Decade things: Songs I will love forever

Instead of making a list of songs that influenced me or blah blah blah, I have decided to tell you about songs from the last decade that I will love until I croak. Most of these songs are "bad." Good thing we're not snobby.

"Lady Marmalade" by Christina Aguilera, Pink, Lil' Kim, and Mya. How freaking sing-alongable!

"Hey Ya" by Outkast. It was so exciting when I figured out the correct number of "All Right"s to sing.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers. I don't care what you say. It reminds me of trips to Canada.

"Single Ladies" by Beyonce. No, I'm not influenced by the moment. Even if this song weren't connected to memories of Norwegian bus stops and trendsetting by STH and I, it would still be magnificent.

"Yeah" by Usher, Lil Jon, and Ludacris. There was a tiny "Yeah"-shaped hole in my heart, and this song completed it.

"Crazy in Love" by Beyonce and Jay-Z. In addition to the booty-shaking it inspires, I really really really like to say, "Yes sir I'm cut from a different cloth / my texture/ is the best fur / chinchilla."

"Maria Maria" by Santana and that guy. I think they're describing me. I am Maria. I'm growing up in Spanish Harlem, living the life just like a movie star.

"Who Let the Dogs Out" by Baja Men. It's funny every! single! time!

2009: The Special Times (Part 2)

May: Ski to Sea!



June: Moving to Jackson Hole and having constant adventures. (Pictured: JENGA!!!! Not pictured: Bear sightings, creek floats, dodgeball, barbecue, etc.)



August: Hiking the Teton Crest with boyfriend, a.k.a. Motivational Hiker.



September: BL Camping Trip.



September: Vaux's Swifts and visit from the boyfriend.



October: Boyfriend's return to the magnificent PNW and Scaryaoke!



November: Loving my job all the time. (Not pictured.) Loving West Seattle all the time. (Not pictured.) Thanksgiving! (Pictured.)


December: I don't have ANY pictures from December, but boyf and I went to Winthrop! We also had a lovely Christmas. I ate a lot of Chex Mix, which is the proper way to celebrate the birth of Christ.

Two thousand nine, I like you a lot.

2009: The Special Times (Part 1)

OMG, the year is almost over! It's time to reflect! (Thanks for the inspiration, Drara.)

Favorite Moments, In Chronological Order Because I'm Too Indecisive to Choose Favorites:

January: Celebrating our new president with silly, silly Europeans and silly, silly Americans in silly, silly Norway.



January - March: Giving Americans bad names based on rowdy bus behavior in Trondheim, Norway.



February... or March: Learning to snowboard and do choreographed dances in Are, Sweden.




March: Boyfriend surprising me with a visit! Driving back to Wyoming with him! Cross-country skiing to hot springs!



April: Choose Your Favorite Decade birthday party!



April, May, June: Un/underemployment in Puyallup (including Alpacapalooza):


Are you ready for the second half of 2009? No. You can't be. It's too exciting.

Winthrop tripthrop

Hamble and I are moseying over to Winthrop this weekend. You know what we're going to do there?

Disco dance.

You know what else?

Cross-country ski.

But mostly the former. (Click it! CLICK THAT LINK!)

Safeway trip

Today, I bought Life cereal instead of instant oatmeal. IAMVERYUNPREDICTABLE!

How your brilliance can increase my magnificence

You guys, you guys, you guys. You know how I get tuition waived at all public Washington colleges? I've decided to take advantage of it.

WHAT CLASS SHOULD I TAKE NEXT QUARTER?

I've looked into extra endorsements, and they don't seem like the best fit right now. But I can still go for professional growth! Or personal growth! Or bicep growth! I don't even know!

Non-credit classes like "Chop Like a Chef" and "Pacific Northwest Wines" won't be free for me, but how about math? Or Psychology? Or something else?

Give me ideas asap as possible.

Your new favorite website

Should I wear galoshes tomorrow? Or maybe flippy-floppies? Let's see what President Obama would do.


