Growing up or growing old?

As some may know (some being the two people who read this), I turned 26 on Nov. 14. Sure, this could be a time for reflection. Previous birthdays, I've spent time thinking of all the things I miss — people I haven't seen, places I want to return to, the fun I used to have as a kid — and how it all seemed to be slipping away with time.

Each year since turning 19 basically (except for 21. I don't remember much, but I remember that one was fun), I've tried to ignore my birthday...minus the receipt of presents (which reminds me....Kristopher, where's my damn birthday present?) and on more than one occasion have announced to friends that I would celebrate my birthday by hiding in a closet. With a bottle of whiskey. And a straw. (The last one was when I lived in Waco, and anyone who has lived in Waco should know that easy access to whiskey is necessary to continue day-to-day operations). I never actually did the whole "hide in my closet" thing, but I always wanted to.

This year, however, was an entirely different beast. This year, I did not look back. I did not look forward. I looked at...the present (DUM DUM DUMMMMMM!)

Currently, I live about 25 miles from the beach. Close enough that my friends and I can take our dogs down there to romp for a while and come home and not have taken a significant chunk out of a day. I have a job that, aside from a few occasional stressful nights, I really enjoy and actually like to be there most of the time. I live less than 30 minutes away from three of my best and oldest friends, whom I've seen more in the past 7 months of living here than I did the past 7 years combined. In a month and a half, I'm moving in with my boyfriend, which is itself a huge step in growing up and getting over years and years of commitment issues, and I couldn't be more excited about it. Speaking of The Man, I've actually found someone who is a perfect fit for me in every way I can think of. I wake up happy on a regular basis. I love him more every day and am unceasingly amazed at how well he deals with me and my crazy. I now have stopped thinking my parents are freaks of nature for having been happily in love for 33 years.

My dog (who we have decided now is "our" dog) now has two kitty sisters (they were his, now are "ours") to alternately torture and play with. So they're just like real siblings, basically. Where previously I thought I had neuroses, now I've found that I'm just "Kim," and that it's ok to be me.

I'm actually starting to get a handle on this whole "finances" thing — with help from my very patient and kind mom. She has yet to give up on me in this area, and I love her for trying to help me sort it out and for actually seeing when I make progress. 

Last month, I was witness to a beautiful wedding. My brother married the most wonderful woman I've ever met (not to mention so beautiful you kinda wish you could hate her except she's so sweet it's impossible to).

At the wedding, I got to see my family. My entire family. The Denbys, the Templetons, the Dantones, the Waxlers and the Dallmeyers were all assembled in one spot. The love was palpable. I don't know that I've ever felt so safe and welcome in one spot before. Everywhere I turned was a familiar face, someone to hug and share memories with. There was great food, good music, very nice wine (thanks Dad!) and laughter at every table. And I danced with my dad for the first time ever. It was a very special moment for me, even though I know he wished I would pick a shorter song (I can't help it, when I think "El Paso," I think of dad). I cried pretty much throughout the whole ceremony and definitely the entire time my brother and his compatriots (known as "Flesh Wound") performed "Falling Slowly" for Kelley. And I was OK with crying in public. Somebody had to do it, I figure.

Even family members who are gone now were there that night, in one way or another. You could find hints of them in a smile, hear their laughter, see them in a familiar walk. 

My brilliant nephew will turn 14 next month, and it amazes me every time I see him. I've watched him grow up — in fact I've grown up with him. He's a beautiful kid, and I feel honored to be a part of his life. I'm a little sad that he's grown up sooo fast, but it's been fun and in a lot of ways, I had a bigger part in his life because of all the years I lived with my brother and got to spend more time with him than many aunts/uncles might. So while I do feel a little sad, I mostly feel happy to have been able to see all of the changes of life he's gone through in 14 years and look forward to being part of the next 14. Also, now he's well past the phase of telling me "girls are gross" every time I try to hug him, so that's cool too.

This has gone on longer than I really intended, but in reflecting on not reflecting, I seem to have found quite a bit to reflect on. And despite the fact that I did grow older, what really seems to have happened is I've grown up — even if just a little bit. And I actually liked it.

Cheers.

Yes, he can

On Dec. 6, 1865, the United States Constitution was officially amended to abolish and prohibit slavery. 

In 1963, Martin Luther King Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and said, "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.'"

In 1964, the Civil Rights Act outlawed racial segregation in schools, public places and employment.

