january, the end

this past weekend, we rode a lot of buses for many hours to visit a northernmost province here in cambodia. and to visit friend who lives in said province.

and i learned that while some people might hate being cramped into a pretty small bus seat for countless hours and then repeating the same travel experience 36 hours later, i love it.

i love the endless amounts of sitting and thinking it affords me.  the hours of watching rice field, water buffalo, and street-side "cafe" ride past.  the endless moments of people watching and life pondering.

it's utterly satisfying unto the soul.

to round out january and welcome in a month i'm super excited about (leap year, people! say hello to february 29th!), let's visit the final pictures in my photo a day series you can follow on my tumblr.

what'd you do this month?

the daily cambodia: advertising

As others who have spent a good deal of time living in other countries will tell you, one of the best parts of the experience can be the daily humorous things you witness as your new country attempts to develop or grow or simply just fold in some of those more Western things that we take for granted in our culture.

In particular, English signage or general wordage can prove quite hilarious.

To begin, let's digest two fine examples of advertising I've seen in the last few weeks.  Perfectly enough, both of these examples come from imports from OTHER Asian countries- Japan and China.

You know you want to buy these  amazing butter cookies that are produced meticulously, delicious loved by all.  Also, you should know that they have adopt advanced technology to make these cookies.

Or perhaps that is simply a general directive to the consumer to avoid being left behind, technology wise?

Get thee to a Best Buy!

Social status is heavily based on the color of one's skin here.  The lighter the better, and they've taken to using everything they can to lighten- or whiten- here.  See above, wherein we've imported a miraculous treatment from China called LOVE Speckle-dispelling & Whitening Distillate Set, which describes itself best as an In-depth Whitening Cleaning Milk Whitening Tender Mend Liquid Skin Life Liquid and Spot Dispelling Cream.

Of course.  Don't forget to use the Tender Mend liquid before the Skin Life liquid, and apply the final cream.

All sales final.

vlog: my worst haircut. ever.

as i mentioned yesterday, my mother, cindy, allowed my independence to flourish as i grew up.  this not only turned me into the woman i am today but also allowed for an outpouring of terrible hair decisions and outfit choices as a young girl.

the sad part is, you'd expect that having made terrible choices at seven, and ten, by thirteen, i'd have earned some common hair sense. you already know i didn't, friends.

and so we had the saga of the maroon hair.  wherein, yours truly decided that dark brown hair was mine to be had, not realizing that the box of choice was overloaded with red highlights, which would react oddly with my own natural red undertones thus producing maroon hair.

maroon as kelly kapowski's face during the homecoming episode where she got a zit and used zack's miracle zit cream that actually instead just gave her a huge maroon rash all over her face?

except, instead of getting homecoming queen anyway (like kelly!), i got to freak out and rush to have my hair stripped of all color and then redyed in an attempt to return to the mousey brown i was trying to avoid.  and endure copper colored hair instead.

and thusly, i didn't learn from my seven year old self, who, as you'll see, opted for a bowl cut. for reasons unknown.

world, meet bowlcut kate. bowlcut kate, meet ridicule world.

thoughts? reactions? are you done giggling yet?

tell me you've done worse. tell me!

or, just join us next week in vlogging and share:

• What is one of your current daily routines? Record it and show us! Ideas include your makeup or hair-doing, your daily commute, your breakfast routine, whatever! Just share a little slice of your life!

we tend to vlog sometimes (join us!):

Adventures in Love and Happiness

Folly Life

Forget me Not!

Heart on Homestead

Conventional Bliss

Life's Journey with a Smile

what's the haircut you're pondering right now? 

of permed bangs and a 200th post

when i was in fifth grade, i gave my very first political stump speech. the year was 1995, and bill clinton was up for re-election, running against bob dole. as we read our weekly reader, our teacher asked us who we would vote for and i found myself rising out of my seat to refute what a classmate had said about bill clinton being too young for the job and other things they were likely repeating from what they'd heard their parents' say at the dinner table.

that day, i stood my ground on the premise that we could in no way elect bob dole because, quite frankly, the man was too old, and to be sure, we didn't want to elect a president that would all too soon keel over from a heart attack, no?

the best part of the speech, in my opinion, was the enactment of said heart attack i then gave, collapsing into my chair, to much applause from my peers.