Scarf it is, Mr. President. Scarf it is.

I'm teaching poetry to my juniors. I read this and beamed. Threeish of them felt it.

The Orange
By Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Tiny Art Director

A click you won't regret:

This artist makes pictures and then his toddler daughter, the Tiny Art Director, critiques them. Amazing blog. Example:

The Brief: A dinosaur, not too scary
The Critique: He's a ugly one! I hate those kind of dinosaurs! Where's your eraser?
Job Status: Rejected
Additional Comments: [hits page] He has ugly eyeballs.

On Monday, I joined the YMCA.

My new YMCA membership evinces much about me and my life:
-I desperately need racquetball partners.
-I overestimated the misery required in getting to my target heart rate.
-I laugh out loud when I'm not supposed to.

I want to elaborate on this last bit. Yesterday, I was ellipticalling when my neighbor made a noise. I thought, "She must be exercising like a madwoman to be emitting noises like that!" Then I switched my fancy elliptical TV to Family Guy. Everything's lovely, la da da, when "[insert deep nose noise]". I made the noise! It was a laugh! And it was a little embarrassing!

But then I felt some camaraderie with the lady next to me, and we continued to get our cardio on while snorting like semi-fit pigs to Family Guy (me) and King of Queens (her).

Successful workout.

Mystery Milk. Mylkstery.

Something's up with the milk.

Its expiration date is November 2nd. Today is November 20th. The milk, however, still smells and tastes fresh, and when I pour it into my tea there is no goop.

Something's up with the milk.

Flight of the Kelchord

In a tizzy of curiosity and coupons, Hamble and I went to The Flight Museum. It was all it's cracked up to be.

First and foremost, we were treated to a concert by the Boeing Employee Band! You didn't even know they existed! But they do, and boy oh boy, they can blow those horns. It was funny, too, because Hamble and I were like, "What is the tune of 'Halls of Montezuma' again? I know the song says this:

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land, and sea

But how does it go?"

Then boom. Boeing Employee Band playing Halls of Montezuma.

Also, we got to mosey through an old Air Force One! Can you believe it! In a shocking security lapse, they left the nuclear codes in one of the lavatories. I suspect they're expired, though, so I'm not going to try them. Maybe I'll sell them on eBay, I don't know.

Anyway, munchkins, the boyf and I had a tip-top time at The Museum of Flight and we encourage YOU to patronize it, too. It will elevate you to new heights... in knowledge. Just knowledge. No free plane rides.

Fact(ish)

It's cute that a loveseat is called a loveseat.

Cock day

Seven roosters sassed me today. (By "sassed me", I mean "hopped around on the sidewalk like goofballs".) What were they doing there! Why weren't they in their little yard! This is an urban environment!

I liked them from 5+ yards away.

Ameliaaaa (like "Emiliooooo!")

I need to go bed but this is very important.

They think they found where Amelia Earhart died... and it's on a deserted island! Just like in the movies! She didn't end in a fiery ocean crash. She emergency landed on an island with her copilot, did who-knows-what (climbed trees? wrote messages in the sand? had volleyball drama?), and then died.

It's a crazy world, poopsies.

Big Decisions

Hey guys, how the heck long am I going to live in Seattle? If the answer is "lots of years", I will do the following:
-Register to vote here instead of Puyallup!
-Switch my area code to 206 instead of 253 when my phone carrier says I can do that!

Ok, that's it. But they are big deals.

Project KRAP continues

I have so much to tell you.

Project KRAP - Week Peperoncini: I learned all the important stuff about peperoncinis, namely that are best used as a delicate accessory. I enjoy them in tuna sandwiches, quesadillas, and Triscuit concoctions. I have also eaten them on pizza. That's always a thrill.

Project KRAP - Week Butternut and Spaghetti Squash: First, it was all squash. Then it was just b'nut. I finally settled on B'nut AND Spaghetti because I was so fascinated by the latter, and you know what? I don't regret it. We all know Butternut squash is da bomb diggity (even when it breaks your food processor... shoot), but the Spag.! What a treat!

