confessions of a klutzbomb

"klutzbomb" is a word I made up just now. It means someone who is so terribly un-graceful that they're like a bomb waiting to go off...you never know when they're gonna trip over something and stab themselves with a pen.

and it describes me perfectly!

gosh. it's a good thing I'm not a unicorn because I would definitely fall and stab other people in the face (alan I know you're reading this and smirking). 

sidenote: this is a t-shirt and I really need it. like really bad. 

in the last week, I have electrocuted myself, tripped over a flat surface, fallen out of my bed, and slammed my hair in my car door. 

#sendhelp

Most of the scars on my body are from me being a klutz-face. 

exhibit a: One summer we were at the Oregon coast and I was climbing on some tide-pools (not unusual). However, I was not wearing proper shoes for tide-pool-climbing (R.I.P. you worthless Old Navy flip-flops). And I slipped and fell and boom now there's a scar the shape of the Florida panhandle on my leg.

My reaction was to say this to the rocks which I fell on:

exhibit b: I was hiking on a trail (not meant for humans) and basically just fell over onto some gravel. For some reason this gave me a huuuge gash which made me lots of awkward friendships over the summer. Everywhere I went, people would stare horribly at my leg for an awful amount of seconds, at which point I would say "It was a cougar." And then I'd walk away. Sha-bam.

exhibit c: I was at my sandwich-place job back in high school times and was slicing meat with the meat-slicer (how very original). We were supposed to wear this chain mail glove when we sliced, but nobody ever did. Because we were 17 and inviiiincible. Amirite? Well anywayz, My hand decided it wasn't invincible that day, and while I was cleaning the blade (whilst it was still moving...I know, how smart am I? not very.) it chopped a piece of my finger clean off!

That night in my journal I traced an outline of my hand with the part of my finger missing. Gotta preserve those memories, you know.

exhibit d: When I was 5, I had a sleepwalking problem. I think this problem continued until about age 12 or so (mom can confirm this...she had a creepy encounter with me once at 4am but that's another story). Anyhow, I slept-walked right out of bed and into the living room. Upon arriving there I sat on the couch, peed, and went back to bed. Of course, since I was sleeping through this whole experience, I had no memory of it. Didn't matter...everyone knew it was me. I guess this isn't really me being klutzy..it's just my bladder being klutzy and ruining the couch cushions forevermore. Whatevs.

Bless it.

To those who are about to sleepwalk tonight, I salute you. You know who you are. 

In other news, google has been keeping me from going completely insane during times of boredom.

If you ever need a pick me up, google the following: weird obituaries, space cats, or nicolas cage photoshopped onto things.

seriously? what the crepe?!

LOLZ.

if you read this enough times your eyebrows will start to do weird things.

I think it's time to call it a day, internet.

I really do. 

yes, but how close is it to jamba juice?

Moving is a pain in the patootie. For the record, I hate that word and I'm never using it again. You're welcome.

So the truth is out now: I'm moving to Provorem, the place where all single people go to die...I mean...live. LIVE. Gosh. 

Looking for apartments via the internetz is entertaining.

So far, here's the success I've had.

"Ooh this one looks nifty! Like a house from Main Street USA in Disneyland!"

(sees rent price)

"Hmm I really don't want to sell my kidney this year. Nevermind bye."

"Sweet, this one has a fireplace. I can finally re-create that scene in Hunchback of Notre Dame when the bad guy falls flat on his face in front of the fire [unrealistic, he should've had his eyebrows singed off] after having a weird vision of the gypsy Esmerelda!"

"....Oh wait nevermind it doesn't have a bell tower."

"Ready to move in! Fully-furnished! Also includes a cat, 2 dogs, a pig, 2 chickens, and a parrot! .....aw shoot, I clicked on zookeeper job postings again." Yeah except that I didn't. This was real life. REAL. Life. 

"This apartment is probably perfect for you if you like hepatitis!"

Yeah, so that one might be inside of Beto's. 

Do you see my predicament?

Oh yeah, and I am pretty sure I will lose all use of my arms trying to move my book-boxes into my car. Why must I carry around my library with me?! 

I just..DK.

Peace and blessin's and also help me find a place if you know of anything that isn't more expensive than Dolly Parton's plastic surgery bill and is also close to a smoothie place (#priorities)

KTHANKSBYE

reasons to be happy

I was going to write a post all about how hot it is and how, being from the Pacific Northwestern land (God's country, lezbehonest), my body can't handle this heat most of the time. I mean, you saw my whiny facebook status right?

Yeah. And that really happened. Don't ask why I have oven mitts in my car....I dunno either. 