(the applause may have been in my mind, as i was quite an imaginative child.)

ponder, if you will, what a ten year old who will go to great lengths to speak out against old men for president will do when given the chance to dress and make decisions for herself?

if you guessed permed bangs, silk purple shirts, overalls and rose-tinted round glasses...

...sadly, you were right.

from a very young age, my mother had very little choice but to let me dress myself, let me advocate for my own hairstyles and make decisions about my general appearance. i'd hazard a guess it was an exercise in sanity preservation for my parents, and perhaps a bit of choice vindictiveness as i now realize, being an adult and all, that there must be something quite satisfying about letting your daughter choose many askance wardrobe options and know that someday, in ten or fifteen years, you'd get to witness, first hand, their self-realization that they were, in essence, insane.  and they should have listened to you.

i'd imagine that's how it'd be anyway.

especially if your mid-twenties daughter continues to do silly things like wear (and actually LURVE) oversized glasses.

i've never strived for stylish.  i've always chosen those things that i think are fun, quirky and silly and worn them. much to my detriment, i suppose.

except for those damn permed bangs.  they were the sad results of me trying to be stylish and cool and up to date.  all of my friends had perms in 1994 and 1995 (we were so COOL in idaho!)  all i wanted in the whole world was curly hair.  my brown, long, straight hair was my everest.

but permanent waves were one thing that cindy put her foot down on.  after what i can only guess were weeks of whining and complaining and maybe even crying, she relented.  but just an inch.  no taking a mile with MY cindy.

and so a family friend/hairstylist permed my bangs in her kitchen on saturday afternoon.

so can you understand when i cringe just the tiniest bit when i imagine having a little girl and having to raise what is sure to be mini-kate, in all her "i dress myself, i choose terrible glasses, i beg for a perm and end up looking like i have a chia pet on top of my forehead for my school pictures" glory?

and that's not even taking into account the dangly skeleton earrings i insisted on wearing in my fourth grade picture, or the velour striped shirt in sixth grade.

some things never change

i share this all with you in the spirit of this being my two hundredth post, and it feels apropos to do a bit of soul sharing on such an occasion, no?


you are now welcome to share your musings on my ten year old self. or your ten year old self. whichever you prefer.




*eta: i am struggling to upload my vlog for tomorrow, so it's more likely you'll get it on monday.  i hope some of you will decide to join in, and in the spirit of this post, share your worst haircuts!* 

milestones: 8 years. 6 months.

today marks the middle day between two very important milestones.

yesterday was the the eight year anniversary of topher and i meeting.  in the wedding blog world, i've often seen this referred to as a "meetaversary."

ok.

tomorrow is the six month anniversary of our moving to cambodia.  of our physical arrival on cambodian soil, marking the true official beginning of this amazing job, journey, experience.

6 months in Cambodia and Day One in Cambodia

topher and i have never been the hugest of anniversary celebrating type people.  we much prefer the random moments to the official ones- like that time that he got me a wii on our four months married anniversary.

but we've always acknowledged that day that we met.  we may still disagree about a few things, like what i was wearing that day, but still.

so here's to eight years, topher, and to six months living this amazing cambodian life.

Then. Now.

cheers to choosing to embark on this awesome, joyful, crazy ride of peace corps volunteerism together.

cheers to finally remembering meeting each other that cold january night freshman year.

cheers to eight long, whirlwind years of a lot of laughing, the right amount of crying, and an amazing amount of other -ings.

and here's to eighty years more and many months more living in the kingdom of wonder.

dreams, lately

i've always been the kind of person that remembers her dreams.  maybe not full out dreams, but nearly always snippets and flashes and brilliance of color and frozen images.

i've also always been the kind of person who tries to explain to her husband what she dreamed about when she wakes up.

the below, details changed daily, is a common occurrence in our bedroom:

"i dreamed about you! we were at a theme park type place and then everything turned to giant blow up rubber playhouses, like those things you can rent, and then i really had to get to the other side but we kept getting bounced and then something about your nose was wrong...i can't really explain but it was really weird."

poor topher.

but see lately, i've been having dreams and i wake up with feelings and small pieces of pictures. remnants that i can physically feel, that leave lasting impressions.

