A lot of people have recommended that I start watching "Girls," so last night I did. I'm sorry to report back that I do not like it. In fact, I think it's downright awful. Every character on that show is an idiot. Every single one.
Young privileged white girls.
The most upsetting thing about this show is that some of the people who recommended it to me said they did so because the show reminded them of me. After watching it, I now find that insulting. I don't ever want to be compared to any of the characters in that show.
For those of you who don't know me, and who perhaps watch the show, let me make something clear: I am not a spoiled brat who's "struggling" because her parents are no longer willing to finance her dream life in NYC, nor do I sleep with shitty guys because I have low self-esteem. The only thing I have in common with anyone in that show is that I like to write. You know who else liked to write? Carrie Bradshaw. She, too, was a total idiot who slept with total idiots and then "couldn't help but wonder" about her shallow life. That made for a very successful HBO series, and I'm sure the plot-line of "Girls" will, too.
Older privileged white girls.
Now, if you like the show, that's great. Just because I hate it doesn't mean I expect that everyone else should, too. You might hate the things I watch. You might think I'm a total asshole for spending hours watching sports and then crying about them. That seems fair. All I ask is that you don't think of me when you watch "Girls." Thank you.
Last night, I was pretending to knight Boo (obviously), when I thought to myself: He needs a crown. Not only does he need a crown, he needs one right now. He needed one yesterday. He is so regal.
Knighting my cat with a Minnie Mouse bubble wand.
I'm 25.
Meredith and I looked at each other, and I said, "Well, I did just buy a new roll of tinfoil." Immediately, we both got up off the couch and rushed to the kitchen to begin craft night. The rest is self-explanatory:
Absolutely ridiculous.
Meredith: "I think Boo is embarrassed now."
Me: "Why?"
Meredith: "Because he's sitting with his head down, looking all serious."
Me: "Maybe he's just taking his new position seriously."
Sir Boobis.
My only regret is not making him full body armor. Thankfully, there's still time.
Speaking of time, in case you missed it, read yesterday's post about how I don't have time to date. I wrote it shortly before knighting my cat.
Sorry for the severe lack in posts lately. Grad school has taken over the better part of my life. Lately, if I'm not at work or school (which happens to be the same place), I want to be in my pajamas, on my couch, very very close to a bottle of wine. This is concerning to me, because even when I have the option to go out, even on a date, I'm not interested.
Did you read what I just said? The person who worries and complains about being single on an almost daily basis is currently not even interested in dating. What is happening to me? Am I going to shrivel up and die alone with my cat? Probably not. More than likely I will eat my way into morbid obesity and end up like Gilbert Grape (with a cat). Still dead and alone, but mainly bloated. Because, even though I'm bogged down with homework and have little-to-no energy, I still manage to find the time to make things like this:
I didn't even use Instagram.
Those were delicious, by the way. But let's get back to the main issue here: I have lost my mojo. I think. I'm actually not sure if I ever had a mojo. I don't really even know what that is. It sounds like an expensive drink from Starbucks.
MAGICAL CHARM BAG.
Anyway, if I don't get whatever I lost back, shadows will come out of my vagina like that sorceress chick in Game of Thrones last night.
Editor's Note: My friend pointed out to me that Gilbert Grape's mom was the obese person stuck in the house, not Gilbert Grape. Sorry to all you huge Gilbert Grape fans out there.
Welp, Marathon Monday has come and gone. Thank you to anyone who may have donated to my friend Cory or to any of the marathoners. I know it's tough times in this economy; but like I always say, if you can afford to spend $7 on a shitty beer at the Bell 'n Hand, then you can afford to donate to charity. I literally always say that.
So, this was my first time at the marathon. I don't get Patriot's Day off, so normally I'm working on Marathon Monday. But I'm really glad I took the day off this year, especially since it was approximately 88 degrees. Not so much fun for the runners, but pretty fun for me.
I also made some awesome signs, though one of them was deemed "inappropriate" by my friends, which is total bullshit since I asked them if I could make it and only after coloring in the first word with permanent marker did they say, "Katie, you can't do that!" Clearly, they hadn't been listening to me.
Whatever.
I don't know why everyone is so afraid of the word "fuck." It's a great word. It really spices up your language. And, if you don't know the difference between a noun and an adjective, or what the FUCK an adverb is, then it's the perfect word for you. "But there were kids at the marathon," you say. Blah blah blah. You know what? Kids need to grow up.
