Holy busy-as-a-bee Batman!
I can't believe I've neglected to spurn and thrust all my thoughts upon you. You, whoever is reading this. And I promise to never use spurn and thrust in a sentence together ever again. Yikes.
I'll run my past week by you:
1. Blur.
2. Roasted kale recipes. Kale is a vegetable, for all you who are like, huh? And if you are like, huh?, then shame on you and your cow because kale is a delectably delicious member of the vegetable family and you shall weep softly to yourself because you've never experienced life until you've eaten kale.
3. Plane tickets, which in turn lead to more soft weeping, but this time of my bank account. Plane ticket to where? Don't trip, Hawaii. SILENCE Iago, I really do have a legitimate reason for flying there in the middle of fall quarter.
4. Dog bites. What is it with August and being bitten by dogs? If any of you recall last August, I got bit by a Bull Mastiff. It was more of a puncture, the beast sunk his front tooth in there nice and deep like. Antibiotics and errthang. This time it was more of an accident on the dog's part, you see, he thought my hand was part of the toy. I've forgiven him because there was no blood.
5. Dog fights. Have you ever yearned to be the one to seperate a fight between a Yellow Lab and a German Shepherd, both fully grown and fully pissed off? Well I can check that one of my to-do list with a side note of blood dripping down my leg after the ordeal.
6. Dog food. At what point was it okay that my dog's dinner looks more appealing than my own?
7. Dog excretion. I won't indulge you.
8. Dog drool. Did you know that when Elwood the Boston Terrier gets nervous, long wiggly strands of drool linger from either side of his mouth. I'm talking floor length drool here. The kind that sticks to you. Also found on Basset Hounds and Corgis. All simultaneously as they enclose on me.
9. My Sanity Slowly Seeping Away. I've found myself having full on conversations with dogs at the dog daycare. This is obviously a sign of either a) I really am working too much, b) I really need to go back to school and socialize with people who understand me when I say, "NO, do NOT HUMP HIM!" or c) a combination of the two.
The answer is obviously C.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I Mean, Whatever.
Today when I was at my nannying job, the 3-year-old and I were playing with Woody from Toy Story.
Me: T, where's Woody's hat?
T: I'm sucking on it.
Me: I can see that.
T: It's whatever.
Can I remind you that he just turned 3 two weeks ago? I think this 3-year-old is my kind of cool. He's really chill except when I'm paying attention to his 6-month-old baby brother. Then he starts climbing me and screeching.
Me: T, are you climbing me?
T: No! (as he's climbing)
Me: Be careful, my shorts are slippery.
T: (screech)
Me: Am I a mountain? A snowy, slippery mountain?
T: (screech)
Me: Be careful!
T: It's whatever!
And one more favorite from the day. I'd just gotten his brother down for a nap, and I went back into T's room to check on him. He was standing in a corner, looking at me.
Me: Whatcha doin?
T: Can you go away?
Me: Nope.
T: I'm pooping.
Me: I'll be in the hall. Tell me when you're done.
T: It's whatever.
Me: T, where's Woody's hat?
T: I'm sucking on it.
Me: I can see that.
T: It's whatever.
Can I remind you that he just turned 3 two weeks ago? I think this 3-year-old is my kind of cool. He's really chill except when I'm paying attention to his 6-month-old baby brother. Then he starts climbing me and screeching.
Me: T, are you climbing me?
T: No! (as he's climbing)
Me: Be careful, my shorts are slippery.
T: (screech)
Me: Am I a mountain? A snowy, slippery mountain?
T: (screech)
Me: Be careful!
T: It's whatever!
And one more favorite from the day. I'd just gotten his brother down for a nap, and I went back into T's room to check on him. He was standing in a corner, looking at me.
Me: Whatcha doin?
T: Can you go away?
Me: Nope.
T: I'm pooping.
Me: I'll be in the hall. Tell me when you're done.
T: It's whatever.
Monday, August 9, 2010
OnTime OnTime OnTime
I curse my punctuality. I curse it! It always ends up putting me in awkward predicaments. And you’d think I would learn. You would THINK that. But I don’t. Just the thought of being late to something and having to awkwardly walk in and have everyone stare at you just isn’t appealing to me at all. That’s what drives me when I leave early to arrive early.
