Blogs + Bikeshorts = Adult Diapers

Today again I was wondering "Why have I decided to post to this old blog when I could start a BRAND NEW BLOG?!" And holysheepskinloincloth I almost smacked myself upside the head. But then I didn't because that would have looked weird, and I'm really trying to keep my weird in check at work, at least for the first couple of weeks. So far it's going... OK. I may or may have talked about both my fake island and one of my fantasy realms. On day two. Totally normal, right?

AHH. NO. NOT NORMAL. Why can't I just act like a normal human for 48 little hours?! No matter how many pairs of bike shorts I own, I simply can't keep my crazy from showing. Did I tell you? They are ripping. My bikeshorts are ripping.

But Kendra, don't you have, like, a gazillion bikeshorts? (Also yesitisnowoneword... bikeshorts. Say it breathlessly. Like you mean it. Like you can't hold it in your mouth any longer. BIKESHORTS. ILOVEBIKESHORTS. #nevernude)

Why yes, lone human reading this. I do have many pairs of bikeshorts.

Well, why can't you just use one of those?

Well, for one, one pair has been worn so many times that the legs are all stretched out and I look like I'm wearing Depends when I wear them out in public under a dress or skirt. And for two, THESE ARE MY FAVORITE BIKESHORTS. I've owned them since college. They are short, tight, and they keep everything together and I love them.

Oh dear. Well, I now see that this really is a big problem.

I knew you would. Thank you for understanding.

You're welcome.

I forgot what we were talking about before bikeshorts.

Me too.

Oh well. What shall we talk about now?

Excellent question. All I can think about is adult diapers. Do you really think people wear them in Times Square for the ball to drop?

I have no idea. I'd say "google it" but I'm too terrified to know the answer.

OMG MORBID CURIOSITY IS GOING TO GET THE BEST OF US!!!!!!!!!!!

Kittens + Booping = World Peace

This morning I woke up at 5:57. Three minutes before my alarm. I'd barely put my head back on my pillow before -- boop. Tonks, already finished with her morning stretches, was very much awake and ready for her morning rubdown. (How did I know she was "ready for her rubdown? Kendra! Do you speak cat!?" Why yes, yes I do but this is another story for a different time.) By alternately shoving her massive paw in my face and nosediving against my hairline -- this is one of the more amazing feelings in the entire world. I can only describe it as a head-butt from a live and impossibly soft teddy bear. One day I will have a room of kittens and people will pay me to go into it and get head-butted and no one will be angry because KITTENS and since no one will be angry we will have world peace. Simple. Next issue. -- she commanded, "pet me, my human."

The House Hippo

For 51 beautiful seconds, I envisioned myself the proud owner of a house hippo. 

Media Theory Through Valentine's Day Conversation Hearts

photo: flikr cc/ Pen Waggener 

What's your favorite thing about Valentine's Day? 

Personally, I love watching the conversation hearts get more technologically savvy over the years. 

Once upon a time, it was just "Be Mine."

Then it was "Call Me."

Then it was "Email Me" and "Fax Me."

Now it's "Text Me" and "Tweet Me."

What will it be next year?

Hopefully it will be "Aparate to Me."

Here's to wistful thinking and a wonderful Valentine's Day!

To all the people, things and pets you love!!

xxo

Let's be honest -- how often do you talk to yourself?

Lately I've been having conversations, with myself, in front of other people. I'll be walking from work to the parking garage, vacillating out loud about some problem I'm trying to solve, and don't realize how obtuse I'm being until I get that familiar look -- the "Homeless? Tourettes? High Powered CEO with a hidden bluetooth?" look. 


Tell me I'm not the only one.

Do You Run to Catch Up? Or Do You Wait for Someone to Slow Down?

Today, I was told that people don't take me seriously when I get excited and talk too quickly. I was also told my impromptu diagrams don't do much to disuade this perception of ingenue-ity (did you see what I did there? eh?!).  
This is not the first time that someone hinted at such things, but it is the first time I'm not bemoaning the fact I'm so "easily excitable." 
Not so long ago, I started thinking:
maybe I don't need to slow down,
maybe they need to speed up.

Laundry Day Will Never Be the Same

Okay... Just discovered this:

WOAH.

Who knew folding could be so much fun?! 

I felt like Mary Poppins, "Then, the job's a game!"

Hopefully this will motivate me to do my laundry in a more timely manner. One can only turn their underwear inside out for so long. 

Please? Pinterest please?

Dearest Pinterest, 

Thank you so, so much for all the wonderful (p)inspiration, but you are breaking my heart truncating the search returns... 

