am his source of DAIRY?

He has eight teeth people. Think about that.

Now, I hate to be crude, but it is so fucking hot that I just about cannot stand it. My friend Ann, a devotee of Ayurvedic medicine, says that I have an imbalance of pitta and that I need to do curled-tongue breathing exercises and forward-bending yogic postures, in addition to eating cooling foods to straighten myself out again. You see, my primary dosha (body/personality type) is pitta (fire), so I am already a hot, anxious person. During the late summer, the heat makes me even more hot and anxious, creating a kimbalance. Add to that my addiction to coffee and you have a recipe for disaster. I hate fucking August.

This morning I woke up and went out for my morning walk. I decided not to take the trails today because frankly I am sick to death of getting caught in spider webs and trying to avoid poison ivy and chiggers. I have had just about enough of everything related to summer. So instead of hiking, I walked down the road out of the park. On the way down the Big Hill, I passed a seasonal ranger, who had set up camp in the driveway of another ranger and was videotaping the road. Come to find out, he was doing a traffic study. This is new. We have had deer studies, turtle studies, and ornithologist meetings, but a TRAFFIC study? Anyway, "Hi Mike. Isn't it hot?"

"Yep, it's a scorcher."

So then I'm just walking walking walking and thinking about how it's just too bad that the Shirley Zeitlin Realty company has bought a huge plot of land adjacent to the park and is now BULLDOZING all manner of habitats in order to sell houses at exorbitant rates when all of a sudden cicadas started falling out of the trees and dying dramatically all around me. This wouldn't have been a problem except that their dying is apparently some signal to yellowjackets that it is now FEASTING TIME. I was caught in some weird symbiotic life and death show and I was not pleased to be in the audience. I should've just taken the damn trail.

Just then, as always, a yellowjacket senses my presence and attacks. I begin running and squealing, arms flailing about wildly. My hat falls off because I am shaking my ponytail back and forth in order to protect my face from the attacker.

As an aside, I would just like to inform you about the habits of killer bees ... did you know that they can sense your orifices as you exhale carbon dioxide? They are drawn to the CO2 and will actually crawl inside your nose and mouth. Many killer bee victims die from strangulation, not the stings. If you encounter killer bees, you should run through high brush and try not to breathe at all (as if that's fucking possible when you're running through brush and being chased by killer bees).

You know that Madonna song that goes, "Erotic, Erotic ... put your hands all over my body"? Well, I've changed the words to "Neurotic, neurotic ... now I have to go to the potty."

ANYWAY ...

As I stooped to pick up my hat, I noticed two men on bikes, stopped behind me, watching the display. You know these kind of men. They have on numbered biking shirts and those really tight shorts that cannot be healthy for their reproductive organs considering they are also riding LONG DISTANCES on hard bike seats. Annoyed, I just turned around and snapped, "I AM NOT CRAZY ... IT'S JUST THESE DAMN BEES."

"Right," one of them says.

Jackass. He probably doesn't even know what to do if swarmed by killer bees, which is likely, considering they are moving increasingly north from South America through Mexico and will eventually end up here.

Finally, I made it to my turnaround spot and headed back up the Big Hill. Just as I get in view of Mike of the Traffic Study, a horsefly begins dive bombing my head. I begin the arm-flailing, ponytail-shaking routine. Then, I twist my ankle and fall off the side of the newly paved road into a freaking bed of poison ivy, ants, chiggers, and you name it, I was in it.

Now my fire is really burning. So I just sat there doing the curled-tongue breathing technique that Ann showed me. Approacheth Mike of the Traffic Study (remember? He's been VIDEOING THE ROAD):

"Uh ... are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine, it's just these damn horseflies."

"Well, you know only the females can sting you."

"That's fabulous information, Mike. Thank you. Please do not use the video footage of my ridiculously neurotic behavior at any staff meetings."

"Oh, OK. It's not for the park anyway, it's for the state commissioner."

Great.

WHERE IS AUTUMN?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?

