I’ve been a total blogging slacker lately, so if I even have any readers left: Happy New Year, guys!
I feel I’m not alone when asking the question: Where did 2008 go?
I mean, I had bronchitis (twice!), I ended the summer in the oppressive heat in Vegas and then BOOM! it was the holidays, I was drinking my weight in martinis and stuffing my face full of rugelach.
In true January-blogging fashion, I’m going to excite you with my resolutions (that I’ll never keep) for 2009.
(NOTE: I believe I’ve already broken at least one, if not two, of them.)
(DOUBLE NOTE: I tried to keep these realistic. I’m still going to make fun of people, and there’s no way I’m running a marathon.)
KK'S 2009 RESOLUTIONS
• Exercise more patience. Actually, this can be broken up into TWO resolutions:
1. Exercise
2. Have more patience.
• Be more organized. Not Sleeping-With-The-Enemy-canned-goods-and-kitchen-towels-organized. More like filing bills and receipts and not leaving them in a humongous pile on the filing cabinet. Or on the radiator. Or on the stairs.
• Spend more time doing things I love. Yes, this is a selfish resolution, but one I feel need to instill. For instance, I LOVE reading. But I never have time to read. Now, I will MAKE TIME to read. (Even if it means not doing other things, like laundry or leaving the house.)
• Try/create one new recipe a week. This week’s recipe: Italian Wedding Soup.
• (Re)start my novel. Check!
• Be a better blogger.
• Get paid to write. Not work stuff. Fun stuff.
THINGS KK WILL STILL DO IN 2009
• Be OCD when it comes to locking doors and cars. (My quote of the year: "Did you beep the car?")
• Want a new kitchen.
• Procrastinate when it comes to cleaning.
• Spend too much money at the grocery store.
• Complain about work.
• Complain when jeans don't fit, then eat 5 slices of pizza.
• Leave Goodwill bags in the trunk for 4 months.
• NOT blog every day, even if I want to. (I'm trying. I promise.)
Here's to a happy and healthy 2009!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The First "This Only Happens To Me" In 2009
Over the break we took an overnight getaway to one of the casinos.
It was New Year’s Day and the place was ridiculously crowded, so instead of fighting our way to play at tables with too-high minimums, we settled into one of the restaurant bars for drinks.
Strangers talk to us – me especially – so it was no surprise when a slightly odd, middle-aged man entered the bar and focused his attention on us.
I knew just from looking at him we were in trouble. He strutted into the bar, like he was too cool for school, and ordered a drink. He could only pay with a $100 bill, and since they bar had just opened, they couldn’t really make change. So they gave him $75 in ones, bundled in 3 neat packs of $25 each.
He had a Rodney Dangerfield-esk tick, cracking his neck and continually pulling down his shirtsleeves.
We were sitting about 10 feet from the bar, at a high table enjoying our drinks. I was indulging in my favorite hot and dirty martini, and Mr. KK was enjoying a nice Manhattan. Rodney Dangerfield saw us and I knew we were goners.
RD: “Where am I supposed to put all these ones? I don’t have enough pockets!”
I’m sure he was a nice enough guy, but there was just something about him that I didn’t like.
But, I was buzzed from my martini and in a good mood. Plus, I can't help talking to strangers.
ME: “Maybe you could put each bundle in a separate pocket? Spread the out?” I gave him a smile. Didn’t want to come off as a complete bitch. Not yet anyway.
I made the mistake of talking to him. Now he didn’t leave us alone.
He was channeling Johnny Cash, wearing a black velvet blazer, black button down shirt and black pants. I could tell he had money, but his clothes didn’t fit him correctly.
He confirmed my assumption by telling us about how much money he lost at the casino, betting hundreds of dollars a hand. Was he trying to impress us?
And then, the floodgates opened.
He wouldn’t shut up.
“This is my first year being separated from my wife…We were married for almost 20 years…We were even in therapy…Then she didn’t want to be married…I used to be a lot heavier…I’m back on the dating scene…”
He was talking so loudly that people at the bar were now staring at this guy…and the poor couple he had trapped with his incessant chatting.
But he wasn’t done.
“I’m living alone…But I don’t like eating alone…I forgot how to make out in a car…”
Jeesh, where was the couch for this dude? Keep up this depressing talk and they won’t be able to call it happy hour anymore.
We were just about finished with our drinks – thankfully – and planning our getaway.
I’m an excellent multi-tasker, so as Mr. KK was telling me we should get the check, I was also listening to our new friend talk to the bartender.
ME: “Gah! He’s telling the bartender he wants to buy us a drink! We’re trapped!”
And, sure enough, the bartender came up to our table. “This gentleman,” she laughed slightly at her own words, “would like to buy you another round.”
I look at Mr. Dangerfield and say in my best mock-gratitude tone: “No! You don’t have to do that!”
