Friday Blog Love

Do you play Draw Something? OMG I love it. Of course I am impatient and have a ton of games going so I like to take the path of least resistance and use stick figures and basic draw skills to get my point across. But some people really get into it.

This Friday Blog Love post goes out to Ignore Hitler. It's this guy who plays Draw Something in a more hilarious way. 

I, of course, had never heard of his blog until my friend McShash hipped me to it by doing an "Ignore Hitler" of her own in one of our games:

Pretty good, McShash, Pretty Good.

Click here to see lots of awesome Draw Something pictures where you're instructed to ignore ol' Hitler.

Super Moon

My mom told me I have to change my facebook profile picture, but I won't do it:

Love me, love my butt crack.

CRACKS ME UP!

Bad Bad Bad Religion

One night at the now defunct club The Quest (opened by none other than Prince himself in 1992) while watching a Bad Religion show, I made it backstage because the drummer from the opening band Pennywise happened to walk by me. I gave him a "great show" and he waived me on back. I ended up getting a bunch of autographs and got into a conversation with Greg Graffin (the singer of Bad Religion). About who knows what, that's not the point. It was probably smart stuff I'm sure, as he was much older than me, and had his PhD (and happens to currently be a professor at Cornell University). Anyway, at some point during the conversation he asked me what I was doing later.

I was surprised by this question for three reasons:

1) I was supremely naive. 

2) This had never happened to me before.

3) He was thirty-six*, and I was probably 23 years old.

So I laughed -- typical Kady -- and said, "Why would YOU want to hang out with ME?" and sort of rolled my eyes. We continued chit-chatting for a little bit. Later he said to me, "and THAT'S why people want to hang out with you Kady. Because you have a beautiful smile and a great personality and blah blah blah." He went on for a while about my amazing qualities and I thought the whole exchange was SO weird, because I had forgotten that I made that comment. Then I shrugged my shoulders and went home.

I didn't get it until the next day, when I realized that Greg Graffin from Bad Religion asked me what I was doing later and I said, "why would YOU want to hang out with ME?", which he clearly took to mean that I was a depressed little punk rock kid saying something more along the lines of, "why would anybody want to hang out with me?" And he was trying to make me FEEL BETTER. 

It still gives me a case of the LOLs.  I actually meant, "aren't you a little OLD to be asking little girls what they're doing later?"

"Jeez kid, I was just trying to be nice."

*oh Gawd, I'm almost thirty-six. Is this how my twenty-three-year-old friends see me?

Fishing for Hipsters

A few weeks ago, on National Record Shop Appreciation Day, (or whatever they call it), I met up with my buddy Cash and we hung out at his place all day.  He happens to live above Hymie's, a local Minneapolis record store.  

Hymie's. Photo credit: C. Moore

They put on some festivities with in-store shows and a street show too.  My new favorite local band Night Moves played and we chilled out, opened the windows and enjoyed the scene from his gross boy apartment, complete with chairs whose cushions hide mouse poop underneath and secret disgusting things I can't discuss here and will pretend I didn't see.

And then I guess the boys got a little bored.  So they decided to go Fishing for Hipsters, using a record as bait:

If you catch a Hipster, you have to remember to feed it vegan,-gluten-free-dairy-free sandwiches and give it plenty of Grainbelt Premium beer. Or Hamm's. Also acceptable: PBR. In a can.

Once Supposi-Story

My dad never goes to the doctor.  But when he does, he really likes to give the nurses a hard time.  Like that visit where he was given a suppository, and instructions to use it and return the next day.

When he arrived, the nurse asked him how it went.

He responded, "For all the good it did me, I coulda shoved it up my hind-end."

Sunday Favorites: Dance Lesson

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This video actually appeared on Hobosiren.com when she and I lived in New Orleans back in September, 2011 when we worked for a company called Serco and traveled the country together:

Summer-isms, Vol. 32

"Does anybody love cilantro as much as you and me?"

"I want a headboard."

In answer to the question: 'What time do you go to work?' "Nine. But I'm gonna go at 14." 

"Turn that tree branch off while you're at it."

