Bimberly

It's a wonder I can hold down a job and stuff. I cleaned out my fridge last night, but I didn't take the spoiled food to the dumpster. That's fun to come home to. No one could ever accuse me of being the sharpest knife in the drawer, and it could be because I often cut myself with the sharpest knife in the drawer. My poor fingers have been cut, cooked, burned, blistered, you name it, usually by my cooking misadventures. Although, I do have a couple of nasty scars from curling iron burns. Sometimes it's just too early in the morning and my bleary eyes and slow reaction time aren't quite up to the task of taming my mane with a 300º rod of fire.

I'm getting less sleep than usual lately. My mental processes are slower now, and some people would probably say that all the synapses weren't firing anyway. Last week I deli-sliced my left index finger. I got home quite late and was starving. It was past the closing time for even desperation-run-type places like Taco Bueno. Nothing in my house looked edible. There was some stale bread on the table, and I thought it had the most potential. I grabbed my serrated bread knife and decided to cut the hard edges off the bread. Unfortunately, the knife bounced off the impenetrable old bread and right into my finger.

My idea of a tourniquet was a paper towel with a rubber band to secure it. That sort of worked. I tried sleeping with my arm held in the air. That didn't work out as well. The next morning when the tourniquet came off, my finger was still bleeding. I went to work with it bandaged. At work, I asked my co-workers if they thought I needed stitches. Steve's quite the expert, having just had his skull stapled back together. Ah, great story. But I digress. If you didn't think I was white trash enough, just wait. Later that morning, I went to Walgreen's to pick up some more Band-Aids and some super glue. I just poured the glue over my fingertip. That stopped the bleeding and reduced the pain. I had lots of music rehearsals last week, and I couldn't be tickling the ivories with a giant painful gash holding me back. Actually, the cut healed very quickly, and I'm confident that I'll be able to keep the finger and my career in piano performance and education alive.

What is everyone going to dress as for Halloween? It has been so crazy around here. I haven't even had time to think about that or what I want for my birthday. I need more hours in the day. I've become one of those eevvill people that hits the snooze button for a good hour before actually waking up. That is dangerous business, too. An alarm clock dispute caused a stabbing in Lubbock recently.

Moonlight and Marsala

I'm becoming increasingly less enthused about my career path towards becoming an old maid librarian. I've just lost my sense of urgency about finishing up this degree. This semester I decided to rejoin society and quit being a hermit, and my schooling has suffered as a result. I can't say that I have any regrets.

The Dessert Party was amazingly fun to prep for and host. It makes me think it would be oh so much fun to run a patisserie. I had a fun San Diego trip at the beginning of the semester. Going to Scott's Friday football games is often the highlight of my week, and unfortunately his senior season is already winding down. Staying up late to make a Fair cake also beats the heck out of doing homework. That goes for a three-day Godfather marathon as well. Also, I stopped saying no to my friends when invited out for dinner.

And so it was that a few weeks ago I ended up at newlyweds Sarah and John's house for a set-up of sorts. Not only is it amazing that I am still willing to go on blind dates after many bad experiences, but it is perhaps more amazing that I have friends willing to introduce me to menfolk. I'm such a geek. There's a reason some people are single. Great guy on the other end of that set-up. He was so funny that I choked on my taco at dinner. That's classy.

A short time and a few dates later it was time to pull out the big guns, namely my Chicken Marsala recipe that gets around and New York Cheesecake for dessert. I took the leftover cheesecake to him the next day. That night in the car, he made some joke about me poisoning the cheesecake. Then:

New Guy: Maybe you put some Love Potion No. 9 in it.
Kimberly: If I were going to poison it, that's what I would use.
New Guy: [chuckles] You don't need it.
Kimberly: [swoon]

I'll stop. He did send me this comic. It's too big to fit nicely, so follow the link.

The Fine Art of Conversation

I am babysitting a cheesecake that's in the oven. Mmmmm. I guess I could be finishing up homework or getting dressed for work, but that would just be ridiculous.



