Goodreads

Karin Mitchell's books on Goodreads
Between Families Between Families
reviews: 5
ratings: 8 (avg rating 4.75)

Friday, August 21, 2009

Friday Quotes!

"For those of you who got ripped a new one when your giant babies tore themselves out of your vaginas, you had it way worse and I respect that. I'm sorry your ladies got shredded like that. I hope you didn't end up with permanently blown out Frankencrotches."

"I can spell haz anyway I want, you hear? I haz a master's degree!"

"What’s your space suit for?"
"Protecting me from space, Daddy!"
"Ah, yes. That’s why I have a pressurized loin cloth."
"Daddy, I don’t want to go to space for lunch any more."

"ever get a sleep hangover? like you slept so much you need to sleep it off? That's what afternoons are like with the hum of air conditioning and dull monitors."
"hey at least it does not involve vomit"
"Oh my god, gross. Thanks for the reminder. Really, thanks Donlon. Hey, wanna play cornhole? I promise I'll even let you have a couple points."

"Why do regulars at the 'brary feel the need/think they have the right to call me 'Blondie'? I don't call them 'Baldy' tho maybe I should."
"call them blumpkin. It sounds like a childish term of endearment but its not. Really NOT"

"who's everyone's new favorite racist friend now? This girl."
"oh, my darling Aryan. You jes need a big hug."

"I don't hold your racist views against you, you can't help but be so white. You're SWEDISH."
"nor do I hold it against you. You can't help being a Theravada Buddhist. Is that yoga for racist?"

"I don't know what it is about accents that make me want to get undressed and high-five myself."

"Please. I fall allthe time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer."

"I used to work with a guy who used to say, out loud, "fat old lady fat old lady" whenever a hotchick would get close to him. He told a guy who told a girl who told me that he has "a boner problem like an eighth grader" and he says that so he doesn't get one."

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Wednesdays Weirdos: Drug Testers

wednesdsay weirdo


Each Wednesday I post an example of a strange person, or group of people that I've encountered, been told about, or read about. Guest submissions are welcome and can be sent to swedishskier@gmail.com

For those of you who don't know already, I work for Social Services mostly in child protection. As in any place, drugs are a huge issue for our work. And so we're constantly having clients do UAs to determine if they're using or not. They're typically placed on a color line and call a phone number daily to see if their color is up and if it is, they go piss in a cup.

Its a little weird in generally, pissing in a cup, for any reason. But its especially weird to begin to associate non-yellow colors with pissing and furthermore with drug testing. But whatever, that's how the system works.

Weirder still is the ways drug addicts come up with to get around these tests. I'm not talking potheads with their "cleanses." That shit's for amateurs with relatively in tact reasoning skills.

I'm talking making up stories of how you bummed a cigarette off a stranger and it was laced with coke so now you're coming up hot. I'm talking saying how cocaine is stored in the fat cells of IV drug users so you'll continue to test positive months and months even though of course you're not using.

I'm talking making up a story about how the urinals at the testing facility are dirty and so you must've gotten someone else's urine in your urine sample and that's why you tested positive. Cuz of course when I'm in a dirty bathroom I stick my fingers right in other folks urine. BLUuuuuuck!

I'm talking not having your kid wear a diaper so that you can catch their urine. Further so you can take that urine and store it in a balloon in your yoni so when you sit to pee it come out of a hole in that general vacintity.

Now THAT's weird.


For the record drug users, we do not buy your recockulous stories. Just admit you're still using. It would really save us all a lot of time and redunkulous energy. Seriously, you all don't have a lot of focused mental energy as is, please save it for actual survival purposes. Oh and for your KIDS who need you to stop using drugs and TAKE THE FUCK CARE OF THEM!

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

When is talking about race racist?

