Idle

Merry Christmas everyone, and a Happy New Year. Kpinion will be idle for the next two weeks or so as I am on Christmas vacation. I have to remind myself that I get three weeks off at Christmas every time I open my pay check and wonder why the numbers are so small (in denomination not size, though paychecks are never printed for the visually impaired). I digress. So I wish you days of joy with your family, nights of fun, and an all around good cheer for the holidays.

At this time I propose that my readership (Jessica, Eddie, and you other few prized anonymous readers who let me know you have stopped by every now and then) offer up some suggested topics of blogdom. Ask me questions, propose an arguement that you want me to counter, give a memory that you would like me to embellish. I'm open for anything, this is your time to be heard, or at least your time to ask me to talk to you about your requested topic.

I'll catch you in the '05.

Extra, Extra Read all about it

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

EDDIE

BIG 29

The morning my silky pillows revolted

Jessica (check out the fun link, even though Jessica and Eddie are my only visitors and obviously know thier own websites) please note I did not finish the sentence because it would be hard to understand. I will start over below.

Ok so Jessica posted a note on her blog about among other things a horrible morning experience, which of course started with her dreaming about me naked. Don't ask just check out her post. Sheesh, the flak I get for a little exhibitionism. Ok so that last sentence went a little to far. Remember it was all a dream, Jessica's dream mind you. I'm totally against nakedness, ever.

So my bad morning experience. This happened last spring if I remember correctly. Yes it was actually last January. I got a new duvet comforter and pillow shams for christmas. They are from pottery barn and very nice. The pillows are velvet on one side adn silk on the other and are a beautiful dark red. I love the pillows.

Now is the time to tell you a little bit about my house. I live in a guest house, a garage apartment, or something else to denote the small size and the fact it belongs to another family. So my house is small and my bedroom is small, especially because I have a queen size bed, two dressers, and two small bookshelves. So there is little floor space for walking much less for laying things down and walking.

So one morning I woke up extremely late beacuse the little elves that live under my bed had turned off my alarm sometime in the night. Stinkin elves. So I fly out of bed (I was really airborne) and went to run toward the closet to get dressed (showering not even an option on this particular morning, hey don't judge the french get away with it, and hairy armpits to I remind you.) So I step on my nice new pillow and for some reason my pillow did not like this and it proceeded to pull itself out from under my body thereby causing me to go airborne (for the second time that morning, mind you) as my foot somehow went above my head in an amazing gymnastic feat only seen in Cirque De Soile shows. And since my feet were above my head obviously gravity was not going to be working in my favor on this paticular morning (as if it ever does). I then landed on my neck, shoulder and the arm that I strategically threw back to catch myself, since of course my arm can hold me up in the air with ease. Well my good ol trusty arm failed me and I hit with a thud.

In all honesty I think I went unconscience for a second or at least stopped breathing because I had one of those out of body experiences where you float over yourself. Actually I think my brain just hadn't caught up with my nerve endings and it thought I was still flying. But no, now I was lying, and in pain. I laid there thinking how I was going to get help. See for a few seconds (which of course felt like an hour or so in that weird pain and shock time loop) I figured I would need help from someone. These were the things I thought about in that time:
1. If I could telekenitcally will my cell phone from the living room to the bedroom
2. If I screamed loud enough would the family in the house 25 yards away hear me through my walls, the garage, a span of yard, thier laundry room, and all their walls.
3. If I could get help would I be embarresed by what I was wearing. Did I have on proper rescue attire, clean pajamas, appropriate pajamas, and were my pajamas still even on me since I was aware of nothing beyond my own head on my body.
4. If I had just bought one of those "I've fallen and I can't get up" necklaces like the old lady sold I wouldn't have to worry about numbers 1 and 2
5. How late this was going to make me for work
6. If I could sue pottery barn for making slippery pillows
7. If my obituary would read "Katie died by pillow"

Then I began to feel again, or my brain and my nerves finally got it together and started to work with each other again. So then I'm just feeling pain, my arm hurts, my back hurts, my head hurts. I'm trying to figure out if my arm has sustained any severe damage. At this point I'm figuring I should call work and let them know I'm going to be late. So I crawl to the living room and dial the school.

When the school secretary answers, I say, "Linda, I'm running really late so I won't be there for another 20 minutes or so."

Her reply, "Ok" pause "Who is this?"

Now know that I've worked with Linda at this point for about 5-6 months and we share an office. She hears my voice like thousands of times a day.

So now I'm thinking that not only have I knocked my arm out of socket but I've somehow in a freak accident event changed my voice forever.

This was my worst morning ever. What happened next you may ask. Well I made it to work, my arm was fine after a few days, my voice was indeed normal (stress and severe shock can make you sound different if you didn't know that) and my story made for some great lunch room laughter time.

So Jessica, I feel your pain, I know your pain, I am your pain (only when you dream of me that is)

Tell me what you want, what you really really want

Like a sheep, I am following the lead of my friend Jessica. This is a variation of a chain email but now it's a chain blog. So go ahead, make my day (really, posts to my blog do make my day, yipee).

