What I Want Wednesday

I’m Irish on both sides and love wearing my Claddagh ring. Currently I have a cute gold one my parents bought me years ago and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. It works pretty well with just about everything (and came in mighty handy when we met the Irish boys in Vegas. Oh those rugby guys...). But, as Bobby Brown would say, it’s my prerogative and I want a nice, platinum one at some point (ok, let’s be real, I could probably live with silver). This one is only $835. Well, maybe silver isn’t so bad;)

Hanging with the Kids

To say that this was a humongously random weekend would be an understatement. There were three things I had planned on doing and two of those did happen, but the rest was an amalgamation of oddities. Partly due to conversations (some long overdue and some that didn’t happen), partly due to participants and well, partly due to the fact that as much as I hate my new “go with the flow” attitude I’m still embracing it and acting upon it. Sigh.

What hit me like a ton of bricks this weekend is that I am not a youngen anymore (is that supposed to be two words, hyphenated or something? Where’s the rule book for these terms?). See that picture to the left? It was my 21st birthday and that's the bottle of tequila my mom bought me. I could totally rockstar it then. By no stretch am I an old spinster or even, well, old but there are certain things that can be done at 21-22 that attempting at this age will not work out well. Then again, I’m fully embracing the fact that some don’t think I look a day over 26 so I’ll run with it. Yep, I’m 26 or at least 26+.

For example, staying out past a reasonable bedtime two days in a row, with getting up early, no nap and two hours of Krav does not make for an easy end to a weekend. Of course, if you take out the Krav part you could be talking about a four year old too but not the point. Now add some alcoholic beverages and a penchant for thinking too much before falling asleep and you have a potent combination. I’d try and count the hours I actually slept on Friday/Saturday but that would make me sad. Unlike the hours I slept Sunday (there was no Saturday/Sunday sleep as that didn’t even happen until like 5 a.m.) which might outnumber the awake ones.

All this in separate instances might not have made me think of the fact that I can’t hang with kids anymore if it wasn’t that part of the randomness had me hanging with “kids” Saturday. I have to say, it had been quite a while since I attempted beer pong or had been in a house where the DINING ROOM TABLE looked like it was only used for beer pong. How did this happen you ask? I met a friend at the bar earlier in the evening and through a string of six degrees of separation that I don’t remember he knew the kids in question. They seemed like alright people. I was the DD that night and far from a party pooper so off to the kids house we went. Oddly the music selection was much more something from my day but perhaps that was a nod to the old farts in the room;) The night was a lot of fun even without the benefit of alcohol but then again I pretty much always have fun when out with that friend. I did feel like the bad mom when I was shutting our participation down at 3:45 a.m. because, well, I was going to fall asleep. Then there was the little excursion to try and get home with a very inebriated co-pilot but it really adds to the fun of the randomness (see, I can go with the flow).

The point is that back in the day a weekend like this would be normal and I could have spent Sunday doing just about anything and woken up at a reasonable hour. 2 p.m. is not a reasonable hour for an adult! And I dragged all day when I didn’t even do anything to drag from! Back in the day I could do that and not feel like crap. I could hang and drink and all that and not have my eyes physically hurt from being so tired. Being older sucks. Having a job to get up for at 5:15 a.m. this morning sucks. I want to be a carefree kid who can hang like that two nights in a row. Ok, perhaps not all that far but at least have some stamina. Damn.

Weekly Workout Train 3/28/10

Oh what a Monday Monkey Bar workout I had this week! But that’s the awesome thing about Monkey Bar, you never know what you’re going to get and it isn’t boring. We started with some light cardio and then looked at our workout. It went something like this:

Starting with 15 then 14 then 13 (you get the idea of dialing down) do:
• Burpees
• Push-ups
• Pikes
• Push kicks

Once finished, commence with 5 lengths then 1 length of:
• Walking lunges
• Horizontal hand walks

After this:
• 5 minutes of jump rope

Um, yeah. For those of you counting at home, that’s 120 reps each of the first four exercises. I’m proud to say I did all of it but a minute and a half of jump rope before our instructor called time. Whew!

