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.

Tally-HO.

Today is slow at work. I think deep down in my subconscious I knew it would be when I woke up. Cause pretty much the worst idea I could think of was putting on heels and nice clothes, so now here I am at work, SERIOUSLY pushing the issue of the "business casual" workplace. Are topsiders business casual? Maybe if you're someones dad, and you work in a yacht store. I'm also wearing a zip up hoodie, which is perhaps better suited to picking apples or raking leaves than it is for my conservatively dressed office. It's got toggle buttons too. I stole it from Callie who is unfortunately in France and can't defend herself from wardrobe theft. Hey, that's what happens when you leave your cute navy hoodie with toggle buttons at home instead of taking it with you to France.

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Today I thought very briefly about starting a blog about a made up life. "Wouldn't that be fun!" I asked myself, and the answer I eventually came up with was, "No, you cannot even make a blog about your own life interesting." So I abandoned this idea. But I was talking at length with a dear friend of mine who has an extremely cute and precocious baby, and it seems like she has a lot more that she could blog about that would make for cute/funny/interesting/relevant entries. In my made up life I would probably have the following attributes, which I have noticed make for great blogging from my extensive and unscientific survey of the blogging community:

• an extremely smart and sassy child
• a waaay more interesting job
• a hybrid SUV
• a polygamous relationship
• lots of money

Well, thats all I can come up with right now, so maybe I'm really NOT ready to start a blog devoted to my imaginary life. It would be very short.

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Speaking of polyamory (as one tends to do), It's come to my attention that an acquaintance from college who was...ahem...predisposed to such a lifestyle has recently given birth to a baby girl. This got me thinking about what I would do if my mother was polyamorous (SIDE NOTE: I'm assuming amorous is spelled like glamorous. Naturally) like the women in the aforementioned forum. I just hope this girl hasn't named her child Loki Xaiel Sunshine Zeus, joined a commune and started exempting gluten from her diet.

This is how I previously envisioned people who co-breastfeed their children. Now I know better after a great deal of research, and it's possible that the people next door, right on sleepy ole' Indiana Avenue. Their children might be the very same that are selling homemade apple pie on the corner and catching fireflies in the twilight. I'm kidding of course. The kids next door are probably selling crack and catching diseases in the alleyway. And not just at twilight. They're also probably a member of a polyamourous family though, but not in the hippie, free-love, slightly mysterious way. If you know what I mean.

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I had an eventful weekend, thanks for asking. On Friday in the middle of my workday, my grandfather had a (now dubbed) minor heart attack, which left me a blubbering mess at work until five when my work ethic fear of getting fired finally released me to go home with no repercussions. Then we realized he was ok but there was NO WAY I wasn't going to go see him. You just never know with these things, right? Life is too short.

I did acquiesce and allow C to play in his long awaited baseball games on Saturday. That's right, I said baseball gameS. Baseball games which took like eight hours. I mean, I like baseball as much as the next girl, and I especially like it if C is playing and lookin' all cute in his uniform that he designed, and lovingly cradling his new baseball bat (which he polished at least three times pre-game to 'remove ball marks') at the plate. It really is cute. I put up with it for eight hours (with a three hour lunch break) but only because I love him a lot. I even put up with the annoying brats at the baseball diamond that absolutely will not leave Oliver alone. SAMPLE SCRIPT OF ANNOYING BRATS:

Kid1: Hes so cute!
Kid 2: He has a long nose...
Kid 1: ...but his tail is so little!!
Kid 2: Why does he have little feet?
Kid 1: Why can't I walk him?
Kid2: Sit Oliver! Sit!
Kid1: Do you love him?
Kid2: Why is his mouth so big?

....And so on and so fourth until I want to be all "I don't know, why is YOUR mouth so damn big?!" Oliver is a pretty good sport for the most part, but secretly I know he wants to bite their faces off.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, my weekend. We eventually got to my parents house, Grandfather was released from the hospital "As right as rain". And then I bought a car. No biggie. It only took looking at about 15 bazillion different cars before I got sick of looking and just got something already found a beauty. Ok seriously, it is a really nice car, and its the best one I found for my extremely limited budget. And yes, it is an SUV. But it's a SMALL SUV, and I only drive one mile to work anyone. Ok, its more like three miles. Even so I probably should be trying to reduce my carbon footprint and not drive at all to work, but when I wake up in the morning the absolute last thing I want to do is walk three miles in business casual. We're talking dead last, like:

THINGS I WANT TO DO WHEN I WAKE UP:
1. go back to bed and/or
1.a: win a million bucks
2. snuggle with C
3. win a million bucks (addendum, see 1.a)
4. eat
5. shower
6. take the dog out
7. Actually wake up.
8. walk three miles.