In 1965, the Voting Right Act outlawed discriminatory voting practices, which until that point had been used to prevent voting by the African American community.

On Nov. 4, 2008, Barack Obama was elected the first black president of the United States.

While I did not specifically support either of the candidates for president and can honestly say I believe both McCain and Obama would make serviceable leaders, as I watch CNN call the election in favor of Obama, I can't help but feel proud of this country.

I worry about our civil liberties. I worry about our education system. I worry that corporate greed and mismanagement will bring us to financial ruin. I worry that we as a nation will greatly contribute to the total consumption of irreplaceable resources and, in doing so, create global conditions that drastically change the ability of our planet to support us.

But today, I can see that, in some ways, we have come very far. Today, I can see some hope. 

Excuse me, I have nothing to say

I think that about covers it.

Run! Hide! It's Tropical Storm...Edouard? Wait, really?

OK, so seriously. Who could POSSIBLY be scared by a storm named Edouard? This "monstrosity" was supposed to strike Galveston Island (where I work and very close to where I live) about 7 a.m. today, Aug. 5.

Fearing for their safety, many people ran away, hands thrown in the air, shouting "We're all gonna die! Run for your lives! Arrgggh!" (The "argggh" was probably me smacking some sense into those that I came across, FYI).

At 6 a.m., I (who, rather than moving away from the alleged hurricane, went to stay at my surrogate aunt's house, much closer to the line of fire — also closer to work, which doesn't get canceled just cause of storms. I mean hey, it's the newspaper) got up to let Mollie out in case the weather was too nasty for her to do so again for a while. There was a little rain, a little wind. I went back to sleep.

At 10:30 a.m., I awoke again, went outside, and there was drizzle, clouds. Less wind.

At 1 p.m., I headed to work. There were clouds. An occasional drop of rain. A nice breeze. The temperature was slightly cooler.

It is 5:10 p.m. now, Killer Edoardo has dropped about .6 inches of rain on Galveston and gone on about its business.

Yes folks, I survived my first tropical storm. Yeehaw.

If mmorpgs are wrong, I don't want to be right

After more than a year of abstinence, I have re-entered the World of Warcraft. Oh, how I missed you, Azeroth. Where else can I be a badass night-elf hunter and run around taming sabers and killing giant crocs, then skinning them and selling their hides for gold? Sure, I might be a geek. But damnit, I'm a happy geek. And that's really all that matters. Right? .... Right?

Welcome, new reader!

Well dear friends, it appears as though my readership is growing! Let's see....there's my brother, who as a blood relative is probably legally obligated to read my blog; Kacie, who as one of my oldest and bestest friends is also legally obligated; The Mert (aka David) is something like my surrogate big brother; and now (drumroll please...drumroll...anyone....somebody...? Damnit, why isn't there ever background music when you need it!) we welcome Trisha to the rank(s) of Kim's readers! You are now elite, Trisha. We appreciate your interest in my ramblings. Most importantly, you carry no actual obligation to read, so you're probably the coolest person cause you're reading by choice! Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoy the show.

Now onto other matters of great importance — we have some breaking news. This just in: I am NOT all that young anymore. Apparently, somewhere along the way in the past year, I grew out of my youth and into a comfortable "mid-20s" stage. This was jarringly pointed out to me this weekend when two friends were in town, both of them still in the "21-and-drunk" stage of life. I spent four days feeling about 37 years old. After staying up until 5 am drinking, then getting up at the crack of dawn to eat greasy food, hit the beach, the water park, the pool, etc., then doing it all over again the next day, coming back to work felt like a vacation. 

On the plus side, I look forward to going home, flopping down on the couch and watching a little tv, then peacefully sleeping through a whole night without frat-boy-esque interruptions. Being old isn't really so bad. I certainly don't miss waking up with a hangover.

Adventures in fried chicken and other random platitudes

Personal note to my favorite big brother: You're a pain in the ass! Please excuse my profanity, but as pretty much anyone reading this knows him, you will know that he is, in fact, a pain in the posterior. Whereas I can't talk to him anymore unless I've blogged — thus being able to avoid a stern lecture — I am henceforth and forthwith attending to my blog so that I may be able to communicate with him sans bitching.

This, of course, begs the question: If he's a pain in the ass, why would you want to talk to him? And it's a good question, dear reader (and by dear "reader," I mean that literally ... I'm pretty sure there's only one of you, and he's the subject of this paragraph.)