So I watched a horror/suspense movie with Rob and he was all "SSSSHHHHhhhh!!!! Just watch the movie." And I was all, "I wish we lived where there were some black movie theaters so I could have some folks to watch movies with." And then I had the bright idea to post this on FB

Me- I need to watch more movies with black folks cuz then the amount of talking I do in a suspense movie would be completely acceptable. Oh how I miss the movie theater by Union Station.

A-
I saw a movie @ the Halls Ferry Cine...holy shut up!

Me-
Ahhh that's my kinda folks. With them my comments would be received with an "I know that's right." Oh, and I miss stretched out ummm hms too.

More me-
I'm bothered by the fact that I worry that I posted this. Oh my god, this is too far outside of my politically correct comfort zone!!!! And I'm not too politically correct. But whew! Have I offended anyone? Seriously, this is kinda freakin me out.

B-
post a politically correct version next

A-
Delete it now !! I'm comfortable with being offensive to just about anyone ...

Me-
(get your whitey voice out for this one) "Certain members of urban African American communities like to 'speak out' during movies with comments like "go on with your bad self" and "rock on sistergirl." These groups talk more during horror and suspense movies and say things like "I know she did not just do that." I would enjoy it if I had acceptance for this type of behavior as when I 'speak out' during a movie, my husband tells me "SSSSSHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Dude from high school I totally forgot was black (swear to god) like even when I tried to take mental inventory of all the black people I know to think if they do or don't fit stereotypes and if they would stop talking to me over this-
Karin u crack me up

C-
Imagine my white girl voice when I say you all need to shut yer holes during the moobies. You're the reason I don't go often! There. I feel better.

Me-
R, would you like to be my "ask a black dude?" Seriously I need a racist barometer. It could be you! Well, prolly I need a panel but you could be a start. Cuz I'm kinda scared to talk about race, and I have self control issues which means as soon as I think "I shouldn't talk about that." I immediately HAVE to talk about it. I've decided to post about this. Blogwards!


So thanks a lot R. If all my black friends I can't remember are black now hate me I'm blaming you. Because now I MUST talk about this even though my current gut-situation is that I'm pretty sure my stomach is earning a knot-tying badge at the Eagle Scout level.


I'm terrified to say anything about race. I'm scared to say 'black people.' Which is stupid, and I know its stupid and I gather my gumption up before I say anything related to race. Even though when I say "black people" what I mean is, stereotypical things I associate with African Americans. And when I say stereotypical, I mean the stereotypes I love and envy. Or maybe all I mean is dark skinned and nothing else. But even when I describe someone as 'black' my blood pressure goes up. That's ridiculous. Some people are blonde, some have green eyes, some are tall, some are black.

AHH! And my anxiety level is back up.


When it comes right down to it, I hold onto the positive black stereotypes. Or the ones I think of as positive. My first love of literature was Toni Morrison. Until I began reading African American literature, I didn't know I loved words. But poetic license with writing is not a strictly African American trait anymore than hollering in a movie theater.

I'm sure there's some skinny ebony woman in St. Louis who bitches every time she goes to the theater and someone like me is sitting next to her. She doesn't jut out an elbow and wink and think "right!" when I say "Don't go there!"

She and I should really switch places. She should watch movies with my closed lipped husband and I should find her loudest relative to cause a ruckus with.

But my racism or just talking about race and I'm not sure which is where, does not stop there!

I'm a tall, slenderish, blonde girl. And I hate it, but I totally assume that most black women when they look at me think "Skinny white bitch." And this may come from having had many a fucked up student (I used to work with kids with severe emotional problems) call me that. Or it could be that I can feel it in my blonde roots.

And it bothers me because I'm thinking, "I love your skin and want to feel, feel, feel its delicious color splashed across a page." Its not a sexual thing, (except with men and there I have to admit there are very few black men that upon first meeting, I haven't thought about sleeping with at least for a moment. Hello, positive stereotype!)

Its this thing of stereotypes. I love hip hop and jazz and always have. I couldn't lose a beat in a crowd. I breathe hyperbole. I holler at the television and at the movie screen. And I. Love. Black. Culture.