They are STRIKING & I am SMIRKING

As predicted, NWA's mechanics are STRIKING! You can read about it in the NYT online by clicking here.

SSSSSSSSSSmmmmmmmiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!

More Praising Jesus, Cattiness, & Evolution

We just returned from Milwaukee. It was a trip. The zoo, the mall, an Irish music festival with lots of ragweed, and some purple, fluffy socks. Thank God (or should we say, "Praise Jesus" for these socks. The Goose opened up his Great Grandma's sock drawer, pulled out this pair, and proceeded to crawl around her house doing this weird sort of aboriginal dance where he'd squeal and then throw it, go get it, squeal, praise jesus, throw it. Repeat. Then when we got home today he discovered my own underwear drawer and proceeded to throw several pairs of my panties into the bathtub (with water in it).

Husband is still recovering from the ragweed but is able to work. And, coincidentally, has been featured (featured, people!) in the Tennessean. To view the article, click here.

Did you read it? The article? Did you see the picture of the hand holding the duckweed? That's Husband! My hero.

While in Milwaukee, I saw that really popular movie about penguins (can't remember the title). You know, it's the one that really should've just been kept to the National Geographic channel but somehow made it's way to the big screen. I thought it was a sweet, sweet story, but come on ... more than an hour of the arctic tundra is too much for anybody. Unlike seahorses, penguins are NOT on my list of things to be when I'm reincarnated. Breastfeeding is hard enough. Hiking 70 miles through Antarctica in the winter to mate, lay an egg, and leave it with a man just so I can hike the 70 miles back to the ocean to gorge on fish and then hike back the same 70 miles back (except OOPS the glaciers have shifted and where's the trail?) so that I can cough it up into a baby's mouth is just not my idea of mothering. But God bless the emperor penguins.

The only other thing we did that was interesting was sneaking into the Milwaukee Zoo with an illegally obtained zoo pass. We let John get in his morning nap before we went, but since he had gone to bed so late the night before, he napped for nearly 3 hours, which put us at a noon departure time, the hottest part of the day, and one hour away from his second nap time. It probably is important to admit here that I am The Nap Nazi. So when we got in the car at 12:30 p.m. and The Goose was already rubbing his eyes, I lapsed into a classic Nap Nazi Tirade, warning everyone about how miserable and short this zoo trip was going to be and citing numerous previous occasions as evidence that he would NEVER be able to withstand such heat, excitement, exhaustion, and non-organic/free-range hot dogs. (Note to reader: In the midwest, they don't sell Tofu Pups at the zoo. Or felafel. And apparently they also don't sell sunless tanner or Almay's i-color trios at the Wal-Marts. I'm sorry. Was that catty? Did y'all not know that about me? Sometimes I can be just a smidgen (which is a teensy bit more than a titch) catty. It's ingrained. I mean, as you probably can tell, I do have a serious side. For example, I want the U.S. to reduce our reliance on foreign oil (or ALL oil for that matter), but I also want everyone to reach their potential ... find their one best feature and flaunt it ... be happy ... and use Almay's i-color trios and self-tanner as needed. Which reminds me ...

I, Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI, Hottie, aka Bob, being of sound and disposing mind and memory will, give, and bequeath unto The Women of Wisconsin the Property described below:

All of my make up (Almay or otherwise) and my self tanners (sprays, gels, and lotions). If they don't want it, then MoN can have the eye make-up (since he is amused by it) and TAH's mom can have the red lipsticks.

OK, so back to the zoo ...

Goose made it fine. I, on the other hand, was in need of Kimprovement. I disintegrated into a mound of wilted, sweaty flesh, runny eye makeup, and frizzy hair. After living in the mountains of northern Arizona at 8,000 feet, I just cannot take the heat and humidity. So mostly I just scurried from one building to the next (e.g., the cat exhibit -- appropriately, all the big cats except for the snow leopard were INSIDE an air-conditioned building).

