I'm sure he just lost your number.

I was in the bathroom at a sports bar the other night. I came out of the stall and went to go wash my hands but two girls were occupying the sink area. So, I waited patiently while they discussed gender politics:

Girl #1: Have you ever lied to a guy and told him you liked sports?
Girl #2: No.
Girl #1: Oh, I have. I hate sports! But they really like sports.
Girl #2: No, you can't tell guys you like sports because when they find out you don't, they'll stop hooking up with you.

I was like, you girls are really sad and also can I wash my fucking hands now?

I'm pretty sure no guy has ever hooked up with a girl because she likes sports, or has stopped because she doesn't. More likely, he stopped hooking up with you because of your personality, so. Sorry?

But also, liking sports is not that attractive. See: me crying about football. Or this:

Writer's Block

The trouble with blogging is that it's a self-created obligation. I feel like I have to write something even when I have nothing to write about. This seems to be no problem for some bloggers who literally get paid to tell us what they had for breakfast, which is probably the same thing they had the day before. PAID. Fuck it all, everyone.

Anyway, since I have nothing important to say (do I ever??), I'm just going to share with you some of my most recent and random thoughts:

• Dragons can swim. This has been confirmed.
• Peanut butter is fantastic on most things but remarkably disappointing on Thin Mints. Do not waste your time.
• I would like to have sex to The 20/20 Experience, but please don't ask me to.
• Jesus was the original zombie craze.
• Three helpings of macaroni and cheese will result in 1-3 hours of incapacitation on my living room floor. Remind me about that next Easter.
• 26-year-old guys act like 13-year-old girls.
• Yoga is really hard but will teach you important things like there's a hole in your yoga pants and you need a pedicure.
• Some people are able to casually talk on the phone while throwing up on the sidewalk in Harvard Square.
• Harvard Square is surprisingly terrifying on Sunday nights.

AM I PREGNANT?

No. Because that would require intercourse, which is FOREVER ABSENT from my life.

However, I did just have the most intense craving for chocolate that I urgently ran out of my office to go get a chocolate chip cookie from Crema Cafe (also known as the best place in Harvard Square). On my way there, I had a panic attack inside my head, saying things like, "What if they ran out?!" As if I would die without the cookie. As if my life depended on it. But I think it did.

Anyway, you can all relax now. I got the cookie and I'm not pregnant. As far as I know.

Let's [Not] Go to the Movies!

A couple weekends ago, I was super antisocial and did basically nothing except eat and watch She's All That. That's the one about a skinny, pretty girl who wears glasses who is then TRANSFORMED into a skinny, pretty girl who does not wear glasses.

The moral of the movie is that I need to lose like 45 pounds and also wear my contacts more often. And then I'll win prom queen. Or I won't win prom queen? I actually already forget what happens in the end because I was too focused on whatever it was I was eating at the time, which probably involved peanut butter. So, right off the bat, failing at goal #1. 

Anyway, this is why I don't really ever want to watch movies (a fact about me that upsets most people). For one thing, most of my friends (and don't take this the wrong way, I love you all so much) generally want to watch romantic comedies, which aren't necessarily my cup of tea. Like, no one's ever going to fall in love in an elevator, ok? Or at least not if they wear glasses. Whatever. It's not really that I don't like these movies because they're unrealistic, because I fucking love magic you guys, it's just that they are boring as shit. Which brings me to my next reason...

I have (undiagnosed) ADHD, so it's really hard for me to sit still for 90 minutes or, in the case of Les Miserables, THE REST OF YOUR M-F LIFE, YOU WILL DIE IN THAT THEATER. I need to be stimulated at all times and I'm not allowed to walk around or go on the internet on my phone when I'm at the movie theater. Yes, I know there are movies out there that are engaging and I'm thankful to have seen a few, but for the most part, I just feel like most movies are not worth my precious time (YouTube is, though, for sure).

Unless of course I have a paper to write, in which case you can bet your ass I'll be on my couch watching mindless crap for hours.

More About Being 20-Something

Man, I'm starting to sound like Thought Catalog. I'm truly sorry about that.

So, I'm currently reading this great novella called Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.  It's a coming-of-age tale, which is timely because I think I'm coming of age right now. In fact, I think I'm going through more self-exploration these days than I did when I hit puberty. That was not a masturbation joke. Except that I just made it one.

Okay, anyway.

A number of you connected with my last post, which is to say, I'm quite obviously not alone in my unfledged feelings.  That's reassuring, of course. But let me also just say that I don't think either side of the spectrum (the settled vs. the floundering) is good nor bad. This is just a weird stage of life. Up til now, we--that is my general demographic--have been basically moving at the same pace. We got our licenses at 16. We graduated high school and went to college. We moved into our first apartments together. Got big girl and big boy jobs. And we swallowed all that down with beer and wine. Together. But then, suddenly, everything became expedited. Or so it seems. Of course, that is not wholly true.  But life feels different now. 

