i'm a model

in a testament to my brilliance, forward thinking, and retina-burning radiance, they stole my picture and recreated it in the ad campaign for jordache. i mean if that doesn't convince you i should rule the world, i don't know what will.

the proof is in the pudding, people.

which one of these two makes you want jeans more?







i mean honestly. it's not even a question.

somthing's amiss in my whoosiewhatsie *update*

i got the mri results but they are in croatian. also maybe esperanto.

the only words i recognize are "bone island" and "fraying."

bone island makes me think there are scantily clad pygmies living in my shoulder joint, and that they are boiling people, shoving bones through their noses and putting heads on sticks.

fraying makes me think i might unravel.

this is all probably true. that's the sort of thing that happens to me.

gratuitous photos of the incontrevertible cuteiosity:


he's been a delicious muffin all week.
apparently, the way to get julius boon to behave
is to tell the internets.


peanut butter!

i have found a new love

and his name is stim.

i had neck pain, stiffness and limited motion, then cam stim.

i had soreness and tension, and behold, there was stim.

i had a headache like someone pushing railroad spikes through my eyes, and lo- in walked stim.

STIM!

stim's electrodes were attached to the nape of my neck and the neck/shoulder junction. if you look back and forth at the two sides of this picture really fast you'll get an idea of what stim was like for twenty glorious minutes.



you'll note that not only did my shoulders contract due to stim, but i became (impossibly) cuter.

my love affair with stim lasted for several hours, and i now find myself trying to hook up with various electrical devices and recapture the beauty of my first time. unfortunately, my next date with stim isn't till tuesday. *weep*

in other news, sassy stole this okcupid thingie from some vespa lady. it probably wasn't that hard because vespas don't go too fast. i took it and was put off by the results. what right does this okcupid have to label me? he doesn't know me! he's not even real!

he calls me:

The Questioner
you chose CY - your Enneagram type is SIX.

"I am affectionate and skeptical"

Questioners are responsible, trustworthy, and value loyalty to family, friends, groups, and causes. Their personalities range broadly from reserved and timid to outspoken and confrontative.

How to Get Along with Me
• Be direct and clear.
• Listen to me carefully.
• Don't judge me for my anxiety.
• Work things through with me.
• Reassure me that everything is OK between us.
• Laugh and make jokes with me.
• Gently push me toward new experiences.
• Try not to overreact to my overreacting.

What I Like About Being a Six
• being committed and faithful to family and friends
• being responsible and hardworking
• being compassionate toward others
• having intellect and wit
• being a nonconformist
• confronting danger bravely
• being direct and assertive

What's Hard About Being a Six
• the constant push and pull involved in trying to make up my mind
• procrastinating because of fear of failure; having little confidence in myself
• fearing being abandoned or taken advantage of
• exhausting myself by worrying and scanning for danger
• wishing I had a rule book at work so I could do everything right
• being too critical of myself when I haven't lived up to my expectations

Sixes as Children Often
• are friendly, likable, and dependable, and/or sarcastic, bossy, and stubborn
• are anxious and hypervigilant; anticipate danger
• form a team of "us against them" with a best friend or parent
• look to groups or authorities to protect them and/or question authority and rebel
• are neglected or abused, come from unpredictable or alcoholic families, and/or take on the fearfulness of an overly anxious parent

Sixes as Parents
• are often loving, nurturing, and have a strong sense of duty
• are sometimes reluctant to give their children independence
• worry more than most that their children will get hurt
• sometimes have trouble saying no and setting boundaries

Renee Baron & Elizabeth Wagele
The Enneagram Made Easy
Discover the 9 Types of People
HarperSanFrancisco, 1994, 161 pages

you chose CY

you are also somewhat CZ

if you too would like to be judged and labeled by a machine who offers no pleasant muscular spasms in return, you can take
The Quick and Painless ENNEAGRAM Test by felk on Ok Cupid

just when i thought i had no shame

i am really really embarassed to have to tell you this, but the "days since accident" counter needs to be reset.

i fell down the stairs AGAIN this morning. i think i may have a problem. i also think the cholo construction guys (and passing garbage truck) that watched me fall got a full crotchal view of my underwear. i'm very glad i was wearing some.

