Good people of Earth, welcome. How are all of you doing? Have you had your vaccines? I'm doing quite well. No complaints here. I am as content as a cock on a cold day (rooster talk). Yes, yes. I am quite happy.
Just kidding: Once again I am miserable beyond belief.
This misery stems from one reason and one reason only: I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life.
Part of me always figured I'd be a song and dance man. Alas, that is highly unlikely. I can sing. Heck, I can even dance. But, when I try to do them together, someone always ends up dying.
In high school, I was voted "Most Likely To Own More than Five Cats." Mayhaps I should pursue a career as a veterinarian?
No, I don't like war. I've always been a pacifist.
When I was three, I told my preschool teacher that I wanted to be "The Lion King" when I grew up. Should I perhaps move to Africa and explore this possibility?
No, lions are racists.
Should I move to Paris, France and become a supermodel?
No, that will never work out. I've got a nose that you could land a plane on. And all my fingers fell off last week for no reason at all, after I chopped them off.
So, good people of this blog, what should I do with my life?!
This isn't so much a blog post as a desperate plea for help.
But actually, I want to enter the entertainment industry. Development work. Writing work. Trophy waxing. Turtle waxing. Leg waxing. Anything I can get.
So if any of you can help me out with this little dreamsicle of mine, I will knit you a hat and mail it to you. I will also worship you. After that I will change my name to your name, to honor you. Then I will stalk you, and begin living my life as you. Stalking is the sincerest form of flattery. But you already knew that.
With love,
Kattles McGee, PhD
P.S. I noticed that if I do gross porn titles for my posts, I get more blog traffic. So, expect this for now on. Hey, look: nobody said this was a children's blog.
P.P.S. As always, this blog is intended for children.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Love in the Time of Eczema
Walked into the bar. Dressed to kill. Had my skirt tucked into my underwear (if you've got it flaunt it). All eyes were on me.
Saw her sitting at the bar...sitting like she owned the place (which she did)...sitting like her name was Agnes Monty (which it was).
Me: Agnes.
Agnes: Kate, baby, good to see ya!
Me: Likewise.
Agnes: What can I do you for?
Me: You know what I'm after, sweetcheeks. What do you serve at this here bar?
Agnes: Liquor. That ain't illegal anymore, Kate.
Me: Ah course I know that! Give me a Diet Pepsi, straight up, on the rocks, with a twist and an olive. And make it snappy.
She got me my drink.
Me: Now, tell me sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Stevie Twotoes?
Agnes: Stevie Twotoes?
Me: Yeah. His body washed up on the Hudson last night. He was deader than a baby with a bomb for a binky.
Agnes: Ain't never heard ah him.
Me: Ah really?
Agnes: Yeah.
Me: Surely you heard of a man like Stevie Twotoes. He only had two toes. One big toe on each foot.
Agnes: What happened to the others?
Me: They fell off in a freak synchronized swimming accident. Poor guy couldn't go near ice cream after that.
Agnes: Ice cream?
Me: You scream.
Agnes: For what?
Me: Ice cream.
Agnes: Are we done here?
Me: No. Not until I find out what you did with Twotoes.
Agnes: I just told you, I ain't never met him. I don't know what happened to him or nothin'!
Me: Then how do you explain this?!
Pulled out a picture of me at my birthday party.
Agnes: I don't know...
Me: Oh...I meant this! A picture of you with Twotoes!
Pulled out a picture of Agnes gettin' awfully intimate with Twotoes.
Agnes: He told me his name was Tim! Tim Waterglass!
Me: Nice try, lady marmalade.
Agnes: Don't waste your time on this, Kate. I’m innocent!
Me: I'll waste my time anyway I choose, Agnes baby.
Turned to my boys.
Me: Book her, boys!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How did I know Agnes was guilty?! Keep reading to find out!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agnes made the dire mistake of tattooing “If found please return to Agnes Monty at 455 East Broadway. I killed this man, and would like his body back before police find it” on the chest of Twotoes...a common mistake that criminals make.
Saw her sitting at the bar...sitting like she owned the place (which she did)...sitting like her name was Agnes Monty (which it was).
Me: Agnes.
Agnes: Kate, baby, good to see ya!
