God and Grammar

Awesome. Just...awesome.












...you can't hear me, but I'm still giggling about the first one and it's been, like, a week since I first read it. You've all seen the Footprints poem before, right?

Shave and a Haircut:

Two bits.

I need a haircut. The shave I could probably do without (I'm growing out my beard for winter).

My hair has reached massive proportions. It's the longest it's been since I chopped off my 4th grade "butt-length hair with enormous frizzy, frizzy bangs all up in the front" coif 15 years ago. I remember when I finally did chop off all that hair, my head felt all light and loopy and I kept shaking and shaking it - it was the strangest sensation.

Unfortunately, this new "freeing" haircut could have been best described as a permed bowl cut...because, indeed, it was a permed bowl cut. Not my best look. And the growing out process was horrible. I grew it out late in my 6th grade year, and by that point I had giant gold-framed glasses and the acne had kicked in and I was still taller than all the boys and I was missing a couple teeth on the sides that had fallen out late and my typical outfit consisted of stretch pants and an oversized t-shirt. Dang. From that point my hair was mostly chin- to shoulder-lengthish. And then during undergrad it was all short and flippy and kicky and spunky. And then I moved to Georgia and I didn't know which places were the good salons and which were the ones where they put a bowl on your head and just start trimming. Plus I had no money. So it got long. A year later I found a great hair stylist in Atlanta, but I could only afford to have him cut my hair once a year. So it got longer. And then I moved to Phoenix where, once again, I have that good place/bowl on the head dilemma. Which brings me back to the fact that...

I need a haircut.

ps - J, H, and PslashB, there are replies to your comments on the last post. Just so's ya know. So's all y'alls faces. The end.

Late Night Rant

Because some things absolutely cannot wait until morning.

So I mentioned awhile back that I just bought my own car insurance. I finally got the paperwork in the mail and I was reading over it today. Turns out I was totally RIPPED OFF. Buried in the middle of pages of legal mumbo jumbo is a list of things that my insurance company absolutely refuses pay for. The most appalling non-coverage items read as follows:

We will not pay for:
3. Loss of vehicle due to or as a consequence of:
a. Radioactive contamination;
b. Discharge of any nuclear weapon (even if accidental);
c. War (declared or undeclared);
d. Civil war;
e. Insurrection; or
f. Rebellion or revolution.

I mean seriously, what's a girl to do when the revolution comes?


(Dear Department of Homeland Security, I am merely being sarcastic, as it is my nature to be. Please do not imprison me. Love, Kristen)

Go Snakes!

That was for you, Bea.

Dang. So I had plans to go to a Diamondbacks baseball game last night with some of the gals from church. We were planning on sitting in the ballpark restaurant and sharing desserts while we watched the game. To say the evening was upgraded would be quite the understatement.

Turns out, one of the girls I went with works for a company that buys lots of tickets from the Diamondbacks. She had been to the stadium earlier that day to pick up all the stuff her company had purchased and the guy says to her "I hear you're going to the game tonight - how about I upgrade you and your friends' tickets?" "...uh, ok?" says Dana. TALK about an upgrade.

This is my ticket stub.


This was my view.


This is part of the group.


And THIS is me on tv.


I was on tv behind the batters all night. I had to be careful not to, you know, fish stray popcorn kernels out of my shirt or something in front of the camera.

We also had VIP parking thanks to Cheryl, who works at the stadium. And she gave us a behind the scenes tour afterwards - press box, executive conference rooms - the works. We even met the guy who plays the organ. We all had a great time and I think I'm starting to get to know the church gals a little better.

And THAT was my first Diamondbacks game in Arizona. Iiii KNOW!

Truth be told...I'd trade it for the last Diamondbacks game I went to, though. Nosebleed seats at Turner Field with Pat and Kathy & Sean and Demis & Alissa. Sigh...

Commandment #11:

Thou shalt grill thy own meat.

I went to this place called The Monastery on Saturday with a group of girls from church. Sounds pretty freaking holy, right? Fooled you! (said in Dark Helmet voice) No, The Monastery is actually a bar/restaurant in Mesa. The bartenders wear monk's frocks, you can play a rousing game of horseshoes while listening to a live band, and yes, you grill your own meat. If you order a burger, they give you this packet that contains a bun, a slice of cheese, and a hunk of raw cow. You take your bag o' burger stuff over to these giant outdoor grills and grill to your heart's content. They have all the seasonings and condiments you could ask for, but the burger flipping is up to you. Weird...but fun.

I watched lots of movies in the past few days, ranging from mediocre to great. These are all movies I have owned for varying amounts of time, but for one reason or another, have never seen.
Here's the list in order of the length of time I owned the movie before watching it, from longest (FOUR. YEARS.) to least (1 week):
1. The Royal Tenenbaums
2. Braveheart
3. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
4. Shopgirl
5. First Knight (*cough*mediocre*cough*)
6. Love Actually

And to those of you who were freaked out by the angora rabbit...pansies. And by "pansies" I mean, "I totally agree."

Preposterous Pets

From fluorescent fish to hilariously hairy hares.

This is easily one of the creepiest, most unethical things I've ever seen.

This, however, is effing awesome. Ever wonder where angora sweaters come from? HOh yeah.

Overheard in the elevator

Location: One of the world's premiere neurological institutes

Scene: Group of neurosurgeons loudly and enthusiastically discussing a surgical case. White lab coats, blue scrubs, and big egos crowd the elevator. They are talking over one another, each trying to make his own point.

Suddenly, one doc's voice rings out over all the rest:

"I mean, come on! It's not like this is rocket science!"

...

Kristen's Inner Monologue: No, no, you're totally right. I mean, come on. This? This is just brain surgery.