tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21289642596540279982024-03-14T03:07:40.820-07:00welcome to kimberland...Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-74735701438548880602011-06-01T14:48:00.000-07:002011-06-01T14:49:14.831-07:00Currently...I saw this on some blog whose name I can no longer remember, and its format reminded me of blog posts on MySpace and message boards from days of yore. And since it's been awhile since I've commented on any of these things, I figured it was quite apropos...<br />
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<strong>Current Book(s):</strong> <em>The Cobra Effect</em> by Richard Preston and <em>Kitchen Confidential</em> by <a href="http://www.poorgirleatswell.com/2010/09/evening-with-anthony-bourdain.html">Anthony Bourdain</a> (I know, I know, I'm a bad foodie for not having read this one sooner. I did read Medium Raw, though!)<br />
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<strong>Current Playlist:</strong> Sadly, I haven't had much time for music lately. Terrible, I know, but without anything to listen to my music with, like a CD player, an iPod, or even that newfangled "radio" contraption, that makes things a little difficult. I did bust out my shitty desktop speakers and played some <a href="http://katebush.com/">Kate Bush</a> recently, so that was nice. That, of course, led to me singing, then practicing old arias, so now I'm listening to old composers instead. <br />
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<strong>Current Shame-Inducing Guilty Pleasure:</strong> <a href="http://www.scharffenberger.com/">Scharffen Berger</a> Dark Chocolate "Nibby" Bar. Best dark chocolate ever meets crunchy, toasty cacao nibs for this intensely deep, dark chocolate experience. I have like 3 squares left and I'm trying ever-so-hard not to take a nibble every now & then. <br />
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<strong>Current Color:</strong> Gray. Like the sky on this gross, rainy, first day of June.<br />
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<strong>Current Drink: </strong>Cold water (as usual)<br />
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<strong>Current Food:</strong> Nothing at the moment. But lunch is in a few minutes, so I'll be in noodle soup heaven momentarily. <br />
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<strong>Current Favorite Show:</strong> Not much of a TV watcher outside of the news, but now that <em>America's Got Talent</em> is back on, I may have to check out a few episodes. Oh, and <em>The Voice</em>. SO much better than snooze-worthy American Idol! <br />
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<strong>Current Wishlist:</strong> A car; to be all caught up on my utility bills so I can just pay ONE bill instead of two (catching up on bills after unemployment takes forEVER...); sunny days; a trip to Baja California; a giant vodka martini, dirty, with 5 olives. Yes, I said five. Every martini is an opportunity to have a balanced meal & load up on your veggies.<br />
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<strong>Current Needs:</strong> SUN, money, lunch.<br />
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<strong>Current Bane(s) of my Existence:</strong> Having to cover the front desk while the receptionist is out on jury duty. Not because I feel it's "beneath" me or anything; it's just that the nature of my particular position is that I need to be in a quiet spot where I can concentrate on a lot of the numbers I have to crunch, so constant interruptions are no bueno. That and the asshole drivers on Watt Ave./Folsom Blvd. who seem to think that the 18 seconds it takes for me to cross the street during MY light is going to make them so late for life that they have to turn while I'm crossing so that they can be just one inch closer to the freeway. Asshats.<br />
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<strong>Current Celebrity (Girl) Crush:</strong> Tina Fey.<br />
<strong>Current Outfit:</strong> White scoopneck tee, gray hoodie w/floral print, indigo jeans that have turned my thighs blue because I was too lazy to wash them before wearing them the first time. <br />
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<strong>Current Excitement:</strong> Still pretty damn giddy about being chosen to lead my panel at this year's IFBC in Santa Monica!<br />
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<strong>Current Link:</strong> Because everyone should know the joy of saying - and knowing the meaning of - words like "kench". (<a href="http://matadornetwork.com/abroad/20-obsolete-english-words-that-should-make-a-comeback/">20 Obsolete English Words That Should Make A Comeback</a>)Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-13628882571458573332011-05-03T19:32:00.000-07:002011-05-04T16:38:45.507-07:00Learning to live with PHN, Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I've never been the healthiest person on the block.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4HRyLZfxT8F_BBKoIulpJufFFyPwxIQy6crZk5fYGJvTkZU_05v7QIOcKON9RvKtK0quq8lbVwbR1SC_1ciFoRD-bHzL7bymws4ru1MpivIbhakcseMUDLdY0wC50lwsQfpZXMQsn6w1/s1600/pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4HRyLZfxT8F_BBKoIulpJufFFyPwxIQy6crZk5fYGJvTkZU_05v7QIOcKON9RvKtK0quq8lbVwbR1SC_1ciFoRD-bHzL7bymws4ru1MpivIbhakcseMUDLdY0wC50lwsQfpZXMQsn6w1/s320/pain.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div>I was born via dramatic emergency C-section conditions because my heart was failing and my mom was too weak to continue with natural labor. At 18-months I was hospitalized because of more heart murmur issues, and this continued on & off until I was 5. My feet are slightly deformed (which I'm claiming as my new excuse for tripping on everything), I had cancer when I was 12, have a rather unsexy case of asthma, and was recently diagnosed with hypothyroidism. And this is just the very tip of the iceberg.<br />
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This is typical in my family, actually. We age beautifully with nary a wrinkle nor gray hair in site for eons, but healthwise, we have the shittiest genes on the planet. Cancer, heart disease, hypertension, high cholesterol, diabetes, and a few other formidable disease foes run in my family on both sides. I do my best to keep things under control through diet & as much exercise as I can get in on those special days when I have zero unbroken bones, but even that's not enough sometimes. <strong>Some things you actually can't control</strong>.<br />
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I learned that the hard way this year.<br />
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In March, in the midst of all the craziness of my unexpected, random move <a href="http://www.welcometokimberland.com/2011/03/moving-upstairs.html">upstairs</a>, I ended up with shingles. Yes,<em> shingles</em>! At this age! Maybe it was extremely ignorant to think this way, but I always thought shingles was something awful reserved for the poor elderly population of the world. It certainly should not afflict a young lass of 34... should it?<br />
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Apparently it does, regardless. Advanced age, a compromised immune system, or extreme amounts of stress can all cause shingles to just pop up out of nowhere and flip your life upside down. I fell under the latter category, with my both my doctor & my chiropractor both telling me that I need to figure out a better way to handle stress.<br />
<br />
Um, do you think I <em>LIKE</em> having a tiny volcano on my abdomen? <br />
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Seriously, that's what I came home to one day. My very first full day at my new place, I got home, fed the furbabies, checked my mail, and proceeded to take off my clothes before taking a shower. The minute I had my shirt off I gasped in horror. WTF was<em> that???</em> A rash? Chicken pox? Chicken pox do start on your tummy, right? <em> </em><br />
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<em>But you can't get chicken pox twice, unless you're totally weird... Shit, shit, shit!</em><em> Maybe it's </em>not<em> a disease, maybe it's just an allergic reaction to something. Soap that wasn't rinsed well in the shower this morning Maybe something I ate?</em> <br />
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All these thoughts swirled through my mind as I turned around and inspected the rest of myself in the mirror. That's when I realized that the volcano had friends. Even tinier, nano-volcanoes of fiery discomfort were on my back & side. SHIT. What was<em> wrong</em> with me???<br />
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I snapped a picture with my phone, sent it to my mom (who, when I am in a panic, immediately receives a medical degree), and proceeded to freak out. We did a complete inventory of everything I'd eaten, drunk, touched, etc., and she finally decided it was "that one rash [I] can't remember the name of right now". Gee, thanks, Ma! I hopped online, trying to compare my inflamed skin with pictures of folks with other dermal afflictions and came to no conclusions. In my flustered state, they all looked the same to me. It's a good thing I never decided to be a dermatologist.<br />
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When the volcanoes kept multiplying the next day and I could no longer stand the feeling of my bra against my skin, I hastily made an appointment with my doctor and dashed out of work early. "I think it's the shingles," said my mom when I called her and let her know I was going to get checked out. "Shingles, Ma? Seriously?"<br />
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<strong>"Yeah, this is a classic case of shingles,"</strong> my doctor told me about 40 minutes later. "It's almost textbook! Very nice example [<em>why are you so excited about this??? Quit being a nerd & make it go away!</em>]. You just stressed yourself out again, kiddo..."<br />
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Of course I did.<br />
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The next few weeks were nothing short of torture. I missed an entire week of work because I was in such serious pain & discomfort. Between the whole left side of my torso <strong>feeling like someone was repeatedly splashing scalding hot water on me</strong>, the intense nerve pain deep in my side and back, and having to take pills every 3-4 hours, I had never experienced <em>anything</em> like it. And I'm no stranger to being laid up sick in bed! Surgeries, pneumonia, vertigo, you name it; I've probably been laid up with it. But never with this kind of intense <em>pain</em>. <br />
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It was brutal, cruel, and never-ending. It never, ever stopped (still hasn't), no matter how many vicodin I took or how many ice packs I'd use for relief. Sometimes it felt like I'd cracked a rib, so every time I breathed was sheer torture. Sometimes it lessened to a deep, but persistent ache that I could sort of huff & puff my way around throughout the day. Other times,<strong> it felt like some giant demon was inside of me, taking my entire T-3 nerve and gnawing through it with razor sharp teeth & vicious jaws</strong>. <br />
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I couldn't think, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even putter around my new place and put stuff away. The cats were all confused, particularly Miss Hana, who is very used to calling my tummy her "bed" whenever I'm at home. The pain made it impossible to move into a comfortable position no matter how hard I tried. Even wearing clothes was sheer torture.<br />
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Over the next couple of weeks, things started to die down a bit. My blisters finally healed over & were starting to slough off on their own, the back pain I'd assumed was from a pulled muscle was now just a faint ache, and I could almost wear proper clothes again. But that stinkin' pain in my side - from the middle of my ribcage down to my waistline - just wouldn't go away.<br />
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So I called my doctor and she prescribed more pain meds. Lovely. Just what I needed: to continue assaulting my liver on a regular basis with more Vicodin. But I took the refill anyway, because how else was I going to get through the days & nights? It's not like Motrin did the trick, and the ice packs were a very temporary type of relief. <br />
