Heck is for people that don't believe in gosh.

Dear Blog,
Sorry for not updating regularly.
Love,
Kate

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Anyway, I would like to tell you that I'm so busy that I just don't have a minute to break away to write but that's not true. I'm just lazy. Lately I've mostly been consumed with reading other people's blogs and this had made me intimidated and feeling sluggish about regaling the internet with stories about my cubicle. Or...well, my cubicle. That about sums it up. Yesterday I cleaned it! Today I rearranged the magnetic poetry on my cabinets! Oh, did I tell you about when I organized my books from largest to smallest?!

Yeah, cubicles suck.

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SORRY, MORE ELEVATOR RANTING:

This morning I was late to work. I parked my car by the elevator (I always park like three floors higher than necessary so I don't have to walk a long way to the elevator. Whoo...I am SO not living an active lifestyle and will probably die from deep vein thrombosis or something) What was I talking about? Oh right, the elevator.

ANYWAY: This SUPER cheery woman was holding the door for literally every single person in the whole garage. Including me, even though I was busy fiddling with my car, and putting my shoes on and losing my keys in my purse (you get the idea). I even gave her the "go ahead without me" wave and she didn't get it. I'm not sure what else I could have done except give her the "I LITERALLY WOULD RATHER HURL MYSELF OFF OF THE TOP OF THIS GARAGE THAN RIDE DOWN TO THE STREET WITH YOU AND THE SIX OTHER PEOPLE IN THERE" wave.

Eventually she got the message, but SERIOUSLY people. I'm beginning to think my hatred of the elevator is borderline sick.

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Since I've been reading other people's blogs I've been feeling less and less important/articulate. I think I've mentioned this before, but MAN, some of these ladies don't even curse. HOW?

Once, someone told me that someone told THEM that I had a gift for telling stories, which I don't think exactly translates into my blogging sometimes. For one, it must seem as though I have absolutely no grasp whatsoever of the English language, or it's grammar (one I got a C on a paper in COLLEGE because it had 17 comma splices, so this might actually be the case). But seriously, I just don't see the point in editing my blog. What you see is what you get here, people. This crap comes straight out of my brain onto the paper. No filters.

Secondly, it has occurred to me lately that maybe I was good at telling stories...back when I had some stories to tell people. I mean, it's not hard to tell a story like this one:

• Once upon a time, Kate and her Friend Sam trespassed in a National Park by climbing the fence at Monticello into an apple orchard planted when Thomas Jefferson lived there and absolutely GORGED themselves on delicious, ripe little national treasures.

True story! But man, compare that to this:

• Once upon a time, Kate was late to work because she couldn't find any pantyhose and she didn't want to get in the elevator and then her computer broke and she converted some firm resumes into a new format and went home and waited for C to get off work because she has no other friends.

WOW.

This same person also told the person who told me that he told her (right? right.) that when I cursed, it sounded "right" or that "it fit". At the time I was not interested in cutting down on the amount of cursing that I do nor did I regularly post in a blog that my grandmother may or may not read. So I was excited. Yea! I'm good at cursing! Now I'm not so impressed with myself when I can't come up with anything better to say than "shit." But I still make mistakes. Probably like ten times a day.

Hey, my grandfather was a sailor. That's what my mother told me and that's probably what I'll tell my daughters when they curse someday: "Hey, your great grandfather was a sailor, it's ok" and so on down the line. Someday there will be a distant ancestor of mine saying unspeakable things and her mother will tell her "Hey, I bet someone in our family was a sailor, so it's ok".

I think I really need some help. Shock therapy or something.

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*BONUS: Right as I typed this tome excusing myself from cursing my grandmother sent me an email with a prayer in it from Billy Graham. What's that you say? No one cares that your grandfather was a sailor? Cursing isn't cute anymore because you're a grown woman and not a whippy, in-your-face college girl?

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To sum up, and a few more small things that are happening in my life:

• I should not curse because God will use my grandmother as a tool to make me regret it by coinciding her devout emails with my excuses.
• My life will never, ever be as exciting as it was in college, but hopefully it will not continue to be this horrifyingly boring.
• God, I hate elevators.
• I tried for the fourth time to burn off the wart on my hand this weekend, and its STILL THERE.
• C and I looked at engagement rings! That's exciting, right?! I won't even allow myself to talk about it because people DEFINITELY dont want to read descriptions of the 50,000 rings I liked. Bottom line, C? If it's got some diamonds in it, I think I'm happy.
  
• It's four fifty and I am getting the hell heck out of dodge.