Daily anti-joke: kskristy style

I set the oven mitt on fire again today.

You’d’ve thought I’d learned my lesson after the great muffin disaster… yeah, not so much.

Somebody send me back to kindergarten, or cooking 101, or wherever it is that they teach you how to not set kitchen accessories on fire.


The structural integrity of my house depends on it.


But do y’all know what’s better than setting an oven mitt on fire?


A beautiful sunset picture.

And that was your daily anti-joke: kskristy style.

For those of you who are completely confounded and confused, perplexed and puzzled, let me explain. An anti-joke is is a type of comedy in which the listener is set up to expect a typical joke, but the joke ends with such anticlimax that it becomes funny in its own right. The lack of punchline is the punchline.

I’m sorry. I really think anti-jokes are corny. But certain friends of mine have had a negative influence on me and fill my life with anti-jokes on a regular basis.

If you’re reading this, you know who you are.

And y’all better enjoy this one moment of glory because I will never tell an anti-joke again.


Instead, I’m going to work on finding a 12-step program that helps people who suffer from destructive behaviors like repetitively igniting oven mitts.

Wish me luck.

Recaps, reviews and resolutions

Everybody’s doing it. You know, writing a “Here’s-what-I-did-in-2011-and-here’s-what-I’m-going-to-do-in-2012” blog post. And I’m finally jumping on that bandwagon. I’m only four days late.

I run on my own schedule.


2011 was a fun year! And because I’m sure y’all have already read a bunch of these kinds of lists and I don’t want to bore you, I’ll just rattle off a few quick highlights. I’m sure this is probably more for my benefit/nostalgia/enjoyment than yours anyway.

–2011 saw more snow days for my little Arkansas university than it had seen in 30+ years.

–Said snow days occurred as a result of one heck of a crazy snowstorm everyone dubbed, “The Snowpocalypse.”

–Then came, “The Rainpocalypse.”

–I failed at baking brownies, coloring, cards, and drawing the state of Kansas.

–The highlight of the year was definitely completing an internship in Spain!

–I decided to take the LSAT and possibly apply to law school.

–I started my senior year of college.

–I got to TP a basketball court.

–2011 closed out with a (semi)-winter storm and plenty of Christmas and New Year’s parties.


Now… for 2012.

I’m not much for resolutions. It’s not something I’ve ever really done and I’m much more of a go-with-the-flow person as opposed to making a plan and sticking to it tooth and nail.

I jokingly told a friend that I had made a one-day resolution to cheer for the Denver Broncos when they played the Kansas City Chiefs even though I am a huge Chiefs fan. I only did it because I didn’t want the Oakland Raiders to go to the playoffs, which they would have if Kansas City won. A few minutes after the game started though, I figured out that if Oakland lost their game to the San Diego Chargers, it didn’t matter if Denver won or lost; Oakland would be denied a playoff berth. (If you’re unfamiliar with the NFL playoff system, let me tell you, it can get a little crazy!)

So I said heck with the Donkeys, uhh… Broncos, and cheered all-out for my Chiefs!

And it all ended up working out ok. The Chiefs won and Oakland lost! Yay!

But, I digress.

Back to New Year’s resolutions.

Which I don’t really make.

With the exception of sarcastic one-day resolutions pertaining to football games that I actually make for selfish reasons.

And then break ten minutes into them.

I have problems. I know this.

But for real. A couple days before the new year, I downloaded a year in photos app for my iPhone. Y’all know what I’m talking about. Take one picture a day, every day, for 365 days.

Now, I’m really not a fan of such long-term commitments, mostly because I don’t like planning and being tied down, but also because I’m pretty sure I’ll break them. Nevertheless, I’m attempting this one. And by attempting, I mean keeping up with it as long as I can and not caring too much when I miss a day.

I’ve kept up with it so far though! Four days… impressive, I know.

Here are the first three photos and captions. (I haven’t uploaded the fourth to my computer yet. It and subsequent photos will hopefully follow.)


New Year’s Cookies! This is a family tradition. Every year my aunt makes these delicious German treats. This year I had at least six of them. I lost count after that, so the final tally isn’t exactly known. Oh well, it’s better that way. I’d probably rather not know how many I ate. I tend to overindulge a bit during all the holiday parties.

