With the economic crunch, I've had less freelance work and am trying to think of ways to bring in some extra income. I've been researching, and one area that's been hit hard by the recession is the wedding industry. People just aren't willing to spend like they used to.
Perfect!
I'm marketing myself as an extreme low-budget wedding planner. Here are my first plans for the thrifty, wise consumer couple.
Option One: Thanksgiving for Love
Date: Thanksgiving Weekend
Pros: Easy entertainment for visiting family if they like football and parades
Cons: November is not a typically romantic month; moderately high construction paper costs
Theme: Giving Thanks for Our Hot, Hot Love
Groom would be in an old-fashioned tux, dark brown or navy blue, preferably one made out of velvet. Or corduroy, depending on which he prefers. He'll also have one of those top-hats with the buckles on the front, and square-toed shoes that go up past his ankles, with white stockings coming up to his calves and the pants tucked in.
Bride's dress will have puffy sleeves that go down to her wrists. It will also have a detachable apron for the front (which can double for honeymoon lingerie, saving even more money). She'd sport one of those cheery, poofy bonnets, which cuts costs on a hairdresser.
Guests will be handed pilgrim outfits upon entering the ceremony. These are easily made out of brown paper bags with holes cut for the head and arms, and magic marker details. Folded paper hats will complete their ensembles.
Colors: Orange, brown, and mustard yellow
Flowers: No need for flowers--Bride will carry a cornucopia filled with plastic fruit and vegetables.
Decor: With the help of my kids and the local kindergartens, I can make THOUSANDS of those little hand-turkeys with colored tails. Also, we would hire some actors to impersonate Native Americans. No need for authenticity--headbands with paper feathers attached should suffice.
Food for the reception: Turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and mini-pumpkin pies. Plus, you'll have tons of leftovers with which to make turkey sandwiches and soup until you want to vomit.
Entertainment during the reception: Pilgrim style dancing and music. Will require further research to determine if, in fact, pilgrims danced. If not, scripture study and prayer can replace the dancing. Also, a turkey bowl, which would be fun AND provide extra things to eat if we run low.
Option Two: We're so in Love, It's SCARY
Date: October 31st
Pros: What is more fun than costumes?
Cons: People may confuse it for a haunted house (in which case we could charge them admission, which will nicely offset the cost of renting a reception site)
Theme: Our Love Will Never Die
Bride will, of course, be a dead bride. Her dress will be artfully ripped and smeared with mud and red dye. Dress can be purchased at a thrift shop, since an out-of-date style will go even better. For her makeup, we'll do blood-red lips with a little bit dripping down the side, dark circles around her eyes, and base to make her look paler. We'll also rat up her hair, but in a cute way. The groom is a zombie. We may lose the deposit on the tux after we rip the pants legs off, though. Also, groom must be comfortable wearing makeup to zombify his look.
Colors: Orange and black with purple accents
Flowers: HUGE money saver here, since Bride will carry a spooky bouquet of dead flowers.
Decor: The entire reception will be decked out in orange and black streamers, and I'll start making construction paper* pumpkins, ghosts, and ghouls now. Also, we'll have the entire thing lit by black lights, which will hide any decorating flaws and make Bride's dress look AWESOME. The centerpieces will be jackolanterns.
Food for the reception: Huge bowls of candy and apple cider with dry ice so that it's all spooky and smokey. Instead of the traditional cutting the cake, bride and groom will bob for the same apple, which will be totally hot.
Entertainment: The line will be like trick-or-treating, with the wedding party handing candy to people instead of shaking hands. Also, at the end of the night, the entire group will perform a choreographed version of Thriller (also doubles as a tribute to Michael Jackson, which I think is a really lovely touch). Plus, since EVERYONE will be required to come in costume, when it's over the whole group can go out trick-or-treating together. Because that's what everyone wants to do on their wedding night, right?
Thanks to my business partner, my dad, we also have some working ideas with homeless shelters (hello, free food!) and a Sound of Music theme (outdoors in the hills = alive with music AND free). I can't wait to make wedding dreams reality. Forget writing; this is clearly my true calling in life.
*You may notice that construction paper features heavily in nearly all of my plans. I've got a long, very successful history of decorating with construction paper, including making a cheery fire place entirely out of the stuff when Hot Stuff and I were newly weds. If the wedding planning doesn't pan out, I may market myself as a low-cost interior decorator. You'd be AMAZED at what you can do with a forty-pack of paper, some scissors, and a little glue.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Holy Crap
This kid? He's three.
He also has a lot more teeth now.How did this happen? Sigh. Well, off to the store to buy lots and lots of balloons for my baby boy.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Liar, Liar
Normally I don't play tag. This stems from a traumatic childhood in which my stubby little legs could never quite keep up with anyone else. Hour upon hour I'd futilely run after the other children until I was weeping with exhaustion. "Please," I'd beg. "Please, I don't want to be it anymore!" And still they'd run on, always just a few steps in front of me, taunting me with the length of their legs and the speed of their flight.
However, I just can't resist Carrie Harris. (That, and I've got nothing creative going on in my brain today.) She tagged me with a lying meme, in which you answer the questions with, well, lies. I thought I'd get a running start on the lying with that introductory paragraph. Here goes.
Pride: What is your biggest contribution to the world?
I don't care how green you are, I'm greener. I'm single-handedly saving the world from global warming. Many of you may know that I don't have a car. You probably think this is because we can't afford one. You're quite wrong. I could have purchased a car years ago, I simply choose not to. Why? Because I'm more righteous than you are, and I get a sick pleasure from walking everywhere or turning down social outings because they are too far to walk. It's not MY carbon footprint that's ruining the atmosphere!
Envy: What do your coworkers wish they had which is yours?
Most people envy me for my dance skills. That is, until they see my gymnastics skills, and then they just want to die because they know there's no point in even envying anymore; my abilities are too far out of the reach of even their imaginations.
Gluttony: What did you eat last night?
Well, since I'm a vegan AND I'm the greenest and most environmentally AND health conscious person ever, of course I ate my completely organic, home-grown vegetables with a lovely raspberry vinaigrette I made myself. With things from my garden. That is in my MASSIVE yard. Behind my lovely home. And I ate all of this in my dining room. Which is not carpeted, or dominated by a hand-me-down, falling apart table and chairs. And it certainly doesn't double as our family room/tv room/kitchen.
Lust: What really lights your fire?
I'm all about Robert Pattinson. I love his glazed-over eyes, his greasy, unwashed hair, his pale, hairy skin...oh, baby.
Anger: What is the last thing that really pissed you off?
This video here. Come on, not even Buffy could resist my beloved Edward! NO ONE is immune to his stalkerly charms and incredibly awkward stares!
Greed: Name something you keep from others.
This goes hand-in-hand with Envy. My dance/gymnastics skills are too good for the world, and I refuse to share them with the undeserving.
Sloth: What's the laziest thing you've ever done?
As you can no doubt tell, what with greening the world, nurturing my garden, obsessing over Robert Pattinson, and practicing my sweet dance moves, I'm about the least lazy person ever. However, when my kids were infants I refused to get up with them in the middle of the night, instead making Hot Stuff wake up each and every time they cried, which was frequently the entire night. But really, I needed the sleep more than he did. He was just, you know, in school and working and whatever. I was storing energy to keep saving the world.
Since I am in the best shape of my life, I tag each and every single one of you, because there is NO ONE who could outrun me.
(Okay, done with the lying now.)
However, I just can't resist Carrie Harris. (That, and I've got nothing creative going on in my brain today.) She tagged me with a lying meme, in which you answer the questions with, well, lies. I thought I'd get a running start on the lying with that introductory paragraph. Here goes.
Pride: What is your biggest contribution to the world?
I don't care how green you are, I'm greener. I'm single-handedly saving the world from global warming. Many of you may know that I don't have a car. You probably think this is because we can't afford one. You're quite wrong. I could have purchased a car years ago, I simply choose not to. Why? Because I'm more righteous than you are, and I get a sick pleasure from walking everywhere or turning down social outings because they are too far to walk. It's not MY carbon footprint that's ruining the atmosphere!
