Two Parter

1 - I can't believe I haven't told you about my convertible gloves. Ma, the Walden Christmas Shopper, came through like CRAZY and bought me the coziest hand warmers ever. Plus, Oats (my dad) got a matching pair! Can you believe it? It is too special. We walked to the movie theater wearing them. When a friend called, I said, "Oats! Watch how I flip down the mitten part and am better able to click, 'Answer!" And he did watch, and he was impressed. My family is the swellest.

2 - I am going to Pike Place with a friend named Emily AGAIN! This time, though, it is a different Emily. Still, it is weird. It is like finding two rocks with "Kelly Jean Walden" carved into them by the cold, winter wind, except instead of "Kelly Jean Walden" it is "friend named Emily" and instead of "rock shaped by the cold, winter wind" it is "strolling around Pike Place Market."

Regal and handsome, indeed

Nic-Nic-Nicaroo had been building up her Christmas gift for a while. Imagine my delight when I ripped off the paper to find this gem:
Tucker Jobe - my favorite yapping, shaggy Shih Tzu - immortalized(ish). It is a Christmas wish come true.

What happens in my bed, in my brain.

Last night, I fell asleep wondering whether it's "skeptic" or "sceptic." It's "skeptic."

Far from the lousy headlines and the deadlines in between.

I leave for Albuquerque on Monday. My bro just moved there, so he and I have a few excursions planned, namely exploring the Carlsbad Caverns and checking out the White Sands National Monument. I'm also thinking of making a day (or maaaybe overnight) trip to Sante Fe, where I will sing and dance like Jack Kelly:

I especially like the choreographed part in the middle.

Any other Southwesty suggestions?

After reading 19 articles about this video, it's about time I watched it.

Here, we see 1,500 Filipino prisoners reenacting "Thriller" even better than Jennifer Garner did in "13 Going on 30." (Yes, this takes into consideration my wild, animal passion for Mark Ruffalo.)

Other bloggers are better than me, so I steal from them; or, You Better Work

A'holes with weapons and/or names like "Rudy Giuliani."

As you have probably heard, Former Prime Minister of Pakistan, Benazir Bhutto, was assassinated this morning. This was the second major attempt on her life since her return to Pakistan a few months ago, and, unfortunately, this one was successful. (The first one missed her but killed 150 others.)

I'm a little pissed that a woman who, in the words of a generic politician, "represented freedom and democracy" was murdered by a crazy fundamentalist (probably), and that the current Prime Minister (put into power through a coups, though he seems to an all right leader when his feathers aren't ruffled and he's not jailing honest judges and lawyers) didn't seem to do everything he could to protect Bhutto.

Anyway, I want to turn the focus to the statements released by presidential candidates. Please note the ridiculous encouragement of fear in a few of these, most notably in Rudy "Bombs are Da Bomb" Giuliani. ("We must redouble our efforts to win the terrorists' War on Us." Really, Rudes? You want to bring us back to that? And did you honestly capitalize "War on Us"?)

Our lesson? Assassinators are crazy. Fearmongers are crazy (and usually Republican). Obama, Clinton, and Edwards have lovely speech writers. Hooray for not living in the Middle-East. Rest in Peace, Benazir Bhutto.

Bluey Jean.

Once, when my adorable lab got in trouble, Oats asked, "What is Blue's middle name?" Mama answered, "Jean." Then Oats could scold her with, "Bluey Jean Walden!"

It's clever, you see, because my name is Kelly Jean Walden.

She is the happiest animal in the Pacific Northwest.

Edit: Blue is not possessed by demons. However, the flash on my camera phone is. Possessed by demons, I mean. The demon camera distorts eyes. Boo.

I hate you, GAP sale.

I am frugal now. That means I won't buy this sweater, even though it's cashmere, 50% off, and the cutest little thing you ever did see.

Take that, 1st grade report card - "average" on self-control, cadaver.

Holy Morning

I just made a bed with Grandma DoDo. Grandma DoDo is the Master of Clean. Making the bed with Grandma DoDo is like praying with the Pope, decorating with Martha Stewart, and being awesome with me. What an experience!

This would be more fun if you could tell Buster was both growling AND wagging his tail. He is an oxymoron. I intentionally provoke it.

But I'm a muggle in Puyallup.

If I were Harry Potter and you were Ronald Weasley, I'd yell across the Gryffindor Common Room, "Happy Christmas, Ron!" And you'd yell back, "Happy Christmas, Harry!" And we'd be precious and magical and have British accents.

Microscopic Jehova

"Israeli scientists have inscribed the entire Hebrew text of a Jewish Bible onto space less than half the size of a grain of sugar," says this article.

"I'm really glad none of my hard(ish)-earned dough is going to those bored scientists," says this woman.

The days of yore... or, you know, yesterday.

After a long morn' of pulling shots and foaming milk, I headed down to ol' Pike Place Market with some pals. Man. Maaaan. I wish I weren't the brokest broke broke-ass you've ever met.

If I had money, I would have bought these items:
+ Orange-vanilla hazelnuts
+ Dragon's teardrops tea
+ Batard bread (but only so I could say, "Would you like some batard?")
+ One of those lotiony bars
+ Lots and lots of fresh produce

You know how broke I am? I am so broke that I've only bought one pomegranate all season. And I charged it.

