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

These Boots Are Made For Pitching Hysterical Fits

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

So 16-Year-Old Boy With A Cheesy Mustache

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

MST3K Hobgoblins by Kels

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.

Feelings

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.

Blogging by Kels

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

Me: "Some."

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

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

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

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

Kels: "...Blogicon?"

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

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

Seriously?

Love,
Katie

Update!

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

Project Chick

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

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

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

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

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

Where was I?

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

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

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

Not an exaggeration. My sister is hilarious.

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

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

With my hotness.

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

Love,
Katie

To Make a Brand New Start of It

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

Lessons by Kels

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

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

Me: "Okay..."

Kels: "And you hold it down."

Me: "Mhm..."

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

Love,

Katie

Rated R for Language

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

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