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A couple weeks later I was still in pain & decided to get checked out one more time. Sure enough, I had the one "rare condition" that "usually just afflicts those over 50":<strong> postherpetic neuralgia</strong>, otherwise known as PHN, otherwise known as hell:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><em>"Severe, acute pain caused by nerve damage due to the varicella zoster virus. Pain usually may appear in the area of the shingles rash, but the size of the PHN pain can vary considerably. In some people PHN pain can last for months, or even years..."</em></div><br />
It had already been two months and I had no clue how to make it through the pain every single damn day. How do I go about this? How do I make life as close to normal as it used to be? <strong>How does one live with perpetual, acute pain and still find reasons to smile?</strong><br />
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That, my friends, is going to be my biggest new project of the year.Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-64442588829061202642011-04-24T09:22:00.000-07:002011-04-24T09:22:35.778-07:00Easter Reflections: It's not all about me.I gave up on giving up cussing for Lent early in the Lenten season. Frankly, it made no sense. What was I supposed to do come Easter, drop F-bombs all day long? Today is a feast day, and it just seemed pointless to give up something like a slight case of potty mouth for 40 days, only to feast on this "pleasure" all day long today (though I did make an effort to cut back some, which is a good thing). <br />
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So I tried something new this year: instead of giving something up that I liked for Lent, like chocolate or wine (slightly selfish, if you ask me, since you'll just gorge on it on Easter), I decided to <b>do at least one good deed per day for someone else.</b> <br />
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It was nothing big, of course. No grand philanthropic gestures or building houses for the masses; just little things that made a difference to someone else. Letting the elderly couple take my seat on a crowded light rail train while everyone else let them stand; helping a coworker with a difficult task even though I was on deadline with something equally taxing; smiling & saying hello to some sad looking stranger as I walk down the street (and I'm very NYC in that respect; I usually ignore everyone when I'm walking). <br />
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Little things. Once, twice, even eight times per day. It felt good doing them.<br />
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And in a way I realized I was giving something up for Lent:<b> self-centeredness.</b> Not that I'm the biggest offender of this, of course; sadly, I can rattle off the names of about four people I know very well who make me look like Mother Theresa. But like many people in this day & age of having the latest iGadget, or the nicest outfit & manicure, or getting the most likes & re-tweets on Facebook & Twitter respectively, just to get some sort of virtual validation for every single thought, photo, or sneeze that's posted, it's easy to get wrapped up in oneself. Yours truly included, as much as I try not to think only of myself. It's just so easy to think of everything in terms of "me" instead of "we" or "them". <br />
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THEM. <b>Do we ever think about other people anymore?</b><br />
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Now that it's Easter, I could stop all my good deeds and go back to ignoring people on the street, or focusing on my work deadlines, or staying seated while some tiny 700 year old man with a cane struggles to find his balance on an unsteady train, just so I can sit & nurse my own painful knee. After all, isn't that what you "get to do" on Easter? Go back to your old ways, indulging in everything you'd given up for those 40 days, forgetting all those promises you made when you were trying to be all good & pious?<br />
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I could do that. It would be easy. It always has been. <br />
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But it just felt so good to make someone else's day, no matter how small the deed done, that I don't think I can stop. I don't want to stop. To hear a "thank you" from someone who truly meant it, the timbre of genuine gratitude in his voice not unnoticed, to make someone's day a little easier, a little brighter, a little less difficult; the feeling you get from it is almost euphoric. <br />
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And I don't want to keep doing this just for me, just so that <i>I</i> can feel good; that feeling is just a fun by-product of helping someone else. I want to do it for THEM. For you. For my mom, my dad, my friends, my coworker, the toothless homeless dude on the street, the hungry stray kitty on my doorstep. I want to continue to think in terms of everyone, not just me. We don't do this enough anymore, and that's a shame. <br />
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So today, on Easter, I'm still reflecting, I'm still conscious of how my actions affect others, and will make an effort to help someone else in some small way. And I'll continue to do so tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. After all, <b>personal reflection & overall kindness shouldn't be a once-a-year thing</b>; they should be year 'round!Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-85929610832014990882011-03-19T19:43:00.000-07:002011-03-19T19:43:22.763-07:00ATTN: Any guy who'd like to court me...If any eligible bachelor is interested in squiring me and making me his bride, this is a pretty good way to get my attention: Wooing my parents, home improvement, and a kitten wearing a sentimental collar. Chocolate: optional and appreciated, but not required. Diamond: up to you.<br />
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<object height="390" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/umczO5Y5Av0&rel=0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/umczO5Y5Av0&rel=0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390"></embed></object>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-90994711238588945562011-03-07T12:59:00.000-08:002011-03-07T13:19:13.992-08:00Moving up(stairs).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvC_hIvFQGcHSeXZqfxQ88eBrbYQorTqcxA04MH_QuOo0Thya92GmJZVY0qIg54UumADwrp061FQYOPJAESOAp5d4lPNwmmmhuqaf0J-eLq1qp5pSO-t834neX8Fi1idR82TooHcKuTjK/s1600/cat+upstairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvC_hIvFQGcHSeXZqfxQ88eBrbYQorTqcxA04MH_QuOo0Thya92GmJZVY0qIg54UumADwrp061FQYOPJAESOAp5d4lPNwmmmhuqaf0J-eLq1qp5pSO-t834neX8Fi1idR82TooHcKuTjK/s320/cat+upstairs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>If you're a friend of mine or a reader of PGEW, you know I've always had issues with my living situation. Not just financially, but in terms of its location and the way it made me feel. See, when I first moved to the building, it wasn't really by choice. Rent at my old building had just skyrocketed by $200+ in one month, I'd just been in a car accident & missed a ton of work, so I was basically forced to find someplace cheaper. <br />
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I rented the first place that would take me with my financial issues, thinking it would be a temporary situation. I didn't want to have to move <em>again</em>, but I knew that a shoddy downstairs apartment in plain view of everyone who would walk or drive through the alleyway, was not a place I wanted to call home for very long. At the very least, I hoped to move upstairs, just to have some peace of mind and not have that fishbowl effect in my apartment.<br />
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But things got worse for me - and for everyone - once the recession hit, so downstairs I had to stay. It was a much smaller place than the one I'd moved from, so having all my stuff and very little storage space made it difficult for me to settle in completely. I never fully decorated because I had little wall space and fewer funds, and just felt..... <em>sad</em> there. I didn't want to be there.<br />
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Then, after being there for about a year, I ended up with a Peeping Tom (or, as I like to call him, The Peeping Tool). That asshole terrorized me for three months, watching me dress/undress, use the restroom, or just go about my life in my apartment. No, my blinds weren't open. Except for the front window in the living room, all of my windows were on the alley sides, so I always kept my blinds & curtains drawn. <br />
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That bastard was pretty aggressive, though, literally crouching down to see up through my closed blinds, and, if I happened to walk from one room to another, he would actually follow me. I saw his face the first few times and have it burned into my memory, so I gave the police a very detailed description. Sadly, they never did catch him. I still see him in nightmares, always wondering when/if he'd be coming back to watch me. Or do something worse.<br />
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Despite all that, I tried to make the best of this living situation for nearly three years. But the longer I stayed, the more depressed I got. I'll admit that now. Sure, I suffer from my fair share of SAD in the winter, but this was a more generalized depression, made worse by the fact that I always had to keep everything dark, was either un- or under-employed and perpetually in danger of losing the apartment I hated.<br />
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Not a fun way to live at all.<br />
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Last month, my (very loud) upstairs neighbor moved rather unexpectedly. I didn't mind because that meant I could actually hear myself think again (writers really need quiet), but also dreaded the possibility of someone even louder. No problem, I told myself. Since I'd finally secured a good, steady job, I'd already decided to move someplace else in spring or summer. I had seen the other two apartments on the other side of our little fourplex, and mine was sadly bigger & better than those. I didn't even consider the upstairs one an option anymore. I was done.<br />
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But life being what it is, there was a showing of the upstairs place this Saturday. My curiosity about everything bordering on feline, I couldn't help but ask my landlord's employee if I could take a quick look. Now would be the prime opportunity to move upstairs; everything else in Midtown is either too expensive or a studio, and I couldn't possibly go to a smaller place without just moving into a closet. I figured that if the kitchen in the upstairs apartment didn't suck (of the three I'd seen, mine had the best kitchen), I'd ask if I could trade apartments. <br />
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Yeah, yeah, I based my decision on the kitchen, but I'm a food blogger, dammit. I have needs.<br />
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Turns out the kitchen was better than mine. The whole place was better than mine, but I sorta knew that would be the case. Just the ability to do things like *gasp* let the sunshine in made the place feel 100% better. The floors were actually refinished & a lighter color than downstairs; the paint was nice & fresh; hell, there was even a wall of shelves I didn't have downstairs - hooray for extra storage space!<br />
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There were few things that were not so good: the closet in the living room was about a third of the size of mine, and because of voltage & space issues (those awesome shelves were suddenly not so awesome), I wouldn't be able to bring my washer & dryer with me. And the <em>stove!!!</em> That thing was about the size of my laptop! Sure, it had four burners & it was a gas range, but my <em>God!</em> What was I supposed to cook with? Fisher-Price toys?<br />
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Still, I asked my landlord if I could move upstairs. She said I could, but I'd have to start moving pretty much that same day. I knew I couldn't find anyone to help me move on such short notice, but told her I'd try anyway. But considering I'd also committed to helping a friend with a dinner party that night, I knew there was no way I could move in 3 hours. <br />
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So I told my landlord that if she didn't rent it in the next few weeks, she could consider it rented for April. Just walking through it briefly it felt better, more like home. Safe. I just hoped & prayed that no one else would rent it.<br />
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About an hour later, I got a call from our handyman saying that my landlord had told him my situation and asked if he could help me move. Holy shit! I thought. If this isn't a sign that it's meant to be, I don't know what is? What landlord asks her handyman to help a tenant move, right? <br />
