I'm short. I know this. Let's move on.

College Life by Kels

2011-09-06T17:35:00.000-07:00

My sister started her first day of classes at the University of Michigan (the real one) today. As usual, she had lots to say on the matter.

On hygiene: "Guh. I can't get ready because my suitemate is bathing! I wanted to be able to get breakfast. Pooey."
"Go eat and then bathe."
"Hail no! I can't go there with my hair looking like this!"

On cafeterias: "Eat awrone."

On navigating the campus: "Have you ever seen the episode of friends where they're in England and Joey needs to jump in the map?"
"Lol yes."
"That's what I'm about to do."

On meeting new people: "Can't tell if gay or just good style." and then later "Definitely gay." followed by "Messenger bag boy! Where'd you go? I wanna marry you."

On getting to class early: "Cold and alone."

On being in class: "Hot professor alert...he might be gay too."

On getting out of class: "All by myselffff."

My baby sister's all grown up. And I miss her.

Tomorrow I start school too. Here goes nothing.

Love,
Katie

I need you to know something

2011-08-02T11:56:00.000-07:00

I am terrible at keeping plans. I am a procrastinator (and a forgetful one at that) and I will find whatever else there is to do and do that before doing something I don't want to do. Wait, did that make sense?

Basically, I got distracted and didn't keep up this blog like I promised. Whatever. Sue me.

Anyway, this post will rattle on and border --oh hell , it will probably cross over--on TMI territory. But these are things I need to say. Besides, nobody reads this anyway except maybe Bonnie. Hi Bonnie!

A few months ago I had my annual check-up. I was five months late on doing so. Typical, right? But we're getting off track here. Moving on.

At my annual (late) check-up, I told my doctor that I had let my perscription for my birth control pills expire and was having horrendous, life-altering cramps again. This, my doctor determined, was due to ovarian cysts that would go away once I was back on birth control. So she put me on Seasonique*, which for those of you that don't know, is a birth control pill that keeps your period at bay for longer than usual so that you onle get one every three months. Four a year. Sounds. Awesome.

Um no.

A month or so into taking these pills, everything started to change. I was angry or sad or just...blah. Nothing. Numb. All the time. I was unable to get excited or be happy for anything, although flying into a rage or hysteria was pretty easy for me. I had terrible mood swings and poor Corey had to walk on eggshells around me because I was constantly starting fights.

Then, my stepmom died.

I thought I was sad all the time because of her death, and yes, that was the main cause. But I couldn't function in real life anymore. I would cry for hours and scream and Corey would have to hold me against a wall in our condo so I didn't hurt him or myself. It wasn't me.

People told me it might have been the pills. My mom and Corey were sure of it. But I was adamant. I hadn't had a problem before. They were crazy. I was fine. The end.

Except that I wasn't fine. Every day was worse than the one before it. When I feel normal, every day is a new beginning. But now every day was a new end. Everything was over and I had nothing and nobody cared and the world was a horrible place. It was awful and scary and frustrating and I began to think that there was no way out other than to die. And I thought about it all day every day until one morning after starting a fight with Corey before the sun was even up. I went into the bathroom of our brand new apartment and grabbed a bottle of Target brand Ibuprofin and shoved a handful into my mouth. Before I was even able to chew or swallow or do anything, I was on the bed with Corey on top of me, his hands in my mouth. I choked as he dug his fingers into my throat scooping out red-coated pill after red-coated pill and screaming, "How many did you swallow?" None.

That was the last day I took those pills. And yeah, I do feel better. A lot better. I can laugh again. I don't cry as much. I get excited about things and can make jokes. Corey says he feels like he got me back. Like I came back from the dead.

Well, maybe I did.

Love,
Katie

*According to my Google search skills, depression among Seasonique users is a common occurrence. Funny, it's not on the warning label! Anyway, I'm sure you can do your own research, but here is one of the stories I read that pretty much summed it up. As always, talk to your doctor about drugs and their effects because I have no medical training. At all.

The Social Network

2011-07-15T14:11:00.001-07:00

So I deactivated (much quicker, easier and less permanent—should I ever want it back—than deleting) my Facebook account. Yes, I know. SHOCK! AWE! AMAZEMENT! Someone of the generation of laziness, entitlement and handheld device worship gave up a social networking site! Alert the media! Via Facebook!

But seriously, guys. I don’t even miss it.

I don’t miss everyone knowing my business and secretly stalking me without bothering to actually interact with me.

I don’t miss the copious amount of updates and photos and videos from overzealous parents intent on chronicling their child’s every. breathing. second.

I don’t miss knowing what people are having for dinner tonight.

I don’t miss invites to events and parties that in all honesty, I was never considering attending in the first place and only RSVPed “maybe” to be polite.

I don’t miss worrying if people will find out what I did instead of attending the event/party that I RSVPed “maybe” to.

I don’t miss obnoxious people with low self-esteem that feel the need to express their superiority to everyone via status update. Ex: “OMG! I just got a new sofa for $20 on Ebay and it’s the most amazing sofa in the entire world that retails for $300 billion and is made of Tasmanian squirrel skin that can only be harvested between 2:48 and 3:04 am on February 29th of a leap year so it’s super-awesome and you will never have one and I will and oh, did I mention my boyfriend just proposed with this ugly ring and we’re getting married super-soon and you’ve been engaged for six months with no wedding plans in sight? “

I just don’t miss it.

What I do miss are some of the people that live so far that I never get to see them and can only communicate in these ways. And also sending people Youtube videos (Hey, I never said I gave up on the internet entirely!) and pictures.

And yeah, there are some things that I want to share with people.

I want to tell people about my newfound love for organic, whole, natural foods and green living. And my rekindled love for running and Owl City. Or about the severe, debilitating, suicidal depression I went through. Or the loss of yet another close family member at their own hand.

I just want to talk to you people. But why do I have to sign in blood and give up my privacy and sanity (because dude, Facebook is addictive) to do it?

That’s why the blog is back. Until I get lazy or busy and don’t update it. As I am wont to do.

Either way, here’s hoping you’ll be here with me no matter what happens.

Love,
Katie

Life's Burning Questions

2010-08-04T07:47:00.000-07:00

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?

Love,

Katie

Afterthought

2010-03-23T14:58:00.000-07:00

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

Good riddance.

Love,
Katie

I Don't Care

2010-03-18T14:59:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

A Day In The Life

2010-03-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Love,
Katie

I'd Rather Laugh With The Sinners

2010-03-09T15:08:00.000-08:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Chicago Trips by Kels (Via Text)

2010-02-14T07:23:00.000-08:00

"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."

"*Jealous*"

Love,
Katie

*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.

The One Where I'm a Douche Bag

2010-02-09T05:08:00.000-08:00

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.

Attachments:

Yep.

Love,

Katie

How to Demonstrate Your Stupidity With Only Your Vehicle

2010-02-02T17:07:00.001-08:00

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!

Love,
Katie

Running 11 Miles In My Shoes

2010-01-22T06:26:00.000-08:00

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?

Love,
Katie

So Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired

2010-01-15T06:37:00.000-08:00

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.

Love,
Katie

I Frickin' Love You!

2009-12-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the Starbucks Peppermint Mocha Frappuccino and Oatmeal I let myself have for breakfast (It's a bloody holiday, okay?) or the fact that I am about a half hour from going home for the weekend. Or maybe I'm groggy from staying up until the wee hours of the morning (which is 11 o'clock for us old people) playing Beatles Rock Band with my siblings, boyfriend, stepmom and daddeh (Of COURSE there will be videos!).

But I am super-happy. I love everyone!

Even my sister who deleted me from Facebook because I joined a group called, "Justin Bieber, you don't love that girl. You're 12."

But I digress.

Things suck. This is true. But for everything that sucks, there are 500 things that don't suck. And they may not all be big enough for me to notice all the time. Sometimes I'm so worried and stressed that I overlook the sweetness of finding a dollar under my bed or smelling snow outside or how totally kick-ass Slurpees are.

But today? Today I feel good.