Envy: What do your coworkers wish they had which is yours?
Most people envy me for my dance skills. That is, until they see my gymnastics skills, and then they just want to die because they know there's no point in even envying anymore; my abilities are too far out of the reach of even their imaginations.
Gluttony: What did you eat last night?
Well, since I'm a vegan AND I'm the greenest and most environmentally AND health conscious person ever, of course I ate my completely organic, home-grown vegetables with a lovely raspberry vinaigrette I made myself. With things from my garden. That is in my MASSIVE yard. Behind my lovely home. And I ate all of this in my dining room. Which is not carpeted, or dominated by a hand-me-down, falling apart table and chairs. And it certainly doesn't double as our family room/tv room/kitchen.
Lust: What really lights your fire?
I'm all about Robert Pattinson. I love his glazed-over eyes, his greasy, unwashed hair, his pale, hairy skin...oh, baby.
Anger: What is the last thing that really pissed you off?
This video here. Come on, not even Buffy could resist my beloved Edward! NO ONE is immune to his stalkerly charms and incredibly awkward stares!
Greed: Name something you keep from others.
This goes hand-in-hand with Envy. My dance/gymnastics skills are too good for the world, and I refuse to share them with the undeserving.
Sloth: What's the laziest thing you've ever done?
As you can no doubt tell, what with greening the world, nurturing my garden, obsessing over Robert Pattinson, and practicing my sweet dance moves, I'm about the least lazy person ever. However, when my kids were infants I refused to get up with them in the middle of the night, instead making Hot Stuff wake up each and every time they cried, which was frequently the entire night. But really, I needed the sleep more than he did. He was just, you know, in school and working and whatever. I was storing energy to keep saving the world.
Since I am in the best shape of my life, I tag each and every single one of you, because there is NO ONE who could outrun me.
(Okay, done with the lying now.)
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Park City Zombie Apocalypse: Part Four
(You'll want to read in chronological order. Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here. Sorry for the lack of timely posting. Family in town + hyper demanding and clingy 3-year-old = tired Kiersten. If it makes you feel any better, I actually had zombie nightmares last night for the first time ever. I blame this story and Carrie Harris.)
"I know they're just up here somewhere," I said to Hot Stuff as we slowly drove up the winding mountain road. Lush green trees on either side obscured the view, making it impossible to see what was coming around each curve. Huge dump trucks kept passing us, heading down the canyon. I hadn't realized there was so much construction in this area.
Suddenly we broke out of the trees. On our right, set off the road several hundred yards, was a series of small, industrial looking buildings. Hot Stuff slowed. "Is that the mine?"
"I don't know. I haven't been here since high school." We both frowned, staring. When I came the mine was a big tourist attraction. These buildings were surrounded by massive chain-link fences topped with razor wire and--electrified? Really?
"It looks like that's a working building or mine or whatever it is." He was right--the parking lot was full. Even though it was only late afternoon, huge flood lights illuminated the entire complex. Several of the big dump trucks we had seen on the way were lined up. Men in biohazard suits pulled bulky things out, then dragged them along the ground into the building I was fairly sure housed the old mine.
"What on earth?" Hot Stuff pointed, squinting. "Are they pulling out--"
He stopped the car and we both stared, stunned, at the bulky shapes we now recognized.
Bodies.
"I know they're just up here somewhere," I said to Hot Stuff as we slowly drove up the winding mountain road. Lush green trees on either side obscured the view, making it impossible to see what was coming around each curve. Huge dump trucks kept passing us, heading down the canyon. I hadn't realized there was so much construction in this area.
Suddenly we broke out of the trees. On our right, set off the road several hundred yards, was a series of small, industrial looking buildings. Hot Stuff slowed. "Is that the mine?"
"I don't know. I haven't been here since high school." We both frowned, staring. When I came the mine was a big tourist attraction. These buildings were surrounded by massive chain-link fences topped with razor wire and--electrified? Really?
"It looks like that's a working building or mine or whatever it is." He was right--the parking lot was full. Even though it was only late afternoon, huge flood lights illuminated the entire complex. Several of the big dump trucks we had seen on the way were lined up. Men in biohazard suits pulled bulky things out, then dragged them along the ground into the building I was fairly sure housed the old mine.
"What on earth?" Hot Stuff pointed, squinting. "Are they pulling out--"
He stopped the car and we both stared, stunned, at the bulky shapes we now recognized.
Bodies.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Talent
Hard: Trying to cut the hair of a squirming, incapable of sitting still and facing forward five-year-old who DEMANDED that it be done today.
Harder: Trying to do so while a whiny, energetic three-year-old is quite literally climbing all over you, not to mention trying to "help" you with the scissors every time you have to put them down.
Hardest: Doing all of this while JUGGLING FLAMING BRUSHES OF DOOM!
So far I'm only at the Harder level, but I'm working toward Hardest.
In other news, I have officially decided that this funk I've been in for the last nine or ten months needs to be over. It's always hard getting out of these things, though. I've written it a break-up letter. I should probably just do it in person, but confrontation can be so awkward.
Dear Funk,
You've been my constant companion for these last several months. I'd like to say we've had some good times together, but let's face it, we're a bad match. You make me grouchy and tired. You sap my creative energy. You make me short tempered with my beautiful kids and awesome hubby.
Most of all, I'm just tired and bored of you and we're done. I'm sorry. Go find yourself a Charlie Brown type, because we're not a good couple.
Warmest regards--well, actually, GET LOST.
--Kiersten
So, newly funk-free (but totally funkalicious) me has to go finish cleaning. Because that's what funkalicious people do. Also, I may need to grow a goatee, but that'll take a while.
Harder: Trying to do so while a whiny, energetic three-year-old is quite literally climbing all over you, not to mention trying to "help" you with the scissors every time you have to put them down.
Hardest: Doing all of this while JUGGLING FLAMING BRUSHES OF DOOM!
So far I'm only at the Harder level, but I'm working toward Hardest.
In other news, I have officially decided that this funk I've been in for the last nine or ten months needs to be over. It's always hard getting out of these things, though. I've written it a break-up letter. I should probably just do it in person, but confrontation can be so awkward.
Dear Funk,
You've been my constant companion for these last several months. I'd like to say we've had some good times together, but let's face it, we're a bad match. You make me grouchy and tired. You sap my creative energy. You make me short tempered with my beautiful kids and awesome hubby.
Most of all, I'm just tired and bored of you and we're done. I'm sorry. Go find yourself a Charlie Brown type, because we're not a good couple.
Warmest regards--well, actually, GET LOST.
--Kiersten
So, newly funk-free (but totally funkalicious) me has to go finish cleaning. Because that's what funkalicious people do. Also, I may need to grow a goatee, but that'll take a while.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Haunting in San Diego
Many years ago when we actually had cable of any sort, Hot Stuff and I used to enjoy the Discovery Channel programming on hauntings. Mostly because the stories and reenactments were hilarious. Gee, let's see...you've just gotten remarried and mixed two families, moved to a new home, and gotten pregnant. Why on earth would one of your children suddenly be "hearing things" and waking up upset in the middle of the night? Is it a plea for attention? No, it's...
Ghosts!
Or, after months of hearing things and having weird lights dance in front of your eyes you realize that one of the gas pipes wasn't properly connected and has been leaking poison into your home the entire time. Natural conclusion?
Ghosts!
Not that, you know, the gas was affecting you and causing you to hallucinate or anything. No, no, of course not. The ghosts were, in fact, warning you about the gas!
Or, after remarrying, your husband not only has to adjust to having four kids that aren't his, he also has to try and help you remodel an absolutely trashed home, and on top of all of that loses his job. So, constantly losing his temper and staying up all hours of the night to play the organ isn't, in fact, evidence of a nervous breakdown. No, it's...
Ghosts!
Anyway, we've recently rediscovered the joy of narration and cheesy reenactments of ghostly events thanks to DVD sets. So I thought I'd give my life the same treatment. I give you
A Haunting: Madness Descends
The Story of Kiersten White
[Images of extreme close-ups on blurry mouths laughing, fingers typing inhumanely fast, and a woman with crazed eyes flash across the screen, followed by the title.]
