Thursday, March 31, 2011

I Love These Jeans...I'm Headed for the Sink

The other day I was riding my bike home from work, and yes, I do now stop at every stop sign, fire a rifle, hold out some flares and then cross through the dangerous intersection - thank you Redondo Beach police force for ruining the joys of commuting on a bike - ANYWAY, sorry about that passive aggressive diatribe. What was I saying? Oh yes, I was riding my bike down Broadway, between 4th and 5th, if you local Santa Monicans were curious, when I saw a ridiculous ad for Joe's Jeans. Just how ridiculous was this ad? Well, basically it showed a strung out chick, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing on top. Now, I get the whole edgy attempt here, but the thing that bothered me the most was that she was sitting in a sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Really? Come on Joe's Jeans. What chick, who hasn't been snorting coke all morning, would decide your jeans were so cool she had, I mean had, to take off her shirt and go sit in the sink? Really? Just for that I will not be buying Joe's Jeans. I mean, my sink isn't even that big.

Monday, March 28, 2011

The Dos and Don'ts of Winking

So what are your feelings on winking? Good? Bad? Sort of creepy? Here's my guidelines:

Okay Winking:
1. Indicating to someone you are murdering them in the fun filled game of "Murder."*
2. If you are over the age of 80 and are actually Santa Claus dressed up as a normal old man.
3. If you have a glass eye, which prevents you from blinking both eyes together.
4. If, while making fun of someone, they start to believe you and tear up, an immediate wink is absolutely acceptable. (I've been caught in this situation many times. Too many times.)
5. If you were the star of any 80s hair band. (Somehow I just expect Bret Michaels and Sebastian Bach to use winks in an appropriate manner - like right after they say - and mean it - "You're sayin' my love won't do yeah
But that ain't love written on your face
Well honey I can see right through yeah
Yeah who's on who at the end of the race." Truly poetic.

Not Okay Winking:
1. When someone says, "Try the soup. I always put a secret ingredient in it that may or may not taste like the sweat I rubbed off my dog."
2. When someone comes in and asks for an application and when you give it to them they say "thanks" and then wink at you. Really, a wink? That's going to make me disregard the fact that in the column "Crime Record" you are a registered sex offender? (The first part really happened. The second part I just guessed.)
3. If you are over 65, wearing old man spandex shorts and a fanny pack, please don't wink at me as I bring you your 1 freaking pancake and refresh the coffee you brought in from Starbucks. (The catalyst for writing this entry.)
4. At a pirate. That's just mean. He can't properly respond.
5. If you are a 2012 presidential hopeful from Alaska.

*Who decided turning murder into a fun game? I suppose the same ones who decided throwing playground balls at weak kids would be fun. "Hey kids, run outside and play some murderball."

Sunday, March 27, 2011


So, did anyone hear a rather large woman singing? Or did a pack of pigs fly over your house? Or did hell actually freeze over because yesterday something happened to me that can only be described by Wayne Cambell as, "Shuh, and monkeys might fly out of my butt." (Translation: what the...?) Enough build up?

Okay, in two weeks my sister and I are going to ride another century ride in St. George, so yesterday I went out for a 70 mile ride. At about mile 40, the skies opened up and it started to pour. For awhile I tried to keep my glasses on because getting pelted with rain at 30 miles an hour really hurts, but eventually, the rain and the steam, coming from my face, was making it so I couldn't see anything. So, once I navigated a busy street of potholes, suburbans and puddles I took my glasses off and tried to find somewhere to store them. Unfortunately, as I was fiddling with my glasses and trying to bear the rain I managed to run through a few stop signs. Now, in my defense these stop signs are about an half a block apart and there was no one on the road. AND if a car had been there I would have stopped. (I'm usually a very safe rider. I promise David Pulsipher.) Anyway, as soon as I propped my glasses into my helmet I heard a siren and turned to find a police officer behind me.

Immediately, I stopped my bike and waited for the gestapo (That's what my mom calls them because of their ridiculous boots.) to get out of his car to arrest me for selling cocain...oh wait, I'M ON A FREAKING BIKE! Anyway, after explaining my glasses debacle, my attempts to "slow down at intersections," and even a brief attempt at begging I was given a ticket for running a stop sign. I have to admit I sort of missed Mexico at that moment. Had I been there I would have just given the officer five bucks, a packet of Gu and promised to not tell anyone.

