Sunday, September 27, 2009

How to Win an Argument

"You were drunk last night."

"I was fine last night."

"Yeah right. You laid down on the bed and told me you would put the stuff away in a few minutes. Then you fell asleep."

"Whatever. It didn't affect me."

"You had like, three hurricanes. "

"I was fine."

"You tried to do the Stanky Legg."



Saturday, September 26, 2009

Tropical Devastation

Last night we went to dinner. We gorged ourselves on sushi and gyoza. And because I could, I ordered a drink.

I was all, "Ooh. A hurricane. I've heard of that!" All innocent and pinkish-orange sunset colored. Oh. My. God. That single pinkish-orange, innocent, grapefruit juice-tasting drink? Knocked me on my ass.

I'm such a lightweight loser.

By the time I (over)paid the bill and was ready to leave, I almost fell off the stool at the sushi bar. Then, I giggled all the way to the car. Which caused a case of hiccups that made me giggle more. It was a vicious cycle.

A vicious cycle, in fact, that lasted around 15 minutes. Apparently, it was 15 minutes too long for Corey who decided he was going to scare the hiccups out of me.

Biggest mistake of his life.

Mid-sentence, he turned from the driver's seat of my car and shouted, "BAHHHHHHHHHH!" to which I responded, "AAUUUUUUURGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" with my arms thrown up into the air.

And then I started to cry. Like, really cry. Sobs and waterworks and reaching for napkins and laughing from Corey which totally made me cry harder.

And today I'm all, "Dude, can we do that again?"


Friday, September 25, 2009

The Closest to Sentimental You May Ever See Me Get

You should probably close the browser window right now. Seriously. It's about to get reeeeeal gross and mushy up in this blog.


Six months ago today, I was standing outside my car shivering in the dark. I knew I should be on my way home because it was totally late on a Wednesday which is totally a work night. Okay, maybe it was 9:00.

But I wasn't leaving yet.

I was scared and nauseous and worried that what I was about to do would be one of the stupidest things I'd ever done. If I went through with this stupid plan, I was inevitably going to hurt myself.

But whatever. I'm a risk-taker. I'm young. I'll recover.

So I did it. And I was so nervous that I thought I'd be funny and GAWD it was awkward. Especially when I had to repeat myself because I hadn't been clear:

"So, are you gonna be my girlfriend yet, or what?"

And he laughed. Thank God. Then he said he would.

That was it. I knew I was done for. Because this boy was leaving in less than two months for basic training. And I would be heartbroken when he left and lonely while he was gone. And life was going to suck balls.

Then, a few weeks later he told me: He was staying. And he called his recruiter and told her the deal was off.

And now here we are six months later.

Sometimes we hate each other. Sometimes he drives me crazy and stresses me out. Sometimes I wish he would stop singing (if you can call it singing) my name into songs. Sometimes he deserves (and receives) a smack to the face.

But he still makes me laugh. He still makes me feel better when stuff totally sucks. He's still one of the best friends I've ever had.

And I still love that idiot who stayed home from the Army for me. As stupid as it is.


Whatever, Facebook Quiz!

You don't know me!

Seriously. Last night on my way home from Julio's (and his hair) class, I called Corey. And we spent the entire 30-some minute drive home on the phone as he took Facebook quizzes with my answers.

Which totally makes him a good boyfriend. Because he humored me as I learned what kind of beer I am and what kind of uncommon fruit I would be and even what kind of parent I will be (based upon four obviously well-thought out questions) through quizzes obviously developed by 14-year-old British girls*.

But yeah, I took one quiz to find out what swear word I would be and all the choices for each question were all violent and scary except for one each that was all sweet and goody-two-shoes and of course I'm gonna choose lame in lieu of MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS BECAUSE YOU MAKE HULK ANGRY.

And guess what my swear word was:

Damnit. It was damnit.

Really? That's it. I mean, I don't even use that word very often. You may as well have given me, "Oh fudge!" or like, "Dangit!" or, "Sugarsticks!" How lame is that?

I want something worse. Something vulgar. Something fun to say.

I deserve better.



*based on words like "mates" and "mum" and misspelling and ridiculous questions in the How Slutty Are You? quiz such as, "How far have you gone? a. eeewww grossssss! b. i wOuLdnt' DO tHaT! My MuM wOulD find Outtt! c. all teh way d. kissing."

C'mon! Any girl over the age of 18 will look like a dirty, dirty whore taking that quiz! I was destined to get the Skanky Skank Skank-Skank result.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Open Letter to The Internet

Dear Internet,

I apologize for my sucky posts lately. I seem to have lost my touch.

And I don't want to make excuses, but I've just been so stressed and strained and angry and sad about so many things and constant nightmares and sleeplessness and completely douchebaggy people that I wasn't there 100% when I wrote them.

