CLICK HERE FOR THOUSANDS OF FREE BLOGGER TEMPLATES »

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

CHANGE

Oh how a change is in the air. It might be the election. Or the seasons. Or simply Nick Nolte’s hairpiece. But there is certainly and change and a spark going on in the universe right now.

And it seems as though everyone else around me is changing as well. People I know are divorcing… getting into new relationships…being fired...quitting...being hired...running away to the circus. You name it, I know someone going through it right now.

So what is all this big change, and what is your big change? Maybe we should all change something. Even if it is something small, maybe that one butterfly effect will cause some sort of tsunami in China…or something like that.

CHaNGE

Change your hair color



Change your boyfriend

Change your status on facebook just to watch everyone freak out
Change your accent at work just to watch everyone freak out
Change your birth control method
Change the way you talk to your mom
Change your underwear



Change the channel
Change your sports team
Change the way you love someone
Change the way you hate someone


Change your political stance



Change your body
Change what you read
Change how you drive to work
Change how you walk to work
Change your subway line



Change your nephew’s diaper
Change someone’s flat tire
Change your dollars into change
Change the way you treat your friends
Change the way you look at your life
Change the way you look at someone you love
Change the way you look at someone you hate
Change the gas for water in your ex lover’s car
Change your style of fucking

Change your socks
Change your stupid cell phone ringtone
Change my mind
Change the way I look at you

....Don’t change what blogs you read.

-Kim

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

27...

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"

(beep..beep..beep)

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 check...so 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

MY TV RELATIONSHIPS:

Entourage:

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.



90210:

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.








SportsCenter:

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.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

EVERY GUY YOU WILL EVER DATE

THE SHORT MEATHEAD:
For starters. He is short. But he has a ridiculous body. Want to know why? Because he is short. What the fuck else is he supposed to do? So he goes to the gym and lifts and lifts and lifts until you think that vein above his left eyelid is going to explode on the chest press. But then he lifts some more. And as for his penis, who knows you might get lucky, but I doubt it and he knows all those biceps are only going to be covering up for one very important (very tiny) thing….he probably works at gym, eats at a gym, and sleeps in a Gold’s Gym t-shirt. He is fucking fabulous.

THE TALL WALL STREET DUDE
He makes money. He says he lives somewhere ‘trendy’..he means ‘Hoboken’. He has a bedroom that has one of this brick walls in it. He drives some sort of car that has leather in it and smells like a briefcase. He thinks he is pretty smart and doesn’t laugh and your corny little jokes…unless of course he is trying to get into your pants and then he laughs and laughs and laughs like his life depended on it. He has a watch that is more expensive than your entire apartment. He drinks stuff ‘on the rocks’ and will be bald by 31.


THE SHORT WALL STREET DUDE
You ask, “Kim, how is this different from the tall wall street dude?” Well this guy is worse. Always ordering people around, telling them to get him “shit” and drinks and cars. He goes to Ulysses on a a Thursday night bragging to the other SWSD’s that he is going to eat some pussy tonight. Umm, yeah, he will, and her name will be Lucy from accounting who has acne and an overweight cat name Fluffernutter. (Trust me, I’ve seen it happen). He wears expensive cuff links and has his name embroidered on his shirt (hey MT, you’re a jackass). He own an apartment in Manhattan with a view and has a maid named Lucita whom he makes wash his shorts.


THE GAY BUT DOESN'T THINK HE IS GAY DUDE
You show up for a date with this dude and his jeans are tighter than yours. They are also about 200 dollars more expensive. You tell him you like project runway and surprise surprise, it is his favorite show AS WELL. He can’t comprehend the zebra print pillows you own and makes reference to colors in your apartment as being “opaque”. When you talk to him about prior dates he seems to say that it didn’t work out (because your gay?) and that the last few women were not his style ( because your gay?) and that he doesn’t like to jump into something overly sexual right away (because your gay?) The funny thing is, some girl out there is going to marry him and not even question his interest in Craigslist Causal Encounters. God Bless her.

THE DUDE'S DUDE
Now this is my favorite. If you had to pick from any of the following, this would be my pick. But unfortunately the dude’s dude is not normally found in urbane habitats. You normally must explore vast exotic lands, such as “Montana” to find this creature. The dude’s dude, if he does live in a city, lives with about 4 other dude’s dudes (where they can co-habit together) and normally has keggers on weekend nights held in his bathtub that has about 4 inches full of grim. He watches sports, sports center, sports highlights....he finds humor in Family Guy, he burps, farts, scratches his ass and owns two shoes, black ones and brown ones. But owns a hundred sneakers, all with different purposes. The last time he watched Project Runway was because he accidentally passed it on the way to SportsCenter and he caught a model walking runway with half her tit exposed and he paused for like 2.2 seconds to watch…until one of the dude’s dudes caught him and asked him to take the dick out of his ass and turn the channel. The dude’s dude tends to not date a lot of girls, but when he does, it’s all long term relationships, because deep down in every stiletto heeled princess is the need to find a guy who actually enjoys fixing her leaky pipes (and you know what I mean). He has a big dick and doesn’t know it or care about it, unless he is drunk and whips it out at the Freto-lay table at the Christmas Party.
Damn, I love these guys.