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So I took it. I did ask if the stoves to be switched and for a few days to get everything moved & cleaned, since the decision and original timeframe had been so sudden. But again, it was probably meant to be because Mrs. Landlord easily agreed to both. I scheduled a time to have Mr. Handyman help me move the big stuff, and within 24 hours after having seen the place, I had a new lease, new keys and a new home.<br />
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It's not a perfect place. It's still very, very tiny, and I will have to start using a laundromat again, at least until I get something smaller for my laundry room. But last night, as I climbed into bed all sore & exhausted from Phase One of my unexpected move, I realized that for the first time in almost three years, I felt hopeful. I was excited about getting everything completely moved and looked forward to how I would decorate. I was even looking forward to inviting people to my tiny place, something I never felt comfortable doing downstairs. <br />
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This feels good. Crazy, but good. Now, if I can only convince the furbabies of that...Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-32626148295787591942011-02-07T15:31:00.000-08:002011-02-07T15:33:54.163-08:00Photo of the Week: Look Ma! Matching Shoes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>That's right, folks! For the first time since before Thanksgiving, I am finally back in matching shoes. Mr. Toe is still not 100% happy, but the foot is happy to be back in a proper shoe! It's been weird to learn how to walk normally after 3 months of lopsidedness, but I've pretty much gotten the hang of it again. I even took a walk for lunch today! Woo!<br />
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Let's all enjoy my Chucks, shall we? :)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3_mZKh187Xq8CWynCcgv4SxIUnbQYj_hYToIrqMvOzeOIrHTuRdMmf6geGo-IBlztFwW5lgCtCk1hhZMAJTU-jgvYXYwWPAI3nDb88jS9vF4yUAvyGG1gLQT2-3Sceju3wkDhxPg1BMM/s1600/shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3_mZKh187Xq8CWynCcgv4SxIUnbQYj_hYToIrqMvOzeOIrHTuRdMmf6geGo-IBlztFwW5lgCtCk1hhZMAJTU-jgvYXYwWPAI3nDb88jS9vF4yUAvyGG1gLQT2-3Sceju3wkDhxPg1BMM/s400/shoes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Terribly unladylike to prop my feet up on my desk like this, but dammit! I'm wearing matching shoes!!!</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-14856840818644338752011-02-01T20:38:00.000-08:002011-02-01T20:38:41.517-08:00simple pleasures...<ul><li>Swirly, misty, Colin-Firth-in-a-wet-white-shirt-in-Pride-and-Prejudice foggy mornings</li>
<li>The way freshly baked brownies fill every room in my apartment with the most delightful aroma</li>
<li>Mail. Real mail, made of paper, and not of the bill persuasion</li>
<li>Making my daddy belly laugh so hard he starts coughing</li>
<li>Laughing so hard at my daddy's stupid jokes I start to sneeze</li>
<li>Hearing the pride in my mom's voice whenever I mention an accomplishment</li>
<li>Sandpaper kisses from my foul-tempered, pink-nosed, odd-eyed, beautiful StuKitty</li>
<li>Hana's sweet little trilling meow</li>
<li>Finding that extra $5 bill in an old coat</li>
<li>Making guys nervous with just a hint of a smile and a slightly raised eyebrow</li>
<li>The first few sips of a lovely Zinfandel</li>
<li>Learning how to walk in matching shoes after months of hobbling around with a broken toe & metatarsal</li>
<li>Being called beautiful even if I'm in my jammies, beanie and braids</li>
<li>Walking by the river, deep within my own thoughts, only to be distracted by the elderly couple that still holds hands and kisses on their favorite bench</li>
<li>Talking to friends on the phone (or talking on the phone period!)</li>
<li>Having a good job; and liking it</li>
<li>Being almost 35 and consistently getting mistaken for being 22</li>
</ul>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-86445583446665075592011-01-31T22:08:00.000-08:002011-02-01T19:40:06.998-08:00Onward & Upward (and outward, even) in 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MZaiMmdHcaqd58qg-LStSnui1koTlVl0tJev0HRUVA7bDxVuSpKx7VqanIRsupHBSM5uler6416xons3fy1HxQFa_MAghqK3ghJKQmRmXGYDl5PYMgQ_WDcSk223c9kA4okeVrwqCfRC/s1600/onwardupward.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MZaiMmdHcaqd58qg-LStSnui1koTlVl0tJev0HRUVA7bDxVuSpKx7VqanIRsupHBSM5uler6416xons3fy1HxQFa_MAghqK3ghJKQmRmXGYDl5PYMgQ_WDcSk223c9kA4okeVrwqCfRC/s400/onwardupward.JPG" width="321" /></a></div>Okay, so I'm a little late checking in for the new year. The good news is that it's because (so far) 2011 has not sucked! I'm slowly getting into the role & duties of my new job, PGEW's doing well, and I have several new projects up my sleeve, one of which I can't wait to share with many of my PGEW readers.<br />
<br />
But aside from all that, I have great plans for 2011. While most people do the whole resolution thing, I prefer goals & plans. They're pretty much the same, but without the negative connotations & pressure that the word "resolution" brings along with it. Goals seem to offer you something to hope for, to strive for; they're positive and make you want to achieve something good. Resolutions, to me, just seem so cut & dry. Final. Like if you don't follow through that's it. You officially suck.<br />
<br />
So what do I have planned for this year? Exactly what the title of this posting suggests: to move onward, upward and outward in my life. <br />
<br />
<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Onward:</span></strong> <br />
I've said it once and I'll say it again: 2010 SUCKED. Not all of it did, but for the most part it was very unkind to me and my loved ones and I'm glad it's gone. But the things I went through, no matter how difficult, shaped my mindset for this year and the years to come. Rather than dwell on how awful everything was, which I'll admit I'm prone to doing, I'm moving on. Yes, things sucked, but nothing killed me. I'm still here. I'm scarred but quite a bit stronger. I can take the lessons I learned in 2010 and apply them to make 2011 much better. I'm shedding the bad from last year like an old skin and moving forward in my new skin. Not that there won't be challenges, but they'll be this year's, not last year's. <br />
<br />
<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Upward:</span></strong> <br />
I have a new job and from what I'm learning about it, it's one with some serious potential for advancement. Granted, I don't have to treat this as my one & only career, but I love knowing that I'm in a challenging position that will take me further in life. The past couple jobs I've had have been interesting, but they've also seemed a bit.... dead-end. I wasn't going anywhere with them. They were just jobs in which I stagnated. Now I might have the opportunity to move up, and that's pretty awesome. <br />
<br />
I also have the chance to move upward with <strong>Poor Girl Eats Well</strong>. I've worked so hard on that blog for the past two years and it's finally looking like it might pay off. Nothing's set in stone yet, but there are some fabulous opportunities for moving up in my food blogging ventures. We'll see what happens!<br />
<br />
<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">Outward:</span></strong> <br />
No, I don't plan for my secretary spread to keep spreading (in fact, I've already lost a few inches off my hips, now that I'm motivated to move again. I love being on the I Have A Job Now & Don't Need to Stress As Much plan...). What I mean by "outward" is that I plan to quit isolating. Granted, this is easier said than done, considering the fact that I'm a writer and trying to go places with that. That sort of thing requires a fair amount of alone time to be with one's thoughts and concentrate. <br />
<br />
But I've become quite a loner over the past couple of years, and I hate that. A combination of stress, anxiety, and just not having the ability to do even the simplest things because I had no money, made me hole up in my house and turn down a lot of invitations. When you can't afford a simple cup of coffee, there's just no point in saying "yes" when someone invites you someplace. And though there are plenty of free things to do, when you're stressed/depressed/anxious because homelessness is on the very near horizon, you're just not good company. Who wants to hang around with a moping worrywart? <br />
<br />
However, I'm a social person by nature, so this isolation has <em>really</em> been bugging me. Don't get me wrong: I LOVE being alone. But I hate being <em>lonely </em>(big difference), and isolation begets loneliness. Though many of my friends are strewn across the country or married w/children, I miss going out and meeting new people. So this year, I'm moving outward and going places. I may not be able to do the 5-6 concerts a month thing like I used to, especially now that I have so many PGEW obligations. But I can go to a lunch or dinner every now & then. Maybe catch a play. Or just have a cup of coffee outside of my own home so I can people-watch in bliss. I may love my Me Time, but this Me needs to hang out with some Them this year.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * * *</div><br />
So that's about it, really. Just three simple goals that may seem pretty nebulous to some, but they work for me. It's stuff I can work on throughout the year so there's none of that evil pressure most goals/resolutions/plans end up carrying with them. 2011's been pretty great so far, and I look forward to what else it will bring. But most importantly, I look forward to what<i><b> I </b></i>will bring to it.Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-78136467697263579812010-12-30T15:43:00.000-08:002010-12-30T15:43:38.238-08:00Thursday Randomness...<ul><li>The first few days of my new job were beyond quiet, but I got my "trial by fire" day yesterday! It was a super busy, weird day that I had to get through blindly, but I survived!!! Totally diggin' the fact that the head MD thinks I "rock", too. :D </li>
<li>Speaking of work, I still can't get over the fact that I have a job!!!!!!!!!!!!! *does a Snoopy happy dance*</li>
<li>Overheard on light rail this morning: "Kid, I'm not gay, but if I was... if I WAS! You wouldn't be able to run away. Mm, mm, mm." (And a Happy New Year to you, too?)</li>
<li>Seriously in love with my two "big" Christmas presents from me mum: a gorgeous antique amethyst cross and this super-swank zebra-print overnighter w/red accents. All my presents were pretty awesome, but these two were beyond amazing! As is my mama. :)</li>
<li>Can't believe this year - and this <em>decade</em> - is almost over. Most of it was absolute shit, but there were some pretty awesome moments in it, too. I'll look back at both fondly, knowing the awesome bits were awesome and the crappy bits made me stronger. </li>
<li>So it looks like I may be spending NYE alone, which is completely unfun! New Year's Eve is one of my 3 favorite holidays (Halloween & my birthday being the other two), and I need to get out and flip the bird to 2010!!! But if I can't, <strong>I have an even better, more economical plan for my New Year's Eve:</strong> a complete top-to-bottom cleaning/purging of my apartment. I did that several years ago and woke up the next day feeling completely renewed & refreshed, which is something I really need to feel. Yeah... I think that might not be a bad plan if I can't go out & play. Only <strong>this year, I'm adding champagne.</strong> ;)</li>
<li>Amazing how something like having a job can make such a difference in one's life. I know I keep going back to this, but I just can't help it. My negative stress level is decreasing exponentially, so much so that this pair of jeans is now officially falling off my hips and I'll be able to jump into the next size down very soon. Am I the only person on Earth who loses weight when she's not stressed? </li>
<li>I have a funny feeling that 2011 might rock. I'll be kicking it off with <strong>Interpol</strong> and enjoying more <a href="http://www.poorgirleatswell.com/search/label/IFBC">IFBC</a> in the summer. Not much else planned so far except for the book writing, but that's sure to keep me busy, too! Definitely looking forward to what this new year brings... they say that odd numbered years are generally more lucky than the evens, so let's see what happens!</li>