i am leaving work in an hour for my mri so i may or may not have news for you tomorrow. this would be a good time for all of the good karma i have been storing up (because it has to be around here somewhere) to cash in and tell me i can be fixed! i will have full arm function, and sleep, and soon. (do you hear me, spaghetti monster???? i want function! and sleep! and soon!)

wish me luck!

and coming to a blog near you...

a series of posts about some things i do that i recently realized are not normal.

not even a little bit.

hint: they both involve premature death!

now hear this

jazzy button (and itchy bumps) by tinapopo, "queen" of blogs.

please listen. below you will find a poorly rendered visual aid. maybe if i had more of these i could stop the shaking.



seriously. if you know how i can get more of these (i stole this packet from the restaurant i worked in 2.5 years ago) please tell me.

they tell me the devil is a good looking man

once upon a time there was a painfully beautiful princess named kissmendra. she had a fabulous rack, great shoes and moderate internet fame, but alas, it was not enough. she was lonely. kissmendra needed something to care for. something small, something soft, and definitely something orange. so she brought into her castle a gorgeous creature called julius boon.

what kissmendra did not know was that julius boon was suffering from a terrible ailment when they met. it made him behave in ways he could not control- he just was not himself. it was like a fairy tale- once she took him home and loved him, the spell would be broken.

and indeed it was. after several weeks of tender care and medicinal treatment, he felt well enough to reveal his true self. he had been sleepy and snuggley and purry and sweet. kissmendra had taken home dr. julius, and was now stuck with mr. boon.

julius boon hates me. every time i try to pet him a little he bites me till my bones cry. he bites me while i’m sitting, he bites me while i’m walking by, he bites me while i’m sleeping. so far he has bitten my hands, wrists, arms, feet, and face. my face! he sits between the shower curtain and its clear liner and tries to claw my legs while i’m washing. he does not allow me to sleep. his glowing evil eyes keep me up at night.


a crappy cell phone picture from the good old days, when our love was new.

Boy has suggested that were he to find himself in a wonderful and different home (possibly for wayward youth) i could get the rats i have always wanted, and frankly, this is not sounding like a bad idea.

please help me. i want to love him, he just won’t let me.

new and improved! *update*

just in case you hadn't noticed, when completing my johari window no one has yet chosen the words mature, modest, sensible, quiet, or dignified. i wonder why.

last night "someone" may or may not have fallen up the stairs at stich n bitch.

and "someone's" humiliation may or may not have been witnessed by a group of say, 8 knitters and 13 strangers, all asian, in case you were wondering.

and it may or may not have really fucking hurt.

which is why today i would like to introduce two new features here at *golden state*.

in the grand tradition of factories and construction sites everywhere, i now have a “days since the last accident” ticker.



this is what it would look like if i could make it show up on my black background.*

please note that it is a black cat. it is supposed to be funny.

and since clearly i am accursed, i have decided to seek professional attention. i’m thinking some sort of aura/karma/energy cleanse will not only provide me with excellent bloggery, but also maybe help rid me of evil. i was googling to that effect, and everyone i came across seemed to be a braless hippy freak named mother moon.. while i find that rather distasteful, i will accept it under the condition that mother moon cleanses the hell out of me before a fuselage falls on my head.

and so in the grand tradition of cheapskates and opportunists every where, i present:







*if anyone knows how to do that, or where i can build one that will, please share.

it's like an internet slam book

i have nothing to say today. i've had a headache for nearly two weeks now. i am going to the doctor later, but later is not coming soon enough.

miss kendra -- [noun]: An immortal 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

the man in the cube next to me is listening to "in the navy." this is not helping.

at some point, between all your praying/sacrificing virgins for my general well being and fundraising to send me somewhere pretty, go here please. thank you.

poetry is the scourge of the internets

SIX OF MY NINE


you said I was like a cat in november
you never stayed long enough to see me in june.
you had a smile so smooth it often
slipped off your face.

you brought me gifts of whiskey and plastic
(how could you think that would be enough)
and i never asked for more.
years ago we played by the ocean,
i wrote you letters in the sand, my footprints
laid end to end

enormous letters you didn’t see then
the tide came in like murder
convinced me to give you six of my nine.

