i want everything with you.

Update: SUBBING AT CHARTER SCHOOLS FOR FIRE MONSTERS WITH CURSING PROBLEMS.

TUTORING MY FACE OFF AT NIGHT.

OASIS ORIENTATION FOR THE NEXT MILLION WEEKENDS OF MY JUNE.

ONLY 8 HOURS OF MY DAYS ARE NOT SPENT WITH CHILDREN.

Funny story time!

Steve, Di, Lu, Jones and Will dropped by Saturday night to come spend quality friendship time with me having pizza and beers in Williamsburg. We went to Charleston and it was surprisingly quiet for a Sat. night. We ran into some peeps we knew. Steve took us on a 5 mile journey to find "Barry" on Berry St. We never got there because when Steve says Berry it sounds like Barry and because of this we traipsed all over Brooklyn searching for Barry in a direction that was nowhere near where we were. Jones jumped a fence to pee and cut his hands up pretty badly. Di made him hold a tampon in his hand to soak up the blood. I had to pee too, but unfortunately I did not have the luxury of being a dude so I held it for probably two hours straight. There was a point, while perched on a trash can, where I was seriously considering letting it out. But I am a lady and ladies don't pee in cans. I waited until we got off of the subway, where a nice gentleman offered me a cup, and ran into a Spanish bar and waited for what seemed like hours with a bunch of men "accidentally" touching my butt. When finally I crawled into the bathroom over mounds of paper towels, I went for like, 2 straight minutes. It was the longest, most satisfying pee ever. We went back to my apartment, Lu fell asleep on the couch while I helped Jones clean the cuts on his hands. Poor guy. Then, goodbye time.
As I was saying goodbye, finally with the guts to make some sort of definite move, leaning in, taking a breath to say something, anything... my earring catches his hand and flies off under a car. Moment ruined.
If someone was filming it, I would use it as a film clip to perfectly describe me and my life.
Scenario: Hey, Kat. Nice to meet you. So, what are you all about?
(I silently play the clip of that moment with whatever video device is around)
Oh, k.

facebook fad equals notification bad

I love how Facebook has become increasingly detailed.  Despite the fact that I cannot find friend requests and events I have been invited to, I love being kept extremely up to date on what everyone in my network is up to. For example: I just found out that Rachel Phaneuf is Esme Cullen from Twilight via "Which Twilight Character Are You?" app... First of all, who is that girl? Second, I totally thought she was more of a Rosalie, but obviously Facebook has the upper hand.

But I do love knowing about every little thing someone touches on that thing.  It's fascinating. 

So now I present to you the top 3 Facebook Things I Hate To Love.

3. Quizzes

I hate how many fucking times my news feed is overwhelmed by stupid quizzes from people I friended in 2004.  Megan, my roommate, has specifically voiced her opinions about quizzes to the masses with a status.  Ironically, the biggest perpetrator not only "liked" the status but commented, "I KNOW GIRRR... RIGHT?!" She had no idea that by taking the "Which David Bowie Persona Are You?" that poor Meg would have to scroll by it a million fucking times.  But, I love knowing that people take time out of their day to share that with me. 

2. Liking 

This is probably the funniest thing to happen to Facebook in recent months. I recently posted lyrics to a song and a buddy from way back "liked" my status.  I was flattered. But, what does it mean? Simply... you like whatever was posted, said, or shown.  "Kat Murphy likes this" is another way of commenting.  I can like that you posted a picture of someone deep throating a beer bottle because it's funny.  I can like that you quoted Dane Cook in your status.  Because I do, I like those things.  And I am going to let you know.  It is way easier than commenting "LOL girl. tht pic is whack." I just let you know that I like it.  Otherwise, I would have liked it silently.  On the other hand, as someone who has had things liked,  I don't think the word "like" describes the emotions that you feel as both the liker and the likee.  One question remains, where is not like?