Me: Likewise.
Agnes: What can I do you for?
Me: You know what I'm after, sweetcheeks. What do you serve at this here bar?
Agnes: Liquor. That ain't illegal anymore, Kate.
Me: Ah course I know that! Give me a Diet Pepsi, straight up, on the rocks, with a twist and an olive. And make it snappy.
She got me my drink.
Me: Now, tell me sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Stevie Twotoes?
Agnes: Stevie Twotoes?
Me: Yeah. His body washed up on the Hudson last night. He was deader than a baby with a bomb for a binky.
Agnes: Ain't never heard ah him.
Me: Ah really?
Agnes: Yeah.
Me: Surely you heard of a man like Stevie Twotoes. He only had two toes. One big toe on each foot.
Agnes: What happened to the others?
Me: They fell off in a freak synchronized swimming accident. Poor guy couldn't go near ice cream after that.
Agnes: Ice cream?
Me: You scream.
Agnes: For what?
Me: Ice cream.
Agnes: Are we done here?
Me: No. Not until I find out what you did with Twotoes.
Agnes: I just told you, I ain't never met him. I don't know what happened to him or nothin'!
Me: Then how do you explain this?!
Pulled out a picture of me at my birthday party.
Agnes: I don't know...
Me: Oh...I meant this! A picture of you with Twotoes!
Pulled out a picture of Agnes gettin' awfully intimate with Twotoes.
Agnes: He told me his name was Tim! Tim Waterglass!
Me: Nice try, lady marmalade.
Agnes: Don't waste your time on this, Kate. I’m innocent!
Me: I'll waste my time anyway I choose, Agnes baby.
Turned to my boys.
Me: Book her, boys!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How did I know Agnes was guilty?! Keep reading to find out!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agnes made the dire mistake of tattooing “If found please return to Agnes Monty at 455 East Broadway. I killed this man, and would like his body back before police find it” on the chest of Twotoes...a common mistake that criminals make.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Put Your Right Foot Forward in the New Year.
My name is Katie Marovitch and I am a romance specialist, specializing in romance.
Anyway, it is almost New Year's Day, and nearly one of you has been frantically emailing me thrice a day, asking me to provide my expert step-by-step advice on how to become romantically involved in the New Year.
Finally! Here is my advice, you adorable blogthings! Note: advice only intended for women-people. Men-people, don't you dare read this. I'm warning you. Don't you read another line! I know you are reading this! Stop it!
Step 1: Locate the males.
Males tend to hang out in packs, in such places as: the outdoors. They can often be found hunting game and gathering wood. Their hobbies include archery, horseback riding, and gun shooting. They often say things like "Shoot 'em dead, son. Shoot 'em dead." They drink beer by the gallon, and have spit-shooting contests every day at noon. They have names like "Joe," "Elton John," "Dan," and "Steve."
To locate the male you want, simply do as the males do. Once you start drinking beer, shooting spit, hunting game, going by the name "Joe," etc. etc. and so forth, and so forth, the males will come to you. Then, you will be able to pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Step 2: Pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Unfortunately, society frowns upon women who have multiple lovers. Yes, yes. It is necessary to do as the animals from Noah's Ark, and pair off (or should I say "pear" off! HAHA. Fruit humor.).
Your heart will guide you to the male you should pursue. If this doesn't work, choose at random. Not a big deal. All males are the same (I'm allowed one sexist comment, relax!). Ladies, I have excellent news for you: it is now time to start your pursuit.
Step 3: Start your pursuit.
When going after your chosen man, it is necessary to always put your best foot forward. Your best foot is, of course, your right foot. So, stand with your right foot in front whenever your chosen mate (CM) is in the general vicinity. Wiggle it around ever so slightly. CM will be instantly attracted to your fancy footwork, and will surely approach you. When this happens, kick him. Hard. It shows him you are not an object, but a woman: a woman who will kick him again should he ever hurt you in the heart-department. CM will most likely ask you on a date should you follow these steps perfectly. You must now date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Step 4: Date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Practice fancy footwork, hair flipsies, and hip wagging. This will allow you to force him to stay.
Step 5: Force him to stay.