Well aside from being a blood relative, he's also a fairly amusing person to chat with. Funny looking, too, but it's really not his fault. Moving right along to the REAL subject of this blog...my recent adventures in fried chicken....

It was a dark, stormy night on the isle of Galveston. Rain lashed the windows of a well-hidden building just off Interstate 45, and the troubled workers within puttered to-and-fro among lines of modular desks. The workers, pale and red-eyed, muttered words like "dangling modifier" and "AP style" with the occasional heavy sigh, eye-roll and shout of "@*$&". The copy editors were restless....

OK, it was absolutely nothing like that. In reality, I was working late one night, when my fellow copy editors and I began a great debate on the merits of fried chicken and the best places to find it. Being a true Souther girl, I know the only real answer: my mom's house. And after an hour of pithy back-and-forth, I realized something. I needed a fix of the battered-poultry-in-hot-oil persuasion. What to do, though? Popeye's or KFC could, of course, have provided the necessary entree. But would that be enough? Would my craving be satisfied? No, I decided it simply would not do.

The next day I embarked on a shopping trip of epic proportions. Not since the days of yore has such a shopping adventure been attempted. Woe unto any of you who should follow in my steps, for the way is rife with uncertainty and peril. There was much to buy and little time.

As I fought my way through Wal-Mart, shoving aside little old ladies and puppies, leaping over pallets of vegetables and Tonka toys, I managed to procure an overflowing basketfull of flour, chicken breasts, potatoes, some Golden Crisp cereal (hey, everybody's gotta eat breakfast, right?) and a mixer, among other items of dubious usefullness.

My shopping completed, I oozed my way home in the sweltering Texas heat. After lugging bags of food and equipment into my air-conditioned apartment, I decided a little relaxation by the pool was in order. Popping a Corona open, I took the Da Vinci Code and lazed by the pool for an hour before deciding I was just cooled down enough to attempt the inevitable culinary disaster that was to be my attempt at making the famous fried chicken and potatoes of my forebear (aka Mom).

Potatoes were peeled and stewed, chicken was battered and slung into a cast-iron skillet. It was a glorious, momentous day for underachieving cooks everywhere!

About two hours later, sweat dripping from my brow (not into the food, that would be gross), I stumbled from the kitchen, exhausted but pleased with my work. I sat down to my feast and discovered the satisfaction that comes from devouring something you made all by yourself....except for six or seven calls to mom to make sure I wasn't screwing it all up.

For my brother...so he won't bitch at me

So, I moved from the liberal capital of Texas (Austin) to the Coastal area — not quite "on" Galveston island, but spitting distance, if you'll pardon that little country-ism. And since I don't live with my big brother anymore for him to hassle me daily about blogging...I haven't! So to avoid an uncomfortable silence next time he gets me on the phone and asks "have you been writing?" I decided to add this random blog of a few fun facts about me. Enjoy! (All are 100% true).

1) When I worked in Marble Falls, some days instead of eating on my lunch break, I'd go down to Johnson Park, sit by the river and make fun of the ducks. Out loud.

2) At least once a month, I wake up jumping out of my bed because I think there's a spider on or near me.

3) I saw Elvis pumping gas at a truck stop about 20 miles south of Waco, Texas.

4) I would have stayed in the Matrix. Fuck the real world. Who needs the hassle?

5) I tell my dog everything. She's a good listener and usually very nonjudgmental.

6) I will occasionally become completely convinced that none of this is actually happening. No drugs are involved.

7) If vampires are real, I'd like to meet a really old one and ask him about stuff that happened hundreds of years ago.  Cause history books are just a bunch of dirty lies, I bet.

8) I'd like to move to a deserted island and be entirely self-sufficient for a while. It'd probably be like if Gilligan hadn't had the professor, but I think I could do it.

9) I think snakes are really cool and would like to have one as a pet.

10) One day, I will own a motorcycle.

11) I usually carry at least three knives with me at all times. You can't be too careful, right?

12) I dislike having to wear shoes and wouldn't if it weren't for the fact that I might step on something unpleasant, like a spider. Purses, however, are a necessity in life.

13) My big brother is my hero. He should probably be yours, too. Just sayin'.

14) If there was a contest for most animated person in the history of the universe, I believe a New Yorker named Ben Furr would win. You probably don't know him, but trust me on this. 