RD: “Yes, I insist. You people are very nice to listen to an old guy like me. Let me buy you a round of drinks.”
I knew arguing would get me nowhere, so we thanked him and the waitress brought over a second set of martinis. Ooh boy.
And here’s where it gets uncomfortable.
Mr. Dangerfield finished up his drink and inquires about our plans for later. Instincts kicking in, I’m immediately on the defensive.
MR. KK: “We don’t really have any plans.”
RD: “Really? You two seem nice enough. I’d love to have you two join me and my girlfriend for dinner next door.”
Um, excuse me?
ME: “Oh, that’s so nice of you.”
(Translation: “Hey, Crazy Man, I don’t want to eat with you!”)
We are finding no way out of this situation so we agree that we will meet him and his girlfriend for a cocktail. We are suckers.
Rodney Dangerfield shakes our hands and tells us he’ll see us soon. He packs up his stacks of singles and heads out.
Peace and quiet at last.
Or not.
There’s a bit of commotion and the bartender approaches our table. “Did he leave?” She asks. She doesn’t look happy.
ME: “I think so. He shook our hands and took his money. Why?”
BARTENDER: “Well, he never paid for the round of drinks he bought for you.”
Crap.
So not only have we agreed to have dinner with this check-stiffer, but now we’re stuck shelling out another $40 for drinks we didn’t necessarily want.
ME: “Oh.”
That’s about all I can manage. I’m two martinis in, and not thinking all that clearly. At these prices we only planned on paying for one round drinks and then heading out the casino where the drinks were free.
The bartender sighs and moves back behind the bar. “Don’t worry about it,” she mumbles.
Now we feel badly, not to mention coerced into purchasing drinks we had no intention of buying. “We’ll pay for them,” we offer, rather half-heartedly.
BARTENDER: “No, no. It’s not your fault. We’ll take care of it.”
And apparently by “take care of it”, they meant call over every person who was working in the restaurant, repeat the story and cause everyone to STARE at us. It also meant to talk super loudly, so everyone sitting at the bar enjoying drinks now knew that we were the two people finishing drinks that never got paid for.
MR. KK: “Well, this is super comfortable.”
ME: “Look! They had to call over the guys in suits. Now THEY’RE staring at us. What’s with the guys in the suits? They can’t cancel a drink order without them?”
Now there were five people crowded around the cash register, whispering and staring.
We left a very large tip for the waitress and ran out of there.
ME: “I guess we can cross this place off our list for dinner possibilities tonight.”
(NOTE: We did NOT meet Rodney and his girlfriend for dinner. In fact, we ran by their restaurant, holding my bag up so he wouldn't see our faces. Yes, we are immature.)
It was New Year’s Day and the place was ridiculously crowded, so instead of fighting our way to play at tables with too-high minimums, we settled into one of the restaurant bars for drinks.
Strangers talk to us – me especially – so it was no surprise when a slightly odd, middle-aged man entered the bar and focused his attention on us.
I knew just from looking at him we were in trouble. He strutted into the bar, like he was too cool for school, and ordered a drink. He could only pay with a $100 bill, and since they bar had just opened, they couldn’t really make change. So they gave him $75 in ones, bundled in 3 neat packs of $25 each.
He had a Rodney Dangerfield-esk tick, cracking his neck and continually pulling down his shirtsleeves.
We were sitting about 10 feet from the bar, at a high table enjoying our drinks. I was indulging in my favorite hot and dirty martini, and Mr. KK was enjoying a nice Manhattan. Rodney Dangerfield saw us and I knew we were goners.
RD: “Where am I supposed to put all these ones? I don’t have enough pockets!”
I’m sure he was a nice enough guy, but there was just something about him that I didn’t like.
But, I was buzzed from my martini and in a good mood. Plus, I can't help talking to strangers.
ME: “Maybe you could put each bundle in a separate pocket? Spread the out?” I gave him a smile. Didn’t want to come off as a complete bitch. Not yet anyway.
I made the mistake of talking to him. Now he didn’t leave us alone.
He was channeling Johnny Cash, wearing a black velvet blazer, black button down shirt and black pants. I could tell he had money, but his clothes didn’t fit him correctly.
He confirmed my assumption by telling us about how much money he lost at the casino, betting hundreds of dollars a hand. Was he trying to impress us?
And then, the floodgates opened.
He wouldn’t shut up.
“This is my first year being separated from my wife…We were married for almost 20 years…We were even in therapy…Then she didn’t want to be married…I used to be a lot heavier…I’m back on the dating scene…”
He was talking so loudly that people at the bar were now staring at this guy…and the poor couple he had trapped with his incessant chatting.
But he wasn’t done.
“I’m living alone…But I don’t like eating alone…I forgot how to make out in a car…”
Jeesh, where was the couch for this dude? Keep up this depressing talk and they won’t be able to call it happy hour anymore.