1. Pages

WTF is pages?  I am pages with Boo from Monster's Inc, Topo Gigio, Bonfires, BBQs, Apple Students and The Old Man in the Mountain.  I have a friend who is pages with Walls.  I ask again WTF?! They are the stupidest/most fun thing to ever hit Facebook.  I love getting a notification that Jon has become pages with Hugs. You know you can become pages with Facebook? So, your Facebook page is pages with Facebook??? LOLWUT? Congrats Facebook.

There you go, the Top 3 Hate to Love Facebook Apps.  Go ahead, love them, no shame. Just know that I am watching you via Facebook News Feed. 

silent night, holy night.

We live in a generally quiet neighborhood.  During the day, there are people milling about.  Lots of strollers, people with dogs, etc.   There might be one or two cars that fly by to which we scream "This is a neighborhood" whilst shaking our fists in protest.  Oh, and one lady who lives directly across from us that never should have been a mother because her favorite past time is beating the hell out of her daughter with a flip flop and cursing.  But, I stand by the fact that it is generally quiet... during the day.

At night, however, there is a symphony of outrageous sounds. We have the typical sirens (both police and fire/emergency) and the pumping of reggaeton jams with basses that shake your bed.  Always some sort of large, hissing truck that picks up one garbage can and goes off into the night.  Just one!  There is usually some sort of domestic disturbance.  (Apparently if your husband turns off the tv while you are watching it, it is okay to alert the entire block.) I chalk these sounds up to normal city sounds.  There is one noise however, that defies all logic.

The previous summer we began to hear what is either a little child having night terrors, whining "noooooo" and crying, a girl who is having the time of her life while her boyfriend is going to town on her or a severely disturbed cat wandering the alleys.  We couldn't figure it out.  And it seemed to be coming from every direction.  

We were watching tv recently and heard it again.  With the weather getting nice and all it seemed logical it would begin again.  Unfortunately, this sound is not only very creepy, it is also intermittent and unpredictable.  Just as you are falling off to blissful slumber... "nooooooo.....nooooooo" begins.  And then it will stop for 20 minutes.... "noooooo".  It is mind numbing to lay there drifting in and out of consciousness wondering what the hell is lurking outside of your house.  

My question is, how will I ever know?  Dare I search the darkness for this stray cat?  Or peak voyeuristically into windows to see which lady neighbor is doing the kind of hug that makes babies? Or do I call all the parents on the block and tell their kids to shut up? Am I doomed to restless summer sleep? 

Does anyone know a good psychotherapist?

the northern lights and the southern comfort.

Went to NJ again for the 400th time this year.  More NJ in '09.  It was for Happy B-Day-Q Kim/Saves the Day & Alkaline Trio but I decided to stay on Sunday for baseball, the great American past time as displayed by dudes in shorts and hats.

The B-DayQ was pretty much the time of my life.  I had probably 69 beers (2 funneled, thanks Lu.) And 420 chips/dips.  The weather was absolutely beautiful and perfect for a gathering of friends.  I managed to hit a whiffle ball & get hit in the back of the head with a frisbee.  You can chalk that up to good aim by both the thrower and my head.  Lu did an excellent job grilling even though a LARPer made her drop a burger into the flames by "trying to help".  

I also managed to get in a tickle fight. Again. This seems to be happening more and more to me the older/drunker I get.  I don't know what my new fascination with tickle fighting is, but I have the pics to prove it happens often.  But other than that, nothing quite embarrassing happened.

The show was pretty awesome.  It was very hot and sweaty in there and we seemed kinda old compared to a lot of the crowd, but I saw a girl crowd surf 13 times; that was pretty cool.  Alk3 played one of my faves and I pretty much bugged out and jumped a lot.  Also, thought the bassist was a babe until he turned around and he looked like Uncle Fester from Adam's Family. 

Unfortunately one of our friends got into a 7 car pile up and had to get 7 seven staples in her head.  One for each car I guess? She was a champ though and bled a lot. Some guy sup'd her apparently, which rocks for both her and the guy.

