Thursday, July 30, 2009


This morning I went to use my iPod and saw this on the screen:

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this situation was NOT GOOD.

When I got to work I looked up some iHelp and it told me that there were hardware damages to my iPod and I would need to restore it back to its factory settings (read: erase the whole thing) to try and salvage it.

I hear you all saying, "Oh, silly KK, don't worry – you can just do that and then update your iPod off of your iTunes library again!"

Oh, naive reader, how I wish that were true.

When my computer died in the fall, I lost my iTunes library.

Every song.

So, I don't have a library to which I sync up my soon-to-be-restored iPod.

Also? I have one of the oldest iPods on the planet.

It's a fourth generation (were some of you readers even born yet???) that has a click wheel. Old school. Because that's how I roll.

Of course, this also means that I am rolling without ANY songs...

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

What do you think?

Should I try again this year???

not how I would have put it, but yes...

Today I had an appointment for my annual physical.

The nurse is taking my vitals and asking me all sorts of fun questions.

She refers to my chart and says, "So, your gynecologist is in Boston?"

ME: "Yes. She's a gynecological oncologist." Say that 5 times fast!

HER: "I see you've had a hysterectomy..."

ME: "Yep. A radical one."

HER: "Ohhh, so you don't have anything left."

Nope. Not even a comeback.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

and I didn't even eat bananas

I had the strangest freaking dreams last night.

One in particular stood out, as it was the last one I had before waking up this morning.

I can rationalize some of it, but the rest...some crazy shit.

The dream:

My friend Tracey* and I are in NYC, and it's always nighttime, and it's always snowing**.

We are in the city for a dance recital that our boyfriends are starring in. (There are a few things wrong here: 1. i'm not married in my dream. 2. tracey doesn't have a boyfriend. 3. i'm pretty sure if we DID have boyfriends that danced in recitals, we'd break up with them.)

We don't want to stay for the whole show, we just want to catch the numbers our men are in. (This sounds a little more like us). So we ditch as much of the show as we can to go out to eat (Tracey's urgings) and to go shopping (my idea).

We realize we're late for the show, as we know their number is on at 9:20.

We are running through the streets of NYC, in the snow – me carrying a shopping bag – dogding horses (hansom cabs) and cars (taxis).

We get to the show, and the lobby is filled with people. Because we're late. And we've missed them. The performers start filing into the lobby to see their families and friends and receive large bouquets of flowers (which we do not have for our boyfriends).

Tracey finds her boyfriend (who resembles a Celtics player***) and I look around for my beloved. I can't find him anywhere.

I leave the auditorium through the back door and am on a quiet side street in the city (now I know it's a dream...) and I see him standing down the street...with a little child.

This child turns out to be HIS child (whaaaa?) and HE turns out to be...Michael Jackson! My boyfriend is Michael Jackson.

The end.

the explanations I can muster up:
*Tracey has been on my mind because she recently had some surgery.
**Yesterday I posed the question to Mr. KK wondering if we'd have a super snowy winter because we had such a rainy summer.
***Tracey lives in Boston.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

they say it's just like riding a bike

It's time.

It's time to start writing my novel again.

After this happened, I just didn't know if I had it in me.

But I have a few ideas swimming around my pretty little head.

No more excuses that I'm too busy at work. (Even though I am. I mean, who wants to go home and turn on the computer to write after you've been doing it for 12 hours already that day???).

I have my opening line (and it's a good one!) and I'm ready to go.

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Wonder Twin powers, Activate!

Ever imagine what it would be like to have a super power?

I used to wish I could have the power to be invisible, or to freeze time and continue a conversation with someone (sort of like how they do it on "The Office", but I'd rather do it at work. Freeze the room around me and turn to someone and say, "Who brought this idiot to the meeting?")

But my new super power of choice would be to have the ability to arrest people.

Asshats on the road, idiot girlfriend abusers, and plain old stupid people.

How about you guys? What would YOUR superpower of choice be?

Monday, July 20, 2009

Niemans Shmiemans

I was shunned by Nieman Marcus, and I didn't like it.

Not one bit.

Is THIS what it's like to be treated like a second class citizen???

While in Chicago (glorious city! LOVED it! Can't wait to go back and not spend 10 hours a day in a windowless conference room in need of an afghan), two coworkers and I snuck out one afternoon to do a little shopping.