I was most fascinated, however, by the ape/monkey/gorilla exhibits (also air conditioned). Since I grew up in the Bible Belt and was taught that evolution was, as our president would say, a theory on which the jury is still out, I didn't know that ANYONE who was moral or otherwise decent believed in evolution until I was 18.5 and attending college. I was not taught evolution in public school. I don't remember what I was taught, but it certainly was not anything about Darwin or natural selection or survival of the fittest or any of that other scientific hoo-hah.

So now I find myself reading articles about evolution or the Earth's Children Series of books or simply standing at the Milwaukee Zoo gasping at the gigantic HOLE in my education. THEY ARE FASCINATING, these creatures ... the knuckle-dragging arms, the opposable thumbs (even on their feet!), the picking stuff off of each other and eating it ... it just hits so close to home.

At the gorilla cage, I watched a couple attempt to use American Sign Language with one of the inhabitants. She first signed, "Hi, my name is Tracy," and then she tried to ask the gorilla some simple questions (like, "Do you like bananas?"). After he stood up, picked his butt and sniffed it, she stopped trying, and her partner said, reassuringly, "Maybe they know a different form of sign language."

Right. And Rafael Palmero had NO IDEA that his supplements were laced with steroids. Right.

I was thinking about good ol’ Rafael the other day. And was wondering whether or not he and Tom Cruise have ever met. Because, as you know, Tom Cruise (that short little sack of scientology $#!T), is a big advocator of VITAMINS and EXERCISE (especially for post-partum depression). Wonder if he approves of Rafael’s little supplements?

Rafael: I have never taken steroids. PERIOD. NEVER.” (later he added an "intentionally" into this same quote, after the first "never")

Tom: I have never been taller than any woman I’ve ever dated or married. Period. Never.”

Oh, there I go again … not only digression, but catty digression at that.

In other news (heretoafter abbreviated as ION …) We came home to find a dead mouse in one of the glue traps intended for the BRs. And a message on the machine that ...

THE COMMUNITY COLLEGE WANTS TO RENEW MY CONTRACT FOR THE FALL!

This is major news. I was already arranging alternative activities to keep me sane. I have a Spanish conversation partner which starts tomorrow afternoon (Hola Luisa que tal? Donde esta la biblioteca?). Lord help us all. And I had also planned to sign up for a quilting class at Michael’s. The Goose starts school next week so you may have to endure a few really really awful posts where I just weep and weep and wonder why I have turned him over to the Baptists (his program is at a Baptist church) while I sit at the bookstore reading up on THE MASK OF MOTHERHOOD, landscape architecture, and evolution. It's only from 9-2 on Wednesdays, but it feels like infinity already.

Happy Friday!

The End.

A New Day Has Dawned with Cake

Thanks, MoN, for this idea ...

I, Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI, Hottie, aka Bob, being of sound and disposing mind and memory ... (OK, who are we kidding here?) ...

will, give, and bequeath unto Doug Steenland, CEO of Northworst Airlines, if he survives me as their CEO (which is unlikely since they are about to have a mechanics strike and then go bankrupt, the Property described below and pictured above:

Authentic, size 11, Celine Dion houseslippers from her Vegas show, "A New Day."

My SiL recently sent these to me from Vegas, and originally I was like, hmm, that's really ugly and weird (though hilarious) and I'll put these in the closet until I get myself together enough to auction them off on Ebay. But then yesterday I found them again and decided to start wearing them. Husband took one look at me and said, "Kim, what is that? Those look like skis ... I could stand on the back of those with you and shuffle around the house." So truly, these are a fantastic gift upon my death.