See? Dead last. Plus I pay 60 bucks every damn month for parking and damned if I'm not going to damn near abuse that privilege. Why yes, we do park free for every single Cardinals game.

Anyway, the car. The car!! The dealer says it's a "light bamboo", the website says "light tundra" and mazda says "light cypress". Draw your own conclusions:












Heres a sunroof so I can soak up as much sunshine as possible since I spend most of all day locked away.











This is the big picture.











Yep, it's got buttons too. Thanks for this picture, car dealer.











A close up of the paint job so everyone can make an informed decision about the true color.










The dash board. In "deep slate".









Cup holders and such, but check out those mental hospital/nursing home grade rubber mats. Hoseable!











The storage area. Obviously I need maximum area for clutter. KIDDING! Maybe.

Additionally, check out the website for the dealership where we got it.

The Car

Make sure your sound is turned up for the porn quality music that goes with it.

"Hey baby, you wanna come over to my place, check out my 1997 lexus? Do the numbers? Yeah, you know what I mean. "

The only thing left to do is name her. I'm pretty sure it's a her. Boy cars arent "tundra", "cypress", or "bamboo".

Annnnnnnnnd I'm back.

Honestly? Sometimes I just get in a funk and I don't feel like documenting my day anymore. It might have something to do with the fact that theres only so much I can write about name tags and attorney bios before I fall into a deep depression. And previous to last week, this was how my days went:

7:00 AM: alarm 1 goes off
7:10 AM: alarm 1 goes off
7:15 AM: alarm 1 goes off
7:20 AM: alarm 1 goes off, C puts phone on vibrate and sticks it in my pillowcase.
8:20 AM: wake up, take a shower
9:15 AM: roll into work.
9-10 AM: read the news, drink slim fast.
11 AM - 5 PM: make nametags.


See? That was even boring for me to write so I can't imagine how it is to read. Lately, I have make some pretty flashy nametags though. My best nametag work ever, I think. Heres a sample:
I dare you to tell me that isn't the best lookin' nametag you've ever seen....


....Thats what I thought.

All this makes me think maybe I should post some of my REAL graphic design, because belive it or not sometimes I do things that aren't as banal as nametags. That would take a lot of work, I think. Maybe that's a post for another day.

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So, the previous section of this post might have gotten you wondering why up until a week ago my life was so boring, where henceforth it ceased to be so. Well, I've whipped up a little illustration to tell you, since words don't really do it justice. And why not?
Here it is:
This graphic effectively makes my accident look a lot worse than it was, since in real life it happened at a stop light and I'm pretty sure his truck was going less than one mile per hour. But STILL. Poor Stoie was grossly mismatched.

Now I'm on the hunt for a new car and let me tell you how much I hate it:

ALOT.

I'm conflicted about the role of the men in my life in my search for a car. I mean, who's right is it to say that I can't just stroll into Ye Old Joe Sixpack (haha) Car Shoppe and pick out the first car I like? But noooo...C wants spreadsheets and research and all the men want me to do something called "The Numbers". I still haven't figured out what that is. I sort of halfheartedly did a spreadsheet, but let me tell you...I didn't like it.

I'll keep everyone updated on this situation for sure, including copious pictures of new car.

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Today in between jobs at work I'm reading a forum for polyamorous and polyfidelous (?) families and let me tell you, this is blowing my mind. And I'm not even a close minded person, but I'm starting to think maybe I am. I mean, I just wasn't aware that something like co-breastfeeding existed. And Five adults sleeping in the same bed? Naming your children after common weather patterns? Maybe it's just not for me, but I would have a hard time explaining how I came to name my children Loki, Xaeil, Sunshine, Rainy and Breezy.

I guess I'm just the most boring person ever.

KICKBALL HERO.

This morning I am in my own little world, and as such when a co-worker walked by me and said "Hey" I responded like this:

"Mmm-hmm!"

NOW WHAT?! I couldn't have picked a more heinously dismissive way to greet my coworker if I HAD thought about what was coming out of my mouth.

"Hey kate"
"mmm-hmmm...you go ahead and SAY hey, because you know what? I'm not going to say it back."