Just follow the directions:

A) First, recommend each of the following to me:
1. a movie.
2. a book.
3. a musical artist, song, or album.


B) Ask me three questions—no more, no less.

Ask me anything you want. [note from the Editor: I reserve the right to remove your comment if such comment deserves to be removed.]

C) Go to your blog (if you have one), copy and paste this, and allow everyone to ask you anything.

Out of the mouth of babes

I just asked a student (who happens to be the son of my landlord, i.e. he is my neighbor) if his legs were cold because he was wearing shorts.

His reply: "No, I have Minnesota legs."


Roaring laughter ensued.

Frustration

UUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHH. Please don't underestimate the emotion emoted by the one word. I am frustrated. If you will remember I gave a little pre-emptive heads up that I would be posting regarding grace, mercy, legalism, and obedience (though not in that paticular order). Well then I was reading a book last night and it got me to thinking if I was trying to take these huge issues that are way beyond understanding and wrapping them up in a neat package with a pretty Martha Stewart bow. Am I trying to take these grand things and dumb them down so I feel like I have a grasp on them. Am I just trying to make it so that I can say that I conquered the ideas. Is this a whole control issue? UGH.

And then it comes. A real life applicable issue where the idea of grace and legalism come into play. Are those the new Christian buzz words. Show grace, give me grace, I need some grace. Don't be so legalistic, legalism breeds rebellion, you are so legalistic, this is legalism. AAAUUUUGGGGHHHH. The funny thing is that as far as I can tell grace and legalism deal specifically with salvation while mercy and obedience deal with all areas of life. But I guess mercy and obedience don't carry the same weight, don't pack enough punch, to be used so we must go with the "go to" sayings and make sure everyone feels the religious bite of our accusations.

So this is my predicament. I know I will never fully understand any of these. I can't, they are qualities of God and on this earth I see only shadows of them. All I know to do is trust that God will grant me wisdom in the areas where these issues come up and show me mercy (see correct word usage) when I missuse them and try to take the things of above and bring them down to my level.

Ok enough ranting and raving. I'm done but I welcome comments and suggestions.

Here come the 80s

Like a bad burrito that you regret at 2am, the music of the 80s often flashes through my mind. Today such an episode occured.

The backstory:

We (my school) require our students to have a set # of community service hours per semester.
So here goes the conversation:

Me: "Well, we're trying to get them (students) to actually go out in the community and serve, to move beyond their Christian safety nets"

My principal: "Yeah, we want to take Matthew down to . . . . ." she pauses to think of a 'non-Chritian type place'

I pipe up "Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty, won't you please take me home"

Silence.

More silence.

They didn't get my fun 80's music tie in.

Do you?

Sneak Preview

Coming soon . . . . . Grace, Mercy, Obedience, and Legalism, what does it all mean.

I've been pondering this issue for a long time now and I'm getting ready to share my thoughts. I will welcome all comments as I would like to get wisdom from others.

Check back soon for the post.

Loosing my mind

Slowly. Surely. Too. Much. To. Do. Going. Crazy.

Don't be dishin me

Ok so I realize that I am the epitome (synonyms include: personification, essence, embodiment, quintessence (my favorite by the way), archetype) of a white Anglo-Saxon person. I’m like a walking advertisement for the Netherlands, Sweden, and all of Western Europe. I’m blonde, fair skinned, light eyes, and all around white. This is not a bad thing nor is it a good thing, it just is. It’s who I am. Sometimes I wish I was part Asian because I think they have beautiful features, and then I wish I had Spanish blood in me so that I would at least tan every once in a while. I also would love to have the rhythm and soul that so many other people of different races and heritage seem to possess. But alas this was not meant to be.

This introduction is to set the stage for a funny thing that happened at lunch yesterday. While I am a WASP, I do possess youth, at least in relation to many of the teachers at the school I work at. I’m young and fairly hip. I’m aware of the youth culture and know what’s in and what’s out for the most part. I could obviously be much more hip but I’m ok with being just a little hip.

So here is what happened:

My friend, one of our teachers, was at lunch commenting on a piece of cell phone jewelry another friend had purchased for her (cell phone jewelry? I’m going to leave the absurdity of this alone for now). So my friend jingled her phone and uttered these words: “See my bling-bling!” I’m laughing right now remembering a woman in her later 40s who uses the word bling-bling. Oh but the story gets better. Those of us youngins, who were at the lunch table, had to explain the term “bling-bling” to the other teachers who were oblivious to such a phrase.

My friend then began to use other slang phrases to show off her hipness. Then the priceless phrase came:

“Don’t be dishin me”

Dishin? What? Like a plate or bowl? I roared with laughter as did the other younger teachers who were in the know. Dishin. It’s my new word now. I will use it in general conversation and act as if it is right. I’m starting a new slang trend, so you better get on the train.

Oh by the way, the same friend later referred to Marilyn Monroe as valumpuous, lump being the key phrase here. Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha. She was on a roll.