It was designer sale time in all of the biggies (Nordstroms, Saks, Niemans) and we were hungry for deals.

First stop: Nieman Marcus.

I've never been to a Neimans before. Macy's, Nordstrom's, Lord & Taylor – I've spend my time in those stores. But never Niemans.

And let me tell you about the SHOES on those sale racks! Prada! Chanel! Choo! I swear I saw the EXACT Manolos that Carrie Bradshaw bought for her big "good-bye" date with Big – the ones she was wearing when Miranda's water broke all over them.

And even though these shoes were on crazy sale, they were still $300, $400 and even $700 a pair. I mean, I love shoes, but I also love to eat. Splurging on shoes and eating canned beans won't cut it for me.

But I did find a very nice pair of Tory Burch gladiator flats (with the cutout signature TB on the front) in a great citrusy orange color. They were beautiful.

I handed them to the (uber stuffy) salesman (I'm sure at Neimans they're not called 'salesman'. It's probably something silly like 'guest service associate' or something ridiculous).

Stuffy McStuffington take the shoes from me (after giving me – and my white jeans and Old Navy sweater – a blatant and distasteful once-over) and asks, "American Express or your Nieman's charge?"

To which I reply (rather hoitily): "Neither."

SMS raises one perfectly-manicured eyebrow and asks, "Oh? Cash, then?"

ME: "Still no."

SMS rolls his eyes and sighs QUITE AUDIBLY and says, "Personal check?" with such a look of horror on his face that I may attempt to use a method of payment that is SO last decade. You might have thought I was going to offer to pay him in cockroaches or dusty sheep.

ME: "I don't have my checkbook."

SMS: "I don't understand."

Really? It seem quite clear. I don't have any of the forms of payment you have mentioned thusfar.

ME: "Visa? MasterCard?"

SMS, that look of disgust back again: "Oh, no. We only accept Neimans and Amex."

And with that, he slid my Tory Burches off the counter and sauntered into the stock room – which I'm sure at Niemans is called a "Supplementary Shoe Solarium".

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Things I don't need to see on the news while I'm at a hotel

So I'm in Chicago at a Shopper Marketing conference with some coworkers and even though I spend most of the waking hours in various windowless meeting rooms, I am falling in love with this city.

It's my first time here, and it reminds me so much of Boston that I want to cry. I can't wait to plan a trip back with Mr. KK in the fall.

This morning I am getting ready to start my day with 500 strangers at the perky hour of 8am and I flick on the Today Show. What fun news stories do I see? Two plane crashes and a hotel prank caller.

Apparently these prank callers are dialing up hotel guests in the middle of the night, telling them about a gas leak in the hotel, and telling them to break a window so they can get fresh air. People are freaking out and doing it, smashing windows with irons and anything else they can get their hands on.

I blame the economy for this. Too many people are cutting back on real entertainment – such as movies, cruises, dinners out – that they are turning to more "home-based" fun. Like pranking hotels. And probably setting lawn furniture on fire. And shooting squirrels with BB guns.

Crazy people aside, my coworkers and I have sort of termed this trip the "bucket list" trip, as we're having many experiences that are enabling us to cross things off our eternal to-do lists.

This trip I am crossing off the following items:

• visit Chicago
• eat frogs legs (and lived to tell about it! think: a cross between chicken and fish)
• see Billy Joel and Elton John together in concert (the President of the Company surprised us with tickets...and they're playing at Wrigley Field!)
• meet the most annoying woman on the planet (and she's an she's annoying about numbers and charts and graphs – quite a combo)
• freeze my nipples off (seriously, it's THAT cold in these conference rooms...can someone please turn up the frickin' heat???)

We are sneaking out for a little shopping in a do a little shopper marketing of our own.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Wanted in New Jersey

Mr. KK calls me at work laughing.

MR. KK: "You got a weird piece of mail today."

KK: "Hustler magazine?"

MR. KK: "No. A letter from the 'Garden State Transit Law Enforcement'."

Oh, that.

The back story: When the girl and I were driving to Philly, we spent some time on the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey. In case you're not familiar with that particular roadway, there's a toll every 3 feet.

