Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Life's Burning Questions

You could concern yourself with wondering where on Earth I have been for the past bajillion years that is so important and busy and awesome or (depending on whether you're a Glass Half Full or Half Empy kind of person) atrocious that I couldn't post.

Or you could wonder along with me at the following burning questions:
  • Why does the vending machine at work not take nickels, but will give them as change? Where do they come from?!
  • Why does one of the people that live in my house (they all deny it) place bottles that look like this upside-down in the washcloth rack so that all of the contents settle in the top and I can't get anything out? Do they not understand gravity?
  • Why do people wait until the very last second to get over when a lane is clearly ending? It would save us so much time and road rage.
  • Why did that creepy man follow me in from the parking lot this morning whilst detailing to me his theory of time relativity? No, seriously. He said that.
  • Why is it that whenever I really want to see a band, something bad happens like a flat tire, or mono, or the only member of the band having kidney stones? Boo!
  • Why did I not ask more about this supposed "adjustment period" to these rigid gas permeable contacts before getting them? Ouch.
  • How did I accidentally sign myself up for ballroom dancing lessons? Like, seriously, how does one do such a thing?
  • Is it wrong to wait until you are on meds for depression before telling your father that you failed out of school and are starting at a community college in two weeks?
  • What happens if they don't medicate me and I stay sucky and miserable?
  • Who am I going to have to kill if I don't get my refund for Owl City? I am SO not wasting my $40 for pavillion seats to see Maroon 5 play their new album.
  • Why does God send all orange striped cats to live at my house?
  • Why did I think I could watch Repo! The Genetic Opera and NOT be disturbed/traumatized for the rest of my life?
  • Why am I writing this drivel?



Tuesday, March 23, 2010


By the way, I almost forgot that you slept with my ex-boyfriend.

Good riddance.


Thursday, March 18, 2010

I Don't Care

No really, I don't.

Never mind the years of friendship and the last few of watching you fake it.

Never mind letting you cry onto my shoulder in the mornings before high school because your parents told you that you were fat.

Never mind not calling me at the moment you needed me most and favoring other "friends" instead, none of which you are friends with anymore.

Never mind all the times I went with you to buy pregnancy tests because you'd been sleeping with several guys and thought you were pregnant.

Never mind the carefully thought out birthday presents while you gave me used magazines and pop-up books about DOLLS THAT COME TO LIFE!!!! Dolls. That are alive. MOTHERFUCKINGDOLLS! The stuff of my nightmares. You obviously know me well after 10 years, eh?

Never mind my texts that never get answered until hours, sometimes days later.

Never mind that I got up at four in the morning (God doesn't get up that early!) and got on a bus with my crabby boyfriend and sat in front of these idiots for five hours to come and see you and that you couldn't be bothered to meet us at the station.

Never mind that we carried our luggage around with us for two hours in a city we weren't familiar with waiting for you.

Never mind that you couldn't take this one weekend off from seeing your repulsive-cheating-scumbag-asshole boyfriend to see your "best friend" and planned the entire night around him including changing the dinner reservations to 10:15 PM (which is 11:15 PM Michigan time) when we had been up since 4:00 AM (which is 3:00 AM Illinois time) and were too exhausted to go and slept on the futon instead.

Never mind that I comforted you on the L Train because RCSA boyfriend was making you cry.

Never mind you didn't bother making the floor clear enough to walk over in the five weeks that you knew we would be coming. Or that you didn't bother to have water for us to drink or towels out for us to use in the shower.

Never mind that you came home at 2:00 AM with your RCSA boyfriend "whispering" in the bed next to my head while I slept. I threw your cat at him when he ran across my face WITH HIS CLAWS.

Never mind that you couldn't walk us to the station when we left. You said you would be going in that direction, but you wanted to sleep until noon.

Never mind that I spent that night texting you trying to get you to see that you're worth more than that useless scumbag liar and then you didn't talk to me again for another month and a half.

Never mind you've been in town for two days and didn't tell me and I had to find out from your mom's Facebook and now you can't spare one fucking hour to get Starbucks with me, especially since I can't even AFFORD Starbucks right now.

Never mind that I have been the best friend that I could be to you for 10 FUCKING YEARS and you have given me less than nothing in return. Less than nothing.

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. Care. Care if it's old. I don't mind. I don't mind. I don't mind. Mind. I don't have a mind.


Thursday, March 11, 2010

A Day In The Life

5:30 AM - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze until 6:30.

