Author Archives: kb

Unknown's avatar

About kb

free spirit, lover of red wine, bacon, sushi, the ocean, and adventure. I work in the legal field, do freelance writing, and take care of children.

On Simon, on the occasion of 80,000

Posted on by
Reply

I drove the long way home yesterday, and to my immense satisfaction, pulled up to my apartment building just as he had hit 80,000 miles.

(I have no idea why it looks like it’s raining in my car.)

At six years old, he’s all grown up. I’ve had him for nearly 50,000 wonderful miles. We go everywhere together, and I imagine that I will keep him until he dies, or until I have kids, or something else gets in my way.

And of course, on this most excellent occasion, Simon found himself in the shop, having an oil change and some transmission issues. A few months ago (six months? nine? I think it was summer but who knows), I was driving down Colorado Blvd when my car freaked out. Now, I’m not one who has any experience in dealing with car problems, so my car jerking and shuddering and jumping all over the place while the D light was blinking was positively terrifying.

I called the Honda dealership. Of course, I should have anticipated their response: “That normally doesn’t happen in a Civic. We normally see that in Odysseys and Pilots.” Alas, they informed that it was a pressure switch in my transmission and that I need to bring my car in. “Can I drive on it for a bit?” I asked. They told me that I could, but I’d probably get terrible gas mileage.

Here we are so many months later. The D light stopped blinking and the never did the shuddering jumping jerking business again, so I never brought it in. But it’s been worrying the back of my brain, as transmission issues do. The gas mileage has remained pretty steady, so no complaints here.

I took the car into my mechanic, who’s basically the best mechanic ever. He calls me to tell me that he doesn’t really feel any loss of power when he drives. I cut in about the D light. “The D light was blinking!? No one told me about that! I’ll call you back!” The phone went dead. He called me back about a half an hour later to tell me that yes, it is a transmission pressure switch error code but it’s also another error code.

But then he tells me not to worry, because it’s not bad enough to deal with. (I love this guy. He’ll let you know what’s urgent and what’s not.) I still need to be super vigilant about my transmission, because at the first sign of trouble, I’m going to need to replace something about the solenoids and the pressure switch, or worse, the whole damn thing.

I’ve got his blessing to keep driving on it and he’s going to give me the name of his transmission people. So, Simon and I shall keep adventuring until it’s time to do some serious surgery. At that point, if it’s the $400 repair, I won’t hesitate, but if it’s the entire transmission, we’ll have to do some serious thinking about whether or not it’s worth it. But for now, I’m still just as excited about him as I was the day that I got him.

I bought Simon when I was 20. It was February 4, 2008 (yeah, I guess that’s weird, but it’s a date I’ll never forget). When I turned the car on for the first time, the odometer read 33,111. I knew right then that I had to have him. (That, and the fact that I spent as much time as I could in my Grandma Mary’s car when I was a kid because she had a digital speedometer. I thought her car was the best ever. And yet, somehow, I’d managed to get a digital speedometer of my own! Luckiest girl ever, I swear.)

Simon at night, with bubbles. Illinois. 2009?

Simon, at dusk. Illinois, Halloween, 2010.

(side note: Old Dave may have been right about the sex appeal [or lack thereof] of Birkenstocks.)

In the four years that I’ve had him, he’s been crushed, crunched, cracked, and spray painted. He’s hit bugs, curbs, rocks, potholes. He’s driven and driven and driven. And I have loved every single minute of it.

Simon in Wisconsin, barely. Winter/Spring 2010.

Simon reflecting in Rocky Mountain National Park, June 2009.

Oh and the best part?

80,000 miles divided by 6 years is 13,333.33 miles per year, on average. It’s just one of those things that was meant to be.