I’m not often fashionably late. I can’t remember the last time I was fashionably late. Late and Kendall just don’t go into the same sentence. Yes, I can own up to my OCD about the matter. But I figure there could be worse things and being on time can only be beneficial in the long run. I know my boss appreciates my punctuality. I appreciate my punctuality.
Yesterday, I did not appreciate my punctuality. I was meeting a friend for dinner at Southcenter (curse.) at 6. First of all, I don’t like Southcenter, it can burn. The traffic and the parking and the congestion and the idiots and the people in driving school and the lights and the crowds and the congestion and the parking and the congestion. I don’t LIKE IT. I never, ever, ever go without a fight. Unless it’s a) to see a movie (because that parking is usually manageable), or b) to meet a friend I haven’t seen in a long time for dinner. THOSE ARE THE ONLY TWO INSTANCES when you will not hear me moan/groan.
Although if we’re running late for a movie, you’ll hear plenty from me. I promise.
So anyway, I left my house early because I needed to put some gas in the car. I left at 5:20 because I figured once I got to Olive Garden, it was a Sunday night in the summer and it would probably be hoppin’. Well, I overestimated my timing. Pumping $12 worth of gas takes like, 1 minute and 48 seconds. I’m good at maneuvering traffic. Most of the lights were in my favor. I ended up at Olive Garden at 5:40.
There was a bustling crowd so I figured I’d go put my name on the list. The helpful hostess told me it would be 15-20 minutes and handed me a buzzer. I looked at my phone, and prayed it would be longer. Who…wants to get seated by themselves…? Not me. I texted my friend and told him what was up. He was just getting on the freeway from Federal Way. He told me if I get seated to just text him where I was.
Chant to small buzzer in my hand: Please don’t go off. Please don’t go off. PLEASE don’t go off.
So it did, of course. After a whole 8 minutes. So then the host, who couldn’t have been more than a senior in high school, led me alone to my seat. And he was nice enough to make sure someone really was coming to meet me: “So, you’re meeting someone?”
I just wanted to be like, “No. Nope. Sometimes I like to come to Olive Garden alone just to simmer in my own thoughts whilst I listen to this Italian music and let the aroma of breadsticks fill my nostrils. YES, I’M MEETING SOMEONE.” Why else would I ask for a table for two? Come. On.
And there I proceeded to sit, whilst my waiter (whose real name was Cornelius, I kid you not, I would not lie to you!) doted upon me and brought me endless glasses of water (with ice) and awkwardly lingered around my table. Keyword there was awkwardly. Finally my friend showed up, right on time as we had agreed upon: 6.
DAMN THE PUNCTUALITY. Damnit.
I’m not often fashionably late. I can’t remember the last time I was fashionably late. Late and Kendall just don’t go into the same sentence. Yes, I can own up to my OCD about the matter. But I figure there could be worse things and being on time can only be beneficial in the long run. I know my boss appreciates my punctuality. I appreciate my punctuality.
Yesterday, I did not appreciate my punctuality. I was meeting a friend for dinner at Southcenter (curse.) at 6. First of all, I don’t like Southcenter, it can burn. The traffic and the parking and the congestion and the idiots and the people in driving school and the lights and the crowds and the congestion and the parking and the congestion. I don’t LIKE IT. I never, ever, ever go without a fight. Unless it’s a) to see a movie (because that parking is usually manageable), or b) to meet a friend I haven’t seen in a long time for dinner. THOSE ARE THE ONLY TWO INSTANCES when you will not hear me moan/groan.
Although if we’re running late for a movie, you’ll hear plenty from me. I promise.
So anyway, I left my house early because I needed to put some gas in the car. I left at 5:20 because I figured once I got to Olive Garden, it was a Sunday night in the summer and it would probably be hoppin’. Well, I overestimated my timing. Pumping $12 worth of gas takes like, 1 minute and 48 seconds. I’m good at maneuvering traffic. Most of the lights were in my favor. I ended up at Olive Garden at 5:40.
There was a bustling crowd so I figured I’d go put my name on the list. The helpful hostess told me it would be 15-20 minutes and handed me a buzzer. I looked at my phone, and prayed it would be longer. Who…wants to get seated by themselves…? Not me. I texted my friend and told him what was up. He was just getting on the freeway from Federal Way. He told me if I get seated to just text him where I was.