"He's got like no personality.  He's like a party clown that's been out of work for like a decade."

Hal-isms, Vol. 24

"Did I ever tell you you're my Aurora Borealis?"

"How much more do you want me to say before I fall asleep?"

On therapy: "Like myself, for instance...self secure. Now people say that means you're not if you think you are. But I wouldn't go to somebody and say, 'I pissed on the grass. Is that OK?'"

"I want to be humble. But it's hard to be humble when everybody else is a dummy and you're the only smart one."

"It was one bottle of wine and two whiskeys. It takes all day to water the lawnd! <sic>  What do you think this is? I'm not a one-acre trailer house."

"Toughen Up."

Last night I went on my first training ride with my MS150 team. (Shamelessly soliciting donations for MS research here.) We biked 25 miles! I met a new friend named Laura and we rode together and got to talking about how expensive it can be to get into biking and running. Suddenly you need all this gear. Take, for example, padded butt biking shorts. I'm one of the few that has the good sense to cover up that shame with my famous pajama pants, but I wear the padded butt shorts underneath. Anyway, mine are actually "tri shorts", which means I bought them for a triathlon I did a few years back and they aren't as maxi padded as bike shorts, to make drying easier. Think mini pad. I was telling her all of this, and how I refuse to pony up the $50+ it's going to take to get the extra maxi padded butt shorts.

At that EXACT moment in time, we crossed paths with a man who had no legs, and was laying down on one of those cool bikes that is powered by a hand crank. I guess I was staring at him in sheer awe and pride as I told her all about my butt padding, and at the moment of contact as we rode by this man, and I was looking right at him, I concluded my story by saying, and I quote: 

"So, I guess now it's 'toughen up, old friend'", referring of course to my crotch.

I cringed when I realized what had just happened and how all this poor brave awesome athletic disabled man probably heard me say as we whizzed by each other was, 

"Toughen up, Old Friend."

"Not you, Sir! My crotch! I was telling my CROTCH to toughen up!"

Another WIN

I haven't ridden my bike for two years and so when I realized I had no freaking idea what my bike lock combination was I was a little irritated.  I tried all the typical options: my birthday, my name spelled out on the phone, my nieces and nephews birthdays, etc.  Nuttin'.  Then I tried to google "I can't remember my bike lock combination" and after minutes (minutes!) of research I found the following two options:

1) watch a video and learn how to break into any bike lock in 30 seconds

2) start at 0000 and go all the way up to 9999

No joke.  A bike store employee said they have to do it all the time and it takes about 2.5 hours to get all the way through the numbers.

I couldn't be bothered to watch a video or to learn anything new, so I opted for number two.  I decided to just do it whilst watching a movie on my laptop.

I hunkered down.

0000. nope

0001. nope

0002. nope

0003. nope

0004. nope

0005.  YEP!!!  Thank goodness I didn't decide to start at 9999 and go backwards.

WIN!!

If you want to steal my bike, just remember...0005!

Sunday Favorites: Who Are We Kidding?

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story first appeared when I lived in New Orleans back on September 10, 2011:

 

During the height of Tropical Storm Lee, when it stopped raining for six minutes, Summer and I got a little stir crazy and decided to get gussied up and go out of the apartment.  We killed a ton of time showering, combing hair, putting on makeup, the whole bit.  When we were all ready to go, Summer and I looked at each other like, "now what?" and she goes, "who are we kidding?"  Because we had been SO LAZY for SO LONG and we really didn't truly want to go anywhere.  So instead we took the following photos of ourselves.  We tried at first to get some cute ones...

(I can see that I only have three poses in life.  hmmmm I need to work on that.)


And then it went downhill, really fast:

I'm like, "Summer, let's look ugly!"  But I tricked her:

And then she goes..."OK, OK, let's look ugly!"  But then she tricked me:

So I go, "OK, let's look ugly!"  And I tricked her.  Again.

And then she tricked me.  Right here I died laughing at how I fell for the trick the second time, and how she fell for it twice too:

So then we both did ugly-face:

And then, we legitimately tried looking nice, no tricks:

And then we went to bed.  What a waste of a shower.

