Gremlin Grievances

For about a week, I liked the car I purchased. I actually gave it a name - like a kid does with a goldfish. I named it "Gremlin," and just like a goldfish, it died soon after.

The Gremlin is my first car - a 1999 Dodge Intrepid - and it was a "steal" - or so I thought.

Apparently, a 2.7 liter engine is as good as dog poop - that and its capacity to retain oil. Blithely unaware I was cruising around in a virtual time bomb, I felt confident in my green low-rider for all of three minutes - the time it took for me to wave goodbye to the dealer, Tim of Tim's Auto, and turn on the radio to realize the speakers were out and the passenger window wasn't rolling down.

I swallowed the anxiety-ridden consumer's cries within me, screaming, "You were had!! Take it back now before you're desperate, stranded and crying on the side of the road somewhere!" I got used to ignoring these stomach-churning thoughts until one day my car did leave me desperate, stranded and crying on the side of the road...in the rain. And yet somehow, through the down poor, my engine continued to chug heavy smoke from under the hood. Two hours later, I arrived home, thanked the Russian gas station attendant who agreed to drive me and called up Tim to plead my case.

But instead of the premeditated speech of wrath I had prepared to deliver to him from a safe distance over the phone, I instead spoke woefully about my inabilities to keep a car on life support. He agreed to fix it for a discount and only charged me $500 - yay! The anxious consumer within me nearly suffered cardiac arrest that day.

Six months later, my car was like the child of an estranged couple, spending weekdays with me and weekends in the garage of Tim's. At this point, I didn't hate Tim, I hated my luck.

And then I decided to do something about it. I poured good money into my car, fixed it up as best I could, learned from Tim the few maintenance procedures it might need in time - and made the decision to sell my car on Craigslist. I've been honest about its mileage - it's no spring chicken, it's new parts and known problems - and I priced it low enough to interest buyers and high enough to help me purchase a new car. I've had several interested individuals so I'll keep you posted about the Gremlin's status. But if all goes accordingly, in about a weeks time I should be singing - Goodbye, Gremlin, Goodbye - free to do the whole rigamarole again.

The Flea

Don't let the fries fool you - this post is about a burger.

So let me first tell you that there was never any one reason for me to define myself as a carnivore - until I ate a flea burger. 

Westport Flea Market is dingy, dark and it doesn't accept debit cards - BUT no one with working tastebuds cares, because it is home of the original Flea Market burger, a succulent, massive beef pattie served on a soft and toasty sesame seed bun. Add cheese, mayo, ketcup, perfectly ripened tomatos, pickles, onions and lettuce...and bacon, and you've got yourself the bible of true carnivorians.

Before I tasted the flea, there was a time when I actually could understand why someone would chose to be a vegetarian - I chalked it up to either having a bleeding heart or a heart condition. But as of late, I'm critical. Like Amish teens who get their year of freedom before deciding to continue with the lifestyle, I believe all vegetarians should taste a flea burger, at least one bite before swearing off all animals.

And for the taste of it, I wouldn't even care if it were made of actual fleas, although I'd prefer not to know it. To describe its taste is to describe a craving - you just want it and once you have it, your mouth can't seem to part with it.

I'm a relatively small girl, I eat PB&Js, quesadillas, frozen pizzas and grilled cheeses - I'm pretty soft-core when it comes to serious protein. And yet I crave it like a cat smelling catnip or a pregnant woman inside the local Baskin Robbins, it is all I can think about until it's mine.

So you might say it wasn't a selfless Father's Day gift then, when I treated him to burgers and beer on Saturday night. The holiday was just an excuse to go really, and what better way to honor the best man in my life then with this grilled perfection.

So we got to talking - what was it about the flea burger that sent me reeling - it was just ground beef, afterall.

"It's the grill Coco," he told me while holding the thing with two elbows squared on the table. "Grills have a mind of their own."

He went on to tell me how Kansas City's most famous steak establishment, Hereford House, failed to open a second location out south - "because they just couldn't replicate the flavor, nothing worked and the people weren't having it."

I still can't believe that for a whole year some local loonies wanted to close the Flea Market and open a Hooters. Oh sure - and while they're at it, why don't they build a McDonald's in place of Oklahoma Joe's - because that would be a vast improvement.