Because it's Christmas Eve, my friend, Beth has a new daughter, and the other night Corey was telling me what a whiny bitch I am and then got cut off because he stepped out of my car onto a patch of ice and fell on his ass.

"You're such a whiny bitch."
"Yeah? You wanna know how much of a whiny bitch you are? You're such a whiny bitch because--whooooooooaaaa!"

Merry Christmas!

Love,
Katie

That Darn Rap Music

2009-12-21T13:44:00.000-08:00

You know what I'm talking about: That crazy stuff the kids are listening to these days. Those songs that all share the same beat and feature one or more indistinguishable rapper and maybe some chick with an auto-tuned voice.

Don't get me wrong; I like rap. It just seems that lately, it's been getting more and more ridiculous. Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm starting to not even know what people are talking about anymore. I mean, when "My Humps" came out a few years back, I thought that kid singing in the band room was making it up. And it's only getting worse.

I just listen to the radio and wonder WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

Case in point, "Tik Tok" by Ke$ha (who apparently did the girl part in "Right Round" with Flo Rida...?). Not Keisha. Ke$ha. Somebody tell me her parents didn't really name her that. For the love of all that is good in the world. Please? Anybody?

Anyway, the only reason I took a liking to the song is because at one point she mentions "boys tryin' to touch [her] junk" and I totally sympathize. Boys try to touch my junk too. And then my boyfriend reminds me that I don't have junk. Because he's stupid. And jealous.

But seriously, the girl is nuts. I have the lyrics to prove it:

First off, why spell it "Tik Tok" rather than "Tick Tock?" Too reminiscent of the Three Blind Mice? Not hardcore enough?

"Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy..."

Really? I wake up feeling like P. Diddy sometimes too. It feels like a hangover. But like, a played-out, self-absorbed, washed-up rapper/producer's hangover.

"When I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack 'cause when I leave for the night, I ain't comin' back."

Dude. You totally can't brush your teeth with Jack Daniels. I'm pretty sure that has no oral hygienic value at all. In fact, I think it might actually corrode your teeth. Plus, it's probably hard to get it to stay on the toothbrush.

"Boys linin' up 'cause they hear we got swagger, but we kick 'em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger."

Excuse me? Have you SEEN Mick Jagger lately, Ke$ha? Dude is like, a million. And you're like 22. Or something. I didn't bother to Google it. But yeah, you'd have a Hugh Hefner situation going on for sure. Plus, what kind of boys at the club look like Mick Jagger anyway? Unless you were at Boogie Fever in Ferndale. In which case, there are totally a million old people. And my friend, Bret claiming to be a "dancing machine."

But yeah. I don't get it.

Love,
Katie

Distraction

2009-12-14T12:10:00.000-08:00

Oh hi, are you guys still here? I didn't mean to be neglectful to my dear blog, but my life lately has been filled with crap. Sucky, sucky CRAP.

Hear ye, hear ye! For none shall be spared from my wrath today. None! Because my sinuses are swollen and pressing on the portion of my brain that makes me hate everyone.

For example: Facebookers. Please hear me. STOP. SENDING. ME. JUNK. I do not want to build a farm or accept your Twilight gifts (!!!!) or read the question you aswered about me and I especially do not want to attend your concert for your unknown band of which you are the lead singer. We were in a ballet class together two years ago and we never talked. I do not want to hang out with you.

Also on that note, everyone on Facebook seems to be obsessed with thanking soldiers. Now hear me out: I love soldiers. I do. I work for and with them and they are wonderful people working hard and sparing themselves to keep our country safe. But you do not have to be one to be a hero. I repeat: SOLDIERS ARE NOT THE ONLY HEROES IN THE WORLD. Don't tell me my life is worthless because I don't serve in the military. I got soul, but I'm not a soldier, yo. Don't tell me that doctors aren't heroes. Or police officers. Or the dude that knows my Starbucks order before I get it because Lord knows how I need my caffeine and quickly. I love you, Mike.

Overly affectionate couples suck too. On Facebook and in person. Seriously. Get a room. Come back to me when you get it out of your system and turn back into a real person and not some giggly, ticklish, slobbery doppleganger that can't keep your hands, lips, or goodies to yourself. Because your dry-hump makes me dry-heave. No, really.

Death sucks. And 2009 has been full of it. Just 15 days in to the year, I lost my uncle. Then Sweet Selden. And now the world has one less Dream Cat:

And now my poor Sven, my Pink Fluffy Cat to which I would sing such classics as, "Sven In A Box," "Birthday Sven," "Sven-Per Anne" and "Viva Las Svenny." And then he would show his approval by biting my nose. Out of love, obviously.

But it's almost Christmas. And I'm surrounded by people I love. Plus, I'm totally going to Chicago.

I know things will get better. They have to.

Love,

Katie

An Open Letter to Generic Birth Control

2009-12-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Generic Birth Control,

Can I call you Previfem? I like to keep things casual.

You and I are just getting acquainted and I have to say, my first impressions were kinda sorta...off. You see, I was expecting magic and happiness and wonder. But I got nausea and dizziness and nausea.

I know the doctor told me to give it time. And it's evident that you're trying (I mean, one day of excruciating cramps? Just one? Heaven. Or kinda more like purgatory since they still suck. But the doctor also gave me some Motrin 800. So yeah, Heaven.) which I totally appreciate, but why do you hate me? Why can't we be friends?

My stomach, as we all know, is sucky and sensitive. My stomach is a bitch. And you, Previfem are not helping. I do not like nausea.

And what's with this swelling thing? Are my boobs not problem enough already? Lord knows I can't eat pretty much anything without the greedy bastards sneaking a drip here and a crumb there. Plus, Corey keeps staring at me and it's totally creeping me out. Oh, and old guys. Old guys dig boobs. It's like, common knowledge.

On top of that, I don't feel all that protected. You can make your promises about controlling birth and stuff, but I am not fooled. You, Previfem, are a liar. Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I have a suspicion that super-fertility runs in my family and I don't like the odds. 99.8% is not enough for me. Except, cramps are your real raison d'etre so whatever. I guess that point is invalid.

Oh, and my mom doesn't like you because she thinks you'll make me all trampy and stuff. When really, I think meth is the drug that does that. But I digress.

I like you, Previfem. I do. I want to be your friend. I come in peace. My doctor said it would take time, but I'm impatient.

Work, damnit!

Love,
Katie

P.S. Everyone, please dismiss me. I haven't eaten anything today and I've been super-stressed pretty much all afternoon. I'm ridiculous and aware of it.

Vet Visits by Pig (Via Text)

2009-12-02T10:48:00.001-08:00

Pig: "Was the cat very obnoxious when u took him to the vet?"

Me: "Yes"

P: "He won't shut up."

M: "I recall."

P: "Epic dog battle in the waiting room."

M: "Awesome. I bet they can't beat Molly."

P: "In the right corner weighin in at 13lbs Scribbles, the shitzu! In the left corner weighin at 25lbs, wearing the gold chain collar, Duster the pommaranian mix!"

My brother, ladies and gentlemen...

Love,
Katie

Regularly Scheduled Programming Will Resume

2009-11-30T12:38:00.000-08:00

But I've been kinda busy for the past few days.

Bad things happen and they tend to take a lot of time and you don't always want to share them with The Internet. (Sorry, Internet.)

Thanksgiving was good.

Karaoke Night could've been better (Some people failed to show up after saying they would. Some people showed up that shouldn't have. Really shouldn't have. Some people got falling-down drunk and had to be babysat all night. You know how it is.)

My favorite pink, fluffy cat is home from the vet and pissed.

I've got class tonight, Internet. We'll chat when I get a moment to myself.

Love,
Katie

These Boots Are Made For Pitching Hysterical Fits

2009-11-19T10:29:00.000-08:00

I'm totally going shopping for boots.

By the way, if you're ever thinking of borrowing ANYTHING from Kels, oh please for the love of all that is holy THINK AGAIN! The risk-reward ratio is so not worth it.

For example, last night I asked to borrow a pair of black suede boots (The black suede boots that she constantly complains about because they're all she got for Christmas last year, mind you.). Innocent, right? NOT IN THE LAND OF CRAZY.