Gawd. I guess I could always shoot her an email but "hey, sorry for saying mmm-hmmm to you in the hallway" seems...obsequious, at best. The best I can hope for is that she heard my follow-up "Hey", which my brain DID authorize to come out of my mouth.

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C and I didn't go to the DirectBuy Showroom on Saturday because we had KICKBALL PRACTICE. You may be laughing but anytime that there has been at least fifteen years between the first and next time I did something I deign to need practice. Naturally I'm AWFUL. This is what my "coach" said when I failed to get on base for the 6th and final time:

"You're the most consistent kicker we've got!"

Thats great...except everyone on the team is the most consistent kicker we've got. It's not like this is fast pitch kickball. It's not like the kickball is made of lead and traveling at seventy five miles an hour.

In addition to just being plain awful and not knowing any of the rules I managed to injure myself about ten minutes in to practice. And we all know how big of a baby Kate is. Let's just say that you never want something as innocuous as kickball to result in a desperate bargain with god on the field to not pass out.

Here's an action shot:

Look at that form! Notice that although the ball is well on its way to being caught by the opposite team and hurled to first base, I am still in no way moving forward. In fact, in this picture I appear to be moving BACKWARDS.

To contrast, I'd like to post some action shots of C, who proved to be nothing short of a kickball hero:

Here he is, taking it in the face for the team. Even his bandana looks way cooler than mine. All this being said, I like the slow-mo effect of the ball hitting his cheek and the ensuing shock wave traveling across his face. Very dramatic.
























Here he is literally diving for the base as the oafish other team tries in vain to get him out. Only C actually has grass stains on his kickball jersey.

















And this is an action shot of C making his THIRD homerun in one game. Even the girl from the other team is impressed. And check out our stoked teammate.

Congratulations! YOU have been chosen for the DirectBuy Showroom Experience!

Jeez, I just haven't felt like writing these days. One, it's been really busy at work. Like, really really busy. I guess that's not such a big problem. It's all pretty interesting stuff...not TOO much bullshit. Two, C's been furloughed, so he's home a lot, so I don't have endless stretches of time at night to catch up on my blogging. Three, my life is just really boring. Nothing exciting is happening, not even in the bathroom at the office, which is where I find a lot of my inspiration.

Honestly, these days, people just go in the bathroom, do their business and come right out. It's excruciating.

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Speaking of the bathroom, however, today after lunch I had to go, but I had my shoes off. On a side note, the shoes I'm wearing today are the Most. Uncomfortable. Shoes. I've ever worn. Hands down. I feel like even if they had made them out of fiberglass and razor blades and scorpion stingers they still might feel like angels wings compared to how they are right now. But they're cute, and I bought new clothes last night, and they are currently the only pair of brown shoes I own that aren't tore up in at least one place.

Anyway, so, I took them off because they hurt even when I'm sitting at my desk (!!!!!) and then all the sudden I had to pee so bad I couldn't stand it. Needless to say, I strongly considered running down the hallway of the conservative law firm that I work for and going to the bathroom with no shoes on, but I thought better of it. Having done that it took like TEN MINUTES to strap on my heinous shoes, all the time bent over and daring my bladder to explode.

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I made the awful mistake of giving the DirectBuy Showroom my work number. I'm not usually one to buy into TV infomercial bullshit like this, but I REALLY need a new bed and I don't want to A. drive to Chicago for IKEA or B. spend a lot of money. Anyway, I underestimated how very serious these people are about selling deep discount furniture. You'd think it was a discount showroom for cancer cures or something. Listen, I appreciate fervor for slashed prices, but enough is enough already.

Anyway, stupidly I filled out an online form, because in order to get into the top secret showroom you have to have an invitation and an appointment. And this lady calls me and gives me this total guilt trip about how I can only bring C and we have to have our IDs and birth certificates, hair samples, medical records, tax forms and proof of income (this one we actually do have to bring) and are we SURE we can make it on our appointed day, because if not we'll be stealing -literally STEALING- the opportunity to buy quality furniture at closeout prices from another family.

Of course I was like "sure whatever, we'll be there" but now I think we probably wont be there. Partly because we have shit to do tomorrow and I don't have money for a bed right now anyway, and also because if the sales people at the DirectBuy Showroom are anything like the woman on the phone, I will instantly be so irritated by them that I won't buy anything on principal.

What started all of this is that the f-ing DirectBuy Showroom lady JUST called AGAIN to confirm our appointment. In the middle of my work day. So I picked up the phone, let the sounds of my busy office fill the receiver, and hung up on her. Is that serious enough for you?!