like mosquitoes.  i swear, i will shut my eyes and drift off, only to jerk awake again because i can SEE the mosquito hovering and landing on my shoulder or ankle or cheek.

not to mention that i sometimes wake up and i'm actually scratching my mosquito bites? how does my brain tell my arms to do that while i'm sleeping? HOW?

and boomer.  i can actually hear her little playful bark, feel her silky ears, and cuddle her little face in my arms in dreams.  sometimes, we're on the couch in our house in maryland, and we're both tense, waiting to hear topher's footfalls on the stairs, which will surely end our couch time fun.  or i'm getting home from work and she's making her excited growl barks and her toes are scratching on the wooden floor from overjoyment.  

and then i wake up, and i can't believe those ears, that nose, that little furry thing is far away.

and then there's this.  a soft, small head with light brown hair. a perfect little face, scrunched up, and then, in the next moment, sleeping in a stroller, sunlight streaming overhead, and then the same head in the nook of my arm, squished up against my chest, me breathing in the sweetness. i can feel the little blue blanket, emanating little body warmth in my arms.  i can feel the tuft of hair tickle my nose as i inhale the sweet baby scent.

and sometimes, terrifyingly, i wake with the most incredible yearning pain in my heart.  for that little face.  and i tell myself, really? we've got a plan here, and uterus, you need to go back to sleep, we've got some years until that happens.

but it's just so real.

your dreams, lately?

Vlog Friday: I wish it would snow in Cambodia

Can you believe that today is actually the TWENTIETH of January? How and when did this happen?

Also, can we just discuss for a second- does anyone else inevitably sneeze when they tweeze their eyebrows?  

So, if there is one thing that makes it so unbelievable unto me that it is January 20th, it's the fact that there is absolutely no snow, or cold air, or any change in the season at all.  As my friend Jill says, time sort of stands still here.  The sun rises at 5:45 and sets at 5:45, every day, as it has since we moved here in July.  

So in honor of missing such things snow, let's reminisce about my favorite snow days.

Join us next week- I have something HILARIOUS to share!

• What's the worst haircut you've ever had? Describe it! Bonus points for pictures!

Join those of us who Vlog!

Adventures in Love and Happiness

Folly Life

Forget me Not!

Heart on Homestead

Conventional Bliss

Life's Journey with a Smile

oh, 17 year old me, how smart you weren't

Growing up, I always thought that the only way to manage a household budget was via one shared account.  Both partners contributed their full salaries to said account, received and used personal debit cards for said account, and shared and utilized salaries equally, regardless to ratio of salaries contributed to said account.

You know?  This was quite a hot button issue for me, in my incredibly life-experienced seventeen year old mind.  This was the ultimate way to manage finances because it was the way my parents had done theirs.

In fact, I can even recall telling Topher that I would REFUSE to marry anyone who wanted SEPARATE accounts.

Ah, how the fates could smite me, if they existed.

Back in America, after we got married, I didn't even think of relinquishing my personal bank account.  According to the plan Topher and I had worked out (the plan that was nothing like I'd envisioned nine years ago), I was supposed to transfer my direct deposit into our joint account.

I never did it.

Topher and I had set up a plan, that we will still implement when we return.  In essence, our joint account will hold the majority of our money, including bills, our mortgage, etc, and we'll divide an even amount out each month for personal spending- for fun things we want!  We'll also take out small amounts into savings for emergencies and travel.

And then two weeks ago, we had the revelation that we could still use the same idea here in Cambodia.  It was a real revelation because I was riding a bike, and that's when real epiphanies happen.

Currently, we've been managing two separate accounts, and spending them separately.  We'd do our best to evenly split food from the market and general supplies for our house.  If we felt like being nice, we'd buy dinner for the other person.  It's actually quite different from how I've seen at least another fellow PC couple manage their allowances, and of course, it's the exact opposite of how I'd always said I'd run my marriage finances.

I guess my independent streak has overtaken the sensibilities of my seventeen year old self.  Or in my infinite wisdom of my additional nine years of life, I've come to realize that maybe there isn't a way to handle household finances that will actually predict relationship success?

God, I'm so smart at the ripe age of 26.

So!  We realized we could manage our Volunteer allowances in a similar fashion as we would regular salaries in our home of record.