You see, I was loaned the boots on the condition that I have them back before she had to go to school at 7 the next day. Seeing that I was just going to dinner and would have her prized boots for 5 hours tops, I figured it was okay. It was not okay.

I got sick after dinner and decided to drive home in the morning to shower and get ready for work. Apparently, this did not work for my sister.

She called me nonstop for an hour and a half. Sometimes texted. Thinks like, "I know you're there! Stop ignoring me!" and "Mom's coming to Corey's" and "I'm never lending you anything again EVER!" and sometimes it was just unintelligible, hysterical shrieking.

My sister? She is nearly 17 years old. And she throws tantrums. Screaming, crying, foot-stomping tantrums. Corey's brother? He is nearly seven. He does the same thing.

Anyway, being the diurnal person that I am, I decided that enough was enough and succumbed to the Boot Nazi's demands and DROVE HOME AT MIDNIGHT so I could have some peace and sleep. Because she's been spoiled all her life; why stop now?

Got home and the psychopath was in bed. Lucky cow. So I took off the boots, put them outside her door and went to brush my teeth. When I was done, I walked past her room just in time to see her open the door, take the boots and close the door. Like she's fucking Gollum or something.

"The Fat One wants the Precioussssssssss!"

Seriously.

But whatever. It's Pay Day. Anybody got any Sugar Free Red Bull?

Love,
Katie

In Which I Am Much Calmer

2009-11-17T10:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Internet,

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go all Flavor of Love Girls on you yesterday. I had a rough weekend.

Internet, I am just...tired of being everyone's friend only when it's convenient for them. Nobody seems to care when I need a friend to talk to.

I got some bad news on Sunday night and all I wanted was to talk to someone. And Corey does his best, but I just needed one more person. Someone who wasn't so involved in the situation. And as I looked through my phone for someone to call, I couldn't find anyone that I thought would care. I felt like I'd be bothering everyone.

On top of that, I'd been cancelled on consistently all weekend. Listen, I get it: People are busy. But don't make plans with me so that I'm hanging out waiting on your call and then cancel at the last minute when it's too late for me to do anything else. That's just shitty and unfair.

Then the Bar Night Fiasco of 2009 thing just put me over the edge. Nobody even wanted to waste their time hanging out with me. Nobody could be bothered to take time out of their busy schedules just to spend a few hours talking to me and drinking with me and watching people make crazy fools of themselves as they attempted to single-handedly sing both parts to "Everybody Dance Now." (True story. I totally saw a guy do that.)

It hurts my feelings. And I don't think that matters to anyone, though it should. I'm a person, after all. I matter.

You know, Internet, I will let you in on a secret. I've never told anybody this before. But when I was 14, I used to spend hours on a Weight Watchers message board every day. Talking to people. Just needing some kind of attention. It was sad. It was pathetic. I don't want to go back to that place.

I don't wanna be that pathetic kid anymore.

I don't wanna be Paul Rudd from "I Love You, Man" putting out ads in the paper for friends.

I don't wanna be lonely no more.

I just want my friends to care about me. Is that so much to ask?

Love,
Katie

In Which I Go All Passive-Agressive And Cranky

2009-11-16T07:12:00.001-08:00

You have been forewarned.

I don't have any real friends*. As in friends-that-care-at-all-about-me.

Oh sure, they'll Facebook me every now and then all, "Oh em gee, I miss you! I haven't seen you in foreverrrrrrr! Coffee sometime?" but that's about where it ends, you see. Because when I wanna see them, they flake out on me.

They have plans or homework or say maybe and then just never show up. Some even go to the trouble of contacting me AND making plans only to repeatedly break them.

So I'm fine to talk to when I'm the only other person online, and Facebook comment and text when you're all bored, but when I'm feeling lonely and want to actually make human contact with you Fair Weather Douchebags, you can't pencil me in? Awesome. The only people that want to see me are my boyfriend or are related to me.

So I'm cancelling bar night. Because I don't want another repeat of my 14th birthday where only one person showed up and could only stay for a half an hour.

You guys can go to Hell.

Love,
Katie

*Please note that I didn't mean to generalize. Some people are out of town (i.e. Jen) and excused.

LEAVE BRITNEY ALOOOOOOOONE!

2009-11-12T06:48:00.001-08:00

If thinking that Britney's hacked Twitter account is funny, I don't wanna be right.

Love,

Katie

P.S. Yes, I follow Britney on Twitter.

When Even An Apple A Day Won't Save You

2009-11-09T08:48:00.000-08:00

I had my first Girly Doctor appointment yesterday. Yes, yesterday was the die...er, day. Freudian slip. What a feast for the senses that was!

There were cold things, wet things, clanky things, chemically-smelling things. Everything I dreamed and more.

I got there early because apparently, I needed extra time to obsess and FREAK THE EFF OUT. Seriously. I know I had that deer in headlights look about me because as soon as I walked in the place, the lady at the desk was all, "You've never been here before, have you?" So I filled out all the personal questions on the paperwork and tried to calm myself down by reading short stories on the Kindle app of my iTouch while I waited. Newsflash: It did not work.

Desk Lady finally calls me back and weighs me and Jesus Tapdancing Christ, I gained 10 pounds since the last time I weighed myself (I don't remember the exact date, but it's been a few months, okay?) so ha-fucking-HA! to my boyfriend who insisted that I wasn't getting fat. I win, Corey! I. WIN! Except really, nobody wins. Because I am still fat.

Anyway, they take my blood pressure and I'm so nervous that Desk Lady tells me it's abnormally high. DUH! And then she's all, "Get completely undressed and put on this tissue paper vest thing making sure that the openpart goes in the front so you totally look like Fat Pasty Aladdin with an estrogen issue. It's not long enough to cover your doughy ass, so for modesty purposes here's this sheet made out of paper towels." That may not be exactly what she said. I was nervous and shit gets hazy.

So I took my time changing. I folded each item of clothing. I considered wearing my hoodie over the vest thing under the guise of being cold. I hid my understuff between my skirt and sweater (because nobody needed to know that I mismatched). And while I was taking part in this shenanigans, Doctor Lady totally knocked and then opened the door....and then quickly shut it.

And all I could say was, "Uh....I'm almost..uh ready."

Then I sat down on the paper-covered table (Doctors' offices are single-handedly killing the rain forests with their paper consumption, yo.), pulled my Bounty blanket over my lap, folded my arms and sat. For a long time before Doctor Lady finally got up the courage to come back.

Maybe I cried a little. Maybe just a little. Because I was scared. Whatever, you don't know me!

Doctor Lady finally comes back in and asks a few questions and punches me in the chest a bit to make sure I don't have The Cancer, which I don't (bonus!) and before I know it she's all, "Put your feet in these thingies which are like, a mile away from where your feet end when you are lying on this table because you're so effing short." I had to scoot wayyyyy down, y'all.

So then Doctor Lady starts making all kinds of noise down there. Metallic noises. Like she was making chain mail or something. And I get curious and look down to see what she's doing and she's holding something that looks like the trigger of a caulk gun. And she tells me I'm gonna feel some pressure.

Pressure? Pressure does not accurately describe what I felt. What I felt was more like...cold and...pinchy and...ohmygod I have to pee like RIGHTNOW!

But all in all, Doctor Lady was quick and nice and smelled like Katie (Light Blue by Dolce and Gabbana) so I guess my experience wasn't all that bad after all.

Plus, she gave me Motrin 800 (What are the odds? Four days after I take myself off Motrin 800 because my hip is feeling better!), Vicodin (not sharing) and Birth Control so I don't get ungodlyexcruciatingdebilitating cramps!

Or, you know, babies.

Love,
Katie

Let Me Slip Into Something A Little More Uncomfortable

2009-11-04T09:19:00.000-08:00

Internet, we have a few brief things to discuss and I will let you out early (Sidenote: That is my most favorite sentence in the entire world to hear from my professors.). I'm about to make you reallllllllly uncomfortable. Enter at your own risk.

First off: Summer. I miss it. I know, I know. I bitched and moaned and lamented and wondered when oh when fall would start. But you know what? I miss tank tops and shorts and sunshine and Slurpees. I do. Summer, I am sorry I doubted you.