That night we ate whatever food was left over, took birthday shots for/with Kim and passed out in her basement.  I had a dream that I murdered a lot of people.

The next day, which was also beautiful, I decided to stay in NJ and watch dudes play baseball.  I hoped to find the man of my dreams and what him pound out homers all day, but instead I drank beer with Lu, got an awkward bracelet tan and heckled players.  I did want to play but I was in sandals with no glove.  Next time.

We spent the afternoon in the hottest sun, literally cooking to absolute death, drinking Miller High Life and getting in fights.  But, shirtless dudes=good times, so fun was had.

Then, Lu and I went to lunch with Francis, Kathleen and KJH.  It was an interesting mix of people to have pizza with, but I had a good time.  It was nice to sit on the streets of NB and pretend I was in college again. 

At Lu's house we had a "lay in my backyard and listen to Kid Rock" sesh.  Followed by Rita's Ice (cherry ftw) and a fire pit.

Probably one of the nicest weekends I have had in a while.  Babes, beers, barbeque & baseball. 

attention passengers:

Do not ride the Fung Wah Bus from Boston to New York and vice versa.  It is hell and the most uncomfortable four hours of your life.  

You may be saying to yourselves, "Duh, Kat. You stupid idiot. Of course the Fung Wah sucks. It is 15 dollars and it catches fire!" Save it.

It is 15 dollars.  A steal! And sometimes they get you to Boston in 3.5 hours! And usually there are mad babes to chat with while you are stopped at the McDonald's/Rest Area in CT.  So, I ride it.  I am a dedicated F.W patron for upwards of 5 years.  I have only broken down once and gotten pulled over twice.  I consider the lack of fire emergency a pro.

This particular trip however, I caught the 7 am bus to Boston on Friday morning.  It was wicked early, so everyone on the bus had their own seat (which almost never happens on those things) and just as we are about to leave a man in a woolen three piece 1950s mobster suit with fedora and feather steps on.  I know immediately that even though I am pretending to be snoozing with my headphones, hood and sunglasses on in perfect "don't sit here" demonstration, he sits on my backpack and curses in Spanish. Senor, you could have literally sat ANNNYWHERE ELSE! So, I am peeved I have to squish over to accomodate his luggage AND suit.  I dose off as we pull away towards the bridge.  I am just nodding off when he pushes my shoulder with his hand.  I wake up and turn to him.  He is pointing and chattering at me quickly.  I know "un pocito" I tell him but nod along to his words anyway.  I have no clue what he says, but I agree so I can go back to sleep.  

I sleep for an hour and wake up when we stop.  After grabbing my coffee and sitting back down, Senor opens up a large plastic Tupperware container.  He started eating a BAKED POTATO! At 8 in the morning! Complete with sour cream and cheese!!! I was gagging because of the smell and my proximity to him on the hot bus.  I pull out my VICE magazine that happens to have a fashion spread of topless girls modeling tights and shorts.  My cheeks are burning from embarrassment.  I read the mag and put it back in my backpack because I notice the Senor has fallen asleep. I consider this my chance to catch some zzz's before he wakes me up again and wants to chat.

He wakes up with a bolt and asks me (in spanish) to read my magazine.  I oblige.  I have no reason to say no except for the nudie pictures.  I hand him the magazine and he flips expertly to the topless girls.  I wanted to die.  He spent about 15 minutes inspecting the boobs of these Asian girls. I pretend to be asleep to give him some privacy.  After about half an hour he nudges me again and hands me the magazine.  I take it and turn away.  He begins to talk about his novia (girlfriend) and showing me pictures of her on his phone.  She had a mustache. Thank god by now we are passing Fenway Park and I know that I have five more minutes and then I can bolt. Which I did as soon as the bus was parked.  

