5ive

You guys, I think this song is about rape.

Key indications:

• Babe, I swear you will succumb to me.
• Baby, that's not part of the deal.
• Ain't no use in putting up a fight.
• I wanna knock your socks off, 
  knock your block off. 

This is some crazy ass shit. I'm not quite sure what the last one even means, but it sounds like he's going to behead her. Anyway, this song used to be my jam back in '98, but after listening to it this morning, I'm simply terrified. 

Love Chronicles

In order to survive being on the elliptical, I a) listen to gangster rap from 1996-2001, or b) recall, in chronological order, every celebrity/fictional character I've ever had a crush on. Here you go:

1.

Says a lot about me, I think.

2.

So much in common. 

3.

He had me at Radiohead.

4.

Sexiest Disney concert ever, am I right?

5. 

This picture was on my birthday cake.
Thanks, Mom!

6. 

In love with a dead guy.

At this point, it's possible that I started liking actual boys.  Or maybe not.

7.

143 Magic

8.

But seriously, who didn't?

9.

Dream Jew.

10. 

Mr. Rochester 4-L

So. Should I be more concerned that my childhood crush was a man who wore spandex and makeup, or that my ultimate dream man is a fictional character from a book written in 1847?

Plagiarism

I was recently notified that, on the season 2 premier of Girls, Lena's character dresses up as a Quaker. Does that sound familiar to you any of you?

Boom.

This is the 3rd *recorded* time that someone who makes way more money than I do has STOLEN one of my jokes.

Instance 1: Circa 2006, I wrote a potential SNL sketch about the Virgin Mary finding out she's pregnant with God's child on the Maury Povich show.

Then this happened:

Comedy Central

(Except in my version, God actually was the father, and he wasn't happy about it. Neither was Joseph. Trick ass hoe.)

Instance 2: While watching Rudolph this holiday season, I had a revelation that the story is really a social commentary on the plight of the Jews. Think about it. Rudolph is cast out because of his nose; the elf is snubbed for wanting to be a DENTIST. Concidence? I think not.

And neither, apparently, does Andy Borowitz:

What the M-F fuck?

There are only three possible reasons why this *keeps* happening to me:

1. Celebrities around the world are evesdropping on my conversations.
2. I have no copyrights nor anyway to prove that I said any of these things unless you trust the word of my friends (which you totally should).
3. I'm unoriginal (!!!!)

This is the darkest day.

Me: I'm just really upset right now because she has a hit show on HBO and I have a blog that 100 people read.
Meredith: You also have a basement apartment.
Me: I don't even have a basement apartment. I RENT a basement* apartment. 

*Garden-level

The Sick Side of Marriage

Have any of you taken note of Delsym's commercials? I have. They make me stop in my tracks (meaning I remain seated on my couch).

This woman is being a real bitch to her husband. There he is in his own home, very ill, and she's mad at him for coughing. Mad at him! Like how shitty is that? Sure, he should probably be in bed if he's that sick. He could also get up and get his own M-F cough syrup. But why get mad about it?

Usually, commercials try to portray the glamorous side of marriage. You know, where the woman is almost always washing the floor and the husband is grilling and drinking Coors or maybe pretending to fix something but he doesn't really know what he's doing and his wife is laughing at him because men, am I right ladies?

But Delsym is getting real with us. Delsym is saying that five years into your marriage you're going to get into a fight about cough syrup while watching American Idol because that's what you do for fun now.

BLEAK.

And this is the reason why guys don't take girls out to dinner anymore. This commercial. According to a recent NYT article about the death of courtship:

"A lot of men in their 20s are reluctant to take the girl to the French restaurant, or buy them jewelry, because those steps tend to lead to 'eventually, we're going to get married.'"

(And you thought girls were crazy.) If that is the case, though, I guess I have to congratulate all the men who have taken me out to dinner in the past. Apparently, one of you has to marry me now.

Hope you never get sick!

Swag.

As it turns out, people do want to have sex with Tina Fey, so that bodes well for me. And Tina Fey, I suppose. I think I owe her an apology for ever doubting her sex appeal.

Speaking of sex appeal:

THIS.

It's incredible to me that so much beauty can come out of one animal. In my not-at-all humble opinion, this beauty should be shared with the masses, which is why I'm considering making Boo-related magnets and/or buttons. These would be a gift from me to the world, mainly because I doubt anyone would pay for them.

But if you would pay for them, let me know, because I could really use a few extra dollars.

Sex with Tina Fey

You know how racists think all black people look the same? Men seem to feel the same way about girls who wear glasses.

I can't tell you how many times a guy has said to me, "Has anyone ever told you you look like Tina Fey?" I always want to respond, "Yes, everyone. Everyone has told me that. Also, we don't look the same, we just happen to wear similar glasses. However, I will take that as a compliment since she is brilliantly hilarious." (I want to respond that entire thing.)

The other night, some kid told me I looked like this girl:

Like, what? She is blond and Irish or something. Come on now.

The thing is, I'm never sure if this is their way of hitting on me or not. I mean I love me some Tina Fey, but is she a sex symbol? Do people want to have sex with Tina Fey? I mean I would just to be close to her, but do other people feel that way? Maybe they say this because they think I look like I'm funny.

[Side note: The other day, I passed a man on the street who pointed at me and said, "You're funny looking." I'm going to safely assume he thinks I'm a comedian. Either that, or I was the victim of adult bullying.]

I'm guessing a lot of men fixate on my glasses because they all have cliche librarian fantasies (which, I wish you guys would keep to yourselves until like maybe at least the second date. I'm a classy girl, alright?)  I hate to break it to you, but most librarians look like this:

Still think that's hot? Meet up with me in 25 years and I can make your dreams come true.

Dresses of Mass Destruction

I've been having a lot of problems with clothes lately. First there was the ski pant tragedy of 2012, and then I was  BRUTALLY ATTACKED by a dress at TJ Maxx.

I was really gung-ho* about wearing a sequinned dress on New Year's Eve, but little did I know that they are basically made of knives. I tried a few on and ended up with abrasions all over my body -- my legs, my stomach, even my boobs. Luckily no one sees those. Ever.

The lady in the dressing room was laughing at me while I stood there crying. Fucking rude. That shit was so painful. ABRASIONS, I said.  Since when is shopping so dangerous?  I feel like writing to Calvin Klein to let him know his clothes are actually weapons.


*What does this even mean?

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.