Terrible Tuesday (so named as I was sore before even thinking about working out for two hours) saw Monkey Bar and Krav. Monkey Bar had baseline with the dreaded box hops. Seriously, I do have some coordination so why are they so blasted hard for me? Then it was AMAP (as many as possible) in 30 minutes of the following sequence:
• 20 split squats
• 20 burpees (DAMN THEM)
• 20 sit ups
• 20 push ups
• 20 Capoeria lunges
• 30/30 side plank (hold each side for 30 seconds)

I was a trooper and made it to the second exercise of set 6.Whew. One could say I was adequately warmed up for Krav. Admittedly I was a little leery of the agenda this week in Krav. I have this thing where I’m not a fan of being choked. Chokes from the front and behind while being pushed in to a wall were the defense this week. While it is TOTALLY creepy at first, it does get easier. We also were bobbing and weaving (which those of you who know me know I can do around priests quite well) and some combinations (left, right, left hook, right uppercut). It is with great pride I tell you that my partner and I came out alive and without any new bruises!

Thursday, Thursday. With Krav first I felt like I’d be in proper form for Monkey Bar. Ha. For some reason my bob and weave looked more like a drunk sailor on shore leave which, as you might imagine, is not cute. I tried though. I think my hooks are getting better (you do them in 16 oz. gloves that you’re not used to) and that’s something. Then the chokes came and I’m still trying to keep my head on the wall. Sounds weird but does work. Fingers crossed I never actually have to use it. In Monkey Bar we did a deck of cards. What’s that you ask? There are four exercises (in this case push ups, abs, elephants and squats with lunges) and each suit represents an exercise. Face cards count as 15 reps and then the other cards are face value. Well, except for those stinking elephants which were deemed a tad easy so we did them times five. Yeah. I could have lived without that.

And let me tell you, Friday my back and hamstrings hurt like hell.

As usual, Saturday was a two-fer with level 2 and level 1 of Krav. To be honest, I wasn’t going to stay for the second but peer pressure and a sense of removing the 16 bazillion pounds from my ass made me stay. Same as before for level 2 but my hooks seemed a bit better. Level 1 was a return to groundwork and apparently I had forgotten how your abs feel after it. Perhaps it was due in some part to the abs from Monkey Bar on Thursday. It was nice to be back in a place where I actually knew the techniques and felt comfortable. Sigh.

Well, kids, another week and another round of workouts. Still at that 16 bazillion pounds to shed but feeling a little stronger and a little more certain that EVENTUALLY they will leave;)

Songs That Mirror My Mood/Thoughts Today

I’m in an odd mood today. It isn’t completely happy, but not remotely sad, not overly hopeful yet not really confused either. I’m not sure there is a word to describe it but it’s kind of how I’ve been feeling a lot lately. Since there are some large situations that aren’t going to change overnight and I don’t have complete control over, I’m choosing (!) to focus on one particular thing (kinda like “One Particular Harbour” by Jimmy Buffet but without the Polynesian words). Instead, I’ll pour my thoughts today in to something that I hope I do have some control over and makes me smile. One could say I have a secret but everyone knows I’m not good at keeping secrets about myself.

Why Can’t I by Liz Phair (“gonna take a while for this egg to hatch”)

Kiss by Prince (“ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your kiss”)

“If’ by Janet Jackson (well, all of it basically. And FYI, I used to be able to do the dance from the video.)

“All Over Me” by Default (see above minus knowing any dance)





Yeah, you figure it out:)

How Do You Spell Together?

Back in the day I had this best friend I’ll call Blondie. In an effort of full disclosure I’ll report that we are no longer friends and have not spoken in almost 16 years. There’s a myriad of reasons why we don’t but let’s just say we had differing world views at the tender age of 17 and it never really got any better.

At any rate, Blondie and I were pretty much inseparable but we had very defined roles in our friendship which anyone will tell you isn’t the healthiest thing around. She was the “pretty and fun” one while I was the “smart and nice” one. As most teenage girls will do, we each wanted to be part of the other person’s descriptives and it caused some tension.

I’m digressing from the point but I think you should have an idea of how tempestuous our relationship was to fully understand my frustrations sometimes.

So Blondie never had a shortage of guys who would fawn all over her. And I do mean a gaggle and I do mean fawning. There were some that she was “just friends” with that seemed enamoured with her and I’m not sure she even knew. There was one that I’ll call Suave that started out as a friend and I think they may have dated but I’m not completely sure.

By second semester senior year I was no longer on the sidelines in terms of fully participating in liquid festivities at parties and babysitting/telling Blondie what she did the night before because, well, sometimes I was a little fuzzy on my own details let alone hers. As we did every partying weekend, we were staying at my house as I didn’t have a curfew and my parents were pretty cool about things (Thanks Mom!).