Is there any reason why this stopped? Too much for the servers? I loved scrolling through endless images of cupcakes and puppies... please, please bring this back. 

p.s. This is a service I would GLADLY pay for. Just in case you're ever thinking of going freemium :)

p.p.s. I'd do a fundraiser to bring this back. Every month. It would be extremely stylish and all DIY of course. We'd probably all be wearing our flannel-shirts turned tube tops as well. And someone would show up with a zillion Angry Bird cupcakes. And probably, while we're all gathering, FUNdraising, two pinners would fall in love and have a DIY wedding. All pinners would chip in. Motivational quotes would be said for the toasts, and after the bride and groom kiss, every cute animal in the world ever (and their even cuter offspring) will flood the fundraiser and people will be so impressed that they will give pinterest all their support and we will have scrolling pages again? 

Much love,

Your Huge Fan

Kendra

DIY Valentine's Day Decorations: Recycled Book Wreath

It's a Long Story

I don't do heart pillows. Neither does my boyfriend. When I told Tom I was getting ready to decorate for Valentine's Day, he put on his best "I want to want to be excited right now" face and said, "No red." "Thank goodness," I said. 

There is too much red in the three month span from December to February. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore red, it's my second favorite color, but around December 26th I start to get overwhelmed. By the time the big stores gear up for Valentine's Day (it keeps getting earlier and earlier, doesn't it?), I know I've got about a week and a half until the window displays start looking like alters to the Pink Pepto Bismol Gods and I'm swearing off red nail polish until next Christmas Eve. 

You'll need

1. A wire hanger

2. Wire cutters

3. An old book (one that you don't plan on reading again)

4. Glue 

Editor's Notes: I used a hot glue gun which made this a 20 minute project, but regular glue will suffice as well. It will just take a little bit longer. Also, I'm slightly bummed I wasn't more clever with my book choice -- everyone keeps asking what book I used and I wish I would have smart enough to pick something more romantic than "The Picture of Dorian Gray."

Steps (for the less visual)

Step 1: 

Clear a space and get out your hanger.

Step 2:

Bend your hanger into the shape of a heart. 

Editor's Notes: I eventually used my wire trimmers to cut off that piece in the center.

Step 3:

Say goodbye to your book. Then break the spine and slowly rip the pages out.

Step 4:

Twist and/or roll the pages into little tubes. 

Editor's Note: These are your "petals," and depending on how you roll your pages, your "petals" are going to have slightly different shapes. My inner perfectionist attempted to control this at first, rolling each page into a uniform petal and placing it neatly in line. However, about five rolls in, I realized I messed up. But, I actually think it looks better like this.

Step 5:

Fold the "petal" in half around the wire hanger (hamburger style) so you have two "petals" sticking up. Glue the inner-most papers together. 

Editor's Note: I got glue everywhere and it still managed to look okay, so there is no need to labor over how/where to glue the petals.

Step 6:

Do this again, and again, and again. Until the hanger is completely covered in petals.

Editor's Note: Remember the different "petals" I mentioned before? After I covered the whole hanger, I went back and interspersed different shaped petals. This made it more voluminous, angular and, in my opinion, personal.

Step 7: 

Add some string and hang it up! Now, admire your work.

Editor's Note: I just used some beading string I had leftover from past projects, however I'm sure ribbons, twine and other twisty things will look equally nice :)

Feline Machine Envy

My cat hates my computer. I can tell by her feigned uninterested glances. "Oh, the humans" I imagine my cat saying to herself, in the british accent she has in my head. "Sitting there typing on their little machines, too brainwashed to understand, too stubborn to care." 



I'd like to apologize in advance for the many future blogs about cats. 
-- -- -- --
If you're not that fond of cats, hey, I understand. 
I was there 7months ago. If you absolutely cannot stand cats, you are really quite free to leave at any time. There is an absolute No Tolerance Policy when it comes to cattachment taunting. After warnings have been given, strategic LOLZCATZICANHAZCHEEBURGERCATS will be spammed across all of your electronic devices. Have a great day!

Tonks, Pippin & First World Problems

Just the other day I was walking along thinking of all the things I needed to remind myself to do. One of them was to invest in a casual hippy chic dangly necklace thing with a pendant/recorder on it (no, I don't have siri yet, and yes, I've checked my contract, and no, I can't upgrade for another four months. Yes, this is the ultimate first world problem) so I wouldn't forever lose the brilliant ideas I have en rout from thing to thing, but the other thing I was reminding myself to do, was 


POST KITTY PICTURES. 
ON MY BLOG.
BECAUSE I'M NOW A CAT PERSON.