Second: Why does everyone always think I'm pregnant? One mention of a craving or a stomach ache or, "I have to tell you something" and everyone's all OHEMGEE do we need to make a drug store trip? I will totally go with you and guard the door to the public bathroom while you pee on stuff. Do you people have like, a checklist or something you go through?

Has to tell me something? Check!
Stomach ache (regardless of whether or not it's in the AM)? Check!
Random craving for Swedish Fish? Check!
Cranky? Check!
Cries for no reason? Check!
Big, squishy gut? Double check!
Period? Doesn't matter, it's probably spotting.

Seriously, people. Too much I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. These traits? These are my normal everyday traits. I have a weak stomach and am lactose intolerant. Maybe someday (80 bazillion years from now) when I AM pregnant, I will feel tip-top, eat a healthy, balanced diet and will have total control over my emotions. Then you'll know what's up and you can be there when I accidentally give birth in the bathroom.

Third: Doctor's appointment is Monday and quickly approaching. I am reaching panic mode. Do I get there early? Do I bring my iPod to drown out the scary/uncomfortable? Do I participate in No Shave November (TMI? Don't care.)? Do I talk to her? Do I stay silent like I'm at the Dentist? Do I refrain from making echoing noises when she's down there? Do I wear body glitter? Do I draw a face and do a ventriloquist act? Do I tell her to buy me dinner first? WHAT DO I DO?!* I'm thisclose to just cancelling the appointment altogether. That is how afraid I am.

Alright, Internet. I'm glad we had this talk. You're dismissed.

Love,
Katie

* Note to self: Refrain from making pregnant jokes as with x-ray technician.

So 16-Year-Old Boy With A Cheesy Mustache

2009-11-03T05:49:00.000-08:00

I'm ridiculous. I don't even need to say that for you to know that I am ridiculous. I may as well say, "the sky is blue," or, "grass is green, " or, "Lady Gaga is a dude," and it would be less obvious and unnecessary than telling you how ridiculous I am.

Case in point: I think I am funny. Scratch that; I think I'm hilarious (a sentiment not shared by...pretty much anyone). And I laugh at my own jokes all the time. Even in my dreams.

So last night, I'm sleeping (No, really?!) and I have this crazy dream where I'm on a competitive rowing team with my mom, my dad (who are divorced, FYI), my brother, my sister and two guys that show up named Luke and Marcus. Why are they names Luke and Marcus? I don't know. Ask my subconscious.

Anyway, my brother keeps making gay jokes about Luke and Marcus and I'm all, "Patrick, stop it! They're going to hear you."

But he is carrying on and on and finally my dad goes all Father Brady and says, "You know son, the exit road works in both directions." (It's my dream, so OF COURSE it's the perfect set-up.)

And what do I do? I say, "Apparently!" and then crack up laughing SO hard at my own dream gay joke that I wake myself up.

Oh my God. I'm going to Hell.

I'm sorry Gay Rights Activists! I wear a White Knot on my purse that goes with me everywhere! The Birdcage is my favorite movie! The best concert I ever went to was an Indigo Girls concert! I think Clay Aiken and Lance Bass are...well, okay I still don't like them all that much. And Perez Hilton is a complete and utter douchebag...But Ellen! She's awesome! And Neil Patrick Harris! And Melissa Etheridge! And OHEMGEE Nathan Lane is adorable! AND SHAME ON YOU IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT GEORGE MICHAEL!

Gay people are just people. And luckily, most of us people can laugh at ourselves. Especially me.

Because in my case, if I don't laugh at myself, who else is going to?

Love,
Katie

I Don't Like To Brag (Total Lie)

2009-11-01T12:34:00.000-08:00

But I totally rock at Halloween costumes. I started young.

At 14, I was a SUPERSTAR!

A few years later... Step 1: Cut a hole in a boxLast year I had Faith.

And this year? Well, let's just say...Bears...Ditka...Polish sausage...Ditka

Happy Belated Halloween!

Love,
Katie

I Am The Walrus

2009-10-28T11:42:00.000-07:00

Goo goo g'joob. Seriously.

Internet, my days of freedom are numbered. And by, "freedom " I mean, "eating lots and lots of junk and then laying around" as well as, "skipping the gym for MONTHS at a time because I'd rather lay around with my boyfriend." As a result (of this as well as normal PMS and salt-induced bloating), I'm starting to look like this:

Or this:

Or even this:
I am squishy and jiggly and every now and then, I remind myself of something Jen Kober said to a boy in the front row when she came to perform for us in East Vandenberg at Oakland University: "Ever been with a fat girl, Ryan*? You'll love it! Everything feels like a titty!" Something's gotta give.

Plus, my boyfriend is a teenage girl in a 21-year-old guy's body and all day every day I have to listen to him wallow in body image issues: "Oh, I'm so fat and I used to be so cute in high school, " and, "Back when I was skinny..." Dude, I already get enough of that from my eating disorder-ridden friend, Rachel. Enough.

So this Saturday, Corey and I are going to El Gymo and getting him a membership so that we can go together (if motivation allows) and we're gonna try a little harder to not eat so many delicious, salty, sweet, greasy, delicious....where was I? Um, things.

I even downloaded the Lose It App for my iPod Touch and started back up with my rule about not drinking regular pop (soda for you tools that say it wrong) on the weekdays that somewhere a few months ago got lost and forgotten.

Bottom line: I'm a Fatty-fat-fat Fat Kid and it needs to stop. Not skinny, just healthier.

However, Saturday is still three days away. Three greasy, lazy, delicious days away. Ba-da-ba-ba-baaaaa! I'm lovin' it!

Love,

Katie

*I made the name up because I don't remember it. Sue me. But don't, really. I'm poor.

Halloween

2009-10-27T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well, Internet. Unless you've been living the past 24 years trapped in a basement dungeon giving birth to children fathered by your own father (What? Too soon?), you know that this Saturday is Halloween.

(Also, it is my brother's 19th birthday. Yay, Pig!)

And, I just wanted to bring to everyone's attention that I have not yet been invited to any Halloween parties. Or I at least haven't received my invitations yet.

Facebook must be broken. Or the mailman died. Or you don't have my email address. Here, I'll give it to you: dryerboyssis4123@netscape.net

That must be it. Because I know y'all want me at your parties with my flabby thighs poking out the bottom of a Slutty Viking Costume!

But actually, I am not telling you about my costume, Internet.

Not until you apologize....or until I have pictures to go along with it.

Love,

Katie

MST3K Hobgoblins by Kels

2009-10-26T10:28:00.000-07:00

Oh how smart I look in MY SISTER'S glasses that I STOLE!

"Oh the show's starting, yayyyyy!"

"Turn on your baby-minder!"

"You and your stinkin' kindness can go to Hell!"

"My beautiful dream from my childhood of exploding another human being!"

"You just made me laugh out loud in a quiet classroom. Thanks."

"I just did the same at the tire place, so don't even talk to me about that."

"Now I look like a weirdo."

Love,

Katie

P.S. MST3K Hobgoblins. Check it out. It rocks.

The D, The OB/GYN, and All Sorts of Other Acronyms

2009-10-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

With a title like that, I'm sure you have high expectations. I hope not to disappoint.

Last night, on the way to a The Hounds Below concert, Corey and I hit a BIG-ASS POTHOLE thanks to the oh-so well-maintained City of Detroit. Why, thank you, City Council! While you are busy fighting billboards for local radio stations and cheap beer, your city is a fast-deteriorating ghetto with derelict buildings, disobeyed traffic laws and crumbling roads that make people's tires all flat and junk. (By the way, check out the horrendous reporting on that 89X billboard article. Quoting Facebook? Are you kidding me?)

Luckily, with the help of the dude in the parking garage at the Detroit Institute of Arts (Thanks again for the screwdriver, buddy! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!), a very helpful black Michigan State graduate couple (and the woman's father over the phone), a dude with a well-stocked toolbox that was fixing his own tire after hitting the very same Godforsaken pothole, and even a drunken homeless guy that tried to remove the imaginary lugnuts (that we'd already removed), we fixed it....but we missed the whole show.