Oh but truly, I'm so full. I'm writing this now with my feet up on my coffee table and my laptop on my "contented" stomach, my typing is gradually slowing to a crawl and my eyes are drooping a bit - and I can still taste it - the burger that gave me wings and made me slightly vegetarian intolerant - the flea.  

Shark Week

Location: Paradise Aquatics in Overland Park - a seemingly calm afternoon in the balmy tank.

The guys at the front desk kept cracking jokes about how I should take a photo with them and myself in it....ew. 

I slinked to other side of the tank to escape and this is what I saw while I heard one of them say, "I think you creeped her out, man. Good goin' Robbie." 

That's when I saw it - the small giants, growing an inch a minute - these nurse sharks will continue until 10 feet long. This one in the picture, above the smaller one, is selling for $300. If you have this much, plus however much it will cost to house a 10 foot shark...and feed it - than you're good to go. It needs a home.

This little guy slithered out just in time to see what all the commotion was about. I don't think he liked my flash. I've never seen anything in real life that looked so much like Flotsam and Jetsam from The Little Mermaid.

Someone got jealous...

She followed me everywhere I went. Can you say desperate?

The first time I saw Shark Week? The summer of 2004. Some things you just don't know you love until you find yourself in pajamas from yesterday watching 800 shows about the same thing and you won't let ANYONE have the remote unless they want to lose an arm...or at least, that's how I found out I like sharks alright. 

Why only a week? Because people have lives! If I could watch Shark Attack III on repeat - I would - it's like the scene of an accident I just can't look away from. And once a year, Animal Planet panders to people like me. In the meantime, I'll get my fix with old Nurse Ratched here (that's the name the two Don Juan's at the front desk gave her). 

11.11.11

Happy Veterans Day.

John Barkley. 

Born in Johnson County, Missouri.

The first recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor in World War One for valor during the Argonne initiative in October 1918. 

THESIS: Women enjoy getting ready more than they do going out.

As much as would love to see my sister nervous and awkward on a first date, I think the habits of a female prepping for that date are far more interesting. Today we will examine Mary as if she were a specimen to be observed for a thesis.

THESIS: Women enjoy getting ready more than they do going out.

OBSERVATION: The specimen is loving her hoop earrings. In the moment, she is pleased to match her silver belt to her silver jewelry. Will her date notice this detail? Only time will tell. On the bottom left hand corner of the photo, a CHI hair straigtener, only recently unplugged, lays forgotten by the specimen, who has used it and moved on.  She continues a process of repeated ritual preparations for her date, such as applying and reapplying makeup, styling and restyling her hair, and tucking and un-tucking her blouse. 

OBSERVATION: Now the specimen experiences bouts of panic and discomfort. Notice she has temporarily stopped fixing herself in the mirror, freeing her mind from busy work to actually consider whether she is ready to go on the date or not. At this point, the specimen is clear, she is not. 

OBSERVATION: The specimen continues to preen and thus falls back into the comforts of fixations, an act of survival. She knows of her long night ahead and cannot sweat the small stuff. Again, the specimen is loving those silver hoop earrings.

OBSERVATION: When does the specimen conclude ritualistic preparations for the date? It is in the moment whereupon the specimen finishes one ritual and stops long enough to look in the mirror to react with pleasantness instead of panic. As is the case, the specimen has concluded the fixation state and at this point has moved on to the presentation state or the 'look-at-me' state. Specimen leaves for date.

CONCLUSION: Specimen was hostile to further questions post-date and was clearly past it with a new-found confidence not observed the night before. Having claimed to have had a good date, it is with this and with the observations made the night before that I renounce my thesis. I conclude that women enjoy going out more than they enjoy getting ready because only in going out can there efforts in getting ready be validated. 

"I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate."

When I left NYU - I had no plan. I thought up ways to spend my time, some ridiculous, others too practical for a gap year. According to every college counselor, gap years are meant to be spent learning things a classroom could not provide you - an education you acquire for yourself. In Layman's terms and in the hope of every college breaker, to seize every opportunity, to take that train to nowhere, to break from patterns meant to keep us in line and at bay with society and our place in it. And the pressure to make the most of one pressure-free year was a catch-22 I didn't see coming because, again, I had no plan.

The Liberty Memorial and World War I museum was a place my brother visited often in the months before he left for Afghanistan. When I was a little girl and forming memories for the first time, I can recall, with about the same haziness as the photo below, my brother and father taking me here to the top of the memorial. I didn't know what WWI was, in fact, I assumed at this age that when people talked about the world, they were referring to Kansas City. I thought Kansas City, Missouri was the world. 