6:30 AM - Grudgingly roll out of bed and curse yourself for not getting up sooner. Grab towels and shuffle towards the bathroom for a shower.

6:31 AM - Shuffle back to bedroom. Mom is in shower. Check email until she gets out.

6:40 AM - Shuffle back to bathroom and take a shower. Refrain from using face scrub because lady at Sally Beauty Supply said to only use it at night. Drop everything in the shower at least once. Swear.

6:47 AM - Towel off and apply various creams/pomades to wet hair and wrap towel around head. Brush teeth and get mad every time the towel falls off due to the gravity of leaning over a sink.

6:50 AM - Start getting dressed and end up hating the outfit laid out the night before. Change everything.

7:00 AM - Apply makeup and argue with sister trying to get in the bathroom. Call her a Nazi. Speak German to her.

7:03 AM - Leave house in flip flops and start car. Realize there's no gas because it was too cold last night after class to stop at a gas station. Swear. Drive to gas station and get gas as well as breakfast. Be classy.

7:23 AM - Arrive at work. Spend five minutes looking for a parking space. Spend the next 10 minutes walking the half mile from the parking space to the building. No exaggeration.

7:40 AM - Walk into office la te. Curse parking lot. Wonder when parking structure will be done.

Work. Change Facebook status periodically. Tweet when something amusing happens or when boredom strikes.

3:30 PM - Wander back to car parked in BFE.

3:46 PM - Arrive at car. Get in and wait in line for 10 minutes to get out of the gate. Stop at home to change and eat dinner.

4:42 PM - Leave for school. Worry about being late the entire way there. Speed.

5:14 PM - Arrive at school an hour early. Go to bathroom. Waste time. Go to class and sit in the dark Facebooking on netbook until someone turns on the light. Facebook in the light until class.

6:15 PM - Professor arrives five minutes late. Class starts. Sit through class. Fear the TA and her crazy eyes. Imagine her turning the class to stone. Type everything professor says verbatim. Get midterm back. Be disappointed in your B-.

9:00 PM - Leave class. Book it to the car because the parking lot is dark and full of terrible drivers. Speed home.

9:26 PM - Arrive home. Mom says boyfriend called. Talked to him for several minutes about enema he had to give autistic person in group home he works in. Make fun of bleach blonde goatee thing brother is attempting to grow. Tell him it makes him look like Hulk Hogan. Tell orange fluffy cat that bears resemblance to Wilford Brimley at the time that he "don't know 'bout mah Diabeetus." Laugh at own joke. Make and eat corned beef sandwich in front of "vegetarian" sister. Moan at deliciousness as she ogles and talks about how good it looks. Laugh as she gives herself a pep talk: "They're so mean to the chickens! You've done this for two weeks, Kelly. If you do this, you can do anything!" Laugh when brother tells her that they throw the chickens because it tenderizes them and makes them delicious and then leaves to get McNuggets. Page phone and realize mom is sitting on it. Call boyfriend. Wander upstairs to bed.

10:26 PM - Finally get off phone because boyfriend has to change adult diapers before getting off work. Stay up until he calls back.

10:27 PM - Fall asleep.

10:55 PM - Wake up because phone is ringing under pillow. Talk groggily for three minutes. Hang up and fall asleep. Have nightmare about a doll.


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

I'd Rather Laugh With The Sinners

I am not an atheist. I'm not. I don't think this is it for me. I don't think we get just this one chance and I don't think it's all for nothing. I believe in God. I love people.

But oh I despise organized Christian religions.

I despise them for their hatred and ridicule of gays. For their opposition to letting me do with my own body what I want to. For their protesting outside the WomenCare center in my neighborhood and harassing girls and women that are already scared and upset and facing an extremely difficult and heartbreaking decision. For their ridiculous, backward and often contradictory "morals." For their manipulation of young minds to inherit this disgusting hate. For their corruption and their bastardization of The Bible from a guide of morality and friendship and love, to a Constitution of Insanity that they use to justify their hatred. For their complete disregard and ignorance of observed, proven, scientific FACTS. For their attempt to control people and change people so that everyone is just like them in the form of missionaries. For their appalling collection of money to propel themselves further. For their oppression and rules and restrictions on why I cannot enjoy the life that God gave me the way that makes me happy and doesn't hurt anyone else. For their refusal of birth control that causes teenage girls, mere babies themselves, to be mothers. For their refusal of medical care for their sick children.