Chant to small buzzer in my hand: Please don’t go off. Please don’t go off. PLEASE don’t go off.
So it did, of course. After a whole 8 minutes. So then the host, who couldn’t have been more than a senior in high school, led me alone to my seat. And he was nice enough to make sure someone really was coming to meet me: “So, you’re meeting someone?”
I just wanted to be like, “No. Nope. Sometimes I like to come to Olive Garden alone just to simmer in my own thoughts whilst I listen to this Italian music and let the aroma of breadsticks fill my nostrils. YES, I’M MEETING SOMEONE.” Why else would I ask for a table for two? Come. On.
And there I proceeded to sit, whilst my waiter (whose real name was Cornelius, I kid you not, I would not lie to you!) doted upon me and brought me endless glasses of water (with ice) and awkwardly lingered around my table. Keyword there was awkwardly. Finally my friend showed up, right on time as we had agreed upon: 6.
DAMN THE PUNCTUALITY. Damnit.
My Client Base.
Smithers. Marley. Jake. Calvin. Goat. Max. Ichiro. Fern. Duende. Otis. Buck. Tiger. Baby. Shadow. Nibblet. Sarajevo. Napoleon. Ledson. Pierre. Optimus. Mule. Mario. Nikita. Emma. Ivy. Samantha. Jackson. Bootie. Indy. Reno. Pearl. Stella. Kona. Josh. Tilly. Kingston. Gomez. Casey. Henry. Titus. Donkey. Sebastian. Elby. Raven.
What do all of these have in common?
They're felines. Gigantic balls of allergy inflicting, purring, drooling, hissing, spazzing, meowling kittehs. These are felines I've taken care of since the beginning of my employment. These are my "cat jobs". Some of these cats have been really great and fun to be around. Others, yikes. And you know, that list? That's minus like 9 cats whose names I just can't think of for the life of me. Yep. So many kittehs. So little time.
Bailey. Trixie. Scout (x3). Kira. Miley. Boston. Cowboy. Deuce. Bonsai. Clover. Sofi. Jax. Opie. Zoe (x3). Daisy (x2). Jack. Jazz. Bohdie. Bandit. Clancy. Indy. Cody. Sarah. Dougie. Conan. Ozzie. Ally. Beau. Beagle. Chloe (x2). Franklin. Tillie. Bailey. Baron. Winston. Scoobie. Jackie. Ella. Katy. Mali. Sophie. Chica. Layla. Sparco. Kodi. Chuck. Reese. Massey. Maggie. Sammy. Benny. Remy (x2). Madison.
And those, are off the top of my head the dogs I've either a) walked or b) babysat at the daycare. I know. I KNOW. There's more dogs too, I can guarantee I can't remember all their names.
What do all of these have in common?
They're felines. Gigantic balls of allergy inflicting, purring, drooling, hissing, spazzing, meowling kittehs. These are felines I've taken care of since the beginning of my employment. These are my "cat jobs". Some of these cats have been really great and fun to be around. Others, yikes. And you know, that list? That's minus like 9 cats whose names I just can't think of for the life of me. Yep. So many kittehs. So little time.
Bailey. Trixie. Scout (x3). Kira. Miley. Boston. Cowboy. Deuce. Bonsai. Clover. Sofi. Jax. Opie. Zoe (x3). Daisy (x2). Jack. Jazz. Bohdie. Bandit. Clancy. Indy. Cody. Sarah. Dougie. Conan. Ozzie. Ally. Beau. Beagle. Chloe (x2). Franklin. Tillie. Bailey. Baron. Winston. Scoobie. Jackie. Ella. Katy. Mali. Sophie. Chica. Layla. Sparco. Kodi. Chuck. Reese. Massey. Maggie. Sammy. Benny. Remy (x2). Madison.
And those, are off the top of my head the dogs I've either a) walked or b) babysat at the daycare. I know. I KNOW. There's more dogs too, I can guarantee I can't remember all their names.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Cr- abbing? -umping? (Kr?)
Is it okay to post multiple blog entries in one day? Is that socially acceptable or am I going to be socially reprimanded when I press the 'Publish Post' button. Oh God. I'll understand. But I do most of my thinking at night, so I feel like I should be able to express thoughts at any time. Oh wait, I found a loophole. It's not Friday anymore, it's Saturday, as of one minute ago. There, I don't feel so guilty.
