Tag Archives: quirky

A bumpy wagon ride

In college I made a mental rule for myself – once I put a sports bra on, a workout or run must take place before I can remove the sports bra.

It’s worked pretty well for me, forcing me into workouts when unmotivated, or perhaps I would have otherwise “opted out.”

Tuesday, I found myself climbing back on the running wagon after recently falling off. (I fall off that doggone wagon so often, you’d think they’d put a recall out for it.) Apparently it had been so long since I’d even put on a sports bra that I had forgotten how to get into it.

I found myself flaying about my room like a drunk octopus, sticking my head into holes that didn’t fit it, trying to find my arms and in general very confused about where everything was going to fit once the arms/head were free. It turns out, it was on backwards.

FYI, the back side of the sports bra does not cover much.

Lest this blog turn into the bra blog, I digress on this matter. But not the run I was suiting up for.

I have another pre-running ritual.

Gertie, my running partner, must do ALL her business prior to departing.

Because nothing will ruin a run faster than having to carry with you a swinging  bag of your dog’s poo.

That’s what home is for.

But this day, I didn’t monitor her goings outside, so I found myself having one of those really awkward moments.

My dog was doing her #2 and I didn’t have a bag.

I HATE that.

Gertie, no! Fumble. Party Foul. Running Fail.

So we did the only thing I could do in that moment.

Ran away. Faster.

And now I have blogged about bras and dog poo today. Do not fear. This blog is not going to turn into Dooce. (I mean, the book deal and popularity would be nice, but it’s not really my shtick.)

What I really wanted to share was, I ran. Despite a few fumbles. No more excuses for not running. At least not this week…. I’m hanging onto that stupid wagon for dear life.


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A very quirky Independence Day

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Pants in the pool, sunburn, and a stuffed but still i-phone-less Mr. Quirky

I have about four posts lined up to write this week, including  a follow-up post to this conversation with DD Girl. It’s kind of awesome.

But while you are waiting, I wanted to share a few highlights from the quirky weekend.

I really needed a weekend after the Vegas trip, a full week, including planning and hosting a party on Thursday night on top of a catch-up week at work.

Luckily it was Roomie’s birthday and celebrations were held at at our old (er, my old) pool Friday night.

There was grilling, drinking, swimming, cannon balling and pants in the pool.

That’s right. I said pants in the pool. You must say this to the tune of “Pants on the Ground.”  (Warning: excessive repeating of this at a pool party could result in severe agitation of fellow attendees.)

Anypants, Roomie’s boyfriend came to a pool party in 90 degree weather wearing pants. (He claims  they were appropriate because they were cool pants, but the grief must still be given.)  After dinner, a few beers and a mandatory 20 minute waiting period (safety first) we all got in the pool.

Ok, so we didn’t wait 20 minutes after we ate. Sorry moms. We still wear our seatbelts though.

But not Mr. Pants. He stood on the sidelines like it was the adult swim.

Finally, we egged him on to get in, pants and all. (Insisting that the pants stayed on.)

Then I entertained annoyed everyone with my “Pants in the Pool” rendition. It was maybe funny the first three times.

The next day, Roomie and I decided to spend more time at the pool still in proper swimming attire, of course. This time the sun was still shining, and per my usual, I was armed with my bag o’ sunscreen and floppy hat.

Now, I’m not sure how this happened, but I still managed to get some burnage. Mr. Quirky was very confused about this because I didn’t get even the tiniest burn in Vegas. And isn’t the sun more powerful the farther south you go?

I am chalking it up to the fact that I did not have a big fruity drink in hand to protect me from the evil sun.

Drinking+ bag o’ sunscreen= no sunburn. Not drinking + bag o’ sunscreen = sunburn. Like that math? (Warning: I did very poorly in math as a student, so I probably wouldn’t rely on this formula.)

While I was soaking up sun, Mr. Quirky was soaking up barbecue sauce.

He judged one of Kansas City’s big barbecue contests this weekend.

That meant he got to eat meat for about four hours.