I'm sorry, Internet. I did not give you my all.

And even last night on the phone with Corey, he said, "I see you have a new blog post." and I said, "Yep." and he said, "Not your best work." and I said, "Suck it, Douchebag."

But I knew he spoke the truth. So Internet, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been emotionally distant lately and I swear I still love you and there's not another Internet out there. It's all you. It's always been you, baby.

I just...need some time to myself. To think.

I need sleep.

I need inspiration.

I need a cocktail. With like, one of those little umbrellas that I can play with when I get all giggly.


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

I Don't Speak Spanish, Japanese or French

But the way your body's talkin' definitely makes sense.

Yo, Jesse McCartney and T Pain. I know your new single, "Body Language" is awesome and busy getting stuck in my head. And Imma let you finish, but just so you know: RICK ASTLEY HAD THE GREATEST EAR WORM OF ALL TIME!

I'm sorry. I had to.

Moving on, then.

So yesterday, I woke up to six missed calls from my house. Six. All from around midnight. Along with a text message from Kels:

"Get the fuck home. She's pissing me off! - That's what mom said"

Seriously? I had been sleeping for two hours. In my bed. At my house. The one from which my mom called me. The one at which I had said, "Goodnight" to said mom when I arrived home around 9:40ish. The one in front of which, my car was parked in plain sight on the driveway.

Whatever, Mom.

So then I went back to sleep because I had a headache and nausea (due to either a cold or allergies) and had a dream that I was at Target with a headache and nausea and I couldn't buy anything because I don't get paid until tomorrow. Plus, the Ex-Limp Noodle showed up and was having lively conversations with my mom.

I can't even catch a break in my dreams. I mean, even last night I dreamed I was gonna be in Jesse McCartney's music video. Except I didn't know the dances and we were right about to start filming and I was holding beef jerky. So weird.

By the way, I'm pretty sure I will make a terrible parent because I totally suck at remembering kids are like, in the room. And either I say something and they ask me what it is or someone else says something and I don't even notice the child's presence to protect their virgin ears.

Case in point: Corey's little brother, Casey whom you might remember from my Kids Say the Darndest Things post.
Well, the other night I'm at Corey's hanging out with him and his cousin, Jason who's telling me a story about an ugly girl which started with a story about ugly strippers. Yeah.

Basically, his friend had shown him a picture the chick had sent to his phone of her, "below parts" (as Jay put it: obviously a classy broad), and Jay liked what he saw, so he stole her number and proceeded to text her. And he chick (still classy as ever) started sending Jay pictures. Except they were of her face.

And chick was hit. We're talking like, Fergie after meth hit. Plus she was grotesquely skinny.
And then ohmygod, I think I still have the pictures on my phone, hang on happens and long story short, he is shoving his phone in my face going, "Look! She's disgusting and skinny!" and I'm all, "Awesome, Jay. Yes, I can see it. Yes, her ass is bony and gross. Please take your phone out of my eyeball. Thanks."
Anyway, he leaps up off the bed in a fit of excitement over the UGLY! LOOK AT THE UGLY! and says, (Remember: His words, not mine.) "She's the kinda girl where you penetrate her (he seriously said penetrate) and you can see it on the outside!"

Then, he starts to pantomime.

He puts up three fingers on his right hand and thrusts them upward (I'm not gonna explain if you don't already know what I'm talking about.) and goes, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Suddenly, from atop the bed a tiny voice shouts excitedly, "THREE!"

Ohmygod. Casey. Hi, yeah. Jay was just telling a math story, yeah. Good job! He is holding up three fingers, yes. Now go upstairs and don't tell your parents what he said.

And then Jay high-fived him.

Internet, this is my life.


Sunday, September 20, 2009


Guilty as charged.

I am the oversharer to end all oversharing. And my friends are just as bad. I mean, I have had to endure gruesomely-detailed sex stories, phone calls to the carpet cleaning service about "hard vegetables" and colostomy bag mishaps, and even tales that began with, "Katie, I apologize ahead of time that you have to be here for this, but...Hey, Chris: Have you ever sat on your balls?!"

I tell the internet my every move whether it be through this blog, Facebook status or just a public post to another one of my friends.

It's sick, it's wrong, but I don't care. It will not end anytime soon, so suck it up, Internet. Get used to it.

You will, from time to time, be exposed to TMI on this blog.

For example, I accidentally put three blue shirts in with my laundry again. And now a large majority of my underwear is blue.

And now when you all see me, you will be thinking of my blue underwear.

And you won't be able to pretend it's not totally hot.

And I will know you will be thinking about it. And you will know I know.

And it will be awkward for you.

And I wont even care.


Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

My First Promotion

"Yeah, but you know what your degree is for. You wanna be a cop so you have a criminal justice degree. And you know what career you have ahead of you. I wanna be a chef, but there isn't a BA for that."