[Outdoor shots of an idyllic location, good looking young man and woman getting out of a car and smiling lovingly at one another.]
Narrator, in a deep voice laced with overdramatic menace:
Hot Stuff and Kiersten had enjoyed a perfect couple of years of marriage together. Now, with their young baby, they were excited to finally move into an apartment of their own.
Little did they know what horrors awaited them there...
[Cut to an interview with Kiersten, now incredibly old and looking nothing like the pretty young actor playing her for the reenactments.]
Well, it all started around the time we had our second child, Dojo. Suddenly none of us could sleep anymore.
[Images of all of the family members tossing and turning in bed.]
Everywhere I went I was haunted by the sound of a baby screaming.
[Fast forward a couple of years, because it kind of drags at this point, with them consulting books and trying to figure out how to get rid of the ghostly presences making their kids colicky and vomity.]
[Interview with Hot Stuff who, while older, is far better looking than the actor portraying him.]
It was around this time that a strange change took place in Kiersten. She'd sit down with the laptop and just...disappear. For hours on end, her fingers running over the keyboard inhumanely fast. It was like she was possessed or something.
[Footage of the Kiersten actress, looking increasingly manic as she types furiously on the laptop. Hot Stuff tries to lure her away but she just shakes her head, muttering something about needing to finish.]
[Interview with Kiersten.]
That was such a strange time. Everywhere I went there were little pudgy hands, tugging on me, pulling me, whining...but I never knew what they wanted!
[Footage of Kiersten actress swatting at invisible hands, screaming, "What do you want me to do!?! Just give me a moment's peace, please!" Later, Kiersten weeping on the couch, a confused Hot Stuff helplessly patting her on the back. "I just don't know how much more I can take!"]
Interview Kiersten: I couldn't even get away from them at night. Phantom cries would wake me up at all hours. There was no rest, no peace. Messes I had just cleaned up mysteriously reappeared. Things vanished, lost without a trace. The dishes multiplied in the sink.
Narrator: The family tried everything, even consulting some well-known local parapsychologists.
[Footage of goofily-dressed people wandering the apartment with strange devices, shaking their heads and giving each other concerned looks while Kiersten and Hot Stuff look on in a mixture of worry and skepticism.]
Nothing worked.
Kiersten: That's why I turned to writing. Sure, Hot Stuff thought I was going crazy at first, and maybe I was a little possessed, but really it was the only thing keeping me sane. Eventually Hot Stuff became my biggest supporter.
Narrator, voicing over footage of the family growing happier and then moving out of the apartment:
Gradually things got better for the family. The fiendish creatures plaguing Kiersten matured, went to school. They were even able to move out of their apartment. Things were finally better.
Until...
[Shot of actress Kiersten, looking down at a pregnancy test. "Ah, crap."]
Roll credits.
(Note: This is NOT an announcement. I am not pregnant. If I were pregnant, my reaction would not be ah, crap. It would be, about freaking time!)
Ghosts!
Or, after months of hearing things and having weird lights dance in front of your eyes you realize that one of the gas pipes wasn't properly connected and has been leaking poison into your home the entire time. Natural conclusion?
Ghosts!
Not that, you know, the gas was affecting you and causing you to hallucinate or anything. No, no, of course not. The ghosts were, in fact, warning you about the gas!
Or, after remarrying, your husband not only has to adjust to having four kids that aren't his, he also has to try and help you remodel an absolutely trashed home, and on top of all of that loses his job. So, constantly losing his temper and staying up all hours of the night to play the organ isn't, in fact, evidence of a nervous breakdown. No, it's...
Ghosts!
Anyway, we've recently rediscovered the joy of narration and cheesy reenactments of ghostly events thanks to DVD sets. So I thought I'd give my life the same treatment. I give you
A Haunting: Madness Descends
The Story of Kiersten White
[Images of extreme close-ups on blurry mouths laughing, fingers typing inhumanely fast, and a woman with crazed eyes flash across the screen, followed by the title.]
[Outdoor shots of an idyllic location, good looking young man and woman getting out of a car and smiling lovingly at one another.]
Narrator, in a deep voice laced with overdramatic menace:
Hot Stuff and Kiersten had enjoyed a perfect couple of years of marriage together. Now, with their young baby, they were excited to finally move into an apartment of their own.
Little did they know what horrors awaited them there...
[Cut to an interview with Kiersten, now incredibly old and looking nothing like the pretty young actor playing her for the reenactments.]
Well, it all started around the time we had our second child, Dojo. Suddenly none of us could sleep anymore.
[Images of all of the family members tossing and turning in bed.]
Everywhere I went I was haunted by the sound of a baby screaming.
[Fast forward a couple of years, because it kind of drags at this point, with them consulting books and trying to figure out how to get rid of the ghostly presences making their kids colicky and vomity.]
[Interview with Hot Stuff who, while older, is far better looking than the actor portraying him.]
It was around this time that a strange change took place in Kiersten. She'd sit down with the laptop and just...disappear. For hours on end, her fingers running over the keyboard inhumanely fast. It was like she was possessed or something.
[Footage of the Kiersten actress, looking increasingly manic as she types furiously on the laptop. Hot Stuff tries to lure her away but she just shakes her head, muttering something about needing to finish.]
[Interview with Kiersten.]
That was such a strange time. Everywhere I went there were little pudgy hands, tugging on me, pulling me, whining...but I never knew what they wanted!
[Footage of Kiersten actress swatting at invisible hands, screaming, "What do you want me to do!?! Just give me a moment's peace, please!" Later, Kiersten weeping on the couch, a confused Hot Stuff helplessly patting her on the back. "I just don't know how much more I can take!"]
Interview Kiersten: I couldn't even get away from them at night. Phantom cries would wake me up at all hours. There was no rest, no peace. Messes I had just cleaned up mysteriously reappeared. Things vanished, lost without a trace. The dishes multiplied in the sink.
Narrator: The family tried everything, even consulting some well-known local parapsychologists.
[Footage of goofily-dressed people wandering the apartment with strange devices, shaking their heads and giving each other concerned looks while Kiersten and Hot Stuff look on in a mixture of worry and skepticism.]
Nothing worked.
Kiersten: That's why I turned to writing. Sure, Hot Stuff thought I was going crazy at first, and maybe I was a little possessed, but really it was the only thing keeping me sane. Eventually Hot Stuff became my biggest supporter.
Narrator, voicing over footage of the family growing happier and then moving out of the apartment:
Gradually things got better for the family. The fiendish creatures plaguing Kiersten matured, went to school. They were even able to move out of their apartment. Things were finally better.
Until...
[Shot of actress Kiersten, looking down at a pregnancy test. "Ah, crap."]
Roll credits.
(Note: This is NOT an announcement. I am not pregnant. If I were pregnant, my reaction would not be ah, crap. It would be, about freaking time!)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Ack
I'm a mess today. Crying over news articles, stressing out over Iran so much I don't know what to do with myself, so on and so forth. And, as is becoming my backup, I'm just going to give you some of my favorite boys to narrate my feelings today:
What can I say. Flight of the Conchords just speaks to my soul.
What can I say. Flight of the Conchords just speaks to my soul.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Important Things
In lieu of a post today, I'm going to direct you to John Green's blog, where he gives an amazingly well-stated response to the idea of lumping all of Islam (or any religion) into one definition.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart. Hot Stuff is fluent in Arabic and studied international politics in undergrad. We've had many a discussion on exactly this. It's disappointing and infuriating to me when people accept and even encourage anti-Muslim sentiments under the banner of patriotism. In my mind, that's the opposite of patriotism.
I'm grateful for people like John who can express exactly why that is so wrong and who care enough to do so. I'm also grateful for a president who doesn't equate an entire religion with a handful of terrorists.