This Week's Wins and Fails

1)

My car has been squealing ever since I bought it brand new in 2005. I always figured it was the brakes, and so did the dealership everytime I mentioned it to them. Well it's been getting really bad in the last few months. While driving down the freeway. So I knew it wasn't the brakes. I mean I'm a dumb blonde female, but I know it can't be the "brakes" when the car is in motion. So I kind of made a stink about it the last time I was in for an oil change. I begged them to take it for a drive because it happens 100% of the time I'm in the car. Of course they heard nothing. Here's where I really embarrassed myself:

"Please. I'm telling you it happens EVERY TIME I'm in the car. It happens when I drive down the freeway and it happens when I'm going 30 miles an hour down the street. PLEASE PLEASE take it for a 20-minute drive and you'll see what I mean I promise." etc etc etc.

He was all, "OK whatever 'Crazy'."  But, he called me 20 minutes later. "We definitely heard the squealing (yes!). The bad news is it's your transmission-"

I cut him off. "Well THAT'S really annoying because I no longer have a warranty and this has been an issue the entire time I've owned the-"

He cut me off. "You have a warranty."

"Oh."

$3600 transmission job. Free. Plus I got to drive this 2012 Acura TL as a loaner for a WEEK:

So nice I didn't even want to fart in it.

WIN!

_____

2)

You may remember that I had to get my house ready for an inspection so that I could obtain a Minneapolis Rental License. (Because of a couple of well-played loopholes researched and implemented by Yours Truly, I wasn't required to get it until now.) Anyway as I mentioned in the link above, I had to do a million things to get my house up to code.  I applied for the License back in January prior to my tenant moving in (as required) and they gave me a provisional license while I waited for the inspection which I was told would happen "in a month". The inspection costs $1000. YES. $1000. The inspection they do when you sell your house is $250, but I was told that the rental inspection is so much more thorough that it has to cost more. They're trying to protect renters, you know. Anyway I scoured the place and fine-tooth-combed it and got everything up-to-par. That consumed my life for at least three weeks in January. Finally three months later I received the scheduling and took the afternoon off to meet the Inspector and dressed up and everything.

She walked through my house for a total of six minutes, told me it looked great but I would need a Carbon Monoxide detector in the 2nd level bedroom and a minor plumbing fix under the kitchen sink. Re-Inspection required. In a month.

FAIL.

_____

3)

I lost my graduation ring at on Sunday. I took it off to put lotion on my hands (I know, mom, I know. The whole reason I have the dumb thing to this day is because I never take it off. But it must have rolled off my lap when I stood up. Everybody knows if they find a ring, it's mine, and I'm still really hoping to get it back--unless the vacuum found it.)

I loved this dumb thing.

FAIL.

_____

4)

While looking for my ring in the lost and found box, I randomly came across a sweater that looked a lot like the one I bought in New Zealand for $250 that I didn't even know I was missing. I thought it was in my winter clothes box that I sent up to my parents' place. Apparently I left it one day (probably three months ago) and didn't realize it. Who knows how long it had been there?

I don't deserve to have anything nice.

WIN!

Summer-isms, Vol. 31

"I think you forgot that you have a glass of wine."

"There's nothing worse than a weak chin."

"I thought that was poop!  It's a Lego."

"That's why you should always let a man keep talking."

"I can't stop looking at your face to figure out who's lonelier."

Miyo-isms aka The Worst Kind of Turd is an Honest One, Vol. 5

Even though Miyo doesn't "want people knowing stuff" about her, I couldn't help but to record some of her little -isms throughout the day.

"You don't mess around, I mess around."

"Where's my eggs? I'm getting hungry over here!"

"I love your outfit! It's like a jogger!" (I was wearing my typical weekend attire. Sweats. Sweatshirt.)

"My mom said it would stretch but she was just trying to trick me because she hates me."

"The Hupiter tree! Always when there's something on the tree it's called the Hupiter tree!"

Then she found some poofy dandelions and started making wishes:

"I wish I could do everything Lexi could except not be bad."