An extra thanks goes out to all the snooty white people leaving the DIA that drove past us as we struggled, my dad who called to berate me and remind me how dangerous Detroit is at night as I tried to explain what was happening, my mom for not leaving the concert to bother helping us, but still proceeding to call every five effing seconds (just enough to harrass and hinder us in our efforts), aaaaand the Detroit City Police who told us to call AAA for a tow truck. For a flat tire. Seriously.

Anyway, the invisible-until-it's-too-late pohole is located in the left lane Southbound on Woodward Avenue between Palmore and Ferris and it is a fucking doozy, so be careful out there, people.

I made my first appointment for the Girly Doctor the other day and there are people out there yelling at me, "It's about damn time! I'm pretty sure if you waited just a little longer, your uterus would implode!" Seriously, people act like if I feel fine, but I don't go see an expert to tell me that I'm fine, I have some hidden, symptom-less, life-threatening disease.

Please, people. My STD slate is clean.

The only reason I've finally broken down after four years of denying strangers' hands up in my business (Sounds pretty logical when I say it that way, huh? Doesn't seem like I am at all unreasonable. WHO'S BEING A BABY NOW?) is that my cramps are debilitating. My lower abdomen is crying--nay--SCREAMING, "Uncle!" and I am waving my white flag.

Fine lady, put on your rubber gloves and knock yourself out. Just don't prescribe me Yaz because heart disease already runs in my family.Oh, and Breast Cancer. And Diabetes. And ADHD. Fuck! Maybe I should have gone in sooner.

Oh well, too late now.

Anyway, any girl I talk to is all, "Oh, it's really not that bad. It's not the most comfortable thing ever, but it's not that bad." Seriously, like three women have said that to me. Verbatim. But you know what? I'm still petrified that it IS that bad. How can somebody sticking their hands all up inside you be good?...Don't answer that.

I'm just afraid it's going to end like this (click the picture, genius):

So here's the deal, lady. I'll answer your questions (Last period? Sometime last month, lady. I don't keep much track. Smoke? Once. It hurt my throat and I coughed and everyone made fun of me so I never did it again. Oh, you mean regularly? No. Sexually active? Lady, these questions are getting a little personal, here. How about you tell me something about yourself so we can get to know eachother first. Sexually active? ...Yes. God, lady! How do you do it? I just wanna tell my life to you! I...I wanna spend my life with you. Oh, you're kicking me out? Okay, see ya!), you'll write down your notes so you and the nurses can giggle later, you'll give me drugs, and you keep your hands where I can see them as long as you possibly can. Let's keep the touching minimal unless you're buying me dinner first.

Then, we'll talk.

Love,
Katie

Feelings

2009-10-20T07:16:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, I have them. Major inconvenience.

But yeah.

Now, I realize that my recent posts have been few and far between as well as rant-y and smad. But seriously, people have been super-sucky lately.

From Matt (Yeah, I said his name because I'm sick of his shit and I no longer feel like protecting his identity. I'm calling you out, DOUCHEBAG!) telling the entire softball team that I was, "starting shit" and that he, "bitched Corey out" when what really happened was that he got cranky, told Corey to, "get [his] shit together before [he] get[s there] next time," and sent me a bitchy text that said, "Thanks for calling Corey and making me go home. It made for a lovely evening," to people that claim to be friends leaving me alone when I need them most, I've not been having the best time.

Plus, I'm worried about seeing a doctor before my liver explodes from taking Motrin EVERY SINGLE DAY, and work has been stressful, and I REALLY hate Accounting. Like, really.

And why? Why do I have to care about other people's feelings when they don't care about mine? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? Yeah, that's all fine and good. EXCEPT that you can be as nice and pleasant to everyone as you can be and they might still treat you like you're nothing.

And my friends have been doing exactly that.

They ignore my calls and texts and don't call me back. And if they do? Oh, it's at some ungodly hour of the night when they know I'm sleeping for work the next day.

They're mean to me and if I speak up, they tell me I'm being too sensitive. If I say something to them that they don't like, they get mad at me and don't speak to me until I apologize.

And you know how everyone always told you that if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all? My friends ignore that. Seriously. (For example: When I died my hair red, I honestly had one of my friends say, "So, you died your hair red." "Yes, I did." "...Why?" THAT REALLY HAPPENED.

People are rude and inconsiderate, yo.

Listen. I am not one to hold grudges. But seriously, this is a repeat offense and I'm getting smad.

So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to go to work every day. I'm going to go to school when I have school. I'm going to go home when I don't. And I'm going to hang out with my sister, my mom, my aunt, my Katie, and my boyfriend in my spare time.

Because my family's always there, my Katie is always willing to talk to me or see me and my boyfriend is funny and pretty to look at.

Love,
Katie

P.S. This doesn't apply to ALL of my friends. Just MOST.

What Is This? The Hills?

2009-10-13T12:45:00.000-07:00

I like, totally already graduated high school. Obvs.

So why? Dear sweet Baby Jesus, why is there so much drama in my life? (or "dramz," as the kids are calling it these days)

First I've gotta deal with Psycho Ex-Beast Skank trying to meet me (and expecting said meeting to go peacefully, hah!) and now I've got a person that I'm not even friends with mad at me. And do you know why this person is mad?

I called my boyfriend.

I know, right? Gasp shock horror! How do I sleep at night?

The answer: wrapped in a zebra-print Snuggie, beneath a blue polka dot comforter with three Winnie the Pooh plush toys, that's how.

Love,

Katie

In Sickness and In Health

2009-10-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

Sorry, Internet. I think I may have lost my cool in yesterday's Tila Tequila Wannabe-Induced Madness. Internet, I apologize. Not to her, mind you. But you guys? You guys are cool.

Anyway, I haven't been updating much lately due to laziness and illness, but mostly laziness.

Speaking of illness: WTF, People? A girl can't even be sick anymore without getting harrassed and harangued. Everyone's all, "Ooh, you're 21 now! Been hitting the bottle a little too hard, eh? Heh heh heh." or, "Get away from me with your pork flu! I don't need none of that!" or, "You feel sick? Your FACE makes ME sick! Hahahahaha!"

And I'm about to be all, "I don't have Swine Flu and I'm not a giant lush, my girly parts just HATE ME! Come back to me when your intestines feel like they're trying to escape your lower abdomen and you start to believe that you are in labor with ROSEMARY'S BABY."

I need an old priest and a young priest, yo.

Plus, Corey's totally got a Man Cold and I have to sit around so that every few minutes I can tell him that yes, his forehead is warm and yes, he can wear my Snuggie.

It's ridiculous.

Tonight is gonna totally rock, though because we are going to the Laundromat and getting takeout and y'all know how I feel about doing laundry and if you don't, I LOVE IT. No, seriously I'm super-excited.

I mean, this is just one step closer to a clean room which I haven't seen the likes of since my high school grad party in '06. We're not hoping for sterile, we're just looking for the floor. Because I totally know there's one under there somewhere beneath all the things that break when I step on them causing me to scream and swear and hop around on one foot.

But yeah. Um. The End.

Love,

Katie

With My Spear and Magic Helmet

2009-10-08T10:55:00.000-07:00

That's how I'm going to kill the wabbit. Or in this case, the stupid whore.

Because, I mean, you'd have to be stupid to believe for a SECOND that this is okay.

Let me clear this up for you, Skankface:

It is NOT okay for a girl that is skinnier and prettier than me that looks like an Filipino prostitute/porn star to Facebook my boyfriend.
It is NOT okay for a girl that has previously dated my boyfriend to contact my boyfriend.
It is ESPECIALLY NOT okay for a girl that has slept with my boyfriend to contact my boyfriend.
Lastly, it is NOT okay for you to try to get my boyfriend to bring me with him to meet you and double date with his cousin.

Bitch, I don't want to meet you! Are you crazy? The thought of you alone makes me so angry I get sick.

Now, if you wanna sleep with Jay, go ahead. I am not stopping you. Get your skank on, I don't care.

