I like my whole HOUSE!

My family and I sort of have this running joke regarding this video. Well, it isn't so much a running joke as much as it is a reference to this optimistic little girl every time we happen to mention something that we like. Not only is this a verbal reference, but it also includes the physical choreography of the arm thrusting motion that Jessica exerts.

I thought that since I reference Jessica so much, I should make my own daily affirmation. Optimism is a great policy for the new year, and I have a theory that if I start my days with this much enthusiasm and confidence, the margin for discouragement and failure is significantly less looming.

I like my school!
I like my major!
I like my room!
I like my roommate!
I like my hair! (which is somewhat blonder now that I have finally submitted to my mom's plea for highlights)
I like my book!
I like my blog!
I like my Gossip Girl!
I like my moms!
I like my dads!
I like my Darbys! (my sister)
I like my Connors! (my brother)
I like my schedule!
I like my coffee!
I like my knitting!
I like my exercise!
I like my sorority!
I like my friends!
I like my music!
I like my auditions!
I like my Jesus!

I like my whole LIFE! My whole life is great, I can do anything good, better than anyone. Better than anyone. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Try that in the mirror every morning. And then try telling me you're not excited about your day.

What do you like? What are you excited about? It's a New Year, the perfect time to get excited about your life!


Alright, I know that statement was somewhat Joel Osteen-esque, but you catch my drift.

Happy second semester, friends!

"One of the things I learned the hard way was that it doesn' t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself." Lucille Ball

"Optimist: day-dreamer more elegantly spelled." Mark Twain

A wife of noble character who can find?

She wears a diamond ring upon her finger, but regards it as a promise, not as a trinket. She does not flaunt it to her friends; it is not for them. It is for her. She does not lose it, not because it was expensive, but because it is priceless. A symbol of love, of faithfulness.

She is worth far more than rubies.


Her husband has full confidence in her.


Love and peace are her garments. She put off envy and spite; they are not fitting for a woman of her stature. She tossed them into the wind, and they were caught by jealous children, children that were hungry for layers of sin.

She is clothed with strength and dignity.

When did she become so wise? At what point does a girl become a woman; at what point does she suddenly become learned in the ways of buying and selling, of cooking and cleaning, of counseling and listening?

She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.
She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. 
She makes coverings for her bed.
She watches over the affairs of her household.

She wakes up when the sun is low in the sky, preparing not only for the day that lies ahead of her, but the day that lies ahead of her sons, her daughters, her husband. She is their constant calendar, making lists and writing things down. Without her guidance, their lives would fall apart, like so many pieces of broken glass.

She gets up while it is still dark.


She does not sleep until her children are safe in their beds.


Her lamp does not go out at night.

However, she does not only satisfy those in relation to her. She provides for the ones that she does not know as well. The ones that are cold, she gives them clothes. The ones that are hungry, she gives them sustenance.

She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

Although the weather foretells of cloudy days ahead, she believes that the sun will rise again, sooner or later. She is always right. The sun does always come up.

She can laugh at the days to come.


The words of her mouth are always uplifting, negativity does not escape her lips. For, if she were pessimistic, what would the others do? They depend on her good graces to cancel out their own harsh words.

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.


She works, but not in a self-glorifying way, in a way that tells others, "I worked for what I have received, and I am teaching others the beauty of give and take."

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.


She is well-admired, and well-loved. By her children.

Her children arise, and call her blessed.


But, she is especially adored by the man who put that diamond ring on her finger, the one who promised himself to her, the one who is learning that a strong boy is nothing without a gentle girl beside him. He appreciates the gift God has given him. He praises her.

"Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all," he tells her.

She is beautiful. The sight of her gives pleasure to her husband, and her children are proud of her appearance. But she knows that this, too, is fleeting. One day her skin will become wrinkled, and her hair will lighten. A result of the worry that she so often wears in accessory to love and peace. And when her skin is no longer velvet and her hair is no longer silk, she will still be beautiful. Because she began to store up her beauty in other vaults long ago.

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.


She sees. She knows. She lives. She loves. She helps. She does.

She will be rewarded.

Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
Give her the reward she has earned.
Praise at the city gate.
Praise at the city gate.