On my little brother, who will always be fruitypants to me

Posted on by
Reply

Mike's tent

When I got home from my quick weekend in Chicago, I was a bit surprised to see an orange tent set up in our living room. Mike was so excited to tell me all about it: how lightweight it is (3 pounds!), how it’s great for backpacking, how it’s got a rain fly and he’s excited to make oatmeal under it in the mornings if it’s raining. Lots of conversation about the possibilities of rain with this tent – apparently the rain fly can be put up before you build the body of the tent so that in case of inclement weather you don’t risk getting your tent soaked while you mess with the poles and rain fly. I think that’s marvelous.

We had to take the tent down because someone with sharp claws was just as excited as Mike about the new tent. Carlos kept sneaking around the tent, trying to get in through the flap. I’d see a swish of black tail as he got in, only to run out moments later when Mike caught him. Then I’d see the little black face sniffing around the bottom of the tent. Not wanting to have to buy a new tent due to slash-holes caused by my cat son and his nasty habit of relentless investigation, the tent was packed away. However, I did enjoy sitting inside a tent inside my living room. It brought back childhood memories of Mike and I camping in the backyard.

(This is one of my favorite pictures of us ever.)

I so love the fact that I came home to a tent. I so love that my roommate is my brother. I love that we are nearly exact opposites. Mike’s idea of fun is a week spent fishing and hiking and backpacking. That’s my idea of perfect hell. My idea of fun is dancing, or the library, or four hours in a bathtub with books, or drinking wine. I do believe that those may constitute Mike’s perfect hell.

However, give that kid some sports, and you’re all set. I really like going to games with Mike. I always learn something and I always have fun. Above, my first Cubs game ever after I graduated from college.

He’s the athletic one. I mean, he’s 6’4″ and I’m barely 5’8″. He does the heavy lifting; he opens jars; he reaches things on the top shelf. He’s the one that’s good at math (damn good). He does the detail work. He’s focused, calm, patient, way too laid-back for his own good, kindhearted, organized, neat. He’s analytical and observant. He loves his outdoor activities, but my idea of outdoor activities involves drinking in a park. He cooks, too. He’s going to be a great dad and make some lady who can’t cook very happy one day.

I’m the impulsive, energetic one. I’m loud and quite outspoken. I’m the one who thinks about the big picture, who takes care of administrative detail like paying the bills, and who is wound up 99.99% of the time. I am in no way patient or detail oriented, and I’ll never be accused of being organized or neat. And I can’t cook to save my life. (Baby steps, I keep telling myself. Noodles and sauce from a jar is totally food.)

Even though we’re not biological siblings, we’re a matched set. We make a really good team. We balance each other out. I’m impressed by his dedication to his schoolwork, fascinated by his love of strange things like his panini maker, and excited about our mutual enjoyment of tea. He knows how to calm me down when I’m stressed; he’s wise beyond his years.

We get each other. We used to climb the apple tree in the backyard together. We used to throw tennis balls at the house. When we were little, we thought it’d be the best idea ever to take out the hall closet that separated our rooms and create one giant room that was full of everything fun. Or if we couldn’t have one giant room, we wanted a secret tunnel.

During nap time (which sucks when you’re 7 years old), we’d grab Mom’s exercise mat and use it to sled down the stairs. In the summer, we’d have cannonball contests – which I never won. We dug mud holes in the garden, took our bikes and scooters all over the neighborhood, stayed out late and played hide and seek….

When I went off to college, I had a rough time the first night. I’ve never been that good at hiding my emotions, and I’m prone to bouts of hysterical crying. And so, I cried. I cried, and I cried, and I cried. (It was pretty bad.) My mom and brother and uncle and cousin left me all alone in Chicago (which would turn out to be one of the best adventures of my life, so in hindsight, no complaints). No one would have ever known about this if my uncle hadn’t told us – I’m glad he did – but apparently, Mike cried through Illinois on the way back to Denver.

My brother is one of the most amazing people I know. I’m so lucky that he’s mine. (Don’t tell him that – I don’t want it to go to his head.) I am so grateful.



On Chicago, more than happily

Posted on by
Reply

I’ve left so many times, for so many reasons, and every single time, I end up back in Chicago, staring longingly at the lake. It was the lake that brought me there, after all. This weekend was a lot like the weekend that I spent out there in July, but this weekend was so much better.

