" title="Kiss the Chicken"> Kiss the Chicken

Here are my 2012 resolutions, told mostly through hastily drawn stick figure drawings and one where I gave it the ol’ college try. Originally I made my crappy drawings just to get my ideas down and I meant to make fancy ones, but then time kept on a’passin’ and I thought, “What’s a little informalness between friends? There’s no need for puttin’ on airs with us, right?”

Is “informalness” a word?

Nevermind.

Anyway, so without further ado, here they are, in all their half-assed glory:

1. Take more vitamins. I’ve heard some adults commit to this ritual on a daily basis and reap great benefits. I plan to find out what the buzz is all about.

2. “Don’t take no sh#t from hippo.” – This was the advice imparted to me by Kelly Fred in my 9th grade year book. Over the years I’ve come to interpret “hippo” as “The Man” or anything or anyone that I find oppressive or a real drag. This past year I’ve really started to notice how much of my energy and happiness is wasted on jerks and it’s really started to wear on me. I’ve given out all the Care Bear Stares I can and my battery is runnin’ low. So if my efforts have been wasted on you, you ain’t gettin’ no more.

3. Reap the benefits of my own craftiness. I really love making stuff. Like a lot. It calms my brain and gives me constructive ways of expelling my creative flow. The only problem is I tend to get my craft on for the purpose of gift making/giving. While there is nothing wrong with giving – I love, love, love making things for the people I adore and, in my eyes, something homemade always carries a little more sentimental weight – it’s just not very often that I actually use my talents and skills for my own benefit. So I hereby vow to make the time to get crafty for myself more often.

4. Take advantage of my landscape. Moving to the desert from Germany as a teenager was really hard on me and an adjustment I never quite got used to. When my Oma passed away several months ago, I felt like this huge tether had been cut. Me and my Oma were never close, but in dealing with her passing I realized she had become this sort of symbolic bond tying me to the place that I felt was truly my home – a place I thought I would always go back to and that my current geography (and where I have been for years and years now) was only temporary. Suddenly I  felt homeless and lost, like some weird orphaned creature that didn’t belong here nor there. I finally came to the conclusion that I needed to embrace my current circumstance. Here is my new home and here ain’t so bad. Growing up, we moved around a lot. As kids we learned quickly how to discern which relationships were worth nurturing and which weren’t worth the trouble. Why get too friendly if we’re just going to move again in a year or two? I realized that’s how I’ve treated Utah. But guess what? In 2012, I’m finally ready to commit to you, baby. This year I plan to make the effort to get to know you better and explore all that you have to offer. Great deserty outdoors, get ready for some face time.

5. Grow a garden. I have a yard now. Granted, it’s a rented yard, but a yard nonetheless. This year I plan on digging in the dirt, planting some seeds, watching stuff grow, and feeding myself in the process. Spring, I can’t hardly wait for you to come!

6. Buy a sewing machine. I have been without a sewing machine for over a year now. I had the shakes so bad, I had to learn to knit to deal with the hole it left in my crafty heart. Quality machines can be kind of pricey, so it’s been difficult to justify the expense, but I think it’s a blow to my pocket book that’s just going to have to be made. That’s all there is to it. Enough is enough!

Can you guess which drawings are the messy ones and which one is the one I spent time on? Just kidding! I’d review the successes and failures of my 2011 resolutions, but I feel like it’s better for the both of us if me and 2011 make this a clean break. Yeah…

Happy 2012! Love you!

Filed under:
diary by kissthechicken

This is for Tracy who helped me endure the close proximity of the Ron Paul student campaign table at work today.

A post dedicated to my 2012 resolutions is on the way, kiddies!

Filed under:
Uncategorized by kissthechicken

In the movie Conan the Barbarian, Conan is asked a provocative question: “What is best in life?” Conan’s response is one that would make any bulbous barbarian proud, I’m just wondering if it’s possible to achieve those same things from the comfort of my own living room.

Maybe I should be blaming my foul mood and need for seclusion on the time of year, but it’s also possible I’m just turning another cranky corner in my old lady life. Yes, it’s dark all the time now, and it’s cold. The city is bustling with lobotomized shopping drones, and my house just happens to be cozy and inviting, but basically I kind of hate people. Like everyone. And everything. Well, sort of. Okay, like, a lot.

Taking stock of where I was last year, I realize this could be seasonal, but I feel like I get intensely crabbier with each revolution around the sun. I mean, I know I’m a shy, mega-nerd with a tremendous amount of social awkwardness, but you know, I feel like when I talk to people lately I need a translator. Like every conversation gets to the same point I’d get with my grandmother where she didn’t know enough English and I couldn’t remember enough German to keep the conversation going so eventually we’d just sort of trail off and stare. Suddenly it all makes sense, Morrissey. Why DO I give valuable time…?

