What you see isn't always what you get

So, note to self: 5 pm isn't a perfect time to try to make a video; bandwidth is low.


What you see isn't always what you get from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

I made some resolutions

So, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I'm not feeling very funny this week. But it never hurts to try.

48 takes later:


The Importance of Lists from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

Funk

So, absolutely nothing funny has happened all week. I could really use a break.

Welcome back to the Video World

Here I am, after three months of not video blogging, here are three new entries...

One:

I'm back! from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

Two:

Moral Bankruptcy from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

Three:

Gushers from Kimberly Warren on Vimeo.

How to create an awkward little girl

Today I met an eleven-year-old girl who was getting her first pair of glasses. Her mother told me that next week the girl is going to have braces put on. This means that, by next year, she'll be in the seventh grade with glasses and braces. And everyone knows that the seventh grade is single cruelest thing ever created (this list goes something like, The seventh grade, Hitler, the DMV, and so on*), and I really wanted to say something to make her feel better, because the mother had gone to the trouble to tell me she was getting braces, but all I could come up with was, "I had glasses and braces at your age. If nothing else, it'll give you a lot of material for your future comedy routine."


Its my ability to give stellar life lessons that makes me a good optometric technician. Maybe.


*I know what you're probably thinking. Hilter is eviler than the seventh grade. Well, you can just go right on believing that if you want, but all I'm saying is, Hitler had to endure the seventh grade. And if his seventh grade experience was anything like my seventh grade experience, it explains a lot of his lifestyle choices.

CaliMonter

In continuation of my Gross Food Photography string, I present you with our dinner for a few nights ago:

We still haven't stocked our house with all the normal foods, so we had to get creative with dinner. Mike came up with this wonderful East-coast-meets-West-coast sandwich which, thankfully, tasted a whole lot better than it looked.

The sandwich, which we named the Calimonter, is a hot turkey sandwich on buttered sourdough rye bread, with Vermont cheddar sage cheese, avocado, onions, and jalapeño stuffed olives. It deserves a spot in the gross food photography hall of fame.

Take a letter, Maria.

The lady at the post office is out to get me. I got caught trying to illegally ship alcohol across the country one time, and suddenly I'm a menace to society. Even if I did pitch a pretty epic fit, that was weeks ago. She should be over it by now. Every time I go in there now, she's giving me stink eye like I'm some kind of criminal. I cut my hair, and she still recognizes me.  There are 20 thousand nondescript blonde-ish women in Davis, and she STILL recognizes me. I'm going to have to start paying my co-workers to go to the post office for me.

Ugly Duckling

I've always loved my grandfather-esque clothing. I know I've said this before, but they make me feel like Tina Fey. Or like Peggy from Madmen, if I was really convinced there was someone cute under there. I've always felt like my frumpy wardrobe gave me an understated cuteness, as if to suggest that if I just put in a little effort I could be really, really cute. Like the female fashion equivalent to the Clark Kent/Superman thing. All I'd have to do is take off the glasses, and the over-sized sweater, and the big jeans that give me no butt, and shower every once in a while, and I'd be cute. But the thing that I should have learned for the Clark Kent/Superman this is that people are really easily fooled by even the most basic disguise.  I dress frumpy, therefore I am frumpy.


Quack Quack.