Chicago-style hot dog

Last week, when I told my boss that I was headed to Chicago for the weekend, he looked at me and said, “Your flight’s on Sunday night, right?” I paused. “Um….no….Monday morning, actually.” He looked at me and laughed. “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

(Remember the July trip? Waking up at 6:03 when my flight had taken off at 6:00….the long day spent laying on the couch while I killed time until my Monday night flight, a day of work lost, a terribly abrupt goodbye, the uncertainty of it all.)

Leaving Denver after work on Friday is not the best way to go. But then again, weekends are short – you’ve got to make the best of them. I was almost too tired to be excited, but simultaneously terrified that I wouldn’t make my flight. Of course, i had to stop for gas and ended up giving my dinner to a homeless man.

Sitting in my car, filling Jell-O shot containers full of shampoo and soap, I reminded myself why I do things like this. The work-life balance, but more than that. Life, mostly. The most beautiful life is the one that will never make me wonder what could have been.

The TSA was puzzled by my Jell-O shot shampoo containers. They took the bag out and marveled (my words, not theirs) at it before finally letting it go. This was immediately after I had to take cash out of my bra to get through the body scanner. I believe Charlie Sheen put it best when he said, “Winning.”

I’m a Taurus. I’m a very stubborn woman. He picked me up and I was first-date nervous. (Honestly, we’ve only ever been on about 4 dates, give or take, so it’s not like my nerves are entirely unfounded.) He made me dinner while I wandered to find beer. I interrupted him giving me directions with, “I’ll figure it out,” and ended up walking an extra 4 blocks each way to 7-11 (Chicago 7-11’s are the best – no 3.2% beer there!).

I didn’t mind the walk. I love the city.

Lights at the Congress Theater

Saturday day was him working for a bit and me going to see my friend Anne. Then it was double-date concert night. I’m not a huge fan of dubstep – it sounds like robots dancing to me – but we went and saw Bassnectar at the Congress Theater. It was loud, crowded, and fun. Some girl stepped all over the side of my heel though (until this happened, I wasn’t aware that it was possible to step on the side of a heel, all the way up to the ankle), which has left me bruised and grumpy. His brother and his girlfriend are great! We made brunch on Sunday morning, and I watched Back to the Future for the first time, curled up on the couch under a Cubs blanket.

Bassnectar

Not our best picture, but the only one I have!

Lights at Concert
I felt old for the first time. I know I was not the oldest person at the concert (by far), but I felt somehow removed from the crowd. My dress and sweater made me look like a librarian (no offense, Maddie, just making generalizations) compared to the neon halter tops and short shorts all around me. I don’t do this sort of dancing and I was entirely out of my element. By the end of the concert, I was tired of getting danced into. I was tired of dancing (that so very rarely happens) and I was tired of hearing sounds. I had so much fun, and I adore his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, but I don’t know that I’d be so willing to attend a repeat of that event. I’m glad that he understood.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
On Sunday, after a quick visit to his grandparents, we had dinner at his mom’s house. Last July, one too many “princess party drinks” (White Russians) had me doing some pathetic-late-night-love-drunk crying on his porch once we got home. His impression of that incident is nearly accurate and is hilarious – ask him to do it some time. (It’s just like the “I’ll go to DU, I swear” freshman year of college pleading, except two notches less hysterical. Maybe.) This time, I was (quite willingly) banned from drinking any. I would like to insert the fact that I’m also a lot more confident about his communication skills and where we stand, which is conducive to a no-tears environment.
His mom pulled him outside to tell him that I was too skinny before she made me eat second helpings on pasta and finish my giant hamburger. Then she walked me through making cookies from scratch.  “Beat the shit out of the butter,” she told me, after I’d failed to beat it quite fluffy enough. “Just set it on high, and walk away. Don’t watch it. Come back in five minutes.” It was terrifying, but so rewarding. I made something!!
I love his family. They’re so much like mine, sort of. Except his is definitely a little bit louder. Imagine four kids instead of me and Mike – it’s like that. It’s loud and chaotic and I feel right at home. His dad’s roommate, who I adore, came to dinner, too. We played Catchphrase, girls against boys, after dinner. The girls won quite soundly. It was the perfect ending to the trip.
DIA This time there were no tears. There was only the promise of “next time” – we’ll spend more time with his grandparents, we’ll cook again with his mom, we’ll get to see each other sooner rather than later.
This time felt good. I don’t know if it will be good forever, but for right now, it’s good, and I’m learning to accept those good things and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because in time, it will.
This time, we woke up at an ungodly hour and crept through the sleeping city toward the airport. I was too tired to think about crying. He stopped the car in the second lane, using a giant, hulking van as a reason to do it (it is Chicago after all, most things go) and came around and wrapped me in his arms. There were whispers, quick conversation as he got back into the driver’s seat and I grabbed my bags. I shut the door and turned away. I didn’t look back, not even for one last glimpse as he drove away. I never look back. My smooth exit was marred only by the automatic door not working. I walked up to, so close I could have rubbed my nose against it, only to curse quite loudly when it failed to open. The automatic door marked exit was much more accommodating, and soon enough, I was standing in the long line to get through security.
Home sweet home and early for work! It was a very successful Monday morning.