(Editor's Note: The author realizes that, in the grand scheme of things, she is fortunate to have a warm home, comfortable clothes, and be attending grad school and one of the best-respected Colleges of Education in the nation. However, she is a little sad that once she graduates, her debt will be more than her first year's salary. The author is considering singing Cher's "Life After Love" at the market with her favorite cowgirl hat on the ground, hoping to make at least enough money to fill her gas tank for the Christmas Eve drive to Puyallup.)

(Another Editor's Note: The author also realizes that she COULD be working another job to get further out of debt, but she prefers writing posts like these and dancing alone to The Fratellies wearing only sweats and a cami.)

(Even More From the Editor: Ok, I admit it. Debt or no debt, life is pretty dang fabulous. And I DID buy 3 chocolate croissants for this morning's Gma-Ma-KJW Brunch.)

Amazing songs I discovered this year, in alphabetical order by song title because I cannot, for the life of me, rank them.

• Glamorous (ft. Ludacris), Fergie. Luda at his best. He more than cancels out Fergie.
  

• Heart In a Cage, Chris Thile. Chris left Nickel Creek to do his own thing. This song makes me forgive him. To me, it is perfect. (Quick! Who writes, "To me, you are perfect"? Do you or do you not want to marry him?)

• Homebird, Foy Vance. "The orange was the size of a watermelon to me." If that doesn't make you remember being 4-years-old, you don't deserve Homebird.

• Low (ft. T-Pain), Flo Rida. I don't know what it is. The fun of singing "Low" so lowly? Pretending to turn around and give my big booty a smack? Watching the video in Chipmunk form? Perhaps a combination.
  

• We Can Work It Out, Stevie Wonder. Alanis listed this as one of her favorite songs on some iTunes collection, so naturally I listened to it. Only Stevie can improve on the Beatles.

• When The Night Feels My Song, Bedouin Soundclash. One of the simple pleasures: singing, "When the ni-i-i-iggghhht feels my soonnnngggg." (Note: I don't know if you American-radio listeners heard this. It could have been a Canadian thing.)

This list is incomplete, but I want to take a shower. I might continue it later, if you're lucky. And you give me money or comments.

A convincing argument.

The United States should eliminate the penny. (Note: My mom is named Penny. I love my mom. We should not eliminate people named Penny. Or dogs named Penny. Or Inspector Gadget's niece named Penny.)

In 2006, the price of metals went crazy. In April of 2006 (when this article was written), it cost 1.4 cents to make a penny. You know as well as I do that .4 cents times the trillionish pennies the government make each year equals a lot of money. Here is that sentence written mathematically, for you left-brained folks:

.4 cents
x 1 trillionish pennies
-----------------------
a lot of money

Fox News says that the US Mint makes "7 or 8 billion pennies" a year, resulting in a $20 million loss, but I think we can all agree that Kelly Walden News is just as reliable as Fox News. So, we're sticking to my math.

"This is all fine and dandy, Kel Bel, but how will I pay that $3.86 for my latte if there is no penny?" Oh, consumer, don't you worry! Businesses should have no trouble rounding. In fact, though my employer accept pennies, we round all of our prices to the nearest nickel. Heck, back when I worked at the movie theater, the company rounded everything to quarters! And if cheap-ass Regal Cinemas is willing to round, I guarantee you it doesn't cost much (or anything) to the business.

Plus, when you think about it, we're already rounding. Chances are that latte does not cost $3.86, but $3.86.019. (Ok, chances really are it cost $1.03 and the coffee shop is ripping you off, but let's pretend that's not happening.) If we can round to the nearest .01 of a dollar, why not to .05?

I realize that pennies are sweet and that our great-grandchildren would be confused by "Pennies from Heaven" if we eliminated the coin now, but that's no reason to waste millions of dollars every year. That money could go to things like, I don't know, ice cream. (Get it? It's MINT ice cream!) Or relieving poverty.

In conclusion, you should elect me into some important political office, because I am filled with good ideas. But not ice cream.

Lovin' the Luna!

Great news, everybody! Today is WINTER SOLSTICE! Yeah! (Some argue that solstice is, in fact, tomorrow. I went to Wunderground(!) to see for myself. They say that tomorrow is 1 second longer than today, and I want to be happy about solstice IMMEDIATELY, so I choose to believe them.)

To celebrate the longest night of the year, I will, once again, stay in my pajamas until late afternoon. I will also post this informative picture:Finally, I will rant about our society's typical non-celebration of wild days like these: Hey Society! Why do you typically not celebrate wild days like these?!?

Done.

Nature and space and cycles are the coolest.

CNN needs my headline-writing skills. I need CNN's money. Let's work something out.

CNN just told me that a "Big Asteroid Could Hit Mars." Yes, they used those words - big asteroid. Not one of the small ones like my Snickerdoodles, nope. This asteroid will be big.

Big like what, CNN? Don't give me that. Don't give me that headline vagueness. Big like like my enormous bosom? Big like that comet from Armageddon that was going to destroy us until the heroic men sang "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and then were martyrs for humanity? Big like a big, big grizzly bear? I don't know! I don't know what big means to journalists and space people! One astronomer says of the incident, "These odds are extremely unusual. We frequently work with really long odds when we track ... threatening asteroids." Extremely unusual. Really long odds. I don't think this NASA employee ever took a communications course. Specifics, astronomer! We want specifics!