It was late and all I wanted to do was go to sleep but Blondie had to talk slur to Suave at some un-Godly hour. She picks up the phone and calls him, adamant that she must profess her true feelings at THAT EXACT MOMENT. It couldn’t wait, he had to know. Now my room isn’t that big so I’m clearly along for the ride. She’s laying on the floor practically eating the phone in an attempt to “be quiet” and tell Suave that they should date.

Apparently Suave couldn’t understand her or he was too drunk himself as he had been at the same party. Blondie keeps repeating that she just “wants to be with him.” He’s not catching on so she starts this conversation:

Blondie: I just want us to be together.
Suave: Huh, what did you say about forever?
Blondie: No, I said together.
Suave: Why are you talking about the weather right now?”
Blondie: Together, Suave. Together.
Suave: (mumbled, I couldn’t hear)
Blondie: Yeah, I us together.
Suave: I don’t know what you’re saying.
(It is fair to say by this point I was losing my ish and I decided to part of the conversation.)
Kiki: No, together. Together together together. T-O-G-E-T-H-E fucking R together!

They quickly got off the phone at that point as I believe they got my hint that I was tired and it was time for bed.

Point of this story? I can no longer spell together without spelling it out just like I did back then with the expletive in the middle. I know, it’s childish and horribly inappropriate but darn it, it works for me:)

What I Want Wednesday

While I know that on the salary I make now (and can project making in the future) a pair of Christian Louboutin anything is well out of my price range, a girl can dream. If I had the money and the ability to walk in 3 and 9/10 inch heels, I would own these in a heartbeat. I covet them. And they're only about $1595.

My Shower is Bipolar*

When I moved to my new apartment last fall there were few things that I was really looking for. Example: it had to have central air conditioning (you’d be amazed at how many places do not), good closet space and preferably more than one bathroom. I’m pretty simple when it comes to these things. Notice that kitchen space isn’t on here because who are we kidding, I don’t cook.

At any rate, I found my complex through a friend and as it met all the main criteria plus some, I was sold. At that point it didn’t take much to sell me as it was also cheaper than my old place and with better windows but not the point. I should have looked a tad closer at the shower though.

Abort Mission!!!!

The last week was a little tough and at times like that I like to think of the funnier times in my life. As I so eloquently asked a friend on Facebook if she was still up for a little trip to Venezuela (they don’t extradite) I mentioned that I promised to make the excursion more fun than our “Abort Mission” escapade. Just the thought of those two words and the time is enough to have me laughing for a good half hour.

Back in the day, there was one summer that was less than stellar for me and my dear friend Kelly. During this time we were both going through various break-ups and not exactly being in our right minds. We were also about to be unemployed with even more time on our hands so it was a dangerous situation.

Now, I’m not one to tell secrets normally, but we all know that at one point or another we have been guilty of, well, let’s call it changing our driving route and the car having a life of its own and just happening to drive past a certain individual’s house.

In this particular situation, we were able to get a two-fer in with a new car that had a mind of it’s own and just so happened to take us down two streets. In my defense, I wasn’t driving;) As we turned the corner (on to a dead end street mind you) I was riding shotgun and ready to look to my right as we approached a stop sign to see if a certain someone was home and if so what other cars were there. Hey, if the car was going to make us go that way I figured that I might as well get some enjoyment out of the occasion.

Things were going well and as previously mentioned it was summer so the windows were down and the sunroof was open. We were about halfway down the block when I looked to my right and lo and behold, the ex was jogging about four feet away from me. WTF???? Kelly noticed about the same time and there was panic in the car.

I screamed “abort mission, abort mission” (where that came from I have no idea) and tried to make myself invisible. Yes, I realize that screaming in a car with the windows open is not the smartest idea but no one has accused me of being smart. I tried to make the seat go back and it wouldn’t, I tried to climb in to the back seat and I couldn’t. All I could do was slink to the floor and scream “abort mission” a few more times. Poor Kelly had to be a good driver and stop at the stop sign and yell “what’s next” and “what do I do” over and over.

We turned down the street obviously the opposite way of the house in question. I tried to get back in my seat and figure out a plan. I called the ex’s sister to see if she knew what to do (I realize she wasn’t there but come on, I was young and about to be caught doing a drive by). Then Kelly and I decided that TCBY was the best option ever so we could recoup. We get to the store and not kidding you, five seconds later my phone rang. Of course it was him. In my best acting cool voice, I answered. He asked where I was and instead of lying, I told him (I have a problem lying to people. Some consider this a good thing yet I consider it a detriment). He didn’t understand why I kept asking questions about what he had done all day and where he was. All he wanted to do was have dinner.

