Wednesday, October 29, 2008


Monday, October 27, 2008

Conversation With My Mother

Mom- "Kimberly, I am sorry to bother you at work, but I have a very important question to ask you."

Me- "What Mom?"

Mom- "How do I check my voicemail?"

Me- "Mom, you have had a cell phone for two years now, what do you mean you dont know how to check your voicemail?"

Mom-"Are you typing right now? I hear you typing, can you stop and pay attention? I need you to explain it to me again."

Me- (loud sigh, thoughts of zanax) "Alright Mom, first you dial *86"


Me-"No Mom, not right now, dont do this right now, wait until I hang up."

Mom-" Oh ok, ok, keep going hunny, well wait, let me get a pen, let me find a CRAIG! CRAIG WHERE DID YOU PUT MY PENS, I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE MY..oh, ok, here we go, I have one now."

Me-" So dial *86 and when you hear the recording start enter in your password."

Mom-"What's my password?"

Me- "What do you mean what's your password, you created it!"

Mom-"Can't you just tell me what it is?"

Me- "Mom, I dont know what your password is, YOU are the one who created it.."

Mom" Ok, oh dear, oh well hmm..I think it is 1111...can you check and see if that is right?"

Me-"No Mom, I can't check, you will have to enter it in and hit pound and then all your messages should come up."

Mom-"Ok hunny, I will go try it, thank you for all your help, I know you know this technology whoha."

Hang up.

Five minutes later, phone rings.

Mom- "Hi Honey!"

Me- "Mom, why are you calling me again?"

Mom-"Because I just got your message! You called and left a message for me to call you back!"

Me- "Mom I left that message three months ago...ok I am getting off the phone now..."

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

In One Week I Need Your Vote

So in exactly one week something big is going to happen. Bigger then big actually. Something that may change the universe forever.

“Hello, My Name is Kimberly, and I do not want a Birthday party”.

“Hello Kimberly.”

So there you have it. In one week I will be 27. Yes. I am officially old. And for the past 27 years I have been parting like it’s 1981. But this year, I can’t say exactly what, but something feels different. As you can imagine, having a birthday that falls on Halloween weekend has always been the challenge…I have had Cowgirl themed parties, 80’s themed parties, Scuba-Steve parties... Last year I got ten party goers across a red rope, one who randomly walked in drunk, I made the bouncer give me a piggy-back ride, fell on the dancefloor, and ripped my dress…essentially exactly what a birthday should be about.

This year though, I am having the Old Person Blues. Yes, 27 is still young, but it’s fairly close to having to “accomplish” things…or “figure things out”…or “give up your coke habit”.

I mean I don’t know, this whole getting older thing is very confusing. Should I be married by now? Should I be having kids? Should I run for governor of Alaska?

In lieu of a normal party this year, I feel like something different and non-fun. I want a good ol’ non-fun birthday. So here are some of my ideas:

- Sit at home alone and watch “Steel Magnolias”, and cry.

-Sit at home wrapped up in a wool blanket, eat cookies and cry.

-Knit an entire sweater out of corduroy

- Watch re-runs of Full House and mutter to myself about the ‘good old days’.

-Go to 4pm early bird dinner special wearing some sort of heavy rubber soled shoe

- Speed-walk around the mall at 8am, then go home and complain about my arthritis

I would like it if you could all vote on what I should do....

Tuesday, October 14, 2008



Ok we are over, I am sorry. I tried. I really did. And in the beginning I really liked you too. You were funny and dirty and quick ...and sometimes you were all I could think about. I would rush home at night after work just to get ready to see you. Take a shower first. Put on my cutest little shorts. And I even remember the first time tried to let you go. The next week you came back to me even better than before. And I really thought maybe we would make it. But I have to say, seeing you not, all out and about, well, it is just sad. I think it's time you just moved on with your life, and hanging out with your loser friends all day isn’t going to interest people anymore. I mean, get over yourself.


Wow, I thought we would never see each other again. Really, I didn’t. I thought it was over for good. And I cried and cried and cried until I didn't have it in me anymore to cry. When I heard rumors of you coming back, I thought, it can't be, no way no how. I mean we were dead for so long. Not anything, not a call or a glimpse or anything. And to see you again feels so good. You can’t even imagine. Its like going right back to home. And I can tell I am smiling by the time I even get home. It feels so good to have you back in my life. And sure you still seem a bit juvenile, but you know what, it brings out the kid in me and I hope we continue on like this.


You know, all I have to say is, I am trying. I really am. I really want to make this work. But it’s like every time I think I finally understand you and what you are trying to tell me, you say something that completely throws me off and I am lost in the dark again. I just wish you would speak my language more. I WANT to like you. No, I want to LOVE YOU. Oh man, I really do. I would give anything if I could just feel that way about you that so many others have before me. I know I care about you and I need you in my life. I just don’t know how much I can commit. I don’t know if I can give you everything you are looking for. I can only be there some of the time. And I wish I was the kind of girl that could put in that commitment. But I can't give you what you are looking for. And I am sorry for that.