We were just about finished with our drinks – thankfully – and planning our getaway.
I’m an excellent multi-tasker, so as Mr. KK was telling me we should get the check, I was also listening to our new friend talk to the bartender.
ME: “Gah! He’s telling the bartender he wants to buy us a drink! We’re trapped!”
And, sure enough, the bartender came up to our table. “This gentleman,” she laughed slightly at her own words, “would like to buy you another round.”
I look at Mr. Dangerfield and say in my best mock-gratitude tone: “No! You don’t have to do that!”
RD: “Yes, I insist. You people are very nice to listen to an old guy like me. Let me buy you a round of drinks.”
I knew arguing would get me nowhere, so we thanked him and the waitress brought over a second set of martinis. Ooh boy.
And here’s where it gets uncomfortable.
Mr. Dangerfield finished up his drink and inquires about our plans for later. Instincts kicking in, I’m immediately on the defensive.
MR. KK: “We don’t really have any plans.”
RD: “Really? You two seem nice enough. I’d love to have you two join me and my girlfriend for dinner next door.”
Um, excuse me?
ME: “Oh, that’s so nice of you.”
(Translation: “Hey, Crazy Man, I don’t want to eat with you!”)
We are finding no way out of this situation so we agree that we will meet him and his girlfriend for a cocktail. We are suckers.
Rodney Dangerfield shakes our hands and tells us he’ll see us soon. He packs up his stacks of singles and heads out.
Peace and quiet at last.
Or not.
There’s a bit of commotion and the bartender approaches our table. “Did he leave?” She asks. She doesn’t look happy.
ME: “I think so. He shook our hands and took his money. Why?”
BARTENDER: “Well, he never paid for the round of drinks he bought for you.”
Crap.
So not only have we agreed to have dinner with this check-stiffer, but now we’re stuck shelling out another $40 for drinks we didn’t necessarily want.
ME: “Oh.”
That’s about all I can manage. I’m two martinis in, and not thinking all that clearly. At these prices we only planned on paying for one round drinks and then heading out the casino where the drinks were free.
The bartender sighs and moves back behind the bar. “Don’t worry about it,” she mumbles.
Now we feel badly, not to mention coerced into purchasing drinks we had no intention of buying. “We’ll pay for them,” we offer, rather half-heartedly.
BARTENDER: “No, no. It’s not your fault. We’ll take care of it.”
And apparently by “take care of it”, they meant call over every person who was working in the restaurant, repeat the story and cause everyone to STARE at us. It also meant to talk super loudly, so everyone sitting at the bar enjoying drinks now knew that we were the two people finishing drinks that never got paid for.
MR. KK: “Well, this is super comfortable.”
ME: “Look! They had to call over the guys in suits. Now THEY’RE staring at us. What’s with the guys in the suits? They can’t cancel a drink order without them?”
Now there were five people crowded around the cash register, whispering and staring.
We left a very large tip for the waitress and ran out of there.
ME: “I guess we can cross this place off our list for dinner possibilities tonight.”
(NOTE: We did NOT meet Rodney and his girlfriend for dinner. In fact, we ran by their restaurant, holding my bag up so he wouldn't see our faces. Yes, we are immature.)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Christmas Eve Went Something Like This
CAUTION: contains graphic content; not meant for weak stomachs.
4:00am: Knowing how much I had to do, my inner alarm clock wakes me up. We’re talking WIDE awake. Like, middle-of-the-day awake.
4:03am: Start wrapping presents.
4:47am: Still wrapping presents.
5:30am: Run out of scotch tape.
5:31am: Scream into a pillow.
5:32am: Frantically search house for more tape.
5:33am: Find another roll of scotch tape hiding in the bottom of the bow box.
5:34am: Resume wrapping.
6:07am: Wrap some more.
6:27am: Wrap. Wrap. Wrap.
6:44am: And still more wrapping.
7:00am: Finish wrapping. Take a 25 minute power nap.
8:00am: Head out to finish up shopping.
8:01am: Want to hide of embarrassment because this is the most behind I’ve ever been for Christmas.
10:30am: Take Vito to the vet for a long-overdue nail clipping.
10:32am: Listen to Vito cry and howl in fear, before they even take the clippers out.
Quote of the day:
Me: “Did he poop himself?”
Vet: “Nope.”
Phew!
Vet: “He just released his anal glands.”
11:00am: Give Vito bath.
11:20am: Throw anal-gland-juice-covered blanket and car seat cover in the wash.
11:30am: Wrap all the last-minute gifts.
1:00pm: Take much-needed two-and-a-half-hour nap.
4:00pm: Shower. Blow-dry hair. Get dressed.
5:00pm: Visit Aunt Mary in the convalescent home. Become completely depressed. Desperately need a drink.