Fearing that some sort of confrontation about me seeing him in his natural habitat would ensue, I made Kelly go with me. To make it even better, I made her take her car home and keep in the driveway so that he wouldn’t know she had a new one and associate it with screaming women as he ran. I am nothing if not forward thinking.

Obviously the topic didn’t come up at dinner but Kelly and I could not help but laugh at ourselves every few minutes. It’s been a long time since that fateful mission, but every time we think about it we laugh. That’s what friendship is about right?

Weekly Workout Train 3/20/10

Another week down and those 17 bazillion pounds seem to like the new residence they have taken up on my body. I swear, I’m about five seconds from inventing a home liposuction that isn’t scary. At any rate, here’s what this week’s workouts looked like.


Monday saw a return to Monkey Bar with sets and reps that included one of my least favorite exercises. I’m 100000 percent convinced that burpees were created by the devil or one of his high up minions. They suck. I’m sure we did some other things like the jump rope, sit ups, powerwheel and what not, but the burpees are what are sticking in my mind as hell. Oh well, the price right?

Tuesday was a double day with Monkey Bar and then Krav. This time around Monkey Bar had us trying to achieve different levels (alignment, strength 2, strength 3 and power) of five different exercises: push ups, box hops, sit ups with weights, jump rope, power wheel roll outs and bear crawls. I was pretty happy to hit power level for the jump rope (1000 revolutions), bear crawls (6 lengths) and weighted sit ups (100). As I do girly push ups the fact I did 50 wasn’t another power level but it is something to work on. The power level for powerwheels was 100 and we did 75 so almost. Box hops are a close second to burpees in my world so 50 was enough of those and that was strength level 3 so there;) Let’s say that doing defensive front kicks forever after this during Krav wasn’t the most fun experience ever. And my 360 defenses with counters look like I’m hitting midgets or having a seizure. There’s always room for improvement right?

Wednesday is normally a day off for me (I try to schedule my meetings to coincide with this). Instead of taking it easy, I thought a 3.5 mile walk would be a good idea. Well, the company of my dear friend LO was definitely a bonus as was the sunny weather, but my legs were in a state of rebellion about .75 miles in. And while it may appear that I live in a nice, flat area, there were moments when it felt like I was off-roading. The jury is out as to whether or not Wednesdays will be added to my schedule.

Thursday normally is another double but since V was sick I decided to only do Monkey Bar. To add a twist, it was Animal Thursday. What is that you ask? Well, all the exercises had an animal name: bear crawls, lizard lunges, crab walk, frog hops, inch worm and something else I’m forgetting. That’s not to ignore the ab work but let’s be honest, I’m past the point of thinking I’ll ever have flat abs again. R&S did not disappoint and an hour later I was feeling very sweaty and tired.

While Friday is almost never a workout day, I was feeling like a lard ass while working from home. Not that it should really count as a workout, but I did make myself do 50 push-ups (still girly on my knees) and 100 reps of abs. There.

Saturday’s masochism continued with level 2 and level 1 of Krav. While my 360 defenses with counters still stink, at least I do pretty well with choke with a pull. Not that it is used very much and not that I ever want to have to use it, but at least I’ve got the theory. Level 1 was all elbows and for once I came out with all the skin I went in with and no new bandaids. Yay!

Here’s to hoping I see some changes soon.

A Couch, a Computer and a Carefree Work Day

I’m working from home today. For me that means putting on workout pants that are perhaps a smidge too tight to wear in public, a long sleeve t-shirt so thoughtfully provided by my Krav partner V and putting my hair in a messy bun while I try to demolish the writer’s block that has been plaguing me at work all week. Yes friends, I am a writer by trade although at times I reserve the right to ignore that fact based on the wonderful words I post here.

There are two projects that have just been kicking my ass and I cannot seem to find the words to make them work. One is a policy/procedure so by my nature I hate having to do those but nonetheless it has to be done by next Thursday so I have no choice. The other is an article that sounds easy in theory but I just can’t get the mind/hand connection going with getting the words out to my fingers and on to a page. Oh, and since it is a Friday and we’d normally have a team huddle at work, I think I’m getting a call to still be a part of that. Let’s hope I remember to answer the phone;)

Today is a Good Day:)

Today starts my favorite time of year: March Madness. There’s just something about two weeks of good college basketball that gives me the warm fuzzies and I like that. In my younger (and non-working days) I would pretty much be glued to the TV to ensure that I didn’t miss a moment. Alas, that isn’t so possible these days but with the Internet I can still stay connected.