Anyway, a lot of people were talking about how "inspiring" it was to watch the runners, but I can't say I felt the same. Mostly, I felt like a lazy piece of shit standing on the sidelines drinking beer from a solo cup while thousands of people ran 26 miles in 88 degree weather. I could barely run one mile in that weather. Or really any weather. Let's be real.
I have a blogger crush on Katie Levans from Sweet Tater Blog. I'm obsessed. I read her blog every day. I comment all of the time. I follow her cats on Facebook. It's intense.
Katie writes about "food, fitness, etc." and, most importantly, cats. And though our blogs are very different, I feel like we have a lot in common. Like, I think if we lived in the same city, we'd be friends. Maybe our cats would even hang out. Am I taking this too far? Whatever.
If you read food blogs as much as I do, you may have heard of something called "cookie butter." Let me say that again: Cookie. Butter. Generally, when I hear the word "butter," I think "must have immediately, if not sooner." And when you put "cookie" in front of that, I start sweating.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find cookie butter in any of my local stores. This made me sad. And one day, when Katie mentioned cookie butter in her blog, I commented about how sad I was.
A couple weeks later, I received a package in the mail containing a jar of the infamous cookie butter from Miss Sweet Tater herself. I immediately opened it and started eating it straight from the jar. If there is one thing that defines my relationship with peanut butter, it's that I often eat it with my fingers. And sometimes I do this at work. And sometimes my coworkers see me. At least this time, I was dignified enough to eat the cookie butter with a spoon.
Cookie. Butter.
So, cookie butter, or "speculoos" as it's called, basically tastes like ginger bread cookie spread. I think it's phenomenal. And, obviously, I don't feel any need to put it on anything; it's fantastic all on its own. However, after a few handfuls, I decided to dip pretzels in it, which was... well let's just say that my verbal reaction was, "oh fuck, that's nice."
But while cookie butter is indeed magical, it will never ever take the place of peanut butter in my life. I need you all to know that. I also would like you to know that last weekend I ate a burger with peanut butter on it and it was a revelation.
The Boston Marathon is right around the corner and, this year, my good friend Cory will be running in support of the Michael Lisnow Respite Center, a local nonprofit organization that provides respite care to children and adults with disabilities.
Represent, yo.
Cory and I have been friends for a long time -- since that infamous day in 9th grade when I asked him if he got boners in math class. I always make a lasting first impression. On a separate note, I'm still single and looking.
This picture is of Cory and me.
And that is grammatically correct.
Anyway, Cory is very close to reaching his fundraising goal of $5,000, but still needs to raise more over the next few days. I would be honored if you would support my friend and this wonderful organization. For more information about the Michael Carter Lisnow Respite Center and how you can donate, please visit Cory's fundraising page.
If you have been following my tweets and Facebook posts, or if you have talked to me for more than 3 minutes over the past few weeks, you probably know that I have been looking for an apartment with my roommate, Meredith, and have been feeling pretty anxious about it. My search for a place to live come June 1 has been emotionally taxing. There were many times when I felt like I would literally be homeless.
What I do on my lunch break.
I envisioned Boo having to sell himself on the streets for cash, the only consolation being that he would make a pretty penny considering how absolutely, flawlessly gorgeous he is. And considering how many people want to have sex with cats?
FLAWLESSLY GORGEOUS.
Anyway, because I'm a rational person who never exaggerates or overreacts or panics about anything ever, this extreme thinking was totally justified, obviously. But, in all seriousness, it was hard to be hopeful when the turnaround time on renting apartments in Boston right now is approximately 20 minutes--meaning, an apartment is listed and then gone within the span of 20 minutes. For example, we found an apartment we liked only to discover minutes later that it had been rented while we were looking at it. As in, while we were standing inside the apartment. Tears ensued.
We even considered living in Mission Hill. Mission Hill, you guys. People get shot and die in Mission Hill. They DIE there.
Despite all this trauma, Meredith and I found an apartment last night, signed a lease this morning, and will be moving in about a month. I am so beyond relieved. Now I can cut back on therapy costs and also stop practicing becoming homeless.
(In regards to the tweet above) I retold this story to Meredith, who apparently thought I said "midget," not "pigeon." Imagine if I said, "You are dangerously close, sir" to a midget?!
Happy Friday, everyone. I give you permission to drink copious amounts of beer in honor of my finding a home.
I just wanted to let you know that your show, Good Morning America, is absolutely terrible. It is smut disguised as a news broadcast. Unfortunately, it is on every morning at my gym. Normally, I ignore it, but today I couldn't, mainly because I forgot my headphones. Not the best start to my day, clearly.