the cups we were to drink from were hand-woven linen
they never held water so
we never did drink.
and i never fought in a desert with you
i never saved your ass
you told me cats were no help anyway.

the wind blew in like horizontal lovers
like you and not me
where were you going, leaving
just an empty cup and a blood-colored
whiskey stain in the middle of my rug?
that day was tuesday, and all the flowers
were dead outside my window.

i read their corpses like tea leaves
the cooling innards of a chicken
i did dead flower voodoo to put an end
to your tumbling, down and
away and away
and down.

then i sat in the place you used to be
and set fire to everything
i could reach. i opened,
serotinous, dropping seeds into the ashes
and trying to remember
the green,
that the steps also went
up and how to climb them.
the lights came on like drizzle, baby—
the smell of old whiskey
stuck to the carpet
and i try to land on my feet.

all your hearts are belong to me!

you are all my valentines. there is no escape.

clive owen is also my valentine, though he may claim no knowledge of this fact.

the other night i dreamt i crocheted a giant yellow sock for no apparent reason. later i chased clive down at the oscars. he was wearing an ice cream suit, complete with white suspenders. i know this sounds odd, but doubt ye not- he was magnificent.

when i finally caught up with him, i handed him the sock and he slung it coolly over his shoulder. then he put his hand at the base of my head (!) and pulled me to him and kissed me. i remember thinking, “i’ve been asleep for hours. i wish i could brush my teeth.”

he stopped only to look me in the eyes, then kissed me again. apparently clive has no problem with sleepmouth.

brilliant as i am, i said the only thing i could think of.

“swoon.”

then i fell down and he dragged me across the theater.


you're probably thinking, "a valentine's post by miss kendra should probably involve Boy." and you know what, you're right.

attention Boy: this was just a dream. please disregard large quantities of yellow yarn purchased sunday morning and the coincidental proximity in date and location of the upcoming oscar ceremony. thank you.

google saved my family

noun: a word that can be used to refer to a person, place or thing.

i have a negative effect on nouns.

i do bad things to them with my very presence. i get people in car accidents, i punch holes in the ozone layer, i scuff perfectly good spectator shoes. all of these are ranked equivalently.

this weekend, both pickles and julius boon nearly perished. i say perished because it’s less déclassé than “kicked the bucket,” and also far more dramatic than plain old died. mary j. can just send her drama right on over because it is so welcome here.

saturday evening i was watching some quality television (hahahahaha) when i heard some strange noises coming from the general vicinity of behind me. when i drew back the curtain i was greeted by a man masquerading as an all powerful floating head.

once i got him out of my way i could see… that julius boon needed my help! he was halfway out the window due to a lazy screen that had suddenly given up on staying. view an artist's rendering of the crime in progress here. needless to say, i grabbed him by his furry hindparts and squeezed him to my bosoms till he screamed. you heard it here first- my bosoms make things scream. and since you've seen the bounty of his booty: may i present a gratutious shot of his other parts. for your viewing pleasure.

just when i thought we were all safe once more, pickles demanded a snack, and because he’s so darn cute threatening, i gave him one. half a grape, which he let roll around in his mouth and then swallowed with ardent fervor. he like it, and so of course he sat by me until i gave him more and forced me at gunpoint to give him more, for a massive total of 1.5 red seedless grapes.

here’s where i decide that maybe i should check with the real all powerful floating head to see if maybe this was not such a good idea.



what have i done????
what. have i. done?????


they’re both fine, but i’ve been considering getting some stinky hippie to come over and investigate my karma and shit. you know, cleanse the old chakras and all that. because i will not be held responsible for the cat pancake cleanup, nor can i afford a canine dialysis machine.

in other news, i think their shared peril brought them together, because look!



in the same bed!

soon they’ll be lovers and i’ll have to resort to selling their weird little babies on ebay.

i love me

this morning when i was getting dressed i kept looking at myself in the mirror and going, "geez. i look super cute today. this outfit really seems to work."

then later i realized why.

wombat is the grand pooh of my soul

the following instant messenger conversation has been edited only for typos and time.