Tomorrow we'll be back to our regularly scheduled ridiculousness with the fourth installment of Park City Zombie Apocalypse.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart. Hot Stuff is fluent in Arabic and studied international politics in undergrad. We've had many a discussion on exactly this. It's disappointing and infuriating to me when people accept and even encourage anti-Muslim sentiments under the banner of patriotism. In my mind, that's the opposite of patriotism.
I'm grateful for people like John who can express exactly why that is so wrong and who care enough to do so. I'm also grateful for a president who doesn't equate an entire religion with a handful of terrorists.
Tomorrow we'll be back to our regularly scheduled ridiculousness with the fourth installment of Park City Zombie Apocalypse.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Poetry: The Revenge: The Sequel
Someday I hope to have a title with about five : separating ideas. I could probably have added Redux to this one.
Carrie wanted me to write a poem about what it's like working for The Universe. (In case you didn't know, I'm one of its many personal assistants. Sometimes it sends emails through me.) And, in honor of Carrie's fabulous Haiku Book Reviews, I decided to stick to her format.
Secretary to The Universe
My boss, everywhere
Omniscient, Omnipresent
No faking sick days
It's a tough gig. You'd think I'd get a lot of good karmic pay. You'd be wrong.
Jamie wanted a poem about a little girl learning to swim. Interesting anecdote: I wouldn't set foot in the deep end until...far, far too late for me to feel comfortable admitting it on the blog.
Swimming Lessons
"I'm drowning! I'm drowning! Oh, mom, can't you see?"
Darling, the water comes right to your knee.
"But the deep end! It's scary! I simply won't go."
Then the joys of the diving board you'll never know.
"But what if I trip? What if I fall right in?"
Then it's a good thing you now know how to swim.
"I won't do it, I won't, I'll just--hey, there's my friend!"
And off she goes skipping to the scary deep end.
Alrighty then, that concludes our latest adventures in poetry. I'd have to say the best of this batch was the superhero poem. Some day I promise I'll take more than five minutes to write them.
Carrie wanted me to write a poem about what it's like working for The Universe. (In case you didn't know, I'm one of its many personal assistants. Sometimes it sends emails through me.) And, in honor of Carrie's fabulous Haiku Book Reviews, I decided to stick to her format.
Secretary to The Universe
My boss, everywhere
Omniscient, Omnipresent
No faking sick days
It's a tough gig. You'd think I'd get a lot of good karmic pay. You'd be wrong.
Jamie wanted a poem about a little girl learning to swim. Interesting anecdote: I wouldn't set foot in the deep end until...far, far too late for me to feel comfortable admitting it on the blog.
Swimming Lessons
"I'm drowning! I'm drowning! Oh, mom, can't you see?"
Darling, the water comes right to your knee.
"But the deep end! It's scary! I simply won't go."
Then the joys of the diving board you'll never know.
"But what if I trip? What if I fall right in?"
Then it's a good thing you now know how to swim.
"I won't do it, I won't, I'll just--hey, there's my friend!"
And off she goes skipping to the scary deep end.
Alrighty then, that concludes our latest adventures in poetry. I'd have to say the best of this batch was the superhero poem. Some day I promise I'll take more than five minutes to write them.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Poetical
Yesterday I asked for poem suggestions. The first came from Little Brother, who said, "Write a poem about a sad little boy who wishes so hard that he could fly that he does not even notice his other magical powers."
Dude. That's a short story right there. Still, I'll give it a shot.
"I wish I could fly," Danny said with a sigh,
laser toasting his muffin with beams from his eye.
"Life would be easier, of that there's no doubt."
Using one hand to shift furniture about,
"I'm missing a shoe," he moaned with great inflection.
"In the sky there's no need for dumb foot protection."
He x-rayed the house with his special vision
Saw his shoe, and two cars nearing collision.
Rolling his eyes, his transported outside
And stopped time as he moved each car to the side.
That done, he picked up his shoe from the yard.
"I'm afraid that not flying makes life just too hard.
How can I go on under such circumstances?
I step on poor Sally's feet at all the dances.
One day I'll be special, one day I'll feel good.
If one thing--just one thing--was better, I could."
Man, poor guy.
Lotusgirl requested a poem about a little girl lost in a field or garden of oversized vegetables.
Lulu yawned wearily
eyes blinking blearily
Still, she determined
to greet the day cheerily.
Sat up from her bed
eyes popped in her head
she must be in hell
surely she was dead.
How else to explain
the horror, the pain
of so many green things
she held with disdain.
"It can't be!" she screamed
as around her gleamed
carrots, broccoli, peas
in sizes obscene.
Bigger far than she
veggies she could see
crowding around her
it just couldn't be.
"No, I won't do it!
This nightmare I quit!"
She squeezed her eyes shut
in a petulant fit.
The veggies all sighed
it couldn't be denied
their efforts were wasted
and so the dream died.
Replaced by another
of Lulu's mother
serving her sweet things
until she developed type 2 diabetes and had to deal with that for the rest of her life.
The other two to follow later today, or perhaps tomorrow, depending on how much work I have.
Dude. That's a short story right there. Still, I'll give it a shot.
"I wish I could fly," Danny said with a sigh,
laser toasting his muffin with beams from his eye.
"Life would be easier, of that there's no doubt."
Using one hand to shift furniture about,
"I'm missing a shoe," he moaned with great inflection.
"In the sky there's no need for dumb foot protection."
He x-rayed the house with his special vision
Saw his shoe, and two cars nearing collision.
Rolling his eyes, his transported outside
And stopped time as he moved each car to the side.
That done, he picked up his shoe from the yard.
"I'm afraid that not flying makes life just too hard.
How can I go on under such circumstances?
I step on poor Sally's feet at all the dances.
One day I'll be special, one day I'll feel good.
If one thing--just one thing--was better, I could."
Man, poor guy.
Lotusgirl requested a poem about a little girl lost in a field or garden of oversized vegetables.
Lulu yawned wearily
eyes blinking blearily
Still, she determined
to greet the day cheerily.
Sat up from her bed
eyes popped in her head
she must be in hell
surely she was dead.
How else to explain
the horror, the pain
of so many green things
she held with disdain.
"It can't be!" she screamed
as around her gleamed
carrots, broccoli, peas
in sizes obscene.
Bigger far than she
veggies she could see
crowding around her
it just couldn't be.
"No, I won't do it!
This nightmare I quit!"
She squeezed her eyes shut
in a petulant fit.
The veggies all sighed
it couldn't be denied
their efforts were wasted
and so the dream died.
Replaced by another
of Lulu's mother
serving her sweet things
until she developed type 2 diabetes and had to deal with that for the rest of her life.
The other two to follow later today, or perhaps tomorrow, depending on how much work I have.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday?
Yes indeed. I couldn't fall asleep last night for several hours. When, this morning at 6:15 I blearily got up to kiss Hot Stuff goodbye, I was so happy that it was Friday.
Until I realized it wasn't.
Still, there's no reason Monday and I can't be good friends. Right, Monday? BEST friends. And in honor of Monday, I thought I'd do another open poetry session. I'll write whatever the first four people submit for a poem idea, topic, or title.* Examples can be found here and here. Anyone can offer a suggestion.
Have at it, folks.
*Certain limitations apply. No purchase necessary. If, by some freak chance, writer cannot think of a poem for your idea, writer reserves the right to skip your suggestion. You reserve the right to then heckle said writer.
Until I realized it wasn't.
Still, there's no reason Monday and I can't be good friends. Right, Monday? BEST friends. And in honor of Monday, I thought I'd do another open poetry session. I'll write whatever the first four people submit for a poem idea, topic, or title.* Examples can be found here and here. Anyone can offer a suggestion.
Have at it, folks.
*Certain limitations apply. No purchase necessary. If, by some freak chance, writer cannot think of a poem for your idea, writer reserves the right to skip your suggestion. You reserve the right to then heckle said writer.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Books! Books!
I love books. Oh, I love books so much. I've been a bit distracted lately; this may or may not have something to do with the fact that I read six novels last week. Only three this week though, I've had too much freelance work.