He can't leave if you get pregnant with his baby.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Anyway, it is almost New Year's Day, and nearly one of you has been frantically emailing me thrice a day, asking me to provide my expert step-by-step advice on how to become romantically involved in the New Year.
Finally! Here is my advice, you adorable blogthings! Note: advice only intended for women-people. Men-people, don't you dare read this. I'm warning you. Don't you read another line! I know you are reading this! Stop it!
Step 1: Locate the males.
Males tend to hang out in packs, in such places as: the outdoors. They can often be found hunting game and gathering wood. Their hobbies include archery, horseback riding, and gun shooting. They often say things like "Shoot 'em dead, son. Shoot 'em dead." They drink beer by the gallon, and have spit-shooting contests every day at noon. They have names like "Joe," "Elton John," "Dan," and "Steve."
To locate the male you want, simply do as the males do. Once you start drinking beer, shooting spit, hunting game, going by the name "Joe," etc. etc. and so forth, and so forth, the males will come to you. Then, you will be able to pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Step 2: Pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Unfortunately, society frowns upon women who have multiple lovers. Yes, yes. It is necessary to do as the animals from Noah's Ark, and pair off (or should I say "pear" off! HAHA. Fruit humor.).
Your heart will guide you to the male you should pursue. If this doesn't work, choose at random. Not a big deal. All males are the same (I'm allowed one sexist comment, relax!). Ladies, I have excellent news for you: it is now time to start your pursuit.
Step 3: Start your pursuit.
When going after your chosen man, it is necessary to always put your best foot forward. Your best foot is, of course, your right foot. So, stand with your right foot in front whenever your chosen mate (CM) is in the general vicinity. Wiggle it around ever so slightly. CM will be instantly attracted to your fancy footwork, and will surely approach you. When this happens, kick him. Hard. It shows him you are not an object, but a woman: a woman who will kick him again should he ever hurt you in the heart-department. CM will most likely ask you on a date should you follow these steps perfectly. You must now date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Step 4: Date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Practice fancy footwork, hair flipsies, and hip wagging. This will allow you to force him to stay.
Step 5: Force him to stay.
He can't leave if you get pregnant with his baby.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tyler Perry Presents
Good people of Earth. Welcome. Please sit down. Refreshments are on me. Youch! Get them off! They're hot and they're burning my skin!
Anyway, I recently voyaged to the exotic country of California (pronounced "cal eek norn ina"). For those of you who are unaware, California is a distant land where ridiculous people put small dogs in large bags and carry them around, pretending that that's normal. It's also where the world's biggest celebrities are. Like David Hasselhoff. And the cast of Laguna Beach (Team Lauren Conrad!).
On this trip, I met a man. He was the kind of man you'd like to bring home to granny. The kind of man you'd like to see wearing your underpants. The kind of man you'd like to marry and then divorce and then marry again.
In other words, he was/is/will always be the love of my life.
I met him in the line for the men's restroom. (Why was I there? As a feminist, I refuse to acknowledge segregated restrooms. I'm sorry, but until women's restrooms have urinals, they are NOT EQUAL!)
He was standing behind me and said "Miss, the women's restroom is over there." Flattered that he knew I was a woman, I turned to thank him. It was mid-turn that I realized I loved him.
You see, while I was turning I caught a whiff of his peppermint breath.
Peppermint breath is, as you all know, literally the greatest kind of breath to have. It puts peanut butter breath to shame. It makes chocolate breath look like child's play.
While I continued to turn (it takes me a good five minutes to gather enough momentum to complete one turn), I said to myself "Katsi baby, it's now or never. You got this lady long legs," and I pounced on him.
My intention was to reenact that legendary scene from my favorite movie (Tyler Perry Presents "A Very Madea Love Story") where Madea makes a man fall in love with her by pouncing on him. (Perhaps. It's possible that this never happened and that I just made that movie up.)
Unfortunately, the move failed. It turns out my dream man was 75 years old. The doctors told me that when I "tackled him to the ground" I "ripped out his oxygen" and "stabbed him with the sword" I was carrying at the time, which resulted in "his heart attack" that "stopped his heart" thus "killing him" and "we're calling the police" because "you have to go to jail now."
California! Jeez! What a silly state! You kill one elderly man and suddenly everyone hates you!