</ul>Happy New Year, everyone!Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-70294146821478308992010-12-28T20:47:00.000-08:002010-12-29T16:18:08.958-08:00Money vs. Morals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxgFiiSFukPs1Hbs4VzjUpaXp9Zhre-yuyQSfbJxz5NeJ8fe1YKUsQqIM5UAwLo5BKWaBEeNx9EoAv5cLLGtGeUbRSWJ2Z6tYnn1MfNPq9xf3IfLlenVvQ6EJlyM1b__r9lH92_YNWxpz/s1600/right+wrong.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxgFiiSFukPs1Hbs4VzjUpaXp9Zhre-yuyQSfbJxz5NeJ8fe1YKUsQqIM5UAwLo5BKWaBEeNx9EoAv5cLLGtGeUbRSWJ2Z6tYnn1MfNPq9xf3IfLlenVvQ6EJlyM1b__r9lH92_YNWxpz/s320/right+wrong.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Because of the many health issues I had this year, I missed some work during the last few weeks of my last temp job. And as a temp, when you don't work you don't get paid. And when you don't get paid, you stress out and continue to get sick. It's a vicious cycle that I'm sure many folks are dealing with right now, and it's not pretty at all. I was so desperate for money that I started selling everything else I didn't sell the first time I found myself without a job (and I'm continuing to sell stuff until I'm all caught up on my rent & utilities). Things I swore I would never sell because they were gifts or hard-earned tokens of happiness that I'd get for myself when I could afford a more normal life. I just didn't know another way to get quick money right now.... at least not without compromising my morals and everything I stand for (my Lord, I hate ending sentences w/dangling prepositions...).<br />
<br />
Anyway, I have this friend who is sort of like the little devil that sits on one shoulder in older (better than today's) cartoons. She has made quite a business for herself as a "personal escort" and rakes in quite a ton of cold, hard cash. She started this last year after getting fired from our old company and is apparently living quite a wonderful life filled with money and tons of material things. She keeps trying to convince me that this is the way to my financial freedom. "Kimberly, it will change your life!" she tells me. "You'll never be broke again. You'll be able to pay your bills AND go shopping!" But I always turn her down. Selling sex for money just isn't in my daily M.O., you know? <br />
<br />
Still, I get texts from her regularly, checking in to see if I've changed my mind about running my own "business". And I must admit, after reading her website and what she charges, the offer is tempting. Things like $350/hr or $900/2 hrs of "GFE" fun (which I learned through some online searching means "girlfriend experience") stand out to someone like me, who is in danger of being evicted if backed up rent isn't caught up by January. She goes on lavish, luxurious, international trips; she offers girl-on-girl action for $2K or more for one evening. She is ROLLING in it because of what she's willing to do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-cBGkiVQHN-637PiVtu7I1WhRARIMtrLohOBxcgKZC78hG-V5OPz9vJS8_vh88U3mEV3mn9yTBOreXZ0seG9MLkyUzPdc-Fiu_2XLefF-U05wNLFUCoIWwHsdETLaRYFq8N0hoaIP9ke/s1600/right+wrong.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-cBGkiVQHN-637PiVtu7I1WhRARIMtrLohOBxcgKZC78hG-V5OPz9vJS8_vh88U3mEV3mn9yTBOreXZ0seG9MLkyUzPdc-Fiu_2XLefF-U05wNLFUCoIWwHsdETLaRYFq8N0hoaIP9ke/s320/right+wrong.GIF" width="282" /></a></div>But at what cost??? Are my morals so easily bought and sold by the lure of ridiculous amounts of easy cash that I won't be able to account for legally when tax-time comes? <br />
<br />
NO!!!!!<br />
<br />
I'm definitely hurting for money and still very close to becoming homeless, even with the new job (it takes forever to get paid, let alone caught up!), but I just can't lower myself to the levels that have been offered to me. Sure, I'm trying to sell my mind in different ways by offering blogging gigs, recipe development, etc. in order to make ends meet right now, but that's not my entire person, my womanhood, my integrity. Some may argue that those things are one in the same, but I do not. Am I wrong? Where exactly is the line drawn between providing a service and providing a <em>"service"</em>? Maybe there isn't a line, and if there is it is most definitely blurred. <br />
<br />
I value myself and my body. I know I need money but I think I have many other things to offer the world than cheap and easy sex. Sex is everywhere, and a lot of times you can get it for free. Personally, I've never understood the need to charge for something so readily available and accessible. My mind, on the other hand, that's another story. That's something unique and exclusive, the kind of thing whose power you can't find just anywhere. With my mind and knowledge I help people; with sex, my friend does not. Sure, she may rake in a ton of cash that way, but for what? For something anyone can do for free, and without the awful addition of knowing you sold that basest of needs for money. "I cried the entire time my first night," she told me, "because I just couldn't stand myself."<br />
<br />
I won't go into all the psychological and social ramifications that something like this is sure to cause, because they're pretty self-explanatory. Suffice it to say that someone like me, who suffers from some pretty low self-esteem issues to begin with, would feel even lower than usual if that were my source of income. I'd also become Captain Paranoia, wondering where exactly one would put all that cash, not to mention when exactly the Feds would come asking for their cut ("Don't you ever worry about getting audited?" I've asked my friend before. "No. I spend it too fast to put it away." Ack). If someone like my friend couldn't even stand herself after the first night, I can't begin to imagine what I'd feel like. Then there are all the other issues, like personal safety, physical safety....... nononono. I couldn't never do it. No matter how incredibly desperate I may be.<br />
<br />
So now, in my second week at my new job, I think to myself: thank GAWD I have my priorities straight. Yes, these past couple of months - nay, this whole <em>year </em>has been terribly difficult on me and on a lot of others. I have a good, steady job with kick-ass benefits now, but I am still struggling and will have to do so for a good two or three months. You just don't bounce back from this sort of thing just because you get an offer letter in the mail. I've had to go without more than I'm already used to doing: not just selling my possessions but having to isolate myself away from anything fun with my friends because everything, even a cup of coffee, costs money. I've been sick with stress and frustration, upset at not being able to move forward in my life; in short, things have really sucked! <br />
<br />
But despite all this, I knew that I was made of something stronger, something that would not take me down a road that I would never want to travel, something that kept me from having to sell myself just to make ends meet. I'll sell my stuff and I'll sell my knowledge; the stuff I can always replace, and the knowledge just keeps coming with each day I spend on this Earth. But my pride? My morals? My inegrity? How could I possibly sell those, no matter how shitty finances are? How, when there are assistance programs for people in dire straits? How, when offers of shelter have been made to me, in case of eviction (though that's still something I hope to avoid, as that stays on your record 7 whole years...)? How, when I there are menial jobs, telecommuting gigs, and eBay to get you through those scariest of times? <br />
<br />
I know I don't have human children, another "escort" acquaintance's excuse for "doing whatever it takes". But my own life and the lives of my feline children are just as valuable in my eyes, and I think that "whatever it takes" can be defined in less..... controversial terms. I'm not going to judge my friend or those who feel they need to sell sex to make ends meet; everyone's circumstances are different, and they're entitled to make their own choices. I just know that for me, it's not worth it. There are better opportunities out there, and though they may take a lot of time & effort to find, it's worth the wait. And the peace of mind.<br />
<div></div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-32436911228712076142010-12-13T21:32:00.001-08:002010-12-29T14:21:45.182-08:00The Yard Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyg3VKSk8uNZs4Wzwl7Uq__ux7BARNu4Rewi6Gu1mPYGKwZAlAC3DU7B9-ZH6xJ6xHEG1XuE-p8pn1aT-k1aaDdE93NcQLNQild3krkioA51QblmJKDYIS9vWaEAL7vq0CcvBWHboBTsj/s1600/yardsale.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyg3VKSk8uNZs4Wzwl7Uq__ux7BARNu4Rewi6Gu1mPYGKwZAlAC3DU7B9-ZH6xJ6xHEG1XuE-p8pn1aT-k1aaDdE93NcQLNQild3krkioA51QblmJKDYIS9vWaEAL7vq0CcvBWHboBTsj/s320/yardsale.gif" width="320" /></a></div>So I've been MIA from Kimberland for awhile. Not because I had nothing to say or anything, but because I just found it difficult to say it. The stress & depression that shrouded me over these past few months because of not having a job or any real income to ensure basic needs like shelter were beyond overwhelming. And as hard as it was to muster up the good humor to write a relatively non-depressing PGEW post, it was 500x harder to write here. I would have dragged everyone down. I would have made it impossible to want to deal with me anymore.<br />
<br />
<div></div>Things are still pretty bad: I can't pay December's rent until the 30th, I'm living on borrowed time with my utility companies, hoping that they don't cut me off anytime soon, and my foot is broken, making maneuvering through life all that harder. But things are looking up. Slowly but surely, life seems to be turning around... and for the better, for once. It's scary and cool all at the same time. I was finally hired for a full-time, permanent position at an agency I will actually feel happy about contributing to; I am working with a legitimate lit agent in the hopes of getting a book published in the next couple of years; and I finally, for the first time in about a year, feel like there's a light at the end of the tunnel. It's going to be a long journey toward that light, but I have an end point now, and that feels good.<br />
<br />
<div></div>To make it possible to have things like a light rail pass to get to said job, as well as a phone to receive calls from it, I had a yard sale this past weekend. Actually, it was a yard/bake sale, since that had worked fairly well for my mom & me this summer. People love food, especially when they're shopping (hence the food court at the mall), so it only seemed natural to combine the two. The holiday season gave me a better excuse to tempt my customers with homemade treats, and they were quite well-received. Always a great thing to experience if you're a cook or baker, like me.<br />
<br />
<div></div>The yard sale itself was a success, too. Not just because I sold a lot more stuff than I did this summer (much better crowds, only two low-ballers and no unruly children ruining everything), but because I met some really cool people. See, that's my favorite thing about yard sales: the people. Sure, you have the aforementioned evil low-ballers, who want diamond rings for a penny and think you're a raging bitch for having the nerve to say "no" to their "negotiations" (I'm looking at you, cheapskate who wanted the nice set of glasses for $1). But when those people aren't present or, at the very least, kept to a bare minimum at your sale, you're able to encounter the cool folks; the ones who have interesting spirits, great souls, and some of the best conversations to offer anyone (and the hot boys who embody all three of these). My sale on Saturday was full of all of these amazing people, some of whom showed me kindnesses that I never expected to be so fortunate to receive...<br />
<ul><li>My friend, Suzanne, who had just stopped by for moral support, actually ended up setting up most of my sale for me! Dealing with a broken foot and a migraine made it very difficult for me to maneuver around all the muddy terrain of our front yard. And those early birds!!! I barely had one box out and I had like 10 people tossing stuff all over the place. It was so wonderful to have an extra pair of hands helping to set up all my stuff. Not to mention how awesome she was about pimping out my baked goods. :)</li>
<li>My neighbor, Monika, and one of her friends whom I'd never even met at that point, graciously donated a ton of stuff for me to sell. Not for their own profit, but just to help me & my cause (the cause being enough light rail fare to get me to my new job)! It was incredibly generous of them and those extra goods did end up bringing in some much needed cash.</li>
<li>A local PGEW reader & fan decided to stop by to shop & chat, which is always awesome. I love, love, LOVE meeting my fans, since it gives me a way to put a real face to all the comments I get on the blog. But not only did Karla buy a few things and keep me company for a bit, she also brought me homemade goodies! Two loaves of homemade bread (one fresh out of the oven... nom...), some warm fuzzy socks, and a delciously fresh, cucumber-scented soap were my first Christmas gifts of the season, and all because what I do on PGEW seems to resonate with others. They're thanking me for telling my story; with bread & fuzzy socks, no less! Just reinforces how much I love doing what I do...</li>