I have problems. I know this.

Being a cat is rough. Just ask my cat, Turvy, and he’ll tell you all about it. He gets to spend all day inside and stick his head in the bag of cat food and eat whenever he wants. And he’s supposed to be an outside cat. Pshhh. My mother spoils him.

Family Christmas supper at the local restaurant. This was like the twelfth (and final… thank goodness) family Christmas we’ve had this year. I love my family. I really, really do. And I love get-togethers and parties! But we like to eat in my family, so there is always tons of food at our get-togethers and my stomach has finally said enough.

The flip side is that in a week, I know I’ll be back at school dying to have a home-cooked meal again, so I really shouldn’t complain.

And that’s all for now, folks!

I hope y’all had a fantastic Christmas and New Year’s with your friends and families and that you can approach each day in 2012 as it comes, with a smile on your face!


This weekend I decided to have one of my best friends dye my hair blonde.

I’m a fairly impulsive person and I like change. And this was one of those times when I woke up in the morning, decided I needed a change, and did it.

And because I am detail-oriented and extremely logical (not) I only bought one box of dye, not thinking about the fact that I have three times the amount of hair on my head as a normal woman (for real, my hair is thick, thick, thick. And long.) My friend started dyeing my hair around 10 p.m. (after Sally’s was closed) and about five minutes in, I said to her, “Wouldn’t it be terrible if we run out of dye because I have so much hair?”

Fast forward almost an hour. I have three sections of hair left and we have no more dye.

I died.

Not dyed. (There’s a difference.)

My hair was dyed. (Well, part of it was.)

And because my friend is awesome at dyeing hair, she figured out a way to take some of the hair dye from my underneath layers and apply it to the sections at the top of my head.

Crisis averted.

Sort of.

After washing and drying my newly colored hair, I realized that evidently it’s not that easy to make a brunette a blonde using a seven dollar box of hair dye from Sally’s.

My hair was lighter than before. But not blonde.

Because my hair had been dyed red perviously and faded to a lighter golden color, it took some of the blonde dye and that was fine. But my dark brown roots which had grown out did not take any blonde at all.

The result?

Ombré hair.

Now, let me make a disclaimer here and say that I do not keep up with pop culture at all. I didn’t even know what ombré hair was until a couple days ago, but evidently it’s popular with celebrities. (Thank you, Google, for enlightening me.)

So now I’m super trendy with my not-blonde hair and my dark brown roots.


Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t go blonde.

España photos – day 19

Hey y’all!

It’s been a busy work week here, so I don’t have too many new photos. But I do have a couple of good stories for you. Welcome to Kristy’s Life in Spain: Volume 5.

In my first post from Spain, I showed y’all a photo of the view from my balcony. (If you missed it, click here.) If you look at that photo and imagine the panorama extending a little more to the left, you would see a bit of the Mediterranean Sea.

Usually there is a haze that hangs over the Sea and I don’t get to see much of the water, unless you count the fuzzy blue shape off in the distance where there are no more buildings as being water…

Personally, I prefer my ocean/sea views to be crystal clear. ‘Cause that’s what I’m used to seeing in Kansas, you know.

Anyway… the haze cleared off for part of the day on Saturday and I got my first real view of the Mediterranean from my balcony. I was so excited.

I even saw a ship!


A real ship!

We don’t have ships in Kansas.

We have combines. And tractors.

But no ships.

So this was a pretty big deal.


Also… I did laundry for the first time in Spain on Saturday. It was an interesting experience.

Washing machines in Spain are funky. Observe.



Does this remind anybody else of a Walkman?

Those were the days. I remember I had a three-cassette collection of instrumental music and I listened to them all the time. Chariots of Fire and Music Box Dancer were my faves. Saying that makes me feel old.

I’m not old enough to feel old.

It’s a problem.

Anyway, I loaded the Walkman washing machine with bed sheets and towels and consulted my handy dandy guidebook on how to actually operate the thing.

I selected a program with hot water that would be appropriate for towels and sheets and other things that you normally wash in hot water. My momma done taught me right. Mmhmm.