On the way back to NYC, I took the Fung Wah again.  I need to learn my lesson.  It was a peaceful ride for the first two hours.  A guy in front of me reading a pretty hefty science text and I were chatting.  He was a babe.  And the girl next to me did not speak to me or eat a baked potato.  She was just listening to tunes and eating chips while I devoured an entire book in one hour.  After the second hour of the trip, a young gentleman behind me starts getting aggressive with words.  He wants the bus drive to pull over and blah blah.  Apparently he really wanted to stop, which the drivers are not obligated to do.  He marches up to the front of the bus and starts yelling at the bus driver.  He storms back and starts cursing about how the bus isn't going to stop.  He is bugging out.  He then proceeds to call the cops (Connecticut State Police) and claim that he has a medical condition and that they need to pull the bus over.  The police respond and pull the bus into a McD's/Rest Area.  The gentelman runs off of the bus and into McDonalds.  Everyone on the bus is hub-bubbing about what is going on and start to get up.  An officer comes on and tells everyone that wants to can get off the bus.  Most do so that they can hear what the cop is telling the driver.  

It turns out that the gentleman lied about a medical condition so that the bus would stop at this specific station.  He lives around the corner from the McD's. So, instead of riding to NY, the bus usually stops here and he gets off and leaves.  He was panicking because he was going to ride straight into NY... Everyone on the bus was laughing about the dude and slinging snarky comments around.  You know, bus relationships happen quickly.  

Then, some B in the back starts yelling that he should have stopped because she does, in fact, have diabetes. She storms off to tell the cops that she is outraged that he didn't stop so that she could eat.  When she stomped back on the guy in front of me and I both start telling her she should maybe plan ahead next time, they don't always stop, managing your sugar is important but you have to be prepared and blah blah. She just stared at us blankly as if she didn't understand.  I had a sinking feeling "diabetes" means "fat ass" to her.  Go ahead, eat those chicken McNuggets girl, you deserve them.  

So, in conclusion, the Fung Wah is cheap, is loud and is unpredictable.  If you are looking for a funny incident to tell your friends about when you arrive at your destination, Fung Wah is the way to go.  If you are looking for a safe, calm ride where people are normal and treat each other with respect, go Megabus.  

i was just a stupid kid back then, i take back every word that i said.

It has been 4 months since I have been to New Hampshire to visit my parents. Since Christmas actually. I grew up in a really small town (population about 3,000). My little elementary school was from K-8 and the high school was about 800 kids from 9 different towns. Everyone knew everyone.
So, naturally, I would run into people I know everywhere. Which is completely true. Doesn't mean I have to like it. In fact, I dread the literal high school reunion when I go to get a sandwich or a cup of coffee at the cafe. It's annoying to tell people over and over about what I am doing, where I am living, etc. Not like I care what they are doing. Some people I run into (sometimes literally) are short and sweet. Chit chat blah blah done. Some people drag it out with long awkward pauses, remember that time when you... and then convincing me to meet up with them and so and so tonight at the Lucky Dog for some laughs and beers. NO! I wasn't friends with you ever, why now? I don't even live here anymore! And you do!
Speaking of living here, even though my house is just like I remembered it, I feel like I am staying at a New England B&B. My childhood room is devoid of most of the things that I filled it with. The posters are off of the wall, all the artwork is stacked in the closet, my old clothes are gone and books are piled in bookshelves and not scattered all over the room. It's clean. And when I went to bed last night, I felt like I was sleeping in a hotel bed. This was the bed that I have slept in since I was 8 and my dad built it for me. It was so foreign. I woke up really confused as to where I was. And it was fucking cold. Even though I like sleeping in a cold room. It is really sad to look around a place that I have had my whole life and feel like I didn't belong there anymore. Like something I had written about in a story but never experienced in real life. Even the city scape mural painted on my wall didn't remind me of home.
I finally felt grown up.
Maybe one day I will stop sleeping with a stuffed animal.... Nah.

the 23 enigma.

work.

oh hai.

babeville.

black dahlia.

navajo.

captain.

grenon.

cheerful.

probably the worst sentence in the english language...

besides "It's not you, it's me", "let's just be friends" or "your skirt is tucked into your underwear and everyone can see your butt" just might be APRIL FOOLS! 