<li>One random yard-saler ended up being an awesome conversationalist & cookbook enthusiast who eagerly bought some of my old cookbooks and asked where he could unload some of his (offer still stands to bring 'em here, sir!). After some chit chat and purchases, he asked if I liked bread. Why, yes, as a matter of fact, even though I don't eat it that often. He had me hobble over to his minivan, opened the back door and revealed about five giant bags filled with loaves and loaves of delicious bread! Apparently, The Bread Store in Downtown Sac literally <em>throws away</em> their day-old breads & pastries (shame, shame, shame), and this fellow collects those day-olds and takes them to different churches and shelters to be distributed to the needy. Since he had about 70 loaves of bread, he let me have a few (hello, mini sourdough bowls!!!), and without even blinking, I ended up with plenty of the barest bare bones staple of all. </li>
</ul>In the middle of all this awesome giving, I sold, sold and sold some more, finally getting rid of a lot of the stuff my mom & I had brought up from her storage unit to help her pare down her bills. I couldn't believe that I was able to get rid of so much stuff, and it was by far the best yard sale I've ever put on (and there have been several)! I was set to get that light rail pass <em>and</em> pay my phone bill. Score!<br />
<br />
But it wasn't all about me that day. As I watched people peruse the goods and helped them bag up their cookies and liqueur balls, I noticed a guy on a bike passing by every once in awhile. Back and forth he rode, slowing down to look at the sale, particularly the baked goods. Towards the end of the day, he finally stopped and asked how much the steam cleaner was. I had the feeling he wasn't really all that interested in it, but he kept up the pretense of browsing for a bit while I studied him. Tall and slender, about 50 or so, he looked like he was once a very handsome fellow, before whatever life circumstances had led him to this obviously transient state. He wasn't dirty or unkempt or anything; he didn't look like a lush or druggie, either. But he had a large bag of cans & bottles to be taken to the recycling center later, as well as a basket full of books. And he just looked... sad. Like the life had been sucked out of him and now he was barely going through the motions of existing. It made me wonder what could have possibly caused this fellow to end up this way. Then I mentally kicked myself for such a stupid thing, since I was having a yard sale specifically for the purpose of not ending up <em>there</em>. Some people don't really understand this, but there are so many people who are just one paycheck away from having to collect cans & bottles for something close to a "living". And those who have no paychecks have yard sales. <br />
<br />
I noticed he was eyeing the baked goods again, so I sort of tested the waters and asked if anything looked good. "Ohhh, man... everything looks good. But I don't really have any money right now. Haven't gotten paid yet," he added, patting his large bag of recyclables. <br />
<br />
It was nearing the end of the sale and I'd had a terrific day, much better than I had expected. I had another tray of cookies cooling on a rack inside, so.....<br />
<br />
"How about you take the rest of these for the road? It'll save me some clean-up and a few calories," I joked.<br />
"Really? All of those?" There were only four cookies left.<br />
"Yes! You'll really be helping me out."<br />
"Okay." As I bagged his cookies, his eyes drifted to the bottles of water I'd been selling. "Think I can have some water, too?"<br />
"Of course!" I'd bought the flat for like $3 at Safeway earlier that morning. One bottle wasn't going to hurt anyone. <br />
<br />
He took his bag of cookies and ate one right away. Then he opened up his bottle of water and drank about 3/4 of it in two huge gulps. "I didn't realize how thirsty I was," he said with a weak grin. "That really hit the spot. Thank you. God Bless you. Now I've got to go get paid."<br />
<br />
I gave him another bottle of water and the rest of the brownie bites "for the road" and watched him ride away, happily drinking his water. <br />
<br />
At that point, I seriously wanted to cry, because I have felt that way before. Maybe not thirst-wise (I drink too much water for that to happen), but definitely in hunger and need/want for other things. I've been dealing with it for the better part of the last 2 years, and it's not fun at all. But as difficult as things have been, I've also been extremely fortunate to have others help me through this truly shitty time. Friends, coworkers, family, complete strangers....... whether it's bread or light rail fare or pet care, I've been incredibly lucky to have experienced the true kindness and generosity of others, and it's helped tremendously. But I've always felt a little guilty at accepting the help, even though I know I've needed it. I <em>hate</em> asking for help and putting myself out there like that, especially when I always feel like I have to pay it back, fully knowing that I might not be able to anytime soon. <br />
<br />
Fortunately, the man on the bike stopped by my Yard Sale and helped me realize that it's okay not to pay it back; paying it <em>forward</em> is just as good, if not better. I know it was just some cookies and water, but to him it was a feast. And knowing that I could help brighten someone's day even in that small way is more rewarding than all the little yard sale successes I've had and will ever have again.Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-85221703370695585892010-09-28T12:46:00.000-07:002010-09-28T12:51:53.687-07:00Stuff for Sale!!! (Volume 1)<i>Once upon a time, </i><a href="http://www.poorgirleatswell.com/"><i>Poor Girl</i></a><i> wasn't so poor. She had a good job, a car, housing that wasn't being threatened because of lack of funds to pay rent on time, and the ability to go out and shop for fun, pretty things. Like most women, Poor Girl loved nice shoes & clothes, nice purses, and the occasional electronic gadget. Alas, Poor Girl - and the rest of the country - has fallen on hard times. Her job ends this Thursday, September 30th, and so far there is nothing on the horizon, despite the zillions of resumes & applications that have been sent out. Drastic measures are now being taken. </i><br />
<br />
As much as it hurts to let the fun, pretty things go, it will hurt much more to get an eviction notice. In order to avoid this, I am now selling some of my better things to you fine readers. From purses to dresses to cameras and other odds & ends, there will be something interesting for you to buy at a MUCH lower cost than was originally paid! It's a win-win situation: you get a great deal on some awesome stuff, and I get to pay my rent while I look for another job. Sound good? It does to me!<br />
<br />
I'll be posting more stuff in throughout the next couple of weeks, so if these first few items don't appeal to you, don't fret! There will be other stuff on here soon. I apologize in advance for the bad set up here... I guess this template doesn't support the whole "store" look! Not interested in stuff but still want to help? Head over to <a href="http://poorgirleatswell.com/">Poor Girl Eats Well</a> and click on the "Donate" button on the left sidebar. I hate having to ask for help like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures!<br />
<br />
Thanks in advance for your support!<br />
:) Kimberly<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3avNUw6gn06DtqvzXD00hmjsseIrrDL6v0KoCyVtiddhdk065rXDZ8JdJLVQAOzxldzTLXh0ChGJSVq2N0IKj2nbjSnfnSFzZ5jBYY48E23r1MkpeFs7owz2gCTOo2pnLodJ_jrX9znD/s1600/flower+purse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu3avNUw6gn06DtqvzXD00hmjsseIrrDL6v0KoCyVtiddhdk065rXDZ8JdJLVQAOzxldzTLXh0ChGJSVq2N0IKj2nbjSnfnSFzZ5jBYY48E23r1MkpeFs7owz2gCTOo2pnLodJ_jrX9znD/s400/flower+purse.JPG" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Audrey" lavender silk rose purse by Lauren Scherr - EXCELLENT condition, only used twice! <br />
<b>YOUR PRICE:</b> $75 (retail price: $185)</td></tr>
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Juicy Couture Crown Jewel "Cynthia" black leather purse - Excellent condition! <b>YOUR</b> <b>PRICE: $200</b> (retail price: $450; outlet prices: $300-385)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"></table>*************************************************************** </center>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-16827930760237455632010-09-19T18:47:00.000-07:002010-09-19T18:52:52.187-07:00Photo of the Week: Scary Kitty MonsterNo matter how many times I come across this picture on my computer, it always cracks me up! StuKitty being... well.... StuKitty.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojvzgsswKoTS7hTNnz8uZYLggCY-DhyphenhyphenNg_-V9RBTbXH4_F95oJeEN6QgDhX4cCerHM6t_I_I7vev1gJr93JUIwcCuUI5BMU0fQ6yeek2K6sx_o4ZmV9odwINFPHH1WBtyqtayurZzq6Hv/s1600/scary+kitty+monster.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiojvzgsswKoTS7hTNnz8uZYLggCY-DhyphenhyphenNg_-V9RBTbXH4_F95oJeEN6QgDhX4cCerHM6t_I_I7vev1gJr93JUIwcCuUI5BMU0fQ6yeek2K6sx_o4ZmV9odwINFPHH1WBtyqtayurZzq6Hv/s400/scary+kitty+monster.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">"Beware my evil kitty wrath!!!"</span></div><br />Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-57219329245793346562010-09-15T21:00:00.000-07:002010-09-15T21:12:22.264-07:00Why Jackie Evancho truly won...Seriously? A raspy-voiced late 20-something won America's Got Talent? Obviously, America has no idea what real talent is. Which isn't news, considering they always pick the wrong one on American Idol, too. <br />
<br />
Okay, okay, I cheated. I have been a bit under the weather as of late and decided to Google the results to see who won so that I could sleep tonight. And that's how I found out Jackie Evancho placed second.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OpHbok1nh8zI2_BLKXxgds_tOwhG7WzxccCPRMeT5u1-tZ6Dmw6t714UsfP4loZjyo_qSEG7ilj3p5cB9nCZ9roALCbnwx13xGbJhNe3y_6Lg8lcgVLzvevHLum3mHR0k8Y_G-1SPrQC/s1600/jackie-evancho-Stills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OpHbok1nh8zI2_BLKXxgds_tOwhG7WzxccCPRMeT5u1-tZ6Dmw6t714UsfP4loZjyo_qSEG7ilj3p5cB9nCZ9roALCbnwx13xGbJhNe3y_6Lg8lcgVLzvevHLum3mHR0k8Y_G-1SPrQC/s400/jackie-evancho-Stills.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>If you're my Facebook friend, you know that I have been obsessively following that 10-year-old powerhouse, <a href="http://jackieevancho.webplus.net/">Jackie Evancho</a>, like I used to follow boy bands in the early '90s. Her voice, her stage presence, her childlike innocence masking that incredible voice - all of it conveys a talent so huge that most adults cannot even begin to understand.<br />
<br />
Am I upset that she didn't win the $1M grand prize and Las Vegas show that was the ultimate goal of all AGT contestants? Sure. I wanted the little gal to win as much as the rest of her fans. But do I think this is it for her? <i> ABSOLUTELY not!!!</i> Her poise, her professionalism, her spectacular performances all boasted a talent far beyond that which her adult competitors displayed. She is a true performer through and through, blasting through performances like last night's version of "Ave Maria", an extremely difficult rendition of the song full of ups and downs that most adult vocalists - myself included - could not handle with the same ease she did.<br />
<br />
Shows like American Idol and America's Got Talent claim to seek the most undiscovered talent, that diamond in the rough, but seldom do they choose the person who actually possesses those things. Usually, the trend is to "vote for" (and I put that in huge quotation fingers b/c I'm sure that's not all of America's "real" vote) the second most talented person and giving them the crown of the show, only to make the supposed "runner-up" the true star. It's happened with several Idols in the past. Clay Aiken outshined Ruben Studdard. People forgot about whatshisface when <a href="http://adamofficial.com/">Adam Lambert</a> merely opened his mouth. And yet, those poor "winners" of the show never seem to be heard of again, except in the rare instances of Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood. Goes to show that being the "winner" isn't all it's cracked up to be.<br />
<br />