Yesterday The God of Cake sent a glorious manna-like, aluminum-foil encased chocolate bundt cake. I found it in a Kroger sack tied to the top of Suzie Q. Subaru and I had eaten 1/4 of it before 9:30 a.m. Yes, I eat anonymous cake. I also ate a driedup pickle out of The Goose's car seat (he hasn't had pickles since our trip to the Ozarks in early July), so anonymous, left-on-top-of-your-car-like-a-Tony-Alamo-ministries-world-newsletter cake is really not that bad. Later I found out that the God of Cake is actually a park regular named Ernie, whose name I remember only because one day, while Goose and I were taking our morning hike, I came upon a happy retired couple who immediately said, "Oh, you must be Ranger B's wife. He has told us all about you and The Goose. I'm Ernie and this is Joanne. You know, like Burt and Ernie."

"Oh yes," I said, in my most polite and sweet ranger's wife voice, "Except that she's not 'Burt.'"

"Right, but I'm Ernie," he said.

Right!

And Ernie, apparently, makes divine chocolate cake which, if Husband hadn't come home and fed to the chickens, I would've crawled up inside and taken up residence. God bless Cakeman Ernie. I used to know a guy in college called Cake Boy. I believe he got his name from getting high and tearing into some cake. That is totally unrelated to this story, but I always think of him when there's cake around ...

In other news, my mom's co-workers have gotten such a kick out of the Northworst Airlines/broken breastpump story, that they are writing a letter to the airline. The letter, whose draft I was asked to edit, includes various tidbits about how none of them have EVER had such an unfair experience in court, even though they have tried cases in front of Marcus Gordon. Now, in case you are totally ignorant about the recent Edgar Ray Killen case in Philadelphia, Mississippi (even though it has been covered on most national news syndicates), let me bring you up to date ...

Back in June, Edgar Ray Killen, former klansmen and organizer of a church burning that killed several civil rights workers, was sentenced to life in prison (even though he's in his 80s) for his crime (after about 40 years of scott-free living). Guess who was the judge? Yep, you got it: Marcus Gordon. Maybe if Marcus had been MY judge, then they would've got what was coming to them. I guess we'll never know. And p.s., Edgar Ray is now out because a Mississippi law allows Marcus to let him out on bond due to his appeal of the case.

I love that this is all covered in the New York Times, because every morning I sit down to read the update online and I have the clearest picture of these people in my mind. I can just see Edgar Ray's buddies putting up their plots of Neshoba County land in order to come up with the $600,000 bond. Poor Edgar Ray. Now that he's out, he's telling the world about how awful it was for six weeks in prison. He didn't even get a pillow! He had to bribe another inmate for one. Edgar, dear, just take off your pants and wrap them around your oxygen tank and curl up. I'm sure the warden wouldn't mind rubbing your greasy head while you drift off into geriatric prison dreamland. Or maybe you could get your buddies to bring by your old klan robe. You could wad it up and stick that under your head. Oh, but nevermind, you're out anyway. It's just too bad you were a couple weeks too late for the the Neshoba County Fair.

OK, enough.

We're leaving later today (sing: I'M LEAVIN' ON A JET PLANE!) for my in-laws house in Milwaukee where The Goose will likely spend four days boycotting sleep, causing me to have a complete breakdown which may or may not result in my taking up permanent residence in a brewery. Nevertheless, away we go ... and in the words of Laverne & Shirley ...

Give us any chance we'll take it,
Read us any rule we'll break it,
We're gonna make our dreams come true!
DOING IT OUR WAY!
Nothing's gonna turn us back now,
Straight ahead and on the track now,
We're gonna make our dream come true!
DOING IT OUR WAY!
There is nothing we won't try,
Never heard the word
KIMPOSSIBLE
This time, there's no stopping us ...
(CROON IT!)
Yeah we'll do it OUR WAY, YES OUR WAY,
MAKE ALL OUR DREEEEEAAAAMMMMS
COME TRUE ...
Just me and you.

Warning: This is Boring

Chickens. Did you forget I have three? Well of all things to forget! Here they are working their tails off to provide me with protein and there you are forgetting all about them.

They like whole wheat spaghetti mixed with spinach and carrot baby food (all organic, of course).

They also like corn:

And dead mice (I'll spare you).

Kim likes ...