But then I thought about how last week was one of those weeks that started off pretty poorly and then I got some perspective. The gospel always gives me that perspective. I need it so very much.

Anyway, I was studying in Ether 12 (one of my favorite chapters ever) and this jumped out at me:

Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God. 

I added some emphasis because that right there is the not-so-secret formula to happiness, everyone. Believe in God. Put your faith in Christ. Then you'll be led to good things and you'll be truly happy. 

It really is that simple...I promise. (if you don't know what I am talking about, start here) 

And now, I present to you, a list of happiness, because remember how that's a necessary part of dis blog? Well it is. Always necessary!

1) oranges. oranges are glorious. may I get a thousand canker sores from eating too many. 

2) this video my older broski sent to me. I'm not going to say how many times I've watched it buuut yeah, it makes me laugh so hard that tears come out of my face. Watch it. 

"they do move in herds" hahahahahahaha

3) music! oh music, how I love thee. you make me cry sometimes because, well, I'm emo and I feel a lot of things, but don't you ever just lay on your bedroom floor and blast some classical cello music really loudly? oh, you don't? ummm well.....this is awkward. 

4) the TEMPLE. All temples. Everywhere in the whole wide world. Amen.

5) also, dark chocolate is a thing. like, Heavenly Father loves me so much that He let me come into a world where dark chocolate is REAL. I'm glad. 

6) my little siblings. children in general, actually. we can talk about my legitimate baby hunger later...

but yeah, how can you not love this face?!  try to say no to that! it's really hard. #firstworldproblems

and the notes she leaves for my dad. 

and look at the way my little broski does the dishes. with cheese hanging from his mouth and music in his ears. we are most definitely related. 

7) the following people actually exist

I'm sorry, sign your what now? (if you can't read it, it says "liver." mmmkay)

one of the best family photos I have ever seen in my life. lit'rally.

 ...no more words need to be said

her.

now I walk into the club like "what up?! I'm uncomfortable."

friendly reminder that I went out in public like this once. 

a brief list of reasons you should (not) go to weddings with me:

1) I might say inapprope things out loud during a moment of silence, like for example, during a certain important slow dance. things like "my water broke!" and "shotgun wedding!" Sorry mom.

2) I can and will drink 10 glasses of water without breaking a sweat to avoid conversing with people I don't know (which is like 90% of everybody in the room, thank you)

3) I stand in awkward walkways, like by the kitchen, or by the cake, or by the whatever because sorry I didn't get married today but yo I am still a human and you can't just walk through me. Shout out to Alan who knows what it's like to be ignored. Tell me, on a scale from one to internet explorer, how ignored do you feel at weddings? Because I'm definitely internet explorer, version one. 

4) sometimes I drop my purse and I can't pick it up???? no matter how many times I bend, I get no response from my knees. or my elbows. they're just like "nope. you're not picking that up. nope." 

Someone say nice things about me at my funeral. PLZ. Or just like, play a James Taylor song. Just don't show a slideshow of me trying to pick up a purse because #datgirlbecray

5) sometimes people want to have top-secret conversations with me and we stand in front of the microphone on accident. sorry everybody at this particular wedding who heard way too many things you never wanted to know about my life. 

"She likes to put what on her breakfast cereal?"

Don't hate on my Cheez-Whiz addiction.

6) If I do know you, I'll obviously try to hug you, but if you don't respond to the hug, I'll make it even more awkward and nestle my head into the space between your armpit and total humiliation. It's GONNA happen. So just hug me normal next time, okay? Hugging shouldn't feel like human Tetris. 

7) I will do anything to avoid talking to strangers (like I said, pretending I'm part-camel and drinking a gallon of agua), including tapping them on the shoulder and running away? Because I'm 23 and mature, yo. I'm going to start a club called "Looking for Fourth Wheel." Hopefully more people than my little sister join it. 

My mom always said to aim high.

for my future McHubz Face

if you wanna marry me, there are only a few requirements.

1) sing

2) play an instrument 

3) do both at the same time
4) make me a pb & banana sandwich for no reason

BOOM.

Now I'll just sit here patiently and wait for all my suitors to come.

Or maybe one of you has a backstage pass to see Ben Howard and I can just get that whole marriage proposal over with? Yeah?

DO ME A SOLID.

Now, since I'm on this subject of future prospects, let me share with you this gem from my an old journal. Yes, yes, sadly I fell victim to the whole "make a huge long list of all the qualities and attributes you want in your future spouse and be super specific." That list made it impossible to date for awhile. A boy would ask me out and I'd be like, "Wait, wait, hold up, my list says not to be interested in anybody who doesn't have blue eyes. So...sorry. Send me a postcard?"