Anyway, I recently voyaged to the exotic country of California (pronounced "cal eek norn ina"). For those of you who are unaware, California is a distant land where ridiculous people put small dogs in large bags and carry them around, pretending that that's normal. It's also where the world's biggest celebrities are. Like David Hasselhoff. And the cast of Laguna Beach (Team Lauren Conrad!).
On this trip, I met a man. He was the kind of man you'd like to bring home to granny. The kind of man you'd like to see wearing your underpants. The kind of man you'd like to marry and then divorce and then marry again.
In other words, he was/is/will always be the love of my life.
I met him in the line for the men's restroom. (Why was I there? As a feminist, I refuse to acknowledge segregated restrooms. I'm sorry, but until women's restrooms have urinals, they are NOT EQUAL!)
He was standing behind me and said "Miss, the women's restroom is over there." Flattered that he knew I was a woman, I turned to thank him. It was mid-turn that I realized I loved him.
You see, while I was turning I caught a whiff of his peppermint breath.
Peppermint breath is, as you all know, literally the greatest kind of breath to have. It puts peanut butter breath to shame. It makes chocolate breath look like child's play.
While I continued to turn (it takes me a good five minutes to gather enough momentum to complete one turn), I said to myself "Katsi baby, it's now or never. You got this lady long legs," and I pounced on him.
My intention was to reenact that legendary scene from my favorite movie (Tyler Perry Presents "A Very Madea Love Story") where Madea makes a man fall in love with her by pouncing on him. (Perhaps. It's possible that this never happened and that I just made that movie up.)
Unfortunately, the move failed. It turns out my dream man was 75 years old. The doctors told me that when I "tackled him to the ground" I "ripped out his oxygen" and "stabbed him with the sword" I was carrying at the time, which resulted in "his heart attack" that "stopped his heart" thus "killing him" and "we're calling the police" because "you have to go to jail now."
California! Jeez! What a silly state! You kill one elderly man and suddenly everyone hates you!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Murder She Goat
Walked into the police interrogation room. Dressed to impress. Had my new leather underwear on.
Sammy "Birdseye" Montgomery was already at the big table. The lights were shining on him. He was as sweaty as the armpits of an obese man on the Fourth of July.
Lit a cigarette.
Started coughing.
Tossed the cigarette.
Apologized to Detective Finn for hitting him in the eye with said cigarette.
Me: "Listen up, Birdseye, we've got three witnesses saying you were the one who whacked Old Lady Bouvier at her mansion on the Upper East Side. Now, kid, what's your side of the story? And make it fast. I've got a new pair of underwear on."
Birdseye: "Come on, Detective Kate! I've been framed! You know stranglin' ain't my work!"
Me: "Hm...You worked for Bouvier's husband a couple of years ago, didn't you?
Birdseye: "Yup."
Me: "So, you knew that Old Lady Bouvier had inherited quite a pretty penny after her husband died in that freak zamboni accident."
Birdseye: "Yeah, but I wouldn'ta harmed her! I loved her like my own ma! Rest her soul."
Me: "When did you find out Old Lady Bouvier was rubbed out?"
Birdseye: "Not until your boys booked me."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Well, let me ask you something, Birdseye, old buddy old pal. You accrued an awful lot of debt after college, am I right?
Birdseye: "Yeah, that's true. So what? In this economy, who doesn’t have debt?"
Me: “Where did you go to school?"
Birdseye: "Saint Augustine."
Me: "Really? You seem like more of a Lafayette man."
Birdseye: "Naw. I wanted the small college experience. Plus, Augustine had a great Comparative Literature program."
Me: "So I've heard..."
Birdseye: "Is that all then? Are we done here?"
Me: "No...there's just one more thing."
Birdseye: "Oh really? And, what's that?"
Me: "Put him in the slammer, boys. He killed Old Lady Bouvier."
Birdseye was shocked.
HOW DID I KNOW BIRDSEYE KILLED OLD LADY BOUVIER?
Keep reading for the answer.
As you may have guessed, Birdseye made the dire mistake of filming himself killing Old Lady Bouvier and putting the video on YouTube. I came across the video on my search for Beyoncé’s new music video.