For instance:

• People now value you based on your relationship status: "Are you dating anyone?" "No." "Oh. Well, that's okay." (Yes, I know. This is not 1954. I will survive.)
• It's harder to find someone to get drunk with on Tuesday because they're eating a crock-pot meal with their fiance.
• You spend a lot of time thinking about moving to other cities.
• You almost never sleep (because you are addicted to the internet), and
• You are incredibly self-involved (which has probably been true since birth).

Luckily for me, people find this life--which revolves around cats and cheese and beer and dragons--interesting enough to read about.

This is how I start conversations at parties.

 So thank you for that.

Twenty-Something

I had brunch with some of my girlfriends this weekend, during which everyone gave the latest updates on their lives. These updates included boyfriends moving in and houses being purchased and weddings on the horizon. When it came my turn to share, I said, "I killed a spider all by myself today." And my friends were genuinely happy for me.

Later in the conversation, one of my friends told us someone she knew just found out she was pregnant. This elicited a collective "yay" from everyone else around the table and a simultaneous "oh no" from me. Yes, that is my automatic, innate reaction to the idea of pregnancy. I should seriously be on birth control for the rest of my life.

CATS.

It seems like everyone around me is growing up at lightening speed and I feel very... unfledged. I'm not even sure what I want right now (besides my master's, and equality, and one of those deep dish pizzas from Domino's), but I feel very pressured to have certain things. Things like relationships and houses, or at least an apartment that has a washing machine. But the most expensive thing I own is a vacuum, and I can't even fathom having to share my room. Or my time. Or that pizza. So, it seems I'm not quite where a lot of other people my age are, but I'd like to think that that's okay. So that's okay.

I don't think you can handle this.

As you all know, I love me some internet friends, but I have to say that I'm moderately terrified of some of the guys who stalk my shit on twitter, so I want to make something very, very clear:

Though I may write about being single a lot, I am in no way desperately looking to settle down / have sex with you ever at any time. In fact, my standards are so high, they are essentially unreachable.

Okay, granted some of you might be reading this and saying to yourself, Oh, but I knew you for like a week before we hooked up. Listen, sometimes Stella needs her groove back, okay? And sometimes Stella drinks way too much IPA. But normally, Stella has really high expectations and wears a proverbial chastity belt. So, consider yourself lucky.

What I'm saying is that this shit is locked up, so please don't ever think tweeting at me is going to get you anywhere. Okay, maybe once I dated a guy from twitter. But then I came to my senses (noted his Mountain Dew t-shirt) and was like, I have gotsta go. And so at this point, you're going to have to do a lot more, like know me IRL, and pass a cori check, and maybe also show me a copy of your credit report.

You aint ready.

Lady Slipper or Lady Part?

I was considering playing a game with you all called, "Lady Slipper or Lady Part?", which would involve zoomed in pictures of Lady Slipper flowers and also vaginas and your deciding which is which. I ultimately nixed this idea because it's fucking disgusting, though it took me a lot longer to get to that conclusion than it would most people. You're welcome.

Seriously though:

GROSS.

Lady Slippers are an endangered specie, and as I say about most endangered species: who gives a shit? One time in high school, my friend Chris and I went on a nature walk and kicked them. It made us feel bad ass.

Please don't tell anyone that.



Editor's note: According to Google's spell check, vaginas is not a word. Apparently it's vaginae. Someone confirm this for me.

Tuesdays with Katie

Last Tuesday, I met my dear friend, Cory, after work for "a couple" beers. He gave me a book called, "I Could Pee on This, and Other Poems by Cats", which I now carry around with me at all times. Because you never know when you're going to need a cat limerick, am I right?

TROEGS. Get you some.

(In fact, the following weekend, I met a guy on the T who was carrying around a precious persian that he let me pet. In return, I whipped out the book and said, "Well, I have this book of cat poems." It could have been love, but he was really socially awkward. Says the girl carrying around a book of cat poems.)

Anyway, long story short, I ended up drinking a bit too much that night and yelled at the bar about how guys only date crazy girls. I've since recognized the irony in that.

Moreover:

I had been texting a friend that night, and the next morning I woke up and said, "I was a little drunk last night." To which, he responded, "Yeah, I could tell. You just kept going on and on about how much you love your cat."

4-L

So.

That time I went out for coffee and got my nose pierced instead.

Okay, well, that's not exactly how it happened. I did make the decision to get my nose pierced when I walked by a tattoo parlor on the way to get coffee, but then I quickly ran back to my apartment to pick up my roommate for moral support/to hold my hand.

The guy who pierced my nose, Brian, decorated his space with Alice in Wonderland memorabilia, so I felt right at home. I told him I had been considering getting a tattoo of my cat's silhouette but that someone told me it would look a weird birthmark. Brian, however, fully supported it. He also said that he is getting a tattoo of his cat dressed up as Napoleon. Kindred spirits, I tell you.

Anyway, here it is, my debut:

I have to say, getting a needle stuck through your face is pretty invigorating. But also, I hope this is not a mid-life crisis because that would mean I'm going to die at age 52.