Bake that thing, and then take a fork to it like there's no tomorrow. The result is spaghetti-like strands of squash that will make your senses form a boy band. It's exhilarating.

Project KRAP - Week Sweet Potato: It's just starting! My first task was to differentiate between yam and sweet potato. Done. Tomorrow, I make them into fries! Since regular potato bakeage ain't no thang, I'm going to pretend that I've done that, too. Hollaaaa sweet potato!

Ingredients to come:
-Mushroom (the cheap kind... starts with a "ch")
-Fig
-Parsnip (right now, I don't even know what a freaking parsnip is!)
-Venison, if one of my friends takes up hunting and shoots me dinner
-Other stuff you might recommend

There will be no pictures in this post.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out in my room like the gentlewoman I am when I realized a spider was giving me the stink eye. It was huge (spider, not eye). After 45 minutes of paralysis-because-of-terror, I threw my old shoe and killed it.

Rest in peace, spider.

Then, today, I was flobbed out on my living room floor when I noticed A GIGANTIC SPIDER SPRINTING TOWARD ME. Even though I'm not feeling top notch, I sprung into the air, grabbed my black shoe, and BAM. Dead spider.

Rest in peace, other spider.

The moral of the story is this: if you want to live 45 minutes longer, don't sprint at me.

The Dream (or nightmare, if you're that type)

Scotty Too Hotty and I have been talking, and it's clear what our society is missing: tiny pet whales.

How we came to this magnificent idea isn't important. The image of Tiny Pet Whale is. Visualize this:

You mosey into a friend's house and see a gigangto tank in the living room. Something's swimming around. Fools may glance and say, "Oh, grayish fish," but observant folks like you and I would notice that the six-inch thing is squeaking and morrrrppping.

"What? I have to look closer!" you'd say.

As you approach the morrrrppper, you see it gently floosh up to the surface of the tank and then, "PHOOW!" Steam. Out of a blowhole."

That's not a fish! That's a tiny, tiny whale!"

Your mind is blown and your soul is complete.

Big-deal scientists with lots of funds, please get on this ASAP. Thank you, and I look forward to siding with you in the ethics debates.

I like my job a lot.

My students are cooler than I was at their age. The one category where I was superior to them, though, is the Silly Hat Category. I'm not sure how many of them truly appreciate silly hats.

Silly hats or no silly hats, I like my job and students, even the ones who don't shut up. Nineteen-year-olds are waaaaay better at cutting off conversation than fourteen-year-olds, though. Goofy fourteen-year-olds.

GET LIVES, FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLDS.

Continue being my students, nineteen-year-olds.

(Note: I acknowledge the cruel irony of my talkativeness. I can't shut up, either. I acknowledge it. Even in teacher school, I was having conversations while my professor was talking. It wasn't even about important stuff. Mainly, we tried to use Britney Spears song titles in every sentence, like, "Isn't this assignment toxic?" "Oh yeah, I feel like I'm a slave 4 you. I mean, slave 2 the professor's syllabus.")

Your Site Is Below Average

MyLifeIsAverage used to be awesome. Now it accepts posts about things that aren't average. Stupid. YSIBA.

Project KRAP - Week 1

I'm adultish now, and adult(ish)s should be able to cook like whoa. Both my parents are adults, and they are master chefs. My mom makes fantastic salmon, produces delicious soup from scratch, and can make any part of a cow taste fabulous. My dad can cook mac'n'cheese without even looking at the directions on the box. See? They're real adults.

I have a plan to rise to their adult-cook status, and it has a name: Project Kelly's Really Awesome Provisions, a.k.a. Project KRAP.

Here's how it works: every week, I choose to cook with an ingredient I have never used before. Then... nothing! That's it! Project KRAP is simple to accommodate my tendency to half-ass new hobbies.