Seriously, I hate April Fool's Day. It's so mean. And it just reminds me of pain and suffering endured during elementary school when some cruel hearted popular girl would be like "Wanna come play chase the boys with us?" Then my heart would burst with 1,000 yesses.  "APRIL FOOLS!!!!!" And they would run away giggling. If I knew the F word then, I would have said it.

I used to come to school with a sling on April 1st to try to trick everyone into thinking I was injured. It never worked and I was just that girl looking for attention from an injury... even though I totally wasn't and I thought it was wicked funny, guys!  The sad thing was I did it every year from 3-5th grade...

I realize that I hold contempt for such holidays as New Year's Eve, St. Patrick's Day and April Fool's Day because they are either set up for the pure face of embarrassment or involve pressures to act like an idiot and therefore embarrass yourself.  Plus, these holidays come with a paralyzing anxiety to perform. 

For example: on NYE you can't be drunk enough, you HAVE to have a resolution and that kiss at midnight, don't even get me started...  St. Patty's is stressful because with a last name like Murphy you HAVE to participate.  Slugging shots of Jameson or Guinness pints, singing Irish drinking songs, wearing green, speaking Gaelic... it's all a requirement. And on April Fool's Day there is a constant paranoia that someone will prank you at every bend.  I was already Rick Roll attempted by Jon via Twitter.  There is also that pressure to perform a prank.  So you rack your brain all day for the perfect thing, google searching "April Fool's Pranks" etc.  By the end of the day you just end up scaring your roommate when she gets out of the shower.  Is drawing a dick on your front door to prank your landlady appropriate? No? Then I have nothing.

I hate holidays that aren't surrounded by love and comfort.  Holidays where it is safe and you are celebrating something (even if you don't believe it happened).  The above holidays are not celebrating anything but paranoia and embarrassment.  And I have enough of that in my everyday life! I don't need to celebrate my short comings by projecting them onto someone else.

So, please, just leave me be today. Okay? 

Obliged.

dear fates, throw me a bone.

Dearest Controller of the Universe,

Hi, you probably know me already, but I'm but your humbled serf/underling, Kat.  You probably have been watching my progression and growth from atop your cloud (or whatever you sit on) and laughing like you are watching the new episode of 30 Rock: loudly, abruptly and intermittently. I am glad you find amusement in my numerous short comings but I am getting older now and I think it is time for you to let me go a little; let me fly free from crippling embarrassment/extremely ironic misfortune. 

If this is not possible I only ask that you stop presenting me with situations in which I seem to drown in 1 inch of water.  It is getting sad and a little tiring.  

Specifically, I would appreciate more dudes in '09.  By "dudes" I mean actual men/boys/guys that I can touch.  Not the naughty touch, just touch.  Seth Rogen, Joey Fatone, 'Jazz' and several other dudes in '09 are not real life.  Stop wafting them towards me like a pungent perfume.  Is this going to be forever?

Also, I ask (beg) that you control my inability to keep my mouth shut.  I know that PBR/Tequila often is to blame for this problem but I know that it is your fault sometimes too.  I do enjoy being snarky, sassy and outspoken, but certain utterances can be contained.

I know you are the same character that makes Meg fall or slip or break things as well as the being responsible for the creation of Snuggies, teen pregnancy, Olivia from the City, molten hot pizza rolls and chub rub... so can you get rid of those things too?

I would be forever indebted to you. YOUR MAJESTY.

xoxo,

Kat

why are you listening to hard rock music?