As usual, I’m not a fan of the selection committee’s bracket choices and two of my favorite teams are *most likely* going to play each other on Sunday. To be honest, I’ll be happy no matter which team wins but I do have one down in my bracket that I’m rooting for a little bit more. Nothing against the other since like I said, I’ll be happy either way. Even the so-called experts can’t pick that game and say that in any other bracket they’d both be Sweet 16 teams. Sigh.

And my Final Four is a little lopsided but we’ll see on April 5 has Syracuse and WVU.

Everyone Loves an Irish Girl

And this girl is definitely Irish:) I’m Irish on both sides (Tipperary and Derry, well now Londonderry) representing here. I have my Erin Go Bragh decoration on my front door, my St. Brigid’s Cross in the hall and one of my favorite Irish “toast” hanging on the opposite wall.

“May those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts; and if He doesn't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles so we'll know them by their limping.”

Have a great one my friends!

I Am Clueless

It has come to my attention that I am completely clueless when it comes to certain aspects of my life. That I really am the last person to know certain things and that is especially disturbing since it is after all my life. A cathartic revelation here no?

I was attempting to go to sleep the other night which is a feat in and of itself and of course it was way too late for me to be attempting this. As I lay there counting backwards from 300 by threes (I read somewhere that it is supposed to help) a few snippets of what should have been signs from, oh the last year, came rushing in to my head. They were so minor and some might say trivial that I could almost give myself a pass for not recognizing them at the time but gosh are they important in hindsight (yes, I know that is normally 20/20 but I like to think of myself as a rather intuitive person so the fact I missed them is troubling).

Hate the Game not the Player Sucks

The above statement is one of my all time most hated. My thing is that this all shouldn’t be a game in the first place. Life is not rocket science and we spend too much time focusing on things that should be easy and we just keep making them harder. While I may sound slightly hypocritical, hear me out.

Last night I was having an interesting conversation with my neighbor about the whole guy/girl dynamic and how things could be settled a lot easier if other people just made our moves and decisions for us (clearly I am incapable of running my own life but I blame societal pressures and antiquated gender roles for that one. And my own inadequacy is a post for a whole other time). I countered that this particular subject shouldn’t be a game and that we have conditioned ourselves over the years to accept that it has to be and that we don’t question because of our fear.

Think about it: we’re taught from the time that we know what the “normal” boy/girl dynamic is that being up front and honest and using our words isn’t the way to go. On the playground it is pulling ponytails then notes with checkboxes then in high school we get the three day rule and guys just ignoring girls so they know they like them and, as jacked up as it sounds, like them more. It’s a game before we even really know that we are playing.

Fast forward to being “adults” and it is even worse. We don’t say things because we’re told that we shouldn’t put ourselves out there too much since fear has conditioned us to think that the worst is going to happen (and yes, sometimes it does but how many times would things work out if we just said what we were really thinking????). We play the game because we don’t think there is any other way to get around it because, some of my other least favorite words, that’s the way it’s always been.

And then there’s the fear that we are too pushy or too needy or might seem like some random “something” that will be a turn off? Um, they are talking to us in the first place so that should be a sign (I know, I KNOW) that they are at least slightly interested and don’t think of us as heinous toads. Yet we ignore all these things and the feeling in our gut that gives us the good butterflies and fall prey to the game.

But why does it have to be like this? Why is it a game? Having feelings for someone is supposed to be a good thing and while yes I realize it doesn’t always work out, it is normal, natural and damnit a lot of fun to be in a relationship with someone. Feelings aren’t logical or quantitative or even really measurable so why do we put rules on them and make a game out of them? Liking someone is a mutually beneficial arrangement and we make it in to a big production. I get it, no one likes rejection (hence the fear thing) but if we didn’t put rules on it maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to say to someone and paralyze us so that we don’t even try half the time.

Do I have a great answer for this other than “don’t let it be a game”? No, but I sure as hell wish more people felt that way about it.

Weekly Workout Train

As some of you know (ha, I say that like anyone is actually reading this. Whew, that was a good laugh) I was sick for over a week and the workout train came to a screeching halt. In my head this equated to gaining about 17 bazillion pounds and I may have had a little freak out/screaming fit/spiraling depression but whatever.