Also, after reviewing the the Story Highlights (bulleted for my reading convenience), I learn that this mysteriously-sized asteroid is named WD5. Ok. Ok, this doesn't work for me. I am renaming the big asteroid. I call it Pookie.

Pookie Could Hit Mars!

It's a start.

Entertainment, Future assignments, Sleep replacement

A librarian displayed this book. It got me. Every story is written in 55 words or fewer. Some of my favorites:

Gratitude, by Andrew E. Hunt
The street lights were a warm welcome from the oncoming chill of darkness.
The park bench's curvature felt familiar under his tired old spine.
The wool blanket from the Salvation Army was comfortable around his shoulders and the pair of shoes he'd found in the dumpster today fit perfectly.
God, he thought, isn't life grand.

Bedtime Story by Jeffrey Whitmore
"Careful, honey, it's loaded," he said, re-entering the bedroom.
Her back rested against the headboard. "This for your wife?"
"No. Too chancy. I'm hiring a professional."
"How about me?"
He smirked. "Cute. But who'd be dumb enough to hire a lady hit man?"
She wet her lips, sighting along the barrel.
"Your wife."

Fair Play, by Fred W. Manzo
Irv and Ivan lay on the blistering sands, ogling women.
"That one?" Irv asked.
"Nope," Ivan said. "Too fat."
"Her?"
"Nope, too skinny."
In the warm sun they sipped beer and gawked.
"Wow," said Ivan. "Look at her!"
Two girls, wearing flaming pink bikinis glided past.
"Nope," they heard one say to the other.

I was productive most of the day. Honestly.

Holy hilarity. Guess who the Dodgeball commentators are.

Michael Bluth and Bingo Bob Russell (of Arrested Development and West Wing fame, respectively).

You see? You see why it pays to eat your dinner to channel 50?

The Tiniest Snickerdoodles I Have Ever Baked

Julia Child learned to cook to make her husband happy. Now, I don't know her husband, but I do know people, and I know that I appreciate a good meal more than the rest of y'all. So, imagine if I learned to cook for me. Whoa. I'd probably get a show on the Food Network. They'd call it "Kelly Kooks." No, maybe not. I meant for that to sound like "cooks," but instead it comes out like that precious British band. Ok, other potential names for my future cooking show:

-Kelly in the Kitchen
-Kelly Jean Walden is a Badass
-Chuckles and Chitlins (unless that means I would actually have to cook with chitlins)
-Terrific Jokes, Pretty Good Food
-I Love Kelly Walden and Everything She Does

Yep. The Food Network. That is where I go next.

Hahahahahaha

Kelly Jean Walden: Always There

I attended (and was on time for) every single class fall quarter.

Mmmm hmmmm.

Sunday's post-wedding insanity or, "It's the one you've been waiting for."

Nic Nic Nicaroo Kristine Raden's family is currently enjoying their SECOND bout of fame. You know, because they're frequent features of this blog, and this blog is known and loved around the globe.

Their first was the Trading Spaces ordeal. That was MY first experience with fame, too. E-bot and I snuck (WHOA, what? "snuck" is not a word? do the red-squiggly-underliners prefer "sneaked"? RIDICULOUS!) (AND "underliners" is not a word? this must change) our pictures on the fridge, the mantel, etc. As a result, we go into the background of several shots and now have modeling contracts, record deals, and, of course, this very blog.

In fact, I prefer talking about E-bot and myself instead of Nic's family. Yeah. E-bot and I are the coolest. We are on the Forefront of the Language Evolution, and we are the reason you say "cadaver" (or "cadav," for you hipper folk) instead of "whatever." Oh, and if you DON'T say "cadaver," it's about time you start. Yes, got on that. Get on that "cadaver" lingo.

It's late at night and I should be in bed.

Kelly Jean Walden's 426th brilliant idea of the day

Another potential winter break activity: become the Ultimate Tea Expert rather than just the Awesome Person with Merely Above-Average Tea Knowledge.

I'm kind of serious about this one.

Yeah, yeah.

The English - good for tea and precious accents

Frequent tea-consumer that I am, it only made sense to buy the 50-pack of English Breakfast. Interestingly, it seems that the last bags of the box steep more quickly and/or are stronger than the first bags. This leads me to ask the question we have all asked at one point or another: does tea age factor into my morning cup of English Breakfast?

For the answer, I went to Google. When I searched for "tea age", nothing relevant popped up, but I did get the most fascinating article of all time: Age, Burden, Divorce, and Heavy Tea Consumption are Significant Risk Factors for Erosive Esophagitis.

That damn divorce. That damn erosive esophagatis!

A pal got married today.

Good thing I had my camera phone.

Also,

Our living room was a winter wonderland. (I made up that alliteration all by myself.) The snowflakes are incredible, don't you think? I folded and cut them while watching Rachael Ray.

This picture was taken the morning after the event. Lots of friends spent the night, but only my 8th grade boyfriend managed to sneak in the picture.

People left beer and wine. That was nice. They were probably so blown away by my magnificent punch and charming personality that they felt they owed us the leftover alcohol. What sweeties.

(Clarification: He was my boyfriend when we were in 8th grade. He is not a current boyfriend that happens to be in 8th grade. The current boyfriend is old...er than me.)