• Coffee with "Special Edition Coffeemate Toffee Nut Creamer" (even though it's not organic).
• Vanilla Wafers with peanut butter
• Butterbeans
• Saltines
• Avocado slices on top of All-Natural Doritos
• Better Cheddars
• Bullets (not to eat, silly--like all of these bulleted lists -- I love them!)

I don't have a damn thing to say, but what's new? Here's what's going on in my life ...

• I'm reading a biography of Eudora Welty written by my professor at Millsaps who advised my honors project which I stupidly chose to write on Kate Chopin rather than Eudora even though I had the only Eudora-approved biographer right there to direct me. Slowly, she learns that she's really not all that bright.
• I'm preparing for a visit to see my in-laws in Milwaukee for most of next week.
• I'm trying to make my child's 1st birthday invitations.
• I'm trying to write a Last Will & Testament (does anybody want any of my stuff, because now's the time to drop hints ... I mean, really, don't be afraid to speak up -- we have got some GEMS).
• I'm trying to get in shape for my 10-year high school reunion. Sort of. I mean, I have cut out saltines altogether and I only have the organic version of Better Cheddars if they're baked not fried.

*****************************************************

R&B Lyric of the Week

How could you teach him all the things I taught you?

How could you show him 'bout the ghetto kama sutra?

*****************************************************

GHETTO KAMA SUTRA!! I love it.

Hmmm ... what can I write about? Hmmm ...

NOTHING is going on around here that I can investigate. Admit it, we all know that that owl is dead--I've clearly established that there are dangerous baby/owl-snatching predators. The PWTPI work is SLOW SLOW SLOW. I have not been involved in the only happenings worth investigating, such as ...

Earlier today the park secretary's daughter (remember McKutie -- not her real name?) ingested some pepper spray but is fine. I did that in college ... used my keychain as an ice pick, Hottie M called 9-1-1 and when they asked if I was on any medication, she said, "Birth Control" out loud at a party in front of everyone.

A few days ago a family got stranded at the top of the ridge down which I fell --- they were a father, mother, and toddler. The woman was 3 months preggo and having complications. There were police helicopters and everything. When the rangers finally found them, she refused medical treatment from them because they were all male. I'm so sharp that I drove right through the park, past the trailhead right in the middle of the search, and missed the whole thing.

Husband & company discovered a green tree frog ... the first spotting in this county. Woo-hoo. It took three rangers, a biologist, and his research assistant to finally spot it with a telescopic lens.

I can't even believe I'm about to hit the "Publish Post" button. This is awful. Awful. Reader, don't abandon me even though I'm pathetic tonight. You know you've been pathetic before. You know it.

The "How Not To" Series Begins ...

A few weeks ago an old friend of mine from high school saw this blog and commented about how much I have changed since then. She wrote something about how I was always the one who did the "How Not to Try Out for Cheerleader" during the camp that the varsity cheerleaders held for all the candidates during the week before tryouts. This involved me running around on the stage doing the banana jump (which is NOT a real cheerleading jump, as everybody knows) and saying, "Woooooooo" like a derailing Amtrak. It was supposed to be a humorous attempt to keep people from embarrassing themselves, but it never worked. Inevitably, girls would get up there and replicate my entire routine. I was chosen to do this because I spent my 7th, 8th, and 9th grade year perfecting my ability to not make cheerleader during tryouts. For some reason, in 10th grade it must have just clicked, because I finally made it that year and by senior year I was a co-captain and the "How Not to Try Out for Cheerleader" spokesperson.

Just for the record, I hated every minute of cheerleading and I only did it to hide the fact that I should've been in the band like the rest of the dorks. At that point in my life, I was not as comfortable with my dorkiness as I am now. The only reason I was elected co-captain was because the other girls knew that I hated it and were smart enough to figure out that if I were in charge then we wouldn't have to practice all that much. Majority rules.