Given the new week that was just upon us I decided to get back on the train and get my ass moving as much as possible to try and get those aforementioned 17 bazillion pounds off and just feel better (TM Santana and Steven Tyler for that one). I thought, “Kiki, you haven’t been running in a while, it’s nice outside, you survived the Krav test, of course you can pick right up and run.” Well, since I’m clearly delusional I went out and did it.

Now when I said went out and did it, I mean I really did put on running clothes (appropriately matched per usual), found the watch, the pedometer (which was broken) and went outside. Yes, after nine months of not running I felt that running over melting ice and snow was the way to go. I’m a rocket scientist.

I started running after a minute of walking and told myself all I needed to do was five minute increments. Well, after pole vaulting over some snow piles I decided that I could totally do at least 10 minutes. 10 turned to 11 and as my good friend B decided to tell me “11 minutes equals a mile” so I was feeling pretty good! No pain in the shins, breathing was ok, hat wasn’t falling in my eyes, iPod was playing good tunes. Then the wall started creeping in. I felt an odd sensation in my left foot, then my right. Crap, I forgot I get blisters EVERY SINGLE time I run. I mean, one would think that they’d go away or get better or something. Apparently this is what not running for nine months does to me. Like the trooper I am (see previous I don’t give up post) I continued my trek for a total of 46 minutes, 32.5 of which would beat an old lady and her walker. Perhaps not so bad no?

Next day was Monkey Bar and Krav because let’s be honest, who isn’t a masochist that likes pain for two hours? All kidding aside, kick ass classes that almost make me believe I can wear a bikini this summer without people running for cover and cowering with fear at the sight of me. Monkey Bar with R&S had us doing umpas, box jumps, sit ups, jumping rope, burpees and some other activities that made me think I was going to puke. Not any indication of their instruction as they rock, but more my inadequacy. An hour saw more sweat come off me than being in Meridian, MS for a boat race in the summer.

Krav was a series of kicks that had me looking like a dancing elf (sidebar: totally not the image that is Krav-approved but my rhythm had left and that’s what happened). No biggie since I think by now they are used to me looking like a freak the first time we learn something new. The problem was that by this point my legs were starting to feel like jello. My partner V totally is great but I’m pretty sure falling on her is not the approved curriculum. I did, however, come back to full rar strength with my checking defenses so I had something solid to look back on.

Fast forward to the next two-a-day masochism workout and another round of Krav then Monkey Bar. I’m really wondering what switch has flipped in my head that I willingly put myself in these situations. I mean, do sane people do this? Anyway, kick series again in Krav but we had to try and hit focus mitts instead of pads while going across the room. Remember, I like V so I don’t want to kick her. Let’s just say I was kicking like there were flies in the room lest I make contact. Oh well, again my checking defenses saved the day (hey, I have to find something I’m good at or I may just shoot myself now. That’s the problem with being a perfectionist).

Thursday Monkey Bar was the dreaded warm up with box jumps (although V came up with a strategy to help next time) and then a rotation of jump rope, ab hell and arm hell. What is ab hell you ask? Two minutes of sit ups, one minute of rest followed by two minutes of Russian twists, one minute of rest and then two minutes of leg lifts with one minute of rest. Now, the first two, not the easiest but not a problem. See, I can’t do leg lifts to save my ass (not an odd thing since they are supposed to save your tummy). R tells me to do supine bridge with a lift. Sure, no prob. V looks over at me to tell me which muscles it really helps work and I lose my ish. Like I start laughing so hard I’m crying. Not the workout I was expecting. Anything that I can reply with “If I’m working those muscles I’d rather be doing something MUCH DIFFERENT” is not appropriate on the training floor. Somehow we then survived five minutes of push ups (I have the arms of a newborn when it comes to strength) and some yoga.

And since I truly am an idiot, I did two more Krav classes this morning. Now, I’m not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination and is only made worse when I have to actually function. Besides the great technique (my defenses were better, I did not look like a dancing elf with my advancing front kick), I got to run around the room with a tombstone pad on my back while my partner tried to hammerfist it. I mean, what more can one ask for right?

All things considered, after seven workouts in six days I’m not feeling too bad. The shins are still splinting and the arms didn’t want to dry the hair this morning, but it could be worse. Those 17 bazillion pounds are still there however. Not sure what we’re going to do about those….

