Saturday, August 29, 2009

I Got A Question: Why They Hatin' On Me?

I ain't did nothing to 'em, but count this money.

And I'm sorry I had to quote Soulja Boy. But seriously. My neighbors are douchebags. And all we ever did was live near them
And we didn't call the cops when their middle son would get off his meds and rampage around the neighborhood like a tubby 12-year-old Aryan Edward Scissorhands.

And when their oldest son had to move back home because he lost his license after too many DUIs? We turned the other cheek.

And yet, every year they call The City on us for one thing or another. This is actually the second time this year as they called in the winter after Molly (The Black Lab of Doom) brought a bunch of pop cans and bottles into the backyard...and then the snow melted.

Welcome to my neighborhood.
Whatever, asshats.

So yeah, my mom, Corey and I spent Saturday afternoon with a chainsaw and a ladder dismembering the trees in our backyard so that nary a twig hung into Their Yard.

And I got sawdust in my underwear.

Not cool.

Plus, a piece of the audio jack on my radio transmitter for my iPod broke inside the iPod's audio port on Tuesday evening. And I have been lamenting about it all week on Twitter and Facebook, and OH it is sad.

And like, seriously, there had been NOTHING on the radio since I haven't been able to use it.

The most frustrating thing about it, is that it works perfectly except for the not-being-able-to-plug-anything-into-it thing.

And someone (not naming any names, Eric) got Superglue in it (long story) and I do not have the tools, the knowledge, nor the logical sense to get the piece out.

Except now, My Dad the Electrical Engineer has it and is going to fix it (since he already got a piece of it out last night and is working on trying to open the casing with a guitar pick) and soon enough I will once again be in my car blasting my iPod on shuffle mode belting out George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" while running out to grab a Slurpee.

Sex is natural, sex is good
Not everybody does it
But everybody shouuuuuuuuuuuld

I'm so excited.


Friday, August 28, 2009

Fashion by Kels

Me: "Why are you ironing a purple silk blouse to wear at Org Day?"
(The equivalent of ironing a purple silk blouse to wear at the gym.)

Kels: "I like it."

Me: "Whatever, you're gonna get it all sweaty and dirty. The rest of us are gonna be wearing t-shirts."

Kels: "I wear t-shirts... When I'm not leaving the house."


Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Blogging by Kels

Kels: "Hey, do any people you don't know read your blog?"

Me: "Some."

Kels: "Are you gonna be like, one of those really famous blog people?"

Me: "I hope so. Then I'd get paid for doing it."

Kels: "And then you're gonna go to Comic Con?"

Me: "Comic Con isn't for bloggers."

Kels: "...Blogicon?"

Me: "There's no such thing. It's Blogher."

Kels: "...What's that?"



Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Stop There and Let Me Correct It

Oh hi, Women's Health Fair table lady. No thank you, I do not have a prostate that needs checking ergo negating the need for me to know how.

No, I don't think the situation will ever arise where I would need to check someone else's either. I cannot be paid enough.

But thank you for the free plastic bandaid and Neosporin kit.

Anyway, I believe I may be coming down with a cold as I am stuffy with a headache and fell asleep around 8:30 PM last night. And the thing is, when I'm sick, all I can focus on is pitying myself and whining and wanting hugs.

Which doesn't mesh well with working. Because I don't think my co-workers are up to cuddling with me.

Perchance I contracted something from all the ADORABLE BABIES at Addison's birthday party. ADORABLE BABIES that my mom did not have a big enough purse to carry out unnoticed. And plus, Corey wouldn't let me have any.

That boy never lets me do anything fun.

Also, I've got "New Perspective" by Panic! At The Disco stuck, nay JAMMED in my brain today. And it's such a good song. Especially because it's so blatantly, unapologetically, deliciously inappropriate as many of their songs tend to be.

My favorite line? "Can we fast-forward to you going down on me?"

I mean, seriously. This is no "Mr. Brightside" (The Killers).

This is no coy play on words:

Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his...chest, now

None of that. No beating around the bush. It's dirty and everyone knows it.

And I like it.


Friday, August 21, 2009

Too Many Mutha'uckas Uckin' With My Shi'

My weekly statement shi'.

Seriously. Stupid bank. Which (fingers, toes and internal organs crossed) seems stable for the moment.

Then a store at Birch Run Outlets (at which I bought Corey's birthday present and will not name because the boy is a total blog lurker. Hi, Corey!) charged me twice for a large sum of money.