When he got home, he said he had lots of  little piggy’s, chickens and moo cows in his belly. And his belly was done for.

So what did I do? I whisked him off to dinner with my family.

Because that’s what sensitive wives  do after their husbands have just spent the past afternoon stuffing their faces with lots o’ meat. “Let’s go to dinner, honey! ” (This is typically the kind of wife who who washes her husband’s  i-phone.)

And no, poor Mr. Quirky did not get his new i-phone yet. He is hoping they get more this week. And if they don’t, I may have to build one for him.

Luckily, he has a phone for work that can be used in an emergency.

And by emergency, I mean the cutest nephew in the world is on your lap.

After dinner, Mr. Quirky and I went to see Toy Story III. It was adorable.

And sentimental.

And it made me miss my childhood toys.

How could I ever have been so cruel as to grow too old to play with them?

Good thing I had Sunday to lie around doing nothing, so there was plenty of time to get over my toy abuse guilt.


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What happens in Vegas, gets shared on this blog


A play land for adults.

And these two like to have a lot of fun.

Let’s rehash, shall we?

Note: some things do/should stay in Vegas and will not be shared.

There was a lot of dining going on. Because we like to dine. And Vegas has restaurants.

And we like Vegas for that reason. But even Vegas needs to learn its limits….

These nachos were out of control.

I wanted to hug them, inhale them, get them out of my face and never see them again. In that order.

(Source of obnoxious yet delicious nachos: Blondies Sports Bar, the Mile High Shops.)

Also, I have to call Mr. Quirky out for wincing at the spicy level of his bloody mary.

Silly boy. 🙂

Anywho, when we weren’t eating, we were gambling.

Not anything too obnoxious, just a little fun.

Or a BIG little fun.

For the entire series of the giant lever pull, check out this slide show.

And when we weren’t gambling, we were cocktailing.

Ok, so maybe we did some of that while gambling.

We found this ice bar in Mandalay Bay. Instead of paying to freeze, we paid for a vodka shot in a frozen shot glass.

That’s always fun.

You know what seemed like a good idea after that shot?

<==== (the roller coaster.)


And after that, I couldn’t resist doing this.

Then we returned to the scene of the crime.

The exact spot Mr Quirky asked me to marry him.

No one asked me to marry them this time, but a guy did try to sell us bottled water. I guess when you are married, you just get water.

After a full night of walking the strip, our evening was completed by making new friends at the bar at our hotel.

They were much cooler than the guy (forever here out dubbed “That Guy”) we met our first night at Paris.

He had been to the Anthony Cools hypnotism show.  That Guy walked up to where we were throwing money away, I mean playing video poker.

He told us the show was vulgar & filthy. (And we both kind of wanted to see it after that.) And then he walked away mid-sentence, leaving his ticket next to Mr. Quirky.

The next day, we were minding our own business in the casino at The Flamingo (where we stayed) and suddenly, Mr. Quirky goes, “there’s That Guy!”

I’m not going to lie.

We chased him through the casino in an effort to snap a picture of him.

He hopped on the escalator and I followed him. Mr. Quirky ran down the stairs to get to the bottom before we did and shoot this picture.

In a perfect universe, we’d see him over and over again and take random pictures of us with him in the background.

But alas, the world isn’t perfect and we never saw him again.

Maybe next time, Vegas.


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Happy Birthday (For Realz)

Earlier this week, an e-mail caught my attention.

Happy Birthday, Stephanie! [Department] thanks Stephanie for all she does at [Company.]

There are bagels in the kitchen to celebrate.

Oh my gosh, so sweet!!! And I do love bagels.

Only it wasn’t my birthday.

Not even close.

My birthday is in September.

I stared at the e-mail for an entire awkward minute, not quite sure what to do.

Soon, a few individual e-mails popped in, “oh, I didn’t know it was your birthday! Happy day!”

It turns out it was another girl’s birthday and her name starts with an “S” too. As word spread about the bagels, somehow our names got mixed up and before you could say “pass the cream cheese” I had single handedly stolen S’s birthday.