6:00pm: Pack car with 5 shopping bags of presents plus one very clean dog.
6:30pm: FINALLY! Take first sip of a dirty martini.
Aaaahhh.
4:00am: Knowing how much I had to do, my inner alarm clock wakes me up. We’re talking WIDE awake. Like, middle-of-the-day awake.
4:03am: Start wrapping presents.
4:47am: Still wrapping presents.
5:30am: Run out of scotch tape.
5:31am: Scream into a pillow.
5:32am: Frantically search house for more tape.
5:33am: Find another roll of scotch tape hiding in the bottom of the bow box.
5:34am: Resume wrapping.
6:07am: Wrap some more.
6:27am: Wrap. Wrap. Wrap.
6:44am: And still more wrapping.
7:00am: Finish wrapping. Take a 25 minute power nap.
8:00am: Head out to finish up shopping.
8:01am: Want to hide of embarrassment because this is the most behind I’ve ever been for Christmas.
10:30am: Take Vito to the vet for a long-overdue nail clipping.
10:32am: Listen to Vito cry and howl in fear, before they even take the clippers out.
Quote of the day:
Me: “Did he poop himself?”
Vet: “Nope.”
Phew!
Vet: “He just released his anal glands.”
11:00am: Give Vito bath.
11:20am: Throw anal-gland-juice-covered blanket and car seat cover in the wash.
11:30am: Wrap all the last-minute gifts.
1:00pm: Take much-needed two-and-a-half-hour nap.
4:00pm: Shower. Blow-dry hair. Get dressed.
5:00pm: Visit Aunt Mary in the convalescent home. Become completely depressed. Desperately need a drink.
6:00pm: Pack car with 5 shopping bags of presents plus one very clean dog.
6:30pm: FINALLY! Take first sip of a dirty martini.
Aaaahhh.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Dear Mother Nature,
What's up, Mom?
Listen, do you think you could turn your snow machine off for, like, 5 minutes?*
How the hell am I supposed to get ANY Christmas shopping done in this weather?
Have some pity, I'm not even halfway done with my shopping, and Christmas is 4 days away.
Let me repeat that: FOUR DAYS AWAY.
I hardly doubt my mother-in-law will show unbridled joy when she opens up a box of Moose Munch and NO OTHER GIFTS. And while I'm sure while my grandfather will smile when he unwraps his "Brainteasers" book, there's a good chance he'll pick up the bottom piece of tissue paper and LOOK FOR THE REST OF HIS GIFT.
If you could attend to this request now, that would be great.
Thanks, Mother.
And I promise recycle my wine bottles.
Hugs,
kk
*And that doesn't mean replacing it with your "wintry mix" machine either.
Listen, do you think you could turn your snow machine off for, like, 5 minutes?*
How the hell am I supposed to get ANY Christmas shopping done in this weather?
Have some pity, I'm not even halfway done with my shopping, and Christmas is 4 days away.
Let me repeat that: FOUR DAYS AWAY.
I hardly doubt my mother-in-law will show unbridled joy when she opens up a box of Moose Munch and NO OTHER GIFTS. And while I'm sure while my grandfather will smile when he unwraps his "Brainteasers" book, there's a good chance he'll pick up the bottom piece of tissue paper and LOOK FOR THE REST OF HIS GIFT.
If you could attend to this request now, that would be great.
Thanks, Mother.
And I promise recycle my wine bottles.
Hugs,
kk
*And that doesn't mean replacing it with your "wintry mix" machine either.
Friday, December 19, 2008
One Extra For Dinner
The other night I had a client dinner at Carmine's Restaurant in New York City.
We were a loud, boisterous crowd of 24.
We were sharing our family-style appetizers, when a fellow employee went to stab a forkful of salad, and saw THIS on his plat
e:
Yes, it was alive.
(No, I'm NOT kidding.)
We were a loud, boisterous crowd of 24.
We were sharing our family-style appetizers, when a fellow employee went to stab a forkful of salad, and saw THIS on his plat
e:Yes, it was alive.
(No, I'm NOT kidding.)
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Dear Santa, I've Been A Very Baaaaad Blogger
And by "bad" I mean "nowhere to be found".
CHRISTMAS, which seems to have come out of NOWHERE (yeah, I know it's usually about the same time every year, but I SWEAR that it came about faster this year), is vying for my attention with WORK (and lots of it! not to mention client meetings and dinners. seriously, I forgot what the inside of my house looks like).
So please forgive me while I'm buried under copy requests, ass kissing and tinsel.
CHRISTMAS, which seems to have come out of NOWHERE (yeah, I know it's usually about the same time every year, but I SWEAR that it came about faster this year), is vying for my attention with WORK (and lots of it! not to mention client meetings and dinners. seriously, I forgot what the inside of my house looks like).
So please forgive me while I'm buried under copy requests, ass kissing and tinsel.
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