What they should've told us to do was "make a huge long list of all the attributes and qualities you want to have in yourself when you're ready to get married and be super specific." But I digress.

So, in the name of solidarity, I now share with you, my homeskillets and homepaninipresses (what?) some of my favorites from my list, circa 2010 (yeah, not that long ago..erp. can't believe I just admitted to that on the world wide web. then again, I have a BLOG on the world wide web. enough said.):

my other half (yes that's what it's called, h8rs gon' h8)

1) no skinny jeans, yes you heard me ha...just...no. idk why I had to put this on here. if any prospect out there is wearing skinny jeans he's probably still in middle school, thus taking him right out of the "prospect" category.

2) can cook a little bahahaha...okay. so when I was in college I discovered that I actually love to cook for people...so this became hugely irrelevant. future hubz, if you're reading this (Ben? is that you?), I hope you don't mind free food because it's coming your way. and also, it's dericious.
3) will rub my back ya.....this still stands. amen. goodnight.
4) not obssessed with sports but still digs them ???????????? that's a direct quote, errybody. I just don't even know! My present self would like to salmon-slap my past self. But isn't that how it always is?

I'll leave you with a lyric from good ol' Ben Howard up there. In one of my favortiest songs by him, he says "I will become what I deserve." So to whoever's reading this...do that. Things will work out.

And that's a wrap.

Sorry I don't actually have prizes for those of you who finished this. If you live nearby, come get an otter pop! ...but not right now because I'm actually in my bed and everyone in my house is asleep. Ha! Can you imagine?

throngs of kenzie's blog readers showing up at her door, clamoring for an autograph otter pop....
(they sound the same! kind of)
parentals: you've gotta be karate-kidding me. it's 12 in the AM.
mckenzie: oh yes but they finished my entire pointless blog post about murrage because I am 100% (not) qualified to write posts about that!
parentals: ....................
mckenzie: .....................
parentals:

never gonna work for Brita because I have no filter, yo

sometimes (meaning always)

I have no filter, and stuff just comes out. I can't control it and then I say it and I'm like "here, foot, meet mouth."

so dumb, so dumb, so dumb.

por ejemplo:

person who shall remain anonymous: I want to find my cousin a wife, but he has a weird gait so I think maybe girls don't wanna date him.

me: just start with the gypsies. preferably ones who play the tambourine.

WHAT DID I JUST SAYKFSLFSAF;AD;?!

rush: maybe you should just marry a Colombian.

me: yeah but I'd want my babies to be purebred brown.

rush: ......

jessica: I really like this guy etc etc etc

me: omgash you're going to bear his children somedayyy!

me: this game looks super awkward. I'm not playing it.
JP: yeah me neither.
me: I mean look, it's boy-girl-boy-girl. You know they want people to get married from this game. Or impregnated.

I promise on my dead dog's grave that I'm a good person. Pinky-swear-promise!

I'm done. Why did I even get a degree in English? I should've gotten a degree in Communications. Or just read the book "How to Not Talk like a Dummy for Dummies." 

and now I shall leave you with the most awkward picture of a horse ever, brought to you by Coscto.

you keep it real, Costco.

I'd Really Like to Flirt With That Cute Boy Over There But When I Shaved I Missed a Spot on My Kneecaps: A Memoir, by McKenzie Livingston

 a rare photo of the most awkward species in her natural habitat

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I re-used an f-beezy status as my blog title. but you don't even care, right? I sure don't.

So, here's the thing.

I'm awkward. Not just the usual social-awkwardness that everybody is afflicted with from 7th grade up until high school graduation. Nope, not that.

Awkwardness just follows me around like a homeless kitten and I KEEP GIVING IT CATNIP, MAN.

I've got to stop.

Here's the scene: it's Monday night, FHE, bla bla bla, I was trying to socialize and be extroverted but...it's harrddd. I mostly thought about going home and sleeping, and eating nachos, but I couldn't leave on account of Eric-face drove me there and therefore my car was at the church, and he's in charge of stuff and therefore he couldn't leave so I couldn't leave and GASH.

Ball and chain, yo.

Just kidding.

But that's how me and this awkward-metaphorical-kitten relationship is. Ball and chain.

Anyhow, I saw a new person sitting on this see-saw thing (not really a "see-saw thing," it was a real life, legitimate see-saw, but for some reason adding 'thing' at the end makes it sound less...weird? kbye), and I went over to introduce myself.

This person happened to be a boy. Alert the presses!

Talking to boys isn't really an issue anymore. Fun fact: when I was in elementary school I would deliberately avoid walking past the dodgeball court because BOYS were there (the horror!) and what if one of them clocked me in the face, or worse, said hello?! I mean. I was terrified of them.