This is beautiful, and not creepy in any way, form, or fashion.

By Rosemarie Urquico:

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Oh my goodness gracious... Husband, if you are reading this, just... read this.

Presh. 

This is where I will drink hot tea in my Anthropologie bathrobe. No, my life isn't idealized at all. Why would you say that about me?

Oh, and I must point out the little owls on the bookshelf. 

Hootie Hoo.

I want to be friends with this girl.

Bookshelfporn.com. There is literally a website dedicated to photographs of bookshelves that seduce heavy readers into spending hours of their time drooling over arrangements of books! 

I have died and gone to literary heaven.

Clumsy Kim.

And while our blood's still young.. It's so young, it runs.

This past month I have had the pleasure of experiencing the best activities that Birmingham, Alabama has to offer. The thing about coming home from college for a limited time is that you spend your hours wisely, sparingly, cramming as much as you can into a night, a weekend, a month, so that the beauty held in the memories of your childhood or the sanctity of your hometown will never lose its luster. We need this time at home to bring our hearts back to us, because so much of our hearts permanently resides in our very first home. This time at home makes us whole again, even if it's just for the night.

My time at home has been wonderful. I've been absent from the blogosphere for almost a month because I've been too busy reading / watching movies / cleaning / sleeping / catching up with old friends/ staying connected with new friends / preparing to close up shop on 2011. It's been a beautiful year, and I am ending it on a gorgeous note. My Christmas break has been one for the history books.

Alright, so hibernating in my room so that I could read Hunger Games and watching an ungodly amount of Gossip Girl may not qualify as exciting, but it's what I needed. A little time to myself to regroup and reconnect, in addition to other words with an r-e prefix.

One of my favorite things that I've done over the break is spend an afternoon in downtown Birmingham, one of my favorite places on this earth. It's no Nashville, no Chicago, and definitely no New York, but downtown Birmingham has more to offer than the average Birminghamian gives it credit for.

So, on a day that I was feeling especially hipster, my dear friend and fellow blogger Lucy and I headed downtown to get a little coffee from an independent coffeeshop that is TOTES our discovery, do a little vintage shopping on second avenue, and finish off our super artsy afternoon with a trip to our FAVE record store, Charlemagne.

(Hopefully you realized that the italicized words are sarcastic. 70% of the places we went Thursday we had never heard of before.)

The transformation from middle-class suburbian Birmingham to hipster cityville Birmingham is apparent from the You are beautiful declaration graffitied over Red Mountain Expressway. I know, that just screams indie-lovin, right?

The title of this blog comes from the song that we were listening to as we drove under this bridge en route to Urban Standard, Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap. You've probably heard it, but just in case you haven't, check out this wonderful wedding video featuring this equally wonderful song.

http://vimeo.com/31392836

I know, I am creepily obsessed with this couple too. It's just sick how amazing this wedding is.

Once in the heart of downtown Birmingham, we went to what is probably the greatest independent coffee shop in da ham, Urban Standard. 

Later, we stopped by a couple of precious vintage shops, and we closed our day downtown with a trip to the coolest record store I have ever seen (not to mention the fact that it's in Five Points, which is just a great part of town), Charlemagne Records. 

This is what Charlemagne Records looked like 50 years ago. Now there is an entire strip of restaurants and shops surrounding it. Amazing how great things are able to stand the test of time, isn't it?

Organized chaos.

The stairway leading up to Charlemagne.

In short, it was a great day. The best I've had in a while. And an equally great Christmas break. Thanking God for good friends and good family this new year.

Clumsy Kim.

And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Introverted musings.

One thing that I love about college is all of the freedom. Now, most people would take that statement to mean that I can stay out as late as I want, or I can eat whatever I want, or I can watch as much TV as I want without being reprimanded by my parents. But considering that I am 18 going on 80,  I use my free time to do things that I just didn't have time to do in high school. I've recently picked up knitting, rediscovered my passion for reading, become an avid follower of several fabulous fashion blogs, and remembered why I exercised so religiously this summer. These moments of introversion are absolutely my favorite.

