LMNOP

A - Available... That all depends on how much you look like John Krasinski.

B - Best Friend... Katelyn

C- Crush... Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez

D - Dad's Name... Paws

E - Easiest Person To Talk To... Katie

F- Favorite Band... This week it's Snow Patrol

G - Gummy Bears Or Worms... Worms most def. Don't like eating things with faces

H - Hometown... Wouldn't you like to know?

I - Instrument... Let's go with "the fiddle"

J- Job... Frequenting internet sites and Snooding

K- Kids... Nah

L - Longest Car Ride... The one to work this morning felt pretty damn long

M - Milk Flavor... Skimtastic

N - Number Of Siblings... 3ish and a few surrogates

O - One Wish... Magic alcohol that leaves you hangoverless, doesn't destroy your body, and makes you lose weight and smell like cotton candy

P - Phobias... Smashing into the crystal kiosk at the mall and sending glass unicorns flying everywhere

Q - Favorite Quote... "The only currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else while you are uncool."- Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lester Bangs

R - Reason To Smile... Discussing taters with Charlemagne

S- Song You Last Heard... Listening to "High and Dry" by Radiohead right meow.

T - Time You Woke Up... 8

U - Unknown Fact About Me... I can recite the presidents in order, and given enough time, provide inauguration dates

V - Vegetable... Green peppers. Does anyone remember that game Pizza Party? I think about it every time I eat one. Same with mushrooms. They're fungus!

W- Worst Habit... Twisting my hair, being a ray of sunshine to all who behold me, oh and of course there's the drinking and the smoking and the premarital sex

X - X-Rays You've Had... Got to flip the X-Ray tech the bird when I thought I broke my finger

Y - Your Favorite Food... Labatt Blue Light?

Z - Zodiac Sign...Scorpio. I'm mysterious.

When I Was 17 I Used To Know You

As much as crashing in the back bedroom and engaging in holiday traditions sucks ass, I am always amused to discover what I find on the old computer in my parents' house. Here's a real gem I stumbled upon that hilights how emo and brooding my former self really was. Aww HS BF, how sad you made me.

What Love Really Is - the beginning of a short story by Yours Truly.

“You’re beautiful,” he said right before he sped off for home leaving her standing in her snow-covered driveway.
What he’d actually said was “See ya later,” but tonight she chose to hear “You’re beautiful,” varying the phrase from her usual illusion of “I’m sorry.” Though each night when he dropped her off and mumbled some sort of goodbye he should have been saying “I’m sleeping with your best friend,” or “I’m totally apathetic to your presence in my life.” It was 12 minutes from his house to hers in the wintertime when the roads were slick, enough time for two cigarettes, a lot of awkward silence, and him to switch the CD three times, steering the car with his knees as he did it. She lit another cigarette as she walked to her front porch, checking her watch to see it was 2:00 AM. An early night for her, leaving hours ahead for quiet contemplation, either bending the events of the evening to make it all seem worthwhile, or to swear she’d never do it again.
She flicked the butt to sizzle in the snow, and then fumbled with her keys, thinking back to the last time she was happy with him. It was a year and some months ago, before the leaves had turned twice and the snow had drifted in, the very last time she could call him her own. Back when their feet were still bare on the back porch planks and he prepared to leave for college the next morning. A time when they could share a blanket and their thoughts and kissing wasn’t wrong, for he told her he’d miss her and he wanted her with him when it was her time to leave this town. But that time wasn’t now, and she had long since taken the photos from their frames and hidden them away in a drawer.
It was over a year since then, and time had seen weeks without speaking and apology poems and graduation and even a diary of kisses with other boys. She’d even plunged herself into a masquerade with an older man, holding up her feathered mask for as long as she could. When she sent his heart back ignored and unembraced, he’d asked, “You still love him don’t you?”. She’d ignored the question aptly, to which he responded, “If you think he loves you, you don’t know what love really is.” She shrugged because she knew that love really wasn’t what she had with anyone else, since upon his return from his first year away, he’d found his way back to her, and she hadn’t denied him. She’d simply told her then boyfriend that they’d gotten coffee and laughed about the old times as they caught up to the new.
She tossed her keys on the table and kicked off her snowy shoes. Just a week left, she reminded herself, and this house of haunted memories will be safely replaced by a cramped little dorm room, where it all can be avoided with the busy bustle of semester number two. She changed into sweatpants and set about distracting herself until dawn brought sleep...

Isn't it romantic? Blech. It did inspire some contemplation as to what I'd write on the subject now. I think it would go something like this:

What Love Really Is - An even shorter start to a short story by Yours Truly

"Drunk" says the text she recieves from the boy, the one she'd forgotten was due to return home this evening. Should I read into this? she wonders, briefly, before returning to her rivoting game of Super Mario Brothers.
The text sound rings again, breaking her concentration, and causing Mario to plummet to his doom from a teetering bridge. "Yep," the next message reads.
"Good work," she responds, smiling slightly at the witty banter, and taking a sip of her beer. A moment later, she gets her response.
"So..." the text reads, cryptic and questioning.
"Uh?" she texts back, then returns to her game. An hour or so later, while smoking a post-GAME OVER cigarette, she remembers the exchange and calls the boy. No answer. She walks inside to watch some re-runs of House.
Soon enough, she is shaken from her Hugh Laurie coma by the text bell again.
"Sorry," it says, "We are on our way to the strip club now."
"OK, call me when you get home," she responds. She closes the phone and reaches for the remote. The Soup should be starting in a few minutes.