Thusly, starting next month, we're planning on contributing a same amount of money for food at the market and supplies, and ensuring we have a good amount set aside for travel.  We'll still be mainly independent, but maybe we'll do my seventeen year old self proud.

Is your current plan for money management how you always planned it?

while my chest tremendously aches

such a dramatic title for such a wee little pup.

let's chat for a moment about the small ache that i carry around in my chest each day.  that little part of me where i actually lose my oxygen, where the sadness presses against my lungs and hearts and shoots a resounding gong of lament when i see a certain four legged furry thing in a picture, on skype, or even another furry thing on the streets of cambodia.

the CERTAIN little furry thing is named boomer.

she is deeply loved not only be me but by countless others.

her wacky little ear, her fuzzy little belly, her relentless little growl at the doorbell.

each piece is a heavy and sharp pang.

and every time i ride my bike, i see countless furry reminders of my boomer.  furry little animals, covered in invisible fleas, missing spots of fur, often with rib cages protruding through it all, noses scouring plastic bags and rubbish piles for remnants of rice.

endless pangs for man's best friend that are anything but in my new country.  friends that are in fact rather guard dogs, things to be tolerated, but more often a nuisance, something that gets in the way of all moving vehicles on the roads, loud thumps when they aren't seen after the sun has set.

it's not that cambodians hate dogs- i haven't seen anyone maliciously attempt to seriously harm a dog.  and it's not that it's a bad place with bad dog-hating people. it's just the pup reality here.

and the reality just is.

and to end on a happy note, a video of the boomster playing a favorite game called "slide on the floor" at my parent's house.

how deeply would you miss your furster if you moved to another country?

kmai style

As an English teacher Volunteer in Cambodia, I go through several phases of outfits each day.  These usually correspond to the two or three showers I take each day, which most Khmer people will tell you is a necessity when you live in a tropical (read: hot and humid, every day) climate.

It's been interesting getting used to the idea and then the physical reality of sweating through layers of shirts and clothing items each day.  I used to think I was gross when I sweat through my armpits while teaching in America.  Now I realize I didn't understand true sweating until I had sweat running down my thighs and creating large sweat circles on my back on a daily basis.

So, for your leisurely Monday morning perusing, a walk through my daily styles.

Let's start with a typical work outfit.  A sampot (a long skirt that folds and secures via a metal clasp on my hip) and a shirt I've had made here for six dollars.  

Let's take a little closer look at that Khmer style shirt, and admire those poofy sleeves and RUFFLES. I'm kind of a ruffle whore now?  As in, why would I purchase a hand made shirt without ruffles now?  I'm pretty sure I'm going to bring ruffles back to the United States.  They were absolutely a thing at J. Crew a few years ago, and I think it's time they return.

When I'm not working, but I want to still be seen in public, I adorn a variety of more casual yet still modest clothing, most especially my jersey gaucho-ish pants I brought in three colors from the U.S.  

When I'm bumming around the house though, I'll usually go for one of two looks.  Here you'll see a slightly more appropriate/I could still talk to our host family without too many looks outfit, though I'll admit, I more often wear a tank top with one of the shorter sleep shorts I brought with me. HELLOPASTYWHITETHIGHS.

Ah, yes, and then the sarong.  Used for toweling off, walking around and generally anything.  Usually worn as a skirt by Khmer women when they arrive home to cook or clean, though I prefer to pair it with a tank top, usually secured just below the chest.

Quite exciting, no?

I'm pretty sure it'll be an adjustment when I return to 'merica and will be expected to embrace my plain ole pencil skirts and cottony blouses.

Damn, I miss pencil skirts.

Vlog Friday: Rihanna meets Stand Up meets Wally Lamb meets Harry Potter

Welcome to Friday, friends!  This morning, I woke up with a slight head cold. Mostly my left nostril is runny and stuffed, at the same time. Seemingly impossible, but not.

The worst part of having a cold is when you're me having a cold. Firstly, because I hate blowing my nose.  I hate it.  Topher is pretty sure I didn't even really understand how to do it, but I know it's because I simply hate the feeling of forcing out gross stuff out of my nose.  I'd much rather just sniff.