And homie don't play that. Especially when my account had finally been positive for more than 20 minutes.

So I called the number listed on their website. But that was just the customer service for the website...

And the girl gave me the number for the individual outlet store...

And the girl at the individual outlet store told me to call corporate and gave me that number...

And the operator at corporate gave me the name of and transferred me to "Mary Anne," the "only person that handles the credit portion."...

And I got Mary Anne's voicemail...

And then I called my bank back and they had me make a claim and took it off my account and told me to call immediately if it showed back up....

I am still waiting on a call back from Mary Anne.

Plus, when I got home from work, we had a letter from the city (our second this year, woo!) as we get from time to time because our neighbors are asshats. And we have 8 days to cut down several trees. There go my Saturday plans.

Stupid neighbors. "How many mutha'uckas are too many to kill? Mutha'uckas."

In other news: This morning, my phone started vibrating while someone was talking to me and when I finally got back to it, I had two voicemails. From my half-asleep boyfriend:

"Hey babe, I just had a terrible dream that you cheated on me with Bill Maher or Mah-her or whatever, and I don't know why. But if you did, which I don't think you did because it was in Washington D.C., but if you did, he would have to die. And I don't know what the punishment for you would be, but there would be some harsh punishment. I miss you. Bye."

Followed by:

"Also, during my dream, he said he had a Jew nose, smacked some other girl's ass and you gave him your car. So please don't do that. I hate him. I love you, bye."


And then he called back and asked if I got his messages and went on a tangent about what a "pompous bastard" Bill Maher is.

I told him to get ready for work.

"Okay, but don't rail Bill Maher while I'm gone."
"I won't."
"And we're never going to D.C. ever."
"Not even Vermont which is close. Or probably New York either."
"Get dressed."

Do you see? Do you see what it's like to be me?



Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Most Detail I've Ever Seen on

Had to fight the bank for the 4th day in a row.

We won't get into it.

I won't say it's straightened out because that has been getting me in trouble.

But (knock on wood) everything should be okay soon.

Plus, thunderstorms are badass, Jess's birthday party is tomorrow night, Addison's is on Sunday afternoon, and I'm surrounded by people I love.



I meant that to sound the way it does on Unsolved Mysteries, one of my vices in my younger years. Well yes, I am 20.


Anyway, fought the bank again after work yesterday on the phone. Except I didn't fight this girl because she was awesome and helpful and pleasant and could obviously tell that if she didn't say exactly what I needed to hear, she was going to have to listen to me bawl.

So, since there was still some stuff pending, I had to wait until today to call back and she said they could reverse the fees as a whole so hopefully there will be more than $0.64 in my account by later tonight. And if not, hey, it's not negative.

By the way, we have this giant box of Sugar-Free Popsicles at home (which are SO much better than the sugar ones due to texture reasons) which I'm positive was my sister's idea. Said sister saw me eating one yesterday and apparently tried to hide them.

Seriously, Kels? Seriously?

Popsicles have to be in the freezer. We have two freezers in our house, total. If it's not in the one attached to the refrigerator...

But yeah...I don't have much to say, I just thought I'd clear some stuff up. Plus, I'm tired and not making much sense.


Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Bustin' Heads

Oh. Em. Gee.

I am so mad.

I don't wanna get into the grisly details, but basically I overdrafted my checking account by a teensy weensy bit and goddamnmotherfucking Bank of America (by the way, NEVER GO THERE. I repeat: NEVER GO THERE. Boycott the hell out of that money-sucking black hole.)

Seriously. Eight, count 'em EIGHT $35 "debit hold" fees in a single day, not to mention a few $10 "overdraft protection" fees which, correct me if I'm wrong, is a TERRIBLE idea seeing as hey, if I'm close to overdrafting, what good will it do my account to SUBTRACT $10? Hmm? HMMMM?!?!

Anyway, so I leave work figuring I'll go there, pay them with my mother's money (Don't worry, I'll pay her back if it takes another 21 years.), get them to reverse the overdraft fees (like everyone keeps telling me they should do) and be on my broke-ass way back to work.

Apparently, that was not the case.

I sat there for a good 15 minutes listening to Careless Whisper on a boom box, sitting next to two elderly men (Apparently, 3:00PM is like, Prime Time for the elderly at the bank. Seriously, I've never seen so many orthopedic sandles in my life.) who I'm sure could smell my feet since my anti-odor shoe inserts were not at their freshest.