"You have a long career ahead of you too...a long career of loving me! And you're up for your first promotion!"

"What's my first promotion?"

"I actually don't know. Honestly, I've just been pulling stuff out of my ass for the last half hour."


Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sweet Dreams Are Made of Cheese

I totally have a shirt that says that. My dad got it for me for Christmas and every time I wear it, someone inevitably breaks out into a Eurythimics sing/hum/dance fest. Similar to my New Kids On The Block t-shirt that ironically makes people burst into LFO's "Summer Girls" and not at all NKOTB songs.


I totally had this dream the other night where I was in some kind of warehouse store (like Sam's Club) and had to pee. So I asked one of the employees where it was and they were all, "Oh, George can show you."

And it was George Clooney. Seriously. And the whole time he was walking me around the warehouse with a bathroom key, I kept telling him how jealous my mom would be.

And then suddenly George Clooney (who at this point had started to morph into John Mellancamp) and Kels followed me into the bathroom and I kept telling them that I couldn't pee when they were watching and that I had dreams like this all the time where I couldn't pee because there was no stall door, or it was a communal bathroom or someone was with me watching. Which I totally do. All the time. And it was crazy to remember other dreams within this dream.

Then, we ordered Thai food. And I did not pee.

And then I was standing on the porch of my house in Grosse Point and apparently looked too hard at a guy that drove by because he ducked into his car and came out with a gun and took three shots at me. And I could see the bullets coming at me in slow motion like I was Keanu Reeves and I screamed, "DADDY!" and leapt to the ground.

The bullets skimmed over me and I got up and ran to my dad, an enormous black man getting into his SUV.

And then I woke up.

It was weird. Plus, I'm probably forgetting parts because dreams get hazy after a few days and I've been busy.

Either way, I thought it was worth sharing. When I woke up the other day and was still half-asleep.

I now know I was wrong.


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

And I'm ready to change with them.

Birthdays are the real New Years. I mean, I did not begin my first year on January 1, 1988. I began it on September 16th. So now is the time that I'm going to make my resolutions.

Now is my time for change.

I need a new iPod (Still too soon.), a new phone (Because I'm tired of paying AT&T's rates for no extra features. Plus, the back is falling off my phone. I'm looking at Verizon.), and I'd like to get a netbook: Simply because I LOVE NEW TOYS! And birthdays have always been the time for new toys. Why stop with the toys just because you're a grown-up?

I want to get my tattoo this year: Dee reminded me about it when she got her new one done and she gave me a card for a place that hand-draws anything you want. Plus, hers looks SO GOOD.

I need to go to doctors: I need to go to the Long-Procrastinated and Dreaded Girly Part Doctor. My uterus is screaming, "UNCLE!" and I'm tired of getting sick, fat, pimply and weepy every month. I think birth control would stop all that shenanigans and also, as Jess put it, "control the birth." Which is always good.

I also need to go to another doctor, any doctor that can finally stop my poor leg/hip from hurting. I've endured this pain since December 18th and I think it has been long enough. I'm done with taking 800mg of Motrin four times a day. I'm too young for chronic pain. Get back with me when I'm 90 and arthritic.

And I need to do well in school: Gone are the days of skipping class because I didn't do a paper I was supposed to, or because Katie and Rachel missed me or because I simply didn't feel like going. I'm tired of my 2.05 GPA. I'm smart and I can do SO much better.

This year of my life holds so many possibilities. And I want to make it a good one.


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Under Construction

You may have noticed that we here at I'm Short. I Know This. Let's Move On. are under a bit of construction. A little retooling, redecorating and fighting ruthlessly with HTML coding trying to get things thewayIwantthemdamnit!

As Michael Cera's character in Superbad, Evan once put it, "Life's bullshit, Miroki." That is how I am doing today.

I don't much feel like getting into it, but to summarize: I am nauseous, crampy, tired and dizzy because my parents had a girl. Thanks a lot, Mom. Were the pink fluffy dresses you got to buy worth it?

My car was egged over the weekend resulting in chipped paint on Chance's (My '06 Chevy Cobalt LT and Love of My Life) driver's side. Not to mention someone keyed my hood.

My iPod? Well, scroll down a bit to see the picture. It's still too raw and painful to talk about. Too soon.

I dropped my phone on Saturday when Molly tried to climb me and broke one of the clips inside that holds the back on, so it's loose and it's always fun to try to hold a conversation with the Financial Aid Office at school whilst worrying about the battery popping out at any moment.

My eyes are puffy because I spent the night crying. Because my hormones run my life and everything in said life appears to be going wrong all at once. Plus, my sister took my laundry out of the dryer and put it in with dirty clothes...and that SO seemed like something to cry about last night. Anyway...