CommonWombat: Think of a number between 1 and 73
CommonWombat: now tell me what your number is.

miss kendra: 37

CommonWombat: I KNEW IT

miss kendra: i knew you would! we have a connection.

CommonWombat: Yes. The strong bond of insanity.

miss kendra: strong indeed, the bond is

CommonWombat: yoda, you sound like.

miss kendra: i know!

CommonWombat: and smell like.

miss kendra: hey!

CommonWombat: so they say.

miss kendra: yoda smelled like cookies?

CommonWombat: No, Yoda smelled like pancakes and roses. But that's gotta be cookie-esque.

miss kendra: probably. are roses edible?

CommonWombat: You know what? They are. I've eaten rose petals. They taste like nothing.

miss kendra: what a disappointment. i was thinking maybe i would buy a couple and make yoda pancakes this weekend.

CommonWombat: That was curmudgeonly of me. They didn't taste like nothing. They tasted like God. That's better.

miss kendra: like god? HA!

CommonWombat: Either roses taste like God or God tastes like roses. Maybe God's been dipping into the Crabtree and Evelyn

miss kendra: i'm pretty sure i don't want to taste god.

CommonWombat: Sure you do! God tases like roses and Jesus tastes like a mars bar!
CommonWombat: see why I didn't become a minister?

miss kendra: i do see. it's that and the whole taxidermy of children thing.

CommonWombat: It was fucking the boneless baboons that cinched it.

miss kendra: i don't think jesus would judge you on that one

CommonWombat: who do you think was holding up the baboon's tail?

miss kendra: with his left hand, cuz the right one's busy if you know what i'm sayin'

CommonWombat: Jesus likes baboons. And he tastes like mars bar. I think we're starting our own religion.

miss kendra: if that's not righteous, i don't know what is

CommonWombat: What should we call it?

miss kendra: the church of chocolate monkey love
miss kendra: or wait, are baboons technically apes? because i don't want to offend anyone

CommonWombat: dude. I like that. I'm in. Baboons be damned. I like the Church of Chocolate Monkey Love. I want to be Grand Poo-bah

miss kendra: done. and i will be grand poo-bess

CommonWombat: AWE
CommonWombat: SOME

CommonWombat: My first act as Grand Poo-Bah of the CoCML is to nominate your busted arm for sainthood.

miss kendra: i second that, so it's pretty much done

CommonWombat: the power we hold is awesome.
CommonWombat: It's going to my head.
CommonWombat: I just walked on water.
CommonWombat: No wait. I rolled in my rolly chair. oops.

miss kendra: what's the saint's name? so i can make candles and shit

CommonWombat: Um... which arm is it?

miss kendra: left

CommonWombat: St Lefty Mctingles.
CommonWombat: You can now grant wishes with that arm.

miss kendra: sweet!

CommonWombat: That's how it works in the CocML.

miss kendra: our church rocks.

CommonWombat: We have the best church this side of... Um... The branch Davidians.

miss kendra: but without all the death, and more grand poos.

CommonWombat: Yes, let's outlaw suicide pacts and anything involving kool-aid.

miss kendra: except dying our hair.
miss kendra: because we so encourage tasty acts of rebellion


the CoCML... coming soon to a cult center near you.

i'm famous!

today i met with a dilemma.

there’s something i want to show you, but it presents me with the following options:

do i tell you the link, and expose you to my full, unadulterated name, thereby risking one of you going all googley and coming to find me? i mean, some of you know my address already… but also some of you are Weirdos. (capital W.) (because did anyone else notice that acw is the 9th result on that search????)

or do i just tell you vaguely about the awesomeness and then leave you scrambling for your google once again, trying desperately to track down the real thing?

who am i kidding. if you google my real name all you get it some girl who used to be a model and now makes jewelry. i am a mere peon in the google scheme of things. (dammit! it’s true! i’m a peon! how will i ever rule the world???)

so here’s the link, and you’ll notice that because authors like to save the real hearty stuff for last, that’s where i am. (because i stick to the ribs, like creepy human oatmeal.)

tomorrow they may wrap fishes in it,
but i was a star for one whole minute!

the truth about valancy jane

i’m going to try to be nice about this, but i feel there are some things you should know.