The Thoughts In My Head

While it isn’t something people normally own up to, we all talk to ourselves (yes, I did just own that). Admit it, you’re talking to yourself right now (either some variation of “no I don’t talk to myself” or “holy hell, she just admitted a deep dark secret we pinky swear not to tell”). For the most part, we don’t have to worry about it being heard. We try to be all slick about it and most of the time do pull off just doing it in our heads, but every now and again those pesky words just kind of slip out. That’s when we have those “oh God, that wasn’t just in my head, that came out out loud” moments and try to play it off as something totally unrelated. Those are mainly harmless and kind of funny, but I’ve been finding that my inner filter is keeping too much inside as of late.

The thing is; many of those talking to ourselves moments are over things we are too scared to say to those closest to us or that sound so crazy to us that it is kinda scary. For example, my last inner monologue conversation revolved around the fact that I’m currently contemplating something that is so counter to my nature that if I did tell most of my friends they’d be a little scared.

I Am Whatever You Say I Am

Our perception of ourselves is one thing but the way other people see us can be a whole different ballgame. Some people see only one side of us and take that and run with it while others make us in to some larger person than what we are (not saying that’s always a bad thing, but it is a different thing).

For the most part, I think I’m pretty ok and nothing too good or too bad would be in my self-description. Lately though, I’m feeling more like Eminem with just not having the energy to try and dissuade someone from pigeonholing me in to something else. I mean, these aren’t people that I tend to really care about with too much passion one way or another so I feel like wasting more energy trying to get them to be realistic. If they can only think of me as one dimensional then so be it. I could get all holier than thou and say that it is their loss for being so narrow minded but I’ll refrain from that for now.

Then there are the rare cases where someone sees you as a whole and as doesn’t discount your potential negatives but makes you seem pretty awesome when they talk about you. It’s times like these that you want to be that person they describe all the time. Obviously I must portray these qualities often or else the intricate description wouldn’t fall so easily from their lips.

These are the people I want to surround myself with more and not just because some might construe it as an ego boost. I want to be around these people because they tend to be the ones that I have the most fun with, am the most at ease with and yes, every now and then I need a little reminder that I rock at certain things. I spend so much time trying to be on point for others that I might lose myself in the process. So if it’s fun, they’re fun and great people on multiple levels, why not let the good vibes keep going?

Inanimate Object Love

Yes, it is completely possible to love an inanimate object. I know this because I am in love with one (well, two actually since it is a pair). A pair of boots that I’ve had for just over a year is the current object of my affection. They are way too cute for words and actually comfortable which is something I rarely find in footwear.

Slouchy, soft and sweetly designed with a wedge heel so I don’t fall on my butt, these Naughty Monkey (and come on who can’t help but smile when reading that name) boots are enough to make even a day at work not seem so bad. And the inside is even patterned cute and satiny. You can’t help but love them! I’m even happier that I get to walk in them when I go out to lunch. Like out of the building out which is becoming increasingly rare these days.

The Little Things

As I look back on the last few days, I’ve come to realize that Tallahassee from “Zombieland” and Troy from “Reality Bites” really do have something in their take pleasure in the little things theories. Of course, this could just be a reaction to my newfound go with the flow and let life happen approach but I like to draw the comparisons.

It started Friday as I was driving home. There’s nothing like having a moonroof open to sunshine on your way home from work to start things off right. Add a few good tunes and no traffic and you’re on your way to a great day. I knew that at some point that day my Godson J would be born (the wonders of inducing labor). I mean, does it get much better than that?

Can You See Them?

I had to turn in my old lease and get a new car this week and it was quite a traumatic experience. Ok, I might be slightly exaggerating but I was downsizing from a cute crossover to a sedan. A friggin sedan. What’s next, the soccer mom haircut without the soccer kids? Anyway, I was trying to make the best of the situation and find all the silver linings to a new vehicle when I started to think about cars of my past and how awesome they were. How could this new one ever live up?

My first car that was mine and by mine I mean I was the primary driver was a 1992 red Ford Probe that we called “Little Red Ford Probe” since it rhymed so well with a great Prince song and it was 1994. Her name was Baby and I have to tell you that this car rocked. I may have been ruined for life as no other car could ever match the fun times, complete hysterics and non-monetary features that the LRFP had.

For example, there were people that lived in my car. Yes, people we called Them. Why you ask? Simple, think of the Pearl Jam song “Yellow LedBetter” and the line that says “can you see them, out on the porch but they don’t wave.” To be fair, we were 17/18, Eddie Vedder was hot and so was a guy in class that was obsessed with him so we may have had a few too many giggles over coming up with this. My good friend C (the co-queen of Slurpees) helped come up with the name and to this day we still laugh about it.