Rains a lot this time of year…

Posted on by
1

Life is one of those funny places where you only know that you’ve made the wrong decision once you’re fully committed.

There are moments during which you realize that you’re the one at fault. And those are the moments that shake you more than anything. It’s a panic that rushes through you. It rises and rises until you’re barely holding on to your conviction. You’re staring at wood paneling and you’re wondering what in the hell you’re doing.

And then you think, but I must be right; I’ve been right before? and the end of the thought trails upward until it reaches your ears and you realize you’re asking a question.

Have you been right before? Will you ever really know? Hindsight may start 20/20 but contemplation kills it. It destroys it. The moment – that singular moment – when you realize that there really are two sides to every story will ruin your life. It will change the way you view everything. There is no longer right, but equal (and entirely opposite) reasons for both “right” and “right,” because the wrong you thought existed was never real. That’s when uncertainly overtakes you.

You see so clearly. You see the future, suddenly, flashing before you. You see the past, much slower. It’s all there. And yet, you’re nagged by the what if? That is the feeling that draws men out to sea for six months at time, thrilled by the prospect of hitting it big; those are the feelings that draw cynics and believers alike. The marriage of chance and hope is a truly beautiful and rotten thing, all of it at once. There are moments of sheer wonder, the payoff, the jackpot, the joy. But those are the moments that punctuate the quickly familiar refrain of failure.

Being an optimist requires the ability to feel so deeply that you’re allowed to feel untempered joy at the cost of feeling unmitigated pain for seemingly unending periods of time. Being in search of the truth will lead you in circles. It’s a terrifying labyrinth of possibilities and yes, choice.

The more I live in this life, the more I realize that black and white cannot exist. It’s only just the many shades of gray, all defensible and all too real.

On Rick Santorum, gratefully

Posted on by
1

News has come today that Rick Santorum is expected to suspend his presidential campaign and support Mitt Romney.

While I’m not a huge Romney fan (not just because of the incident with the highway and the dog), I’m even less a fan of Rick Santorum. I’m glad he’s going to be leaving; I’m glad that he can no longer continue to bait the emotions of voters and participate in the reality show-esque circus that has become our election process.

However, I hope that his departure from the race isn’t because of his daughter Isabella’s health. I sincerely hope that they do the best they can to keep her comfortable and to provide for her. I’m glad that she has a family that seems to care for her so well and love her so much.