Saturday Night Live:
Ok. I will give it to you. You have been TRYING really hard to get me back recently. And I totally support you for that. I even told all my friends about you. But sure enough they were rolling their eyes by the time I even finished saying your name. Everyone keeps telling me to just move on. That I shouldn’t be wasting my Saturday nights with you. And it’s so true. Look what you have put me through in the past! I mean I can’t take it anymore. Stop showing up at my door. It just isn’t there anymore. And I wish you the best of luck with your life, but you need to just forget me. I cant be there for you anymore. Even my parents think you are a waste of my time. And I am starting to think they are right.

Sex and the City:

Ok, I don’t understand what I need to do to get you back. I mean everyone told me it’s over, but I just cant believe it. We had it so good for so long. Why did you just leave me like that? I can’t even call? Or say hello? I just know I need you back in my life someone. But I don’t know how. Everyone says it’s a pipe dream, but I cant stop believing. You left this mark on my heart and everywhere I turn I think of you. Every Museum I visit. Every restaurant. I want to say all your funny jokes. Reminisce about something witty you said, or that time that you made me think twice about writing that book. God, you just are so special to me. I don’t know how I will ever get over you leaving me. Even at my own wedding I will be thinking about you. If you could just make an appearance sometime, even if its only for 5 minutes, I know I would love to see you. If I can do something to bring you back, I would.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Rules: For Men

The problem with all these relationship books out there is that they are all directed towards women. Most of my guy friends call me all the time with questions about girls. So why is there no book out there for them? I have decided to construct The Rules book for guys on how to get any girl in the world.

And I guarantee this advice 60 percent of the time, works everytime.

The Rules: For Men

#1- Lie. Lie as much as possible. Lie all the time. Continue to lie. Do I look good in these acid wash jeans with tiger emblems? The answer is YES. Did you mind that I don’t know how to cook? NO. Or clean? NO. Or give a good blow job? NO. Lie to me. The more lies the better. This is key in any functional relationship.

#2- For the love of Jesus I don’t want to see the Ballet either! I can’t sit through that shit. Please take me to your kind of events. I want to see your friend Joey get his face smashed between a keg and Martin’s asshole. That to me is much more exciting. Take me to a strip club, and then shove my blouse full of dollar bills so that the stripper has to eat them out one by one while your buddy Javier chants incoherent dirty Spanish phrases in the background.

#C – STOP GUIDING MY HEAD. When you are lucky enough to actually be getting head, stop holding mine! I don’t want you to touch my head. Touch my hair. Nothing. Stop guiding me into it. I don’t want your guidance. You get what you get. And that’s it. I am not here taking a blowing class from you, so stop acting like you are teaching me skills by shoving it down my throat. I get it. You want it deeper, guess what? I have a gag reflex and it’s about 2.2 seconds away from throwing up all over your balls. In fact some of my friends will stop the job all together if you even begin to touch their head. So keep your hands the fuck off my head unless you want to forfeit all BJ’s for the rest of the year.

#4B- When I call your phone. You answer it. That’s it. That’s all there is. I don’t care if you are in a shark tank being shot at by a Navy Seal while three Miami drug lords are trying to shove cocaine up your ass. You answer the damn phone! I don’t want to hear that you were “working” or “in a meeting” or “in the hospital”. Blah blah blah. You better explain to those doctors during your appendectomy that I may need to call to ask you a question and you may need to answer the phone for it, organs or no organs.

#5 – I am embarrassed that you know how to dance. I mean let’s face it. The first couple times when I was drunk I thought it was funny. Now that we are standing with all my friends during happy hour and you were dead sober dancing to OAR’s “It Was a Crazy Game of Poker”, I didn’t find it so hilarious. In fact I found it even less so hilarious, when you actually broke out in the middle of the dance floor to do some kind of Usher-meets-Justin Timberlake impression, or was it Michael Jackson? God help me if I know, all I know is that is when I started to drink. Heavily. I don’t find your dancing to be a turn on. Watching you dance is more like watching those men from the Belleview Mental Hospital try and play flag-football. It looks about the same.

#11F- You shouldn’t know how to dress. And that is fine. In fact I prefer guys who don’t know what they are doing in the clothes department. But at least admit to it. Admitting you have is a problem is the first step. Then you can get help from there. I enjoy when guys I date show up for dinner in some kind of basketball jersey and jeans they bought in ‘98 from a homeless dude’s garage sale. I like it that way. Because what else would be my purpose to you? I can’t fix engines, make you pancakes, organize for shit…at least let me impart my words of the Christian Dior kingdom upon your land.

#G- My friends are not your friends.... Plain and simple.
Your friends are my friends though.
My family is not your family.
Your family is my family however.
I need more allies then you do, so that’s just how it works. And when you break up with me, your family, your friends, my family and my friends... they will all turn on you.

#(9 ²)- Under no circumstance shall you ever make a comment about my body, unless it has to do with ummm, … perfection? When I ask you if I should go workout, you should always answer, “sure if you want to ..even though you clearly don’t need to”. Listen, I don’t care if my ass balloons up to the size of a Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade character. I don’t care if you have to strap me up to a gurney simply to have cowgirl style sex with me. You better pretend like I am light as a fucking feather. I don’t care if you go to pick me up and end up throwing out your back in the process, you better lie on the ground and tell me it was an old injury from "the war" that just sparked up and that it has nothing to do with my fat ass.