I was pondering this idea of "How Not To ..." today and was thinking of all the other things in my life that I could demonstrate in that manner. I think I'll start a series on this, so be on the lookout for my upcoming "How Not To ..." posts. Like yesterday, for example, I could've written about "How Not To Win Against a Major Corporation in Small Claims Court."

On Sunday night, as usual, I sat down to write a long post about nothing, but after I hit "Publish Post," the whole thing disappeared. Of course I did not do anything silly like throw the baby monitor into the fireplace, because I believe strongly in what my yoga teacher in Flagstaff used to say at the end of every practice: "The Universe is Perfect JUST THE WAY IT IS."

So this is what I would've written on Sunday night, which was before the day that I LOST MISERABLY in a battle against Northworst Airlines ...

Today I got up late (it was Mom Gets to Sleep In Day) and went down to the yoga room to do my morning routine. Just as I got to the part where I had my feet over my head with my butt in the air, I heard women's voices. I looked out the window to see two women walking their dogs right up to my front door. Now, as you know, we live in a state park, so this isn't all that abnormal, but usually I am awake enough to say, "This is a residence; we don't have a public bathroom" and go on with my life. I may or may not have to define "residence," but they typically understand the part about the bathroom.

Today, however, the women were just a teensie eensie bit slower than usual in figuring it out, and so one of them approached the window with her dog (who was sniffing about my ferns looking for his own bathroom spot). I could already hear every word she was saying, but instead of just maintaining her normal voice level, she tapped on the glass, peered in, saw me, and then mouthed dramatically, "IS THIS A RES-I-DENCE?"

Wonder what gave it away? The tropical print pajama bottoms? The room full of toys? The wreath on the door? The sign in the driveway that reads, "Ranger Residence"?

By the time I got to the door to explain where there is a public bathroom (I ALWAYS take pity on people who need to pee because I have had my share of need-to-pee moments), they were gone and the dog had already found his bathroom.

Later in the day, we decided to go for a bike ride, which is something I miss TERRIBLY about Flagstaff (I never drove my car anywhere there). The Goose had won a bid on Ebay for a bike seat and helmet, so we dug our bikes out of the garage (after you have a baby, you don't want to ride a bike for quite a while) and in the process discovered that we house not only BRs, but BWs. So that means we have BOTH of the only two poisonous spiders in North America. Black Widows, people. Do you know what happens when you get bitten by a BW? Within two hours you have SEVERE abdominal cramping with vomiting and you must be taken to a hospital. Plus, you feel the bite. With BRs, you may or may not feel the bite, but then your skin starts to rot off.

Instead of bashing the BW with a shoe or a kayak paddle or wrench, Husband decided to spray it down with Foaming Wasp & Hornet Spray (forgetting that he had already used up most of the bottle attacking a nest of wasps inside the screen of our bedroom window and still managing to miss the queen). As a result, there was not enough spray to kill the BW and she ran into a groove in my helmet, which was sitting next to her web. In the process of killing the spider, I put a huge crack in the helmet, so now it looks as if I have endured some awful bike crash. Here is a picture of me and The Goose in our dorky helmets:This is also the pose that I struck at Costco last week during my Photo ID session. The Costco employee was not even phased by the fact that I posed for my picture and then proceeded to crop out all but my face even though I requested a full-body shot. I am slowly learning that The Customer is NOT Always Right.

TRANSITION?

Finally, I must tell the recent story of our phone line being crossed with one Jennifer Who Has Just Recently Left Her Husband (JWHJRLHH). One day last week we noticed that our phone was acting weird. The next day we got a call from JWHJRLHH, who informed us that our line was crossed with hers and that she had already called Bellsouth to report the problem. Within two hours, JWHJRLHH's Mother called to check on her. She thought I was JWHJRLHH and it took me a few minutes to explain the whole situation. Then she proceeded to tell me that JWHJRLHH had just recently left her husband and moved into a house near the ag center. She always knew that it wouldn't work out, but she kept her big mouth shut because "you cain't tell these kids nothin'." Especially when he broke off their engagement and broke JWHJRLHH's heart so badly that she burned all her bridal magazines in a pyre in front of his mama's house (where he was living at the time).