And skin. I love the richness of caramel and the light brown eyes that sometimes contrast dark skin. And chocolate pours with hair so thick you could pick it out to wrap the world around. I love African skin like the Mauritanians that live in the mountains here.
Skin so dark you could dip your toe in to try to find the bottom. (Yes, though you'd think I live in the whitest place on earth since its a skiing, resort community, somehow someone along the way thought this was a GOOD place to send Western African refugees. And I feel bad for them because dang its cold if you don't ski. Its beautiful, but freezing.) And really I want to kiss the cheeks of these beautiful people and thank them for all that a culture of rhymes has taught a girl.

But that's racist, right?

Or maybe its like how I talked about having a miscarriage when no one else would. Maybe I need to get over myself and my fears and just let it out. Cuz when it comes to the folks I know in real life, I start to forget about what color they are and just think of them as them. I could even pretend I was at the movies back in St. Louis.

or would you say "SSSSSSSHHHHHhhhhhhh!!!"

Friday, August 14, 2009

Friday Quotes!

"I saw a squirrel running down the stairs with a cheeseburger. I thought of you."

"Zombies are the bacon of pop culture. Whatever you put them in becomes better."

"Sgt. L receives a call about a naked guy walking into a restaurant and putting ice in his butt."

"article on the back of the Summit Daily today- 500 lbs man hid a 9mm in his flab. He made it through city and county jail searches without it being found. Since I had to experience that image just before lunch, I though you should have to too."
"Fatty's be packin."

"Your panties are like a unicorn to me. Put that in Friday Quotes."

"Karin eating kitten heads. Does anyone even read this/check this site anymore? "
"Do kitten heads have a lot of protein? lmao Im sure your mom's proud"
"Sometimes its about the flavor, Nik"

Poudre River(pronounced Pooter) Quotes
"You can't complain about spending a hot day in a big wet spot on the Poudre."
"You gotta be careful when the Poudre gets backed up. It can get pretty stinky."

Cornhole (I always thought it was called 'bean bag toss') Game Quotes
"I can't quite see. Did I get a rim job or a corn hole on that?"
"You're supposed to get it IN the cornhole Donlon."
"Nothin' but cornhole! Just right in there!"

Audience Participation:
The Poudre jokes never got old for me. Feel free to make up your own. Same story for the Cornhole jokes. I'm mature like that.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Wednesday Weirdos: Beam Bater

wednesdsay weirdo
Each Wednesday I post an example of a strange person, or group of people that I've encountered, been told about, or read about. Guest submissions are welcome and can be sent to swedishskier@gmail.com


One morning while camping over my birthday weekend I awoke to strange noises.

"BANG! Clang, clang, clang!" as what sounded like aluminum bowls fell to the ground.

Awake, cold, and with sore hips, I attempted to roll over and ignore it.

Grunt, grunt, grunt, CLANG!

*Timeout*
You remember when you were a kid trying to go to sleep hearing your parents have a conversation outside your door. There was ONE volume of voice tone that made it impossible not to listen? It was just quiet enough that you had to stay quiet. And this made you stay quiet and listen no matter how boring the story of what mom was bringing to Sunday's church buffet was. Remember that? It was like that.
*Time in*

So I'm listening to this and the train of shit that I don't want to think about it zooming through my brain. "I wonder if its a racoon oh shit, I bet no one put the food away last night, I totally have to pee, I wonder if Rob would want to have sex right now, did I remember enough pair of underwear, I should buy some more smores for whoevers I ate, I should read since I'm awake, that book's fucking terrible, what was the author 19 when she wrote it?" And on and on when

!

"Oh fuck, its a BEAR!" crosses my mind.

More rhythmic grunting ensues followed by "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

"Did the bear just say fuck?" turns over in my mind.

I strain to hear more; and hear more I do.

More rhythmic grunting, followed by a slew of "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FFFfffuuuuck!" "Oh fuck me, GOD!"