Later, the e-mail was corrected and we all had a good laugh about it.

Mix ups happen. You start with one thing and a few tiny turns later, it evolves into something quite different.

Take this blog, for example. It started out as a running blog about training for my first marathon. Personally, I think it was just confused and was Queen of Quirky all along, but anywho, it later evolved into….this.

Did you catch that date on the original post?

Five years ago today.

Five years, one marathon, two confused hardly writing years, one divorce, many fire & wine nights and a wedding later, here we are.

I double dog dare you to read the entire thing. Or, skip that and have a glass of wine in honor of Queen of Quirky today.

Cheers to another quirkiful five years to come!


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Camping: It’s for the dogs

[Editor’s note: Gertie wanted to blog about her first camping trip. Who was I to stop her?]

I knew something was up when the stuff started piling at the bottom of the stairs. Some of the stuff smelled like my friend, Penny, so I was pretty excited. Anything that involves Penny is pretty fun.

Then my mom got my leash out, and I’ll admit, I went a little nuts. It wasn’t the running leash. It was the other leash. The leash that means…


Daddy rolled down the windows so I could stick my head out. Sometimes it was scary, so I came back in.

We drove for a while. Daddy and Mommy kept looking at these papers. I wondered what they were up to.

We got out of the car and I saw a lot of stuff in the air. It smelled funny. Kind of like sausages. But then I saw there were some people I knew there. Auntie Erika [Roomie] and Christi [DD Girl] were there. I love those girls.

Daddy and Mommy got out chairs and joined them.

They were all talking and drinking the stuff that makes them laugh a lot.

There were so many smells.

I decided to check out the joint. You know, inspect it to make sure it was ok. First I had to poop. I like to poop when I get somewhere new.

Then I discovered there was some tall grass.

I had never played in grass like this before.

I loved it. It seemed like the perfect place to chill out and keep an eye on the people.

Daddy even got a new toy out. It was kind of like a ball, but flat. It was kind of hard to figure out how to pick it up and bring it back, but I got the hang of it quickly.

Then, Mommy and Auntie Erika took me on a walk. There was lots of goose poop on this trail. I was very interested in it.

When we got back, Christi got out this weird thing. At first I thought it was scary, but then I realized what it was. It was a crate for people. They even put small beds in the crates.

I was down with that.

I remember when I had to stay in my crate a lot. It made me feel better about being in a new place. That must be why the people had them there.

I wondered when they would get in their crates. Usually the people told me when to get in my crate. Who would tell them to get in their crates? Maybe that was my job?

I decided to worry about that after dinner.

There was a lot of food to check out.

The food made all the people happy.

I got a few bites here and there.

It was kind of like when my mommy and daddy have people at the house.

Only we were all outside.

And then even my food got put in a bowl. I was kind of surprised to see it there. And I wasn’t all together sure about eating it.

Don’t tell anyone, but after I had fun playing, I started to get a little nervous.

The people were getting louder and loud people scare me.

To make matters worse, mommy put me on a long leash attached to the ground.

She said it was because it was going to get dark and she didn’t want me wandering off.

I thought it was mean.

But she was right. It did get dark.

I really didn’t like the dark part.

The people seemed to have a good time and the warm smelly thing they sat around got big and red.

I stayed away from most of it.

Some of the people looked like they needed to be put in their crates, if you ask me.

Finally, my mommy decided to get in her crate, and guess what?! She invited me in too. I got to sleep right up by her head. She never lets me sleep there. She said I was keeping her warm.

Then daddy got in the crate too. But he made the tent get really stinky and then tried to blame it on me. Mommy didn’t let him. She knew it was him and not me. I love my mommy.

In the morning, I decided I really wanted to stay in the crate, even after mommy and daddy got out.

But then I discovered that Auntie Erika was still in her crate.

If I haven’t told you,  Auntie Erika is one of my favorite people.

She used to live with mommy, and sometimes when mommy wasn’t home, Auntie Erika gave me food and cuddled with me.

