Technology-a-go-go

Dear Blog,

Omyfreakingawd you guys: I am totally typing this on a phone. Can you even believe this? Sure, it's taken me literally 45 minutes to get to this part of the sentence because I have to keep deleting extra 'q's I'm hitting with my giant sausage fingers, but whatever; I have officially arrived at the doorstep of the 21st century! Hooray me!!

I'm going to try to put a picture on here now. We'll see what happens...hold on to your horses peeps.


Nope. Couldn't do it. But still, you've gotta admit: pretty imprrssive.

DAMN YOU, SAUSAGE FINGERS!!!!

Love,
k8

What Teachers Make

Dear blog,

This is kind of a big deal...

love,

k8

September Smorgasbord

Oh Blog,

It is really hard remembering that you exist. One minute I'm dancing in dizzy circles around the new house, practically setting my credit card ablaze with the speed and ferocity with which I am whipping it out at Ikea, Target and Lowe's buying throw pillows and ironing boards and bookends - the bare necessities. Then I turn around and it's freaking fall? Fall fail, Seasons! Way to not even tell me you were coming so that I could prepare by, oh, I don't know, buying a wreath at Michael's or some plastic pumpkins at Garden Ridge. Speaking of Garden Ridge: I'll see them all in hell AFTER they send us the hardware that was not included in the box with the pieces of the adirondack rocking chair that we purchased this weekend, thus prompting us to spend 2 hours and $30 at Ace Hardware on screws. The next time I spend $30 on screws, there better be a Thai hooker that looks like Angelina Jolie present. Ugh.

I don't know how to segue from Angelina Thai hooker to anything else but just pretend I did and that it was hilarious.

My sister Lo came to visit earlier this month and I took her out to the ball game. Well, Jame-o bought the tix but I bought them both Cracker Jacks and, really, what's more fun: tickets to a major league baseball game or popcorn that always tastes stale and lodges itself in your gums so that days later, despite vigorously flossing you are still reminded that you over paid severely for something that could have been purchased for $1.00 at the Quik Trip.

Big picture, people...

Hey look at me: I'm like a baseball magician's assistant or something...

This is the greatest and best picture that has ever been taken of either of us. Or anyone else, now that I'm really looking at it.

This picture makes me feel sad. And also like an awesome giant.

I have a giant head and teeny bird legs. I'm like a living, breathing bobble head doll.

This guy in our section spontaneously combusted. It was super scary. But also majorly hilarious.

After that some other stuff went down that maybe I'll tell you about tomorrow (but let's be real; I probably won't. Sorry!) and then tonight the unthinkable happened:

Who wants to ride in the basket?

I WIN!

This is what it's going to look like in real life.

Everyone else on the road, however, loses.

Love,
Kate

It's Official...I'm in Luv

Dear Blog,

We've moved! It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears (mainly blood, thanks to Jame-o's buddy Joseph slicing his arm off on our couch) but we did it. Well, Jame-o and his crew of swarthy gentlemen did it. I mainly just stood around agonizing over where my picture frames should eventually wind up. But whatevs, bro - we have a new place to hang our hats now! Ok, technically, we don't have a place to hang hats, so much as maybe a corner where a hat could be placed or a mantle where a hat could sit but srsly people: semantics!

The point of all this, besides the fact that I am so exhausted I am literally typing this with my eyes closed (I'm like the Helen Keller of typing, you guys), is that - despite the commute and the fact that a little part of me is still totes worried about getting beheaded - I get SUPERDOUBLEHAPPYPUMPEDUPSPARKLESHOESALEEXCITED every time I turn on to my street.

I mean, just look at this place:

Look at Mr. Bluebowl, chillin' with his buddies. He looks lonely but I think it's making him a stronger person...er, I mean bowl. I mean I'm not crazy, I swear...

We have HD now. Which means nothing to me except that now I can really be frightened by/ enamored with Rachel Zoe's face. I die for her. Bananas.

This is our favorite room because I give the best, most future-focused presents ever.

The bedroom is the same size as our last apartment. I could River Dance in here, y'all.

Just call me Decorator Genius Girl. No really. Do it. Please?

It's good times.

Come visit me, won't you?

Bring a hatrack.

Love,

k8

This Post Has A Lion King Reference

Dear Blog,

It feels like my face is melting off.

Wait, let me start over: so, yesterday I had a real bitch of a day and when I finally stumbled through my apartment door (or, 'The Gateway to Hades" as I like to call it), I was nearly knocked over by the smell of fumes. I began scanning the place for the family of graffiti artists that I assumed must have recently taken up residence in our dining room. When no such artists were immediately apparent, I started to panic. I mean, I don't know about you, but when I come home to weird, toxic fumes and there aren't a bunch of punk kids spray painting on the walls, my next thought is "OHMYGOD, A GAS LEAK! THIS PLACE IS GONNA BLOW!!" Then I remembered that everything in our apartment is electric and panic subsided, due in large part to the fact that, thanks to all my speculating and huffing around looking for the source of the smell, my head was beginning to feel a bit light.