But what Momma-dear didn’t teach me (because it’s not an option in the US) is how to select a spin cycle speed.

This is what a spin cycle speed selector looks like. (I totally just felt like I had super powers while typing that out. Spin cycle speed selectors to the rescue!)


I was all ready to start my towels a’washin’ when I realized I hadn’t set the spin speed. I consulted the handy dandy Walkman washing machine guidebook, but there was no guidance to be found on how to choose the right speed.

So I had to make an educated guess. Enter Kristy’s thought process…

Towels are pretty resilient. You are supposed to wash them on a hot setting after all.

And bed sheets too. To kill the mites and stuff.


Gross. I sleep on mites? Or are they bed bugs? Is there a difference?

Focus, Kristy.

Hot water. Yes.

Spin speed? Uuhhhhh????

Let’s decide this with an analogy.

Hot water = tough. Tough = high spin speed (to kill the mites and stuff, of course). Highest spin speed on the Walkman washing machine = 1000.

1000 what?

I don’t know, but that’s as high as it goes. Let’s go with that.

Spin those mites right out of my sheets. Suckers.

As it turns out, that wasn’t exactly the best decision.

Remember several months ago when I had a consecutive string of fails and flops? I baked my first ever pan of bad brownies (but that was so not my fault, it was the corn oil), I colored Snow White with vampire teeth (again, not my fault, the colored pencil was defective), I embarrassed myself into eternity and beyond by mucking up a drawing of my home state (totally not my fault, the Sharpie was dry and I was trying to hide the fact that I was taking paint off the wall of a brand new coffee shop).

All ridiculous moments in my life where things just didn’t go well for me. (If you missed them, click here to revisit the fiascos in all their agonizing glory. Agonizing for me. Not for you. Funny for you.)

Anyway, the Walkman-washing-machine spin-cycle-speed-selector went down with a similar fracas.

I set the spin speed to 1000 whatever, thinking I would end up with the cleanest, most mite-less sheets known to man and went on my happy, merry way.

About an hour and a half later (wash cycles in Europe seriously take about two hours, sometimes more) I heard a terribly loud, repetitive noise that at first sounded like gunshots.

I followed the noise to the bathroom where the clamor got worse, because as I discovered, the washing machine was not only in the throes of the most violent spin cycle I could have ever imagined, it was shaking so violently that it was propelling itself out away from the wall and banging itself into the door frame next to it.

I wish I could describe what I felt in that moment. It was truly something else.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest because I had been so startled by the awful onset of the spin cycle commotion.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest because I was mad at the dumb washing machine for making so much noise and scaring me right out of my skin.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest because I was laughing so hard at the whole absurd situation.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest because of the “oh-crap” adrenaline that filled my whole body when I remembered there was a ladies meeting occurring at that very moment right below my apartment.

My heart was about to explode out of my chest because I was laughing so hard at the thought of what those poor ladies must have been thinking when they heard this terrible racket.

I basically had a myocardial infarction right there on the spot.

But I survived.

Now there are no dryers here, so once the laundry is washed, you have the option of either hanging it outside on a clothesline or on a drying rack inside.

Well, my little country girl heart opted for the outdoor clothesline (it’s so Little House on the Prairie, and I am all about nostalgia.)

Once the Walkman washing machine quit trying to launch itself into orbit, I pulled the towels out and pinned them to the clothesline on my balcony like a true Spanish Laura Ingalls Wilder. Observe.

The laundry hanging had gone off without a hitch. I had enough clothespins, I didn’t fall off the chair and die when I hung the towels on the higher line, the breeze was blowing, the laundry would be dry soon.


I went on my happy, merry way and came back to take the sheets and towels in a few hours later.

I got down to the very last daggum sheet before I noticed it.


Bird poop.

All over my clean laundry.

Good grief. This would happen to me.

I just laughed and shook my head and took the laundry inside to start the whole process over again.

But this time, I set the spin cycle speed to 400 and that’s as low as it would go.

I love Spain.

And all its adventures.