THE LOCAL
Yeah he is from a bor'ugh. Wanna fight about it? Yeah he talks like a lip cancer victim after fight night at the local hospital…wanna fight about it? Yeah he went to 2 years of high school and dropped out to work at the local garage and start a gym in his basement…wanna fight about it? He owns a motorcycle and grunts and farts at the gym and every shirt deserves to be cut off right at the shoulder and ripped. He has a MySpace page where the first picture is a local chick stripping and the second picture is of some shitty car he has a pet name for…wanna fight about it? Girls that date him are named Gina, have 3 inch long nails and 4 babies all from separate daddies. And her kids all wanna fight you.

THE SINGER/SONGWRITER/ACTOR/PAINTER DUDE
Oh man, here we go…it’s time to decide whether you want to go get chicken parm at the local Italian place or see Red Die Valley In Flames perform at the local basement gig. When he talks…he THINKS. He is a thinker, an overthinker, a deep thinker, a sympathetic thinker, a dysfunctional thinker. But let it be known. This dude thinks. And not just about his songs, or his art, or his soon to be stardom..it’s like awww man one day, just one day when he becomes famous it is all going to be worth it. All the late nights, all the torture. Yeah, it’s torture, you got it, and its more painful then your relationship, because his has to focus on his “craft”, his “art”..Damnit woman he has things to THINK ABOUT. Lots of thinking to do! Yeah he doesn’t have time for you tonight, because of his audition, but he wont have time for you the night before either because he will have to spend his time “thinking” about his audition. (WTF?) Yeah , I don’t’ get it either. But he is deep. And if you don’t know that, then just go see his play/musical/band/whatever perform..and maybe you can ‘see’ what he is ‘feeling’…wait…what the fuck is he talking about?

THE DEAD WEIGHT
Yeah he's cute. Yeah he has a good job. Yeah he owns an apartment. Yeah he wear khaki’s from LLBean. But umm..wait, did he just make a joke? Was that a joke? Was he trying to be funny? Did he have outward emotion? Umm..probably not, you probably mistook a pepper in his salad for actual emotion. He thinks nothing and feels nothing. He is dead weight. He is all great on paper. Every mom’s dream. And he smiles a lot and probably even has close friends from college…and of course he does, because he is fucking dead weight! All outgoing dudes have dead weight friends…it’s to make them look even MORE interesting! He is good looking enough to bring out with them to the bars and will attract girls..but he is enough of a shy idiot to not get anywhere with anyone and leave all the hooking up to his buddies. The best part about dead weight, is he will marry miss dead weight. She will have brown hair and a degree in accounting and will eat things like “balanced meals” and they will sit and talk about lawnmowers…while the rest of want to shoot ourselves in the fucking mouth.


THE SCARY CREEPY OLD DUDE
He is 40-something, thinks he is 20-something. He wears too much cologne and date about 3 different girls. You wonder how he ever got a girl in the first place. He opens the first few buttons of his shirt. And you are always thinking, “Put it away granddaddy!”. He is the dude who will sit next to you at the bar and want to immediately ask you if you are wearing a thong..as to which you want to immediately ask him if he signed up for AARP anytime recently. He sweats a lot too. No one knows exactly why, but he does. The odd thing is, half of the girls will actually sleep with him, while the other half will be filing restraining orders and sexual assault cases. I would bet any money that he has overly sweaty balls…just sayin.

THE DRUNK WITH A GOOD DAY JOB DUDE
Probably Irish. Probably drunk right now. Maybe Italian, maybe half as drunk. But damnit he is a good-time McRonney. He is always the first to hit the bars at 6pm after work and doesn’t leave until last call. He knows every song. What song? EVERY SONG! Oh and he sings them too. He grabs a hold of you, swings you around in the bar and tries to get you to sing them as well. Instead you try and peel yourself off his half-opened shirt, where he has buffalo wing stains and move to another area. But drunk guy is always there, following you around the fucking bar, screaming your name “Karen! KAREN! OUR SONG KAREN!” even though explicitly told him five times your name is Kimberly.