I love the way books look and feel. I love the way the smell. I love wandering around the bookstore, picking up pretty ones, deciding which will come home with me. Pretty, pretty books.
Pop Quiz: What do these books have in common?
A. They are all brand new.
B. They have all been read at least once, some twice.
C. Why are you posting pictures of book spines on your blog, Kiersten? Lame. Books are almost as lame as your blog!
If you answered A or C, I'm sorry to say you're wrong. (Also, if you answered C, meet me at the flagpole after school because you're going down.) The correct answer is B--they've all been read, some of them multiple times.
What's this, you say? Why are their spines so perfectly intact? BECAUSE I LOVE MY BOOKS. I once lent out a book to [name redacted to protect someone I like very much] and when it came back to me, the spine was cracked down the middle and I was livid.
LIVID.
I didn't say anything, of course, but I'll never lend a book to that person again. In fact, I cringe when I loan out books in general. I love giving recommendations, but parting with my own precious darlings is much, much harder.
However, this need for books to be pristine presents problems. Hardcovers are okay to haul around, but if I've got a paperback I'm in the middle of reading I'm out of luck. There are always chances here and there to read that I can never take advantage of because I'm too worried the book will get crunched and creased in my purse.
Correction: I never could take books with me everywhere. And then I got a present from the wonderful Natalie and her amazingly talented mom:
I know what you're thinking: My goodness, Kiersten, what lovely fingers you have. No, no, don't look at the fingers, look at what they're holding! That's right! It's a...what is it? This should help:
Exactly! (I know what you're thinking now, what adorably pudgy hands Dojo has, but focus here!) It's a book cover! A clever AND adorable little bag, perfectly designed for protecting books and letting you take them anywhere.
And I love it.
Now the only problem is I kind of want a book-protector-protector, because really, it's too pretty to get shoved in my purse...
If I seem a little loopy, it's because I am. After all, I just ran out of these:
and they don't sell them here. I'm not happy about that. NOT HAPPY AT ALL.
I love the way books look and feel. I love the way the smell. I love wandering around the bookstore, picking up pretty ones, deciding which will come home with me. Pretty, pretty books.
Pop Quiz: What do these books have in common?
A. They are all brand new.B. They have all been read at least once, some twice.
C. Why are you posting pictures of book spines on your blog, Kiersten? Lame. Books are almost as lame as your blog!
If you answered A or C, I'm sorry to say you're wrong. (Also, if you answered C, meet me at the flagpole after school because you're going down.) The correct answer is B--they've all been read, some of them multiple times.
What's this, you say? Why are their spines so perfectly intact? BECAUSE I LOVE MY BOOKS. I once lent out a book to [name redacted to protect someone I like very much] and when it came back to me, the spine was cracked down the middle and I was livid.
LIVID.
I didn't say anything, of course, but I'll never lend a book to that person again. In fact, I cringe when I loan out books in general. I love giving recommendations, but parting with my own precious darlings is much, much harder.
However, this need for books to be pristine presents problems. Hardcovers are okay to haul around, but if I've got a paperback I'm in the middle of reading I'm out of luck. There are always chances here and there to read that I can never take advantage of because I'm too worried the book will get crunched and creased in my purse.
Correction: I never could take books with me everywhere. And then I got a present from the wonderful Natalie and her amazingly talented mom:
I know what you're thinking: My goodness, Kiersten, what lovely fingers you have. No, no, don't look at the fingers, look at what they're holding! That's right! It's a...what is it? This should help:
Exactly! (I know what you're thinking now, what adorably pudgy hands Dojo has, but focus here!) It's a book cover! A clever AND adorable little bag, perfectly designed for protecting books and letting you take them anywhere.And I love it.
Now the only problem is I kind of want a book-protector-protector, because really, it's too pretty to get shoved in my purse...
If I seem a little loopy, it's because I am. After all, I just ran out of these:
and they don't sell them here. I'm not happy about that. NOT HAPPY AT ALL.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Rage
(The newest installment of Park City Zombie Apocalypse is in the post below.)
I read a book the other day that, quite frankly, filled me with rage. Rage over the story that didn't make much sense, was a blatant knockoff of a popular series, and was poorly edited to boot.
But here's what bothered me the most. (I promise I love reading and I love books. If I Stay was amazing, and I'm in the middle of The Mysterious Benedict Society, which is just delightful. Back to the rant now.) The love interest, upon finding out that the girl's father (the father she has never known) is something he doesn't like, storms off in a rage. Right when she needs him the most. And she's not mad at him! She just feels horrible that she's part [details purposely left out] and that it hurt him. WHAT?!? And then, the end of the book? Instead of apologizing to her, he forgives her.
FORGIVES HER FOR WHAT HER BIOLOGICAL FATHER SHE'D NEVER MET IS?!? Are you kidding me? And get this--rather than telling him to go suck an egg, she's grateful! Grateful that he's so noble he can get over the fact that her father is a [blank].
Come on, folks. All of the rest of that nonsense I can get over, but when you give teenage girls a romantic relationship like this, I get angry. I could see if he was upset and left, then apologized profusely and she gave it some time. But no! It was, "I guess it's okay." "Oh, THANK YOU! Let's make out because I'm so relieved that you've forgiven me for BEING A CHILD OF RAPE!"
(Kiersten takes several deep breaths to calm herself down.)
Sorry. Just had to vent. There are many horrible things I can forgive in YA writing, but teaching girls to devalue themselves and to depend on their jerk boyfriends for their sense of identity and worth?
That's not one of them.
I read a book the other day that, quite frankly, filled me with rage. Rage over the story that didn't make much sense, was a blatant knockoff of a popular series, and was poorly edited to boot.
But here's what bothered me the most. (I promise I love reading and I love books. If I Stay was amazing, and I'm in the middle of The Mysterious Benedict Society, which is just delightful. Back to the rant now.) The love interest, upon finding out that the girl's father (the father she has never known) is something he doesn't like, storms off in a rage. Right when she needs him the most. And she's not mad at him! She just feels horrible that she's part [details purposely left out] and that it hurt him. WHAT?!? And then, the end of the book? Instead of apologizing to her, he forgives her.
FORGIVES HER FOR WHAT HER BIOLOGICAL FATHER SHE'D NEVER MET IS?!? Are you kidding me? And get this--rather than telling him to go suck an egg, she's grateful! Grateful that he's so noble he can get over the fact that her father is a [blank].
Come on, folks. All of the rest of that nonsense I can get over, but when you give teenage girls a romantic relationship like this, I get angry. I could see if he was upset and left, then apologized profusely and she gave it some time. But no! It was, "I guess it's okay." "Oh, THANK YOU! Let's make out because I'm so relieved that you've forgiven me for BEING A CHILD OF RAPE!"
(Kiersten takes several deep breaths to calm herself down.)
Sorry. Just had to vent. There are many horrible things I can forgive in YA writing, but teaching girls to devalue themselves and to depend on their jerk boyfriends for their sense of identity and worth?
That's not one of them.
Park City Zombie Apocalypse: Part Three
(You can find part one of the story here; part two, here. Or you can just scroll down, but if you're half as lazy as I am, you won't.)
I screamed, jumping into Hot Stuff before I realized just what the dark shape was. It was a cat--sort of. Someone had taken the initiative to shave it, leaving only a mane, a poofy tail, and furry feet. The rest revealed a rather overweight feline that was, no doubt, as horrified by its owner's odd sense of humor as I was.
It pulled to an abrupt halt in front of us, sniffed the air with as suspicious a look as a cat can manage, and then curled up in a ball and went to sleep.
I jumped again as a young man popped up from behind the counter. His narrowed eyes went from us to the cat, and he nodded as though satisfied of something. "Welcome to Dolly's Books. Can I help you?"
I laughed nervously. This city was weird. "Umm, what's up with the cat?"
"Early warning system."
I frowned at Hot Stuff, but he just shrugged, apparently not getting the joke either. We perused the book store, ultimately deciding on a couple of finger puppets to bring home to the kids. The young man rang us up; his eyes constantly darted to the door and he seemed even more twitchy than I felt.