When I get off work and walk through the front door, I need four things. My pajamas, my cats, my stories, and my knitting. This is my evening routine. Toss in the occasional band practice and raspberry iced tea, and that pretty much sums up my winter so far. Is this bad? Should I want more from my day? My week? I don’t know. All I know is that for now I’m perfectly content. Hit me up come Groundhog’s Day. I’ll let you know if I see my shadow.

Filed under:
diary by kissthechicken

Do you know what I find to be tiresome? Female artists constantly having their achievements undermined based on the famous dudes they’re romantically associated with.

Guess what? Marianne Faithful was a singer before Mick Jagger ever wanted to put it in her. Yoko Ono was an established artist before John Lennon came along. Yoko didn’t break up the Beatles. The Beatles broke up the Beatles. John was already bored and was more inspired by the music he could create with Yoko than playing ego tug-o-war with a bunch of dudes. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, not Percey Bysshe Shelley or with Percey Bysshe Shelley’s “help.” How come no one’s ever like, “Gee, In Utero was a really good album. I bet Courtney Love helped Kurt write it.”

I realize I’m currently obsessed with Yoko Ono and can’t stop thinking about what an icky ga-grosso John Lennon was (seriously, I want to hit him with my purse) and maybe that has a little to do with today’s topic of one-sided conversation, but does that make my sentiment any less valid? Me thinks not. So just roll with my Yoko love…

Filed under:
diary, music, ranting by kissthechicken

You’ve heard me whine about wanting to cast off the shackles of apartment dwelling and stretch out my toes in a house. Well, we’ve done it ladies and germs. Granted, we’re still renting, but the perks far outweigh the negs, man. What was the impetus you ask? Well, aside from the stomping, the gathering of crones, the piranha dogs, the dilapidation, and the awkward encounters, there was finally one incident that won Greg over to my side. I’ll call this “The Dirty Laundry Incident” for Columbo case file purposes.

Our building has one of those shared laundry rooms down in the creepy basement. You know the kind. A few outdated creaky machines, some spider webs, and most likely a serial killer lurking in the shadows. Well, one quiet evening Greg and I were doing laundry, minding our own business. Some faceless tenant had forgotten about their clothes in the dryer. Always shy about handling someone else’s stuff, I waited. And I waited. And I waited. After several hours I decided my laundry needs could wait no longer. So I pulled some bleachy whites out of the machine, put them in a tidy pile on the counter, and went on with my laundry business.

Now before I go on, let’s just talk about the unspoken laundry code. We all agree that if you should forget about your clothes or for some reason are unable to attend to your items once the laundry cycle has completed, the waiting party has every right to respectfully remove your belongings, as hogging the machines and holding up the line is a sin and a crime against humanity. I, myself, have taken this code a step further. When it comes to dryers, I find it best to not tamper with a warm body. I wait until that laundry corpse is cold, baby, before I’ll touch it. Now I realize that I lack many of the social skills an adult requires to navigate many of life’s situations, but there is nothing I fear more than being caught red-handed man-handling someone else’s knickers. Therefore, I like to give the offending party ample opportunity to retrieve their goods before I’ll take matters in to my own hands. That said…

An episode of Twin Peaks later, Greg and I returned to the laundry room to retrieve our warm and toasty clothings. Only when we got there, they weren’t warm and toasty. Nor were they in the dryer. Apparently the person whose whites I transplanted to the counter had finally come back and found this act to be offensive and decided it was best to yank our wet clothes out of the dryer and throw them about the room and in the garbage. Had I known those clothes belonged to an angry cave troll with no understanding of laundry ethics, I might have waited til dawn. After a few rounds of Well-I-never! and Can you believe the nerve?!, Greg turned to me and said, “Alright, we can move.” The rest is history. We moved in to a house and I couldn’t be happier and my OCD has never been more satisfied.

Filed under:
diary by kissthechicken

As sung by those great sirens of song, Bananarama, it’s been a cruel summer. Mostly filled with rainy days and unusual humidity. I wouldn’t whine, but when you live in the desert you grow accustomed to a certain reliable amount of dry. So when your eczema is suddenly cured and your hair doesn’t need a gallon of conditioner to keep it from breaking and uprooting from your scalp like a mass of tumbleweed, you take note. And then you start obsessing with how much stickier everything is and how your hair has taken on a life of it’s own. Much like plants in the arctic, it only takes a little to roust the haystack on my head and and send it curling and snaking away from my skull like some wild serpentine beast. I know the rest of the state is concerned about overflowing rivers and floods and rumors of floods, but I’ve got frizz to contend with.

