I Had Some Dreams, They Were Clouds in My Coffee

Oh crap, you guys. I hope I'm in some kind of weekend withdrawal delirium, and that I haven't actually gone soft in my old age, cuz that would be totally terrible and lame. I have just spent the last half an hour perusing the Epicute website.

That's right, it's a website devoted to cute food. It's freakin pink and heart adorned and absolutely, soul-suckingly, nausea inducingly, adorable. I want to make some goddamned cupcakes with little birds on them or some shit. And I don't bake. I don't even especially crave sweet foods.

What the fuck, guys? I'm not sweet! I'm savory, dammit! This has got to be a sign of looming schizophrenia or of the apocalypse or something.

I need a cheeseburger and a pub crawl like NOW. Good thing the Halfway to Halloween Pub Crawl starts tomorrow promptly at noon. I think dressing like Madonna and chugging some Blue Lights will cure me of this ungodly cuteness fetish. Pray for me, blagosphere. I'm like two clicks away from subscribing to Good Housekeeping.

Kate Explains It All

What what ya'll! I seem to have a whole lot of things to say about these top ten lists lately, eh? Whatever I'm rolling with it.

K, so I came across this "10 Men Sexier Than Johnny Depp" list, and clearly my first thought was, "Umm, I'll be the judge of that," and as per usual, my first thought won out, and thus, I WILL be the judge of that. Here goes:

1. Mario Lopez. Hmm. Even back in his Slater days he lost out to Mark Paul Gosselar. I will qualify Mario Lopez's hotness with the following equation:

A.C. Slater < Zack Morris < Johnny Depp

I will admit that although Senior Lopez was quite the hottie hot in those couple episodes of Nip/Tuck, he now is the host of EVERYTHING, and that annoys the shit outta me. Depp, for the win.

2. Alexander Skarsgard. Nice pick! Eric Northman trumps boring old Bill Compton any day. Sookie needs to get on that shit ASAP. But... he's blonde. Gross. Johnny wins.

3. Charlie Day. That greenman suit IS sexy, but I'm a sucker for the D.E.N.N.I.S. system, myself. And Glen Howerton vs. Johnny Depp? Yeah, Johnny's still on top.

4. Taylor Kitsch. Ok I've only seen like 2.5 episodes of Friday Night Lights, but my long term love affair with Kyle Chandler makes it ok in my book. From what I saw, however, I wasn't too terribly impressed with Kitsch's Tim Riggins character. He's your typical long haired bad boy, right? Like Sean Hunter on Boy Meets World... or say, Johnny Depp in like 1/3 of the things he's done. Sorry, Kitsch. JD FTW.

5. Mark Salling. Mmm. Mohawk. I'd bang most of the dudes on Glee, so Puck's definitely up there on my crush list, but until I have a three-foot tall black and white poster of him, tattooed, smoking a cigarette, and playing the piano hung on my wall, Johnny-boy's got me covered.

6. Ed Westwick. Oh no, top ten writer, no. Chuck Bass? Really? I mean, props for tackling straight on the fact that "he sometimes dresses like a dandy," but if you add in his native accent (what is he? British, right?) you've got a total queer eye. Foriegn people come off sounding gay as a general rule, so topping that off with a purple velvet jacket with a pink paisley collar sticking out is not the way into my pants. I can just picture him and Nate Whatshisnuts (Archibald? Is that it? I'm pretty much over Gossip Girl in case you couldn't tell) sucking face off screen. Sorry, Westwick. If you hadn't ruined yourself by playing the most *fabulous* (wrist snap) angsty teen bad boy that the WB has to offer, you might be a sex pot. But, alas, I'd take Johnny Depp's clean cut cop on 21 Jump Street any day.

7. Gael Garcia Bernal. Ut oh... I've got quite the soft spot for Gael. He could give Depp a run for his money... Wait, what? He's only 5'6"? Why'd ya have to go and tell me that? That totally ruins things for me. Dammit. Time to find me a new latin lovah. Shit. I think Diego Luna's only like 5'6" too. Johnny takes it.

8. John Cho. Another excellent pick! I love me some Harold Li AND some White Castle. And I've totally wanted Asian babies since I was like 12. I think it had something to do with being the only tall, white girl playing violin in the orchestra. I had Asian envy, big time. I was planning on adopting a little Korean girl and being a total stage mom, but with Asian-ness. Little Kim was sure as hell gonna be first-chair viola (violin's too competitive) and be super awesome at math and gymnastics. Sigh. What happens to a dream deferred?

Ok, wow. That came out totally racist. I wouldn't name her Kim, guys. I don't even like that name. Anyway, John Cho is adorable, but hotter than Johnny Depp? Yeah, no.

9. Cheyenne Jackson. Ok, I've never seen this guy before in my life and I totally had to google him. I guess he does broadway and he's on 30 Rock? I know, I know, I totally need to watch 30 Rock. I'm getting to it, OK? Maybe this handsome young fellow will push me to do so. He does have lovely blue eyes... But Johnny Depp is Captain Jack fucking Sparrow. Nough said.