Mind you, this branch currently has four employees that I can count: one teller, one woman at the drive-through, one at a desk helping an elderly Indian couple apply for a loan and one chick greeting people at the door and sitting us all in a row to wait for "Cindy," the woman at the desk, who would "just be another minute."

My ass.

Evidently, I looked perturbed because the Walmart greeter girl sent me to the counter to deal with the teller who was actively flirting with the young guy in work clothes that had come to cash his paycheck. And she was laughing and giggling and making conversation as I tapped my ripe-smelling black ballet flat and fumbled in my pinstripe pants for my wallet.

So finally, dude leaves. And when he turned around, he wasn't even hot so girl was obviously desperate. But moving on.

I get up there and am trying to keep my voice down as I calmly explain to her that I am overdrawn and want to reverse the fees and pay it off. But suddenly, teller chick isn's so helpful and she's all, "We can't do this at the branch and call this number blah blah blah..."

Whatever, chick. Sorry I lack things like a wang and the necessity to stare at your boobs and say clever things like, "Haha yeah..." to make you giggle. Here's your effing check and could you please not announce to the entire Bank of America population that I spent $14 at McDonald's, thankyouverymuchwhore?

Whatever. I'm over it.

I'll probably have to pay the electric bill next month to make up for this and I am switching banks the absolute milisecond I get my paycheck (I may even stay up until midnight waiting outside the credit union like a new PSP game is coming out.) and I'll be damned if I ever even use a Bank of America ATM for the rest of my life, but as soon as I close this account, I will be free.

And not free except for a bunch of hidden fees free, either.


Tuesday, August 18, 2009

On the Bright Side #5

On the bright side...

  • I may be having a Fat Day, scratch that, an Obese Day, but my boobs look pretty good. I'm banking on that, actually. I'm all, Gut? What gut? You do not see wonky, muffin-top rolls! These are not the droids you're looking for! Please, view my lovely lady lumps instead!*
  • I have to run later, but it's for a good cause. Two good causes, actually 1. my gut (see above) and 2. Corey's fitness testing. So there!
  • I haven't spent any money today. And I didn't have to sit outside a Chicken Shack fogging up the glass with my fat kid anxiousness.
  • I'm wearing my glasses which means my contacts will last longer, plus they are the correct prescription so I can actually see better.

AAAAAAND...I'm totally having an amazing pant-comfort day. Especially after yesterday's khaki situation.



*Bonus points for using BOTH a Star Wars and a Black Eyed Peas reference in the same bullet.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Karmic Payback

This is what I get. This is what I get for being so cocky. All, ooh look at me! Everything is going so right and my life is so charmed and awesome!

Bah humbug.

You wanna know how my day is going? I'll tell you how my day is going:

Everyone is mad at me. Which is an exaggeration. But one of my friends is mad at me and my mom is mad at me and consequently, other people that have chosen their sides are mad at me. And you know what? It's not my fault.

It's not my fault that some people can't be trusted and can't take it when you tell them so. And I didn't mean to be an accidental cock-block in my underwear with dye in my hair screaming about moving out. Not my fault.

You know what is my fault? The fact that I had to wear tight pants all day because I had to get all cocky at The Gap. Because damnit, I needed those khakis!

Also not my fault? The fact that I forgot about the potluck at work. Because my boss forgot too! So I was sent to Chicken Shack to pick up chicken and potatoes and cole slaw (which ironically, I hate). Except they sent me to pick it up at 10:30.

Do you know what time Chicken Shack opens? 10:30.

I rushed the doors at a Chicken Shack.

I felt like a total fat kid.

Plus, once they finally opened the doors and I almost fell inside, my face being pressed against the glass and all, I found out that whoever had ordered the chicken had ordered from the wrong Chicken Shack.

I was 3 miles away. Which is not far. BUT IT'S THE PRINCIPLE.

I'm obviously still bitter.

So yeah, that sums my day up. I am not allowed to be happy.

I mean, did you ever notice that there are always people that hate when you're happy? They're all, Oh, you have a boyfriend you love? Yeah, that's cute...while it lasts.


Is that ice cream good? Yeah? You're lactose-intolerant and that is going straight to your ASS.


Is that the new Miley Cyrus song you're excited about? SHE'S A DIRTY TEENAGE WHORE.

