MADAME LUKE’S DICTIONARY. Dispisal, n. An imaginary appliance used to dispose of articles and/or persons one despises. “My sister gave me a pair of sweatpants with writing across the ass. I deposited them directly in the dispisal.”

NEW DEFINITION FOR OLD WORDS. Fashionista, n. Formerly used to describe an expert on haute couture. New improved meaning: A cappucino server who reads Vogue (i.e. Barrista + Fashion).

HOT FASHION TREND SPOTTED. During an infrequent night-on-the-town last evening, I was shocked to see that the Serpico look is back and hotter than ever. Unfortunately I don’t think any of the young men sporting the scruffy-face-knit-hat-oversized “cop undercover making drug deals” look were old enough to even know who Serpico is. I think it was more of an Ashton-Kutcher-with-a-hangover thing.

WHY I SUCK AT FINDING A JOB. Here is my inner monologue while perusing the jobs section of the Sunday San Francisco Chronicle:

“Accounting – no. Activity Director – maybe, wait, old people? No. Administrative – yes, oh, advanced computer skills. No. Architect – I wish. Asphalt? No. Auto, Autobody, Automotive – no, no, no. Bakery – yum. Banking – no. Biotech? Caregiver – you’ve gotta be kidding, everyone knows I don’t care. Carpet, Chemist – no thank you. Computer? Yeah, um, no. Construction – with my knees and back? Counselor – see Caregiver. Dental – no. Driver – enough already. Editor! Yes, yes! Oh, audio/video, nevermind. Education – sounds great, too bad about the whole pre-requisite thing. Engineering….hahahaha. Environmental – must be volunteer work. Executive Assistant – been there, done that, and what exactly is so great about this Excel? Finance – investment risk? That would be me as a financial advisor. Oh, and the eight years related experience probably doesn’t mean balancing my checkbook. Fitness…snort. Healthcare…snort snort. Human Resources – not qualified. Maintenance, Management, Marketing Coordinator, Medical, Nursing – over and/or under qualified. Pharmacist, Pilot, Police, Printing – see above. Real Estate, Receptionist, Restaurant – need to actually MAKE money, not lose money with prospective job. Retail. Retail? Not in high school anymore, and secretly despise the general public. Sales – see general public, despising of. Security Guard – vigilante tendencies not a plus. Software, Tailor, Teacher, Telemarketing, Tree Climber. Tree Climber? Visual Effects – hmmmm, that sounds good. For Industrial Light and magic?! Cool! I pull off visual effects all the time – appearing to be a put-together mother-of-three, giving the impression that I am cooking healthful meals for my family, slight-of-hand minimal house cleaning for company, making my 185 pounds look like a svelte 178… Oh, they want compter graphics. I was thinking more old school. And that brings us to Warehouse Stocker – no.

Well, at least I’m trying.”

k

THE BOBBY EWING SYNDROME, or AM I DREAMING NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW? I dream very vividly, always have. Full color, intriguing plots and sometimes enviable dialogue and fully arranged pop songs. However, one type of dream has been popping up more and more frequently, and it’s absolutely one of the more confounding. It’s the “dreams wherein I wonder if I am dreaming, then proceed to sleep and awaken in my dream, therefore proving to myself that I am NOT dreaming, only to really and truly wake up later” type of dream. I can hear my psyche snickering when I actually do come to, and I think, “damn, she fooled me again.” It also makes me a little insecure in real life when I’ll wonder “am I dreaming?” because, really, who can tell anymore with that lying bitch of a dream trickster psyche.

POST-HOLLYWOOD BLOCKBUSTER DREAMS. I am a self-serving casting agent when I’m asleep. We watched “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” on Friday night, and later I dreamed that Angelina Jolie and I were action buddies being chased by assasins, ransacking my dad’s house in search of his toddler-proof hiding place for his arsenal. Unfortunately (but predictably) Angelina ditched me for Lucy Liu.

WILL YOU STILL RESPECT ME? There was a week back in the late 80′s when I dreamed repeatedly that Michael Jackson was my best friend. I was not then, or ever, a Michael Jackson fan, and he rarely showed up on my conscious radar, even though I lived in Hollywood. But in my dreams we had a deep and thoughtful friendship and I was all warm and fuzzy and proud of his accomplishments. When I was awake and would hear or read something about him I would feel this twinge of “aaaw, there’s my old dear friend Michael,” then remember that, of course, I’d never met him. Can anyone explain this?

FAA WARNING. I fly in my dreams, but frequently forget how to land. I’ll leave this open to discussion.

WINCHESTER MYSTERY DREAMS. One of my most frequent dream themes is finding previously undiscovered or forgotten rooms in my house. I’m overwhelmed with one of two feelings. 1) How can I have forgotten this, my favorite room! 2) Thank god we have more square footage, maybe there’s even a closet in here. Pretty transparent, I think.

ODDS AND ENDS AND COMMON DENOMINATORS. My other weekly, monthly or quarterly standards are fairly universal: going to school with no pants on, all my teeth falling out, screaming with no sound coming out, trying to talk but feeling drugged and incoherent, being pushed onstage without a clue as to the play or character, hot ex-boyfriends adopting the physical characteristics of drug-addled former child actors.

And you?

Kim
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……………

MY 7 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER IS IN LABOR. Well, actually she’s not, obviously, but she has a terrible stomach ache and a finely honed sense of high drama, and the combination is resulting in very labor-like moaning, screaming, ranting and writhing. I feel awful for her, because I know how those stomach aches can be, but I can’t help but look at her oddly while I’m thinking, “Wow, you sound exactly like me when I birthed you! If only dad was at home today to see this.” Maybe it’s her screaming, “Make it stop, make it stop! I’m gonna die, I’m dying!” Or maybe it’s my mantra of “Breathe, honey, relax and it’ll come out,” knowing from experience that painful peristalsis and ye olde birth canal log ride are so similar and essentially both need deep breathing and out-of-body calm. Of course she won’t get the big payoff at the end of all her work. I’m really looking forward to her first childbearing experience.

Not really.

Kim

AND THE GOODHOUSEKEEPING SEAL OF APPROVAL GOES TO…Here is the kind of housekeeper I am: When someone comes to my house and the kitchen is sparkly clean and the counter-tops are cleared and lovely, she doesn’t think “Wow, Kim is a really great housekeeper,” she thinks,”Wow, Kim had ants.”

kim

WARNING – POETRY ABOUT MY TELEVISION!

Now That I Have Surround Sound
By Kim

Now that I have Surround Sound I may have an opinion about the Academy Award for sound editing.

Now that I have Surround Sound the subtle innuendo of Hollywood is ever more apparent.

Now that I have Surround Sound I am distracted every time something unexpected happens in a suspenseful movie, thinking it happened in my front yard. Or on my bookshelf.

Now that I have Surround Sound I can listen to my olde timey bluegrass recordings, with extra booming bass all right up in my face, just like it was meant to be.

Now that I have Surround Sound I can incorporate the term “sub-woofer” into my vocabulary.

Now that I have Surround Sound I might have to learn the meaning of Dolby.

Now that I have Surround Sound I can’t get the refrain “And Stereophonic Sound!” as sung by Janis Paige and Fred Astaire, out of my head.

Now that I have Surround Sound I have jumped headlong into the technology of the 80’s.

Now that I have Surround Sound I can run the dishwasher while we are watching tv.