So don’t be dishin me on my bling-bling as I get jiggy with it over here with my valumpuous homies.

Grocery Store Surprise

Picture it: I'm walking through the Kroger parking lot minding my own business, I'd just purchased a mixed fruit bowl and water for lunch and I'm feeling very healthy at the moment, and I step on wait for it, wait for it

. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .

Men's black bikini underwear. USED men's black bikini underwear.

And, of course, of all the things to run through my mind is the question, where did these come from? How did they get here? Is some man running around comando without his underwear?

And then my mind reacts to the shear grossness of the situation. Mens. black. bikini. underwear. OH MY WORD.

That was my day, what about yours?

Moving on up, to the east side, to that deluxe apartment in the skyyyyyyyy

My friend jessica, one of the two known visitors to my site (post comments please if you drop by so I know who has been here), posted a story about a crazy roommate situation and it inspired me to share with you my bizarro history with roomates. Please note I hold no ill will toward these former roomates now (although I must admit I did with a few at the time). I now look back at the occurances with humor and laughter at the absurdity of some and the overall hilarity of the combined story line.

These stories will be in time order and categorized by state in life, location, and nifty title.


Change in plan: I got through about the fourth story and even I was bored with it so below are the facts.

College, freshmen year, American University, Washington D.C.
The rotating room

Three girls built for two
Roomie wanted to hide pot in ceiling tiles – HELLO
Time to de-triple - DRAMA
Moved to a room built for three – didn’t know the other two girls last name for the three months I lived there
Moved in with a nice girl back on old floor – she kicked me out one night for some personal time with boyfriend, they broke up later, DRAMA


Sophomore year, University of North Texas, Denton, TX
Moved back in with my parents (returned to the nest)

Younger sister moved into my old room two days after I left for college, so I had to move into the dining room. Enough said.


College, junior year, University of North Texas, Denton, TX
First Apartment

Four girls, two bedrooms, a tiny poodle dog that limped. I came home from church one night to find my roommate packing. Not for a trip or an overnight excursion, but for good. The three of us not moving sat there in disbelief as she packed with her mom and moved out without saying a word to us. Anger, frustration, disbelief, yelling, etc., etc. ensued when she came back to “talk” about it. Ended up with my own room and she paid the rent until our lease ended.


1st Senior year of college
Back with the parents (Nest AGAIN)

Made the same mistake twice, expecting a different outcome – definition of craziness.


Spring semester of Junior year of college
First House – Tree House to be specific – later named La Casa de Eviction

Fun house, cute house, too many girls in one house. Drama points – a boot, a family picture, a couch, four cats, drama, drama, drama. It all ended in a phone call while I was working at summer kamp in Missouri that we were moving. We? I was in Missouri as well as my roommate and another house mate was in China. Well the other two moved and took the China girl’s stuff with them. Therefore my parents and my roommates parents moved us (without air conditioning in JULY). DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA. This one wins the most drama filled award.


Fall of 1st Senior Year of college to 1st year working at Calvary
Small House

My roomie from the la casa de eviction and I moved into this house the day we came back from kamp. The same day as a 7 hour drive from Missouri. P.S. We moved all the furniture except for the big screen tv and the refrigerator. Our to be married friend from kamp moved in as well. Wedding planning, stray cats, it was good for a while. Then a new friend from kamp came to replace the one who got married. Two weeks later our “new” roommate called. New? Wait we already have enough. Oh the original had made plans to move out and forgot to tell us. Oops. Well she moved and took the “new” roommate with her. Then we got another roomie. Then the plumbing exploded. Seriously – sewer in the sinks, tub, dishwasher, washing machine, yard. YUCKY. Then another the second or third original, it gets confusing without names, decided to move back home – Nebraska or Missouri or Kansas, can’t remember where home was at that time. So again left with two.


Summer after 1st year working at Calvary
The house that never was

I was set up to sub-let a house right by work. NICE – walking distance. Moved some of my stuff in and was probably going to take over the lease or at least have the summer to find a place. Didn’t happen that way. Always talk to the landlord – lesson learned. So went to kamp for two weeks to train and had no place to live when got back. Some of my stuff at parents, some in storage, some in old house, some in new house that was not going to be mine. AAAUUUUGGGHHH.


Same Summer
Return of an old roomie and arrival of a new friend

My hero. A friend came to visit kamp while I’m up there telling everyone of my homelessness drama. She wanted to move, I needed a place, perfect timing. We came back to denton and in three weeks moved into a new house. Then she up and left me in November. Alone, again. New roommate search is on. Who, where, when???? Then surprise there she is new roommate, who I don’t know that well but became a good friend.


Next Summer and since . . . .
On my own

The search was on for a new place. Comedy stories of possibilities. Water main exploded in the street creating a water volcano on moving day. Crazy, crazy. I moved to the country by myself. AND. I. LOVE. IT.



That is the short version; now just think what the long version could have been like. If you have questions I will be happy to expound.