Which is the second worst part. Because then I sniff and sniff and sniff and I get a headache and even WORSE Topher then sits there and sniffs to make fun of me.

Jerk.

On to the vlog.  You get to listen in to my favorite songs- including a Khmer re-make of Beyonce's Halo.

Have you seen a good movie that I need to watch? I'm so helplessly out of the loop.

Oh, you want to see the music video for the Khmer song? Of course! Here you go!

Cole tells me some parts of the U.S. have been hit with some major snow. So! Do a vlog next week, as we talk about our favorite snow day childhood memory!

Join in with some fun, cool people, yeah!


What are your movie, book and song recs for a girl living far away?

january, thus far.

did you know that i've been taking a photo each day this month? did you know you can find it at my tumblr site?

and now i've got them here for you.

the first twelve days of january. kate style.

so january.

did i mention that i've been the BlogHer Life section's featured blogger for the past week? it was a pretty great january day when i got that email.

in other january news, i'm having a slight internal existential life what-am-i battle that is manifesting itself externally via my blog header. if you click over and have noticed, this may be the third new header just in twenty twelve.  i can't seem to find what i want.

so when all else fails, i go for something that looks like my four year old self would have drawn.

ah, well.

it is january, after all.

(suggestions welcome.)

on the clarity of murky water

I've grown accustomed to the sound of rushing water.  Rushing water filling the bucket, digging into my thigh as its weight grows increasingly each minute, as I dare myself to hold it just a little bit longer.

The satisfying pouring that bring the basins to nearly full, ready for the onslaught of dusty skirts and sweat ringed shirts.  The quiet moment of me slowly sinking, sitting, the cool tile greeting my calves.  An almost graceful, fluid motion for the girl who is anything but.

The soap bubbles cascade over the mountains of blues and greys, and I slowly squeeze, squilch, squash the soap between my fingers, between threads of cotton and polyester.  Slowly, methodically, contracting my fingers, in and out, in and out, moving from one piece to another.  Pushing, pulsing the clean in.  Pushing, pulsing the grime out.

Pushing, pulsing the clarity in.  Pushing, pulsing the clutter out.

Warm sunlight hits the water as it turns toward murky, hits my arms as the tendons stretch and move.  My fingers begin to ache as the water darkens, proof of my efforts, my exertion.  One by one, I pull each mountain, streaming with water, straining with fullness.  Again, my fingers go to work, ringing and wrangling until it drips no more.

Each movement is a new thought, a new gratitude, a new joy.  Of thinking, of glimmering thoughts of small consequence, humming from stream to stream.  Not of all the work that is to come, not of the things that must be accomplished, must be achieved.  Not of success, or failure.  But of color, of sound, of gritty feelings in my veins.  Of silly things, happy things, exactly-where-I-want-be things.

Of exactly where I want to be things.

to fry sauce, to arctic circle, to idaho, to uncles-in-law!

i've had two loves in my lifetime.  i lost one to maryland, and i brought the other to cambodia.

pictured above, you'll see my first love.  his name is fry sauce.

fry sauce.

FRY SAUCE.

for seventeen of the most amazing years, this golden sauce graced my fried and cheesy foods.

fry sauce was handed out with my mcdonalds chicken nuggets and fries. 

fry sauce was eaten with my fried cod at skippers.

fry sauce was enjoyed with my cheese curds from dairy queen.

and fry sauce was enjoyed, perhaps most of all, with my greasy cheeseburgers and crunchy chicken strips at arctic cirle.

fry sauce was on tap, people, in my hometown.  ON TAP.

when i moved three thousand miles away to washington, dc, i didn't just leave behind my family and glorious mountains.

i left behind my fry sauce.

for years, i've tried to recreate it.  in my college dining room, i would mix ketchup and mayonnaise in a desperate attempt to have FRY SAUCE.*

on a road trip through the united states in oh-eight, i asked for fry sauce at every fast food restaurant we graced, in hopes of seeing just how far east this glorious, golden GLORY had reached.

i didn't get any until we hit my hometown again.

why world, WHY don't you know that which is fry sauce?!

so i'm here to say just a few things.

utah, if you can make mitt romney happen, come ON-we've got to be able to make fry sauce happen!

if you can get guacamole on your burger at fuddruckers, we've GOT to be able to get them to see the light of that which is fry sauce!

