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.