Incoherent Ramblings

Originally published 06/25/07

fun with pets
Current mood: silly
Category: Pets and Animals One of my favorite things to do is pester Zelda.  One of the games I like to play with her is “stare down”.  We stare at each other, obviously. All the while, her little nubby tail starts wagging faster and faster and faster, like she is winding herself up like a wind-up toy.  Then when she just can’t stand it one second longer she jumps at me and does a little playful bark.   She can never win.  She get so excited and just HAS to woof at me.

Another game we play is “look how cute i am”.  She looks at me all sweet-like, then rolls over on her belly and keeps giving me the side eye until I rub her belly.  The fun part of this game is that I tell her she is a rotten ugly dog that no one likes.

“Wake up, mama” is another of her favorites.  In this game she throws her body entirely across me and barks at me and wags her nub at top speeds until I relent and take her out to wee.

My favorite game is “weird noises”.  Zelda HATES any strange noise you make with your mouth.  Whistling (which I, too, hate), thpppt-ing, buzzing like a bee, kissing noises. I am always trying to find new freakish noises to make.  She goes NUTS.  She jumps around and barks and growls and runs up to me then scoots back.  She’s a nut.

I also make up songs to all of the animals.  I can’t sing, but since they love me, they don’t care.   These are just a few of the fun things I do in my exciting rock star, devil-may-care life.

I am a loon.

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Originally published on MySpace 06/27/07

Super Mutts
Current mood: surprised
Category: Pets and Animals

I have a problem with this idea that because you breed two pure bred dogs and make up a cutesie name for them, that they are somehow special.  Wrong.  Labradoodle, Golden Doodle, Cockapoo, Snickerdoodle, Jimmy Jackstraw, Lumpy Pumkinhole.  Hell, I can’t keep up. I heard some people at work talking about a French Bulldog and a Boston Terrier, or something.  I know people who have paid fucking $475 for one of these. WHAT???  IT IS A MUTT!

One pure bred + one pure bred = a mixed breed = a mutt.

I am not sure why this bothers me, but it does.  I have paid oodles of money for purebred dogs, and I have no problem with that, but i would never in my entire life spend a fortune for a mutt.

You might have one of these new Super Mutts, and if so, I am sorry you got taken in.

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In 2009, I am going to get some shit did.

The first thing I am going to do is get my S.C.U.B.A. certification.  I have always wanted to do this.  Once I do, I want to go on fun diving trips to exotic tropical places.  I dated a guy for a while who was a diver, and had we stayed together, I was going to get my certification.  I don’t really know why I haven’t done it sooner, but I am going to look into classes around here.  Anyone interested?

Next, I am going to plan some trips for Spring and Summer.  I really want to drive across country, camping in cool places and visiting friends as I go, but I would rather do that with someone special than by myself.  So, instead, I think I will go visit some people.  I have friends all over the place, so that will be fun to see them.

Now, that I have my foot all “surgerized”, I am going to start running again. I am not going to train for a marathon, but I am going to train for some local races, maybe The Bridge Run.  Mettler is always trying to get me to do that race.  I am going to be mother fuckin’ Forest Gump up in the Heights.

I think that’s enough for now.

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Here are some things I will never understand. Ever.

– Why people line baseball caps up in their back window of their cars.  I just don’t get it.

– Same for the line of stuffed animals

– republicans and conservatives

– algebra

– Teletubbies

– Muzak

-Joan Rivers and her plastic surgery obsession

-Monster trucks that need a ladder to get into

-Carrot Top

-why more people didn’t watch “The Wire” or “I’ll Fly Away”

-dead beat parents

– people who go on Maury to find their baby daddy and test like 5 or 12 people. Do they not care that they look like a ho?

– why people don’t take advantage of FREE birth control options

-tapioca

– how people voted for George W. Bush — twice

– word problems in math

– how people can’t like cheese

-slugs

– how we can kill off so many awesome animals, or drive them near extinction, but can’t get rid of roaches, mosquitoes or fleas.

– why people won’t evacuate when given the opportunity.  sell your shit and get the fuck out.  when i was told to evacuate charleston, i grabbed a change of clothes, my money and my turtle and hit the road.