It was an open and shut the door it's cold outside case.
God, I love this new underwear.
And remember, if there's a crime out there that’s easy to solve, I will be there to solve it.
Je t'adore,
Kate
Sammy "Birdseye" Montgomery was already at the big table. The lights were shining on him. He was as sweaty as the armpits of an obese man on the Fourth of July.
Lit a cigarette.
Started coughing.
Tossed the cigarette.
Apologized to Detective Finn for hitting him in the eye with said cigarette.
Me: "Listen up, Birdseye, we've got three witnesses saying you were the one who whacked Old Lady Bouvier at her mansion on the Upper East Side. Now, kid, what's your side of the story? And make it fast. I've got a new pair of underwear on."
Birdseye: "Come on, Detective Kate! I've been framed! You know stranglin' ain't my work!"
Me: "Hm...You worked for Bouvier's husband a couple of years ago, didn't you?
Birdseye: "Yup."
Me: "So, you knew that Old Lady Bouvier had inherited quite a pretty penny after her husband died in that freak zamboni accident."
Birdseye: "Yeah, but I wouldn'ta harmed her! I loved her like my own ma! Rest her soul."
Me: "When did you find out Old Lady Bouvier was rubbed out?"
Birdseye: "Not until your boys booked me."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Well, let me ask you something, Birdseye, old buddy old pal. You accrued an awful lot of debt after college, am I right?
Birdseye: "Yeah, that's true. So what? In this economy, who doesn’t have debt?"
Me: “Where did you go to school?"
Birdseye: "Saint Augustine."
Me: "Really? You seem like more of a Lafayette man."
Birdseye: "Naw. I wanted the small college experience. Plus, Augustine had a great Comparative Literature program."
Me: "So I've heard..."
Birdseye: "Is that all then? Are we done here?"
Me: "No...there's just one more thing."
Birdseye: "Oh really? And, what's that?"
Me: "Put him in the slammer, boys. He killed Old Lady Bouvier."
Birdseye was shocked.
HOW DID I KNOW BIRDSEYE KILLED OLD LADY BOUVIER?
Keep reading for the answer.
As you may have guessed, Birdseye made the dire mistake of filming himself killing Old Lady Bouvier and putting the video on YouTube. I came across the video on my search for Beyoncé’s new music video.
It was an open and shut the door it's cold outside case.
God, I love this new underwear.
And remember, if there's a crime out there that’s easy to solve, I will be there to solve it.
Je t'adore,
Kate
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Hal O. Wein
Good people of Earth. I am so sorry that I have been absent from the blogosphere as of late. My modeling career has really taken off, and I've been traveling the world, using my fierce beauty to sell toilet paper and hemorrhoid cream.
But anyway, it's October now. And that can only mean one thing: It's October now.
Additionally, it means that it is time once again for my extraordinarily useful and also revolutionary suggestions for Halloween costumes, fit for any budget and style. (As long as your budget is over $1,000 and your style can best be described as robotic post-WWII surrealist hippie.)
Here we go! Here, here, here we go!
1. Are you a man? With a plan? Are you going to fry that chicken in a pan? Eggcellent.
This has nothing to do with anything. Please continue reading.
2. Children should be screened and not heard. Dress your child as a screen door this Halloween.
3. Young women enjoy dressing in costumes of a kind most sexual for Halloween. How do I know this? Why, you simpleton! I invented this tradition! (I once attempted to go as a thong for Halloween. Unfortunately, the people I hired to make my costume misheard me, and I ended up going as a pair of salad tongs instead. The good news was that vegetarian people still found me quite lusciously sexy). Anyway, young women of the world, I have a wonderful suggestion for your Halloween costume. You need to go as a sexy badly broken leg. Broken legs are one of the sexiest things I've come across in my short life, and I think you will find that this works quite surprisingly well for you.
(NOTE: There is an alarmingly high likelihood that I do not understand what "sexy" means. My apologies. Continue reading.)
4. According to my data, young men enjoy playing with cats (I did extensive research that allowed me to come to this conclusion. In other words, I saw a picture of a man with a cat one time five years ago, and I am grossly generalizing that all men also like cats). For this reason, I suggest that all young men don a cat costume this year. Specifically, you should wear a black leotard, black fishnet tights, 14-inch high black stilettos, and an abundance of makeup.