Sidenote: I wish my computer's speakers would decide if they want to work or not. Right now, they're alternating between the left one and the right one. Never both. Only one, and then the switch. I feel like I'm in a dance club and I'm not even moving. In fact, I'm on my bed. Have you ever been to a dance club in bed, because I have.
See now I've forgotten the reason why I was writing this in the first place.
Oh never mind, it came to me. Guess what I learned to do today?
Don't waste your time, you'll never guess it. No, I didn't go crabbing (though I long to). Nope, I didn't have to straddle any cats (too obvious). Negative, I didn't run out of gas as I approached the gas station (though I would have, had I taken the long way to the gas station).
I learned how to krump. YES, you read that correctly. Yes, the gangster-attitude-stomping-thrashing-arm pivoting-kicking-krumping. I can successfully open at a krumping throw down. Though opening at a krumping throw down isn't anywhere near my to-do list. I just want you to know that I could do it, if it were a life or death situation. And trust me, if it were a life and death situation, I make no promises to our salvation through krumping. Remember, I am a Caucasian female. Feel free to insert gender stereotypes and racial profiling here (but be kind, I'd do my best).
You know what else I did today? "No Kendall, what? Tell me. Tell me."
I had coffee with a friend of mine that I met on the first day of 4th grade. He was in my cluster of desks. That was ELEVEN years ago. Is that even possible. I'm in my 20's. SILENCE, IAGO. Silence. Hush. Speak not. Anyway, we had coffee and reminisced and then he gave me the new Tech N9ne CD and we went on our merry separate ways. He's going to be famous. A famous cook/entrepreneur. And he was at my desk cluster.
Sidenote: I wish my computer's speakers would decide if they want to work or not. Right now, they're alternating between the left one and the right one. Never both. Only one, and then the switch. I feel like I'm in a dance club and I'm not even moving. In fact, I'm on my bed. Have you ever been to a dance club in bed, because I have.
See now I've forgotten the reason why I was writing this in the first place.
Oh never mind, it came to me. Guess what I learned to do today?
Don't waste your time, you'll never guess it. No, I didn't go crabbing (though I long to). Nope, I didn't have to straddle any cats (too obvious). Negative, I didn't run out of gas as I approached the gas station (though I would have, had I taken the long way to the gas station).
I learned how to krump. YES, you read that correctly. Yes, the gangster-attitude-stomping-thrashing-arm pivoting-kicking-krumping. I can successfully open at a krumping throw down. Though opening at a krumping throw down isn't anywhere near my to-do list. I just want you to know that I could do it, if it were a life or death situation. And trust me, if it were a life and death situation, I make no promises to our salvation through krumping. Remember, I am a Caucasian female. Feel free to insert gender stereotypes and racial profiling here (but be kind, I'd do my best).
You know what else I did today? "No Kendall, what? Tell me. Tell me."
I had coffee with a friend of mine that I met on the first day of 4th grade. He was in my cluster of desks. That was ELEVEN years ago. Is that even possible. I'm in my 20's. SILENCE, IAGO. Silence. Hush. Speak not. Anyway, we had coffee and reminisced and then he gave me the new Tech N9ne CD and we went on our merry separate ways. He's going to be famous. A famous cook/entrepreneur. And he was at my desk cluster.
Short Shorts.
Today I went to go feed some cats, because that's my job. I feed cats. I don't even like cats. My friend Alyssa likes cats. I don't like cats. They think they're better than you and they don't tune into your emotions and they definitely don't realize they're hurting you when they're digging their claws into your legs (or maybe they do, actually).
So I went into this house and the alarm didn't beep and the kitchen lights were on, so I immediately assumed that my boss had messed up the days again and given me the wrong schedule. Well, a man popped out from the kitchen wearing shorts that extended about seven inches down his leg, made of sweatpant material.
"Oh hey," he said to me. His tank top as white as a fresh layer of snow in the Yukon.
"Am I supposed to be here?" I asked.
He giggled.
Yes, he giggled.
"I'm the cleaning...man. Are you the cat lady?"
[NO. NO I AM NOT THE CAT LADY, NOR WILL I EVER, EVER BE THE CAT LADY. HOW DARE YOU. THIS IS A SUMMER JOB!!!!]