10. John Hamm. What Would Don Draper Do? He's a chain smoking, narcissistic, shovanistic stud, and Mad Men is fucking great, but would I pass up some Depptastic goodness for Don Draper? I think not.

11. Robert Pattinson. First of all- No. Second of all- 11? WTF? And there are like two more guys after him. What botard wrote this list? I'm stopping at 11.

I'm sure we all know how I feel about those sparkly vampire loving Twihards, and sorry to say, Rob Pattinson gets mixed up in this. It's a shame, really, because he's not a bad looking fellow, but I have to hate him on principle. I'm having a tough enough time not hating Kristen Stewart, who I've liked for years. You can't just throw some new teenie-bopper Twilight star in front of me and expect me to do the work to not hate them before I even know them. That's crazy-talk! AND THEN, you expect me to compare said teenie-bopper to the likes of Johnny Depp? Are you high? There's no comparison.

And so my judgment is this: No one is hotter than Johnny Depp. Ever. And while the writer of this top ten list has good tastes in many regards, she clearly should return to elementary school to repeat basic math, and while there perhaps she'll assimilate into the culture and we'll see a brand new top ten list: 10 pre-pubescent boys who are cuter than Justin Bieber.

Thinking of Blue

OK, so, I wrote this whole long entry about nail polish, right? Yeah. Like 2 minutes after I posted I get the following message from Durden: "No fucking way! I went to the store for clear polish and got Sally Hansen Complete Manicure Thinking of Blue. That shit is tard proof."

Thinking of Blue is in fact the color that my whole schpeal was based off of. That bitch bought the same shit as me at the same time thousands of miles across the country! This clearly only solidifies the fact that Ms. Katelyn is in fact my soulsista 4 life.

And does anybody really know how to spell "schpeal?" This is important information, as I use it quite often. I'm an excellent schpealer.

Fun Fact: "Schpealer" apparently acctually is a word. I hope it's dirty.

I'm in Love I'm in Love and I Don't Care Who Knows it

OK, maybe I should back up. Here's a little Kate History. Pre-teen Kate was obsessed with nail polish. I hit middle school in the mid-nineties right when it became hip to wear funky colors like blue and purple instead of those boring old pinks and reds. (Note: it was also hip to wear floral velvet shirts and overalls. Just sayin.) Being without income, except for my measly allowance and whatever I earned from babysitting gigs, $3 bottles of nail polish were kind of all that was in my budget. Places like Claire's and Limited Too turned me into a nail painting monster.

I used to change the color nightly to match my outfit for the next day. How I had time to do this is beyond me. I must have fit it in between reading Seventeen magazine and busying my parents' phone line talking to boys or talking to my friends about boys. Man. 12 was tough.

Anyway, throughout the years my love affair with nail polish soured some. Possibly because I no longer had time to paint three coats and then fan my fingers out in front of me while chatting up some pre-pubescent on the land line. In the later years I spent my time actually seeing boys, and then going to college. And drinking beers. It's pretty tough to open a can of Keystone with wet nails.

Which brings me to my second point. I'm apparently too A.D.D. to sit down for 15 minutes and let those bitches dry. They're smudged before I can even apply the clear coat. Perhaps part of my problem is that I have less disposible income then I did at 12, and I'm still using the same bottles of purple passion and denim blue that I bought in the 6th grade. That is, until last night.

I had some time, and some really heinously plain toenails, so I gave myself a nice french pedi. But alas, about the same time I ran out of chardonnay, I realized I was completely without clear coat. A trip to the store was necessary.

So I roamed the aisles, searching for some quick dry clear polish that I could slap on my toes before I had time to fuck those suckers up. And then I saw it. A deep blue that was calling to me with the voices of angels. It glowed before me like the holy grail. It was dark and matte (which Cosmo tells me is very in these days. That may have been a few issues back though. I lose track.) and once applied, I'd learn was the perfect New York Yankees navy. And it was on sale. Snag.

Now, usually I pick up whatever cheap crap Rimmel or Wet and Wild is throwing at me on impulse. Sure, I know the value of OPI, but I'm not spending 12 bucks on a bottle of nail polish, no matter how chip proof and bad ass it may be. But this shit was only like four dollars. Four dollars of perfection.

It's a new creation from Sally Hansen- Complete Salon Manicure- and the name is accurate. The brush was a thing of wonder, large enough to paint a nail in two swipes, and somewhat flat and curved and structured to go on straight and smooth. And guess what! That shit dried hard and tough before I even had time to destroy my handiwork (ha, handiwork, get it?). Love love love.

Needless to say, I will be returning to the store to pick up some more, even if it means I'm eating Ramen for the next week to pay for my newest addiction. I'm even gonna grab some for SML, who has been using the same shade and style of Mabelline for the last 20 years. If I can persuade her to switch, we know we have a winner.