5. Let's take a second to discuss the elderly. Shall we? We shall. The elderly are people too. I know--I was surprised as well. For the longest time, I thought they were some other species of animals. Perhaps we should consider including them in our Halloween celebrations this year?
No. Ha. Hahaha. I laughed as well.
6. I don't know about you, but I consider my pets to be humans, and I include them in all the Halloween festivities that I take part in. So, it is clearly very important that your pets are dressed to impress. I do not recommend dressing your pets as other pets, because it is very confusing (I dressed my fish as a dog once, got confused, and tried to take it for a walk outside. The poor thing died. I keep it in my backpack for good lucksies though.). Instead, dress your pet as one of the presidents. That would be very cute. Oh wait...that could also be confusing. You might try to debate foreign policy with it. Forget it...just dress your pets as other breeds of the same species of pets.
Well, that's all I have for now, folks. Have a delightful Halloween. Remember to comb your hair and such.
Love,
Katie
But anyway, it's October now. And that can only mean one thing: It's October now.
Additionally, it means that it is time once again for my extraordinarily useful and also revolutionary suggestions for Halloween costumes, fit for any budget and style. (As long as your budget is over $1,000 and your style can best be described as robotic post-WWII surrealist hippie.)
Here we go! Here, here, here we go!
1. Are you a man? With a plan? Are you going to fry that chicken in a pan? Eggcellent.
This has nothing to do with anything. Please continue reading.
2. Children should be screened and not heard. Dress your child as a screen door this Halloween.
3. Young women enjoy dressing in costumes of a kind most sexual for Halloween. How do I know this? Why, you simpleton! I invented this tradition! (I once attempted to go as a thong for Halloween. Unfortunately, the people I hired to make my costume misheard me, and I ended up going as a pair of salad tongs instead. The good news was that vegetarian people still found me quite lusciously sexy). Anyway, young women of the world, I have a wonderful suggestion for your Halloween costume. You need to go as a sexy badly broken leg. Broken legs are one of the sexiest things I've come across in my short life, and I think you will find that this works quite surprisingly well for you.
(NOTE: There is an alarmingly high likelihood that I do not understand what "sexy" means. My apologies. Continue reading.)
4. According to my data, young men enjoy playing with cats (I did extensive research that allowed me to come to this conclusion. In other words, I saw a picture of a man with a cat one time five years ago, and I am grossly generalizing that all men also like cats). For this reason, I suggest that all young men don a cat costume this year. Specifically, you should wear a black leotard, black fishnet tights, 14-inch high black stilettos, and an abundance of makeup.
5. Let's take a second to discuss the elderly. Shall we? We shall. The elderly are people too. I know--I was surprised as well. For the longest time, I thought they were some other species of animals. Perhaps we should consider including them in our Halloween celebrations this year?
No. Ha. Hahaha. I laughed as well.
6. I don't know about you, but I consider my pets to be humans, and I include them in all the Halloween festivities that I take part in. So, it is clearly very important that your pets are dressed to impress. I do not recommend dressing your pets as other pets, because it is very confusing (I dressed my fish as a dog once, got confused, and tried to take it for a walk outside. The poor thing died. I keep it in my backpack for good lucksies though.). Instead, dress your pet as one of the presidents. That would be very cute. Oh wait...that could also be confusing. You might try to debate foreign policy with it. Forget it...just dress your pets as other breeds of the same species of pets.
Well, that's all I have for now, folks. Have a delightful Halloween. Remember to comb your hair and such.
Love,
Katie
Friday, September 23, 2011
Puke, Kiss, and Tell
Hello, all. Nice to see you again. Ew. I just puked in my mouth. And outside my mouth. On my table.
Anyway, I recently started my senior year of college. And, so far nothing has been going right. Here are the reasons why:
1. Today I went for a walk to the local Whole Foods Market where I purchased overpriced sombreros, overpriced piñatas, and overpriced guacamole, of a kind most organic. On my return home, I ended up walking next to an elderly (read: about to die any second) man. Now, as a rule, I avoid the elderly. They are so grumpy and near death that I cannot even bear to kiss them, which I always end up doing for some reason.