It was time to see about getting in Auntie Erika’s crate.

Mission accomplished.

You know, camping was fun and all, but mostly I was just glad to get home.

Until I heard mommy and daddy saying I stink like campfire and I might get a bath.

Maybe next time, I’ll leave the camping to the people.


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Open Memo to Showtime (and Diablo Cody)

Image courtesy of http://www.sho.com

Dear Showtime (and Diablo Cody),

First off, I want to say that I’m a fan of the crazy town character(s), Tara in United States of Tara on Showtime.

We subscribe to Showtime. Sure, I’d rather get HBO, but it is what it is. (Sorry, just being honest.)

DC, I love your quirky writing in Juno and your bare-all  openness (pun intended) in Candy Girl.

But here’s the deal. I need you to do a leeetle bit more research on living in Overland Park, KS for United States of Tara.

I know Overland Park, KS wasn’t your first pick for Tara and her family, but all the same, what’s done is done, so I want to help you do it right.

Oh, I appreciate your effort. I really do. Sticking a 435 sign on a divided highway was a nice nod to KC’s  little beltway, but [whispers] it doesn’t really look like that at all.

Ok, ok. Filming logistics. I get it. You film it in LA so landmarks, landscaping and even houses are going to look and feel way more west coast than midwest.

But at least get the dialogue right. “I’m going down to Kansas City, Mo.” is not something a teenager from Overland Park would ever say. First off, we rarely reference state lines. We’re more county folks. So, if you were going to reference Kansas City, KS, you’d probably say Wyandotte County. And truth be told, most teens from Overland Park would say “the Dot.”

Otherwise, us Johnson County natives are more likely to reference regions of the city or streets. So geographic locaters would be more like “the West Bottoms,” “midtown,” “the Plaza,” “Troost,” “P&L District,” or just “downtown.”

And the other thing. Let’s talk about weather. Specifically tornadoes.

I wasn’t surprised to see you used our typical spring weather pattern as a plot device in the latest episode. But I want to clue you in on a few things about weather in Kansas City.

First off, tornadoes are not like hurricanes. You do not wake up to news that a “tornado is coming.” Weather tends to be unpredictable here, so we start with severe weather advisories. Katie Horner gets us pretty worked up about how the day might pan out.  Then, we move into severe thunderstorm warnings or flash flood warnings with more and more Katie Horner interuptions to tell us when to expect the worst, and that by goodness, it’s going to be the storm of the century! Then she starts tacking on tornado watches for good measure before she escalates into full on “get your helmet on and run to your basement” mode. That last part is pretty sudden. And usually it’s only small pockets of the metro, and rarely Overland Park. But that’s ok – good rookie mistake for you, DC.

So, I have a proposed solution for you. You could, of course, bring me on as an advisor to your writing team. But, maybe the budget is tight over there at Showtime, since HBO is getting ready to launch another season of True Blood and all the Twilight fans are probably switching their subscriptions.

How about you come to Kansas City and hang out with me for a few days, you know, for research?  We have a guest bedroom, and I’d even change the sheets and put up the ironing board for you. We could hang out in KC, grab a few cocktails in Westport, hit up some local boutiques for some cool digs and even take a pole dancing class together. (I’d love to learn some of your moves!)

Then maybe you could  tweet about how awesome Queen of Quirky is (and more specifically her blog.) But that wouldn’t be mandatory or anything. Just a suggestion.

So let me know what you think. I’m pretty open this summer for a visit. It gets kind of hot and steamy in Kansas City (that’s another freebie tip for your show, you know) in the summer, but we could make it work.

Hope to see you soon!

Best regards,

Queen of Quirky

Editor’s note: Oops. Thanks to my readers for pointing out that DC did not write Whip It.  In my excitement to get my  new BFF to come visit me in Kansas City, I forgot to look that one up. Mistakes happen sometimes on QoQ, although this one was not nearly as humorous as when I mispelled an aeresol  can as an arousel can.


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