"Yeah, I'm the cat lady."
It all made sense when I walked into the kitchen and saw his feather duster. Needless to say, I fed those cats faster than I've ever fed cats in my life (and as fast as you could possibly feed a cat?). And then I left.
I wonder who will be there tomorrow.
So I went into this house and the alarm didn't beep and the kitchen lights were on, so I immediately assumed that my boss had messed up the days again and given me the wrong schedule. Well, a man popped out from the kitchen wearing shorts that extended about seven inches down his leg, made of sweatpant material.
"Oh hey," he said to me. His tank top as white as a fresh layer of snow in the Yukon.
"Am I supposed to be here?" I asked.
He giggled.
Yes, he giggled.
"I'm the cleaning...man. Are you the cat lady?"
[NO. NO I AM NOT THE CAT LADY, NOR WILL I EVER, EVER BE THE CAT LADY. HOW DARE YOU. THIS IS A SUMMER JOB!!!!]
"Yeah, I'm the cat lady."
It all made sense when I walked into the kitchen and saw his feather duster. Needless to say, I fed those cats faster than I've ever fed cats in my life (and as fast as you could possibly feed a cat?). And then I left.
I wonder who will be there tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
1 - 2 - 3
I've heard some interesting things recently. And done some interesting things. Nothing that would be noteworthy to someone like you, of course. Small, personal decisions that don't involve you and wouldn't interest you. But they interest me. And since the blog is "defining" me, I think it would be okay to mention them as they stream through my consciousness.
1. MckMama had her baby yesterday, and she named him Lachlan. What a great name. He joins older brothers Kieran, Cullen, & Stellan (all totally awesome names, as well) and his older sister Maisie (not my favorite, but still cute). Five kids!? Five, five and under at that. It just makes me think, did she ever think that it would end up like that. Stellan and Lachlan were surprises.
Can we live through something we could never predict. Obviously we can, look at her! Obviously, look at all of us. There's no way you could know exactly what's going to happen tomorrow. Well, I do actually. I'm going to go to work and mop up dog urine and continue exercising amongst a throng of four legged furballs who think it's okay to lay underneath me when I'm doing push ups. That was totally not the point of what I'm trying to say.
Not to be too forward, but you could die tomorrow. Sorry! Gah, sorry, I had to say it. I just feel like we're all taking some things for granted. Never, ever leave things left unsaid. That's what I'm learning. And finally, over one of the longest phone conversations ever, I was able to realize it. Stream of consciousness here, people. I'm not trying to be deep. What-I'm-Saying-Is: you don't know what you're going to be doing 5, or 10, or 50 years from now. What if I turn into a crazy cat lady? What if I conquer my deepest fear and travel into outer space (not likely). The what-ifs are heavy on my mind tonight.
2. You know when you turn on the radio, and it's the very beginning of a song? I love that.
3. I've figured out I sleep better with white noise.
1. MckMama had her baby yesterday, and she named him Lachlan. What a great name. He joins older brothers Kieran, Cullen, & Stellan (all totally awesome names, as well) and his older sister Maisie (not my favorite, but still cute). Five kids!? Five, five and under at that. It just makes me think, did she ever think that it would end up like that. Stellan and Lachlan were surprises.
Can we live through something we could never predict. Obviously we can, look at her! Obviously, look at all of us. There's no way you could know exactly what's going to happen tomorrow. Well, I do actually. I'm going to go to work and mop up dog urine and continue exercising amongst a throng of four legged furballs who think it's okay to lay underneath me when I'm doing push ups. That was totally not the point of what I'm trying to say.
Not to be too forward, but you could die tomorrow. Sorry! Gah, sorry, I had to say it. I just feel like we're all taking some things for granted. Never, ever leave things left unsaid. That's what I'm learning. And finally, over one of the longest phone conversations ever, I was able to realize it. Stream of consciousness here, people. I'm not trying to be deep. What-I'm-Saying-Is: you don't know what you're going to be doing 5, or 10, or 50 years from now. What if I turn into a crazy cat lady? What if I conquer my deepest fear and travel into outer space (not likely). The what-ifs are heavy on my mind tonight.
2. You know when you turn on the radio, and it's the very beginning of a song? I love that.
3. I've figured out I sleep better with white noise.
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