It's a hollaaaday.

The party combined several of my great loves: old pals, new pals, and brownies displayed like a Scrabble board.

$3.26 hoodie!

The camera phone doesn't do justice to the lovely Husky purple. In fact, that hoodie looks downright brown, doesn't it? And do you believe that the bath towel in the background is bright blue? It is. It is!


Nic observed that when I get excited, I push up my sleeves. This is a handy (albeit strange) quirk, because sleeves never fit right anyway. Well, not if the rest of the shit fits. I look forward to the day when clothes makers create a hoodie that will fit the length of my arms AND the Kellyness of my torso. Smalls = pushed-up sleeves. Mediums = poofy... and pushed-up sleeves when I'm excited.

But I deal. Sales + coupons = a bargain that makes up for weird hoodie shapes.

EDIT: I noticed the "shit fits" error after a run-through of this post. It was too dang hilarious to fix. Geeze, even my typos are a riot. Is it even POSSIBLE for me to be unfunny? No!

These are big days.

Today, a fellow we call "Derek Jobe" turns 15.
Tomorrow, a certain "Ryan Jobe" turns 17.

Once, they were 5 and 7, respectively.

You know who's going to party the hardest?


Tuck Tuck Tucky.

90% perspiration

It's winter break, my dearies, and I have time on my chilly, chilly hands! (See previous post to learn about the chilly/broke connection.) I'm trying to pick up shifts at work, but until then, I have lots of free hours to do stuff. I am considering these low-cost winter break activities:

-Buzzing myself with a painful electronic device every time I say or write "stuff." This doesn't sound very fun, but it would improve my vocabulary.

-Write and publish an essay. For a topic, I was considering comparing the messages of Prince's "Kiss" and the Pussy Cat Dolls' "Loosen up My Buttons." Professors would teach it for years, probably calling it "The Great Kelly Comparison." Students won't know whether Kelly is great or the comparison is great until after they read the essay and realize that both Kelly AND the comparison are great. Then they will be inspired and, ideally, send me lots of money.

-Reenact the Napoleonic War. Of course, I will learn French first. Oh, and violence. I will learn French and violence.

-Try all the Exercise TV videos. Except for yoga, of course. I tried that once, and boy, it sure made me feel bad about myself. My limbs are stiff and I lack balance. Tae Bo is fun, though, and not just because Akon says, "Maybe go to my place and just kick it like Tae Bo." Also, Lord knows that Flirty Girl Fitness is good for any young lady's self-esteem. And feminism.

-Pick one affordable food and learn how to cook everything with it. Items on the shortlist include sweet potatoes, water, and frozen pizza.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Warring, cooking, essay-writing... I'm so excited.

Someday, when I am rich and famous and can afford two pairs of convertible gloves instead of zero pairs of convertible gloves...

Woolly and dirt-hiding for regular days.

















Cashmerey and dainty for fancy days.

More on language, Moron language

Merriam-Webster's Word of the Year is "W00t." Note that the where there are usually o's (the letter), there are zeros.

1ame.

Merriam-Websters C00ler Past Words of the Year:
2006: Truthiness
2005: Integrity (ok, this is 1ame, too)
2004: Blog (holla!)
2003: Democracy

My prediction for 2008: KELLY JEAN WALDEN! (capitalization and exclamation mark included)

Pretty platter please!

It's high time I invest in a platter.

Good news, reasonable people.

Caesar's Palace raised the maximum limit to $50,000 per hand of Black Jack.

Thank. God.

Last time I was in Vegas, I was all like, "Hey dealer, I am going to put down 50k, aight?" And the dealer was all like, "No, Kelly, you can't do that. House rules." And I was like, "This house does NOT rule!" and I stormed out in my sequin dress.

But now I think I will return to that casino, find that dealer, bet 50 grand, and cackle like a woman who knows she's won.

Political Advice

Obama has Oprah Winfrey.
Huckabee has Chuck Norris.
Heck, Hillary has Bill Clinton.

Somebody claim Kelly Walden!

Better Lovers - The Gang

From the left: Erin, Jodi, Lynn, Drew (our token male, inducted that night), Erin, Courtney, Lindsay, Me

Floating above: Kris's spirit (she left prior to this picture)

Not pictured: Ren (who was avoiding hotel-room mice in New Orleans)

The End of the Beginning

With the exception of one "final" - a potluck at my bourbon-loving professor's house - I am done with my first quarter of grad school.


"You're a star, Kelly Jean Walden!"

I know!

Literacy and beer.

Tonight, I celebrate four things (listed in order of importance): free popcorn, literature, Bellingham, and friendship.

Yes, Envious Reader, tonight is my book club. Tonight, Better Lovers* come together.



*Better Lovers is a group of fabulous twenty-something ladies who wholeheartedly agree that READERS MAKE BETTER LOVERS! They have no evidence to support that statement. There is talk of declaring it on a hoodie, though. Every now and then, Better Lovers meets at a dive bar in Bellingham, Washington to discuss a book of varying social and political importance. Then the alcohol kicks in and they get off topic and start fighting with those little plastic swords that impale maraschino cherries in certain drinks. You probably couldn't handle it.

I could snuggle with this.