Santorum Expected to Suspend Presidential Campaign

Updated: Tuesday, 10 Apr 2012, 11:19 AM MST
Published : Tuesday, 10 Apr 2012, 11:05 AM MST

(NewsCore) – Rick Santorum is expected to announce he is suspending his campaign for the Republican presidential nomination at an event in Gettysburg, Pa., Tuesday, FOX News Channel reported.

Santorum was scheduled to hold a press conference at the Gettysburg Hotel at 2 p.m. ET.

The event comes amid growing pressure on the former Pennsylvania senator to drop out of the race and back the Republican front-runner, Mitt Romney.

Santorum’s chances for the nomination had dimmed considerably following Romney’s decisive sweep of the Wisconsin, Maryland and Washington, D.C., primaries last week. The former senator fueled further speculation about his possible exit from the race by leaving the campaign trail for several days over the long holiday weekend.

Here’s more about Isabella and a bit about Trisomy 18, her genetic condition:

Santorum’s daughter to leave hospital

Former Sen. Rick Santorum’s daughter Isabella was released from the hospital Monday night, a spokesman tells CNN. The GOP presidential candidate interrupted his campaign Friday, when his 3-year-old daughter was hospitalized for reasons the campaign did not disclose.

Isabella suffers from a chromosomal disorder called Trisomy 18, where extra genetic material is present on chromosome 18. The extra material interferes with normal development, according to the National Institutes of Health.

“We appreciate the outpouring of support and prayers,” said spokesman Hogan Gidley. “The prayers worked, she’s doing much better, so we’re thankful for that.  It puts things in perspective.”

Santorum expects to return to the campaign trail Tuesday.

Santorum has been outspoken and candid about his family’s struggle against Trisomy 18, as he did when he sat down for a Red Chair interview (above) with CNN back in November.

Trisomy 18 occurs in about 1 in 5000 live births, according to the NIH, but many fetuses with this disorder do not survive a full pregnancy.

The NIH describes Trisomy 18 as “a relatively common syndrome,” which is 3 times more likely in girls than in boys. It causes severe developmental and medical problems, including heart defects and defects to other organs prior to birth, shortened breast bones and club feet. Unlike Down syndrome, where a child has 3 copies of chromosome 21, developmental issues in Trisomy 18 are linked to medical complications that are more potentially life-threatening in the early months and years of life, according to the Trisomy 18 Foundation.

Children with Trisomy 18 sometimes can’t cough or clear their throat so fluid will accumulate in the lungs, making them susceptible to respiratory failure.

In the past, Isabella has had pneumonia in both her lungs.

About 90% of children born with Trisomy 18 die within their first year of life, but a small number have gone on to reach adulthood into their 20s and 30s, although they’ve been severely impaired.

“She has a disorder called Trisomy 18, which we were told is incompatible with life,” Santorum told CNN in November. “Well, we’re showing that that’s not only not true, but it is really the center of our life.”

Link

Caine’s Arcade

A 9-year old boy made an arcade out of cardboard boxes in his father’s auto parts store. It’s a sweet 12-minute video that you should probably watch. 

I can’t wait for my kids to build stuff out of cardboard boxes!

On Internet Comments, my favorite thing

Posted on by
Reply

From a website this morning, the comment:

Yes, the left (and specifically the entertainment industry left) is an isolated (and insulated) sub-culture that’s totally out of touch with the rest of the country.

Ah, that must be it. The left-leaners are isolated in their giant cities. It’s a serious problem. The insulation of smog and pollution have addled our brains and turned us away from the truth.

That must be why about half of the US population (give or take a few percentage points) espouses a more liberal, socially conscious way of thinking than the somehow-less-isolated conservatives (I’d love to see proof that they’re less isolated – didn’t we just go through the whole “The conservative candidates are screwed because they can’t win big cities” situation?). Maybe that’s why we also have a Democrat in the White House.

But then again, the left is just an out of touch sub-culture.

Ha, so what’s the dominant culture? The religious right? Hardly. There are plenty of quiet conservatives who believe that religion doesn’t have to be the battleground. There are plenty of people whose conservative beliefs are based less in religion and more in business. I don’t consider them to be a part of the fracas. They’re just waiting in the wings to reap the rewards, and I applaud them for their patience.