Cut to 3 hours later when Jame-o finally gets home to find me half unconscious on the couch watching the pre-finale to SYTYCD.

Jame-o: Buddy, what is that smell? This is terrible, how are you even sitting in here?!

me: ...............uh............hmmm..............um.............what?

Jame-o: come on, let's go sit on the porch while I call maintenance.

me: *eyes rolling back in skull*

He drags me outside and calls maintenance and as we sit in the suffocating 197 degree Atlanta evening air, I begin to regain control of my motor skills. After maintenance provided little more than a shrug in our general direction, we climbed into bed with the windows open, the fan full blast and fell asleep around 1:45am.

I was a little bit loopy at work today.

When I arrived home this afternoon and flung open the door, the smell was gone. Probably because it had been vaporized by the heat of the kiln that we once knew as our apartment. Apparently, we'd blown or shorted or exploded some precious part of the air conditioner and I am not shitting you when I say that it is hot in here. And not in the Nelly "I'm gonna take my clothes off" club jam kind of way.

It's hot.

It's sauna hot.

It's tank top sticking to your skin, sweating on the backs of your knees hot.

that's my leg. I swear it.

It's Johnny Depp before he got all old and turned into Keith Richards hot.

oh yeah. come to mama.

It's Paris Hilton "that's hot" circa 2002 hot.

can computers get VD?

It's nature channel African safari where flies are getting stuck in hyena eyeballs hot.

Look out Simba, we're comin' for you, homie!

James called our old pal Mr. Maintenance Man again.

This was his solution:

Temperature regulation fail.

Yes, that my friends is a 4' tall & unforgivably noisy window-unit air conditioner. I think that the true beauty of this machine, aside from the deafening racket and the fact that it might as well be spooning with me since it's positioned so close to the bed, is that it only cools the air in the 5" or so immediately surrounding the vents. Step away from the air conditioner and you are likely to spontaneously combust.

I'm not happy.

I'm hot.

Goodnight.

Love,

k8

BLUEBOWLSBLUEBOWLSBLUEBOWLS

Dear Blog,

Sad story: this weekend, I dragged Philly to the mall to visit Sara as she skillfully managed her underlings at 'thro. There, standing in the kitchen vignette, my eyes were immediately drawn to the most beautiful pool blue latte bowls EVER! There were a ton of little baby-sized ones and only 3 big-sized ones. No babies here, obvs, so I reach for the grown folks sized bowls and then forced myself to lower my hand.

You see, every time I go shopping now, I hear this little Jame-o that sits on my shoulder saying "Hey buddy, is this really something that you need or is this just something that you want? Hmmm? Let's be honest with ourselves and put the ruffled eyelet safari hat down, ok?" The voice gets me every time. It has taken all of the fun out of shopping for safari hats. I digress...

This particular time, the Jame-o voice said "Kate! You do not need any more bowls you crazy moron! Step back IMMEDIATELY!" and, since I always have to do what the voices tell me to do, I backed away slowly, Philly starring at me all the while - a look in his eyes that said "Ah, so, she's finally lost it."

All weekend my mind went like this: bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls

bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls

bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowls bluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowlsbluebowls

I rationalized that if I got rid of 4 of the crappy old bowls currently occupying prime cupboard real-estate then I'd only have 4 bowls. At the rate that James and I eat cereal that would mean running the dishwasher, like, everyday thus wasting 1000's of gallons of water over the course of a few months. Sloths and geckos would die out as the rain forests dried up and the whales - won't someone please think of the whales?!!? By this afternoon, I had no choice but to buy the damn bowls. I don't want some poor humpback's blood on my conscience...

I sped to the mall after work today and ran to the kitchen vignette and guess what:

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BLUE BOWL LEFT!

GAH!

I almost fell to the floor weeping. Luckily, Sara was there to hold my hand and help me pick out other colors of bowls in addition to my single, solitary blue bowl and it was ok, I guess. But the wind had definitely left my sails a little bit. This is why you should never listen to the little Jame-o voice when it tells you not to shop.

So, I have a quest for you, internet friends. Find me this bowl!

It's the gorgeous one, on the bottom left.

Apparently it's a spring color. Which is so ironic, because I'm an Autumn, but anyway. If you see it, think of me. Think of how I would love it forever and tell it everyday how special it is. If you really love me, convince Anthropologie to send me one.