But you are not allowed to talk to, Facebook, speak the name of, look at, or contact IN ANY WAY my boyfriend (your ex-boyfriend). You will never see him again if I have anything to do with it. And I don't want to see you ever.

Irrational? Jealous? Mean? Sure. I am being all of those things. But I don't care because THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Please die a slow, painful, STD-related death. Thanks, and have a lovely day.

Love,

Katie

P.S. Fuck off.

How to Win an Argument

2009-09-27T17:51:00.000-07:00

"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."

"...Touche."

Love,
Katie

Tropical Devastation

2009-09-26T08:13:00.000-07:00

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?"

Love,
Katie

The Closest to Sentimental You May Ever See Me Get

2009-09-25T13:05:00.000-07:00

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

Anyway.

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.

Love,
Katie

Whatever, Facebook Quiz!

2009-09-25T05:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Damnit!

Love,
Katie

*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.

Open Letter to The Internet

2009-09-24T05:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

I Don't Speak Spanish, Japanese or French

2009-09-22T09:47:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Oversharing

2009-09-20T11:31:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Happy 21st Birthday to Me

2009-09-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

Love,
Katie

My First Promotion

2009-09-15T05:09:00.001-07:00

"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."

Love,
Katie

Sweet Dreams Are Made of Cheese

2009-09-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Anyway.

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.

Love,
Katie

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

2009-09-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,

Katie

Under Construction

2009-09-08T09:45:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Heartbreak

2009-09-07T15:39:00.001-07:00

Things I Would Like to Buy Me For My Birthday

2009-09-04T06:50:00.001-07:00

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

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 Target.com and I have a Target card and could pay it off in increments.

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.

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.

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.

Love,

Katie

A Love Story

2009-09-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Goddamnit.

Love,

Katie

A Text Conversation Between Katies

2009-09-01T09:50:00.001-07:00

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 dlisted.com 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!"

Love,

Katie

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

2009-08-29T19:01:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Fashion by Kels

2009-08-28T04:13:00.000-07:00

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."

Love,
Katie

Blogging by Kels

2009-08-26T08:22:00.000-07:00

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?"

Seriously?

Love,
Katie

Stop There and Let Me Correct It

2009-08-25T07:37:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Too Many Mutha'uckas Uckin' With My Shi'

2009-08-21T05:03:00.000-07:00

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."

Seriously.

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."
"Okay."
"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?

Reee-dicul0us.

Love,
Katie

The Most Detail I've Ever Seen on Weather.com...EVER

2009-08-20T14:13:00.001-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

Update!

2009-08-20T04:52:00.000-07:00

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.

I CAN HAVE YOUNGER YEARS, DAMNIT!

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.

Love,
Katie

Bustin' Heads

2009-08-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

On the Bright Side #5

2009-08-18T07:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,

Katie

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

Karmic Payback

2009-08-17T11:43:00.001-07:00

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.

and

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

and

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.

Love,
Katie

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2009-08-13T05:07:00.001-07:00

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.

SO WE WERE ALREADY ON THIN ICE.

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.

Until.

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.

Love,
Katie

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.

Project Chick

2009-08-11T08:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Love,
Katie

To Make a Brand New Start of It

2009-08-05T15:42:00.000-07:00

BONUS POST!

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.

Love,
Katie

Unintentional Hiatus

2009-08-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

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.

YOU DO NOT LEAVE WHEN MY SISTER IS ON THE VERGE OF DEATH!

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?

Love,
Katie

Lessons by Kels

2009-08-03T08:29:00.000-07:00

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."

Love,

Katie

I Do This To Myself

2009-07-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

I put the "ass" in "embarrassment." I really do.

I woke up on Sunday morning with a sore throat and by yesterday, I couldn't stand the pain any longer. I pacified myself with Vernors and Halls until on my way out to House of Chan (our once-a-week at least dinner/lunch destination) with Kels last night, I stopped at Target and picked up some Tylenol Cough & Sore Throat non-drowsy Daytime.

Lies! All lies.

Because by the time the check came to the table, I was so tired that I felt like I was going to curl up in the booth and take a nap. To make matters worse, my stomach was starting to feel not so fabulous, and there was an extremely demanding couple that kept stealing the waitress's attention.

I drove home and don't remember much else except hitting the bathroom and then calling Corey before I finally narced out at 8:20pm (at which time it was still light outside).

I woke up this morning to a voicemail from Jess in hysterical laughter telling me she'd just shared my text message with her whole family. In checking my Sent folder, I found this:

"Well, I think this is the end. I think I am pooping myself to death. I don't know that I'll make it out of this, so know that I love you."

The same day that I wrote my Texts From This Morning post. And now I just shared it with the internet.

Yep, "ass" in "embarrassment" about covers it.

Love,
Katie

Texts From This Morning

2009-07-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

Good morning, internet! My, but don't you look lovely today! Why yes, I am slightly sweaty from running errands all over the building this morning! How thoughtful of you to notice!

My right ear and the right side of my throat are killing me and thanks to WebMD, I'm fairly convinced that I either have Mono, a Punctured Eardrum, Strep Throat, or Swine Flu. Also, as soon as my bottle of Vernors and my little package of Halls Defense runs out, bad things will happen, but until then, we'll be alright.

So we've spoken before about my ability to obsess, yes? Well, recently my obsession has turned to Texts From Last Night which is a fantabulous website where people submit strange, entertaining, and often drunken/high text messages. And I check it several times a day because it amuses me to no end.

However, my friends aren't that drunk all that much, so what I get are oversharing, hilarious, morning texts from work and/or class. And I'd like to share a few with you.

Without further ado (I've always wanted to say that. By the way, what exactly is "ado," anyway?), I present to you Texts From This Morning*:

"My cramps are terrible. Also, a lady I work with just gave me a box of tampons. Apparently, my face screams, "I'M ON MY PERIOD AND I MAY NOT BE PREPARED!""
"It's too darn hot." (A reference to the Ella Fitzgerald song.)
"We're fucking lost."
"Okay, for sure. I've had like, six Diet Cokes. Help!"
"Okay, he's not that freakishly tall. And yes, I'm texting you while I'm on a date."
"Bitch hoe."
"Why are boys so stupid?" "Deficiency in the Y chromosome."
"I feel like an inspiration to drunken sluts everywhere."
"Have I ever told you ______ always keeps his shirt on?" "Yes. When we went for sushi." "Haha, sounds like dinner conversation to me. Well the last time we did it, I knew he wasn't going to take off his shirt, so I kept my dress on and he got mad. Point being, we can cross getting fucked by a guy in a sweater vest off of our list of things to do before we die."
"Please tell my boyfriend that there is no such thing as Celebratory Head."
"I'm leading a boy on. I feel like I should feel bad about it, but I don't. Would I be a slut if I gave him the bang and boot? Supplementary question: Can you bang and boot someone you know you'll have contact with in a few weeks due to prior obligations?"
"If a small child carrying M&Ms passes me today, I will take the bag and run. If the kid is cute, I may take him or her as well."
"Sorry my weirdness is overwhelming this morning. I'm at work and no one knows what a freakshow I really am."
"I got my hair cut and the sytlist apparently didn't realize my hair is curly and after she dried it, I looked like a mix of a homeless hooker and Taylor Hanson."
"Wakawakawakawaka"
"Haha shut up! That gangster was just after my ginormous ass."
"Katie, I love you. You're the only one that texted me."
"You treasure every message from me."
"Well, I see you are tweeting so I know you are alive. Text me if you ever feel like it."

My friends are obviously much funnier than me.

Also, this just reinforces my post from yesterday: We are your future. Be afraid.

Love,

Katie

*Names have been eliminated to protect the not-so-innocent.

Children Are the Future

2009-07-21T08:33:00.000-07:00

That's right! I am the future of your country! You are granted the right to build a panic room, underground shelter, and/or hide your head under the bedsheets (because everyone knows that what we can't see can't hurt us). I won't take it personally.

Because sometimes, I have full conversations with people that I don't realize are weird until it's too late. Like, 13 hours too late.

For example. (Oh you know all the good stories start that way!)