and if i can get fry sauce sent to me in CAMBODIA, we've got to be able to get it to dc by my return!

yes, fry sauce in cambodia.  all thanks to one man by the name of john, who is the uncle-in-law extraordinaire.

mom and dad, you can go ahead and be jealous because i KNOW down there in north carolina, sometimes you just speak out loud to the heavens WHY HEAVENS OH WHY CAN'T WE MAKE FRY SAUCE HAPPEN HERE IN THE SOUTH?!?!

speaking of fry sauce, how do i know this is going to be REAL fry sauce? 

two tell tale signs.

a. it's made in UTAH, people.  utah is where arctic circle originates.  it is the homeland of my golden god, the fry sauce.

b. upon close inspection, it contains tell tale signs of TRUE FRY SAUCENESS.  flecks of deeper orange-red grace the sauce, letting me know that this could be the real thing.

 this week, i'm off to find as many ways to make fried things that i can use as the carrier of my fry sauce to my mouth.

because that's really all those chicken nuggets, fries, and chicken strips ever were, people.

*this never worked, friends.  because fry sauce is composed of those ingredient both undefined and innumerable, usually including things like ketchup and pickles and something mayo-ish, and methinks the magic of the rocky mountains.

thanks, john, for the fry sauce and the skype chat. oh, and the underwear!

so, who's going to help me make fry sauce happen?

Vlog Fridays: We're Back, Boopsters!

I kind of wanted that there title to say "We're back, B words!" but then I realized I actually strongly dislike women calling other women B-atches, so I decided to make up my own word.

And now I realize it looks a little bit like I'm calling you all boobs.  Sorry about that.

I'd like to take a second to expound a bit on something I say below.  I've had a recent revelation- Tuesday, to be precise- about life as a Peace Corps Volunteer and technology- specifically, the interwebs.

At first, I had a clearly un-defined stance that technology is good, and mainly around and to be used sparingly but without guilt.

And now, I have a more clearly defined thought that essentially says using the internet in much the same way that I did when I lived in 'merica is not wrong. It's also not always possible, but in general,  it can happen and that's ok.

Up until this week, I had not watched a single video or downloaded any shows or movies save for when I was using free wi-fi at a guesthouse or the like.  Then, I was opened to the ways of far less money for far more internet GBs, and I realized that just because I live in a whole new world (to me) doesn't mean I actually live in a whole new world.

Everyday, people ask me if I play Facebook, what my email address is, and tell me about a funny clip they saw online that morning.

Technology, it's everywhere, man! And I'm done having an indistinct opinion on it.  So, I've decided I can be a great Volunteer and normally communicate with the outside world via my blog, my email and Skype as I would if I was in my country of origin.

Well, the Skype part is new, but wouldn't it be fun if we went to lunch via Skype instead of meeting at the California Pizza Kitchen?  Let's try it in 2013!

Ok, finally, the vlog.

You should join in next week, as we talk about our:

Favorite book, movie and song from 2011.

Also, do tell me: why is it so great? You see, I only have a certain amount of GBs and I am wanting to be using them on the best books and movies!

Cheers to Vlog Fridays with some fun, cool people, yeah!

Do you have any planned or unplanned goals for 2012?

o coozy, my coozy

o coozy, my coozy

how you delight me each day

how lucky i am

that you were sent my way

twelve thousand miles it was

it took you to travel to me

and now you are lovingly wrapped

up in my spindly fingers daily

o coozy, little did you know, 

that you were off to a new land

to do the great bidding

of a diet coke drinking old hand

but since your arrival

great pleasure you've delivered

and put to immense use

you've surely endeavored

so o coozy, my coozy

i do say unto thee

thank you for your cool wrappings

and cool pirate too, i've named smee

completely cambodia: paper and pens and color-coding, oh my!

There are a number of photos I've snapped over the last 5 months and 2 weeks (who's counting?) that simply speak to me as:

Completely. Cambodia.

Today we feature said stationary items that fit the bill for this new series, if you will.

These came to me by way of the two-day conference meeting I mentioned and helps me enumrate on those things which put my prior thoughts on organization and color coding skills to shame.

To begin with, article A.  The waterproof folder with snap enclosure, available in a variety of garishly overwhelming colors.