Basically, there are always going to be rude, stompy people crushing your happiness. All Godzilla-like and jealous. Haters. Drinking Haterade.

And make all the fun you want, but prostitots (see what I did there?) are people too.

Besides, she's just being Miley.


Thursday, August 13, 2009

Kids Say the Darndest Things

I love the radio. I know this. My ex-fatwhoreroommate knows this. And now you know this. But in particular, I love The Morning X. I listen every day. I laugh. I drive to work.

You get the picture.

So yesterday, I'm driving to work and the subject arises of embarrassing child stories and hooo-BOY! did I have a good one!

As I may have previously mentioned, (or if I haven't, I'm mentioning it now, damnit!) Corey has a 6-year-old brother, Casey. And in the fashion of any 6-year-old, Casey wants to do everything and go everywhere that Corey (ergo, we) go.

If we are going somewhere that might be fun or has ice cream or something that it seems would appeal to a child, we grab his car seat and take him. For example, the mall.

Now, the Lakeside Mall of my childhood had a playground made up of giant foam-filled breakfast foods. Waffles, berries, shredded wheat, the works. But yeah, some genius decided that wasn't cool enough (WHAT. It was the coolest thing EVER and we used to pretend we were in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.) or something equally misguided, and got rid of it, putting in its place, foam cars and trucks.

Woo-effing-hoo. I get it. We're in the Motor City.

Anyway, that day Casey accompanied us to the mall and since he'd been mostly good, we figured we'd let him wear himself out on the foam cars for a bit.

Now, let me take a moment to remind you that Corey and I are 20 years old and Casey is 14 years younger and when we take him places, we get dirty looks from old people and ugly married people that are jealous because our illegitimate bastard child is so adaorable and their's look like naked mole rats.


I was happy because the kid, normally kinda anti-social, seemed to be making friends with a chubby little blonde girl and her baby sister she'd been bossing around the whole time and the three of them were engaged in a wobbly game of Tag.

Corey was happy because we were no longer in the Disney store where Casey and I both became entirely too excited. It was a win-win-win.


Casey, trembling atop a foam ambulance shouted, evidently in a ploy to taunt his playmates, "COME AND GET ME, PUSSIES!"

And ohmygod. OH. MY. GOD. Did he just say what I think he said? Did he? WHAT DID THAT CHILD JUST SAY?

And we were all, CASEY WE HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW. And we're shoving his shoes on and goddamnit, this stupid velcro and every time I try to adjust it, these stupid lights blink in my eyes and startwalkingwe'llputthemoninthecar!

So yeah, I kept calling the radio station and couldn't get through and had to email it. And yeah.


P.S. I also wanted to note that the other day I was falling asleep at my desk at work and decided to venture to the Starbucks downstairs for a latte to wake me up. So I get my latte and start to drink it at my desk and everyone keeps coming over looking at it going, "That looks like milk."

And I'm all, "It has milk on top." And I continue to drink it, waiting for my hot hazelnut milk to run out and my hot hazelnut espresso to begin.

Except, get this: it doesn't. Because dude forgot the coffee.

And hot hazelnut milk is okay and all, but Katie needs her fix.

The End.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Project Chick

That's the fourth song stuck in my head today. Preceeded by Uptown Girl by Billy Joel (WHY?!), Sunday, Bloody Sunday by U2 (because 89X plays it every morning as I'm waking up), Talk to the Animals (from the original Dr. Doolittle movie) and now Project Chick by Big Tymers.

BECAUSE I'M "LOW-INCOME" AND WILL BE IN "THE PROJECTS" WITH "METH LABS" HOOKING ON STREET CORNERS FOR SPARE CHEETOS. Yeah, hardened by the cold streets of Sterling fucking Heights. Shiny Tall, y'all.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Give me a project bitch. Give me a hoodrat chick. Damn, that's catchy.

Anyway, it's been a whirlwind lately what with the power going out for AN ENTIRE 24 HOURS which is totally, like, the END OF THE WORLD because the sump pump dies and floods the basement and the cats have to float around on makeshift laundry basket dinghies and the load of laundry you put in the wash an hour before containing ALL of your work clothes will stay wet and soapy until further notice and the internet goes out and the tv and even the lights so you can't even read an effing book and begin to pray for one of those booklights that everybody thinks is such a great gift because, hey, you like to read.

Where was I?