Anyway, as Old Grumpy and I walked along, we came across a busy street. As is customary in Western societies, we waited until the "go ahead and walk" signal came on, before we began to cross the aforementioned busy street. It was then that Old Grumpy did something that I wish he hadn't: Old Grumpy grabbed my hand as we crossed. That's right: Old Grumpy and I were walking, (young, smooth, not-near-death) hand in (gross, wrinkly, clearly-about-to-die) hand.
Startled, I didn't know what to do! So, I decided to just play it as cool as a cat in Antarctica and continue holding his hand. (It had a nice feel to it, his hand did. I'd say it was a cross between an alligator's elbow and death.) A block later, we were still holding hands. So, I decided it was time for me to say something to Old Grumpy. I said "Nice day, isn't it?" to which Old Grumpy replied "What?! You're not my granddaughter!" A likely story!
After this, Old Grumpy scurried away from me, his little legs carrying him with a power I didn't know he had in him. (Okay: To be honest, it wasn't so much as a scurry as a wobbly, near-death gallop.)
I never even got to kiss him.
2. I am living in an apartment this year. It is quite a nice apartment, and I like the fact that I never see/talk to/associate with people anymore. Really, it's what I've always wanted. The only thing I don't like about it is that I clearly do not know how to fend for myself. It's true. For instance, I do not know how to cook at all. I've been having cereal on a plate with milk splattered over it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since I moved in a week and a half ago. I also have to keep calling my mom to tell me how to do things. Examples to follow:
"Mom, I accidentally turned the stove on three days ago. How do I turn it off?"
and
"Mom, I may or may not have broken a window while trying to air out my room after I started a small fire. How can I fix it?"
and, of course
"Mom, why am I not allowed to pee standing up?"
It's miserable being an adult.
3. All the kids make fun of me on account of my backpack with wheels.
With love,
Katsi
Anyway, I recently started my senior year of college. And, so far nothing has been going right. Here are the reasons why:
1. Today I went for a walk to the local Whole Foods Market where I purchased overpriced sombreros, overpriced piñatas, and overpriced guacamole, of a kind most organic. On my return home, I ended up walking next to an elderly (read: about to die any second) man. Now, as a rule, I avoid the elderly. They are so grumpy and near death that I cannot even bear to kiss them, which I always end up doing for some reason.
Anyway, as Old Grumpy and I walked along, we came across a busy street. As is customary in Western societies, we waited until the "go ahead and walk" signal came on, before we began to cross the aforementioned busy street. It was then that Old Grumpy did something that I wish he hadn't: Old Grumpy grabbed my hand as we crossed. That's right: Old Grumpy and I were walking, (young, smooth, not-near-death) hand in (gross, wrinkly, clearly-about-to-die) hand.
Startled, I didn't know what to do! So, I decided to just play it as cool as a cat in Antarctica and continue holding his hand. (It had a nice feel to it, his hand did. I'd say it was a cross between an alligator's elbow and death.) A block later, we were still holding hands. So, I decided it was time for me to say something to Old Grumpy. I said "Nice day, isn't it?" to which Old Grumpy replied "What?! You're not my granddaughter!" A likely story!
After this, Old Grumpy scurried away from me, his little legs carrying him with a power I didn't know he had in him. (Okay: To be honest, it wasn't so much as a scurry as a wobbly, near-death gallop.)
I never even got to kiss him.
2. I am living in an apartment this year. It is quite a nice apartment, and I like the fact that I never see/talk to/associate with people anymore. Really, it's what I've always wanted. The only thing I don't like about it is that I clearly do not know how to fend for myself. It's true. For instance, I do not know how to cook at all. I've been having cereal on a plate with milk splattered over it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since I moved in a week and a half ago. I also have to keep calling my mom to tell me how to do things. Examples to follow:
"Mom, I accidentally turned the stove on three days ago. How do I turn it off?"
and
"Mom, I may or may not have broken a window while trying to air out my room after I started a small fire. How can I fix it?"
and, of course
"Mom, why am I not allowed to pee standing up?"
It's miserable being an adult.
3. All the kids make fun of me on account of my backpack with wheels.
With love,
Katsi
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