I've seen my despicable Catholic neighbors knock my brother's teeth out with a metal baseball bat, and still be superior to us because they go to church on Sunday and God forgave them.

I've seen the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (better known as Mormons) steal my parents' money and monitor their lives to make sure they weren't drinking coffee or wearing regular undergarments.

I've seen a woman marry the man she loves and the father of her child and be exiled because the man is black and her son is half and half, his grandparents unwilling to touch him.

I've seen the dark side of Christian religion. The intangible ideals that make me sick. And the people who are "good" because they are "saved" while I sit here, a Godless heathen, going to Hell for loving others as Jesus did and not judging them for being gay, or drinking alcohol on occasion or having an abortion because they can't afford to start a family at 16.

So you know what? I will love those people anyway.

I will love you even though I don't go to church.

I will love you even though I take birth control.

I will love you even though I buy my underwear at Target and not a temple.

I will love you even though I think it's okay to have an abortion if you need to.

I will love you even though I believe in modern medicine.

I will love you even though I drink a goddamn Coca Cola and GASP! a glass of wine every now and then.

I will love you even though I take the name of God in vain.

And I will see you in Heaven.


Sunday, February 14, 2010

Chicago Trips by Kels (Via Text)

"How's your trip?"

"It's fine. I got you a present."

"Oh joy! Did you see the babies in the tubes*? That's my favorite thing about Chicago."

"Yeah, we did."



*Kels is referring to a portion of the Museum of Science and Industry about the birth process where they have actual stillborn specimens encased in glass to show the different stages of fetus development. It gives me the willies and makes me cry (especially because I left my birth control at home and have been a weepy mess since Friday). My sister is morbid.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

The One Where I'm a Douche Bag

Last night I yelled at my boyfriend. I know, right? That like, totally never happens.

Moving on.
So, I yelled at him. Because it was late and I was tired and I had gotten home and realized that he'd deleted the background on my phone because he thought it was a bad picture. And now my phone is blank.

Then, I fell asleep while I was talking to him, never quite resolving the issue entirely.

But then, I got in to work this morning and opened my email:

Subject: sorry about deleting the picture

Message: At least you still have these. The one where I look retarded is the most awful picture I've ever taken btw.



Tuesday, February 2, 2010

How to Demonstrate Your Stupidity With Only Your Vehicle

1. Affix a Jesus fish to the outside.
This will not only show me that you are an over-judgemental prick, but an over-judgemental prick that needs attention. Look at me, everyone! I'm Christian! That makes me a good person!

2. Cover your car in bumper stickers.
I don't care if you voted McCain/Palin 2009 or that you're only driving fast because you have to poop or that you like Insane Clown Posse. Save it for your E-Harmony profile.

3. Install stupid rims.
If they spin or are bigger than the tires themselves, save your money to spend on an unnecessarily loud speaker system.

4. Paint it an unnatural color.
Fact: 4 out of 5 car accidents are caused by temporary blindness incurred by chameleon coated vehicles. Guns don't kill people. Ugly cars kill people.

5. Drive a Hummer.
Nothing says "Douchebag" like a vehicle modeled after military equipment that uses more fuel than a private jet. Plus, if one more girl in a burqua driving one of these monstrosities tries to run me over in the parking lot at school, I'm going to scream.

6. Drive a Smart Car.
Good for the environment? Sure! Good for the driver? Uh....not so much.

7. Drive a Toyota.

33 miles per gallon and a probable death guarantee!


Friday, January 22, 2010

Running 11 Miles In My Shoes

Imagine that you're running a six-mile race. You don't want to. You're a fat kid. Fat kids like Chinese food and Hostess cupcakes. Fat kids do not do marathons.

But everyone decides that it will be "good for you." So guess what, fatty? You're running those six miles.

But not only are you running six miles, you’ve also been assigned two hecklers. One is a micro-managing control freak mother figure. The other is a moody, bi-polar adult/hormonal teenager who hates you…and most other people.

You start off well. You think, "Hey, this is easy. I can do this!” And then you trip. And everyone will always remember that you tripped. Especially your hecklers. And they bring it up all the time. And the pressure and embarrassment causes you to trip over and over until you’re a bumbling failure, constantly on the verge of giving up.