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I think I mentioned this, but I bought Oliver a new bed; it's like a sleeping bag for dogs that he can burrow inside so he won't shiver all night and make me feel like an asshole in my nice warm bed. Anyway, it came and it turns out that he is just. too. dumb. to figure it out. This morning, even after I spent a long time last night showing him the opening and gently guiding shoving his little nose inside I woke up and there he was...on top of the bed and shaking like a leaf. It must be hard to be so dumb. Seriously.

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Well, I'm sick of writing for now.

Mama said there'd be days like this

Some days I just want to tie on an apron and a bonnet and run joyously out into the meadow (loosely speaking) beneath the arch and gather daffodils. This is NOT one of those days.

I think I need to start eating breakfast or something, because anything that I have to do before lunch time is about eleventy-seven billion times harder. Today I was reminiscing with C about the days when I could stay up for two days without sleep or food and still be conscious and mildly functional. These days if I don't get 10 hours of sleep and three meals a day ON TIME, there's hell to pay.

This entry isn't really panning out how I wanted it to. The good news is that I just added the word "eleventy" to my computer.

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Last night I bought C a *new* grill off of craigslist for his birthday. It's a nice grill, I guess, or at least it used to be before it sat in someones garage. It's good that C is so into the concept of fixing things up. Anyway, consider this a place holder for this grill that we will someday be able to afford:
I will refrain from posting a picture of OUR grill until it has officially been Fixed Up.

Anyway, now it is time to go HOME! And tomorrow is Denim Day! It's the little things in my life right now, it really is.

(The Viking E-Series, shown in it's natural habitat.)

Normal Husband-like behavior.

Anyone who knows me as of late knows how much I hate elevators. I have special disdain for the people on the floor below me because EVERY TIME I get on the elevator, thinking I'm gonna be able to just ride up to my floor, one of those annoying hippie architects has to come rushing up and stick their little messenger bag full of blue prints or what have you in the door. Why are these people wasting my time? Can't they just walk up eight flights of stairs? KIDDING. Kinda. I think I would be a lot more tolerant if the first six floors weren't used as parking, and therefore not an issue. But because of that, the seventh floor is the only thing between me and a stop-free ride to my office every morning.

Also, this afternoon a lady got in and had that annoying habit of smacking her lips and swashing her saliva around in her mouth for no reason. She also felt it was necessary to stare blatantly at my shoes the entire time. I tried to back into a corner and pretend I was invisible but no dice. She just turned around and kept staring. How are these people even functioning in the real world? What is it about the elevator that makes people act like rejects? Honestly.

Anyway, enough about that.
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I read this other girls blog today and it inspired me thusly:

LOVE: this gorgeous, fall-like weather
HATE: the horror-movie-esque number of fleas that come with it.

LOVE: my job
HATE: being the lowest person on the totem pole here.

LOVE: C
HATE: that he can't find a job that will get him money while he's furloughed.

LOVE: ice cream
HATE: that theres free ice cream that I can't justify having in the lobby

LOVE: my job
HATE: STILL not having enough money to buy myself things.

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Speaking of the ice cream social in the lobby, I wasn't sure what was going on until the elevator came and an absolutely inane number of secretaries, etc (all women -- draw your own conclusions) got off and went streaming for the ice cream. I'm talking about like thirty women at a time. It was insane.

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All in all, this hasn't been the best day ever. It hasn't been the WORST day, but it definitely could have been better. I will now interrupt this blog entry for a healthy dose of Feeling Sorry For Myself (FSFM):

• This morning my now ex-roommate once again displayed an unnecessary level of asshole-ity. He of course can suck my proverbial wang, but it still made me blindingly irate mad.
• Thinking that the shoes I wanted to wear were in my car already, I left the house without shoes on, only to arrive at work with no shoes. So for the first half of my day I had to wear a pair of shoes that had been in my trunk probably since like 1999 (incidently, the last time they were in style was probably 1999 as well) and also looked like I had pulled them out of a dumpster to boot.
• Then when I got back from lunch I had to pee BAD, so I ran into the bathroom, but the hook on my slacks was welded shut by dragon fire or something, and I could NOT get my pants off to save my life. Sooooo that sucked.*

*Yes, I did eventually get my pants off without the use of the jaws of life.

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I realized I haven't reviewed the latest gem on Yahoo Answers lately, so here it is:

Is this normal for A Husband?