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Hey readers,

I have been veritably uninspired this year.  I have missed my grandma too much.  I have been unexcited about writing.  I am hoping to break that trend soon.  So here is a reminder to come back and read!

k

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Have I ever told you guys that I sleep with my glasses on?  Well, it’s true.  I do.  I don’t mean I fall asleep with them on, I mean, I knowingly, willingly roll over and go to sleep still wearing them.  I will often awaken in the mornings with them still on my face. 

Sometimes, I will wake up and take them off.  I usually stick them under a pillow.  I used to just place them on the bed next to me, but Ruby (the beagle) had severe separation anxiety as a pup, and she chewed up an entire pair.  After that, I started putting them in the nightstand drawer (into which she managed to wiggle her beagle head and steal and eat a second pair. She nibbled on a third pair, but they survived).  I  had to quit wearing wire frames because they got all jacked up and bent sleeping in them.

I like going to sleep with them on.  I like waking up in them.  My gramma always thought I was goofy, but she said her mom used to take a nap with her glasses on when gram was a kid.  My niece does it too.  Maybe it’s hereditary.  It’s not that I am lazy.  It causes me less discomfort to sleep in a pair of glasses than a pair of contacts.  Contacts are like rubber cement in my eyeballs when I sleep in them. (I used to love to sniff rubber cement when I was a kid.  Ok, I still do.)  It drives Annie’s mom nuts. Her dad was an optician. She is horrified by how I treat my glasses. HA!  The pair I have now would actually be in great shape if I hadn’t sat on them when I was getting dressed one day.  I took them off to put my shirt on, then turned around and sat down to put on sneakers.  Squash.  They are only a little cattywhompus.

So now you know another amazing tidbit about K-Finn, Ghetto $uperstar.

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(originally posted 2/2007)

When I was about 7, a group from the USC string project came to my elementary school and talked to us, played their instruments, etc.  I went home with the information packet and the permission form.  I was going to be the next viola virtuoso of Columbia, S.C.  Well, THE HOBB, nixed my dreams of fame and notariety on the philharmonic circuit. I was a tad devestated.  For about ten minutes, then I went and ran the streets with the other neighborhood kids and all was forgotten.

Fast foward to 1980. My 11th birthday.  I wanted a guitar and guitar lessons.  THE HOBB said, “Fine. If you want to try, I will get you the guitar and set up some lessons.” 

Now, she wasn’t just going about this all willy-nilly.  Musical talent DOES run in my family.  My sister was a very accomplished young violinist and vocalist, until she hit high school and started smoking all the time.  Now she sounds like Marge Simpson’s sisters.  There was the off-chance that I might have gotten a little passed down to me. 

The birthday came and i got my lovely Gibson acoustic guitar, a fancy rainbow strap and a few picks. I was the next Jimmy Page.  I was on my way to rock stardom. My guitar teacher showed up, some kid from USC.  I don’t even remember his name.  We had our first hour-long lesson.  He identified the strings for me.  Gave me a worksheet with notes and chords on it for me to practice.  we did a few things.  As he was leaving he said, “Okay, you need to practice this about at least 2 hours each day at first until you are familiar with those notes, etc.” 

I smiled and said, “Sure. Okay!”

Music Boy, “See you in a week!”

The boy got in his little raggedy car with some clever musician-type stickers on the bumpber and drove off.

I packed up my guitar, gathered all the papers Music Boy left for me and went into the den where my gramma was watching tv.

“So, how’d it go?” THE HOBB asked.

“You can sell this.  I am not taking anymore lessons, ” I inforned her.

She sorta smiled and said, “Aw, Kimmy, why’s that?” 

I told her, “I can’t be giving up 2 hours or more a day for practicing.  I have school work, books to read and my bike to ride.  This just won’t fit in.”

She said, “Yeah, I thought this might happen.”

THE HOBB knew I didn’t have the attention span, nor the ability to sit still long enough to practice so long.   She had kept the reciept for everything and took it all back to Pecknel in Five Points.  I think she ended up getting me some books and a Simon game.  Now SIMON!?  Oh, I had the attention span for reading and playing Simon.  I almost got another one at Target the other day. 

So, that’s the story of how Kim Finney ruined her fledgling music career.

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