But now that I possess a degree in writing long papers English, and along with that some four years of being around lots of boys (without their scruff they are less intimidating and yes, beautiful. DIFFERENT POST FOR A DIFFERENT TIME), I am not afraid of them.

Unless, for whatever reason, they act awkward, and then I'm all like "uhhh I can't handle this awkwardness so I'm going to walk away."

Jorge told me that this was my secret talent. When I'm in the middle of something awkward, I just find my escape hatch and bust a move.

Alright, I'm done interrupting myself now. I went to talk to this boy and after I introduced myself, he patted the seat next to him, on this see-saw. Now, everybody that's ever been on a see-saw knows that the engineering is set up so that only two people can ever sit comfortably on one....just one, no fun, and if one person leaves abruptly, well, the other person leaves abruptly too, if you know what I mean.

He was sitting on the middle part, so he was "comfortable" I guess, but there was absolutely zero room for me to sit there, except for maybe if I was 120 lbs lighter and in diapers, but what'errr. I just nodded (awkwardly, because nodding is kind of awkward when used seriously), and sat on one of the actual see-saw seats. Ha. Say that five times fast while doing a headstand.

Upon doing this of course, it made the see-saw go up, on the guys side.

Awkward point for me!!!

As soon as he moved and we were balanced out again, he started to make small-talk. Juicy.

"Soo, what do you like to do?"
"Um, well I like snowboarding! Longboarding?"

I offered that second alternative just in case. Boys usually can relate to those two things. You know. Sportz.

"So did you play softball then?"
"Huh?"
"Softball..you played it in high school?"
(in my brain I'm thinking reallllly hard about what part of 'snowboarding' and 'longboarding' sounds like 'softball' and all my brain can connect is the 's' and 'b' in snowboarding and yeah....then my brain sends me a signal that says 'this is all about to go downhill. RUN.')
"Ummm no, I didn't play softball."
"Oh. Baseball?"
?????????????????????????????????????

Time for the escape. As soon as my friend Courtney came over to say hi, I gave her a very subtle look which also meant "THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY SOUL FOR COMING OVER HERE, SERIOUSLY BLESS YOU AND BLESS YOUR FACE AND YOUR VOICE AND BLESS"

and then I got up off the see-saw, meaning that the boy "got up" off of the see-saw too, without wanting to. In fact, I kind of propelled him right out of that awkward conversation which he pulled us both into.

So, you're welcome new person.

You're welcome.

shout out to google for providing me with a picture of this awkward cat

PEACE AND BLESSIN'S.

beto's is sicknasty and youths go there late at night, you've been warned

oh blessed horchata

Once upon a time it was Tuesday night and I was doing dishes and daydreaming about the horchata I had consumed earlier.

This horchata was originally meant for Eric-face but on the way to take it to him I started to drink it (90 DEGREES, PEOPLE. 90 DEGREES) and then I finished drinking it and then I left him a message on his phone that went like this:

"Well I might've hypothetically gotten you a horchata and hypothetically had a sip...JUST A SIP."

Ha. The lies!

Then I went home and passed out on my bed.

#isitfallyet

I hate that I speak in hashtag, but I still do it.

Then again, I also hate that I always, always, miss shaving my kneecaps somehow when I shave my legs, and that I have to have peanut butter every day, and that I also need to be barefoot almost always but along with that cannot go to bed with dirty feet.

Do you see my predicament? Gosh. Sometimes I'm just so...human.

Anyway.

Back to the horchata.

Eric-face told me his finals were lame (duh) so I said "HORCHATA" but not exactly like that, and about one hour later, we met up at Beto's again because why not. I was totally embarrassed when I walked in and the same girl was at the counter from whom I ordered my last horchata, only 4 hours previous.

What'err. H8rs gon' h8. <---I hate that too.

Approximately three really gross things happened while we were there, but I'm only going to say one for the sake of any children reading this. Amen.

Eric was in the middle of his giganto al pastor plate, and I was in the middle of my fourth lime wedge (canker sores up the heezy) when these stinkin' youths behind us said "egg sac" and "propel" in the same sentence.

At this point, I stopped talking mid-sentence and gagged and Eric made a brilliant disgusted face that looked like this

and then he said, "Did we both just witness that together?"
I had to nod because I was still laughing, and gagging, simultaneously.

Lagging? No, already a word. Hmm...Gaffing?

Okay, this is getting worse.

The point is, don't go to Beto's late at night because youths will come in there and talk about disgusting things and you might also find disgusting things on the table where you ate, and then you might get hepatitis.

/end