I find my Husband Dunkin with his member in a bird feeder! I find him with it in a hole in the wall of in our den! I found him with it in a doughnuts when we buy them from Dunkins Doughnut'! He even has placed his member into a drain in our bathtub!

Im afraid if he sees a gofer hole he might place his member into it and get bit! I feel it is a danger for him to be doing this, how should i tell him to stop?

I'm cool, I swear.

Not wanting to dispel any notion that I am the Office Dork and officially the Least Professional Person Ever, today someone came by my desk and there I was (middle of my lunch break, but still), in the middle of reading Breaking Dawn, the latest installment in the teen-vampire melodrama manifesto, with my legs akimbo and my shoes scattered all over my cubicle. And this is what she said:

"That's very ladylike, Kate."

"Well fuck you very much", I should have said.

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What's with the big "Tampon Taboo"? I myself have fallen prey to it. Not wanting to carry a visible tampon to the bathroom with me, I find myself stuffing it up my sleeve, in my waistband, in my bra...it's a little ridiculous if you ask me. It's not really any more weird to carry a tampon in full view to the bathroom than it is to drop it out of your bra or your sleeve, which is a definite risk if decide to go that route.

Then again, the people in my office might not be surprised if a tampon fell out of my sleeve, to them that probably seems like something I might do.

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All this talk of me being uncool makes me a little uncomfortable, like those two people from Maryland who viewed my blog might think I'm uncool and not want to view my blog anymore.

10 REASONS I'M COOL:
1. I listen to Wilco.
2. I listen to SonVolt, which is pre-wilco wilco.*
3. I'm a graphic designer
4. I own many pencil skirts
5. I live in a city.
6. I use curse words and still manage to look educated. I think.
7. I own a hip, expensive, inbred dog.
8. I have commissioned artwork from a local artist
9. ....of my dog.
10. I have a snarky blog.

*The rest of this list may or may not be negated by the fact that after I typed number's one and two, I had a hard time coming up with any more reasons why I was cool, which may or may not mean that the only credit to my coolness is the fact that I listen to Wilco. You decide.

a smattering of things

This weekend we went to Oshkosh for the airshow, and I will admit that I went with very low expectations about my enjoyment level, because honestly Kate + Airplanes (quite often) = clutching the hand of the fat stranger in the seat next to me. I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised, because it was quite a good time.

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The Red Cross is holding a blood drive this year in my building and I have several factors to consider while I decide whether or not to participate. LIST TIME.

PROS
1. I have a rare-ish blood type, despite what the impertinent nurse-in-training waiter said at TGI Fridays when he overheard me bragging about my rare-ish blood. Maybe that guy should spend less time in his nursing school text books and more time looking up blood types on wikipedia.
2. Super fun way to spend your lunch break!
3. I get a free ice cream cone from dairy queen.
4. I get a free ice cream cone from dairy queen.
5. I get a free ice cream cone from dairy queen.

CONS
1. Needles.
2. I might will definitely pass the fuck out.
3. Giving blood blows because that shit hurts.
4. I will not get a free t-shirt like I used to in college.
5. Thinking about it will totally ruin the first half of my Wednesday.

So there you have it, I guess I have some serious thinking to do.

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C and I went to some dive-y Chinese restaurant for lunch. Somewhat expectedly, it was chock full of secretarial pools in all shapes and sizes. In fact, the only people in there that were NOT in the secretarial pool were C and me, and one other couple who had recently won the Intergalactic Most Annoying People Ever 2008 contest.

I guess for the talent portion of IMAPE2008, they just sat there and bitched about how hard it was to date and how all the men and women they dated were total losers. Loudly. Anyway, script time:

MAN (thin, pocket-protected glasses clad pleated pants): so after we ate I asked this chick what she wanted to do, and i gave her a whole list and she said, 'I dunno, you decide' so I just took her home because she obviously didn't know what she wnated to do and she was SO UPSET with me! what was her problem anyway?
WOMAN (mousy, wearing metallic shirt with shoulder pads): omigod! what a bitch!
why are some girls so needy?

Anyway, it went on and on with stories like this until they finally, FINALLY left, leaving me thanking every available deity that I no longer had to potentially date men like that.

First of all, that womans problem was that she was obviously out on a date with someone who didn't have a big enough dick to decide where to go. And whatever, that shiny mousy bi-atch would totally do the same thing.

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Maybe more later...

panic attack!