In 2006, the museum was built underground and surrounding the base of the conical memorial, the only one of its kind in America. And although 445 Kansas Citians perished in the war that killed near 10 million soldiers - we became a city of another kind to steward the memory of the Great War, and in this memorial alone do I believe we are a world class city. Few American cities lend themselves to represent the world. New York has its Statue of Liberty where "From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome" and all the worlds' leaders may settle in Washington D.C. if nowhere else, but what has America contributed to the war to end all wars beyond the 116,708 military deaths? The Liberty Memorial was the answer given by Kansas City, the first and only city to answer the question. 

I volunteer on Fridays and spend my time mostly talking to the old men - some veterans, some historians, others war buffs, and all the definition of an American. In my world, as short a life as I have lead, I feel as though I keep a secret shared with these men, a passion for a period in our history long forgotten by most. It is an experience powerful enough to redefine my idea of this 'gap year' - as I am supposed to call it. Maybe, without planning, it is to be the year of my life. 

I am a citizen

When I was a senior in high school - I wanted to be the President of The United States - I was the class president of 100 teenage girls and I believed I could rule the free world. I liked working for the people and affecting change - I liked the physical and visual rewards of the job - nothing went unsung, everything was for betterment, and therefore, more noble than going along with the alternative ways to pass time in school, homework and sleep. 

I owe my political awakening to my government teacher, Mr. Sirridge, an ex-tobacco lawyer who gave inspired lectures in a course every student had to pass to graduate - which meant a largely apathetic audience and a few true believers. I was one of them and I wanted to be president. The perfect citizen, the ideal citizen, the die-hard - it is an idea I can put all of my heart into knowing that only good can come of it, a rare inevitability.

Taking care of people of one nation is the highest honor, bestowed upon an individual worthy of the sacred trusts of millions - and when I think about the great men who have come to bear these burdens - I am left speechless and thoughtful for awhile while trying to understand how a baby, in 35 years or more, can grow up and become a man for all men. For me such greatness equals that of ten lifetimes. The pride of these men past is inherent in each American born and arriving, in our blood as much as we are of Irish, Italian, Jewish, Asian, and African descent and isn't that something? 

When I am an old woman, I want to hold my president now and my president future to be stuff of myth, legendary like Lincoln, Roosevelt and Reagan. I can laugh in the moment on political blunders, but only for a moment, as overall I am disheartened by disrespect in mass for the man worth ten lifetimes, our president, whatever party might claim him. 

A serious post on the most serious of nights, the presidential election 2008. Congratulations Senator Obama,  - I will be no less than the ideal citizen for you and anyone else whom I call my commander in chief. 

The cast of characters

THE FATHER: John

Reminds me of Steve Martin. Overwhelmingly Irish and thanks to him, so am I. He likes the movie Mean Girls and is maybe the worst gossip I know. Catchphrase: "T.M.I."

THE MOTHER: Mary Ellen

Wishes her children were 10 years old again. Bakes constantly, even if asked to stop. Catchphrase: "Bless your heart."

THE BROTHER: Sean

Played with GI Joe's as a kid. Now is a real-life GI Joe serving in Afghanistan for a year. Clean freak and urban-dweller. Catchphrase: "Are you going to clean that?" 

THE SISTER: Mary

We don't know where she came from. Bill O'Reilly's protege. Don't let the photo fool you - she's just as weird as the rest of us...more on that later. Catchphrase: "Lets go to Chipotle...or Taco Bell."

THE OLDEST SISTER: Shelley

A new mother and nurse and the weirdest of us all. Secretly likes to color and can't sleep alone for days after watching a scary movie. Catchphrase: "I'm super cute...I'm just kidding...no I'm not."

THE BABY: John Glynn III

Son of Shelley and John Glynn II. A real man's man, man about town.He bullies the kids at daycare. Catchphrase: "wee-ew wee-ew wee-ew."

the red dress, part I

Location: Mitzy London's, Overland Park, KS

Time: an hour before close

Scenario: unsure. Unable to make up mind about purchase.

I am a paid writer for yelp.com - which is a local reviewing website. Today my job was to sift through the endless rows of shops along the new one nineteen strip mall and judge them. At the end of my excursion, I found this dress in the corner of the 'lifestyle store' or so the website says. For $58 I told the woman at the cashier I'd sleep on it. Unfortunately, "we don't do hold..." she said. I guess I won't sleep too well tonight at the thought of someone else buying my dress.