Yes, ladies and gents-who-read-this,
I am the proud owner of two beautiful kitties -- Tonks & Pippin.
Consider this your 21st century "Birth Announcement."
From a very proud mother. 


I know it's been a while since I posted, but I had a feeling that you and I were the kind of people who like to eschew social convention small-talk in favor of our more juicy current secrets and jump right in :)

Break ALL the rules!!

Did I tell you? I moved in with a BOY. Yes. A boy. 
I moved in with a boy.
The thing I swore I would never do until the day I said "I do," I did it. 
And you know what? It's wonderful.


Not because of "The Romance." 
I mean, there is "romance," but not like the "romance" you see on T.V. or read about in Danielle Steel novels.  
The real kind of romance. The kind that looks like toothpaste on your toothbrush, clean dishes in the sink, freshly brewed coffee, or the perfectly timed hug and hand squeeze. 


I have just started to decorate for Christmas. 

still going from gourd to gorgeous:

Did you decorate for Halloween? 
I did. 
Right now I'm looking at a nice little string of Jack O'Lanterns hanging over my curtains.
They all look so happy just beaming their toothy smiles at whomever is in the living room...
I bet at night they sit and scheme about the parties they will have in the Holiday Decorations box they will go into when I finally come to terms with the fact that it will be another 361 days before Halloween comes around again. 


photo: I took this! for our eHowloween pumpkin carving :) 

we waste time with the hobgoblins

{photo from triborodesign}

There comes a time in everyones life (and I am sure I will come to this place in time over and over, visiting like an old friend, an old friend who has her own spot at the neighborhood cafe... see that? That item on the menu? The Kendra? Nance back there named it after me because I came here so often and refused to order anything else [here is where I give you my "I should be looking sheepish, but really I'm so proud" smile and you ask me if I recommend it - to which I respond, with feigned offense, "Are you kidding? Of course I do! It calls my name! - Literally!" and after my self-gratifying chuckle at my own bad joke, I will drop my voice to a whisper and surreptitiously say "But sometimes, when I'm feeling adventurous, I order it with the blue cheese instead of the feta.")]) when she or he realizes that some battles are just not worth fighting. 


Today, I wanted four different kinds of cheese. All at once. In equally large quantity. 
Instead of listing off the reasons I knew I would regret this later and attempting to satiate my craving with something slightly less caloric but vastly less delicious,
I had four different kinds of cheese. All at once. In equally large quantity. 


Tonight, I didn't want to do the dishes (especially the dishes I myself didn't dirty).
Instead of listing off the reasons why it was totally not my responsibility to clean such kitchenware,
I washed all the dishes. And gave some extra love to the dishes I myself didn't dirty (...and sent some extra love to the one who dirtied them).


Because sometimes - not always - but sometimes, the pre-wartime machination ("to fight" or "not to fight,") is more of a hobgoblin than the battle itself. 

A Vindication, of Sorts

{early bird (by mdoors)}

I was wrong. And I'm so sorry. 


Wow, it feels great to say that.
I guess this is slightly selfish as I have recently discovered how beautiful and gratifying admitting defeat really can be - I mean it is SUCH a weight lifted off your shoulders. Have you tried it? Admitting you're wrong? It's almost more gratifying than crossing something huge off of your to do list. Scratch that. It IS more gratifying than scratching something off your to do list. At least for me. Because admitting that I'm wrong is crossing multiple things off at once (apologizing to the offended party, reprimanding myself for being so prideful [seriously, who am I to claim the world is round?**] rectifying the cognitive dissonance that fills the void between "I'm too proud to even consider your stance on this matter" and "This matter actually makes quite a bit more sense if we look at it from this - okay, your - direction")
**later. much later will will discuss this. :)


Back to this weight deal - Where were we? Right. 
Admitting that you're wrong is so nice. It is such a weight lifted off your shoulders - here is where we were and THIS WAS MY WHOLE POINT: it is a weight put there unnecessarily as we could have just admitted our wrongness outright, instead of letting it make a home on our head.


Mom, dad - is it time for a tatto? Because if it is, that would be something nice to get tattooed on my forearm. (Can't you see it now? TO REMEMBER in nice tattoo script. DON'T LET WRONGNESS MAKE A HOME ON YOUR HEAD. 
Also, while we're at the tattoo parlor, I probably want to add P.S. DON'T FORGET TO BE SPARKLY!! 


