Blinded By The Night

I woke up Sunday morning with blurred vision. I blinked a bunch of times and it didn't go away. There was a moment of panic during which I thought I had literally drank myself blind. As it turns out, I just forgot to take my contacts out before bed.  


Anyway, this led me to look up the lyrics to "Blinded By The Light," which apparently includes the line "revved up like a deuce."  I always thought it said "wrapped up like a douche." Anyone else? No? Ok.


In other news, shortly after I posted my last blog entry, I got the following email from OkCupid:


Hey kateeks,

Quick question: have you been happy with your experience on OkCupid? I ask because I just noticed that you haven't answered any match questions and you're probably not showing up in people's searches as much as you could be if you answered even just a few. I'd love to get any feedback you might have on how we can make OkCupid better for you. 

Thanks!
— Chris


To which I responded: 


Dear Chris, 

It's not you, it's me. 

-- Kateeks


I gotta hand it to OkCupid's customer service--they certainly are on the ball. And, despite my blog title, I don't think their site is stupid; it's just not for me. But they do publish some awesome charts:

http://blog.okcupid.com/

I'm glad to see the true purpose of college finally revealed. On that note, I want my money back, UNH.

OkStupid

I've always envisioned myself meeting someone the old-fashioned way -- drunk in a bar -- which was 99% of the reason I joined a kickball league. Because after approximately 20 minutes of light activity, everyone heads to the bar for four hours of flip cup and debauchery.

But after two seasons of this, all I'm left with is 10 extra pounds and a lack of dignity. Certainly not a boyfriend. This is why I've been toying with the idea of trying online dating. However, after browsing some of the clientele on one of the sites last night, I'm thinking it may not be for me for a few reasons:


1) I'm an asshole, and I will immediately write you off if you:

          a) take pictures of yourself in the mirror using your cell phone -- this method is best used by teenage girls with low-self esteem and people still on Myspace, not grown men. Grown men should never, ever do this. Ever. You look like an idiot. You also probably have no friends if the only picture you have of yourself is the one you took of yourself in a mirror.

          b) say you "like to go out but also like to stay in sometimes." This is not interesting; you just described living. 

          c) spell things wrong, use improper grammar, generally treat the English language like a piece of shit whore.
          d) are too positive. For example, one person wrote that he "sees the good in everyone." I find this unattractive and weak. 

2) Online dating is fairly superficial (see #1). If I met you in person, I might not know that you think "advise" is a noun and therefore give you a chance.


3) Meeting you in person allows you to buy me things sooner. Things like food and drink. This is critical because I'm always hungry and also poor. And because cheese is the way to my heart.


And lastly,


4) I want to be courted, not emailed.


So although I'm sure online dating is great for some people, I think I'm going to continue focusing on beer for a while and see where that gets me. That is, until I'm 30. If I'm still single at 30, you should call 911.

Food Porn

I'm so scared. And also aroused. Look at this:

Chocolate Chip 'n Oreo Fudge Brownie Bar
www.kevinandamanda.com

I got so worked up after seeing this that I went to my kitchen and stuck my fingers into a jar of peanut butter and then licked it off. Multiple times. 


Now I just feel dirty and cheap. And also unsatisfied. I will think of nothing else but these oreo cookie brownie orgy bars until I make them and eat them. All of them. And that will probably happen this weekend because otherwise I'll continue recklessly binge eating every day snacks that will never be good enough, no matter what they do. 

Rumors

Apparently there has been some confusion, so I'm going to clear things up right here and right now: I only have one cat, you guys. ONE. This is important for you all to know because, according to my neighbor, having one cat is socially acceptable but any more than that and you're a cat lady and also unlovable. So, one.

Besides, why would I ever need more than one cat when I have one that looks like this:

Stunning

Plus, he is severely attached to me. Any time I leave, he suffers from separation anxiety, which only leads to binge eating:

Like mother, like son.

Regret.

 And drinking:

I couldn't possibly bare to cause him any more emotional stress by bringing another cat into his life.

So fucking relax, okay?

Cats 4-L

Yesterday was my parents' anniversary. They have been married for 38 years. That's, like, disgusting. They met in high school, which stresses me out more than necessary because I have this fear that if you don't meet someone in high school or college, then you're totally fucked. Or not fucked, whichever way you look at it.

Although I'm not sure I would want to be married at this current point in time, I am concerned I may spend the rest of my life with only my cat. Did you guys know cats live for like 18 years? That's absurd. I didn't consider that when I adopted Boo. He's kind of reckless though, so maybe he won't last that long. I mean, not that I want him to die or anything; I love him. But sometimes I'm like, "holy shit, you are so fucking annoying," ya know? Maybe parenthood should not be in my future.


But seriously, I really do like him. The other day my roommates asked me if I had to give up cheese or Boo, what would I do? I was like, "Sophie's Choice!"  Because in case you didn't know, I fucking love cheese. Like, more than people. Especially goat cheese. I could bathe in that shit. 