Yesterday, I was talking to Jen on instant messenger and somehow got into the subject of turning into a pillar of salt. (I believe it was in reference to Steve threatening to be wearing his boxers on his head if I arrived late for camping on Friday. Anyway.) And I told her, that it would be okay if I turned into a pillar of salt (as long as I could turn back into a person) because then I could help people with french fries.

Seriously. I said this.

And she expressed distress at this prospect saying that if I were salt and people ate me, pieces of me would be missing when I turned back. And do you know what I told her?

I told her that it would be okay because they would just "take a little off the gut" and it would be a win-win. I told her that my superpower was going to be teaching people not to be greedy.

WTF.

But listen! That's not even the worst part.

The worst part is that later that night, as I was lying in bed drifting off to sleep and mindlessly babbling on the phone to Corey, I repeated this to him. I subjected more than one person to my vision of SALT PILLAR SUPERPOWERS.

But you know what? It's okay because he is just as insane.

He told me he would turn into a giant glass of water and dissolve me and he would help countries where there was no clean water like Somalia.

And I, indignant, shouted into my poor cell phone mouthpiece, "HA! You won't be able to help anybody because salt water is undrinkable!" And I was confident in my response.

Until he shouted back, "SOMALIS WOULD WANT ME!"

This was all before we started talking about titles for gay porn movies (which I think we totally have a future in, by the way) and arguing about whether Forrest Hump or Star Whores would do better.

Fear the day that people like us run the world.

Love,
Katie

P.S. Now I have THIS song stuck in my head.

On the Bright Side #4

2009-07-20T05:51:00.000-07:00

On the bright side...

I had Starbucks.
My sunburn is fully healed.
Friday is camping!
I can finally go back to El Gymo today.

ANNNNNNND...my shoes make me look like one of the mice from Cinderella. Which is cool. Because it amuses me.

Love,

Katie

To All the [Boys] I've Loved Before...

2009-07-17T12:15:00.001-07:00

Listen, boys,

From Jeff, the subject of many of my attempts at writing a novel in the 9th grade, to Jordan, the second hour English class hottie, to my 11-12th grade obsession whom I shall not name since we're still friends, to those up until the present day: It was nice while it lasted. What we had was special.

One of you grew up to sleep with my best friend. One kissed me (the second person to ever do so) and then must've changed your mind and ditched me a few days later. One led me on for a few months and then went away on a religious mission and never called back again. One turned into a psychotic, controlling abuser.

Nevertheless, you all had one thing in common: I followed you around like a puppy waiting and wishing that someday you'd like me back.

But guess what. That never happened.

So I moved on. I found myself a boy I'm happy with and hope to stay with. We're good together.

We laugh. We cry. We argue about whether or not "demasculated" is a word, whether it's John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt or John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith (Schmidt, by the way. I win!), and whether the Muffin Man of nursery rhyme fame is a man that bakes muffins or a giant muffin with arms, legs, and facial features.

Basically, we're awesome.

Anyway, what I want to say to you is that you had your chance, you blew it, and it's never coming back. But that just doesn't have the ring to it that I'm looking for. So I think what I'm going to do is look to my vast musical knowledge database to get my point across.

Maybe I'll say it like Joni Mitchell: "Now, don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?"

Or perchance Ben Folds: "If I'm the person that you think I am; the clueless chump you seem to think I am, so easily led astray; an errant dog who occasionally escapes and needs a shorter leash, then why the fuck would you want me back? Maybe it's because you don't know me at all."

R&B sensation, Mya?: "I'm moving on, on, on, on. I'll be moving on, on , on, on. I'll be moving on." (Simple, but to the point.)

Ooh, what about chart topper and Chris Brown beatdown "victim," Rhianna?: "You put on quite a show. Really had me going. But now it's time to go. Curtain's finally closing. That was quite a show. Very entertaining. But it's over now. Go on and take a bow."

Or lastly, my personal favorite, Miley Cyrus: "Just because I liked you back then, it doesn't mean I like you now."

I'm happy and it's not my fault that you're not. So cut the drama and grow up and act like the men you're supposed to be (since the law saw you that way when you were 18).

Love,
Katie

On the Bright Side #3

2009-07-16T04:56:00.000-07:00

On the bright side:

Monday night-Tuesday morning's trauma is over.
These cramps are bad, but the Motrin will kick in soon.
My office has air conditioning.
I did not have to take I-75 to work like my poor mother.
I met not one, but TWO of my favorite bald, 20-something boys in the parking lot on my way in.

AAAAAAAND, today is PAY DAY!

Love

Katie

Reason #692 Why Bothering Me Today is a Poor Choice

2009-07-13T12:23:00.000-07:00

So, if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you may have heard about my recent trip to the ER. And by ER, I mean Emergency Room. In the hospital. Because injuries had occurred.

Long story short, I was being carried (at a rapid pace) and, well, we fall down go boom. In other words, my SKULL HIT ASPHALT causing me to begin sobbing and babbling (barely coherently) about how I was going to DIE LIKE BILLY MAYS!

And Corey was all, "Shut up! Billy Mays died from congestive heart failure! Now follow my goddamn finger!"

I then moved on to the Natasha Richardson and Sonny Bono arguments.

Anyway, he then drove my car to my aunt's house and she drove us to meet my mom the Emergency Room where I made friends with my faaaaabuloussssssssssssssss male nurse and the adorable x-ray technician who must've been 26 at the very oldest and was all excited to see me because I was young.

And then she was all, "Any chance you're pregnant?"

And I was all, "Not that I know of!"

And she was all, "OMG, do you want a preg test?!"

And then I assured her that I was kidding.

To summarize, I learned I was not concussed and not going to die and they gave me an ice pack which resulted in this sexy picture (encouraged by my mom and aunt) in which you can totally tell that I had hysterically cried all of my makeup off and also that it was at least 2AM:
Also, that ice pack is made to be tied around a leg. Not a head.

So yeah, my boyfriend then goes MIA ever since (except for one fight we had over the phone yesterday about him removing my picture from his Myspace and replacing it with some porn chick chewing on handcuffs because it "matches [his] layout" which is apparently cop themed because is includes a picture of a gun and a promo for Southland. Ass.) and when I finally get a hold of him, I am crying because I am fat and bloated and hormonal and crampy and PMSing and had to go into work even though I had planned not to because oh, I dunno I HAVE HEAD TRAUMA and I COULDN'T GET A HOLD OF HIM, WHYYYYYYYYY?

And we talk for a while (Well, he talks. I blubber.) and then he says, "I'm gonna go to the gym. I'll call you when I get back in an hour. I love you. Stop crying."

And I'm all, "Motherfucker, don't you tell me not to cry! I have a lump on my head the size and shape of a golf ball, had a terrible day at work and YOU DON'T LOVE ME ENOUGH!"

Speaking of working...

If you didn't know, I am a slave to obsessions. I go through phases where things, or foods, or songs become the reason that I am alive.

For example, the year or so where I discovered a new appreciation for Simon & Garfunkel as well as Paul Simon as a solo artist. I tried to get everyone in my newspaper class to call me Al. And then I named my bettas Simon and Garfunkel.

Where was I, now?

Oh yes, obsessions. So when you work in an office as I do, for extremely long periods of time (say, 10 hours a day, for example), you become obsessed with the outside world. Windows are much more exciting than normal.

If I'm at home and someone points out a window, it's like, "Okay. Yeah, that's a window. La-de-fricken-da."

But at work? Oh. My. God. It's like I could stare forever.

Who are those people? Oh. Gardners? Amazing.

Is that a bird? Oh my God, it's flying! Have you ever seen a bird do that?!

The Weather is another thing that gets you. I check Weather.com much more than is healthy. I can pinpoint an exact time that rain will begin.

I know I'm not alone because Steve used to refresh the Doppler radar all day.

So, let's recap:

I have a headache which makes me cranky.

I have PMS which is making me into one of those things that used to battle Godzilla.

My boyfriend doesn't love me enough. Worship is mandatory.

Annnnnnnd, weather is my hobby.

So uh, yeah. Don't make me hurt you.

Love,
Katie

P.S. I am still wearing my hospital bracelets.