Until next time, much love,


España photos – day 12

Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Some days I still can’t believe I’m actually in Spain getting to do and see so many amazing things. That thought hit me again this weekend when I went to Granada to help shoot video footage for a project some people here at the center are working on.

I learned how to record audio, shot some great photos to accompany the video, got to tour lovely Granada and it was all in a day’s work!

I love my internship.

We left Thursday morning and it took us about two hours to travel from Málaga to Granada. Here’s a map for all you visual people (like me).


I absolutely loved seeing the countryside during our drive. There are mountains! Big, tall mountains. The Sierra Nevada Mountains to be exact.

I never would have guessed there would be such diverse terrain in this area. Málaga is right on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, but drive north an hour and you’ve got beautiful hills and olive groves, drive another hour and you’ve got snow-capped peaks.

This Kansas girl is used to flat, dry land as far as the eye can see. New experiences abound everywhere in Spain.

Here are a few shots I took as we walked around the city.






It’s just like Holes!

And let me tell you, Granada was just about hot enough to feel like the desert in Holes. Málaga has been hot, but not compared to Granada. Málaga usually has a nice breeze blowing in off the Mediterranean which keeps it about 10-15 degrees cooler than inland cities like Granada.


Plants are a big deal. Obviously.


Plants may be big, but doors are not. This was seriously the front door to a house.


I just had to throw in a picture of the tapas we had. The cheese was amazing. And the wine. Not the olives. I don’t like olives. But I like olive oil.

I don’t understand myself sometimes…




This guy is the reason we went to Granada in the first place. He is a graffiti artist with a pretty cool testimony.

And if I knew Spanish, I would tell you about it.

But I don’t, so I won’t. Sorry.

I’ll just show you more photos.






So that was graffiti in Granada.

It took us all day to get our footage and photos. Half of our team went back to Málaga at 10 that night, but myself and another girl stayed behind to go to feria.

Now, I don’t exactly know what a feria is other than it’s some sort of Catholic thing and people dress up in flamenco dresses (well, women dress up, I should say) and go dancing. There’s also food and rides. Kind of like the Kansas State Fair.

Minus the Pronto Pups.

And the giant butter cow sculpture.

If any of y’all have been to the Kansas State Fair, you know what I’m talking about. If not, you need to go. It’ll change your life.

My friend scored some real flamenco dresses for us to wear to the feria and they were super fun!

I might have looked Spanish for the night, but I still felt like a guiri (pronounced similar to the English word giddy). Guiri is the slang word Spaniards use for non-Spaniards.


Forgive me. It was dark and I am totally, completely, 100 percent against using my built-in flash, so the lighting is horrible in the following photos.

But you get the gist.


You must have a flower in your hair for feria.

Real Spaniard women wear their flowers directly on top of their head, dead center.

I opted out of that. I like my flower where it is.


My lovely friend.


At feria!



Welcome to feria. There are lights everywhere.



This was cool. There were people in giant hamster balls running around on the water. If I hadn’t been in a super tight flamenco dress, I would have tried it out myself.


These are legit flamenco dancers. Notice the flower dead center on the top of their heads.


Now… story time.

We got to feria at 1:00 in the morning. We left at 3:00. We didn’t get back to our hostel until 5:00.


We took the wrong bus.

It was a disaster.

The city runs special buses during feria that are just for feria, so I guess we assumed that as long as we got on one of the feria busses, it would take us back to where we got on.


We ended up way far away from our hostel in some really quiet part of town. We got off the wrong bus and walked for a long time until we found another bus stop. We thought it was the right bus stop.


We walked some more. And some more.

And some more.

And then we saw a bus. We flagged it down, hoping it would be the right bus.


The bus driver told us to wait at a nearby stoplight for the right bus that would be coming by there in just a few minutes.

Red flag anyone?

Why would we wait for a bus at a place that was not a bus stop?

Because the bus driver was wrong.

We waited at that stop light for over half an hour.

That same wrong bus passed by again twice, but still no right bus.

And then finally, finally!, we saw a taxi.


We ran out in the middle of the street and waved our arms and flagged that blessed taxi down.

Surely it would be able to take us to our hostel, right?


Or so the driver said.

He had to go switch out his car. That’s all I got out of the conversation.