But you’re getting close to the end. Thank. God. The end is finally near! You can see the finish line…and somebody walking up to it…and moving it back another two miles. What. The. Hell.
Alright, fine. Eight miles! You’ve done six already. You can do just two more. Two miles. Huffing and puffing and jiggling and gaining weight out of stress and depression and fighting with your friends and family and taking everything much harder than you normally would. You start to cry. You cry for the next two miles. And you want to die.

But it’s about to get better, right? You near the finish line. And time’s running out. But then you hear talk going around. They want the finish line pushed back another three miles. You’re desperate. Hysterical. You become anxious. Are the rumors true?

You could do six. You struggled through eight. But now 11? Nobody will tell you anything. They talk around you. The hecklers. The people in charge of you that decided this whole thing was “good for you” in the first place.

You begin to wonder when you’ll ever be in charge of your own life again. When YOU get to decide what’s good for YOU. And until then, you’re stuck in this limbo of Not Knowing.

And the hourglass is dwindling. What’s going to become of the fat kid trapped in perpetual motion?


Friday, January 15, 2010

So Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired

In recent days I have been busy, Internet. Incredibly busy. Like, obscenely offensively (to me) busy. It's nuts.

I've been working and having nervous breakdowns and crying and screaming at poor unsuspecting boyfriends. Oh, and preparing for SCHOOL! which started on Monday. And I apologize for not being around much, but oh Internet, I haven't had the time!

But do you know what I do have time for? Facebook status updates. Oh. Yes. You wanna know what's been up with me? I'll tell you what's been up.

Katie Cole is mad at Corey's douchebag friends because they're the male versions of the cast of Mean Girls.

Katie Cole is irrationally angry simply because her boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is alive and trying to bang his cousin.

Katie Cole's tattoo artist has Guy Fieri's voice.

Katie Cole is wondering if she can get her tattoo artist to tell her that her tattoo design is "killer" or "money." Also wondering if it will cost extra for said things.

Katie Cole is tattooed and trying not to let her dad find out because he once told her that if she ever got one, she'd have to change her first and last name.

Related: Katie Cole has back fat.

Katie Cole has gained 16 pounds since March last year because her boyfriend is an enabler of fat kid-ness.

Katie Cole is taking her first online class ever.

Katie Cole is trying to stay on top of school this semester lest she never graduate.

Katie Cole's Urban Geography professor has the same voice as the Piggy Bank from Toy Story and she can't stop picturing said pig when he lectures.

Katie Cole has been recognized by her Sociology professor. Yes, Professor McNeece, she DID fail your class last winter and yes, she shamelessly IS back for more.

Katie Cole is easily angered lately.

Katie Cole is angry at Jason because he is trying to bang Tila Tequila-looking whore.

Katie Cole is fighting with Jason on Facebook.

Katie Cole is mature.

Katie Cole is calling her boyfriend to cry and tattle on his cousin, Jason.

Katie Cole is getting Starbucks on the way to class to make her feel better.

Katie Cole just talked to her boyfriend again and Jason is sorry.

Katie Cole is sorry she was mean to Jason.

Katie Cole is continuing to sob uncontrollably and for no real reason so that it is probably dangerous driving on 696.

Katie Cole is not only the girl that is recognized by her Accounting professor as a student that has taken and failed the class not once, but twice, but is ALSO the girl that shows up to the first night of class bleary-eyed from crying the entire way to school.

Katie Cole's Accounting professor caught her in the bathroom and asked her if she was okay and promised to help her with her homework if she needed it.

Katie Cole is embarassed.

Katie Cole has convinced herself that somehow by tattooing her uncle's last words on her body, that she has created some sort of intuitive connection between herself and him and is experiencing the feelings of overwhelm and helplessness and anger that he was experiencing last year at the very same moment and that is why she is feeling the way she is lately.

Katie Cole swore she heard a heartbeat speed up, slow down, and then stop as she was trying to fall asleep last night.

Katie Cole woke up at 4 AM with a soreness in her neck.

Katie Cole thought she saw ligature marks on her neck in the mirror this morning.

Katie Cole is seriously fucked in the head.

Katie Cole probably needs therapy.

Katie Cole cannot stand the anniversary of her uncle's suicide today.

Katie Cole is trying to keep her crying to a minimum at work.

Katie Cole needs gum because she has coffee breath, but can't make it downstairs to buy any because she is manning four different phone lines.

Katie Cole has several people calling her repeatedly and telling her how to do her job.

Katie Cole forgot to bring a lunch.

Katie Cole is beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Big Mac Snack Wraps might not be so bad.

Katie Cole is really fucked in the head.