Almost famous.

Celebrities, playlists, lists in general. All things I love. Sadly sometimes celebrities have really awful celebrity playlists. And sometimes they even include themselves on their playlist. Bad form, Jack.

Based purely upon my playlist I'm pretty sure I would make an incredible celebrity.

So here is my "If I were a celebrity" playlist. Enjoy. Or don't.

1) Stick with Me Baby ... Alison Krauss and Robert Plant
2) Headdress ... Amazing Baby
3) Neighborhood #2 (Laika) ... Arcade Fire
4) Laundry Room ... The Avett Brothers

5) Take your Medicine ... Cloud Cult
6) Jesus ... Brand New
7) Lost Cause ... Beck
8) When I'm with You ... Best Coast
9) Howl ... Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
10) Bruises ... Chairlift
11) Concert Pitch ... Empire of the Sun
12) Lolita ... Lana Del Rey
13) Soundtrack 2 My Life ... Kid Cudi
14) Knocked Up ... Kings of Leon
15) I Remember ... Yeasayer
16) I and I ... Bayside
17) Anyone's Ghost ... The National
18) Just Once in My Life ... The Righteous Brothers
19) No One's Gonna Love You ... Band of Horses
20) Cemetery ... Say Anything
21) Phantom Limb ... The Shins
22) Common Reactor ... Silversun Pickups
23) Run ... Snow Patrol
24) Heartlines ... Florence + The Machine
25) This is Why We Fight ... The Decemberists

Playing with Fire.

Hello world, it's been awhile.  Everything is pretty status quo, so not much was missed.

Jokes. A few things happened. Like I adopted two guinea pigs and I had the best party ever so far.

Anyway, I think it's time to discuss the hazards of fire and judging others.

Others being me.

Others sometimes don't like to do the dishes. Or get out of bed before nine. And they may not be entirely logically sound.

And then there are other others (not me) that like to clean everything all the time. And like to do before nine more than the original others (me again) do in their entire day. It is an other other that caused me to hide my dirty dishes in my relatively unused oven before they visited my apartment at 8:30 am. Which is before nine.

Now let us journey into the future. A frozen pizza is purchased. Red Baron, as it were. The king of frozen pizza.

Some days later AJ announces he is coming home for lunch and pizza sounds good.

So, being the darling and sweet wife that I am, I preheat the oven. And then putter around our apartment doing things that I do. Time and logic have recently abandoned me due to a series of events that may be discussed in the future. So at an unknown time later I smell smoke.

I mosey into the kitchen to discover that thick black smoke is pouring out of my oven. Confused, I open the oven door and am unreasonably surprised to find my dishes. On fire. Not little baby flames, but actual flames.

I contemplate calling 911, but I envision the embarrassment of having to explain my conniving, so much more embarrassing than burning down our entire apartment complex (especially considering that one of our neighbors actually lives in her apartment because she is waiting for her house to be rebuilt because it burned down in a wildfire). So much less embarrassing. Obviously.

So I called AJ instead.

And he laughed at me. Actually laughed.

Luckily for my little panic attack prone heart he had just pulled into our apartment complex parking lot. So he put out the fire. And everything was okay again. Except for the handles on some of my knives. Sadly, they were beyond repair.

The point of all this is to say that one, I am incredibly lazy and two, judging is bad. Stop it. Also, welcome back.


*note* Yes, I noticed the multiple changes from present to past tense and so forth. Yes, I realize how annoying that is. Please see point #1.

Nacho cheese. Or not your cheese.

So remember when my nacho cheese got stolen? Maybe not because I'm pretty sure that I never actually mentioned it here. In writing. Anyway.

A couple of months ago I begged mom to buy me one of those huge cans of nacho cheese at Costco. You know the ones.

So she finally bought me one.

Anyway, AJ and I ate the cheese once on chips and then went home for the weekend. And then my roommates ate my cheese, all of it, whilst I was away. Apparently they thought it was left over from a party they had had the previous weekend.

Not left over.

So I get back, hungry for cheese and it is nowhere to be found. I search everywhere, frantically.

Eventually it comes out that my cheese was consumed by accident. New can of cheese was promised.

Promised can was never given to me.

Anyway. Tanner bought me a can of cheese for Christmas. Bahaha.

You're looking skinny like a model.

Recently someone asked my mother if I have an eating disorder.

Frankly, I'm flattered.

Although, if I were to indulge in a disorder I would most definitely be anorexic. Bulimia ruins the enamel on your teeth. And throwing up too much can rupture your throat.

On the other hand, anorexia strips all the fat from your cells and causes you to grow a slight fur to keep your body warm.

And as my darling sister once told me "I'd rather be chubby than cold."

Chubby, warm, and incredibly happy.

Double takes.

Sarah became a teenager. Pretty much over night. One afternoon I come home and find her taking a nap. In her room. With the lights off and the blinds drawn. During the day.

Unthinkable. Absurd.

But that isn't even the half of it.

She hangs out in the bathroom and brushes her hair.

She tried to shave her legs. And cut herself. Which is sort of a rite of passage, I think. Taking a hunk out of one's leg.

She pouts and whines "that's not fair."

She sleeps in. (This is somewhat relative, when I say "sleeps in" I mean "gets up at seven thirty instead of six.)

It's hilarious.

Also, she hid her dirty socks under the sheets on my bed. I still don't really know how to take that.

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Let it be known that I have no qualms about sharing gum. And when I say "sharing gum" I don't mean opening a pack and giving everyone a piece (although, I have no qualms about doing this either). I mean sharing the same piece. Already chewed on.

I'm also okay with chewing a piece gum that is approximately four years old.

Nor does it bother me that I found said gum on the floor a car. Covered in dirt, dust bunnies, and a piece of hair.

I mean, it was still wrapped.

However, this kid I know, also the driver of the car and possible owner of the old-ish gum, does have a problem with chewing ancient gum.

A problem and an incredibly sensitive gag reflex.

So I'm trying not eat weird stuff while he's driving. You know, so we don't die when he up-chucks all over the steering wheel.

For those of you who are wondering how I can manage to share gum and chew weirdly hard and tasteless gum that I found, but cannot go for more than twenty minutes without washing my hands: I never said I was consistent.

I'm aware that this is possibly gross. I also have no qualms about that.

I don't like to eat dirt anymore.

Me: My name is Kimberlyn and I like to eat dirt.

Kimberlyn: My name is Emily and I like to eat dirt.

Sarah: My name is Sarah and I like to eat pumpkin pie.

Duly noted.

When Kimberlyn was a wee lass, say two or three (because now she is at the ripe old age of four), she would say "No, my name is Kimberlyn! And I don't like to eat dirt." Now she actually gets that it is a joke. Sarah, on the other hand, still takes what she likes to eat very seriously. Joking about it would be inappropriate.

Also Kimberlyn can say her "Ks" and "Cs" now. No more "titty tats." Sigh.