Sing it, sister.

But ultimately, I decided I would give up cheese over Boo, so don't worry, everyone. I'd most likely resent him for the rest of his life, though.

This means everything to me!

Teenage Witch Dreams

I love love love Fall. It is without a doubt my favorite season. That probably makes a lot of sense since, in literature, fall typically represents death/dying, and according to most you reading, I'm "emo."

In addition to morbidity, fall encompasses some of my very favorite things. For example:

• pumpkin
• Oktoberfest
• football
• Thanksgiving
• witches

This year, I will finally live my dream and be a witch for Halloween. Not only because I've always wanted to be a witch (And by wanted to be a witch I mean believed I was a witch until approximately age 22 when I came to the sad realization I was never getting my powers on my birthday like they do in the movies. God damn it all.), but also because I spent $7 on a witch hat fascinator in Salem and have a saucy black dress hiding in the back of my closet.

Now, while I love witches and magic and general mysticism, I am absolutely terrified of almost everything. For example, last year I was FORCED AGAINST MY WILL to enter a haunted house in Salem which resulted in me crying and screaming, "You can't touch me, I'll sue you!" at anyone within earshot. 

This has been the case since I was a little girl. Once, my family went to Belcourt Castle in Rhode Island and upon being greeted by a somewhat creepy individual, I burst out crying, causing my dad to have to sit in the car with me for an hour while the rest of my family enjoyed the tour. What a good dad. I also once threw up and peed on him simultaneously during a thunderstorm*. I promise I've grown out of that fear. Unless you're into that kind of thing.

*Editor's Note: I was 4.

Miller Shyte

Let me just start out by saying that, as many of you know, my life-long dream is to be a housewife. I want my husband to make more money than me. I want him to be able to fix shit and carry things. I want to make sure dinner is on the table at 5 and impress people at cocktail parties. And most of all, I don't want to have a job.  That said, Miller Lite commercials are so fucking sexist I want to vomit all over my television every time I see one.

Their entire marketing campaign is based on the idea that Miller Lite is a "manly" beer.  Miller Lite? Really? I don't think so. In my opinion, no light beer is a manly beer. But more importantly, Miller Lite tastes like piss. PISS. If a guy ever buys me a Miller Lite, he can shit any possibility of going home with me right down the damn drain.


But why are you even listening to my opinion? I'm a female and therefore know nothing about beer.  And as Miller will tell you, I don't even care about taste!  In fact, I should really only be drinking this:

www.chickbeer.com

Because I gotta watch my figure, too. And the only way a girl can do that is by drinking absolute shit beer (at only 97 calories!) in a tacky bottle.  But, wait.  If that's the case, then shouldn't Miller Lite really be advertising to me? 

You can't just ask people why they're white. Or fat.

There are few things I hate more than when someone comments on what I'm eating. Unless it's one of my home-made baked goods and you want to tell me that I'm amazing for having created it, shut the fuck up. 

Is butter a carb?

During the winter, there is an influx of geriatrics in my building who are taking post-retirement enrichment courses. One day, as I was heating up a Lean Cuisine, this old bitch walked by me and said, "Oo, that smells fattening."  

First of all, I don't really ever want anyone over the age of 65 to talk to me; and second of all, it was a lean cuisine.

I constantly hear women at work making comments about what other people are eating. Mostly what I'm eating. For some reason everyone here is really concerned about my weight. Once, when I was taking a Hershey Kiss out of a community candy bowl, someone told me, "You shouldn't be eating that." Excuse me? You shouldn't be eating that bacon, egg, and cheese you order every morning. I see you, girl. It's not a secret. But I don't say anything to you about it because a) I don't give a shit about your weight and b) that is something only an asshole would do, asshole. 

If you ever took Psych 101, you would know that what I've just described is called psychological projection, which according to Wikipedia (the most trusted source on the Internet) is a "defense mechanism where a person subconsciously denies his or her own attributes, thoughts, and emotions, which are then ascribed to the outside world, usually to other people." In other words, you're fat, so you want me to feel fat. Thanks, that's kind of you. However, didn't you listen to Cady Heron? Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. A treadmill might, though.

Warning: Contains Graphic Images

In honor of National Coming Out Day (which was actually yesterday, so I'm late, as per usual), I wanted to tell you guys something...


My cat is gay.

Don't look at me.

How do I know? Well, first of all, all his friends are girls. 

"Fag hag"

 Secondly, he LOVES Vera Bradley. 

Me love bag.

And lastly, but just as important, he has sex with guys:

Get it girl.

And you know what? I'm okay with that. As my dad said, when we saw a handful of grown men standing in the Cape Cod Mall parking lot wearing leather chaps and chains: "Whatever. Different strokes for different folks."