Compared to Michael Grimm, a formidable performer in his own right, Jackie Evancho could run circles around him in both stage presence and actual singing talent. His voice will NOT last past his Las Vegas assignment, whereas hers will delight audiences forever. She may be tiny and young, but her talent and spirit are mature beyond her years, bringing a special quality to each and every performance she brings to the world. Was she robbed? Perhaps. But in my eyes, this was the best possible outcome for her. Record companies are no doubt scrambling to sign her, whereas Michael Grimm will only get his Vegas show and 15 minutes of fame and that's it. Jackie will go on to wow audiences for years to come, especially as she and her powerhouse voice mature. <br />
<br />
So to my dear little Jackie, the singer I've both envied and admired since you debuted with "O Mio Babbino Caro", take heart: you are amazing and the singer so many of us wish we could be. I can't wait until you headline your own tour because I guarantee you, I will be in the front row, trying hard not to sing along so I don't ruin the perfection that is your phenomenal voice.<br />
<br />Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-43821830321397729822010-09-14T20:22:00.000-07:002010-09-14T21:14:26.965-07:00195 BPM"Yeah, your heart's really racing along there," the lead paramedic was telling me as I tried to remember if I'd turned off the stove in case they had to take me away in a hearse. "One hundred and.... ninety-five! What do you say we take a trip to the hospital and get you checked out."<br />
<br />
I nodded weakly, afraid to exert myself any more than I had to considering my heart was just about to burst. Woozily, I tried thinking about what had caused this, why I was feeling this way, why André the Giant had crawled into my chest cavity, grabbed hold of my heart with his massive hands and kept squeezing, squeezing, squeeeeeeeeeeezing. <br />
<br />
The pain of it was like nothing I'd ever felt in my life, and as a card-carrying klutz, I've felt a lot of pain. Broken bones, sprains and twisted joints were nothing compared to this hell I was feeling. I felt like I was dying. I was dizzy and weak with pain and fear. What would happen to Hana and StuKitty? No one had my key and no one would know what had happened. Who would tell my mom? How would she react? Would she be sad or would she be angry with the pain of losing me?<br />
<br />
"You're young and healthy, so I'm pretty sure it's not cardiac," the new hot EMT was saying. Oh, sure, now there was a hot one. He'd sneaked up on me on my left side and started putting all sorts of new sticky EKG thingies on my chest and belly. As if I hadn't been plastered with enough shit already. <br />
<br />
"I'm too fat," I slurred, "that's why this is happening to me."<br />
<br />
"You are not too fat," Hot Boy argued. "Trust me, you look just fine."<br />
<br />
"I need to lose 30 pounds," I insisted.<br />
<br />
"You'd be losing too much if you did that," he said. "Relax and don't move so we can get a better read on your heart."<br />
<br />
Relax. Yeah, right! My heart is going to explode, I have a tea stain on my PJ pants from earlier this morning before all this happened, and I hadn't shaved my legs in 3 days. Fairly certain I looked like Chewbacca, I tried to hide my legs from his probing hands with all those stupid sticky EKG things. <br />
<br />
"Time to take a ride," said Mr. Authority, the first one who'd announced that my heart was beating faster than a bad techno record. "Can you get onto the gurney okay?"<br />
<br />
"My cats," I moaned. "I need to know that they're okay. The white & gray one likes to escape."<br />
<br />
"They're both on the bed, looking at us all weird. They'll be fine."<br />
<br />
"I need to see them," my stubborn ass told them. I got up off the couch, stumbled through the kitchen. Fell. <br />
<br />
"What's that all about?" yelled Mr. Authority.<br />
<br />
"Dizzy."<br />
<br />
Strong hands gripped my arm painfully and led me to the gurney. I dizzily fell into it, adjusting myself as directed to make sure I wouldn't fall off. Lights flashed everywhere as they wheeled me down the walkway. My neighbor, her face creased with concern, asked if I wanted her to call my mom. "Nooooo," I pleaded. "Not right now. I don't want to worry her." I'm so much like my dad in that respect. He does the same thing to me every time he gets hospitalized...<br />
<br />
Hot Boy had to sit with me, of course. I avoided looking at him, despite his ridiculous beauty. I don't deserve to see him, I told myself. I need to lose 30 pounds. <br />
<br />
Within minutes, we'd wound our way through Midtown and ended up at Sutter General's ER, as I'd directed. It's the closest to my house, without being a Level I Trauma Center like UCD, which automatically comes with a 14-hour wait if you're not in dire danger. I'd forgotten I couldn't breathe and my heart was failing. It might have only taken 3 hours instead.<br />
<br />
They checked me in and I was taken to a room already housed by another Kimberly. I didn't want witnesses to my misery, but there she was, behind a thin, ugly curtain. Repeatedly they asked the same questions: where does it hurt? Can you describe the pain? NO, I wanted to yell. I cannot fucking BREATHE anymore, it hurts so bad. QUIT ASKING ME QUESTIONS AND HELP ME!!!<br />
<br />
"It's probably just anxiety," said a short, blonde, perky nurse. I wanted to bitch slap her. <br />
<br />
"I've had anxiety attacks before. This feels nothing like that," I wheezed.<br />
<br />
Big mistake.<br />
<br />
"Ohhhh, you've had anxiety? Okayyyyy, don't wooooorrrrryyy...." she purred in the same condescending voice all nurses use for the "whack jobs". "You'll be just fine."<br />
<br />
Fuck. Now they were going to 5150 me for an alleged anxiety attack.<br />
<br />
In my regular, rational mind, I scolded myself for having let on that I'd ever had anything close to a DSM-IV related condition. I worked in the mental health field long enough to know that even the most innocent symptoms can be twisted to suit the goals of undergrad interns and LCSW-hopefuls, regardless of the patient's real condition. But, in my defense, I felt I had to let them know; I had to let them see that I knew the difference between the physical and the psychological. Any anxiety I did feel at the moment was not the cause of my discomfort and pain, it was the<i> result </i>of it! <i> "I'm a mental health worker!!!" </i>I wanted to scream. <i> "I know what this is all about!"</i><br />
<br />
Of course, they didn't take me seriously after that. Everyone's tone of voice turned syrupy sweet. The kind of voice reserved only for they psych patients. After being properly wired to every cardiac machine (they do try covering their butts even if their diagnoses have already been made), SHE came in: a short, icy blonde with steely gray eyes, her lips set in a tight frown, the nostrils of her slender nose flaring slightly. I hadn't noticed at the time that the gal from registration was explaining how I could apply for a county medical program for folks without insurance; when she heard that, Ice Princess, MD, decided I was an unworthy subject.<br />
<br />
They gave me an IV of something I'll never know the name of, but my reaction to what was given confirmed that it was probably Ativan or Klonopin; something mild and of the anti-anxiety family to "chill me out". An amusing tech took me to get a chest x-ray, swapping favorite lines from Forrest Gump with me. He made me feel human when the rest of them made me feel like a statistic.<br />
<br />
After the x-ray I was brought back down to my bed. No one reconnected me to all my vital stats machines. I waited. Waited to see if someone would show up to tell me where the bathroom was. Waited to find out what the hell was wrong with my heart, a muscle that was born wrong inside of me in the first place, but had been kind to me thus far. Please, please, don't make me go on heart meds, I pleaded to no one, and no one answered. Okay, I figured. It's an ER. They're busy.<br />
<br />
Hours passed and eventually I was transferred to a different, single room (only after one of the hot male nurses realized that there was more than one patient in the double room he was cleaning). My new nurse, Jenny - the first name I'd gotten all day - was super sweet but left me unattended almost immediately. "Steve", the next dude, had the requisite "cool" sense of humor, but again, was nowhere to be found when I needed him. Like when I needed a blanket because I was cold. I got out of my bed, threw all the wires over my left shoulder in an effort to get close to the cabinet of warm blankets that was RIGHT THERE!!! And nothing. I was literally six inches away from a warm blankie and unable to get any closer for fear of damaging an important vein into which my (ever-so-poorly-administered) IV was dripping. I literally had to flag "Steve" down like an airport runway worker, waving my right arm in the air in a gesture quite similar to that of Donnie Wahlberg's in New Kids On the Block's "Hangin' Tough" video (yes, it was 17 years ago but I have a very photographic memory and remember it vividly). He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and I waited for another couple of hours for some real answers.<br />
<br />
Heh. How naive of me to think I'd actually get those.<br />
<br />
"Ms. Morales, I'm afraid everything has come back clear and you are fine," said Dr. Bitch - er, Dr. Ritz, her steely gray eyes flashing with disapproval and her own conceit. Really, for someone at least 10 years younger than I am, she had some serious issues. Lighten up a little, bitch, thought I.<br />
<br />
I asked her what I could do to help alleviate the feelings of pressure and squeezing, even if the med they'd given me "for the pain" (a med whose name I still don't know; guess I'll find out w/the bill). Her answer?<br />
<br />
"I don't know what to tell you about that."<br />
<br />
Bitch.<br />
<br />
"If I can't take my Albuterol anymore, what can I do when I'm having an asthma attack? I'm dealing with a cold here... my lungs are the first to react to any sort of URI."<br />
<br />
Again, her cold gray eyes flashed at the mention of "URI". She obviously didn't think I knew all of her medical jargon.<br />
<br />
"I don't know what to tell you about that either," was her clipped reply.<br />
<br />
<i>Fucking bitch! If you don't know, then why am I here??? You're the alleged doctor!!!</i> I wanted to scream, but had no lung power, no heart, no life left in me to even argue with this troglodyte in scrubs and a lab coat.<br />
<br />
I was released without further instructions, without a signed discharge form, without answers. I'm sure they thought that would be the end of it because I was "just another anxiety patient". Too bad for them I landed in the hospital again, just two days later...Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-71320298787699936072010-08-31T16:03:00.000-07:002010-08-31T16:25:09.989-07:0034-midable*So I turned 34 last Wednesday (or entered into my 34th year, depending on which friend you ask). I have to admit there was actually a moment of panic for awhile there, when I realized I would be entering the beginning of my mid-30's, also known as the swift ascent to my 40's. See, I tend to think of decades in thirds as opposed to the standard 50/50: 30-33 = early thirties; 34-36 = mid-thirties; 37-39 = late thirties. I don't really know when I started to look at ages this way, but when you think about it for a bit, it kinda makes sense.<br />
<br />
I don't know about other folks but I do feel a little different now that I've entered this age range or state of mind. Not physically or anything like that, although I do hate the fact that it's much harder to lose weight after the big 3-0. But I feel a bit more... settled. Grounded, despite the chaos that is my life. I remember feeling this way when I turned 30, happy to finally enter the age that I'd felt mentally for most of my life (I was always a very mature child, which is probably why I'm such an immature adult at times). My body had finally caught up with my mind and I felt much more comfortable with myself, empowered by the lessons I'd learned in my 20's, yet still fabulously youthful looking. <br />
<br />
Just six days into my 34th year, I am experiencing that same sense of ease and calm. A bit like the silence that surrounds everything immediately after a tempestuous storm. I know things aren't perfect but I feel as if the puzzle pieces of my life are slowly making their descent so that they'll eventually fall slightly into place. I appreciate the things that matter in life more with each passing year, particularly the joys of knowing my parents in a completely different way. We're on more level ground now that I'm an adult, and to hear them asking me for <i>my</i> advice, <i>my</i> ideas, <i>my</i> comfort is just incredible to me. I've also come to realize that there may actually be more good in people than I'd previously thought, provided one surrounds oneself with the right kind. I may not have the raging social life I had in my 20's, but the <i>quality</i> of the friends and acquaintances I have is far superior to anything I've ever known. <br />