S0, what I have learned? Um, well...wait there's got to be something here...Oh yeah, I just wanted to thank all the police officers out there that are doing such a great job at protecting us and fighting crime. I really appreciated the time they took to find the perpetrators, who stole my my bike from my garage, and who spent countless hours tracking down the thugs that broke my husband's car door to steal my 2003 Ipod and some CDs, and that one officer, I can't remember your name now, but thank you for rushing over to my apartment when I called in and reported a car being stolen outside my window. I really appreciated you calling me and asking me, while they drove away with the stolen car, if I remembered which way they went. Just incredible police work all around. And, finally, for stopping my reckless abandonment on the bike. Had that gone unchecked...well, I don't even want to know what would have happened.

Wayne Campbell: All I have to say about that is "asphinctersayswhat".
Noah Vanderhoff: What?
Wayne Campbell: Exactly.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

That's Camp Director To You

On Sunday, I was named the new camp director for our church. Apparently, the first girl they chose decided her life was too "complicated" and needed someone to take over. (Because this is right up there with curing cancer.)

For those of you not of my faith, let me give you a little description of what this means. First, I have to create and coordinate a week long camp, that is semi-religious and semi-fun, for 4o girls. Second, I have to attend this camp I created, and try to maintain that semi-religious angle. And third, I have to enjoy this experience. (Actually, number three might be optional.) So, what were my thoughts on this new calling? Well, here's what was going on in my mind:

Thought 1: These people do know that last year, when I attended camp, I spent most of my time taking notes so I could sarcastically criticize and report about it on this blog when I got home?

Thought 2: My first act as camp director is going to be abolishing all camp songs and singing during the week.

Thought 3: Abolishing singing will probably ensure that this is a one time deal. Definitely going after the singing.

Thought 4: I'm definitely moving next year.

Thought 5: I'm stealing the golf cart on day 1, from the fatties of last year, who drove their carts to their camp sites and back so they didn't have to walk ten feet.

Thought 6: I can't wait to see them hold out their thumbs for a ride as I whiz by.

Thought 7: This will actually be cool.

Thought 8: Stop trying to sound all positive just so God will think you are a good person and give you a baby.

Thought 9: If I get pregnant before camp do I have to go?

Thought 10: Probably not. Crap.

Thought 11: What about naming the camp: Camp Kate? Too much...?

And yes, there will be more entries as we get closer to camp.

The above picture is the chair I plan on bringing to camp. I really want to impress upon the girls who is in charge.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Welcome To Mexico: The Scenic Tour

As I mentioned in my last entry, Cancun was beautiful, but "slightly dangerous." I wish I could say that my only brush with death involved the menacing Caribbean ocean, but unfortunately, the locals proved to be just as uninviting. I know what you are thinking...start the chant...story, story, story...

One day Juan (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to rent a car and drive out to Chichen Itza and see some Mayan ruins. After talking to our helpful* concierge, we decided to take the scenic route through some local Cancun towns on the way to the sites. After two hours of driving over six foot speed bumps, moving at a pace of 30 km and almost hitting three stray dogs we realized our concierge was an idiot and we were idiots for listening to her. As we started to discuss how we were going to steal her Marriott uniform and burn it, a sketchy police officer, who was riding a dusty dirt bike, drove up to the side of our car and waved us to pull over. Quickly, Juan pulled the car over and the "police officer" strutted up to our car and told us we needed to follow him to the police station so he could write us a ticket. Apparently, we were speeding. (You really should have seen our rental car go at a blazing 40 km. I'm surprised we didn't end up in the future.)

Now, here's where Juan and I are different. I see a desperado on a dirt bike, carrying his Dad's revolver from the Alamo and I'm like, "Sure let's head to the police station." Juan, on the other hand, is an attorney, and as an attorney, you negotiate. So, that's what we did. After thirty seconds of arguing about heading to the police station, our "friendly" town ambassador told us to follow him down a dirt road and we could take care of the matter. Once off the main road (as seen in above picture), our corrupt cop saddled up to our car and announced we could pay $100 and walk away. Now, again, here's where Juan and I differ. I would have paid him $100 and given him my address in Santa Monica in case he wanted to take my TV and car once I got back. Juan wasn't feeling as generous. Instead, he pretended not to fully understand the guy's Spanish and claimed we didn't have that much money. Finally, after some broken Spanish back and forth Juan struck a deal with bastardo (I learned some Spanish) and paid the guy $30.00. After a secret exchange of money, our corrupt amigo hopped on his bike and headed off.