The Real Kate

You're probably saying, "Kate! You're so awesome, and I wish I knew more about you!"

Well, you're in luck, friend. There's nothing I do better than talk about myself. Here are a few fun facts about yours truly:

Likes: kitties, ugly boots (not to be confused with Ugg boots), redheads (but shhh, it's a secret), teenagers who have a pop-star alter ego but choose to live life like a normal kid, your mom.

Dislikes: college students, Tyra Banks, Red Bull, Jager, Jager Bombs, Dora the Explorer, X-Box, "cleverly" spelling things with a "z" instead of an "s" or a "k" instead of a "c", people who frequently update their facebook status.

Eyes: blue

Imaginary Friends:
XKCD
Natalie Dee
Toothpaste for Dinner
Go Fug Yourself
Found Magazine
Threadless
The Supermelon

Strongly Held Beliefs: Girls who make kissy faces are whores, Tom Hanks is a god amongst men, and Sarah Jessica Parker has a horseface.

You Shoulda Been A Blowjob

I think you know who you are...

The Quiet World

She Dreams in Color...

And of Mark-Paul Gosselaar no less. What a pleasant nocturnal surprise. Brought me back to the early nineties, when I wore stirrup pants and desperately wished my name was Kelly. Glad to see he's in my dreams (and on his own series) rather than hosting every new reality competition show ever.

Did You Finish Your TPS Report?

I've been a total workaholic lately (God, I hate that word) AKA, I've actually been doing work while at work. Weird. Must be the extra-long weekend I just returned from. Nothing like boxed wine, emergency contraceptive, and hours of It's Always in Philadelphia to send a girl back to work feeling refreshed and motivated.

The novelty has sure as fuck worn off, however, as it's not even noon and I've already exhausted my list of regular internet haunts. I try not to play Snood until after my lunch break, but today may be an exception.

In other work related news, my boss is currently on a lunch date with his dog. I have access to his calendar, and it's right there for all to see: "Me and Scruffy have lunch!" 11:30-1:30. Two whole hours, and yes, that was the scheduled event verbatim, complete with exclamation point. Also, one of my co-workers thinks my name is Heather.

It's reasons like these that I don't feel bad for spending half an hour of my day feeling like I'm the supreme authority on everything by clicking through Randall Munroe's Best Thing website. Fun Fact: I just had to choose between Jesus Christ and Steven Colbert. I'll leave my response a mystery for the masses. Funner Fact: I just spent two minutes staring at "Knowing your good looks turn heads" or "Fancy Kitchenware, the kind from Williams Sonoma." I'm still not sure which to choose. Who am I kidding? As much as I pine for a lime green KitchenAid standing mixer, I'd like more to know that I am really really ridiculously good looking.

I must admit, that I originally had a photo of Billy Ray Cyrus and his iconic mullet posted here, but I removed it. Though I love him, there was just something wrong about it.

Post-It Note Art

I'm not even pretending to work today...

Snood Use Bonus

Every few days or so it seems that I discover (or rediscover) something that I become so passionately absorbed in that it makes me almost manic. I find myself bordering on anxiety as I rush to share it with everyone I know as if it were my own. I want to blow it up to poster size, tape it to the wall, and just stare at it while I sip red wine.

This is how I felt when I stumbled upon Masha D'Yans, whose paintings I want to live in (and now thanks to a throw from Urban Outfitters, I can at least wrap myself in) and certainly how I feel now as I sit (wrapped in aforementioned throw) reading through one of Nigella Lawson's cookbooks as if it were a novel.

Now, I've seen Ms. Lawson's cooking show before. Food Network is, after all, my lullaby. And it was good, of course, in a British sort of way, that though I appreciate, I can never truly adhere to. But then while compulsively perusing the Food Network website (which I do daily) I came across her recipe for boiled egg on toast. The directions were simple: Boil an egg. Eat it on toast. Yet somehow Nigella stretched this out into an eloquent 500 or so words, all of which were perfectly placed and completely necessary.

I immediately added one of her cookbooks to my list of birthday demands. Success! Lucifer (Mom) actually listened to me for once. Thus, I resigned to the couch, to see if the print would measure up.

I suppose it's needless to say that it did. The book is pink hardcover (Luci bought it sans-cover from Amazon for a whopping $3) which made it all the more appealing. Pink things tend to make me happy. I am an avid supporter of pink foods (ice cream and cupcakes specifically) and so I was immediately set up for a fantastic culinary read.