15) If I start a sentence with, "So this one time, I was drunk..." the name Chance Atchley is going to come up VERY soon.

16) Despite the fact that it's 2008, I still think "your mom!" is a good comeback.

17) In 25 years on this earth, I've only beaten my dad at Scrabble once.

18) My mom's fried chicken is so good, it actually melted someone's face off once. Ok, that one wasn't really true, but it COULD be. Time will tell.

19) Techno music makes me want to beat someone unconscious with their own leg. I don't know if I could pull this off, but it certainly gives me the urge.

20) I can't think of another fact, but leaving the list at No. 19 would have REALLY bothered me.

Spinning beach balls of death

In the newspaper world, we work on Mac computers. No matter where you work, everyone has shared a similar experience: The spinning beach ball of death (cue the orchestra!). You innocently try to save a file, or type some, or perhaps flow something into a layout and BAM — that happy little multicolored wheel pops up in front of you and spins. Then spins some more. And continues to spin. A curious thing happens to you as the spinning goes on. No, you don't become hypnotized, which might be a nice distraction. Instead, you start to feel the temperature rising. Your face will most likely become flushed. Your eyes narrow. Your jaw clenches, teeth grind and gnash. And that little f*@#ing wheel just keeps spinning like something out of Willy Wonkaland until finally you can't take it anymore! You've had enough of this! NO MORE SPINNING WHEEL! So you hold down the option key and click on the program and select "Force Quit." Only, sometimes it doesn't work. MY GOD! HOW CAN IT NOT WORK? Exhausted and depressed, most likely looking forward to redoing a whole morning of work, you slam your head down on the keyboard, hoping maybe one of the keys will pop out and poke y0u in the eye so you can't see that damnable beach ball anymore. Of course, your forehead magically selects the correct series of keys, the program unfreezes and you are forced to go back to actually working. Maybe you should have just let the beach ball spin.

Happiness is a Warm Gun...or something like that

If the universe had a anthropomorphic personification, it would definitely be a rosy cheeked little fat man in a hat with a bell on it. And yes, the bell is key. You can't run around causing such mischief without a jingling hat. Probably he's named "Skippy."
I say all this because after the weekend I just experienced, it's clear that the universe is nothing short of ridiculous. A long series of overdramatic experiences culminated in one head-slapping "duh!" moment in which life became clarified. The path was clear; the angst was gone.
Apparently, my mom was right when she told me it's OK to fall in love.
Which brings us back to the Skippy, the universe. Cause the past ten years of my life have apparently been a circle leading me back to my first boyfriend. Outside of the movies, when the hell does that actually happen in real life? Mock me if you will, Skippy. But the last laugh is all mine.

Of dogs and friends

I have a dog named Mollie. She's a 4-year-old chocolate lab and, in short, she's the coolest person you'll ever know. She's a little hyper, but she's also smart, sensitive and VERY optimistic. She's pretty much my hero.
I bring her up because lately I've been wallowing in what my friend Ben refers to as "a funk." Or, in Breakfast at Tiffany's-speak, I've had the mean reds. Just want to hang out a window and shout "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" So what's the problem?, you might ask.
Really, it's a combination of factors — as best I can tell, at least. I'm not terribly pleased with my job (high stress, long hours, waaaay undercompensated for time and effort) but that's not entirely it. Mostly, I'm restless. I'm ready for a fresh start. I'm trying to move to another city where I'll be closer to my oldest and dearest friends and where, hopefully, I can find a job that doesn't make me want to drink every day. But it's a slow process, and I'm not a patient person. I'm also naturally cynical, and so I already am predisposed to believe the whole attempt will not turn out like I envision.
Which brings me back to Mollie and her ever-present optimism. It doesn't matter how many times you tell her you don't want to throw a ball for her, she'll keep bringing it back and dropping it in your lap, just in case. She doesn't get frustrated or upset, she just keeps trying. And if she eventually decides her attempt is going nowhere, she finds something else to do and does it happily.
I think I should strive to be more like my dog.