And then he drove away.

I almost died.

But then my friends kept walking. They were following the taxi.

What in the world?

Turns out, the taxi driver only had to go a couple of blocks and meet up with another driver who was going to take the car for his shift.

Thank you Jesus, praise the Lord. We had a taxi.

We got back to the hostel we were staying at at 5:00 in the morning.

And the hostel is a whole ‘nother story in itself.

Let me show you.


This is a picture I took of a stairwell in the hostel earlier in the day. The building was 400 years old and in the middle of being renovated.

Now, as cool as it was to be staying in a building older than my home country, I saw a fiasco looking for a place to happen.

And boy did it ever.

Let me set the scene for y’all…

It’s 5:00 in the morning. I am deader than a doornail tired (so tired in fact, I’m mixing idioms) and I haven’t peed for hours.

My bladder is about to burst.

(Sorry, but it’s the truth. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I was about to pee my pants.)

I have to make it up six flights of stairs before I can get to a bathroom.

In a tight dress. That means no running.

So I waddle/skip/potty-dance up the stairs and have to fiddle around with two separate keys to unlock two separate doors.


Finally, I get the doors open and try to quietly find my way to the bathroom.

Mind you, it’s 5:00 in the morning. People are sleeping. It’s dark. I’m in a strange hostel with furniture placed in places that I don’t know it’s been placed in. I’m bumping into things, knocking things over, the whole shebang.

I really am trying to be quiet, but I gotta go… if you know what I’m saying.



I find the bathroom.

I go in, shut the door and flip the lightswitch.

It doesn’t work.

Yeah. That’s right… the lightswitch doesn’t work.

Sweet Jesus, help me.

I take 0.43 seconds to evaluate my options.

Girl’s gotta pee.

For real.

So I feel my way around the bathroom like a blind person until I find the toilet. I make sure the lid is up (gotta cover all my bases, otherwise things could have been bad-news-bears) and I shimmy the zipper down on my dress.

I’ll stop there and save y’all from being scarred for life, but let me just throw one more kink in the wrench (yes, I know that’s another mixed idiom, but it’s what I’ve always said, so it stays) by mentioning the fact that there was no toilet paper.

I’m sorry.

That’s gross.

I’m done now.

Sort of.

I’m done with horrible natural human function stories. (I’m sorry, that was gross too wasn’t it?)


This hostel just kept getting better and better.

After the bathroom disaster, I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep on a rock.

Wait, what?

I wanted to go to sleep on a bed.

But the bed might as well have been a rock as hard as it was.


My pillow was covered in stains and hair (not mine).

I had to shove a nightstand in front of the door to keep it closed because it kept swinging open on its own.

There was a vicious cat fight outside my window at 6:00. I’m pretty sure one of the cats died from the sound of things. I was six stories up and I had earplugs in and it still sounded awful.

And that was my hostel experience.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad it happened. I love having crazy adventures like that. Plus, I feel like everybody needs to have one or two bad hostel stories in their lifetime. Now I’ve got mine.


Welcome to the Ritz Carlton.

We have dirtied your pillow and carved your mattress out of cement. Compliments of the house.

Also, we will provide you with gruesome animal noises just as you are about to finally fall asleep in order to provide you with the finest luxury experience.

Thank you for staying with us, we hope to see you again soon.

I may be exaggerating just a little bit, but like I said, it wasn’t that bad all things considered. The view outside my window was even kind of pretty.



But it sure felt good to get back to Málaga the next day.


All in all, I had a great trip to Granada, and I will definitely remember it for the rest of my life.

Now… bring on more adventures!


Card fail

In keeping with my recent line of Spring Break failures, I have one more for y’all.

This is a game of solitaire I was playing during break.

Someone tell me what is wrong with this picture?

There were two 5 of clubs on my deck!

When I saw this, I gave up and said there was no possible way I could win.

Let’s think about this, Kristy…

If there were no 5 of clubs in the deck, then yes, I would have had a hard time winning the game. But, I had two.

Where’s the problem?

I wish I would have thought that out more clearly before I scrapped my game.

Oh well, I was never good at solitaire anyway.