Ten Things Every Woman Should Have in Her Car

Sigh. I know. I lied to you guys. Big time. I was all, "Yeah I'm totes mcgoats gonna blag tons more for reals." It's been nearly six months. Can we just pretend it never happened and move on?

Guess what? Since I am the Queen Shit Head Blagstress Extraordinaire, you don't really get a say in the matter. I do. Me and only me. And I say we're over it. If you're still sulking like a pissy bitch because I neglected you for so long, quit it. You're only hurting yourself.

Anyvay... inspiration has struck. Partly because today has been a sloooooooow day. I caught myself up on work by about 10 am. That slow. This has given me time to read and reread every website that I frequent on this abyss we call the internet, and I've exhausted them all. All except this one. Yep. I've read every site of interest in the vast expanse of the internet and it's brought me back to you guys.

What really sealed the deal in me opening up the old bliggety blag was an article I came across (while reading the entire internet) entitled "10 Things Every Woman Should Have in Her Car" and comparing my own little engine that could and it's every day luggage to the list. The results simply needed to be shared. Ahem. So here we are:

1. Standard emergency kit items. This was accompanied by a video. A three minute long video. How much shit is in this kit? Clearly, I didn't watch it, and will base my comparisons on speculation. This isn't uncommon. I used Wikipedia while writing college papers a time or two. Don't tell Dr. Whatshisface.

I figured this means flashlight (check. Mine is a "kittylite" in which the beams come out his eyes). Ok, really all I could guess was in this kit was a flashlight. What the hell else should I have? Road flares? Some of those dehydrated moon icecream packs that were super awesome for about three days in second grade? Oooh maybe a jack. I think I do have one of those. Jumper cables? I dunno about that. I have a AAA card. That's good right?

The frozen video lady was standing with the trunk of her car open, displaying her glorious emergency kit. If you looked in my trunk right now, my emergency kit would contain: a sterio and two speakers that I have yet to lug up to my aparment, a box containing a children's plastic swimming pool, a pair of angel wings and matching halo (real feathers), at least one loose legwarmer, and probably a hole that will transport you to some magical land, like Narnia, or Oz, or wherever those Wild Things were.

Next.

2. Personal paper products. Not a bad idea- at first glance. Reading on, the author makes mention of seeing all those highway nose pickers and blah blah blah. Picking my nose in my car is one of my favorite things. It's my right as a New York State Driver's Licenesee and the owner of a crappy used car. I don't want no box of tissues staring at me while I'm doing it, judging me. Plus, the more loose paper in my vehical, the more likely it will catch flame from a renegade cigarette ash. This is one of my biggest fears.

Also, she mentioned tampons. A good call. I had some in the glove box for a while. GBF Bubba (you remember him right?) was totally disgusted, and then intrigued, and wasted them by opening them up and dipping them into my Diet Pepsi. I was not pleased.

3. Umbrella. Yes. I've got one of those. Guess how many times I've used it. Zero. Umbrellas are mad annoying. I'd rather be wet. Or I'll just stay inside, thanks.

4. Cell phone charger. Nope. Well, there was the one that Katelyn left in the back seat which I discovered several months after she moved to Colorado. It turned out to be broken, and ended up back in the back seat.

5. Reusable shopping bags. Screw you, hippies!

6. Dog treats and a spare leash. What? I don't have a dog. Isn't petting those little furry strangers that I do come across enough? Wouldn't handing out dog treats be like luring children into your big white van with candy? Apparently for this author, it would, as she's keeping a leash in there as well. She is obviously a dognapper. I'm calling Sara McGlaughlin ASAP.

7. Snacks with a good long shelf life. Aha! They did want the freeze dried icecream. These I do not have. I very rarely have groceries in my fridge, though, either. I guess I could throw a granola bar in the glove box or something. Those last a while, right? If this lady's hinting at dried fruit or some shit, she can suck it. That shit's nasty.

8. Money. I have enough bottles in the backseat that I have thrown over my shoulder like salt for luck as soon as they've been depleated of their Diet Pepsi-y goodness to return for change and then order an entire pizza. I'm sure Pizza Hut will deliver to my 1999 Escort.

9. A good book. There's usually one in my purse, and various stragglers bumping around in the back seat. Check.

10. A GPS unit. Nope. Messica and I were aided by one of these on our trip to rescue Bubba from Brooklyn. We named her Gloria early in the trip, but apparently that long stretch through PA and on to Jersey bored the shit outta her, because she apparently decided to drop some acid and then start telling us whatever the fuck she wanted. By the time she got us lost somewhere in Newark in a locale that I'm pretty sure Tony Soprano has frequented for body dumps, we were both cursing Gloria at the top of our lungs. For 20 minutes that bitch took us on a tour around Rapesville, NJ until we ripped her suction cupped grip from the dash and tossed her into the black hole that is the back section of Messica's truck. And I don't think there's an emergency kit back there.