I love living in close proximity to people who are not your family, but you treat them as such... aka roommates.  For example, this morning I got up around 9am which is early for me.  I stumble in my underwears to the kitchen to make myself a coffee.  I hear what seems to be loud rock music coming from Jon's open door.  This conversation follows:

Me: Why are you listening to hard rock music? (in a grumbly morning voice)

Jon: (peeking out of his room whilst dressing) It's Something Corporate...

Me: Oh, sounds like rock to me.

Jon: You're an idiot.

Jon and I are in no way related... except one time we told an entire party that we were step brother and sister.  His dad married my mom in a romantic Brady Bunch way.  They believed us and it became a disaster from there on out. ANNNYYWAY... Jon and I are not related. But, we were facing each other in the early morning light in our underwear arguing about Something Corporate.  And I thought to myself as I poured my coffee, "Is this real life?" 

Is this how roommates normally interact?  This may not seem weird to anyone else, but I think standing in underwear talking to your roommate is so ridiculous.  I mean granted, it is a home and therefore you are allowed to do what you please (within reason), but it just seems funny to me that underwear interaction is so common and just a shrug of the shoulders.

It is completely my fault.  I think Jon and I are the only ones who do it, so it is natural that we chat in our underwear.  But, listening to "I Kissed a Drunk Girl" at 9am while in your underwear?  It just seems to me that this is behavior for a) a married couple who need to find a new band b) a brother/sister combo c) boyfriend/girlfriend combo... 

Maybe we are breaking down walls here.  Starting a new era of roommate comfortability? We shall see. ROOMMATES EVERYWHERE HERE THIS: UNDERWEAR IS OKAY!

don't you know? pump it up!

It seems like every time I travel to NJ I lose a piece of my soul before I return.  Don't get me wrong, I love NJ.  For some reason, it speaks to me.  I love the strip malls, the chain restaurants, the reputation, even the conglomerate of people that seem to be everywhere.  Maybe it is just one of those places that is fun to visit and people who live there have mixed feelings.  

This weekend marked my first trip to New/East Brunswick.  It was Jones' birthday/a show in their attic.  On the drive there I realized it reminded me a lot of Baltimore because of the bridge getting to it and just the way the streets are set up. 

Jones' birthday was really fun because not only did I get to witness strangers screaming their lungs out to "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" but I played the drums for a little which made my fingers tingle.  I really honestly should start actually learning how to play.  I want to be a drummer more than a lot of other things currently.  

The wild dance party that ensued was hysterical because everyone was spilling all over each other and bouncing around.  This one guy knew the ENTIRE 99 Problems rap which was astonishing.  

Towards the beginning of the night I had found a camera in the bathroom while I was in there (strictly business) and I took a picture of myself on the can for a chuckle.  About two hours later a random girl screams at me from across the room: 

"YOU!" she points to me and makes her way over.

"Yeah?" I am scared.

"Did you take a picture of yourself on the toilet with my camera?"

"...Y...Y...Yes?" What? Was I going to lie and say no? It was me. 

"THAT IS SO COOL!!! GOOD JOB!"

"Phew." I thought she was going to kill me.

After that little incident things kind of died down for me... until the fall from grace, but I won't go into details because a girl has to have some of her secrets.  

The next day we visited Robbit Wilkey in rehab (physical not drug/alcohol related).  While we were outside enjoying the sun and shootin the shit with Robbit, this old-ish woman in a wheel chair squeaks over to us, smoking a cigarette.  She proceeds to question us (me, Kim and Lu) about college and the PSATs and the SATs.  I tried to answer fully so that she would be satisfied and creep away.  But she just sat there, almost in Lu's lap, letting her cigarette burn away to a long thing of ash.  Just as we are about to continue our own private conversation, she begins talking about how living here is so much cheaper than an apartment and that she has been there for three years because she had a stroke/brain aneurism.  We are staring at her open mouthed when she utters:

Woman: "You know Jason, the physical therapy guy.  He told me that he read in a medical memo that eating bean sprouts will make your dick grow 2 inches..."

Us: "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" followed by an embarrassed blank stare.