Google Quote

When Solomon said there was a time and a place for everything, he had not encountered the problem of parking his automobile.
-Bob Edwards

Ok. The Bush family gets a point for this. Ellen gets a million.

Maybe when I get tenure.

Language is my favorite. I'm excited to teach students to become Language Masters. (Our readings usually say, "Masters of language," but, at the suggestion of William Strunk, Jr., I eliminate words when I can.) (Parentheses don't count.) (In fact, nothing I write counts unless I say it does.)

It's too bad that our culture's best examples of language brilliance often occur in wildly offensive songs. Let's consider Luda's "Stand Up." The song boasts excellent examples of simile, metaphor, hyperbole, and pretttty clever rhymes. (Lots of rappers alter the normal pronunciation of words to flow together better, but Ludacris has the most fun with it.) Unfortunately, it also contains disgustingly sexist images and vocabulary I would never use with 14-year-olds.

Kanye West's "Crack Music," one of my all-time favorite songs, probably couldn't be played in a classroom, either. Some argue it's racist and paranoid (I don't know if I agree), but I think it provides plenty of interesting content to discuss. Plus, consider some of the most genius lyrics you've ever heard:

How we stop the black panthers?
Ronald Reagan cooked up an answer
You hear that?
What Gil Scott was hearing
When our heroes and heroines
Got hooked on heroin
Crack raised the murder rate in DC and Maryland
We invested in that
It's like we got Merrill-Lynched
And we been hanging from the same tree ever since

Too bad I won't discuss crack with 8th-graders. Anyway, I would feel uncomfortable sharing a song that I won't even sing along to because of the racial slurs.

At least I have Lauryn Hill, right? That is, unless I listen closer and find more of the same.

Someone, somewhere, please write and release some school-appropriate brilliance. Thank you.

Heck, my office supplies are red, white, and blue!

I am a patriot. The United States is bad-ass. It's too bad that we elected a leader who doesn't recognize what makes us so awesome (namely, The Constitution) (and me).

And how awesome is it that I can criticize our president without fearing for my life or freedom? High five, country's founders!

The Sequel

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- President Bush was told in August that Iran's nuclear weapons program "may be suspended," the White House said Wednesday, which seemingly contradicts the account of the meeting given by Bush Tuesday.

...

The new account from [press secretary] Perino seems to contradict the president's version of his August conversation with McConnell and raised new questions about why Bush continued to warn the American public about a threat from Iran two months after being told a new assessment was in the works.

But Perino said there was no conflict between her statement and Bush's Tuesday account of the meeting, when he said McConnell "didn't tell me what the information was."

"The president wasn't given the specific details" of the revised intelligence estimate, which was released Monday, Perino said. Nor did Bush mislead Americans in October, when he warned of a third world war triggered by Iran's development of nuclear technology, she said.

-------------------------------------

Mm hm.

(Emphasis added, and here's more.)

Awesome as pho!

(Note: That title is clever because "pho" is pronounced "phuh." It rhymes with "duh!" Except it usually said with less scorn.)

Great news, poopsies! I found $3.85 pho on The Ave! Nothing beats an affordable bowl of Vietnamese soup.


My lunch company - two future English teachers and one future Social Studies teacher (we don't fraternize with those math and science weirdos) (just kidding) (kind of) - made it even better.

Hip-hop-hooraaaay-hoooo for soouuuppp-yooooo!

The Tiger Woods of racquetball, but with less skill

Neither of my parents recognized me in that picture on the side of my blog. Can you believe that? They made me, for goodness sake, and they can't recognize me in a regular, old, pink blazer!

So, I have broken down the picture into wee explanations so you know that the hottie on my blog is, in fact, me.


Long live 80's Racquetball That Turned Into Tacky Racquetball!

What's left

1 paper
1 big edit
3 potlucks

Me too, Mary. Me too.

I have a cat named Abe Lincoln. He likes to touch my face.

Seattle schools need us.

Guy: Hello, pot, this is the kettle! You're black!

Girl: I am not black. What are you talking about?

Guy: It's a metaphor. Do you know what a metaphor is?

Girl: Yes -- it's a giant flaming rock that comes out of the sky. You never make any sense.


(Heard in Seattle, Posted on HeardEverywhere.com)

Done and done.

Nic-Nic-Nicaroo Kristine Raden started a blog. She wanted me to advertise for her because she has no friends. Or personality. Or ethics. Or money.

I don't know why I talk to her.

Oh, and about the list...

I might be one of those people who puts easy activities on the list just so I can check them off. In my defense, every day there are thousands of people who do not get out of bed.

"Good job, Kelly Walden."

Thank you.

Sometimes I get to the forefront of the language evolution without even trying.

Several words that are now part of my everyday vocabulary started as occasional mocking words. (These are not to be confused with mockingbirds.) For example, I once hated when people said "freaking" instead of the f-bomb, so I mocked them. "It's so freaking cold!" I would exclaim, laughing at the silliness of it.

Now, I use "freaking" all the time. It's so stupid. Here are some other words that have weaseled their way into my vocabulary:
-Babycakes (as in when the boyfriend calls and I answer, "Hey Babycakes!" and then I get embarrassed because my classmates are nearby and laugh at me)
-Deets (short for "details", recently adopted from Teen Beat magazine)
-Delish (short for "delicious", I am not sure where I got this)

And twenty minutes ago, as I was checking off items on the To-Do List I wrote for myself last night, I discovered...