So that's it. I'm going to try stuff other than ground turkey and black beans. In ten years, I should be comfortable with 520 new ingredients starting with PEPPERONCINI. I even made up my first recipe!

Here it is:
-Cut up a pepperoncini
-Put the pieces on Triscuits

So far, Project KRAP is a huge success.

Edit from later
Please suggest ingredients! Here are the qualities I'm looking for:
-Somewhat affordable to cheapcheapcheap
-Something I'm probably not comfortable cooking yet
-Awesome
-Fruits and veggies in season

"You are being shagged by a rare parrot."

KJW - fallible.

Last night, Reynolds and I got into a bitter argument about whether "w" can be a vowel.

I said, "No! 'W' is never, ever a vowel! I know I'm right. I'm an English teacher."

Now he's sending me links like this and this and this. Guys, I think I'm wrongish, and I'm afraid. And of all the letters I could be wrong about, "W"? It hurts. I'm a Walden. I live in Washington. I attended Western Washington University and the University of Washington. I love the West Wing. I love Whoopi Goldberg. Once, I watched a few minutes of Wimbledon on TV.
R.I.P. strictly-consonanty thoughts about "w." You won't really be missed, but it was hard losing you.

My evenings

Life is so great right now. I am productive at work, and when possible I finish it there so I can come home and live the relaxy life.

Here are some of my evening activities:

-Dinner with the neighbors. First, Scotty Too Hotty made meatloaf. Then, Reynolds cooked pot roast. Tuesday, Shannon and Reynolds are preparing something Adventisty. The week after, it's my turn! Oh my goodness! STH and I considered something Catholicy, but one needs more than bread and wine.

-SKDay. That's the day where Sara comes over after work and we reminisce about old times and make plans for the new times. ("New times" is not a religious reference, even if it sounds like it.) (UNLESS, Sara and I create a new religion. I will bring this up next SKDay.)

-Accidental bus adventures. I got on the right bus - yeah 128! - but it was going the wrong direction. I ended up in Southcenter. Were you about to cry for me? Don't. STH, Reynolds, and a new friend were in the area anyway. They picked me up, we went to dinner, and I ate a spicy crispy chicken sandwich.

-Starting soon: reading for old folks. Every other Tuesday, I will read to a resident at a nursing home nearby. I hope I can choose the book. If so, I will choose A Clockwork Orange, The Road, or another soothing novel. (That was a literature joke! Because I'm an English teacher!)

-Giving Abe the stink eye. I forgot what a dumb-dumb this cat is. I love him, I really do, but sometimes a girl wants to read a book and not have a cat sit on it. It would also be nice to wake up and not find cupboard doors flung open because ol' Abey Baby needed to explore the pots and pans. "Abe! Abe! You have lived with this kitchenware before! You don't need to sit with it!" is what I'd say if he knew English.

Who needs heat for this wild life? (I admit it. I need heat for this wild life. SHOW UP, GAS MAN.)

PSE: Pajamas & Soup for Eternity

Have you heard? The Gas Man is coming today! He will make it so I can turn on the heat in my house. He will make it so that I don't have to wear sweatshirts even when bundled in my blanket. Give me five, Gas Man!

Give me five when you show up, that is. The Phone Man said, "He should be there anytime between 8 AM and late evening. I'm sorry I can't give you a more specific time than that." Gloom&Doomers might think, "Laaaaame, I have to stay at home all day," but I, NonGloom&Doomer, think, "No big deeeeeeaaaaal, I can wear my pajamas all day."

Here's what I've done so far while wearing my pajamas:
-Thought, "Boy, I'm cold."
-Made tea.
-Made tea again.
-Cleaned the kitty litter box.
-Read.
-Made more tea.
-Exhausted my morning pajama activities.

Here's what I'm going to do the rest of my pajama time:
-Think about what I would paint if I could leave the house to buy art supplies.
-Make another cup of tea.
-Pee frequently because of all the tea.
-Text my boyfriend about different bird suits he could wear since he's not at work and life doesn't have a dress code.

