Calling all food bloggers, nutritionists, and people with a lot of time on their hands.

Yesterday, I reached an all time low. Or, more accurately, an all time high. I went skiing for the first time this season and couldn't button my ski pants. I also couldn't zip up my ski coat with any type of layer on underneath and it was 18 degrees out, so I had to borrow a coat from a friend. Just picture me skiing down Okemo mountain in a men's jacket and unbuttoned pants.

This is serious, you guys. I need help. For the past few months I've lived off of frozen foods, take-out, and beer. I'm like a 40-year-old bachelor. Something's gotta give.

I need to start cooking again, but I've lost all motivation and direction. Cooking-for-one blows. When I used to cook for myself, I'd end up eating the same thing for 6 days in a row or throwing away a lot of food. It became boring and wasteful. It also became really convenient to walk across the street and pick up falafel.

So here's what I'm looking for: a meal plan for single ladies. I did some Google searching and got disappointing results. Yet, I know this is something not only I, but many other people my age, want. So if you feel so inspired, you could make one and change the lives of a lot of single people who can't button their pants.

If you have any recommendations or plans, please put them in the comments here. Or, you can send me an email at imyourkatieque@gmail.com. Or, you can write your own blog post and I'll link to it or guest post it here.

This is a cry for help, people! I need you.

Oh, and here are some things to keep in mind: I don't want to eat the same thing every day. Obviously, I'm looking for something healthy, but if I see any mention of fat-free cheese, I'll cry. And please please please don't ever once mention the word "calories." Thank you!

Apocalypse Now. Or Tomorrow. I guess.

This is by far the saddest way to be spending potentially my last day on earth: just sitting in my office, staring at a computer screen, reading Thought Catalog's "16 Ways to Do Nothing" or whatever.  They really capitalized on Cosmo's whole "put a different number in front of the same article you wrote last month" idea.

For the first time in quite possibly my whole entire life, I have zero unread emails. ZERO. I truly do not know what to do with myself. So, I've been sitting here thinking about how I would feel if the world did actually end tomorrow. Accomplished? Regretful? Scared?

I've decided that I would most likely feel tired. Like, it would be nice if the apocalypse was quiet enough that I could at least sleep through it. I'm so tired that the idea of sleeping through my last day on earth is not even depressing to me.

I'm so tired because, before today, I actually had a lot to do at work and a lot of work to do for school.  And also, I stayed up til 1:30 am last night reading testimonials from ex-Mormons.

Mormon underwear. Seriously. Look that shit up.

Not kidding. That shit is so interesting. I'm totally obsessed with Mormons. In like a terrified way. Like the way people are obsessed with the apocalypse! See, it all comes back together.

You guys, I'm so bored. This is the result of that.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of Year!

Last night when I got home, I immediately picked up Boo as I always do. His little paws were wet so, naturally, I started yelling at him:

"You little asshole. I told you not to touch the water under the tree."

"I'm not doing anything wrong."

As I was saying this, I noticed that my socks were wet. I looked down and saw that my carpet was also wet. So, of course, I immediately assumed that Boo had knocked over a glass of water as per usual. I yelled at him again.

Then, I got on my hands and knees to try to find the alleged glass under the coffee table and started to notice that the wet spot was not just a spot. It was more like 12 feet of dampness. 12 feet. As much of an asshole Boo is, even he is not capable of that much damage. Turns out, my garden-level apartment is more like a sea-level apartment. What a wonderful surprise!

It's okay. I totally wanted to move every year in my 20s anyway.

In the meantime, I owe Boo the sincerest of apologies. So, Boo, I'm sorry I falsely accused you of spilling water. And I'm sorry I laughed at you that time you had diarrhea at Barnes & Noble.

Hope.

Shortly after the shooting, I saw someone on Facebook write, "If only one of those teachers had a hand gun." And I felt even sadder than before.

