Good... And Good for You

there is a supposedly miraculous product out there called the grease bullet . even the greasiest, dirtiest pot is turned all glimmery when bathed in the bullet . observe... now i say this product is "supposedly" miraculous. i mean, pots and pans are all well and good, but i've never found myself in a situation where my kitchenware was completely covered in grease, nor do i foresee a time when that situation will arise. unless i start deep frying my microwave dinners. hmmmm... anyways, the grease bullet could so easily be bumped up to "truly a gift from on high", excaliburish status if it could be used on other things. or even better... and nama , ritzy and i unanimously agree that if the grease bullet can be used on, you know, inanimate objects, and fries and stuff, why stop there? i mean, i've always thought nothing (short of a sound delousing or hosing down with holy water) would have an effect on k-fed, but does he really just need to be bathed in grea...

i'm not an adventurous sort of person. sometimes i think i'd like to be the kind of person who sets off on a kayaking trip through the congo, facing off against the forces of nature, blatantly regardless of the pythons and the dyptheria. but mostly i tend to go with my strengths: eating, sleeping, randomness, avoiding dyptheria... and that works for me. presidents day weekend tends to be a time for mini adventures involving hiking and camping and rafting, none of which i have interest in. but not to be outdone by the self-righteous physically active, i felt the need to do something. have an adventure to my liking. a katventure, if you will (not the kind where i write a blog with lots of links and rewrite the plot to every movie i've ever seen. a real life one). and so along with a like minded compatriot i drove to the four corners where i figuratively climbed what might be considered my metaphorical mt. everest when i ate four meals in four different states in one day . ...

there are two particularly vicious types of writer's block. there's the kind where your life is really boring and you're forced to either philosophize or complain about the inanimate objects in your office. and there's the kind where your life is extraordinarily busy and every time you try to write, it turns into either a to-do list or a rant. anyways, so... post-it notes... why do they insist on being neon colored? it's like they're stuck in some horrible time warp with one of my old scrunchies and the song "don't worry, be happy". hehehe... i jest. the past three days have been a brilliant swirling of busyness. the kind of busyness i like where there are straight forward projects i'm actually looking forward to doing. the week before that was a different kind of busy because not only did i vow to work longer hours but i made a goal to be social. gloriously social. i was going to meet people and they were going to be both charmed and surprisi...

on sunday, after watching me shove yet another "superbowl" cupcake into my mouth, my grandmother ever so solemnly informed me, "kathryn, you eat too much chocolate." i finished chewing, wiped the excess frosting off my face and said, "i'm sorry, apparently we've never met. i'm your granddaughter. kathryn. i've been shovelling chocolate into my mouth ever since i was old enough to, you know, shovel. so deal with it." concerned, my grandmother cupped her hand to her ear and said, "what?" raising my voice i repeated, "i said, 'i'm sorry'..." she smiled. i chickened out, "i said i'm sorry." superbowl cupcakes though. genius. i might not follow the basketball, but the food sure is good.

i spent a good portion of last week wandering around the anaheim craft and hobbies show calculating the effect scrapbooking is having on the depletion rate of our rainforests. it was during one such reverie that i was pulled into a booth by a handful of japanese business men. i tried to explain to the translator that although their brushes were beautiful, they were essentially useless to me because i have no training in the art of "fu-de". my protestations were to no avail and i was promptly seated across from a "fu-de master" to begin my fu-de training. the fu-de master put a brush in my hand and showed me step-by-step how to fu-de a picture of bamboo while the rest of the men in the booth gathered behind me to watch. i struggled at the art of fu-de. perhaps it was my lack of oneness with the brush. or the fact that the fu-de master was sitting across from me so everything i was trying to mimic was upside down. or, you know, it could've been the hoard of japane...