If you are free right now, please join my pajama party. Bring a space heater or rare gem that emits heat and fun.

French Bulldog puppy, you are an inspiration to us all.

Artists, you have a collective problem. Besides the drugs.

My walls are bare. It's not a pressing problem, but I am spending all my time at Etsy anyway. It's where regular people sell art. I can afford regular people art!

Here's the issue: I just searched "Julie Andrews" and do you know how many results I got? No, less. Twenty-five. Ridiculous! When I searched for "armadillo", I got 200. Who has had a greater impact on Western culture and, more importantly, me? Julie Andrews.

I don't know what to do. Maybe I'll have to decorate with armadillos.

West Seattle is the Best Seattle.

I live in West Seattle again. I share a wall with my old apartment, in fact. Fancy that!

Here are my favorite things about West Seattle:

-Happy Hours. Talarico's has pizza slices the size of a bison head. And it's only three fifty during happy hour. Matador has dirt cheap but NOT dirt-tasting nachos, tacos, etc. during their happy hour. Cactus boasts affordable, tasty margaritas. Get in my hand, margarita! (No, don't get in my hand. It's 8:25 AM.)

-Friendship time. All the time is friendship time in West Seattle! People are particularly friendly in Safeway. I always chat with other customers and the checkers while waiting to purchase oatmeal. Sometimes, we give each other food recommendations. Get in my life, customer friends!

-The West Seattle Blog. Let me tell you, the West Seattle Bloggers are devoted. They update multiple times a day about awesome things, like Seal Sitters. Get on my computer screen, West Seattle Blog!

-Seal Sitters. Since West Seattle is beachy (not that way... reread "Friendship Time"), baby seals like to hang out here while their moms go fishing. But oh, don't mess with these adorable chunks of blubber! You'll have to deal with the Seal Sitters. Get in my marine mammal protection zone, Seal Sitters!

-Proximity to Mariner games. I love Mariner games! Everyone loves Mariner games! And you can get to Safeco Field and all the wondrous activities in that area in 12 minutes. That's right, TWELVE. Good job, public transportation. Don't let this one spread, though, because goofballs' impressions that West Seattle is far from stuff keeps the neighborhood affordable. Get in my memory, lots of Mariner games!

-Yen Wor Village. I am not embarrassed to say some of the most fabulous nights of my life were spent in a dive bar attached to a Chinese restaurant that has Karaoke seven nights a week. We know the bartenders, we know the DJ's, we know the regulars... maybe that makes us the regulars, actually. Cadav. Sometimes we show up there in costume, and they don't get mad. Get in my metaphorical pocket of smiles, Yen Wor Village!

This list is so incomplete it doesn't even mention all my West Seattle friends whose names start with "S". There are multiple.

The Real Victims

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Edit: While I am a fan of Obama's health care plan, it's not because insurance executive are greedy richies. Some of them are, maybe, but that's not the point. The point is that Will Ferrell makes me laugh like a bucket of otters.

I got a job at South Seattle Community College teaching folks who left school and are coming back now.

Friends, I got a job. I get to teach, and I get money.

Here are things I will buy now that I have a paycheck:

-Organic blackbeans

-THE WHOLE WORLD

Congratulations to me!

What? You didn't hear?

Initial emotion: happiness. Later emotion: frustration. Poor, dumb, French dog.

Chef Show 2

You know my second favorite chef show?

IRON CHEF AMERICA! (Say that with an echo. It'll give you a better understanding of the show.)

In ICA, one of the Iron Chefs competes against a guest chef to use a secret ingredient in the best ways. If you're lucky, you won't have to watch an episode with Iron Chef Bobby Flay. Iron Chef Bobby Flay is soooo annoying. I love the rest of them, though. They're sweet. You could make them in the cotton candy machine, probably.