Instead of covering the news, you spend almost your entire show featuring sensationalized stories about "scandals" and celebrities. Meanwhile, actual news headlines, concerning the war, the economy, politics etc., stream across the bottom of the screen courtesy of the local news station.
This morning, you spent over 10 minutes on a story entitled, "NFL Cheerleader Sex Scandal," during which, your correspondents, or whatever you would call them, berated the accused, portraying her as a slut and a deviant. Now, she may just be a slut and a deviant. Who knows? However, I was under the impression that in America, you are innocent until proven guilty. But the innocent have not a chance when the media publicly burn them at the stake before they even get to trial. I highly doubt anyone from your "news cast" has met any of the parties involved in this case, yet you seemed to be sure that you knew exactly what happened.
The stories that followed were about Whitney Houston and the Real Housewives. You did cut to the local weather, which was probably the most informative segment of your show.
Do you feel proud of this? Is this what you think journalism should be? I wonder, did any of the people at your station even study journalism? I did. In fact, I wanted to be a news reporter until the basic principles of truth, objectivity, and educating the people were squashed by publications and networks like yours. I know you feel like you're giving people what they want. But I want you to know that though I may only be 25, I don't give a shit about the Kardashians or people like them, so I find your show insulting. What I do care about is education and civil rights and public policy; and these are just some of the topics I expect the news to cover. So maybe instead of assuming that all Americans are vapid, superficial people, why don't you take a risk and instead assume that they are intellectuals wishing to be informed? You could make a real difference.
I know I can stop watching your show, and don't worry, I sure will. But, since freedom of speech, like the presumption of innocence, is one of my rights (at least for now), I thought I might as well take advantage of it.
Last week, one of my friends posted the following article on Facebook:
The author, or whatever the hell you'd call someone who creates comprehensive lists of 90s pop culture and/or memorabilia and posts them on the internet, did a pretty good job at covering all the best parts of my(our?) childhood. Though the "article" is titled "175 Reasons Why Being a 90s Girl Rocked Our Jellies Off," most of the list is pretty gender-neutral. Also, now that I'm a feminist because I'm taking my first and possibly only Women's Studies course--fuck gender! Or something like that.
Anyway, here are some of my thoughts on just 12 of the 175 items on the list:
1. Tamagotchi: I could only afford the knock-off version sold at CVS. I still remember the shame.
2. Zenon, Girl of the 21st Century: I loved this movie, which is weird since I hate space. But I can remember watching it over and over again whilst eating Easy Mac. That shit was also my jam. If it weren't for microwaves, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have eaten as a child.
That is SO Raven.
3. Roller blades: One time my friend Steph and I roller bladed down the Cape Cod Canal. Suddenly, the weather changed and we were in the middle of a hurricane. That was pretty scary. That was also a lie because we were not in the middle of a hurricane; it just felt like we were. I think it was raining or something.
4. Kimmy Gibbler: Every thought I ever had about Full House changed when Bob Saget performed at UNH. He is a dirty, dirty old man.
On that note, I once saw George Carlin with my dad. First of all, let me just say that Carlin was one of the most brilliant comedians/people to ever walk this earth. He is the only celebrity I've ever felt sad about dying. I loved him. Second of all, let me just say, that listening to him make jokes about incest while sitting directly next to your father is fucking awkward.
6. Baby Alive. This thing was fucking disgusting. I don't recall ever having any other doll, not even a Barbie, so I'm not sure how I ended up with this one. The thing peed and pooped and like never stopped doing either. Why? Why would anyone ever want that? Perhaps Baby Alive is the reason I don't want children now.
7. Hypercolor shirts: I talk about these frequently, but no one ever knows what they are.They were awesome. I promise.
8. Stick-on Earrings: Do they still make these things? If so, I need to know where to get them stat. At age 25, I only wear 50 cent stud earrings from H&M, which I think I'm actually allergic to considering my consistently red earlobes. Stick-ons might be a nice, equally priced, alternative.
9. Pogs: I tried liking these, but as it turned out, I just didn't give a shit.
Premature hoarding.
10. Gelly Roll Pens: My friend came out of the closet in high school*. The next day his mom bought him gelly roll pens.
11. Super Nintendo: I had a choice between one of these and a Sega. I chose a Sega. Still regretful. Sure, Sonic was fun and all, but I could have had Mario Kart. MARIO Kart.
12. Last but not least, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: I read the books and watched the show. So fuck you, Twilight fans.
*Note: I didn't start high school 'til 2000, so this list is FRAUDULENT.
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