"Christmas is coming up," I told her - trying to make an excuse to purchase it impulsively. And then she looked at me like she didn't know why I was telling her this. "I'll just take a photo for reference," I told her - but really - it was just to share with my fellow bloggers for this post. 

Should I buy the dress?! Write in and let me know. 

Sunset to night in Kansas City

When it's 70 degrees in November in the Midwest - it's a good day. I haven't been outside this much ever - not even summer. At this moment - why write about myself when fall colors and foliage are so much more interesting. I'll let the images speak for themselves...

I call this: sunset in Johnson County - can you see the SUV's?

The elusive dog strikes again...

I miss my sister Shelley and I can't wait until she comes home this Thanksgiving. It's going to be like old times - except I'll be posting photos of all the embarrassing crap we do on this blog (probably without her consent). My brother's coming home from Afghanistan for two weeks - I haven't seen him in eight months. For the sake of the family - I'm going to try and craft some sort of pseudo-healthy menu. If anyone has any recipes or tips for me, please write in.

Another morning spent in the yard

Here are few more images from the best of fall in Kansas City. I was lucky to catch Grover in one of them but from this point on I think I'll just refer to him as my elusive dog...

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When editing these photos, I went too far with the coloring alterations...and now it looks like I have jaundice - I just wanted to show you how much of a novice I am between my camera and my computer. 

Halloween BUST.

Halloween is the best day of the year - hands down. And I'm not just saying that for timing-sake, I wish Halloween were once a month. And I've believed this since I was a baby - even when I was too sick to trick or treat for two years in a row, age 10 and 11, I remember having a blast.

This year I wanted to relax and hand out candy - something I haven't been able to do for a long time because of some lame party I was dragged to. But for Halloween 2008, I had serious plans: I carved my pumpkin (see above: the 'birthmark' on its cheek is actually a nibble from the squirrels) and I played my Ghost Sounds of 2007 CD (which isn't as cheesy as it sounds - I turned it off when it got dark because I have lots of windows in my house and I got scared - don't judge me.) I stocked up of the trinity: Snickers, Milky Way, and Reece's plus Starburst for the weird kids who don't like chocolate, and Twix and Hershey's and Mr. Goodbar's and... 

...and not a sole showed up. Nobody - not even one kid with a runny nose and his dad tagging along - nothing! I bought enough candy to give at least 20 kids full pillow cases worth (what you see in the picture is only half of it). Five years ago I'd run out of candy in an hour and now Halloween on my block is like no-mans land. It makes me sad...

... and to cheer myself up I went out and bought a purse from Bacara Designs for $20. It's supposed to be this international store and the price tag said it was from Chotta but when I map-quested it the closest thing that came up was Chota, Tennessee. I think I'll tell people Venezuela. Funny how an international store had such a preppy pattern - everything else was either a wool parka or something carved from wood. 

Fall Madness

This is my dog Grover - in his most natural form. He's a male dog and he's shameless for attention. He tries to dominate the neighborhood puppies and he's kind of a bully when he wants to be. But most the time, in his backyard lair away from prying eyes he likes to bury and dig up anything he can get his paws on and he's a sucker for peanut butter.

Today I tried to have a little photo shoot with him - and as you will see, things went awry.

All I want to do is take photos of him and all he wants to do is get pet. We both were inevitably dissatisfied...

...and this is the moment captured where Grover decides that cameras are scary...and he runs. 

I tricked him. I started shaking his dog biscuit box - devious. He caught on quick though when he saw the flash of the camera. My goal was to catch him uninhibited, free, barking and scratching but ironically the camera made him do the most unnatural things, like refuse a biscuit - never in his life has that happened before.

This was the only way I could get him - from by back-porch window. He didn't see it coming until I shifted the curtains a little and almost immediately after he saw me he ran. I think he thinks my camera is the devil (look at the fear in his eyes!) I stopped chasing him after this - he's so sensitive.

These leaves are always the last to fall on the block - they're shameless! The last leaf will fall the day before a blizzard - you mark my words - and I'll spend the next 7 hours frozen in my front yard raking the brittle bundles. 

Fall 2008: The view from my front door. There used to be children on this block and now it seems I'm the youngest one. Awful. But the street looks pretty today, doesn't it?