To say I'm a food critic is both absurdly silly and completely understated. I have a passion for food (much as I have one for fashion) that can hardly be met on the budget I keep. So I indulge myself by watching vast amounts of Food and Fashion television, while wearing my brother's old hoodies and eating Taco Bell. I've learned to appreciate the "simple" things (read: "trashy") alongside that which is truly noteworthy.

Thus, I highly recommend Nigella's book, simply from a literary standpoint, as I have never made any of her dishes. And, keep in mind that my opinion is flawless, therefore my recommendations are gold. So read it, dicks.

Thanksgiving a la Kate 2007

1 box of generic mac and cheese (3/$.99, stolen from parents)
1 McChicken Sandwich ($1, McDonald's drive through)
1 Cinnamon Pop Tart ($.95, Campus vending machine)
2 40 oz bottles of Labatt Blue (purchased at 7-11 from the one-handed Indian who judges your lifestyle)

Directions:
1. Wear sweatpants. Do not shower.
2. Watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Drink each time anyone says, "Who."
3. Ignore mother's phone calls.
4. Convince teenage brother to bring you leftover pie.
5. Repeat as needed.

Love Nests and Napkin Rings

Actual ad on craigslist:

2 Bedroom Fully Furnished Townhouse for rent. Looking for 7 people to pay 250/month each for their choice of 1 day at townhouse. Fully furnished with all the amenities of home. Beautifully decorated. Great place to take your afternoon love affair. This is not a joke. I have a townhouse that I am looking to rent and I remember what it was like looking for a discreet place to get away. Serious inquiries only.

Definitely fits into the category of things that make ya go "WTF?" A few of my many concerns include:

1. Is said townhouse available for the night, or only for lunch break quickies with your wife's sister?

2. Is the owner going to participate in his or her own afternoon love affair? Or is he acting simply as a silent sexual philanthropist?

3. Who is going to wash the sheets?

I'll investigate no further. My inquiries are not serious.


On a completely unrelated topic, I am totally jonesing for a Dries Van Noten's bangle necklace.


But alas, I am a broke as a joke recent college grad and my entire wardrobe is Target couture. There is no fucking chance I'll ever have one. I think I'll make my own out of napkin rings.

Let Them Eat Cake, Bitches

I'm sure that's actually what Marie Antoinette said, they just edited the "bitches" part to make her seem more like French royalty and less like a trailer park tramp. I, however, have no reason not to hide my trailer park trampiness, and therefore when it's cake time, the "bitches" part stays.

And cake time it was. Ice cream cake, that is. My preference is usually Funfetti, but as no one actually felt like baking, ice cream cake was the next best thing. I like it because the frosting makes me feel like I'm eating Play Doh. Obviously everyone has eaten (or at least has had a strong desire to eat) Play Doh. And although it always taunts you into thinking it is going to be delicious, it simply is not. The frosting on ice cream cake allows me to live out my dream of Play Doh consumption without actually having to eat Play Doh. Mmmm.

In other Play Doh related news, I was super pleased to learn that they have now made Play Doh perfume. I might have to dose myself in that semi-floral, semi-toxic aroma just for nostalgia's sake.

Humble Beginnings

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone smoking, nor living a college loan induced, impoverished lifestyle. Take it from this girl, living off of stale vending machine Pop Tarts and scavenged alcohol is no picnic. And well, smoking, of course, is a filthy, disgusting, expensive, disease causing habbit... one which makes me infinitely happy inside and one with the world... Yeah, yeah. I'm working on quitting. Just like I'm working on quitting early nineties Disney Musicals, Happy Meals, my indiscriminate love of flip flops, blowing off work responsibilities to play Snood, and voodooing ex-boyfriends' current girlfriends, among other things. These things take time, OK? GET OFF MY ASS! There's not a support group for everything.

That being said, I'll state plainly and simply that it's damn true that nobody likes you when you're 23, and thank God I'm almost not anymore. The ascent into adulthood has thus far been paved with disappointment and cheap wine. The cheap wine I'm totally OK with. There's a hell of a lot of good that can come from a big box of Franzia. And when you live in a tragically unhip city as I do, you gotta take as much drunken good as you can get, thank you. The disappointment of a useless degree (not that I had any illusions that my B.A. would actually get me somewhere) and the disappearance of my fun friends has, however, left me slightly bitter, and well, more than that, bored. I had some notion of living a life that was a riot of color, a Dylan song, or at least something slightly less khaki than the expected post-graduate lifestyle. And if it takes a computer screen to be my looking glass, then so be it. Bring on the pink elephants and blue meanies. I've got some time to waste, and an apparent need for an audience.

And so, on the eve of my 24th birthday, I plan to indulge myself in a virtual representation of shit I like, shit I'm doing, and shit I'd like to do. It's glorified talking to myself, I know, and I don't give a shit. I love talking to myself. I'm doing it right now. Stop judging me. You do it too.

That being said, I'm off to the real world. I've got a solid 45 minutes of Snood playing and Ex stalking to do. Cheers!