So Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related: Katie Cole has back fat.

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

Katie Cole is taking her first online class ever.

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

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

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

Katie Cole is easily angered lately.

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

Katie Cole is fighting with Jason on Facebook.

Katie Cole is mature.

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

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

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

Katie Cole is sorry she was mean to Jason.

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

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

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

Katie Cole is embarassed.

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

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

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

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

Katie Cole is seriously fucked in the head.

Katie Cole probably needs therapy.

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

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

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

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

Katie Cole forgot to bring a lunch.

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

Katie Cole is really fucked in the head.

Love,
Katie

When Even An Apple A Day Won't Save You

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

Kids Say the Darndest Things

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

You get the picture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

I Do This To Myself

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