Anyway, here are some ingredients I haven't seen them use but they should:
-Frog legs
-Tripe
-Bacon jam
-Pineapple
-Black tea
-Peanut and butter jelly sandwiches
-That peanut butter and jelly that comes swirled in one jar
-One grape that they have to split up over all their dishes
-The 32-inch rat they found in Papua New Guinea
-Ricky Martin Van Buren Raden (NicUnCool's faaaaaaatty cat)
-Molasses

I would happily be the judge for most of these episodes. And my birthday's in only seven months. Go! Make it happen!

Chef Show 1

Chef shows are the best shows. My pal Baum disagrees. She says, "Watching a food show is like listening to a photography show." That's true, I suppose, but I bet listening to a photography show would be ok. It really would. ("The shadow covers up the man's face, but that's no big deal. I hear he's NOT a looker.")

My favorite chef show is Top Chef. Have you watched it? This is my first season following it religiously, but I consider myself an expert anyway. I pick up things quickly. Like ice cream cones. If it drops, I pick it up quickly. I may or may not continue to eat depending on the cleanliness of the floor.

Here are some of Top Chef's best qualities:

-Tom. Somehow Tom knows how to be boring AND charming. Carson Daly never figured that out.

-Letting me judge people in a mean way. When I meet someone in person, I figure out something to like about them, even if they suuuuck. I don't feel that same obligation with tv folks. It's fun to hate that guy from Jersey!

-Letting me fall in love with four different people and root for them. Red Beard, Brothers, and The Only Good Girl. Those four will be in the top because they are to cooking what I am to blogging - better than almost everyone in the world.

-Food. I love food! I love it so much! And it reminds me of all these things I need to taste - frog legs, tripe, bacon jam, etc.

Top Chef is on in two hours, and already I am so ready I could vomit (to make room in my stomach for their impossible-to-reach-through-the-tv treats).

Backcountry mammal

Once upon a time, my favorite mountain animal was the marmot. That was a foolish time. I've grown up and fallen in love with another: the pika.

I've known about this guy for a while now, but I never got to build a relationship with one (well, one posse) until last night.

We camped in Pikaville. This wasn't intentional or immediately apparent, but after settling into the tent to relax before dinner, we heard "MERH!"s coming from all around. We'd look up and there would be a pika being adorable. Usually that involved gnawing plants and scampering off to their homes where they'd store it. They can stock a pile up to fifty pounds! Oh my goodness!

Our tent was on prime harvesting ground (meaning uncomfortable splotches of grass), but they were like, "Whatever, we'll chomp on grass all around the tent even though it's in the middle of the night and Kelly is totally freaked out hearing animals scurry around one foot from her head." (When you're half asleep, 900-pound bears and 1.5-pound pikas sound alike.)

Because of their ears, work ethic, and friendly noises, pikas are the most precious mammals in the mountains. I want to learn their squawky language, wrap them in my arms, and chat with them about farming techniques.

Backcountry boyfriend

My boyfriend is like one of those TV boyfriends. The good ones. Here are examples from this weekend:

Me: Oh my God, this uphill portion of the trail is the devil.
Drew: Let's take a break. Here is punch. Here is Advil. Here is a granola bar. Let's repack and I will take all the heavy stuff. Let me take your bag up the hills.

Me: Oh my God, I have to poo in the outdoors.
Drew: You can use the hole I just dug, and here is the toilet paper.

Me: Oh my God, life is so hard.
Drew: Here is a snuggle, and here is a briefcase with a million dollars cash inside, and here is a domesticated perma-baby elephant.

These are not all 100% accurate, but close. He really did dig a toilet for me!

If anyone else were my trail guide, I would be reflecting on the past four days with thoughts like, "My muscles are sore and I'm not sure it was worth it," but instead I'm thinking, "I want to go on more multiple-night backcountry adventures with my boyfriend!"

Now I'm afraid I've revealed the secret treasure to the world and you connivers are going to steal him away for YOUR backpacking trips. Shoo.