On the Bright Side #2

2009-07-13T08:37:00.001-07:00

On the bright side:

I have a giant bag of Starburst.
I don't have a real concussion. (More on that later)
I'm leaving on time today.

AAAAAND, I will not be working tomorrow.

Love,

Katie

On the Bright Side #1

2009-07-09T07:12:00.000-07:00

On the bright side:

I don't have to wear blush.
From the calves down and in a few spots (including where my back fat rolls and the "underboob" region), I am not sunburned.
My arms are still tan, maybe tanner.
It doesn't hurt as bad today.

AAAAAND, my back is starting to bubble which means PEELING! And as gross as it is, I am WAY excited about it.

Love,

Katie

Burn, Baby Burn

2009-07-08T20:51:00.001-07:00

Oh what a mess I've gotten myself into this time.

I mean, I make stupid decisions; we know this. I mean, look at my ex-boyfriend.

Ew. Shudder!

Anyway, what I have done this time is right up there.

You see, my legs? They are milky white. Glowing white. In fact, they are nearly transparent-skinned white.

And my arms? They are normal.

And I find it ridiculous that I require constant applications of sunless tanner FOR MY APPENDAGES TO MATCH IN COLOR.

So what did I do? I went tanning.

Yes, tanning. At this fine establishment a block from my house:And the girl was all, "I suggest a Level Two tan because that's what most people get."

And I was all, "Awesome. Let's go."

"I usually do a stand-up because it's the most even. In fact, some people usually use laying-down beds and then use the stand-up when they want to even it out."

"Okay, standing it is."

"How long do you want to go in for?"

"How long should I go in for?"

"12 minutes is the maximum."

"Okay."

And then she was all, "Are you sure? You don't burn or anything?"

And then I was all, "I don't know. I've only done this once. Let's go, I guess."

I. Am. Stupid.

Long story short, my entire body is sunburned and I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I'm sleeping on shards of broken glass.

Plus, I'm this color:Please note my Budweiser pajama pants as they are unbelievably sexy. Also sexy? My no-ass.

Also, I am a fat kid.

I know this.

You know this.

We know this.

I've been getting fat lately. Probably because I haven't gone to el gymo in two weeks. Or because I woke up to this:
The empty candy box and I are expecting a child in April and we're trying to make things work.

Love,
Katie

Rated R for Language

2009-07-02T14:07:00.001-07:00

Listen up, kids, I've gotta address something here: I swear. Yes, it's true! I know you find it hard to believe that this innocent little angel could possible utter a "dang" let alone a...oh, I dunno... "fucktard" (one of my favorites). Anyway, I just thought I should get that out of the way so that those that had a problem with it could just stop reading...my blog entirely.

With that said, I shall begin!

So last night I stayed home for a little bit after work because my mom was making dinner which has become an event in Casa de Loco over here. It's like, "Oh em gee, mom's making dinner! Stop the presses! Cancel all my meetings, Marjorie! Tell the President I'll call him back!"

I mean, that's an exaggeration. But it's close enough.

Anyway, my mom was all pumped because we were having shrimp etoufee which we've never had before. She's on the phone with someone and I'm lurking in the kitchen staring at the pot wondering WHEN, OH GOD WHEN IS IT GOING TO BE DONE!? and, as usual, listening to my mom's conversation of which I can only hear her half:

"Yeah, but I mean, maybe it wasn't from his childhood that makes him act like that. Maybe it was something in early adulthood, you know? Like, something nobody ever talked about."
"Yeah and the alcohol and drugs."
"It's just so sad. Where are they holding the funeral, now? Do we know yet?"

And I'm all, WTF? because I just then, after about 1o minutes of eavesdropping/drooling, had realized that she was not talking about someone we know; she was talking about Michael Jackson. Seriously.

And you wonder why I used to ask if he could come over for breakfast: It's because my mom has always acted like Michael Jackson is a part of my family!

Then, last night I had this totally upsetting dream about him involving a glass door and crying, but we won't even get into that because I have only posted on here thrice and TWO THIRDS OF MY BLOG ARE POSTS ABOUT MICHAEL JACKSON. This is apparently affecting my life much more than I was originally aware.

Death affects me probably more than it affects the normal human population. And that is where my commemorative tattoo comes into play (Whenever I hear the word, "commemorative," I think of $250 worth of Seen on TV plates with pictures of Elvis on them. Weird, right?).

You see, it has been a little over six months since my only uncle, my dad's baby brother, hung himself in his cell of the Macomb County Jail. And it feels like it was yesterday.

I still cry myself to sleep. Often.

I still burst into uncontrollable sobbing whenever I hear a Queen song or watch Jesus Christ Superstar (a family Easter tradition, and total fave movie among ex-Mormons).

I still can't handle hearing about my dad, a devout Atheist, asking my stepmom where she thinks Chris is right now. Or when he calls me and tells me to take care of my little brother and sister because they need me and his brother, his baby brother, his only brother is gone. I can't listen to him cry at night. I can't listen to him drink a bottle of wine and talk about it. I can't listen to him tell me "[he's] not mad, [he's] not mad": a (sort of) direct quote from the suicide note left for the siblings ("Don't be mad. Don't be mad. I'll be ok [sic] now.").

The feeling is just as raw now as it had been the day right afterward, and I cannot deal.

So I am getting a tattoo.

I have always held a connection with Winnie the Pooh. He comforts me and reminds me of easier times. Plus, we're both short, chubby, and a little slow in the verbalization of our thoughts and often come off less intelligent than we are.

Thus, because of these two factors, I am getting this, a picture of Christopher Robin taking Winnie the Pooh upstairs at bedtime along with the words, "I'm not mad" tatooed upon my flesh.

Because Christopher Robin is just going upstairs to bed.

He'll be back again tomorrow morning, ready to play.

And that makes me feel, just a little better.

Love,
Katie

I've Done It Again

2009-06-30T18:27:00.002-07:00

For those of you that know and love me (since, to know me is to love me), you may be aware that I always seem to be doing laundry. This is mainly due to the fact that I am always talking about doing laundry.

A casual, "Man, I've gotta do laundry. I'm running out of work clothes" nestled into each conversation.

Complaints that I have nothing to wear.

Canceling plans because I have to stay home and do laundry.

But really, where am I going with this?

Well. I'm glad you asked.

You see, at least once every two months or so, it is inevitable (yet accidental) that I will make all of my light-colored clothing blue. A pale, pretty blue. However, sometimes a girl just wants a white tank top, you know?

So last night I threw a navy blue dress in the wash with the rest of my stuff and am now magically wearing a pale blue and white tie-dyed tank top underneath my pink Victoria's Secret hoodie (Eat your heart out, Giant Limp Noodle ex-boyfriend!).

Luckily, I've found that this pale blue color bleaches back to white quite nicely.

But why? Why am I telling you this?

Beats the hell out of me!

Enjoy the following videos that I promised my mom I wouldn't post on Facebook:

Love,
Katie

First real blog

2009-06-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

Why yes, it did take me all night to come up with that title. Tossing and turning...with your mother.

Oh, I went there.

Anyway, on to more serious business: I'm sure these past few days have been nerve-racking for most of you loyal, devoted, non-existant cyber fans. You've endured nail-biting suspense whilst waiting, nay, aching to know what I think of the death of Michael Jackson. (Yes, I can read your minds, and no, I will not.)

Truth be told, I have always been a fan and a sympathizer. I mean sure, the man had issues. We all have issues. But I have and will never believe the child molestation allegations. Never.

I maintain the fascination that I've held from childhood when I used to ask my mom if Michael Jackson could sleep over so we could have waffles in the morning. I remember watching the video for "Black or White" over and over again. I remember crying, even as a seven-year-old while I listened to a cassette in my mom's car of "Heal the World." I remember singing "Man in the Mirror." And just last year I, an awkward white girl, totally bought Ebony magazine because he was on the cover.

And I will always remember Michael Jackson as a man who changed the face of music and dance. A passionate humanitarian. A tarnished, slandered boy in a man's body. A legend.

Goodnight, Michael. Your legacy will tide us over until we see you again.

Love,
Katie