In the meantime, here are pictures of the happy home that the beautiful blue bowl and his brothers and sisters will be living in. Hold on to your jaws, peeps:

I think this is where we're gonna sleep. Or have all night dance parties.

This is where we'll have our guests go to powder their noses.

Jame-o is a huge fan of natural light. Clearly.

If you buy me a bowl, I will invite you to a dinner party in our dining room. Bay windows, people. Think about it.

This is where the bowls will be honored with a shrine. Won't it just be the bee's knees?

These curtauins will be replaced with something by this lovely person. Ahmahzing!

What's under the tarp? Oh, it's just our HOT TUB TIME MACHINE, BITCHES!

I know what you're thinking: the only thing this place needs is more blue bowls! It's like we're sharing a brain.

God speed on your quest, internet.

Love,

k8

Home Sweet Homicide...

Dear Blog,

Please forgive me - I completely forgot you existed. My bad, b! Anyway, a ton of stuff has been going on lately. Probably the most important was redecorating Philip's house to make it look more like a sexy bachelor pad and less like a bunker where a serial killer might sleep. It was a smashing success, if I do say so myself. All part of 'Philip Wife Quest 2010'. He'll thank me once Miranda Kerr shows up unexpectedly and declares her deep love of online poker and beards.

The second most important thing that's happened since I forgot about you is that Jame-o and I FINALLY found a place to live. As you know (because, naturally, you know), our lease ends August 31st and we were well on our way to being hobos, riding the rails with little handkerchief knapsacks slung over our shoulders and soggy half-smoked cigars dangling from our lips.

yeah. kinda like that.

It had been almost 2 hours into our search and I was about to give up all hope and start looking up recipes for canned beans, when we turned the corner and there it was. The cutest little house you ever did see. Yellow with a front porch and a crepe myrtle tree in the front yard, bay windows in the front, 2 chimneys, stained glass, a fenced in backyard. I'm hyperventilating at this point, so we call the number on the sign and set up an appointment to see it the next day.

Love.

Like the kind of love that only comes with hardwood floors and a claw foot tub.

So, needless to say, we asked where to sign and I've since been mentally decorating during all of my waking hours. The only issue with this house (excuse me: with this DREAM HOME), is that it's in Grant Park which is about a 2 day's journey from my office. The other issue is that Grant Park is a leeeetle bit close to the prison and, in some spots, a bit dicey. But it's also where the Zoo is and, please, like anything bad ever happened when there was a panda around!

Aaah! See also: Amazing!

So, last week Jame-o and I were talking about the move and I was all a-twitter, smiling and laughing and he turned to me with his brave protector face on and said, "Now, I know that you're excited about this house, but just remember that you'll probably get murdered."

me: excuse me?

Jame-o: I just want you to be aware because I worry about you...but you're for sure dead meat.

Now, I should probably mention that 2 years ago (on the opening day of the Beijing Olympics), our apartment was broken into and pretty much all of our stuff was stolen. Since that day, every time I unlock my front door I mentally prepare myself for all of my shit to be gone again.

I'm essentially operating at Level Orange on the Terror Threat Scale every minute of my life.

It's a pretty crap way to live. But I wasn't scared to live in Grant Park. That is, until Jame-o really drove it home, essentially implying that I'll be beaten to death by al qaeda members as I'm bringing in my groceries.

Jame-o: I don't want to upset you, but you should know that you are almost definitely going to get beheaded while doing your VO5 hot oil treatment in the new house

me: good talk, buddy

So, now I'm at Threat Level Magenta and am ready to move back in with my parents. I decided to let Google help me overcome my fear.

Here's what it gave me when I asked about the hood:

DEF not scared of this one. In fact, I was this slute for Halloween 2 years running in college.

Here's what it said when I mentioned the packs of wild, rabid dogs:

come on, even I'M not scared of that!

Roaming gang activity returned this little gem:

there are no words. only gang signs.

See, nothing to be afraid of. Except maybe pandas. And, as the people who just moved into the apartment above us proceed to have loud, raucous sex for the second night in a row, I'm beginning to think I'll take my chances.

Hood rich.

Love,

k8

AAAALLLLLLLEEEEEEXXXXXX

Dear Blog,

I am effing HEARTBROKEN over here! Literally:

ew...someone needs concealer

Those are real tears, people! I realize that this easily qualifies me as the biggest loser to ever sit on this couch, but I. don't. care.

Alex (who, for those of you who have lives, was the most deserving SYTYCD contestant and totes the most amazeballs dancer I have ever seen - and I have seen myself in front of a mirror after a few glasses of wine) had to go home tonight because of some gross sounding ligament issue that the show's producer described in detail as my stomach tossed and turned recalling my own torn ACL 4 years ago. But that's a story for another day (one involving a bouncy house, BBQ pork and a bottle of tequila...shudder).