Oh, so that cliffhanger thing you were all in a tizzy about? False alarm. Basically, a friend and his roommate had kicked out two other roommates and had a spare bedroom for $150/month including rent, cable, wifi, water, gas and electricity--everything. Except we went to see it and it was a pit inhabited by DIRTY PIG BOYS who throw their garbage on the floor (which also had several large, unidentfiable stains, by the way). Also, that bedroom was NOT one and a half times the size of Corey's bedroom and the "walk-in closet" was only walk-in if you were a midget. Definitely not enough room for two people PLUS all their stuff.

Because I am a girl. And we come with lots of accessories.

Spent Friday night doing dinner with my mom, my sister and DELICIOUS HUMMUS whilst Kels showed us her photos from New York. With bonus narration from the mouth of Kels that included things like, "And these are some pigeons. New York pigeons!"

Not an exaggeration. My sister is hilarious.

Did the usual weekend stuff and then, like I said, endured the no-power catastrophe of '09.

But I went swimming for the first time in probably two years at least and it was fun. And don't you judge me for swimming in my underwear and a black wife-beater because a. I forgot my bathing suit at home (even though I finally bought two this year) 2. It was impromptu swimming (i.e.: "Hey, wanna go swimming?" "Heck yes, it's hot out here.") and c. That combo is probably less revealing than either of my bathing suits anyway. Plus, I mean, I'm probably doing the neighbors a favor.

With my hotness.

Anyway, then my underwear was wet, so I got to borrow a pair of boxer briefs and oh my GOD why hasn't anyone told me about these before? They are soft and stretchy and wonderful and have just enough room in front for my balls...wait.


Wednesday, August 5, 2009

To Make a Brand New Start of It


My sister (as previously mentioned) is currently in New York. The following is a text message conversation between us:

Kels: "Ask me who I met at the wax museum."

Me: "Who?"

Kels: "Diana Ross and Michael Jackson and Obama and JoBros and George Clooney and many many many more!"

Kels: "Jihlous?"

Me: "Sure."

Kels: "You're mean."

Me: "Am not. Just too stressed to be jealous of scary mannequins."

Kels: "I saw a guy in a man thong at the beach yesterday. Now r u jihlous?"

Me: "You are obviously living the life."

Kels: "I think you need to come here."

Hurry home, Kels.


Unintentional Hiatus

Hi kids!

I don't mean to neglect you, (You know I love you, baby!) but I've been rather busy/stressed recently which entailed sleeping through my alarm (twice) and stress dreams in which I told my mother I was moving out and she began to bawl and eat pizza. Then a lady came by selling coffee cake and she bought the whole thing and continued to cry and eat and I woke up sobbing because I had made my mommy so upset.

Where was I? Oh yes. Well this will be a short post because 1. I'm working (shh!), b) I'm tired/lazy, and 3. I don't really have much of interest to talk about.

So let's do a quick run-down and get on with our lives, shall we?

Let's see: My brother pierced his lip (in a car on our driveway by some girl we've never met), ate 3lbs of burrito (pictures later, I promise), and got left at the mall by his ex-whore.

My sister is in New York and ALMOST DROWN yesterday. Basically, she and Lauren swam out a little too deep and while they were panicking, some dude showed up and was all, "Are you guys okay?"

And they were all, "No! Glub glub..." (Alright, I embellished with the glubs! Sue me!).

And then he LEFT. Dude. Left.


The boyfriend got a job which is awesome because now he buys me flowers when he screws up (like when he lies about how many girls he's ba...nevermind) which is often, but I love him anyway.

And we went shopping and were in Aeropostale so late that the mall closed and I DIDN'T GET MY MOM HER GYMBOREE BUBBLES (Don't ask.) which is all she wanted and I felt so guilty that I had that terrible dream and I cried this morning when I told her about it and we are going to the mall today to procure said bubbles.

Going to see the Temptations and Four Tops tomorrow night with the Dadster and yeah.

And I've been excited/stressed/scared/HOLYCHRIST I'M GONNA DIE! about something I'm not talking about for a while, but stay tuned, people because it's a doozy (Spoiler Alert: I am NOT pregnant!).

So, can I be done yet? The End?


Monday, August 3, 2009

Lessons by Kels

Me: "Hey Kels, can you show me how to stop the toilet from running? You said you knew how."

Kels: "Well, first you flush it really hard."

Me: "Okay..."

Kels: "And you hold it down."

Me: "Mhm..."

Kels: "And then you wash your hands because you just touched the toilet."