"Thanks," Hot Stuff said, taking the bag.
The young man nodded grimly, and bid us farewell with a muttered, "Good luck."
Back out on the street, I took Hot Stuff's hand. "Is it just me, or is this place strange?"
He nodded. Then, being Hot Stuff, he started laughing. "It feels like a zombie apocalypse movie or something. Like at any moment zombies will come boiling out of the empty stores, or crest the top of that hill."
I laughed with him, trying to ignore the nervous pit in my stomach. He was exactly right. When he jokingly started talking strategies for when the zombies came, I grasped his hand tighter and paid attention--just in case.
A small restaurant was open, and we ducked in. "Excuse me," I said to the hostess, who had quickly stashed something behind her back when we walked in. "We wanted to find the silver mines, but they aren't listed on any maps."
Her eyes went wide. "The silver mines?" she whispered.
We nodded.
"You don't want to go there."
To be continued...
I screamed, jumping into Hot Stuff before I realized just what the dark shape was. It was a cat--sort of. Someone had taken the initiative to shave it, leaving only a mane, a poofy tail, and furry feet. The rest revealed a rather overweight feline that was, no doubt, as horrified by its owner's odd sense of humor as I was.
It pulled to an abrupt halt in front of us, sniffed the air with as suspicious a look as a cat can manage, and then curled up in a ball and went to sleep.
I jumped again as a young man popped up from behind the counter. His narrowed eyes went from us to the cat, and he nodded as though satisfied of something. "Welcome to Dolly's Books. Can I help you?"
I laughed nervously. This city was weird. "Umm, what's up with the cat?"
"Early warning system."
I frowned at Hot Stuff, but he just shrugged, apparently not getting the joke either. We perused the book store, ultimately deciding on a couple of finger puppets to bring home to the kids. The young man rang us up; his eyes constantly darted to the door and he seemed even more twitchy than I felt.
"Thanks," Hot Stuff said, taking the bag.
The young man nodded grimly, and bid us farewell with a muttered, "Good luck."
Back out on the street, I took Hot Stuff's hand. "Is it just me, or is this place strange?"
He nodded. Then, being Hot Stuff, he started laughing. "It feels like a zombie apocalypse movie or something. Like at any moment zombies will come boiling out of the empty stores, or crest the top of that hill."
I laughed with him, trying to ignore the nervous pit in my stomach. He was exactly right. When he jokingly started talking strategies for when the zombies came, I grasped his hand tighter and paid attention--just in case.
A small restaurant was open, and we ducked in. "Excuse me," I said to the hostess, who had quickly stashed something behind her back when we walked in. "We wanted to find the silver mines, but they aren't listed on any maps."
Her eyes went wide. "The silver mines?" she whispered.
We nodded.
"You don't want to go there."
To be continued...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tidbits
I know, I know--"What about the zombie apocalypse?!? How are we ever going to know if you and Hot Stuff made it out alive?!? I CAN'T HANDLE THE SUSPENSE!!!" First of all, calm down. All of that triple punctuation, good heavens. Second of all, rest assured that the story will pick up where it left off from.
Here are some random bits for today:
Here are some random bits for today:
- How early is too early to make brownies? I always wonder when I, say, pop in a batch at nine in the morning. Or when I want to hit the Dr Pepper before noon. Are there any rules about these things, or am I confusing them with alcohol? (I mean, not literally confusing them with alcohol, like I go to eat a brownie and drink a beer instead. While I have never tasted alcohol, I think it'd be pretty hard to accidentally drink it.)
- I started sending out my sci-fi short, "Womb," yesterday. Waiting! Wheeeeee! I love waiting.
- I've been debating what to work on next. I was leaning toward writing a few more short stories so I could submit them on a rotating basis (most magazines only want exclusive submissions), but alas, Henry demanded otherwise. Henry's one of the love interests of my WIP. The less...corporeal...love interest. For an imaginary dude that's not even alive, he's very, very persuasive. I could just see his intense green-brown eyes, staring flatly at me, demanding that I finish his tale without a word. And then I checked myself into a psychiatric facility because not only do I have imaginary friends, but they tell me to do things...
- I really like the way bullet points look.
- Paranormalcy should be going out on submission very, very soon. The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. The only thing worse than waiting is waiting to wait. But this brings me to a
- Very Important Question: Which title do you like better: Paranormalcy or Para Normal? (In my head the Para is in a really straight, all-caps font, and the Normal is in kind of a cursive. Like this: PARA Normal
- I love this book.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Park City: Zombie Apocalypse Part Two
(Read part one here.)
Hot Stuff and I found a parking spot in a nearly empty lot, then walked over to Park City's Main Street, holding hands.
"Gosh, there's no one here," I mused. We walked up the street for a while, finding to our dismay that most of the shops were closed. A mall-type center advertised tourist information, so we went inside.
Instead of bright lights and bustling (or if not bustling, at least populated) stores, we found the whole building dim, barely lit. Metal grills were pulled down over most of the store fronts, giving the entire place an almost sinister feeling. The escalators, silent and stilled, lead to a second level shrouded in shadow. I shivered as we walked, feeling unseen eyes looking down on us.
I was being silly.
The tourist information center was abandoned. Neat rows of pamphlets and advertisements lined the side, so we perused and took the most promising of the bunch. We had our hearts set on visiting the silver mine, where Hot Stuff's great-grandpa had worked, but oddly enough not a single pamphlet even mentioned it. I glanced up at the chalkboard behind the empty desk. A single handprint disturbed the layer of dust--perfect at the top and then dragged down, as though someone had grabbed the chalkboard and then been pulled away.
Were those faded brown spots on the linoleum floor beneath the chalkboard what I thought they were?
"Let's go back out to the street," I said, frowning. I didn't like this building. Just as we opened the door, I thought I heard one of the store grills rattling. Shaking my head, I braced against the chill that even late May couldn't erase from the mountain air. I needed a happy store.
"Hey, there's a bookstore," Hot Stuff said, pointing across the street. We walked over, both of us moving quicker than normal. Three of the doors were locked, and my heart fell. Was nothing open? Then, to my relief, we found the main entrance. We pulled open the door and a dark shape streaked across the floor toward us, inhumanly fast.
I screamed.
To be continued...
Hot Stuff and I found a parking spot in a nearly empty lot, then walked over to Park City's Main Street, holding hands.
"Gosh, there's no one here," I mused. We walked up the street for a while, finding to our dismay that most of the shops were closed. A mall-type center advertised tourist information, so we went inside.
Instead of bright lights and bustling (or if not bustling, at least populated) stores, we found the whole building dim, barely lit. Metal grills were pulled down over most of the store fronts, giving the entire place an almost sinister feeling. The escalators, silent and stilled, lead to a second level shrouded in shadow. I shivered as we walked, feeling unseen eyes looking down on us.
I was being silly.
The tourist information center was abandoned. Neat rows of pamphlets and advertisements lined the side, so we perused and took the most promising of the bunch. We had our hearts set on visiting the silver mine, where Hot Stuff's great-grandpa had worked, but oddly enough not a single pamphlet even mentioned it. I glanced up at the chalkboard behind the empty desk. A single handprint disturbed the layer of dust--perfect at the top and then dragged down, as though someone had grabbed the chalkboard and then been pulled away.
Were those faded brown spots on the linoleum floor beneath the chalkboard what I thought they were?
"Let's go back out to the street," I said, frowning. I didn't like this building. Just as we opened the door, I thought I heard one of the store grills rattling. Shaking my head, I braced against the chill that even late May couldn't erase from the mountain air. I needed a happy store.
"Hey, there's a bookstore," Hot Stuff said, pointing across the street. We walked over, both of us moving quicker than normal. Three of the doors were locked, and my heart fell. Was nothing open? Then, to my relief, we found the main entrance. We pulled open the door and a dark shape streaked across the floor toward us, inhumanly fast.
I screamed.
To be continued...
Friday, June 5, 2009
Park City: Zombie Apocalypse
Hot Stuff and I had been looking forward to this trip for months. For the first time in the five years since we had kids, we'd be spending more than eighteen hours away from them. Together. It was going to be heaven.