For the most part, the people were pretty cool. They’d be helpful and turn the radio station or make sure my lights were on, things like that. But they could also be vindictive little buggers. They apparently wanted C to stop smoking as they’d steal her cigarettes. Other odd items like tapes(!) would go missing. A scraper here or there and at least a few items of clothing that I’m not completely sure how they were left but they were and went missing too. And change? Don’t even think there’d be anything left. It sometimes made crossing the border to go to Canada for a few refreshments an interesting experience. Again, this was the age where hanging out at Denny’s was the perfect end to an evening.

Oh, and the people migrated to the next vehicle, my little Billy Girl Truck. She was a good sport (and had a few minor run ins with poles in carports) but there weren’t the great stories like the LRFP. And it was a truck. Minus the sandbags I had to buy in the winter to even out weight it was a great little vehicle. Too bad I ran it in to the ground.

Next were the two Mariners (both white, both looking the same and they were Ghost One and Ghost 2). I got my groove back with them and the last few years were great feeling like I was in a cool car (legitimate moonroof, not fake one you make by taking the sunroof out) and I had room for people, lawn chairs, moving 17 times. It was all good again. And with the advent of a six-disc CD changer, who could ask for anything more?

As for my new car, it doesn’t have a name and as of yet doesn’t have a personality that it’s shown (at least not yet). Perhaps she (he?) just needs to warm up to me a bit. I mean, that should be easy with remote start and all but I’m trying to remain positive. Who knows, maybe if I just get a Slurpee and play some Pearl Jam things will work out…

Like, Totally Ugly Shoes

I love my shoe page-a-day calendar, but thank God I wasn't of heel age in the 80s to have to wear "white and red leather pumps with cut-out circles".

Two words: Not Cute

We Went to Sea the World

With all the attention Sea World has been getting lately, it made me reminisce about a dream nightmare I had as a child that would haunt me for years. Yeah, I know, it’s been a while since I was a child but work with me will you?

In spite of my deathly irrational paralyzing fear of drowning, I’m obsessed with all things marine, especially sharks and whales. The thought of swimming with them sounds great in theory, but there is no way I could ever do it. No way. That said, I watch everything I can about these creatures and think it’s a sign from God that Shark Week always falls near my birthday:) And I spent a summer going to Sea World to see the whales and well, some of the performers too.

My trips at 16 were no small accomplishment due to my aforementioned nightmares about Shamu leaving the tank and stalking people in the gift shop. Yeah, that was what my 5(?) year old mind came up with after my first remembered trip there. The picture below is of a simpler time when I didn’t know that I would have nightmares later. This stinking nightmare stayed with me for the longest time and I kind of held it against Shamu in particular and orcas in general. At random intervals I’d rehash this dream.

A happier time before knowledge...

Welcome to the show. Donations in lieu of admission welcome:)

Welcome to the blog. You can call me Kiki or KC and I'm sure we'll be fast friends. Please don't go asking all kinds of questions like "what's going to happen here" or "what's this all about". I don't know yet and we'll figure it out together (remind me to tell you the great story of how I always spell "together" a certain way someday. Truly entertaining. Truly.).

Oh, you have a question about the name huh? Let me explain. My wonderful nephew A started calling me Kiki when he learned to talk as apparently my real name was too much at the time for such a cute baby. His lovely grandfather (my ex’s dad) heard that I had a nickname and said “Um, why are you allowing your child to call her Kinky? I mean, she probably is but really?” One doesn’t really need to guess how well we all got along. Thus, I have a nickname semi-worthy of a stripper and the Kiki/Kinky story never fails to get a laugh.

One thing you should know about me from the beginning is that I have a slight addiction to shopping, fashion and just stuff in general. No, I'm not a hoarder with tons of crap in bags with tags on (not that there's anything wrong with that) but the mall is my happy place. I love putting together outfits, finding the right household item and looking through magazines for ideas.While it is true I may have more than I need in some areas, I have yet to put myself completely in the poor house due to my love for retail.

And here’s the thing, I'll be the first to admit that I have no clue what I'm doing here but everyone and their mom (including my mom) does it so it can't be too hard. Perhaps I'll just ramble on aimlessly and use a stream of consciousness or wow you with some excerpts from books I've started. It's all up in the air.