* This was a line featured in the opening number of a play I was cast in during the fourth grade called “Letters Home.” The song was about rain. How it related to the plot of this spectacular theatrical masterpiece, I cannot recall, though I’m sure it was thrilling for a dark auditorium full of parents to see their children marching in place as though they were kicking through rain puddles and squatting in counter point whilst chanting “Uncha! Uncha! Uncha! Da-da-da!” as the curtain rose.

Filed under:
diary by kissthechicken

A couple of weeks ago we filled a kitty-kat sized hole in our hearts and unleashed a fluffy kitten tornado of hyperactivity on Sean the Cat and our apartment. Simone the 4 month old Maine Coon kitty has two modes: 1) sleepy-cuddly-angelic-baby mode, and 2) bouncing-off-the-walls-coo-coo-bananas mode. Unfortunately for Sean, coo-coo-bananas mode takes up the better part of the day.

Poor temperamental, particular Sean has dealt with this burden amazingly well, but when the old guy gives her an inch, Simone takes that to mean that he would love nothing more than for her to stomp on his face, play with all his toys and take over his litter box. Sean, as you may guess, finds this to be troubling. Sneak attacks, air raids, surprise body slams – the gal is oblivious that these overtures of friendship are not warmly received.

I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before this period of adjustment is but a faded memory and Sean and Simone are cuddling like The Nothing never was. Until then…

Filed under:
kitties by kissthechicken

There are days you don’t notice how bored you are until you realize you’ve spent the last 22 minutes trying to take pictures of yourself to accent how crooked your teeth are.

In honor of being useless, here is a mix ode to my wasted afternoon:

Free Kitten – Feelin’

The Four Corners – No Fun

Nancy Sinatra – Flowers On The Wall

The Cure – 10.15 Saturday Night

Helium – Leon’s Space Song

Love – Your Friend & Mine – Neil’s Song

The Breeders – Iris

Scott Walker – On Your Own Again

Flamin’ Groovies – Shake Some Action

Ramones – I Just Want To Have Something To Do

The Shaggs – What Should I Do

Eric’s Trip – View Master

The Stooges – Real Cool Time

Filed under:
diary, music by kissthechicken

I’m trapped in a torture whirlpool of allergy madness.

The science:

The reality:

Maybe one day when the trees stop bleeding in to the air, I’ll be able to breath and sleep and think. It’s a cruel, cruel world.

Filed under:
diary by kissthechicken

In 1988 I was grounded for watching a PG-13 movie at Stephanie Wilson’s house. To this day I have no idea how my mother knew I had been watching Dirty Dancing. I walked in the front door and the first thing my mother said was, “You’ve been watching Dirty Dancing haven’t you?” and then I was sent to my room. How did she know? My mom didn’t know Stephanie’s parents. She didn’t have their phone number. Aside from having me followed by spies, the only thing I can figure is that some cosmic force whispered in my mother’s ear that I had been watching forbidden goods. Forbidden Patrick Swayze goods.

Despite severe chastisement and preteen freedoms denied, my passion for Dirty Dancing could not be quelled. I got my hands on a copy of the soundtrack on tape and listened to it nonstop. I fell asleep to it, I forced my parents to play it in the car, I listened to it on my Walkman on the bus to school… if I could not be watching Dirty Dancing, then I would be reliving it song by song through the magic of audio cassette. Then one day I was negligent. I left my tape in the car stereo of a rental car my parents were driving. They returned the car to the rental place and the Dirty Dancing soundtrack with it. I was devastated. With my limited resources it would be next to impossible to replace this holy object. After the appropriate period of mourning, life resumed. I moved on. I became passionate about other things, like Sebastian Bach and Aqua Net.

Revisiting Dirty Dancing as an adult, I’ve come to realize that this movie is one of the best feminist girl coming of age movies, like ever. There are bazillions, I mean, truly, gazillions, of boy coming of age movies in all shapes and sizes and genres throughout the ages. Us ladies get flicks like Sisterhood of the Sadness Pants. They’re usually sappy, pappy, and generally ring untrue and lack much sought after substance. For a quality story, you typically gotta dig a little deeper and scour the indie titles for stuff like Whatever to find something acceptable. But as far as your blockbuster, easy access, big budget films go, Dirty Dancing wins the prize.

Let’s review shall we?

• Baby stands her ground and stays true to herself throughout the entire film. She’s never compromised. She never sacrifices who she is and she doesn’t have to pull a Sandy and become something she’s not just so her boyfriend’s buddies won’t think less of him.

• Baby saves the day and wins everyone’s respect. She saves Penny’s job and her life, clears Johnny’s name and restores his reputation, makes her parents proud, everyone learns to love again while learning valuable lessons about class privilege, AND she gets to perform an awesome triumphant dance routine to the awe and envy of all. What more could you ask for?

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. All that plus Jerry Orbach playing the sensitive dad = I love you, Dirty Dancing!!!!

Filed under:
diary, movies by kissthechicken