Or so we thought...
We couldn't believe the deal we found on a gorgeous lodge just outside of Park City, Utah. Two nights for the price of one--it was like they were luring us out there or something. We pulled off the freeway to a fantastic view. The lodge, dark gray and weathered to perfection, stood out in the broad green valley overlooking a reservoir. Driving around, we found the underground parking.
There were no cars.
"That's funny," we mused to each other. I wondered if we were in the right place, but there were no other parking areas, so this had to be it. We unloaded our suitcase and got in the elevator.
The doors opened to reveal a rustic, tastefully decorated lobby area, all leather and natural woods. It was easy to picture this place on a cold night, filled with readers, talkers, drinkers, their cheeks still holding the day's chill in rosy spots. But apparently mid-May didn't have the same lure; no one was there.
Two women, a blonde and a brunette, stood at the desk, speaking in nervous, low tones with each other. They didn't ask for our names when we walked up--clearly they had been expecting us. As they entered our information, they shot us darting looks. There was something strange in their eyes. Guilt? Why would they feel guilty?
They handed us our key cards and bid us a good stay.
"What about breakfast?" I asked. The lodge had advertised a continental breakfast, but with how dead things looked around here I suspected that was only a winter feature.
"Your breakfast," the blonde whispered. I frowned. Funny how I'd never noticed that your and you're sound just the same when people say them.
The brunette shook her head, giving the blonde a sharp glare. "We don't offer breakfast in the off season," she finished.
No wonder they looked guilty. Maybe the lodge wasn't such a good deal, after all. There was nothing to be done about it though. We found our room. The entire place was eerily quiet--maybe it livened up at night.
To be continued...
Or so we thought...
We couldn't believe the deal we found on a gorgeous lodge just outside of Park City, Utah. Two nights for the price of one--it was like they were luring us out there or something. We pulled off the freeway to a fantastic view. The lodge, dark gray and weathered to perfection, stood out in the broad green valley overlooking a reservoir. Driving around, we found the underground parking.
There were no cars.
"That's funny," we mused to each other. I wondered if we were in the right place, but there were no other parking areas, so this had to be it. We unloaded our suitcase and got in the elevator.
The doors opened to reveal a rustic, tastefully decorated lobby area, all leather and natural woods. It was easy to picture this place on a cold night, filled with readers, talkers, drinkers, their cheeks still holding the day's chill in rosy spots. But apparently mid-May didn't have the same lure; no one was there.
Two women, a blonde and a brunette, stood at the desk, speaking in nervous, low tones with each other. They didn't ask for our names when we walked up--clearly they had been expecting us. As they entered our information, they shot us darting looks. There was something strange in their eyes. Guilt? Why would they feel guilty?
They handed us our key cards and bid us a good stay.
"What about breakfast?" I asked. The lodge had advertised a continental breakfast, but with how dead things looked around here I suspected that was only a winter feature.
"Your breakfast," the blonde whispered. I frowned. Funny how I'd never noticed that your and you're sound just the same when people say them.
The brunette shook her head, giving the blonde a sharp glare. "We don't offer breakfast in the off season," she finished.
No wonder they looked guilty. Maybe the lodge wasn't such a good deal, after all. There was nothing to be done about it though. We found our room. The entire place was eerily quiet--maybe it livened up at night.
To be continued...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Sniffle Sniffle
Cough cough.
Besides several new tee shirts and a renewed love and appreciation for my family, I also brought a nasty head cold home from my last Utah trip.
Still, in these wretched times when all I want to do is curl up in a hot bath but all I get to do is draw one for my kids, it helps to think of happier times.
Like last week, when my sister Lindsey made me an ice cream cake from scratch:
Or like when we went to Disneyland and rode the carousel and Dojo was THRILLED:
Or that time Hot Stuff and I got married seven years ago:
I made a lovely bride. (Nayna drew that from a wedding picture. She also drew herself as a bride's maid, but I promise you, Nayna wasn't around when we got married. Apparently Hot Stuff wasn't very involved, either, considering he's barely in the picture.) (You may be doing the math and thinking, "Wait, what the crap Kiersten, didn't you just turn twenty-six? And you're on your seventh anniversary? Yeah RIGHT there wasn't a pregnancy involved!" To which I reply, hey, Mormon, remember?) (Also, I was just a very smart eighteen-year-old who realized I could look the rest of my life and never find someone who made me as happy as Hot Stuff did and does.) (I think we need one more parenthetical statement to complete this paragraph.)
Now I'm going to go clean my house and play with my children while pretending like I'm snuggled up in bed with a good book. Coming tomorrow: Hot Stuff and Kiersten's Mini-Vacation, Complete with Pictures and a Zombie Apocalypse.
Besides several new tee shirts and a renewed love and appreciation for my family, I also brought a nasty head cold home from my last Utah trip.
Still, in these wretched times when all I want to do is curl up in a hot bath but all I get to do is draw one for my kids, it helps to think of happier times.
Like last week, when my sister Lindsey made me an ice cream cake from scratch:
Or like when we went to Disneyland and rode the carousel and Dojo was THRILLED:
Or that time Hot Stuff and I got married seven years ago:
I made a lovely bride. (Nayna drew that from a wedding picture. She also drew herself as a bride's maid, but I promise you, Nayna wasn't around when we got married. Apparently Hot Stuff wasn't very involved, either, considering he's barely in the picture.) (You may be doing the math and thinking, "Wait, what the crap Kiersten, didn't you just turn twenty-six? And you're on your seventh anniversary? Yeah RIGHT there wasn't a pregnancy involved!" To which I reply, hey, Mormon, remember?) (Also, I was just a very smart eighteen-year-old who realized I could look the rest of my life and never find someone who made me as happy as Hot Stuff did and does.) (I think we need one more parenthetical statement to complete this paragraph.)
Now I'm going to go clean my house and play with my children while pretending like I'm snuggled up in bed with a good book. Coming tomorrow: Hot Stuff and Kiersten's Mini-Vacation, Complete with Pictures and a Zombie Apocalypse.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Answers
To some very important questions. Pardon any incoherency. I'm afraid gnomes snuck into my home last night and injected gelatin into my sinuses. Stupid gnomes.
Carrie asks: When you are rich and uber famous, will you still remember all of us little people?
Oh, Carrie. Are you forgetting that I'm 4'11"? None of you are little compared to me. Of course I'll remember you.
But if you are talking about little people as in head cold gnomes, no. Them I will forget. After I crush the little weasels.
Megs asks: Which is your favorite month and why?
I love May. Always have. Part of this may have to do with the fact that my birthday is in May (as are Hot Stuff's and Nayna's), which meant that my birthstone was emerald, which coincided nicely with green being my favorite color. Plus, May in Utah is when freak snow storms finally stop and everything is warm with the promise of summer just around the corner.
And why haven't I had this baby yet?!?
Have you thought about offering the baby money if she makes a timely exit from your abdomen? I've found bribery to be a very effective form of parenting, and it's never too early to start.
Sara, always ready with a question or four, asks: If you could live in any time period aside from this one, which would it be and why?
See, Sara, I happen to be a BIG fan of this time period. I really like being 26, and any time period before they could do c-sections and fix massive internal bleeding = dead Kiersten. I know, I'm far too practical for this question to be fun, but really, why rhapsodize about ancient Egypt when I would have been DEAD? It makes the past much less romantic. So next time you should ask which time period I'd most like to be dead in, since I couldn't really be alive in any of them.
What's your favorite muffin flavor?
Banana chocolate chip.
What's the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
African, or European? (Come on, Sara, of COURSE I get the reference! Who wouldn't?)
Whirl asks: What's the sound your brain makes when it's functioning?
It sounds a little bit like this:
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr CLICK!
(Kiersten jumps up and down, excited over her [plot breakthrough, funny post idea, stupid pun to tell Hot Stuff, solution to world hunger].)
Lately, however, it's sounded more like this: whirrrnnnnnnnkkkkkkkchchchchkkkkkkkkkknnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn....