-Fo'

Good at running. Good at drawing.

So there I am, moseying down the sidewalk when - what is this? The bus! The bus is early! (In retrospect, it was probably the previous bus being late.) The bus is going to beat me to the bus stop!

Or so the bus thought.

I silently yelled, "I will beat you to the bus stop, bus! And then you will take me to class!" And that is exactly what happened. If you click on the picture below, you will see an accurate depiction of this morning's event.


It's hard to believe I'm human what with all the speed and wit,
KJW

Potential hobby #41

This morning, I played a Taiko drum. It looked a lot like this:


Except, of course, I was wearing fewer clothes.

I learned about Taiko, a Japanese form of drumming, with my multi-cultural education class. We met up at the Seattle Buddhist Temple to learn a wee bit about one sect of Buddhism, and then we walked next door to the gym where we embarrassed ourselves with our lack of rhythm. It was lots of fun. Plus, a classmate's mom made the most delicious cookies I've ever had. Well, top 10, but still. I've eaten a lot of cookies. Top 10 is impressive.

I sure like graduate school.

Open letter

Dear November,

I am writing in regard to today's unpleasant weather. This morning, my lips were already crispy with dryness, but now they're even worse. Also, my toes are cold. I only have one pair of snowshoe socks, and laundry is expensive, so I had to choose between hygiene and warmth. I went with hygiene today, but I regretted it.

November, no one should have to regret choosing hygiene.

I realize that people expect you to be gross, but come on. Rise above these low standards. You're still part of fall, for goodness sakes!

Warm it up, Nov. Or else.

KJW

Been saying it all along

While I don't think that "Well, they did it in the 16th Century" is a solid support for an argument, I do agree with this: Taking the state out of the state of matrimony.

December 31 - January 6

(and other parts of the Southwest)

So nice.

On the average day, I drink three cups of tea.

Morning: English Breakfast or Earl Gray (both with milk)
Afternoon: Green, Green with pomegranate, Earl Gray, English Breakfast, or Chai (the non-greens with milk)
Evening: Licorice Spice or Peppermint (no milk!)

Today, however, I mixed it up. English Breakfast in the morning, NOTHING in the afternoon and... wait for it... English Breakfast at night! I am sooo crazy!

My reasons for drinking E.B. at 10:45 PM are twofold. First, I bought some "fat-free half-and-half" and I wanted to use it. (Note: I will definitely blog about the oxymoron Safeway calls "fat-free half-and-half." I did some research, and I regret my purchase, but it still adds a lovely texture to my drink.) Second, I am pooped. The roomie is watching Superbad later, and I want to join her, so I need a little English Breakfast magic to keep me up and at 'em.

Teeeaaa!

Thanks, Rick Anderson.

I gave a mini-lesson to my classmates on Wednesday. It was awful. I titled my reflection "The Horror."

Fortunately, I used to have a soccer coach that frequently told the team, "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at what you're doing." This is applicable to lots of things, but especially bad mini-lessons. Thanks to that coach, I can confidently say, "I don't suck. The mini-lesson I gave sucked."

And that, my darlings, is that.

I have confidence in sunshine!

Julie Andrews has everything to do with my decision to be a teacher. My passion for The Sound of Music - "I Have Confidence" in particular - required that I either be a teacher, nanny, or mother. (Remember? "All those children - heaven bless them - they will look up to me! And mind me!) Teachers gets July off. Easy choice.

(The internet demons prevent me from posting my Julie's scene, so is here is some lady name Audra. She's no Brit, but she can sing.)

Do I have anything purple?

I'm a Husky now. That means I have to care about the Apple Cup tomorrow.

WHOOOOAAA! I just googled "Apple Cup" to find a link for you and lo! A headline reads "Walden took rivalry from good to great." REPRESENT!

Although, boo. I was hoping that it would be about me - new Husky - or my dad - crazed UW fan - but no. It's about some WSU coach. Laaaame.

That's about all the excitement I can handle for the day after Thanksgiving.

Tomorrow: my very first tailgate party.

Being cold, Reminiscing

It is so chilly that I am wearing my snowshoe socks. While cozy, these precious foot-warmers remind me that my favorite (and only) snowshoe buddy is in "Bolivia." Pssssh. Who goes to Bolivia?

Here are two pictures from two of last year's snowshoeing adventures.

My feet, snowshoes, gloves, snow pants (actually... no, those were somebody else's snow pants), fluffy jacket, and snow. Just kidding. It is my not MY snow. It is Mother Nature's snow.


Here is a river. It might be the Nooksack, but what's in a name? Not much, that's what. This place was gorgeous. If it weren't 30 degrees, we would have jumped in. Maybe. Probably not. Anyway, we saw bear tracks that day. Oh, and a dog pulling a sled with toddlers on it. Aww.

I can shimmy with the best of them.

Lindsay, my former roommate, made this. Clearly, she is unemployed. And funny.

Grad School Closet

Click the picture to make the captions big and legible!

Grad School Desk

Grad School Mess

Brilliant Cory tells me that if you click on the picture, you can read my helpful captions! Hurrah!

Hilarious Thanksgiving joke

Q: If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?
A: Pilgrims!