Like tonight, for example. My lovely roommate Regan has been studying for her big exam tomorrow, so I've had the room to myself pretty much since dinner. I had some serious me time. I cleaned, I lit my Volcano Aspen Bay candle, I drank hot tea, I crafted, and I watched Atonement, a movie that I've owned for months but haven't gotten the chance to watch yet.

Atonement. This one I did read before seeing the film. What a beautiful novel, and it was so well-represented by the movie. But honestly, how could it possibly go wrong starring Keira Knightley and James McAvoy? It's also directed by the same man that did Pride and Prejudice, so now you're two for two. It's got a great plot, gorgeous setting, and a strikingly accurate depiction of WWII. It also has a great musical score, something that defines a lot of the movie for me. Something that I think is particularly brilliant about the soundtrack is the inclusion of the typewriter in the score, considering what a huge role the typewriter plays in the story. It gives the movie an eerie, haunting feel that I love. The movie does have a somewhat disturbing message... to me, at least. I think it has an extremely interpretive theme, so if you've read it, hit me up, cause I'd love to talk about it.

Absolutely gorgeous.

I would actually marry James McAvoy tomorrow.

Why, yes, that is my prom dress!

Kiera Knightley is just wonderful.

So, in a nutshell, I love being an introvert, and having time, and watching movies that nobody will watch with me based on books that nobody will read, and making crafts that people may never actually see. 

But that's just me.

Ode to math.

My first memory of mathematics occurs at Mary Lant Cotten's house, circa fourth grade. We had just learned long division, and it fascinated me. I remember the satisfaction that I received from solving a division problem, from double-checking it by multiplying the result by the divisor. After learning this particular form of mathematics, I spent the night at Mary Lant's house for her Groovy Girl themed birthday party. As a makeshift form of entertainment, there was a long sheet of paper taped to the wall. Her mom had provided markers for the girls with which to write. Most girls were doodling their names, with hearts around them connecting their names to those of their crushes. After creating my fair share of artwork (I have always been a grand proficient of bubble-letters), I moved onto a much more worthwhile creation... Long division. My friends scoffed and pointed, but I could not be stopped. I was doing long division on that thin, long sheet of paper hanging from Mary Lant's walls, and no one was going to persuade me to do otherwise. 

If we are going to be completely honest, that night as Mary Lant's house was the first and last time that I can recall being one hundred percent confident in my mathematical abilities. 

It was not long after this that I realized my intense dislike for math. A sort of disgust, if you will. I can distinctly remember the night when I realized that my relationship with math was, once and for all, terminated.

I was in sixth grade, and I had just received the honor of being selected for Mrs. Chastain's advanced math class. If you went to Briarwood elementary, then you understand that acceptance into this highly prestigious class is practically eternal glory. It was like winning the Triwizard Tournament. I used this new celebrity status to my advantage as much as I could. I carried myself with more pride than ever before.

However, this pride soon gave way to shame.

It was slope that did me in. I simply could not understand this concept. Rise over run meant nothing to me. y=mx+b was a jumbling of letters that might as well have been in a different language. I remember sitting on the couch in my living room with my dad, poring over countless graphs and equations. I was in tears, and my dad must have been frustrated that I could not understand this seemingly simple concept, but he, being the wonderful man that he is, continued to help me throughout the wee hours of the night.

It was all downhill from there.

Beginning with my inability to comprehend slope, my life has been a never-ending war with mathematics, and every battle since then has been a losing one. I don't need to chronicle my relationship with math year by year, but take my word for it that there was never again a time when math came naturally to me. From my disqualification from math team (still the single most embarrassing failure of my academic career), to my fiasco with Mrs. Bush (again... if you went to Briarwood, you understand, and feel my pain), to my atrocious score on my AP statistics exam, math has destroyed me, year by year.

Anyway...

All of this goes to say that, today, I took the last math test that I will ever have to take. In. My. Life. As in... forever. As in, I will never ever ever again be graded on my ability to add, subtract, divide, multiply, derive, calculate, measure, factor, simplify, or fraction.

This is a beautiful realization.

Let's hear it for the English majors. May math forever be absent in our lives.

However, if you are not fortunate enough to be forever released from math's relentless jaws, here are some math jokes to lessen your pain.

Ha.

Te amo,
Clumsy.