Backcountry trail

"Kel Bel, I called you like a thousand times to tell you how good-looking you are, but your phone was off! Why?"

Friend, the boyfriend and I backpacked. We slept three nights in the great outdoors with the threat of bears, rummy losses, tent breath, etc.

We completed 70%ish of the Teton Crest Trail. Thursday, we moseyed up a few thousand feet with the help of a tram. (It moseyed up the mountain so our feet didn't have to! What an angel.) Then we hiked down and slept.

Friday, we walked down a huge hill, up a huge hill, saw a nice lake, hiked up another huge hill, and then back down another hill into a sweet camping spot. Friday, I was grumpy. My blisters developed. The boyfriend was, like the tram, an angel. Unlike the tram, he did not physically carry me up the hills. I forgive him for not being a big, red, people-carrying machine.

Saturday was easier peasier. Again, we went up a hill, down a hill, and then up a hill, but this last hill was the tip-top of our hike! No more big hills after this one! Ninety-eight percent of my body felt glad as we moseyed down switchback after switchback and I saw miserable souls trying to get up the pass we had just conquered.

This morning, we woke up knowing we were the best at everything in the world. We hiked out of the canyon. A bull moose conveyed his message of, "Goodbye! We enjoyed having you!" by sitting in a field and not making eye contact.

And that, palios, is why you couldn't reach me these last few days. And why I have blisters. And why you shouldn't come over if you don't want to see them.

It has been FOREVER since I shared a Cuteoverload photo with you!

Timer gone wrong? I don't know!!!

Transportation II

My car stinks. Some people think it's a bad thing. These people include my boyfriend and roommates. They fail to identify benefits of stinky cars. See, until now, my car didn't have a name. I called it "The Lumi" or "Whaley" or "My Hot Car", but it's obviously none of these things.

Heretofore, you should call my car The Stinkmobile. Variations are also acceptable, such as Stinker and Stinkfest '09.

Why the stink? Magnificent question, reader. The answer is boring. I leave my windows open in the morning because it's hot, and then afternoon thunderstorms roll in and drench my seats. They begin mildewing immediately. Then, distraught, I roll up my windows to protect the interior from further moisture, and the mildew begins to bake.

Want to ride in Stinko? Yeah, you do! Stink! Stink! Stink!

Transportation I

My new bike cuts through the air like a spoon in one of those Argentinian steaks - that is, it cuts well. (This simile would work better if I were trying to show how cool the air [or "steak"] were instead of the bike ["spoon"], but I don't care. It's nice knowing that somewhere in the world, the steaks are tender enough to be cut with a spoon, and that somewhere in Wyoming, I have a new, fast, adorable bike.)



I am still figuring stuff out, like my favorite place to rest my hands and how to efficiently put my feet back in the strappy pedals after I have stopped to pet a Bernese Mountain Dog. I will learn these soon. Until then, I will be a semi-master of speed and cuteness.

Timeline of my phone

November 2007: Phone arrives in my mailbox. Makes chirpy "incoming text" sounds that charm me

August 2008: Phone annoys me a little because every once in a while, it freezes and won't let me call, text, etc. I give the phone the stink eye. It doesn't respond, because electronics don't have feelings or facial expressions.

February 2009: Phone lazily sits around in a desk drawer because it's in Norway and who wants to pay all the money to call the United States from Norway? Only crazies. Phone does not figure out a way to be useful. What a loser.

May 2009: Phone sucks. Phone battery dies in, like, six minutes (or 1.2 days, cadav) and does the freezy thing more often. Doesn't get replaced, though, because I am poor.

June 2009: Phone falls in a ecofriendly hotel toilet. Survives after phone version of CPR.

July 3, 2009: Phone tumbles into a tupperware filled with ice and water. I don't notice because I am DESTROYING THE COMPETITION at dodgeball. Phone cannot be resuscitated.

July 4, 2009: I get a way better phone and though my vault of money I swim around in like Scrooge McDuck is less full, I am happy and reachable.