(Small puffs of smoke trail out of Kiersten's ears as she stares blankly into space.)
And, if you were to slice off the top of my head, remove my brain, and drop it on the linoleum floor, I'm sure it would give a very satisfying:
PLOP
Lindsey asks: Say the family dog has nestled down to sleep with your little sister, but you wanted that dog to sleep in your room. What did, I mean, what do you do?
Well, that's a complicated question, Lindsey. For instance, let's give more specific parameters. Let's say it's New Year's Eve. A hypothetical fourteen-year-old girl, we'll call her Leersten, loves that dog like it's her own child. This Leersten suffers from insomnia, and during the quiet hours of the night has increasingly irrational, bordering on paranoid thought processes. And let's also say that this Leersten once heard that what you do on New Year's Eve determines what your entire year will be like. In her insomnia plagued irrational mind, this superstition becomes fact. And somehow it is all linked with the dog, and Leersten becomes convinced that if the dog does not sleep in her room that night, the dog will die that year. Leersten (and indeed the whole family) would be devastated to lose the dog. Leersten's panic increases--her little sister has the dog. The dog MUST sleep in Leersten's room that night or tragedy will strike. Thus, Leersten is completely justified in doing whatever it takes to get the dog and therefore save its life.
Also, Leersten may or may not have been PMSing.
And Leersten wonders when on earth you are going to quit bringing up the fact that when she was fourteen and you wouldn't give her the dog in the middle of the night even though she was crying she may or may not have hit you in the arm in an act of violence so out of character you can't seem to get over it.
Also, we all know what a wimp Leersten was back then, so she's CERTAIN that it COULD NOT POSSIBLY have hurt when she hit you in the arm.
So, hypothetically, there's your answer.
And that concludes our June edition of Questions and Answers, or, How Leersten Used to Suffer from Insomnia and Go Crazy
Carrie asks: When you are rich and uber famous, will you still remember all of us little people?
Oh, Carrie. Are you forgetting that I'm 4'11"? None of you are little compared to me. Of course I'll remember you.
But if you are talking about little people as in head cold gnomes, no. Them I will forget. After I crush the little weasels.
Megs asks: Which is your favorite month and why?
I love May. Always have. Part of this may have to do with the fact that my birthday is in May (as are Hot Stuff's and Nayna's), which meant that my birthstone was emerald, which coincided nicely with green being my favorite color. Plus, May in Utah is when freak snow storms finally stop and everything is warm with the promise of summer just around the corner.
And why haven't I had this baby yet?!?
Have you thought about offering the baby money if she makes a timely exit from your abdomen? I've found bribery to be a very effective form of parenting, and it's never too early to start.
Sara, always ready with a question or four, asks: If you could live in any time period aside from this one, which would it be and why?
See, Sara, I happen to be a BIG fan of this time period. I really like being 26, and any time period before they could do c-sections and fix massive internal bleeding = dead Kiersten. I know, I'm far too practical for this question to be fun, but really, why rhapsodize about ancient Egypt when I would have been DEAD? It makes the past much less romantic. So next time you should ask which time period I'd most like to be dead in, since I couldn't really be alive in any of them.
What's your favorite muffin flavor?
Banana chocolate chip.
What's the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
African, or European? (Come on, Sara, of COURSE I get the reference! Who wouldn't?)
Whirl asks: What's the sound your brain makes when it's functioning?
It sounds a little bit like this:
whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr CLICK!
(Kiersten jumps up and down, excited over her [plot breakthrough, funny post idea, stupid pun to tell Hot Stuff, solution to world hunger].)
Lately, however, it's sounded more like this: whirrrnnnnnnnkkkkkkkchchchchkkkkkkkkkknnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn....
(Small puffs of smoke trail out of Kiersten's ears as she stares blankly into space.)
And, if you were to slice off the top of my head, remove my brain, and drop it on the linoleum floor, I'm sure it would give a very satisfying:
PLOP
Lindsey asks: Say the family dog has nestled down to sleep with your little sister, but you wanted that dog to sleep in your room. What did, I mean, what do you do?
Well, that's a complicated question, Lindsey. For instance, let's give more specific parameters. Let's say it's New Year's Eve. A hypothetical fourteen-year-old girl, we'll call her Leersten, loves that dog like it's her own child. This Leersten suffers from insomnia, and during the quiet hours of the night has increasingly irrational, bordering on paranoid thought processes. And let's also say that this Leersten once heard that what you do on New Year's Eve determines what your entire year will be like. In her insomnia plagued irrational mind, this superstition becomes fact. And somehow it is all linked with the dog, and Leersten becomes convinced that if the dog does not sleep in her room that night, the dog will die that year. Leersten (and indeed the whole family) would be devastated to lose the dog. Leersten's panic increases--her little sister has the dog. The dog MUST sleep in Leersten's room that night or tragedy will strike. Thus, Leersten is completely justified in doing whatever it takes to get the dog and therefore save its life.
Also, Leersten may or may not have been PMSing.
And Leersten wonders when on earth you are going to quit bringing up the fact that when she was fourteen and you wouldn't give her the dog in the middle of the night even though she was crying she may or may not have hit you in the arm in an act of violence so out of character you can't seem to get over it.
Also, we all know what a wimp Leersten was back then, so she's CERTAIN that it COULD NOT POSSIBLY have hurt when she hit you in the arm.
So, hypothetically, there's your answer.
And that concludes our June edition of Questions and Answers, or, How Leersten Used to Suffer from Insomnia and Go Crazy
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Blargh
I'm having one of these days:
You know the type, no doubt. Still, they never last long. Tomorrow I'll answer the Questions. (I'd answer them today, but it would probably be along the lines of, "So, Kiersten, what's your favorite movie?" "Anything with LOTS of explosions." [Except that's what my taste in movies usually is, anyway]. I think I'd better leave it until tomorrow.) There's still time to submit questions in the next post if you'd like.
You know the type, no doubt. Still, they never last long. Tomorrow I'll answer the Questions. (I'd answer them today, but it would probably be along the lines of, "So, Kiersten, what's your favorite movie?" "Anything with LOTS of explosions." [Except that's what my taste in movies usually is, anyway]. I think I'd better leave it until tomorrow.) There's still time to submit questions in the next post if you'd like.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Home Again
And rather exhausted. Funny how twelve hours in the car will do that to you. I think my favorite quote from the whole trip was yesterday morning. The kids had been swimming, to parks, played for endless hours in my family's large yard, and pretty much been spoiled rotten.
Dojo sat at the table, solemnly greeting every member of my family who came out with, "I'm going home today." Gramma came and sat down by him. "Gramma," he said, a very serious look on his face. "I'm going home. But next time, when I come next time, we can go and look at the water heater again."
Yes, the highlight of our trip: finding the water heater. Because those things are AWESOME. To quote Dojo, "I really like the water heater. It's a little bit scary. But not too scary."
Photo essay to follow when I've actually got a functioning brain. Unfortunately I neglected to take a picture of the water heater, so I'm afraid you'll miss out on that. But it's the first thing on our agenda the next time we visit.
In the meantime, if you'll notice the date, it's June! Which can only mean one thing:
It's Question and Answer Time!
Feel free to submit your questions on any and all topics in the comments section. I'll cut you off when I have enough.
Dojo sat at the table, solemnly greeting every member of my family who came out with, "I'm going home today." Gramma came and sat down by him. "Gramma," he said, a very serious look on his face. "I'm going home. But next time, when I come next time, we can go and look at the water heater again."
Yes, the highlight of our trip: finding the water heater. Because those things are AWESOME. To quote Dojo, "I really like the water heater. It's a little bit scary. But not too scary."
Photo essay to follow when I've actually got a functioning brain. Unfortunately I neglected to take a picture of the water heater, so I'm afraid you'll miss out on that. But it's the first thing on our agenda the next time we visit.
In the meantime, if you'll notice the date, it's June! Which can only mean one thing:
It's Question and Answer Time!
Feel free to submit your questions on any and all topics in the comments section. I'll cut you off when I have enough.
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