I have come to realize that it's important to me to have friends that can make good conversation. I realized this years ago after experiencing the all time worst date of my life. There was a couple that decided to set me up with their out-of-town nephew. He flew in right after New Year's for a few days. We met. I drove us around Lubbock, since he didn't have a car. I tried to think of interesting sites to point out, and it took all of two hours to wrap that up and go bowling. There was zero chemistry and no conversation. The awkward part of the situation was that this guy was stuck in Lubbock for a few days with the sole purpose of wooing me. Let's rephrase that and say that I was stuck in Lubbock. I was young and nice and didn't want to offend him or his family. I hope that these days I would have the assertiveness to just say, "See ya."

After day one, I decided the best way to avoid seeing this guy for the entire following day was to invite him to breakfast and then dinner, cooked by me. We went to breakfast at Golden Corral. He gave monosyllabic answers to every question I asked and never asked me a question in return, though somehow he did manage to insert something about an ex-girlfriend he was fond of into the conversation. When he came to dinner that night, my dad tried to make conversation with him as well:

Dad: So, I hear you built your own house?
Date: Yeah, yeah.

Dad asked a few more questions and gave up as I had. I believe I was saved by starting a movie, something romantic like The Birds. The next day was his last in town. I think I rated dinner with him and his family. The family sat down for dinner and had a prayer. Everyone held hands. My fabulous date was kind of putting the moves on Kimberly during the prayer. What a winner.

There was some more to the story, but time and therapy healed most of the scars. His aunt that originally set me up did invite me to have lunch with her soon after all this transpired. She said that her nephew liked me and that we should next go visit him. I tried to be as tactful as possible in declining the offer. She fairly insisted that I go visit this guy. Upon relating the story to my dad, he said, "Kimberly, you can't just say no. You've got to say 'Hell no!'"

I've since gone out with other guys who were not much better at making conversation. I get tired of carrying the conversation or being the only one asking questions. If you're worried about your date's ability to carry on a conversation, I suggest heading to a Japanese Hibachi grill for dinner. At least the chef can entertain you. Or head to a restaurant/bar with a loud band. Or just say "Hell no!" in the first place when he asks you out.

Good lines to hear on a first date:

• "Me, too" as in "I like that movie, book, song, too."
• "We" as in "We should go to that new restaurant next weekend."

Bad lines to hear on a first date:

• "Me, too" as in "I need a lot of expensive dental work, too."
• "We" as in "We should never see each other again."

And I'm not sure what to think of this one: "You're the only girl I've ever heard of that likes Battlestar Galactica."

High Expectations

The other day at work I asked my co-workers if ignorance really is bliss. I wondered aloud if I would be happier if I weren't so particular about food, for example. I'm not saying I have to have expensive, gourmet food, either. It's just that I don't voluntarily eat at certain restaurants around town or consume frozen dinners unless it's an honest-to-goodness emergency. Obviously I've built my identity around being a food snob.

At church, a lady congratulated me on my prize-winning cake. I smiled graciously and thanked her. "Did you make it from scratch?," she asked. I hope I was as gracious in responding to that comment. I didn't take offense, but the hilariously horrifying thought of even bothering with a cake mix and canned frosting made me laugh for the rest of the Sabbath.


This has got to be the picture of the century. Glenna puts it well by pointing out the dichotomy here. That is a heavy-duty, expensive-looking kitchen, but there's not a cook to be found.

I'm more interested in lamenting what she's doing with that cake. Why depan a 9 x 13" cake? She should have baked it in a cute party foil pan. I could even look away from the canned frosting, but why bring out the canned icing? That's the worst-tasting stuff in the world, and she's making a garish mess worse. Should have stuck with candles. Does she get an 'A' for effort? Honestly, is this somehow better than going to a bakery?

I think it's worth having high food standards, but I hope my pretentiousness doesn't reach the level of this overrated menu. I'll continue to embrace my foodie hangups. Besides, if ignorance is bliss, why aren't more people happy?