Down With Domino's

Last night, I got to fulfill my karaoke dream of singing Down by Jay Sean featuring Lil' Wayne. Most people don't know this about me, but it's actually my favorite song of all time. Not only is it fun, but it is also lyrically perfect. For example:

I'm fighting for this girl on a battle field of love

Don't it look like baby cupid sending arrows from above

Don't you ever leave the side of me, indefinitely, not probably

And, honestly, I'm down like the economy. Yeah.

After my performance, a foreign man came up to me and told me that I have a "beautiful voice." I don't think he was listening. Still, it was one of my proudest moments.

A lesser proud/more fat moment that occurred this weekend happened when I called Domino's at 1:55 a.m. As soon as I told the man my number he said, "Oh I know you. One order of cheesy bread?" I felt THIN. However, I also felt quite lucky because they told me they'd stay open past 2 so I could pick it up. Ya know, since I'm a loyal customer and all. Approximately 10 minutes later, I was standing outside the Domino's employee entrance by myself waiting for them to come out with my cheesy bread for one. Cheesy. Bread. For one. 

Wardrobe Malfunction

Yesterday at work, my boss pulled me aside and told me to pull down my skirt. I've been waiting to be reprimanded for my hem length for actual years since I wear a fairly short skirt or dress pretty much every day; yet, I was shocked and dismayed when the day finally came.


However, I soon realized the problem was not actually due to the length of the hem but because my dress had, unbeknownst to me,  ripped all the way up the back, exposing my hot pink underwear. Thankfully, I was wearing nylons (which would explain why I didn't notice a draft), but still, how trashy? I was appalled. Soon enough, my boss was squatting beneath me to fasten my dress together with safety pins.


I'm going to blame this one on my ghetto booty.

Similarly, about a year ago I was walking through Harvard Square without a care in the world when I unintentionally walked over the grate above the subway. At the precise moment I stepped on the grate, a train was passing underneath, which caused a large gust of wind to blow upward which consequently caused my dress to fly up over my head. I quickly pulled it back down, hoping that no one saw my secret parts until a homeless man started shouting at me, "I saw that! I saw what you did!" Um excuse me, sir? Can you please shut the fuck up? I'm trying to be discrete here. "You're not going to do that again, are you, huh? You're not going to do that again," he said.  He was correct. A lesson well-learned. But also what a dick, right?


This same man asks me for money every day. He seems to forget that he totally BLEW UP MY SPOT, and that I will never forgive him. Not to mention the fact that I would never give him money anyway because I'm poor and need it for myself. And also, I'm an asshole.

RIP Steve

Steve Jobs is gone. And now so is my halloween costume. I was thinking about being Steve Jobs for halloween since last halloween, but that seems inappropriate now. Then again, after Steve Irwin died, he became the most popular halloween costume of 2006. That said, my friend Kyle thinks that the costume industry was behind Jobs' death. We expect to see a rise in the price of bald head wigs very soon. 

But seriously, I haven't been sad about a celebrity passing since George Carlin. And although you may remember me saying that "Steve Jobs ruined my life" because I was unable to update my iPod a few months ago, I didn't mean it. He improved my life. Without him, I couldn't constantly validate my self-worth by checking my Facebook notifications and Twitter mentions on my iPhone. 

RIP Steve.

The Most Expensive Place on Earth

So Disney World was a pretty good time. If I could change one thing about it, I would make it less attractive to children. I witnessed far too much whining. You'd figure those little assholes would be grateful to be at the happiest fucking place on earth. Apparently not. Then again, I think what I like less than children is their parents. My feet were run over by strollers roughly 30 times throughout my trip. Relax, dickwads. You're on vacation.


I'd also add more bars. When I'm on vacation, I prefer to have a beer in my hand at all times. Unfortunately, the Magic Kingdom was less about beer and more about milkshakes (note: not the kind that bring all the the boys to the yard). 


Epcot, however, was great. Oktoberfest in an imitation Germany was enjoyable, especially since I missed Harpoon's this weekend and it's one of my favorite days of the year. I plan on modeling my wedding after it. Assuming I get married (please pray for me). 


Anyway, the price inflation in Disney is outrageous, as I'm sure everyone already knows. I spent $10 on a coffee and a quarter cup of Raisin Bran. Ten. 


Also, I'm 25 and cried on the Tower of Terror. Never again. That was one of the worst experiences of my life. I'll stick to the teacups, thank you. 


There were also lots and lots of really overweight people in Disney. I considered that a plus. As someone who is constantly considering  her weight at all times always, I felt delightfully unconcerned. Which would explain this:

(literal pail of ice cream)

and also this:

(turkey leg)

I should also probably mention that this weekend was the Food and Wine Festival. My friends were running the Wine and Dine half-marathon while I was drinking around the world at Epcot. I'd chalk it up to a victory on both sides.