You just cannot make this stuff up.

Today I'm being taken out for sushi to celebrate my valiant attempt to claim what was owed to me by Northworst Airlines. I hope you all have a happy Tuesday filled with winning battles, nonpoisonous spiders, and uncrossed phone lines. And remember ...

The Universe is perfect, JUST THE WAY IT IS.

The Court Finds For ...

Bob & The Pump
Originally uploaded by Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI.

In the case of Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI, Hottie, a.k.a., Bob

vs.

Northworst Airlines

Case #05GC11429, General Sessions Court, (Honorable William Holden presiding) the court finds for the defendant, Northworst Airlines, payer of WAY more money to their attorney in this case than they could've paid the plaintiff to shut her mouth and not bring attention to their awful airline in a public court where everyone was obviously siding with her from the get-go.

As the ruling is announced, there were GASPS ALL AROUND.

Yes, the court found in favor of the defendant EVEN THOUGH ...

• The plaintiff looked really lawyerly in her AT suit with the hazel eyes Almay i-color trio, and
• The Judge really wanted to side with her (as was evidenced by his personal testimony in dealing with damaged luggage), and
• The plaintiff gave a demonstration of the inner workings of breast pumps in court, while standing proud, and

EVEN THOUGH ...

• The defendant's attorney really needed some Almay i-color trio (I would recommend the brown or hazel for her too), and
• The plain-eyed attorney (heretoafter referred to as PEA) was CLEARLY nervous, and had to be asked to speak up several times, and The Judge was otherwise mean to her on two occasions, and
• PEA called a witness, a Northworst Airlines flight attendant who looked as if she would rather have been serving peanuts to terrorists, and
• PEA introduced two 500-page documents as evidence, and used said documents to prove that Kimpossible NEVER REALLY HAD A CASE TO BEGIN WITH.

Yes, EVEN THOUGH all of that happened, the court, astonishingly, STILL found for the fourth largest airline in the world.

Exeunt Kimpossible with head held high. To her car. Where she melted down into a puddle of tears, outrage, and defeat.

No, not really. Actually I just swung through the McDonald's drive-in and ordered large fries and a milkshake at 9:30 in the morning.

Oh well. Thanks to everyone for your support in this endeavor. I'd especially like to send a shout out of gratitude to my legal team, Bruce the F-i-L, bigshot DA, hottie M and her Husband, Bobby. And of course to Husband and The Goose, the source of all my inspiration.

Gavel.

In the Matter of Bob v. NWA ...

Since I'm sure you have been checking this site furiously trying to find out how the court case came out, here's your answer: NWA sent an attorney (Talbot's suit, briefcase, high heels, hair pulled back) who asked for a continuance to which Bob the Brilliant agreed. Even as I type, ivy league law schools are getting the news about my phenomenal legal mind and are preparing to offer me positions in their next class. Now we'll all meet back cheerily next week after the defendant has had more time to prepare and Bob has had more time to get nervous and wonder why on earth she is taking on the fourth largest airline in the world in a matter of less than $500. I have asked this question before, but it begs to be asked again: If you know what in the world is wrong with me, please post a comment.

Then, after agreeing to the continuance, I met with her to ask if this matter could be settled "right here and now." She said that Northworst Airlines gets a lot of these "little matters of fragile items" and that they are stubborn about protecting their interests. Then she said that if I was willing to take less than what I've asked for (which is only the amount of the pump, plus the rental of another one and totals about $400) then she would certainly pass that information on to her client and get back to me. I just stared in disbelief and then informed her that anything less wasn't worth my time. She then conceded that I had been "quite diligent" and said, "I'll see you in a week." At this point, why shouldn't I be hell bent?

In case anyone is interested in forming a pep squad to back me up, I'll be in courtroom 2 at the Metro Courts next Monday at 8:45 a.m. wearing the same thing I wore today.