I was driving, Tracey was in charge of holding up the electronic toll pass to pay. They usually split the road so that people who are paying electronically go to the left and sail through, and people who are stuck in the dark ages and still pay tolls with cash wait in line on the right.

Because we are paying electronically, there isn't an actual "toll booth" like there is on the side for cash. There's just a thin metal bar that crosses over the highway.

I'm always paranoid the electronic payment thingy won't pick up my transmitter for payment, so I start holding it up 20 feet before I get to the toll area.

Imagine a conversation like this:

KK: "I'm going to go left for the EZ Pass lane. Make sure you hold up the thing."

TRACEY: "I will. Don't worry."

KK: "Did you hold up the thing?"

TRACEY: "I will when we get to the toll."

KK: "We just went THROUGH the toll!"

TRACEY: "Where? I didn't see a toll booth!"

KK: "We don't GET a toll booth on our side."

TRACEY: "It was out, I had it in my hand."

DESI (from the backseat): "I'm sure it picked it up. I wouldn't worry about it."

Well, they didn't pick it up.

So now I got a letter telling me I not only owe them the $1.00 for the toll, but I also owe a $25 fine.

Hearing I got this letter made me laugh out loud. I mean, I paid the toll before and the toll after. Did the state of New Jersey really think I was trying to take them for a whole dollar???

KK: "Tray, you'll never guess what I got in the mail today? Practically a warrant for my arrest for not paying that toll on the Garden State!"

TRACEY: "That thing was a farce! There was no toll booth! And I had the thing in MY HAND."

KK: "They even sent a picture."

TRACEY: "Can you zoom in and see the transmitter in my hand???"

KK: "No, it's of the back of my car. A nice clear shot of my license plate."

Kinda creepy. Very big brother.

I'm totally contesting it. We DID have the transmitter out. I'm just paying the dollar. If I were avoiding tolls, I'd try and get out of the million dollar George Washington Bridge toll.

If you don't hear from me for a while, it could be because I've been captured by the state of New Jersey. I'll be forced to spent the rest of my days wearing acid washed jeans, bangle bracelets and Aqua Net.

The Shoes!

They managed to escape the beaten box unscathed...

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Dear Piperlime,

There are people who buy shoes because they need to put something on their feet to leave the house, then there are those people who think shoes are a nice accessory.

And then there's me: the self-proclaimed shoe whore.

Piperlime, I LOVE shoes. LOVE them. I treat them like my children: they each have their own spot in the closet, facing the same way, arranged by color.

So you can imagine my delight when I squeezed a few minutes into my very busy day to peruse your gorgeous site and order a new pair of shoes.

And then, when I got the call from reception yesterday that I had a package, it was the bright light on an otherwise dark, long, bad day. I ran down the stairs to retrieve my new beauties.

And you can imagine my shock and utter horror to see THIS:

Did my package fall OFF the truck? And then did the drive throw the truck into reverse, back OVER my package, then play floor hockey with it, then toss it underfoot of an angry elephant, and then drop kick it into the reception area?

It's a good thing they didn't have the glass slippers in my size.



Sunday, July 5, 2009

To my workplace and bosses: consider yourself warned

This past Friday, when most of the free world was starting their long holiday weekend celebrations, making trips to the beach and downing margaritas, I had to go to work.

After going through the 5 stages of accepting I had to work on yet another holiday (disbelief, flabbergastery, anger, indifference, delirium), I made the regrettable decision to bring Vito to work with me. Mr. KK was golfing for the day (at least one of us was enjoying their day off) and only about 10 or so people were going to be there.

At the time, seemed like a fantastic decision.


Aside from barking like a lunatic at everyone who cooed over and tried to pet him, Vito ran around the office like he was part of a holiday marathon. After a few laps he had a wild, crazed look in his eyes and his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth. He looked like a puppy who help a ticket for the short bus.

Once Vito had calmed down a bit, one of the girls came to my office door.

HER: "Um, Vito left a little present in the atrium."

WHAT??? I was mortified! He NEVER does anything in the house, I can't even tell you the last time he had an accident. Plus, I had just taken him outside where he pooped. Apparently, he wasn't done.

Upon telling my mother-in-law what happened, her rationale was simple: "Vito was pooping all over the place that keeps his Mommy away from him for much."

Well played, Vito. Well played.