What are some of your funny failures? I’m interested in hearing from y’all!

Much love,


Coloring fail

I loved coloring when I was little.

I still kind of do.

But some days I just don’t have the patience for it. Especially when using colored pencils. I prefer to color with crayons.

I realize that aesthetically speaking, colored pencils probably produce a prettier picture (oh hey there alliteration) but I just love crayons so much more. One, because of the smell. Have you ever smelled anything that even closely resembles a crayon? Not I. There’s just something about it that makes me feel like a happy little six-year-old. Two, because it takes less effort to cover the same amount of blank page. Does that make me lazy? Maybe. I prefer to say that it allows me to be more productive, to color more pictures in less time. It’s all about efficiency. This is what college has done to me.

Anyway, I tried my hand at coloring again a couple days ago. I figured, what the heck, it’s spring break, I have no homework to do, maybe I don’t need to be productive and efficient for once.

So I colored.


One, I figured out it’s not as easy as one would think to distinguish a blue colored pencil from a purple one.


Two, I figured out my childhood memories have failed me because I clearly do not remember the correct colors of Snow White’s dress.


The blue should be yellow, the yellow should be red and the red should be blue. Fail.

Three, I learned that a colored pencil should be completely sharpened before coloring lips. Especially if you intend to color Snow White’s lips red and want her teeth to remain white. Snow White is now a vampire.


But you know, despite all my coloring failures, I actually kind of like the way the picture turned out.


Mixed up, not perfect, yet still pretty and colorful in its own way.

Find your own pretty today.

Much love,


Brownie fail

I love to cook and bake.

And I’m good at it. Or so I tell myself (college girl’s gotta sleep at night somehow).

But recently (ok, by now it’s more like forever ago… thank you WordPress fail) I had my first experience in baking failure.

Failure. Such a terrible word.

Upon failing, I became quite distraught. (Also a terrible word).

But, I digress (fun word). I apologize (good word, not-so-good connotations).

Anyway… back to my baking. (Failure).

I got a hankering (fun word) to bake brownies on a Friday night several weeks ago.

I got out my mixing bowl, borrowed an egg from my friend (thank you, Lindy!), measured out the correct amounts of oil and water, dumped in the brownie mix and stirred.

Side note… did you know that you’re only supposed to stir the brownie mix 50 times? What the heck? I read that rule on the back of the brownie package (because I’m weird and I like reading the back of things like brownie packages and shampoo bottles, whatever, whatever…I’m digressing again).

Anyway, I mixed everything to the T, popped the brownies in the oven and set the timer to five minutes less than package directions. (I like my brownies gooey!)

Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled the brownies out of the oven and set them on my desk in my room to let them cool.

Forty minutes later, after I couldn’t stand smelling the delicious smell anymore without having the delicious taste in my mouth at the same time, I went to cut the brownies.

And they were hard. And flat.

Say whaaat?!

I was so confused. I never fail at baking brownies. Never.

I tried cutting a piece out of the what I thought was going to be a gooey middle, but no such luck. Hard and flat.

And so began my descent into a deep well of distraught-ness (not a real word), despair (sad word), distress (fairy tale word… damsel in distress anyone?), despondency (depressing word) and disheartenment (compound word!).

It wasn’t until a few hours later that I had an epiphany (super fun word) as to why my brownies failed.

Corn oil (bad, bad, bad word).

As I was mixing the brownies, I realized I didn’t have vegetable oil like the recipe called for. But I did have corn oil. So I just substituted one for the other. Surely they were basically the same thing right?

Wrong. Wrong (funny-looking word), wrong, WRONG.

This is what corn oil does to your brownies.


They say a picture is worth a thousand words. To me, these pictures say ugly, failure, nasty, gross, Kristy-should-never-bake-brownies-again! At least not with corn oil.

I have learned my lesson. Corn oil is not vegetable oil. But in my defense, what is a poor college girl who has no money to spend on baking supplies supposed to do?

If any of you would like to donate to the successful-brownies-by-Kristy fund (hyphenated word), I would bake you brownies (with vegetable oil) and I would send you some! I promise they would look better than this.

Until I put them in the mail.

Much love,


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