Dude, I think the sound is coming from the next campsite over. That can't be the suburban dad and family that seemed so square. I think that dad had khaki shorts on. You can't rock khaki shorts and bring no lighter for camping and fuck like that, can you? "Is he really fucking like that?" I think. "Kudos, for correcting my judgment."

But then it just keeps going on. And on. AND ON.

I realize there's no woman noises. And the grunting, growling noises do not sound human. Is the suburban dad fucking a bear?

NO way! Maybe he's masturbating. Maybe he's a masturbating bear fucker.

It continues. On and on and on and on and on. And my brain has a German shepherd strength hold on it.

It cannot take this long for anyone to come masturbating.

"YOU ARE FUCKING GOD!"

Wow, did he just call himself god? Jesus, dude, shut the fuck up. Your kids have GOT to be embarrassed. Especially because you're fucking either yourself, or the quietest woman on earth. Oh my god, "I'm so culturally insensitive," I think. "He must be fucking another dude." But wait, one of them must be a bear. You know gaybear stare. No that was carebears.

So eventually it stops and I go back to my tossing and turning, and turn off my brain a little.

I stumble out of my tent a couple of hours later to find a balled up blanket by the fire. Which I suddenly notice moving.

ITS THE BEAR! Nope. But it is the dude who made all the noise. Turns out he was PUKING, from drinking so much Beam.

Making him this week's Wednesday Weirdo: Beam Bater

By the by, Is that the cutest new Wednesday Weirdos logo you ever did see? Gina designed for me and I lurve it!
She also gave me a really dope award
blobaward
Which was outstanding since it fully came on one of those days when my skin just wasn't fitting quite right and everything felt a little lame. Poof! And a unicorn from Gina fixed it all!

Monday, August 10, 2009

Chilean Adventures: Part I

So I tell stories in real life about my travels a lot cuz crazy shit happens to me when I travel. The trip with the most crazy shit to time spent ratio was to Chile in 2005.

Like most of my big journeys, I went to Chile by myself. I was there for 2 months. People are always shocked at how much I travel by myself. Or that anyone would travel alone. Especially for extended periods of time. Especially to places where I don't speak the language. Especially being a cute blond. Especially when you're the person whose been known to travel without plans, reservations, a map, or knowing the language.

But for me its the best way to go. You're the most open to meeting new people so you meet lots. You get plenty of alone thinking and writing time. You get to internalize your experience better. You get to do whatever YOU want. And mainly, the craziest and weirdest shit happens this way.

My first two weeks in Chile were to be spent at a resort called Portillo. My profile picture on this blog comes from Portillo. Its stunning.

My friend Foss had given me a pair of skis not too long before this trip. I had them mounted and borrowed a bag to transport them in. They were light and a midrange width. I was beyond excited. New skis. New mountain. Foreign country. I thought I might jump out of my skin.

I dropped my things off in a dorm room, changed, and immediately headed out to ski. I rode the lift with a guy from Belgium who was also alone for the day and so we paired up for a couple of runs.

The view was beautiful. All the skiing was above treeline so it was fun to ride the lift and scope out the different areas and lines you might ski.

One of my favorite things about skiing is seeing the mountain and picking out an interesting and creative line and sticking that line. There's little more satisfying than having eyed a tricky line through rock outcroppings and then being able to say "I stuck it!"

After a time or two down a more technical slope which was sparsely covered, I saw the line that I wanted. The Belgian and I headed there. He was a little reluctant to go down the way I wanted to, but I'm a girl and even the most gender neutral dude has trouble watching a girl do something and admitting he can't.

I headed into my line confidently. I slowed a the beginning of a rock outcropping where the line I'd chosen narrowed to just the width of my two skis. I dropped in, thrilled with my choice.

Then felt my ski catch.

And went flying. Head over foot. Head over foot. I heard my helmet hit a cliff. Head over foot. For about 150 yards. I'd ejected from both my skis.