Excellent news!

I am cavity-free!

This morning, I went to the dentist. It was the first time in five years that I paid Dr. Bailey a visit. I could tell that he missed me a lot, mostly from the cardboard cut-out of me they had in the waiting room, but also from the music. They were playing what has been called "worship music", although I listened closely, and I didn't hear the singers specify the object/person they were worshiping. I think we can safely assume it's me.

After all the blushing from being worshiped, I heard somebody say, "Kelly Amazing Walden?" It was the dental hygienist. I followed her back to the fourth room on the right. It wasn't scary.

I wore cool sunglasses while the hygienist scraped tea awesome stains off my teeth. She talked to me about mashed potatoes and short commutes while I thought about how sweet it was for them to have the cardboard cut-out of me. It really was nice. Most places I go don't have that. I mean, a lot of them do, but not over fifty percent.

Post-scraping and whirring, they gave me some mouthwash to swoosh around "until it gets foamy." It got foamy, so I spit it out into the cup. Well, partly into the cup, and partly onto my Boundary Bay hoodie. It dried off quickly, but my sweatshirt still smells minty fresh.

Finally, they told me that the molar pain I experience when I try to run across the busy road to get to my bus stop is not, in fact, due to cavities. Turns out that two of my molars have exposed roots. Goofballs! All the cold air I breathe whilst running makes the roots say, "Hey! Ouch!" (but in tooth-language). Now I have fancy toothpaste to quiet those noisy little monsters.

I must go make a poster about misplaced modifiers, but worry not, reader! I will keep you updated on the condition of my teeth.

Just helping you visualize, that's all.

Nic-Nic-Nicaroo Kristine Raden, circa 2004













Bombgal (left) and ShortArms (right), circa 2006





My own father laughing at my gall bladder misery, circa 2005 (This picture is thrown in to show what a hard, hard, hard life I had growing up.)

Oh, just traveling the world not wearing a belt.

::ring::
::ring::

Kelly Jean!

Bombgal!

Whatup?

Well, I'm calling to interview you for my famous blog!

Yes!

Are you ready? I'm interviewing you right now. I'm recording right now, in fact, so don't talk about... you know...

Those STD's you have?

Aw, shoot. Now I HAVE to print it. Well, ok. First question - some of these may have been contributed by the last interviewee, a certain Nic-Nic-Nicaroo. Question 1: What's it like to have such long, flanhoodley arms?

Well, they're very nice for reaching things, but it makes it difficult to buy sweaters that fit.

So, how do you interact with your short-armed roommate?

Well, we figure that together, we make one, average-length person, so it works out really well. I always have to reach things off the shelf for her, but I don't care.

You're such a good roommate.

I am.

Next question: How do you feel about the fact that all of Bellingham, Washington has seen inappropriate amounts of your lower back?

I'm OK with that. I think, actually, that my mission in life is to have more of the world see inappropriate portions of my lower back.

How do you plan on going about that?

Oh, just traveling around the world not wearing a belt.

That's good. So, why do people call you WappyDoodle behind your back?

I didn't realize that they did!

Well, it WAS behind your back, but now that you know, how do you feel about it?

I'm a little hurt, but, you know, anytime someone goes to the trouble of making up a name about you, I think it means they care a little too much.

Good point. What do you think we should call ShortArms* behind her back?

T-Rex Arms.

Ok, that's good. So, what's your favorite kind of stingray?

Not that one that killed Steve Erwin, that's for sure. I like the ones I saw in Sea World when I went there in the fourth grade.

Did you jump in the tank and swim with them?

No, I just petted their flat, stringrayless bodies. They had their stingers removed.

Oh. Why didn't you jump in then, if they couldn't sting you?

Well, because they frown upon that in Sea World, and I was still at the point in my life where I followed all the rules.

So, if we went now and I said, "Hey Bombgal. I'll give you half of this hot dog I'm eating if you jump in the tank with the stingrays." What would you do?

I'd say... I'd probably do it, as long as the water looked pretty clean.

Good. I think I'm going to arrange that. Ok, what would you do if I said, "Hey, I'm not going to recycle for one whole year"?

Wow. You probably wouldn't survive that year because I would have probably killed you.

How would you kill me?

Poison.

What kind of poison? I know where this is going...

Kelly Poison.

I thought you were going to say, "ShortArms Poison."

ShortArms Poison only works on ShortArms!

Well, if you got extra-potent ShortArms Poison and I brought out my inner-ShortArms....

That's true. You could tuck your arms into your shirt.

And teach special-ed children.

And wore fake watermelons in the front of your shirt.

And was from Marysville.

Mm hm. Then the ShortArms Poison would work.

So, speaking of, if I were to interview ShortArms, what questions should I ask her?

You should ask her what's inside her boobs - what she thinks is really inside them. And you should ask her the definitions of words. Look up some weird words in the dictionary, and ask for her definition. You could also find some words from urbandictionary.com and ask her the definition of them, and see how many more she gets right.

I just learned a funny word from urbandictionary.com, and once the recorder's off, I'm going to tell you. We'll have a good laugh together. Finally, what message do you have for my really, really loyal and hopefully money-giving-to-me readers?

Recycle if you want to survive.