So, I was wrong. About a lot of things.
And you know what? This is most definitely not going to be the last time I'm wrong. (or the last time I refuse to admit that I'm wrong, or the last time I blog about my refusal to admit that I'm wrong)


Love is not a feeling. It is a commitment.
This is not what I was wrong about - this is what my parents (thanks Dad, MFT and fabulous mentor that you are) drilled into my pubescent brain. 


I was wrong in how I defined "commitment."
Now before any of you naysayers or haters come on here and decide to blaspheme me for something you know very little about yet - let me just say that you are about as welcome here as the flees that were in my home last week [thank you adorable stray cat Chloe]. I love all living things great and small but flees, I just want you out of my house! So back to you naysayers and "Assumers" - you can just go back to your online lurking and take your ignorance elsewhere. Hatters gonna hate (thanks, reddit) and unfortunately, I can't control you (nor would I want to really, that would be creepy and I never really could figure out how to not get tangled in the puppeteering strings... true fact: I have a puppet like thing sitting tangled somewhere in my parents attic, mom you think you know where everything is up there? False. You don't. That white chest behind the two tall pink flamingos? I'm pretty sure all of my tangled toys are in there.)


When I say "I was wrong in how I defined commitment" I don't blame you for immediately jumping to "infidelity." If I heard my story through a third party, I'd be jumping to "infidelity" right there with you. And if you can't get past that jump, I can't blame you. I was just like you four months ago. If you can't get past that jump, come back later. Mull this over. Think about it when you're visiting the bathroom (I don't know why this was the first scenario I thought of... maybe because this is when you're alone with only your thoughts? And some gas? Just kidding! Girls don't poop! [really obvious, painfully obvious, wink to the audience].
There was no infidelity. But this isn't about infidelity, or fidelity, this is about love.  


I spent the last two and a half years being madly, passionately in love with Sam. For you long-time friends, readers and facebook stalkers, you know I used to have an entire tag dedicated to Sam and our love stories. (Note: this tag was removed a while ago not because of Sam, but because I just grouped all things "love" together - don't worry! The posts are still there. As is the love. The love I had (and have*) for Sam is still there too. *I say "have" here because this is the truth. I still have so much love for this person who I shared a tenth of my life with. He is an amazing person - one of the best. One of the good ones... a lover, a fighter, a dreamer - and whoever he ends up with will be endlessly fortunate to be in such wonderful company. In part, Mrs. Future Sam, this is for you.)


For you long-time friends, readers and facebook stalkers, you also know that there has been a different man making a cameo in this blog and in my profile pictures... Why? How? How could this have happened? Great questions. All of them. And I've asked them of myself an innumerable amount of times these past few months. Here goes: 


In addition to basking in the love I mentioned above, I also spent the last two and a half years doing some of the less glamours couple-y things. I was told once by a professor, "sometimes, you bring more fire than light." This is not something I'm proud of. This is something I attempt to tame every day, but go with me here. This has a place in our larger story. If I was (and still am) "fiery," Sam was like the California desert. When contained (in campfires, s'more rosters, BBQ's etc), it was magical. But more often than not, (when not-contained) we got along so well that it resulted in extremely large explosions. 


It wasn't that we were both "too fiery" or "too similar" (this is trite, banal and actually not entirely true) and it wasn't that our love wasn't real or wasn't strong enough. In fact, if you're willing to go the whole way and read this whole story (multiple parts and all), I think this story proves both the strength and the realness. (And, if you're willing to go the whole way, you will see that now, because of all of this strength/realness/commitment/love/fidelity stuff, Mrs. Future Sam really has a chance. A chance she might not have had, if [insert chapter two here] never happened.


You see, I finally realized that true “commitment” and “love” is actually able to transpire our innate selfishness.
It was selfish of me to try to stay in a relationship that was so mutually destructive. And until I was positioned with [again, insert chapter two here] I was unable to see just how selfish my love for Sam was. 
Yes, he and I loved one another, but that love was both driven, and eclipsed by, our ignorance, insecurities and the young dreams of two helpless romantics. 
Again, in no way I’m saying it wasn’t real. It most definitely was real. The love was there. The love was great. But the cost of that love was greater. It cost him, him and it cost me, me. It would have been extremely detrimental, futile and exhausting to continue to work on something that was not getting fixed. It would have been selfish to continue down the path that we had created for ourselves, when that path was so destructive to both parties. And both parties parents, and both parties friends, and both parties future selves, and both parties future selves’ significant others. 


Sam, you deserve a life that’s better than the one I can give you, and the one that our personalities/molecular make-up allow us to build. 


Mrs. Future Sam, you are inheriting a life of adventure and intrigue, and an amazing companion who will cook you the best breakfast and make you incredibly happy (hint: always have hot sauce and marmite on hand).