It's so deeply troubling to me that some Americans truly believe the answer to gun violence is more gun violence. The killer's mother was an experienced rifle owner, yet she could not defend herself against her son. Do people really believe that a kindergarten teacher would have been able to stop the massacre had she possessed a hand gun? Would you really feel safe sending your kids to school where teachers are concealing weapons? If so, I think you have gone mad. And madness is one of the key problems here.

Perhaps if we lived in a society where young men and boys were taught how to express their emotions in non-violent ways, in a society where people had access to mental healthcare and weren't stigmatized for being ill, we would not have to heavily arm school teachers to protect themselves against angry, confused, and sick people.

I am anti-gun; that cannot come as a surprise to anyone. But there are a lot of conversations we, as a nation, need to be having in addition to questioning gun laws (or lack thereof). And it seems like finally, finally, we are starting to have these conversations. While I'm on the one hand disturbed by some people's reactions to the shooting, I am on the other hand hopeful that we are moving toward positive change.

Fingers crossed.

Cheese Genius

Eating is my favorite hobby. I don't care how fat that makes me sound. I like food more than I like a lot of my friends, to be honest. (Sorry you had to find out this way.) I'm just saying, what's better: biting into the most perfectly cooked burger with VERMONT SHARP CHEDDAR and caramelized onions and BACON on top, or listening to your friend tell you for the 100th time how much he hates his job? Hint: it's the burger.

The problem with food is that it makes you fat. And people don't like fat, I guess. Well, unless you're super trashy and on TLC and then they will literally pay money to look at how fat you are.

Then again, apparently your friends can make you fat, too. At least that's what the media tells me, which is like so incredibly helpful and kind of them. But it's like no matter how many times Women's HEALTH Magazine emails me to yell at me about how fat I am ("Get rid of your bra fat!" "Look thinner!" "MELT THAT FAT"), I still definitely want to order cheesy bread at 3 am.

What is wrong with me? How, as a human being, could I like to eat so much? Oh well. I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon. Eating is probably my greatest talent. In fact, some people would call me an expert. For example, Klout.com says I'm influential about cheese. And you thought you had a lot going for you.

Anyway, I've heard rumors that it's possible to eat and not be fat. I know that's a far-fetched idea, but I'm thinking about testing it out. And, if that doesn't work, I'm blaming my friends.

Cry Baby

Let's talk about all the times I cried as a child. Or at least some of them, since I apparently cried a lot. I actually wonder why my parents like me so much.

1. Any time there was a thunderstorm. I used to get scared to the point I would pee my pants and/or throw up. Cute. I used to run around the house asking everyone, "Is it gonna hit?!" Not sure what that means, but I'm guessing it had to do with the potential for death. I also used to write letters to god asking him to stop thunderstorms. Who knew I was so devout?

2. At Belcourt Castle. Apparently, the man who welcomes you into the mansion is not very attractive or something because I screamed at the sight of him and made my dad sit with me in the car until the rest of our family was done with the tour. That must have been a fun day for him.

3. The first time I went to the movie theater. My dad thought it was appropriate to take a 2 year old to see The Bear. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to take little girls to see The Little Mermaid or some other Disney shit, not a story about a fucking terrifying grizzly bear. This one I totally blame on my dad. Maybe the mansion thing was revenge.

4. Whenever the trash had to be taken out. I used to have nightmares every night that the garbage man was coming to kidnap me. Every night, I found a new hiding place, but somehow he'd find me. Such an asshole.  Finally, after literal years of this, I faced my fears in my dream and ultimately befriended the garbage man. I never had the nightmare again. But I still don't know why I was ever afraid of the garbage man in the first place. Pretty sure my parents brought our trash to the dump themselves.

5. At a Chinese food restaurant. My parents told me we were going to order a pu-pu platter. I interpreted this to mean that we were going to have eat actual poo, as in human feces. I proceeded to cry hysterically, and instead of reassuring me that I would not have to eat shit, my parents kept egging me on because they thought it was funny. I experienced utter turmoil that day. And, as a result, for many many years, I refused to eat Chinese food.

Actually, now that I think about it, maybe my parents don't like me so much.