Ok, I decided no more "work grievances" posts because I'm afraid (perhaps not unfounded-ly) that someone at work in a position of power will find my blog and think that I hate my job and fire me.

ATTENTION: I DO NOT HATE MY JOB.

I suppose I AM really good at bitching about the little things that annoy me, but as a whole, I have a great job and I work with great people. No, I'm not just plugging my job so anyone reading this will not fire me. I really do not take advantage of what I have. I like to think, despite the boring shit, that I work hard so I can move on to more exciting stages of my career at the firm.

There, I feel better.

YESSSSS!

Movie Reviews

Here it is ladies and gentlemen, proof that my blog is not uneducated drivel.

PS: C had NO CAVITIES. And he didn't even get tied up and whipped until he begged for mercy. What kind of lackadaisical dentist is this, anyway.

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Someone just walked in and needed to show me something on the internet, so the harry potter story preoccupation is probably out of the bag. I should probably relax and realize that the current level of nerdity that i reside in hovers around me like a pink, glittery immature cloud at all times, and people that works with me day in and day out are eventually going to notice it. Should I embrace my Sci-fi tabloid-harry potter fanfiction-romance novel-wikipedia articles about the tudor dynasty reading self? Probably. It's probably worse when I try to hide it like a hideous deformity from the self-assured, well-dressed, ladder-climbing women in my office.

WOW thats a lot of hyphens.

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There is a sign on the mens bathroom that says "DO NOT ENTER." in handwritten scrawl on notebook paper. We all know what this means...I want to enter I MUST ENTER!! On the one hand it could be a juice office sex scandal happening right under my nose, but on the other (considerably less appealing) hand, it could be a...juicy office sewage backup.

Either way, I cannot deny that I am legitimately considering entering the mens restroom at 2 pm on a Wednesday. I am just that nosy.

blog OBSESSED.

Lately I find that I'm a little obsessed with my blog. Something great happens and normally I'd call my mom or C, but recently (and by recently, I mean, in the last week or so) the first thing I think is "I have to tell my BLOG." Really, who is even reading my blog? No-one probably. I'm rushing to tell a server somewhere about my life. I feel like sometimes I can read over my past blogs (and keep in mind, the majority of my blogging (2002-present) resides elsewhere on the internet and is not part of the work related drivel contained herein) and in a sense they are talking back to me. In the sense that I read them and they say "can you believe you actually thought people might care about this angsty bullshit at one time?" I'm banking on the fact that someday sheer volume of posts will culminate in some sort of complete, rich Portrait of a Blogger as a Young Woman.

I wonder how people get into these big networks of bloggers. I notice all the "famous" blogs I read are all linked in with other famous blogs, and they all read each others blogs and have blog bookdeals and attend blog conventions or whatnot.

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Today C went to the dentist for the first time in probably.....ever. I'm exaggerating of course, but it has been a while. Why are men so afraid of the dentist? I've been talking this over with some of my girlfriends, and so far this is a universal trend. This morning all I heard was how the dentist was gonna lecture him and get mad at him, and I'm wondering, what sort of dentists did all of these dentophobic men attend as young boys. I'm imagining a giant conspiracy ring of leather-clad sado-masochistic bondage dentists/dental assistants: "you didn't floss? thats thirty lashes with the tickler for you."

Some guys might be into that though, so thats a good business prospect for all those kinky girls who are also interested in dentistry.

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Abbreviations.com is a great website, and probably not blocked by websense (I was just imagining if it WAS blocked by websense; "Your network administrator has blocked the web category 'abbreviation websites'..." hahahaha) , for anydorkone who's curious about all the things your initials could stand for, or if you're immature like me you'll search "SEX" and "FUCK" and you'll find that the letters "SEX" are actually pretty useful.
For instance:
SEX is the airport code for sembach, germany.
SEX also stands for the Scientific Experimental Xylophone and Sexually Educated X-men.
FUCK isn't that interesting except for there are THREE universities with the acronym fuck, whcih is AWESOME. I don't feel like typing them, but I swear its true.

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I keep trying to open new tabs so people who walk by my office won't be able to read the embarrassing ones ("harrypotterfanfiction.com :: 50,000 HARRY POTTER STORIES" and "What does FUCK stand for?" are the most offensive/abjectly humiliating if you must know.) So now I have 12 tabs open for things like " The New York Times online" and "The Economist" Hopefully people will be so blinded by my largely intelligent web browsing that they will fail to notice my humiliating harry potter story addiction.