"I wish I could find 60 dollars."

"I wish I could have 1 million bucks.  In one wallet."

"I wish I could swim and swim without a life jacket."

"I wish I had a million bucks and I wish my aunt was better than this but she IS better but I want her better! I hate to say that but I had to."

Do-Gooding. It's What I Do. Gooding.

I signed up to ride a bike for 150 miles on June 9 & 10. That's 75 miles a day! The race is called the MS150 and apparently these "MS Researchers" can't even AFFORD bikes, so I'm including a link where you can donate money, get a tax deduction, cure a horrible disease, feel good about yourself and simultaneously make me look really good to the rest of my team. Everybody wins!

Click this link, choose my name "Kady Hexum" (duh) and for Gosh sakes give something to these silly researchers so they can get some food or something. Any amount is greatly appreciated, but if you decide you're feeling extra donate-y and give $50, send me an email at kady(at)aladyrevealsnothing(dot)com with your T-shirt size and home address so I can get you your own super awesome Cyclosaurs team T-shirt pictured below.

(If you hate puppies and you hate research...never mind the above.  I'm selling $50 T-shirts.)

"Mother Mary Blessed Ever-Virgin"

I love guest posts from my mom and her wicked childhood!  Please enjoy these two fabulous stories about her being a horrible sleepover guest:

We had 7 children in our family and my mother was very clean but not able to have many nice things. What we did have was nice to us but did not compare to what other people had in their homes, so it was nice to go visiting to see how they lived. One time when we lived in Bemidji I got invited to spend the night with a friend from school. It was very exciting to go because she was an only child. She had everything: her own room and everything in it was all pink and matchy-matchy. So we put on our pjs and hung out with no little brothers to bother us. She had a little pink suitcase with a filing system inside to store all her 45's, so we played all of them and yes, we sang into our brushes at the top of our lungs. In the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom but was afraid to turn on any lights so I went in the dark. I had to go bad so I pulled down my pants and sat. And peed. In that split-second, I realized I forgot to lift the lid and I was peeing on the lid. But it wasn't just the lid...it was covered in a pink and white chenille toilet seat cover. OH NOOOOOOO!!!! Needless to say, I was horribly embarrassed. I know they must have found out somehow, I don't know...it was not discussed. I don't think I got asked back.

Then we moved to International Falls and I got invited to a really fun girl's house. They had 2 girls and so my little sister got to come too. We played Mother Mary Blessed Ever-Virgin. We put our white slips over our hair and knelt beatifically while we sang Catholic chants at the top of our lungs. That was  not fun for very long...so we made tents and pretty much trashed the room. We all four slept in the same double bed. This time I had to go to the bathroom again but what can I say? I laid there and peed the bed. WHYYYYY??? But, what luck! My sister was lying next to me and she got all wet. So I blamed the whole thing on her and got very very mad at her for getting it all over me. I apologized for her to the mother and she comforted my sister and told her not to worry about it. I told my sister I would never bring her with me again on a sleepover. And I never let her forget it, either.

The Accuser (left) and the Accused (right)

"We Don't Know if We're Mad or Happy"

My parents have been on a spending spree lately. In the last two weeks, my mom bought a new couch, my dad bought a new truck (1994 Dodge Dakota with 78,000 miles) and they have hired a contractor to come out to the garage and fill in some concrete (apparently somebody made a scratch in his garage floor) and make them a little sidewalk up near the house.

I asked my dad if I needed to do an intervention on this mid-retirement spending, and he referenced a recent consolation purchase of some whiskey and some Coke.

"Now we just sit and slur our words to eachother. We don't know if we're mad or happy."

_________

Incidentally, the guy that sold the truck to my dad is the same guy that sold my Great-Grandpa Pete his red Rambler fifty years ago. He told my parents that he used to buy potatoes in 100 pound sacks from my Great-Grandpa Pete.  If when he weighed out the 100 pound sack it weighed a little over, Pete would take a potato out and cut it in half to make exactly 100 pounds.

