Now Googled

I try to Google myself all the time and can't seem to make myself show up as a result (at least on the first 99 pages of search results, with results per page set to 100).

...UNTIL TODAY!!! I haven't changed my website in 10 months. I haven't changed one image or one word of copy and there, today, there it is! And not only did Google find me, they like me best!

So everyone go. Go Google the keywords "Urban Botanic" and see for yourselves that I am the very first, number one, top, top, top, search result!

Now you're all thinking I'm excited for nothing because of course my own company will show up as a search result if I google the very name of the company. But really - 10 months of nothing and now this?

So when you google me, if you click on that first (TOP, TOP, TOP) link, you may find yourself disappointed that you're brought to a glorified business card we've been calling a website but come back in 4-6 weeks. We're working on a re-vamp that will Blow. Your. Mind.

SCUBA KENNA

Carnivore

Last night I was at the computer blogging when I heard Steve's voice say "whoa!" from the other room. Then he paused the TV and said:

"In ancient Roman feasts, they would roast a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a goose stuffed inside a pig stuffed inside a cow!!!"

I say, "I'm gonna barf"

He says, "That sounds soooo good!"

My First Trip to the Chiropractor and, Gosh, At Least a Hundred Surprises

First of all, a helpful note to the ovary-toting half of the human race (and any men who typically prefer wearing women’s underwear): opt out of the under-wire for chiropractic appointments. Some may already know this tip, but for those who don’t, you’re welcome in advance. I have just prevented the following conversation from taking place in your life:

Dr.: Ok Steve, McKenna, I have your X-Rays here, let us take a look.

Steve: Look he’s putting both up so we can compare.

Kenna: Ten bucks I’m worse off than you. OK how do we tell which one is mine and which is St- – ohhh there are my boobs.

Steve: Nice, they’re totally accentuated with the under-wire from your bra.

Dr.: uhh yes. The uhh breasts do make apparent in the x-ray.

Kenna: Clearly. Look how hot my body looks with all the fat removed!

Steve: I guess boobs aren’t made of fat because they didn’t disappear.

Dr.: So! As you can see here, the arc of life has started to straighten out behind the neck…

Like I said… some may already know this tip. For the rest of you, now you know and you’re welcome.

Although it may not provide any additional tips for my two readers, let’s finish chronicling the appointment, shall we?

The doctor excused himself because he needed to quickly go jump on someone’s back and he wanted us to watch a 15 minute video made in 1974: an introductory to chiropractics, if you will. I don’t remember much at all about the video except I do remember the part where we got to watch a baby being born from the view of the crotch-cam. Apparently being born is the first time your nervous system gets jacked up from the bones in your back being jostled and I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my parents for not sitting me down when I got home from school on the day of the maturation program to show me the crotch-cam from when I was born because I’m telling you, my neurosis would have reared its ugly head that very day and I would have missed out on many years of ignorant bliss.

Because you people had to ask, "Why shreklovesfiona?"

Could it be any more perfect a name?

The Post Where My Dad's Computer Explodes

Everyone comment with name suggestions for our new little mini-chihuahua! He's only 2 weeks old right now... we get him in 4 weeks!

Evil Sometimes Feels Good

There are three simple, unspoken, but widely understood rules to automatic carwash etiquette:

1. Any rules subject to standing in any line, be it grocery or otherwise, duly apply. This includes any decorum regarding butting, and the ever popular “I’m reading a magazine an aisle away but I’m clearly still in line, which I’m making apparent to you by establishing eye contact every 10 seconds, so don’t you dare take one step forward” act. (And yes, I have found these examples to take place while in line for the carwash - astonishing, I know.)
   
   
2. If your carwash of choice kindly provides a soapy bucket and brush for you to scrub off any cemented-on dirt before entering, please promptly cease said scrubbing when it becomes your turn to enter the wash. Put the brush down, get in your car, and enter the wash.
   

3. When it’s your turn to enter the wash, wait for the person before you to finish their drying cycle before pulling forward. This prevents your undercarriage wash from re-soaking the car ahead of you. And please also be respectful if the neurotic in front of you feels it’s necessary to sit there for all 49 seconds allotted for the dryer.
   

Today was agitating and it’s entirely my fault. I slept not only through my alarm, but through 1.5 hours of my alarm, on volume 19 nonetheless (out of 20). So I skipped breakfast for time's sake. Then I skipped lunch because I was playing the “I’ll go in 10 minutes” game all afternoon. By 4pm I had the starvation migraine. By 5pm I had a lethal case of rancor. By 5:30 I was pushing the button to add the Extreme carwash to my gas fill up – and none too thrilled, still.

I pulled out of pump 6, aimed straight for the carwash entrance. Ahead of me at pump 2, is an ornery looking 40 something man with sprayed-on hair just getting back into his car. He starts his car, pedal fully down before the engine even has a chance to turn over, and slips neatly into the carwash line as I break (oh WHY did I break?) to avoid an incident. As if that’s not enough, Mr. Slickspray actually LOOKS for my reaction in his mirror.

U T T E R.....R A G E.....E N S U E S

I wave and smile the cheesiest smile I can muster. I won’t go into detail about how he had to enter his wash code three times before he got it right, (and I gave him a “thumbs up” out my window for it) or how, after getting his front wheel perfectly in that little ridge that starts the carwash, still backed up twice to reposition himself. I sat there and thought that it’s unfortunate we’re in cars and not in the grocery line where I could audibly clear my throat over and over while staring at the back of his crackled-paint bald spot and wishing I had the guts to huck my gum on it. No, we were sound-and-krusty-proof to each other. I’d have to get creative.

So, in lieu of common courtesy, I violated automatic carwash rule number three. And no, I didn’t
wait until the 45^th second. In fact I didn’t wait until the first second. I simply pretended to be as ignorant as he was in the ways of the day-to-day carwash, and gosh, I got mixed up on which “Drive Forward” I was supposed to read. Apparently I read his Drive Forward sign instead of mine and rode his bumper all the way out the door. He did pause for about 3 seconds in the dryer but gave up after he realized my under-carriage wash was spewing mud and winter salt every which way.

and then…

my ultimate retribution…

a big shiny present with a billowing pink bow and it smelled like chocolate and peanut butter…

Mr. Slickspray waved the evil finger at me through his rear-view mirror.

And then I had French Toast for dinner to celebrate.