<br />
And I finally feel as if I've stumbled upon a career that will work for me AND make me happy. Though it sounds cocky, all my life I've been too good at too many things: writing, singing, cooking, counseling, basic medical skills & superior diagnostic abilities sans training. It's made it quite difficult for me to choose what path to follow and that's been part of why my life has been such a tornado of emotions and conflicts. But now... now that I've learned my writing - and cooking - can bring such joy, support and comfort to others, through a medium I would have never imagined using for such a thing, I know in my heart that this is what I was meant to do.<br />
<br />
These are the lessons I've learned at 30, 31, 32 and 33. And they are the building blocks to a more confident, settled me as I enter this new phase of life. I know I have a lot of work to do: on myself, on my potential writing career, on my social life (I really need to quit isolating). But I also know that this work does pay off, slowly but surely, and that's okay. I have plenty of time to grow and learn and experience life. And, good or bad, I can't wait to see what the future brings. <br />
<br />
For now, I'll just enjoy the wonders of being smarter, more confident and far wiser despite the scars life's struggles have left. They're like badges of honor: difficult and painful to earn, but treasured for their rewards of wisdom and patience.<br />
<br />
To being 34-midable*!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*If you're reading this aloud or imagining my voice as you read, just remember 34-midable should always be pronounced with a hearty French accent. :)</span></i>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-85783920439042464282010-08-20T16:06:00.000-07:002010-08-20T16:19:31.620-07:00Michael "Papa" Been<i>I have several other posts waiting in the queue, but there are times when life - or death - takes over and makes other things far more important. </i><br />
<br />
If you know me personally and not just blog-wise, you know that I live and breathe two bands pretty much all day long: <a href="http://interpolnyc.com/">Interpol</a> and <a href="http://blackrebelmotorcycleclub.com/">Black Rebel Motorcycle Club</a>. Their styles are quite different, especially when it comes to live performances, but both bands' music has touched something in me that few bands have been able to do. In the case of BRMC, however, the experience involves much more than just the music. As with <a href="http://www.betterthanezra.com/">Better Than Ezra</a>, another one of my favorite bands to follow, I've fallen in love not just with the music, but with the whole band and crew. Peter (singer/guitarist), Robert (singer/bassist), and Leah (drummer) are some of the most down-to-Earth, genuinely friendly rockstars you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. They're happy to spend real time with their fans before or after a show, and don't have the pretentious attitude that some musicians have. The band's crew is just as awesome: tireless, hardworking and funny, and a couple of the guys have become good friends throughout the years.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT5VcTbh8fBSbezxvpAhvvzTNR6kWptUNZmMGuAYcYI_NDcYcJrwfJNiMWrCO5Ze39g9c-YV1Sv24pw1wfOYyfa98qZcO5gc0mxFjs_PDy0_adCWIohL5JtJRA1fJOMx4VmC1ChjIyyEF/s1600/papa+been+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT5VcTbh8fBSbezxvpAhvvzTNR6kWptUNZmMGuAYcYI_NDcYcJrwfJNiMWrCO5Ze39g9c-YV1Sv24pw1wfOYyfa98qZcO5gc0mxFjs_PDy0_adCWIohL5JtJRA1fJOMx4VmC1ChjIyyEF/s200/papa+been+3.png" width="196" /></a>But yesterday, the band - and the music world in general - lost the most important person in that crew - or the fourth member of the band, depending on who you asked. Such was the important role he played in the band. <b>Michael Been</b>, who some of you may remember as the front man for the 80's band, <b><a href="http://www.the-call-band.com/">The Call</a></b>, died of a heart attack yesterday in Belgium. He was only 60.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm not going to write about his amazing career or the specifics surrounding his untimely passing; you can find write-ups aplenty online right now. I want to share what Michael - or "Papa", as a lot of us who devotedly follow BRMC call him - meant to me as a person, for he was truly a wonderful human being. <br />
<br />
I met Papa Been sometime in 2006 or 2007, during the height of my concert-going days (oh, how I miss those days... can't wait to bring those back again!). Part of the fun of following BRMC is being able to chat with the guys after the show, which is usually the time when the crew is busy breaking down the band's equipment and loading it back up before heading out to the next stop on the tour. Papa Been, who was the sound engineer for BRMC, was always out there too, helping out just as much as the next guy. If he was taking a short break, he didn't mind if you approached him for a quick chat or a congrats on how good the show was, and it didn't matter if he'd never met you before - he always had a ready smile and "thank you" for you. Once he'd gotten to know you a bit after seeing you at several shows, that smile also came along with a hearty handshake or a big hug. And in the case of my BRMC friends and me, those giant hugs could also come with a big ol' kiss on the cheek, and a "How are you, sweetie?"<br />
<br />
"Sweetie". We were all his "sweeties", his "girls"....<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uCOXfDkH3kxCBcCUPDonaVMNu_wR-vkVNB9Qe6uikJ8JIsAHBP6wB30XfVARaxq4HZfhusxVUfymAu8DmC2-K5hd9ICMDwa8mKp5Den1Dn_qNsJgKcCQWxINtfEtV-1IxLjiw3S60h6D/s1600/papa+been.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uCOXfDkH3kxCBcCUPDonaVMNu_wR-vkVNB9Qe6uikJ8JIsAHBP6wB30XfVARaxq4HZfhusxVUfymAu8DmC2-K5hd9ICMDwa8mKp5Den1Dn_qNsJgKcCQWxINtfEtV-1IxLjiw3S60h6D/s320/papa+been.jpg" /></a>You could talk to Papa Been about anything, and that made him a pretty popular attraction after the show. From how the band sounded that night ("They're so fucking awesome... just amazing," or, "That place made them sound like shit... it's a crap venue...") to what he thought of other bands out there, to what you were doing with your own life, Papa Been was just that in my eyes: a dad. Not just to Rob and the rest of the band & crew, but for all his "sweeties" and other fans. He even looked like the perfect dad, with his snowy white hair and beard, and those twinkling eyes. And let's not forget about that wicked sense of humor or his inability to mince words - 9 times out of 10 he would usually have me rolling with laughter, he was so friggin' hilarious!<br />
<br />
I had - and will always have - a HUGE dad-crush on Papa Been for all of these reasons. But especially because he really gave a damn about who he was talking to. He might not have remembered your name and occupation right off the bat (unless you're my dear friend, Jodi), but he knew you were "doing something cool" and was genuinely interested in what you had to say. I remember the last time I saw him here in Sacramento this past February: it was the first time I'd seen the band in well over a year, so they weren't aware of PGEW and all its minor successes. I told Papa Been about what I'd been doing and the plans I had to write a book based on the blog, and I will never forget the pride and encouragement in his voice when he told me, "Good for you, sweetie! That is excellent!" <br />
<br />
He didn't have to do that. It's not like we were BFFs who texted everyday. But that was what was so cool about Michael Been: he would make anyone feel like part of his extended band family with his warmth and openness. <br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
I know it may be weird to those outside of this special BRMC family that I should care so much about someone who is seemingly unattached to the rest of my life. But the reality is that he was a part of some special moments that I miss and cherish. Music to me is like water, like the air that I must breathe everyday - I have to have it. Live music is no exception. Going to shows regularly was a sort of release and a recharge all at once, and Papa Been was part of some of the greatest times I've spent surrounded by incredible music and friends. Someday when things are better for me, I will start going to shows again, and I will like it. But it will be hard not to have Michael Been around to make every part of the show just that much better.<br />
<br />
Rest in peace, Papa Been. It hurts not to have you with us anymore, but your spirit will live on forever through your own music and your son's. I'll miss you.Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-25195839806993362452010-08-12T13:14:00.000-07:002010-08-12T13:15:23.045-07:00Photo of the Week: Weatherbeaten Tree @ CarmelI promise I'll stop posting about Carmel at some point! More than likely it'll be after my big ol' picture post of the whole weekend's adventures. For now, here's one of the great weatherbeaten trees that greets you right before you're hit with the majestic view of the mighty Pacific. I LOVE the crazy pink ray of sunlight at the top...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqKzIE0t6F3vZFb-x8bxwUniQRUMlvBbpjTAanha6RagX6G7Bb52_h9J3r6XdZG8dD48bvyxPEbpXEb5rcRDGWG9lBL4Q5N0OO_a5NgbWUZB87LnrW2Udxa7r3QoKYcxePo5BaRdaJX9t/s1600/carmel+tree+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqKzIE0t6F3vZFb-x8bxwUniQRUMlvBbpjTAanha6RagX6G7Bb52_h9J3r6XdZG8dD48bvyxPEbpXEb5rcRDGWG9lBL4Q5N0OO_a5NgbWUZB87LnrW2Udxa7r3QoKYcxePo5BaRdaJX9t/s400/carmel+tree+light.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-52737793934824828042010-08-08T19:34:00.001-07:002010-08-08T20:05:31.947-07:00When Justin Bieber is a good thing...<i>(From a conversation with my 11 year-old step-sister a few days ago...)</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><b>Me:</b> Hey kiddo, it's been a while since you've sent me some new pics of you... do you have anything new for me to check out?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><b>Small Fry: </b>Yeah, I do! I'll send you some today! I think you'll really like 'em.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Kimberly goes home, checks her email, finds new stuff from Small Fry. Open the first photo: innocent enough, just SF taking a MySpace-esque profile shot with her new hairdo. Head to the next photo, entitled (en español) "my boyfriend"...... </div><div><br /></div><div>Instant fury was mine!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Say what you will about Small Fry but I don't care who the kid is, I do NOT like the idea of an 11 year old girl having a boyfriend! It's just 74 trillion ways wrong! Immediately I bristled and was ready to let out all my unofficial big sister fury out on my dad, her mom, and the young boyfriend in question. NO ONE IS GOING TO DATE SMALL FRY WITHOUT LARGE FRY'S PERMISSION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I opened the email attachment and saw that her boyfriend was none other than <b>Justin Bieber.</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I have never been a fan of this child performer; I don't know if I'm too old or if he's just too girly-looking for my own personal fan-girl tastes, but I usually find him and his music to be quite irritating. Until it comes to being unofficially betrothed to 11 year-old girls. At that point, I find Justin Bieber to be the most fantastic invention to have ever come out of YouTube and/or recording company PR firms, and I am more than happy to consider myself the older, more haggard and unappreciative sister-in-law of the cherub-faced pop star. He's safe, harmless, and Canadian, far away from the 11 year-old that is so desperately wanting to grow up and experience her first love while the rest of us are left to stand by and suffer as we watch. Much like my undying devotion to Joe McIntyre of New Kids on the Block when I was a wee tween, there is no possible way that any wrongdoing could come out of such a pure, innocent love. </div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously though, this is precisely why I have cats. My overly protective mommy-instincts are far too well-honed for me to deal with any of the "real" trials and tribulations that face parents of human children past a certain age. At least my babies' crushes only go as far as choice backyard encounters during the full moon! I don't know what I'd do if I found out Hana had the hots for Sylvester the Cat........