And now, for something completely different

We're three months month into 2008, and I'm starting to wonder about the direction of our technological advancements.
We have iPods, supercomputers and robots that can vacuum the floor. But where the heck are the flying cars? How about the device on Star Trek that allows you to transport instantly to somewhere else? Or space ships that can take us to other galaxies?
Of these innovations, I've seen nothing.
What I do see is cell phones. Smaller and smaller they grow, and more attached to our heads they become. Sometimes literally, if you use hands-free devices.
I have a love-hate relationship with my phone. On one hand, I feel safer driving on the dark, deserted highway on my way home from work at night. On the other, there's just no escaping friends, family, telemarketers and bill collectors, because you're carrying them around in your pocket.
It's an addiction. Like alcohol, heroine or Law & Order reruns.
Here's a story I bet you can relate to:
You hit the snooze button a few too many times, and of course you're running late for work. And probably, just for good measure, it's Monday.
You throw on some clothes, brush your teeth at lightening speed, grab the car keys and hit the road.
Then half a mile (about thirty minutes in traffic) away from home, it hits you: You FORGOT your cell phone.
What do you do? Do you say, "Nah, I'll just leave it at home today. Nothing I really need that for."
OF COURSE YOU DON'T!
You have to turn around and get that annoying little device, don't you? Because what if something bad happens? What if you break down, run out of gas, your mom gets taken to the hospital, your kid gets suspended from school and your dog escapes from the back yard? How on earth could you possibly be out of touch for the whole eight hours that you are at work?
In reality, you got along for [fill in the number] years without your kids, significant other, friends and salesmen having immediate phone access to you.
I can remember as a kid leaving the house for hours on outings that did not involve constant interruptions via obnoxious pop-song ringtones and text message alerts.
People called houses, left messages and waited for a return phone call. And it was OK! The world kept rolling right along.
I'd like to invite you all to join me in putting the phone down and interacting more with the live and in-person world.
Starting right after I take this phone call.

I want Ron Paul to be president, and I don’t care if you think he’s crazy

Editorial note: This is way more political than anything else I'll probably ever post here, but it's something I had already written.

I’m a 25-year-old single, white female and for the first time in history a woman has a shot at the White House. I should be jumping for joy. What times to be living in!, I should be shouting.
Instead, I find myself repeatedly saying to people: If Hillary Clinton wins the White House, I’m leaving the country. She’s a heinous, sneaky, flip-flopping fem-bot. But that's just my opinion.
Some of you may be asking: If not the person who shares a similar lettering of chromosomes (that’s XX, unless I misunderstood my eighth-grade biology teacher), then who, Kim, would you vote for?
The answer is Ron Paul. And don’t look at me like that.
He’s the only candidate I believe is a constitutionalist.
You know, the constitution. That piece of paper telling us what the government can and can’t do? I’m a fan of it. And I’d like a president who actually has read it, and possibly even agrees to confine his actions while in office to the restrictions set forth in that document.
For an example of what I’m talking about, let’s look at an issue. How about national security? That’s kind of a big deal these days.
Now, I like not being blown up as much as the next person, but I’m only happy to let my government intrude so far on my rights as laid out in that wonderful and carefully-thought-out document . . . the constitution. So here’s how some of the candidates for president voted on the Patriot Act, a measure I believe blows a giant metaphorical raspberry at the constitution, then thumbs its nose while shouting “Nah nah nah nah nah” at Americans:
Paul voted against the Patriot Act. Then he voted against reauthorizing the Patriot Act. Twice.
Thanks, Ron. I do like my civil liberties.
By contrast, Sen. Hillary Clinton voted yes on the Patriot Act . . . then voted no to reauthorizing it . . . then voted yes to reauthorizing it. Can’t make up her mind whether civil liberties are good or not? Or was it that the polls two of those years said 51 percent of voters like civil liberties, but the other year only 49 percent did? Hmm.
Sen. John McCain voted yes on the Patriot Act . . . as often as possible. At least he sticks by his bad decisions.
Sen. Barack Obama was not in office when the Patriot Act was first passed, but he voted no on reauthorization once, then voted yes the second time around. But he’s young, maybe there’s hope.
This is merely an example, of course. And while I may still be young (read: old enough to have figured out this is all bullshit and really bitter about it), I’m not a fool — McCain has the Republican nomination, and Paul is unlikely to make a realistic bid as a third-party candidate.
And I’m not above being grateful that I live in times where a woman and a black man are battling it out for the Democratic nomination. That’s progress I can be proud of.
But at the end of the day, I will still stare sullenly at CNN and tell myself, “If Clinton wins, I’m moving to [fill in the name of a suitable sandy-beached foreign country].”
She hasn’t voted away my right to do that. Yet.