valancy jane has been lying to you, internets.

the first thing i noticed was her siamese twin. she’s shriveled and almost completely covered in matted brown fur, so it was hard not to stare. valancy jane hugged me hello and the twin winked at me (she wears an eyepatch, so i suppose she could have been blinking, but…) and then she mouthed the words, “you’re pretty. i think i love you.” she had a pierced tongue. when i went into the bathroom i could hear them whispering, mostly nonsense, because you know how twins have their own languages? well between all the beeps and honks i picked out that the smaller, more hirsute valancy jane is named “amelia.”

valancy jane has also claimed to be a lover of animals. she says she has 22 pets. what you should know is that valancy jane in fact has no pets- she has experiments. each of her cats appears to be missing a leg, and though i checked some drawers and cabinets, i found no sign of them. along those lines, (though unfortunately due to the ambiguous nature of cat fur and its coloring, i cannot prove anything) i also strongly suspect that their heads may have been switched. she told me she wants to paint a beagle puppy blue. later, i was somewhat thrown by her mer-bird, which i can only assume she fashioned from a goldfish, a cockatiel, and some carpet thread, and of whom she kept saying, “third time’s a charm!” but i kept my screams to myself. amelia was watching me and gnashing her tiny shrunken teeth. i think she might have been packing some heavy artillery, because one leg of her pants was rolled up exposing a tiny cloven hoof.

which brings me to my next point. valancy jane is the leader of a nipple-tassel wearing hooker gang. i have PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE. when i accidentally burned my finger she used it to her advantage. i passed out from the searing pain and when i woke up, i was a straight up banger. i was also sore in some strange places. i told her i would have to work up to the hooker part, but she turned at least five tricks while i was sleeping. i heard the door open and then some creaking, and there was careful price negotiation when one guy wanted amelia in on the action too. mostly i just hid my head under the pillow and cried.

valancy jane also made me try on dresses of questionable taste*. it was like the liberace museum, but with more sequins, beading and itchy tulle.

fuschia!

blue!

white!

golden!

half-naked!

sherbert!

as you can see, she tried some too, which was probably the most normal part of the whole experience. except that when she touched the fabrics to her skin they started melting. i think she might be spawned of the devil.

valancy jane buys only pink envelopes. she mails handcuffs to strangers.

she eats leaves and brown mush from a foil bag.

she also steals bird toys.

valancy jane has an algae farm and a pulpit in her bedroom. i can only assume this is where she conducts her "transactions."

her bathtub is green, but not because it came that way.


you can read her version here. (lies! all lies!)



* there was one dress i actually liked.

what snoo

so.

new doctor seems much better than old doctor, similar to how walking upright seems better than a ventral crawl. he actually listened (!!!) to what i had to say about my shoulder and neck pain, and here are his conclusions:

the reason my neck is still sore, and that i am having strange headaches at the base of my head is because is because i sprained my neck, and the soft tissues are still not relaxed and fully healed. of course i’m not explaining this exactly right, because, like many people, i am not a doctor, but still. you get the point.

as for my shoulder, which is really the biggest concern right now due to chronic and radiating pain, limited range of motion ,and episodic numbness (i sound like i’m on e.r. i need to intubate!)—all after 5 weeks—he is thinking i may have torn something, like my labrum or rotator cuff.

now i need to get some more imaging done (cause i'm a model you know what i mean, and i do my little turn on the catwalk), so that we can maybe see what all is going on in there. and then who knows? after all this bad crap, i’m due for some really good karma. i’m gonna win the lottery and buy myself a bionic shoulder. then maybe i’ll a cape so i can fight crime.

speaking of capes (huh?), tomorrow i will be driving to el cajon to meet valancy jane. we plan on listening to gwar and overdosing on cheap tar heroin. or we might be making valentines. with sequins! (i sicken myself.)

anyways, i'm telling you all this because though i'm reasonably sure she won't try to eat me, or use my skin as a lampshade, i just feel safer knowing the internets know where i am.

if she does try it though, you'll have good reading come monday.

it is so a word. shut up.

i fell down the stairs in my buildings hallway this morning.

i'm pretty sure the dog laughed at me.


visual aid.