But honestly, if you can’t poke a little fun at yourself, how much fun can you really be?

link: here

On Easter Weekend, hectically

Posted on by
Reply

Thursday:

Thursday night, Kevin and I went to see the band FUN. at the Ogden.

It was, well, fun. After, we went to the Satire and had a few beers. I love the conversations that you can have with random strangers in bars. I really do. We met a nice guy and chatted about everything and life for the better part of the night.

Since I’m dumping out phone photos, here’s one of my favorite of Carlos last week.

Friday:

Friday night, Mike and I went to the Nuggets game for his birthday. We sat club level, ordered food and beer, and had a great time! I need to go to more basketball games with Mike. I like how he knows so much about each of the players and is more than willing to educate me.

Jacob is working at my work now! He’s temporary and semi-part time. He likes that it’s such a fluid job and I like having some help. Here’s hoping that it continues to work out well for both of us!

Saturday:

Saturday also brought Easter brunch with another of my favorite families. This is one of the best pictures of Aunt Sally, with our small friends. G made us all be quiet at the table and then say “Happy Easter!” all at once. The kids were so happy with the Easter egg hunt that we went to at the local park. All of the kids were excited; it was adorable.

This little guy was the best. He couldn’t have been more than 20 months, and he was so excited to pick up that one egg that he’d selected. He didn’t want to go with the 1-3 year olds, but instead, stopped right there and waited very patiently (if not also very stubbornly) for the 3-6 year old egg hunt to begin.


I had sushi with Heidi on Saturday. It was absolutely delicious. I need to learn how to make my own, I think. (Put it on my bucket list, please.) To think, just a year and a half ago, I wouldn’t eat sushi if you paid me. Now I can’t get enough. But I still won’t eat cooked fish (unless it’s shrimp). It’s all too seafood-y for me.

Since I didn’t end up having to babysit on Saturday night, I spent the better part of the day making some cheesecake-filled Easter eggs from a recipe that I found online. (Last week, I was excited because I had successfully boiled noodles and added sauce to form a pasta dish, so consider this quite an accomplishment. I even made my own whipped cream! Stiff peaks!)

Heidi and I were in the grocery store, googling things like, “what is confectioners sugar?” and “is jam the same as preserves?”. I’m just very glad I have a personality to make up for my lack of housewife-skills (cooking, cleaning, keeping one’s opinions to oneself, etc.)

The housewife comment is more in jest than anything else. (I mean, I really don’t have any housewife skills at all…so that’s still true.) I went to church with my brother, grandmother, and grandfather on Sunday and my grandma expressed shock at some of my requirements for a mate, including intelligence. “Don’t worry too much about that,” she said. “You’re going to get married and have babies and it won’t matter. Find someone who will be a good father.” While I do think that she’s correct about finding someone who will be a good father, and while I would like to get married and have babies, I’m not so sure that I’m going to just abandon my own intellectual and career pursuits. (By the way, there is the possibility of semi-exciting life news coming soon, but not just ready yet. And it’s not another crack at grad school, but it is academia-related. And I swear to you that I will blog about how much I love my job SOON. Because I need to.)

A very messy (and time consuming!) process for making my cheesecake eggs!

My white chocolate-cheesecake-fruit filled Easter eggs.

Sunday: 

Easter lilies – they’ve been brightening up my room for the past couple of weeks and I absolutely love them. Too bad we can’t have them all year-round.

My neighbor and I being Easter bunnies! I love her.

My dad gave me back a CD that he found. It was mine back in 2000. We put it in while we were driving back home. Even though the music isn’t exactly art, it brings back memories of awkward junior high dances and TRL (Total Request Live, that show on MTV that was hosted by Carson Daly that everyone loved). Even better, my 12-year old self still knew all the words!

Mostly, I just love the dress. and Carlos, who was none too happy to be posing for pictures.