THE DRUG DUDE
Everytime, yes everytime, you hear it, before dinner, after lunch, before you fuck, after you fuck, at the alter...everywhere. "Well when my mom left me FOR DRUGS and then I started selling ..." Oh for the love of Sweet Jesus when does it end? Dude, WE GET IT, you hated your childhood and it forced you into drugs. You keep mentioning the last time you got high...I am pretty sure it was with some Sesame Street characters. You blame your parents who were 'crack-smoking-hoes-who tried to sell your diapers for drug money' and never cared that you were the lead in the school play, in soccer, WHATEVER...do you have to bring it up everytime? We get it, half of your siblings are in jail, your dad still asks your for money, your mom still asks you for condoms....We go to purchase angel hair pasta and the store is out you look over at us in your knitted hat, frayed jeans and doc martin shoes and say something like, "Well you know my mom made pasta with left-over crack boxes once...." Oh good sweet sally Christ, here we go again.. go find Grover or Cookie monster and light one up and let me know how it goes.

THE ALL SPORTS -ONLY SPORTS DUDE WHO CAN'T GET LAID
Dude, did you see that play? Did you hear about that team? Did you get the seats? Who did you buy the seats from? What was the score? What was last week's score? Who can I email today at work about the score? What chick can I make fun of for mispronouncing the catcher's last name? How come girls don't want to suck my penis?
Fuck.


THE ASSHOLE WHO EVERYONE LOVES BECAUSE HE IS FUNNY SO HE CAN BE AN ASSHOLE
He is normally surrounded by a bunch of other dude's (see also Dude's Dude and Dead Weight Dude)...they are all laughing at the Asshole's joke. He is picking up women at the bar, slapping them on the ass...but it's ok, it's not harassment, I mean, can't you take A JOKE?! His buddies love him because he gets his pregnant wife a body pillow and then complains that she wont let him rest his balls on it...HIL-AR-IOUS .

THE ASSHOLE WHO EVERYONE HATES BECAUSE HE IS AN ASSHOLE.
See above, minus the hilarious part. And instead of his friends wanting to buy him drinks, they want to punch him in the fucking face. but they still stay friends with him...why? who knows. Girls date him. Why? Who knows. You only know one thing for sure, he is angry and he isn't going to take it anymore....wait, take what? Who knows.

THE WANNA-BE MAGAZINE DUDE
So he reads GQ, he reads Details, he thinks he is Men's Health. He organizes his apartment, buys the new cologne in the ads. Uses the new types of shavers, talks to girls from paragraphs he reads, basis his workout on a fitness pull-out. Drinks health shakes. Tries cannoning, hiking, manicures/pedicures..whatever...did you see it in GQ? He's done it. He wants to be tough. Yet sensitive. Yet manly. Yet emotional. He actually knows what jeans are in style. AND he knows that team won last week's playoffs. He volunteers at children's hospitals (seriously?). He has the new gray sweater from Banana or Gucci, or who cares. but he has it. He smiles on the train, holds doors and goes spear fishing. Not because he wants to...but because Men's Vogue told him to! For the love of Christ can't you see how close he is to being perfect! So close that if you look extra hard that gray-nicely-worn-sweater has tear stains on it. Big ones. And soon enough he will be smoking crack with a woman named 'Honeyfied' telling her about water-polo.

*UPDATED*
(I feel like I am going to bu updating this all day because I keep thinkin of more dudes I date....sad? Maybe.)

THE STONER DUDE
Hey babe, I think it's so great that you decided to come crash on my futon that still has old sex stains on it and I mean I will definitely change out of these corduroys pretty soon but I was thinking that....mmmm burrito..have you ever had one of Harry's Burritos with that red stuff, that chunky stuff, it's kinda spicy...salsa? yeah, salsa babe...but...wait, what are we talkin about? ....I forget babe, but seriously I have to fly to LA to meet my friend Goose...he is going to let me write a play for him..or mow his lawn or something, I'm not sure..but babe how do you think I could get high before I get on the plane? I don't know...yeah babe I did my laundry...last month, whatever....come, let's just lay down for a bit on the futon...just lay right here next to me....and we should really...ummm...mmm babe lay right here.....and we, um, we, um......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

THE SENSITIVE MAMA'S BOY DUDE
He cried. Three times already in front of you. It has been four months and you haven't even cried once. There is a picture of his mom on his nightstand, his work desk, on the fridge. Every sentence starts with, "Well my Mom was saying that..." Dude, we get it, you love your mom. You want to marry your mom and frankly she comes over every weekend to iron your bedsheets and bring you homemade lasagna, it would be a sweet deal for anyone! Well these nancy-boys have a hard fucking time having relationships with girls. Wanna know why? Because we aren't your mama. And most of us aren't about to cook you string bean casserole and light your damn potpourri on fire. Mama's boys live alone and their apartment is spotless...not because they know how to clean, but because ol' Mama McGee is on her way over right now to shampoo their rugs.He tends to not be overly sexual or good in bed...how could he be with Mama McGee's high-waisted denim flashing through his mind every two seconds? And as you sit down to dinner with him all you can think is, "If you bring up your mom one more damn time..."