Ok, off to work.

Just a second ago I cussed heavily at the vending machine for not taking my dollar, even though my dollar is 3/4 ripped in half. I might as well try to shove saran wrap or packing bubbles into the vending machine.

Just to give you an idea of how today is going.

blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

Today has been so busy that nothing worthy of pithy commentary has happened. I had stuff in my inbox when I got here at nine and I literally have not had a break since then. I'm about ready to bash my head in. On top of it all, I'm running a fever of...ready? 99.6!!!!! Now, don't everyone panic and call 911, I'm not dead yet.

But seriously, any fever at all is notable for me, since my body is like the human thermostat. That's a whole point above where it should be! Esp. since I've been running said fever since Monday.

Thats really all I have to say.

Oh yeah, fuck name tags. Fuck 'em, I say.

Sexy Rexy

Today in addition to work I:

• looked up information on multiple births
• participated in an online photoshop contest (DORK)
• read the comics
• spent copious amounts of time on craigslist looking up the following things that were for sale:

• birdcages
• old wedding dresses
• washing machines
• houses
• briggs and stratton engines
• horses and ponies
• Nigerian Dwarf Goat
• mountain bikes
  

Admittedly, perusing craigslist always starts out innocently enough. "Oh, Rex needs a bigger cage, the lawn mower is broken and my friend needs a new washing machine." I'll leave it up to you to try and discern what particular train of thought got me from washing machine to Nigerian Dwarf Goat.

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I've started working out again and last night I got hooked into "BODY BLAST" which is about exactly as awful as it sounds. I reckon they got the name from the fact that after you complete "Body Blast" you will probably feel like your body has been "blasted" by something heavy, like an anvil or an artillery shell. I probably shouldn't have started my workout regimen back up with something with that name but when I was invited to the class by a woman who is at least 168 years old, the two shreds of pride I had left at that point wouldn't let me refuse. Needless to say, that old woman quickly showed me that I am a weak, flabby person who doesn't deserve to be 23 and in the prime of life.

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To finish, I must report that baby Rex: (see below - to refresh your memory)

Is now teenage Rex, and while no longer requiring bi-daily feedings, is now what C affectionately calls "a little shit." I'm sure that moniker has been accurately applied to teenagers throughout the annuls of history, but probably none so accurately as it is applied to Rex. For something that gets toys, food, treats, accesories and attention galore, he sure does a whole hell of a lot of hissing and biting and generally telling me where I can stick it. Not unlike a human teenager, I would imagine.

Pretty much the only endearing thing about him at this point is that he has learned the following:

• Cat Call
  
• "Seventy Six Trombones"
  
• the beeping on the microwave

Maybe the third one is somewhat less endearing than the other two, but still. He is also molting and thus in addition to his unending bad attitude and incessant cat calling (also not unlike a human teenager, I suppose), he looks like we put him in the blender. I promise we didn't, but I can't promise that we havne't thought about it.

NOW, it's five o-clock.

Katie Rose...has overcome her writers block.

I so phased out for a while. You know what's pathetic? I actually felt guilty for leaving my newborn blog all alone and un-updated for all that time. I guess I just wasn't ready to commit. It is sort of odd how my desire to write came rushing back though. I mean, just two minutes ago I was standing at the paper cutter, cutting 150 teeny tiny tags to be tied around customized firm sunscreen, now I'm all hot to trot for writing in my blog.

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One of the things I've noticed that I do a lot at work is go to the bathroom. Never before has the bathroom been such a haven. I don't know for sure, but I think I may subconsciously drink approximately 12 times as much as I do at home in order to legitimately have an excuse to go to the bathroom about every hour.

This bathroom talk has reminded me of what is perhaps a major discrepancy in the moral compass of our office, as a whole. That discrepancy concerns: The Handicap Stall. In my frequent trips to the bathroom to kick back and relax, I've noticed that there is a quiet, desperate war being waged in my office for the handicap stall. I've noticed women waiting when the other stalls are empty so they can use it. Luckily there are no handicapped people on my floor, that I know of, and thats probably for the best, because I don't think these women are going to defer to anyone as unimportant as a legitimate handicapped person any time soon.