Anyway, I just wanted to share this devastating news with all 7 of you. Well, Jame-o already knows because he was sitting next to me on the couch Googling which NBA team will be paying LeBron epic fistfuls of cash (spoiler alert: Miami) as I burst into tears after learning the fate of someone I've never met, but whatever.

Good luck picking up the pieces of your broken hearts. Don't worry too much over me. I'm coping:

don't look at my embarrassing couch cushions...or my acne

Sad face.

Love,

k8

2 Posts in one day? Did you win a contest or something?

Dear Blog,

I figured I would make up for the fact that I've been a very lazy blogger by posting twice this evening. I'm still recovering from, like, the most funnest weekend EVAH.

It was Amy's 24th birthday on Saturday and we decided to celebrate in style - if we were salmon, that is.

Jame-o and his brosef took us all up to Cleveland, Tennessee for a rafting adventure. On the way up we drove through a sleepy little town's Fourth of July festivities. It was easily the most amazeballs traffic jam I have ever been a part of. The perms! The sleeveless t-shirts! The cut-off jean shorts! And don't even get me started about what the women had on. I swear I saw the entire cast of Looney Toons in tattoo form. Embarrassing!

After some cake, it was river time...

Appy Irthday, Seester!

"The rainstorm and the river are my brothers! The heron and the otter are my friends!

Is it time to reapply my SPF70 yet?

Being an industrious duo, we decided to just strap a raft to the roof and drive my mom's car over the rapids. Smrt. I'm basically like Benji meets Smokey Bear meets the Little Mermaid. On account of my tail.

This is where I belong.

After nearly drowning several dozen times, we navigated our way back to civilization just in time to catch the fireworks. Superfun!

Wait. This is where I belong.

We'll tear your heart out.

Philly and I sparkled brighter than the fireworks. In your face, Lenox mall!

Basically, it was the greatest weekend anyone has ever had in the history of time. Now I'm watching Mad Men and it just taught me that George Washington was sterile. It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

I don't even have a joke for the moron that yells "Parade!"

Appy Irthday, America!

Love,

k8

Did someone say "pond of llamas?"

Dear Blog,

I've been agonizing over what to write about our trip to Destin 2 weeks ago - so much so, that I have completely psyched myself out. I've come to the conclusion that I'll just post a bunch of photos and let them do the talking...well, most of the talking.

We arrived on Tuesday at, like, midnight. However, seeing that there's a time difference, it was really more like 4:30am or something. Whatever, I'm not a scientist.

The next morning, I woke up and drove to the ends of the earth to pick up Jessica Bailey (Yessica Nailme, for those in the know) at the airport. I drove alone because I'm a good girlfriend and I let Jame-o stay home and watch the World Cup. I'm also a horrible girlfriend because, according to me, I'm in charge of Jame-o's day and honestly feel I deserve a round of applause for not dragging him downstairs and forcing him into the car with me. So sad for Jame-o!

After consuming our weight in Screwdrivers and Pinot Grigio, we hit the beach and melted.

Seriously, it was totes hot out there. I almost spontaneously burst into flames.

We hit up Red Bar and lost our ability to see (or exist) in color.

Look at that siren! It was Jessica's "Movie Star from the 40's Weekend Bonanza" or something.

Here's Jessica inviting me to her family reunion...and then immediately uninviting me. What a bitch.

These are our most genuine fake smiles.

Living the dream. Mermaid style.

Consider yourself mesmerized. Oy, Yessica! Muy caliente!

James tried to escape the siren song. Or maybe he's just psychic and knew that this was in store for him the next day:

Aaaahhhh! An abominable snowman has wandered onto the beach and collapsed! My eyes! The humanity! Aaaahhh!!

Side note: I internet apologize to the woman who inadvertently photo-bombed this picture.

Is that a majestic orca, cresting in the surf?

My bestie. True dat.

On our last night, I decided it would be acceptable for me to carbo-load, since the sun had officially set on bikini season. PUNS!

Jessica, acting like a hipster even while eating bread. That's dedication.

I couldn't have planned a better weekend. Well, I mean, I could have, but my funds were limited, Jame-o isn't a twin and there wasn't a helicopter pad at the condo.

Who's prettiest? I'll never tell...

I love vacation. I love Jame-o*. I super-duper love Jessica Bailey.

Love,

k8 (you might not recognize me anymore because I'm so tan, but it's me. I swear.)

*I also super-duper-sparkle-big-time-to-the-maxxx love Jame-o, too. Obvies.