I start school on Thursday. I am registered for two classes and waitlisted for one. The waitlisted class is on Monday, but the semester starts tomorrow. So I will go to class Thursday, and then on Monday, I will find out if I'm getting into the waitlisted class. If I do, I may drop my Thursday class and just have class on Mondays.

And please someone remind me to send in my financial aid worksheets tonight so that I can afford said classes!

This week is a nightmare and it's only Tuesday.

I need a hug.


Monday, September 7, 2009

Friday, September 4, 2009

Things I Would Like to Buy Me For My Birthday

My 21st Birthday is 12 days from today. There shall be lots of red wine in my future.

And I do not like gifts. I mean, I do, but I don't. I'm more of the, "You shouldn't have!" kinda girl. I feel guilty when people get me stuff.

I don't, however, feel guilty buying myself presents. Therefore, I present to you lovely people of The Internet:

Things I Would Like to Buy Me For My Birthday

  1. An Asus 7" Eee 8GB PC Netbook with Windows XPI adore Herman (my Dell 1520 Inspiron Laptop). I really do. But the fella is just a tad too big to lug around in my backpack at school. If Herman comes to school, Lord help me if I need my book in class that night because dude barely fits in my backpack alone, nevermind with a book or binder or something. Plus, they're cheaper on and I have a Target card and could pay it off in increments.

  2. A Leopard Print Snuggie
    Mock as you will, but as stupid as they are, I can't help but want a Snuggie. Maybe it is my gullibility or my affinity for falling for nearly every advertising campaign (WHAT? Goldfish Crackers that are RAINBOW? They cost how much more? But...RAINBOW!), but I feel like I need one. Plus, now they come in "designer" styles. And leopard print takes me back to my Spice Girl days. You know, when I thought I was one. (I really have to scan the picture of fat, little, blonde me with knobs on the front of my head a la Scary Spice.) And who can turn down a free booklight? (Especially after the blackout of 2009!) C'mon! P.S. They also now come in dog sizes and sports team logos. AWESOME.

  3. A Nice Corkscrew and Wine Glasses
    Because I plan on some wine in my future. And it just looks ghetto when you drink aged Merlot out of a Winnie the Pooh coffee mug.

  4. A Day Off
    Between working overtime and driving back and forth to everyone else's house, I am becoming exhausted. Plus, I now start school on the 14th (More on that later.) and I need a break. I'm taking two days off work: my birthday and the day after so that I can get a real pedicure (first one in at least a year and a half), go shopping alone (My sister hates, "watching [me] shop" and when I, "tell [my] life story" to cashiers and salesgirls.) and maybe even take me out for sushi. I love you people dearly, but I need a few hours to myself.

I mean, World Peace would be nice too.

I'm not picky.



Wednesday, September 2, 2009

A Love Story

Picture it:

A girl.
Her iPod.

Her dad fixing the iPod.

The hope and promise that soon the girl and her iPod would be together again sharing in the beauty that is R. Kelly's "Remix to Ignition."

Yeah, I was that girl once.

And then last night it all came crashing down when my dad called me (while Corey and I were running the track at East Detroit High School and I had to rush to unzip the phone from the pocket in the back of my stretchy running capris [nice visual, no?] all out of breath and trying to stop Hannah Montana's "Rockstar" from blaring so effing loud it could summon preteen girls from miles around) and told me the news: He couldn't fix it.

And I almost cried right there on the track. I was already close to tears because running the track makes you feel like a big fat kid when you realize that you can't even do the half mile straight after skipping out on El Gymo for a month. But still, it was like, real sad.

But today I got the iPod back from my dad.

I dipped a Q-tip in acetone (of which we have a large jug in the garage for some reason. I don't know. Ask my brother.) and stuck it into the audio port to dissolve the Superglue.

Some cotton stayed when I pulled the Q-tip out and so I grabbed a toothpick and scraped it out.

Just then, I felt the piece of metal move. OH MY GOD, IT MOVED!

So I reached in, and pulled it out! IT CAME OUT!!!!

And I danced around, piece of metal in hand screaming, "YES YES YES!" like I was in an Herbal Essences commercial!

And then I woke up.



Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A Text Conversation Between Katies

K1: "Michelle Duggar is pregnant with her 19th child. This fuckery needs to stop."

K2: "Holy cow! Sex with her must be like throwing a hot dog into a sewer pipe."

K1: "Haha dude from keeps talking about kids cartwheeling out of her cavernous vagina."

K2: "Sounds about right. Bet she has a trampoline stored in there too."

K1: "They need to stop fucking. The world is running out of names that start with J."

K2: "Or he just needs to get snipped. Either way."

K1: "Or at least wrap it up."

K2: "Maybe his sperm is so strong it could break through latex."

K1: "Maybe!"