My last bathroom observation (then I swear I'm done) concerns hand-washing. See, I have this phobia that someone in the bathroom will catch me not washing my hands when I'm finished, which I usually do...if I'm actually using the bathroom. You have no idea the mental anguish that I go through when I'm sitting in the stall, texting away or reading a book or sewing on a button, and some secretary comes in to do her thing. NOW WHAT? Usually I try to wait the other person out, but if that doesn't work I'm stuck in my little bathroom charade, making a fake flush and fake rustling my clothes around, and if I'm lucky enough to have gotten the handicap stall, fake washing my hands in the sink.

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Well, off to finish work, because it's almost five!!!!!!!!

holy crap why isn't it the end of the day?!

So last summer I worked in a hypnotists office as an office manager. My old bosses email is still in my contacts list, so it shows up in my google chat box. Currently, his away message is: "mesmerizing." What does that mean? Is something mesmerizing HIM, or is HE mesmerizing something?! I find it fascinating that with this man, both are possible.

Thats it, I have no more witticisms for today, unless you find sitting at your desk and checking the clock every 13 seconds amusing enough to write about.

new computer

I FINALLY got a new computer at work.

In other news I've recently been informed that Rex needs to be hand fed twice a day. I wasn't planning on hand feeding anything in my life until it was either A. a human baby or B. my parents in a state of advanced old age. And even then, both of these situations would involve beings with more reasoning power than a baby cockatiel. I would sincerely hope so, anyway.

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I've gotten a little sick of people coming into my office and making comments about how dark it is. It's dark because I asked the maintenance guys to take out the bulbs in the hospital quality x-ray strength florescent light over my head so my retinas wouldn't burn out of my head while I worked. But even with the light bulbs out, its not THAT dark. Excuse me if I haven't been working here long enough to forget what sunlight feels like on my face, or how kittens sound or what love feels like.

That may be a little too bleak of an assessment of my workplace. But the point is, I have a big window in my cubicle. Sure, it may not overlook a field of daffodils (actually, my view is an abandoned apartment complex and some rooftops), but my computer desktop IS a field of daffodils, so that combined with the indirect, grey city light coming through my window is enough to sometimes make me think about something other than the fact that i sit in a cubicle most of my day.

Well, back to work...sigh.

I don't even want to talk about how boring my day was.

In other news, I'm tracking C's flight and he's currently making circles in a CRJ about a hundred miles from his destination. This is exactly why I should NOT be tracking his flights, because there are no good reasons in my mind to be making circles in a commercial jet when you are that far from your destination.

I hate airplanes.

things to do at work

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C started work today!! He's the cutest airline pilot in the entire universe and don't you dare try to dispute it:

You'll have to excuse this photo, because it was tragically early for me and I couldn't operate a camera, apparently.
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The last couple of days at work I've been doing two big ongoing projects. Wow, that sounds important Kate! Wrong. The projects consist of:

Making Nametags for Mix and Mingle Events

You may think that this job wouldn't take two days, but you're absolutely wrong. These people are SERIOUS about nametags. Serious enough to designate the job to their graphic designer. The thing is, I've never really been all that serious about nametags myself, or really even thought about them come to think of it. The most memorable nametags I've encountered have been of the "Hello My Name is: *insert something witty or gross here*" variety. Most of the time you don't see people walking around an event going "hey, have you seen these nametags? These are slick."

This is what I get for being the most junior, youngest, greenest person in the entire company. I'm not complaining because I can finally afford to go to the dentist and buy things like...a cockatiel because my new salary. But still...ok maybe I am complaining.
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SPEAKING OF BUYING THINGS WITH MY NEW SALARY

Ok, I admit that with my first paycheck I did approxamately zero percent of the useful things I needed to do.

Things I needed to do with my money:

• Go to the OBGyn so I don't get pregnant
• Go to the dentist so I don't become toothless
• Go to the optometrist so I am not blind
• Take the animals to the vet so they don't get rabies
• Register my car so I don't get arrested.

Things I did with my money:

• Bought a swimsuit
• Bought a lamp
• Bought green sheets
• Bought a skirt and a shirt for work which I immediately hated the second they came out of the box but will keep anyway because I have the crappiest work wardrobe ever.
• Bought a cockatiel
• Bought sound blocking headphones so people will leave me alone at work during my lunch break.

I realize that the Things I Needed to Do list includes lots of scary words like "pregnant" "toothless" "arrested" "rabies" and "blind" and the Things I Did list includes lots of useless words like "lamp" and "cockatiel" and basically all of the words on the list. But it was my FIRST PAYCHECK. Anyway, I have another one coming next week, it'll all be ok.
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I'll leave you with a picture of Rex. No I don't want to talk about how impulsive this was.