Legend has it that Great-Grandpa Pete sold his sacks of potatoes for $3, whether the going-rate was $5 or $1, Great-Grandpa Pete sold for $3. If you wanted to be his customer, fine. If not, that was fine too. But he wouldn't do business with new people. Including his own sons, who came to him to buy some potatoes so they could start their own potato farm. He said no. They were like, "Seriously Dad?", and he said, "I don't know you. I've never done business with you." And they had to get their potatoes elsewhere.



Can't wait to go huntin' for Lady Slippers in this beast

Shut Up, Elevator Worker Man

For the past three months, we have been undergoing "Elevator Modernization" at my office building. Which basically means they are finally fixing the deathtrap that was our elevator situation.

Anyway, there are guys and they ride on top of the elevators and they hang out in it while it's suspended between two floors and they sit in front of it and tinker and so of course I chat with them as I'm waiting for the working elevator to arrive.

A couple weeks ago, I had to go do some embarrassing things in the bathroom. At work, if nature starts knocking on my backdoor, I always go to another floor, you know, so nobody knows me or my shoes. I took the stairs to the floor beneath my own. As I walked by my elevator repairman friend (to go in the bathroom he was stationed directly in front of), he said, "Aren't you on the wrong floor?"

Yah.  Duh.  Shut UP.

DANGER. CAUTION. Elevator Repairman's about to bust you out.

*I realized I have a few embarrassing elevator stories on the blog and here they all are for you, under a new label I like to call: 'elevators'.

Summer-isms, Vol. 30

"That's not political is it?"

"These beers smell like bad breath burp."

"Just what I need. to order large pizzas by myself."

"I'm Arizona tired."

"I think you should have gone 40 minutes ago."

First World Problems

Last week, as I was removing the 37th staple from the 37th bank statement in a mortgage loan file that I was preparing to send into underwriting, I couldn't help but feel VIOLENTLY ANGRY towards the loan officer who stapled them all together. It's like, I know where the bank statement stops and also where the bank statement ends. Do we really need to be stapling them? My nails are just tore up, guys. TORE UP.  Gosh my job is so irritating. Probably the worst in the whole world. I can't think of any worse job in the whole world. I'm paid hundreds of dollars a day to remove staples. It's not enough if you ask me.  

These mobile salespeople in Vietnam would agree that I am so mistreated:

I waved to this person and they waved back. I assumed it was "Hi!", but in retrospect I realized it was actually, "don't take my photo."

It's a difficult yet effective way to sell stuff on the go. You can even operate a food truck this way. Got a  pho (noodle soup) business? Bring it to the people. I saw a woman with a pot full of soup on each side and asked her if I could try lifting it.

O. M. Gee!  I felt like a champion power lifter.  It was so heavy.  HEAVY.  That smile is actually a wince.

So, you cart around thousands of pounds of merchandise hoping to sell a couple bucks' worth each day. Later on I told her about the staples and the low pay. (In sign language of course.) She was like, "Lady. You got to QUIT. That sucks."

Sunday Favorites: I Just Need This One Page!

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing?  You've missed SO MUCH.  Not to worry.  Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite.  Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day.  Enjoy!  This story first appeared when I lived in Costa Rica back on January 11, 2011: 

I have been relying on Nicole for rides to pretty much everywhere I go.  You can't really walk anywhere here.  I mean, maybe to the mechanic but that's about it.  I decided to stay here in Costa Rica for another three months, and so I am in the market for a scooter.  Yesterday I went and looked at one, but the guy hadn't paid the Marchamo (yearly registration) for it.  Because of that I couldn't even take it for a test drive.  FAIL.

Today at lunch I noticed a local newspaper on the counter just as we were leaving.  I thumbed through it and found some Classified Ads and a few scooter listings.  I didn't want to ask if I could take their whole newspaper, but thought they might let me take the Ad page with me.  So I walked up to the counter and asked in Spanish,

"Can I take just one page?  I don't need all.  Just one page."  And I held it up so he could see what I was asking for:

Only I didn't show him that page.  That page was facing me.  Not until I got out to the car did I see what I really held up in his face.  The 'backside' of the scooter ads.  (Pun intended):

"I just really only need this one page."