International Scholars Most Valuable Opinion Award

"Nic-Nic-Nicaroo Kristine Raden" won. She convinced me to send her the interview questions rather than ask her over the phone. Because of this, she seems funnier than me. Psssh....

---------------------------

Question 1: Why the h do you care about neglected and abused kids?

Because of their cute little faces.

Question 2: Do you think I should care about neglected and abused kids, too? Why?
Yes, because you should try to emulate everything I do and think.

Question 3: How do you think people will respond to the crassness of those last two questions?
Most people I know would not understand your sense of humor. They might feel any of these emotions: scared, unsure, frightened, exasperated, nauseated, iffy, quiet, subtle, goopy, snarffly, waffley, carebeary.

Question 4: Why should I care about your opinion?
Last year, I won the International Scholar’s Most Valuable Opinion Award for my highly acclaimed opinions. So even if you don’t want to care, facts show that you have to. My opinion is a treasure.

Question 5: What question should I ask Bombgal* when I interview her?
What’s it like to have such long flanhoodley arms? How do you feel about the fact that all of Bellingham, WA has seen inappropriate amounts of your lower back? Why do people call you WappyDoodle behind your back? What’s your favorite kind of stingray?

Question 6: What have you secretly wanted to tell me your whole life?
There are several things:

1 – You are the love of my life

2 – And the apple of my eye

3 – Meet me by the clock tower at 3pm.

Question 7: What do you think about your snack drawer? Will you have one when you grow up?

I think the snack drawer is an innovative step towards the progression of the future. Yes, I will have one when I grow up and it will be voice activated and I will use it while I’m floating on my hoverboard in my one-piece silver outfit.

Question 8: How much do you enjoy looking at pictures of me? I have attached one, in case you need it.

It depends on what you mean by “enjoy.” If you mean “want to jam pencils into my eyes just to avoid the torture of seeing that for one more second” then the answer would be “quite a bit.”

Question 9: What do you think about this interview ending on question 9 rather than, say, question 10, or even question 7?

To be honest, it makes me extremely uncomfortable. My undiagnosed OCD makes me want to round it out to 10 questions so badly that I am going to invent a Question 10 just to make the creepy crawlies stop going up my back.

Question 10: What are you doing today? [I would never ask a question as lame as this one.]

Well, I’m going to be at work until 4pm. Then I’m going to go home and work on some Christmas present crafting. After that, I’m probably going to go to Compass and volunteer. After that, I’m probably going to start a blog that will be the #1 blog on the internet.

---------------------------

What a jerk.

Prep yo'self fo' you... feel unprepared.

I interview people now. It's the bloggy thing to do. I even have this tape recorder left over from all these conversations I had with eighth-graders. We talked about Thurgood Marshall. I am supposed to be using those recordings as data for a 15-page essay I need to be writing, but exposing the fascinating (and often disturbing) deets about my friends' lives will probably win me a Pulitzer Prize, and that essay will not.

I don't know what society would do without me.

Anyway, here's interview #1. I don't use real names in my interviews, so I'll just call my subject "Nic-Nic-Nicaroo Kristine Raden." The interview takes place on speaker phone. My words are in italics.

--------------------------------

Nic! Nic, I'm recording you now!

You... no!

Yes!

Or... you could SEND me an interview.

No! No, then you'd have your answers planned.

No, I can't answer now. I'm at the mall and people will hear me, and then they'll put it on their own blog.

This won't be personal. I won't ask... I won't ask about your first kiss with FirstKiss*. HAHAHAHA!

(angrily) All right, allllll right....

HAHAHAHA!

I'm telling on you. I'm telling BombGal*.

Are you ready for the first interview question?

I can't hear you anymore.

--------------------------------

Then she hangs up. After 10 years of friendship.


*Pseudonym

I wish I lived in Iowa.

The Daily Puppy

I like animals with stubby legs.

Reason #297,281 that grammar is fabulous.

Next week, I am going to give a lesson on misplaced modifiers. If you don't know what those are, I forgive you. Kind of. Unless your name is Rudy Giuliani.

Anyway, here are some hilarious examples of sentences with misplaced modifiers:

A woman passed by leading a springer spaniel in a long black dress.
Haha! A dog wearing a dress!

After reading the paper, the telephone rang.
Haha! A telephone reading!

Oswald and Hilda found the flowers hiking up the mountain.
Haha! A flower hiking!



Geeze, English Language! You are a riot!

Press play.

I'm really happy being me. I mean, REALLY happy. If I had to be someone else, though, I would probably be CJ Cregg. The "J" in "CJ" stands for "Jean", so I'd hardly have to change anything, anyway.

I can't believe I'm going to be assigning these things to people.

This sincere desire to learn is really getting on my nerves. Back when I was a youngun' (6+ months ago), I could just pick a thesis and run with it... well, write with it. "Heeeey, holes-in-my-argument!" I'd yell, typing away, looking forward to a good grade, retaining nothing, having time to jump over my coffee table later.

But now! Now. Psshhh. I have 2 theses to decide upon and 20 pages to write. I've been pondering and organizing my shoe rack and playing Scrabulous and underlining important sentences and STILL nothing. Actually, no. I have a few embarrassing thesis statements scribbled out, and some neatly-hanging shoes.

I am so frustrated that I made Movie Popcorn instead of Lite (not "Light", mind you) Popcorn. Now my keyboard is buttery.