Looking back on this experience I sure hope a few things. One, I hope this great crime fighter was promoted for his professionalism and necessary force while dealing with us incorrigible foreigners. Two, I hope he and his friends enjoyed the cervesa and tacos we bought them. And lastly, I really, really hope he was either run over by a mac truck or choked to death on giant burrito.

Again final score. Mexico - 2 Kate - 0.

*Who was actually working on the side for this desperado.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

My Belt of Experiences

I would say there are only a handful of times I truly thought I was going to die. For example, there was the time an angry Mongolian tried to throw a rock into my head for not paying a $2.00 cab fare. Another time, while snowshoeing, I slid down the face of a mountain and miraculously flipped over a stump, that would have definitely left me in two pieces or seriously disfigured. And of course, who can forget, the car accident I survived in D.C., while laying in the back of my parent's station wagon with no seat belt? (Which also happened to be the week I got my period - so I guess, God was feeling like I had had enough bad news that week.)

Anyway, I'm happy to report that I now have another notch I can whittle in my "near death experiences" belt. (Which happens to be something I only wear on special occasions.) A few weeks ago, Paco (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I visited a little place called Cancun. While there, Paco and I decided to go scuba diving. Now, I'll admit I was sort of nervous about this activity, but Paco, who is certified, assured me that as long as I didn't hold my breath I would have a great time...and not die.

So, there I was, sitting in a rocking boat, trying to convince myself that the 20 minute video I watched, and the 30 minutes I stood in a pool with our instructor, was going to be enough to ensure my safety under water, when all of the sudden a wave of nausea swept over me. Have you ever gotten off a roller coaster and then been sucker punched in the stomach? No? Me either, but I have a pretty good idea of how that would feel. Words cannot explain how badly I wanted to ralph my buffet breakfast, but here's the thing - 1. We paid for this activity and I'm just too frugal to waste that money. 2. I have always prided myself on being just a little tougher than most girls, so sea sickness was not going to stop me. and 3. Did I mention we had already paid for the day?

So, foolishly, I strapped on my tank, jumped in the water and headed 30 feet down. I wish I could tell you that once under water everything went swimmingly, but I don't put notches in my belt for nothing. After about 10 minutes of being under water I quickly realized that I was either going to throw up under water, drown from throwing up under water or get the bends from rocketing up to the surface so I could throw up. As these scenarios played out in my head, I started to panic and then I committed the cardinal sin of holding my breath. Now I'm really starting to panic. Finally, after making several unsuccessful signals to Paco about my stomach (which were always responded with pointing to fish and then giving me the thumbs up sign) I grabbed the fin of my instructor, pointed to my stomach, and while channeling my inner mime, tried to describe an atomic bomb. Again, she didn't seem to get it, so I decided the only thing I could do was head for the surface. And so up I went.

As soon as I broke the surface, I grabbed my air piece and started to throw up. The rest is sort of a blur. I remember waves hitting me in the face as I was throwing up, and thinking that maybe I had died and gone to hell because only such a place would throw waves at you as you are trying to vomit. Then I remember fish attacking me, which if you think a little harder about this detail you might figure out what attracted them to me. (No, it wasn't my shiny blond hair.) Then I remember a bunch of boats and people getting ready to snorkel. Can you imagine? Just as you are about to enjoy a fun filled day of seeing fish and coral a crazy chick flies up out of the water throwing up? Bet they didn't know that was included in their package. And lastly, I remember my instructor asking where Paco was. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the message and was still on the bottom of the ocean watching his wife get attacked by fish.

Anyway, I finally made my way over to our boat, got my stuff off and collapsed - and as you probably already guessed, the ride back was nothing short of pure torture.

So, there you have it. Mexican scuba diving- 1 Kate - 0.