</div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-48411369211902898182010-08-04T18:53:00.000-07:002010-08-04T19:01:50.532-07:00What I want for my birthday...I honestly don't know what's cuter: the crazy hopping around, or when they slip and slide all over the place! <br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JDABjGGeZzM&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JDABjGGeZzM&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-64831832858494568862010-08-04T15:49:00.000-07:002010-08-04T16:14:06.197-07:00giddy giddy giddyDespite the fact that I'm hobbling around at a snail's pace these days, I've been pretty darned giddy. It's August - my favorite month of the year b/c it's my birth month - and it should be plenty fun & busy, provided I don't break, sprain, or otherwise maim other parts of my body. <div><br /></div><div>Today's been particularly giddifying (in Kimberland, if it sounds like a word, it's a word). The ceviche recipe I worked on for the <a href="http://sacbee.com/">Sacramento Bee</a> last week made the front page of the <a href="http://www.sacbee.com/2010/08/04/2934112/make-a-winning-ceviche-with-raw.html">Food & Wine section</a> today (and the front page, now that I look more closely); I just found out that I've scored a small voice-over part for a statewide video the folks at work are producing, AND the Spanish webmistress position for the agency; the swelling on my toe & foot has gone done enough for me to fit into my favorite flip flops again; and that ever-so-evil Prop 8 was finally deemed unconstitutional by a federal judge. </div><div><br /></div><div>Granted, I'm not gay so it's not like I will benefit from this, but many of my closest friends are and this is a big effing deal for those who are in super-committed relationships. About the only thing I can't tolerate is intolerance, so it's nice to see that there are those within the judicial system who still have some common sense and agree that civil rights and human rights are often one in the same. Denying anyone the liberty to love and commit to someone else is in violation of both of these rights, and this makes today's ruling a step in the right direction for California: a step forward towards progress, not a step backward like what the passing of that ridiculous proposition was in 2008.</div><div><br /></div><div>*steps off soapbox*</div><div><br /></div><div><div>My bouncygiddiness is also due to the fact that the date for the <a href="http://www.foodista.com/ifbc2010/">International Food Blogger Conference</a> is swiftly approaching! In just a few short weeks, I'll be headed to Seattle for the very first time to attend this foodie-star-studded event. Featuring foodie notables like <b>James Oseland</b>, the editor-in-chief of <a href="http://saveur.com/">Saveur Magazine</a>; <b>Victoria Von Biel</b>, executive editor of <a href="http://bonappetit.com/">Bon Appetit</a>; and <b>Morgan Spurlock</b> of <i>Super Size Me</i> fame, we are in for quite a weekend of tips and advice from some of the best in the food publishing world. I was a little scared I wouldn't be able to go at first because I'd only been able to secure sponsorship for the conference itself from Red Lobster, and finances being what they are in my world, forking out a few hundred bucks for plane tickets just wasn't feasible. And the few flights I could afford had such terrible departure times that I would have missed what I consider one of the most important sessions of the conference: Pitch to Publish. Fortunately, another company stepped in and made my trip to Seattle possible so I wouldn't have to miss a thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm excited about the Pitch to Publish session because it could give me the tools I've so desperately searched for to finally make my book happen. Most of you know that I'm dying to write and publish a book based on PGEW, but as of yet I've been unsuccessful in finding the right way to get noticed by big publishing houses. Since one of the presenters for this workshop will be <b>Molly Wizen</b> of <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/">Orangette</a>, my personal food blogging hero for starting off like I did and making it all the way to full-fledged author and writer for Bon Appetit, this is one session I cannot possibly miss! Not that it'll result in a book advance right off the bat, but I'm hoping to glean some good info and possibly make some connections that can help me get started. Who's to say I can't have my own Julie Powell moment someday, right? </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Just thinking about that possibility makes me even giddier! I know it's a long shot, but other bloggers have been able to cross over into real authorhood. If they can do it, so can I! </div><div><br /></div><div>And then I'll be giddy, giddy, giddy for life. </div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-63395772903116547032010-08-03T07:24:00.000-07:002010-08-03T07:31:49.085-07:00Front window fascination...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr6aVtYrOFCWNVffrAi0QuMJxJgQUZmnn8zSpRpvzL-_u7miVNOzxzGxV5cmAooPmAL4LxbXXlw9FD4-KgqQazS0yvo5p8gLo6DGJxh2Ln8xGFRttcBakg37L53ZCdQv9vtfkNOx9DhIh/s1600/stu+window.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifr6aVtYrOFCWNVffrAi0QuMJxJgQUZmnn8zSpRpvzL-_u7miVNOzxzGxV5cmAooPmAL4LxbXXlw9FD4-KgqQazS0yvo5p8gLo6DGJxh2Ln8xGFRttcBakg37L53ZCdQv9vtfkNOx9DhIh/s400/stu+window.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501190500941599394" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>StuKitty checks out the mornin' happenin's on 26th street...</i></div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-52176814240047343342010-07-30T07:46:00.000-07:002010-08-04T11:48:58.653-07:00Friday randomness...<ul><li>I would love to by a fly on the wall of <b>Chelsea Clinton's wedding</b> this weekend. Not just to see the dress and all the other wedding accoutrements, but to see the look on President Clinton's face when he gives her away. Weddings make me cry anyway, but it's always the look on the daddy's face that turns me into a blubbering idiot. If I ever get married I will have to remember NOT to wear make up because of this.</li><li><b>Victoria's Secret Puddin' Pie</b> lip gloss is the most deliciously scented lip gloss on the entire planet. I don't know WHY those fools decided to discontinue it, but I am determined to get my hands on every. last. tube of that stuff!!! I've had some luck on eBay but not so much on Amazon. Anyone know of any girly sites that might have discontinued lip glosses available?</li><li>There's a boy here at work that I'd like to try flirting with (he's just a summer intern, so he'll be gone soon), but he's not very social or talkative. <b>How do you flirt with a brick wall?</b></li><li>I'm going to <b>Seattle</b> for the <a href="http://www.foodista.com/ifbc2010/">International Food Blogger Conference</a> next month! SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! Seattle's been at the top of my U.S. Cities To Visit list for years and I finally get to go! Doubt I'll be able to do much sightseeing since the conference is chock full of back-to-back sessions, but I'm still excited to go!</li><li>It's a shame that it's so easy for me to break my toes. I'm not sure if <b>I'm the biggest klutz in the universe</b> or just really, <i>really</i> thorough at toe-stubbing.</li><li>Speaking of self-inflicted pain, I can't decide if playing all this <b>Bejeweled Blitz</b> is giving me carpal tunnel syndrome or strengthening my hand & wrist. The first few weeks of playing that time-sucker hurt like hell, but now I seem to be okay. Still, I don't want to risk it as I neither want nor afford hand surgery. Ergo, it's time to learn to play with my left hand.</li><li>Seriously though, I can't believe I broke my fucking toe. Must be Friday! </li></ul>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-81641405606568111522010-07-29T15:08:00.000-07:002010-07-29T19:22:12.695-07:00Interpol: "Lights"<div>Few things curl my toes as hard as listening to <a href="http://interpolnyc.com/">Interpol</a> does. Those things include: staring at <b>Paul Banks</b>, lead singer of Interpol; watching <a href="http://blackrebelmotorcycleclub.com/">Black Rebel Motorcycle Club</a> perform a two-and-a-half-hour set (I know, it's almost like I'm cheating on one band with the other... fortunately, they understand); the right dark chocolate paired with the right red wine; and free music to share with others (legally). Below is an example of the last item on that list. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Lights" by Interpol. I don't see it being my most favorite Interpol song ever, but if I'm to go by their last three albums, this song is part of a much richer whole.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div class="topspin-widget topspin-widget-email-for-media"></div><div> <object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="580" width="900" id="TSWidget27129" data="http://cdn.topspin.net/widgets/email2/swf/TSEmailMediaWidget.swf?timestamp=1280439495" bgcolor="#000000"></object></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div></div></div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2128964259654027998.post-49516184349700114852010-07-29T13:01:00.000-07:002010-08-04T16:44:06.129-07:00I have a crush on NBC's Brian Williams<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETQVWJ8NGcCzEJMcxdTf5VdlYQE4QMePJSW4VyKvDG2SJubjFkBw-9EqUAPSsRLYqxPHKD6RI7ajYq550eA5F2O84gJaYL2rO-SNNzUKnfmzmh8tqZ33RHT8HDJO_TKDL56ew5yuzid_z/s1600/Brian_Williams_by_David_Shankbone.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETQVWJ8NGcCzEJMcxdTf5VdlYQE4QMePJSW4VyKvDG2SJubjFkBw-9EqUAPSsRLYqxPHKD6RI7ajYq550eA5F2O84gJaYL2rO-SNNzUKnfmzmh8tqZ33RHT8HDJO_TKDL56ew5yuzid_z/s400/Brian_Williams_by_David_Shankbone.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499420879645628786" /></a>My Facebook pals have heard me proclaim this from time to time, and now you get to read about it too. <div><br /></div><div>I, Kimberly A. Morales, have a massive news crush on <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3667173/">Brian Williams</a> from NBC Nightly News.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not like I want to throw him down and make babies with him; it's not that kind of crush at all. Don't get me wrong: Brian is a very attractive man, perhaps the most attractive of major network anchors. But what makes my toes curl about him is his delivery. Brian could read the ingredients off the back of a box of Pop Tarts and I would find it the most fascinating piece of news on the planet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I grew up on Tom Brokaw, another stellar NBC news anchor whom almost everyone has heard of at some point in their lives. Tom's confident delivery of the news made me believe in him so much that I still think he should run for President of The United States someday. But there's something about Brian Williams that makes me want to buy whatever he's selling, even if he is only reading the news of the day. He's so serious, so forthright, so secure in his delivery that I can't help but listen to him, no matter how devastating the news. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Brian is not without a sense of humor, though. He's made appearances on the<i> The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Late Night with Jimmy Fallon</i> (my late night crush, swoonswoonswoon), and has even hosted <i>Saturday Night Live</i>. Sometimes he'll do quick pieces for the <i>Today Show</i>, dramatically reading morning banter that makes his daytime colleagues chuckle just as heartily as I do. He knows what he sounds like and doesn't mind poking fun at himself, another extremely attractive feature in any crush. His Robert Redford brow and his seemingly unending collection of diagonally striped ties never cease to amaze me. Honestly, in my eyes, the man can do no wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian, I doubt you'll ever read this, but if you do, know this: nothing would make me happier than to have you read one of my PGEW posts - recipe included - on the news. Since I know that can never happen, having you feature me on your Making A Difference segment would be just as awesome, though I'm only making a difference locally for now. If that doesn't work, perhaps you could do a dramatic reading of my forthcoming book for an audiobook exclusive. The conviction in your voice would make my work sound so credible, it would take but a few signatures to include it on a ballot and turn it into law. Perhaps we could work together, you with your serious voice, me with the "sultry secretary" sound my voiceover clients all request that I use. </div><div><br /></div><div>But even if none of that happened, I would still race home every weekday after work, just to catch you on the Nightly News. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which I actually do everyday.</div>Kimberly A. Moraleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06303979753888922190noreply@blogger.com1