I sat momentarily collecting myself. Then reluctantly turned to see how far I'd have to hike up to get my skis.

JESUS!

I saw the Belgian shaking as he screamed, "ARE YOU OK?"

I pulled my mitten off, held up my bleeding thumb nail and yelled back "I HURT MY FINGER!"

He skied down and handed me my broken in half ski as well as the in tact one. I skied to the bottom on the in tact ski with the broken ski cradled in my arms with my poles.

He told me I was one crazy lucky Swedish girl. And I said, "I know."

Turns out he was the Belgian ambassador to Chile.

The next evening, I was in the hot tub eavesdropping on people's conversations when I heard a guy tell the story of having seen my fall. He was telling his friends "The girl actually looked like the better skier so I was watching the dude worrying about him, when I saw this chick go flipping over the cliff." He dramatically told the whole story to a rapt audience as I listened smugly.

"That was me." I piped up. "And thanks."

"Wow!" he said. "If you hadn't been wearing a helmet you pretty much would've died. Trust me, I'm an orthopedic surgeon."

"Well, then. You've seen me fall. I'd better introduce myself."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Friday, August 7, 2009

Friday Quotes

"What's up with the gallon bottle of chocolate syrup."
"I mean fucking business, Dean."

"Straight skis! Its so much better than gaper."

"I love it that when I drunk-dial my parents, they don't know the difference."

"Dude, you put your ovaries on TWITTER!?! Ah, if Heather's ovaries could tweet, they'd say "Get some!" Mine too really."

"If you fuck a baby up, there's no amount of salt and butter that will fix it."

"Anything having to do with using the corpse as a ventriloquist's dummy."

"Is your daughter easier to get into than community college?"

"moving on up, to the east side (karin...this is constantly in my head thanks to your cell phone ring)"


On the sign out board at work:
"Having a breakdown. Will be in Friday by noon after I clean up all the drool and foam."

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Wednesdays Weirdos: Shoot the Messenger

So this is a little weak but I find leaving self-important messages annoying. I've called a number of people lately that have just bizarre things for their voicemail messages. Things like

"3. 2. 1.. ACTION!!!"

or go on and on about how the person probably won't call you back.

"Leaving a message may or may not have any effect and cause me to actually call you back."

or refer to themselves in the third person

"You've reached the Prince of Darkness...."

I might have to start leaving cryptic messages like this one Judith mentioned:

"Hi, it's me again. I have nothing to say to you. I think I have...a wrong number, but if I just hung up you might see my number on your ID and call me and then I'd forget that I called you and not answer the phone because I wouldn't recognize the number. And then you might try me again and I would call you back wondering why you called me several times. So I hope you have a good day whoever you are and don't call me. Unless you are Carol or she's there or something. God bless. Carol call your mother!"

Just to get this weeks Wednesday's Weirdo back: Shoot the Messenger.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Wah, wah, waaaaaaahhh!

You ever fuck up while driving and wish you had a "sorry dude" horn. I know what it would sound like. It'd say "wah, wah, waaaaaaaaaah" And if you crashed it would do the 'wah, wah, waaaaaaaaaah" thing and then say "Game Over" across your dash board.

I had a lot of time to think today. We hiked up a mountain only to get slightly ditched by our homies who had to go to work and two of us took turns carrying a Husky over our shoulders down the mountain. I'd have stolen that horn out of someone's car if they'd had it. Cuz it really kinda summed up the day. Did I mention the dog was wet? And dirty? And that a beer exploded in my backpack so I had beer dripping down my back?

On the plus side, the hike looked like this:

050
Ahhhh, sunshine.

051

This is Teshen, the sweet tired dog.
055

We caught a ride back pretty easily with a series of nice folks. Oh, and I got to glissade (its like how you barefoot waterski, only its sliding down a pitch of snow in your shoes.) So yeah, all in all, it sorta worked out pretty good.