Exhibit B.  The gratuitous use of copyrighted images.  In our exhibit here, we see Pooh and friends chasing butterflies at Angkor Wat.

But of course.

Artifacts C1 and C2.  And here we have the testament to all things organization- the inclusion by the Office of Education, Youth and Sports of two pens.  Both a blue and red pen are the standard ware for those who have passed through the Cambodian education system.

And finally, Example D.  The reason for the two pens.  The ultimate in note taking, taught from birth (I'm assuming), wherein the youth learn that titles, headings, and general notes all go in rotating blue-and-red colors.  Drawing a box? Draw it in red and put the writing inside in blue.

And that my friends is how you become Khmer with a simple trip to the Office Max nearest you.

On another note, Topher is CRUSHING me when it comes to yesterday's post.  More than 200 people have viewed the post, but we're working at a ten percent comment rate here.  Please, cyber friends, and lurkers, help a girl out!

Unless, of course, you agree with the hubs that the photo essay was in fact not worthy of your time.

In that case, actually, tell me so anyway, because it's still a comment toward the remaining eighty or so needed.

Do you have a set system for note taking that rivals the Khmer way?

on water up the nose and a small matter of an apology

on the occasion of the the third of january, twenty twelve, i do heretofore present unto you a photo essay encompassing a small myriad of subjects.

ahem.

number one.

water up my nose.

number two.

the word hyperbolic.

number three.

a small matter of 100 comments.

the heroine of our photo essay, a lovely woman, name of kate.

today, kate argued with a khmer server over five hundred riel, or 12.5 cents, for which said woman was trying to overcharge kate and her friends for a coca cola.  

kate also purchased a chocolate bar, a fresh appearance at the local i love you mart, ripe for the picking and devouring.  our heroine could just imagine its velvety, smooth milk chocolate ripples cascading over her tastebuds, envisioning the luscious slab to encase the most delicious of smooth milk fillings which was heretofore promised on the external coverings.

to be frank, excitement was all encompassing.

the next moment, the anticipated chocolate was unearthed, quickly snapped into edible portion sizes and nibbled like a small school girl getting her first taste of tater tots with fry sauce in warmth of her elementary's cafeteria.

and so it was, that on this third day of january, twenty twelve, the bar of milky-filled chocolate was perhaps the farthest thing from chocolate, and was in fact nothing to be compared to tater tots with fry sauce, which are a divine deliverance, and from which we can only assume this chocolate was created by none other than clark w. griswold, in his office at the food manufacturing company he works for and produces such things as liquid-less milk and cereal.

to the point, chocolate it was not and excitement was ill-had.

and thusly did our heroine quickly jump to her saving grace of water to erase the taste of the tasteless brown wax, in hopes of quickly extinguishing all remembrances of things for which she was over the moon looking forward to just three minutes prior.

it was, the deep sip of regret.

regret was had not just for the bite of chocolate-imposter, but also for the too-quick-action of water reprieve for kate not only was unable to rid her tongue of wax-like remnants, but also did in fact, for good measure, receive a healthy dose of cold water up the nostrils.

in fact, water proves to be an ally of the brown wax, in torment.

though, we shan't despair, as our heroine was able to quickly capture, with a small amount of re-enactments by a screen-actors-guild-certified actress, the moments we've just discussed and share them with her companions of late, a certain husband and kentuckian friend.

our louisville lover was quite enthralled with the tale and accompanying art, while the hubs-villain did declare his complete lack of enjoyment for the tragedy.

to which kate did exclaim that such a photo essay and tragic tale would certainly claim one million notes, which led us down the dark path of a recurring disagreement:

is it hy-per-BO-lic or hy-PER-bo-lic?

as in, the number one million was simply hyperbolic, but the villain-topher did state that if the heroine could achieve such a rousing audience, he would reverse the chocolate spell by uttering the small words of apology for declaring the woeful tale not worthy of attention.

and so it was agreed that the tale would be spread far and wide and if it could pull the heartstrings of  just one hundred little comments, the husband-villain would be forced to amend and perhaps even atone for his chocolate and photo essay sins!

so i say unto you, dear readers of woe, can you leave a small token or word so that our antagonist shall be vanquished and our heroine shall rise once more?