Woman: "So, there you go. Eat them bean sprouts."

Me: "I should get on that."

Woman: "What are you the 8th Wonder of the World?  The longest one eyed monster?"

Me: "Heheheh." as I try to fit myself into the crack in the pavement.

WTF!?!?! Get out of here you crazy old bat!  You just said the D word in front of my friend's dad!!!!! Go back to your room and talk to your wall if you want to say those kinds of things!

That night we went to the Omega Diner with Steveley.Far and Jones and had a lovely dinner.  It was the fanciest diner I have ever seen.  Not to mention f-ing huge! We were all dead from the night before (still) and it was funny to piece together all the hysterical things that happened.  I think that is my favorite part of parties, the day after.  Everyone just sits around, dead, and laughs and laughs about all the stupid things that people did.  After returning from yet another trip to NB in twelve hours, we went back to Lu's basement and watched the only movies worth watching on a Sunday night after a rager: Twilight and Holiday in the Sun (featuring MaryKate and Ashley Olsen).  Good asstimes.

Life lesson: A friend in need is a friend indeed. Right Lu?

dear diary, that party had a body count.

ON Saturday we [Meg, Jon, Ben & I] traveled to New Jersey for a Long Island Iced Tea Party at Kim's house.  We dressed the nines in the fanciest tea party clothes: I wore a dress that I made and hand painted, Jon wore a green blazer, white patterned shirt and a plaid tie w. his tortoises shell glasses, Meg wore a black dress and a fancy hat with netting and Ben wore a black skinny tie/vest/white shirt combo.  We looked pretty sharp, not gonna lie.  We took the bus from Port Authority to Old Bridge and I rode around in an abandoned shopping cart until Lu picked us up.  We then drove to Wawa for supplies and I spent more that a minute staring at the ICEE machines in awe.  

When we got to Kim's, we discovered her basement is an exact replica of the 1970s complete with a bar and a mirrored liquor advertisement.  It was most excellent.  Meg and I colored a psychedelic picture of Alice in Wonderland to decorate.  It was one of those felted pictures you get a fairs... it turned out only okay because we had limited marker choice.  We were sipping LITs out of our tea cups while people started arriving.

Most of the kids there I had either met before or heard about through the grape vine.  Lu and I reunited for a smashing game of ruit but we lost miserably... again.  We actually accomplished more trash talking than cup hitting.  

Meg Walsh made the most delicious vegan cupcakes.  They were Earl Grey with a lemon icing... they were heaven. Jon and I nommed one or two in the corner singing praises of Meg's baking skills.

We played flip cup it was me, Lu, Meg and Mon against Jones, Steve Farley, Kevin JH and someone else I can't remember.... We kept doing the Seahawk chant from Homecoming and scaring the pants off unsuspecting bystanders.  Our team lost the game even though it was a valiant effort on both sides.

At one point in the night all the girls at the party were standing in the middle of the floor, WORKING and all the dudes were just staring at us like 6th graders.  Come on! Join in you turds! It made me feel very weird.  It was off putting.  I guess I am just used to hanging out with guys that would jump right in, even if they looked stupid.  I would have admired them if they did.

The night went on with fun times and laughing and good tunes.  We ended up taking over 380 pictures.  I consider that a win for us.

The next day we all woke up like zombies from a grave.  We helped Kim clean up and reminisced about events that happened not 6 hours before.  Then we went to the Bridgewater Diner.  Most of us we still feeling the effects of drinking both LIT and PBRs so we were a little queezy.  I had eggs, homefries and toast with about 40,000 diet cokes.  It was very good food.  The diner was way classier that I have ever encountered before.  I should have gotten a turkey burger instead...

Around 5 Jon, Meg, Ben and I took the bus home.  The subway took a thousand hours because someone "was sick" in the train ahead of us.  BUT we did see Marvita from Top Model (you know, the one with the horse mane from Whitney's season?)  When we got home Meg, Jon and I laid on the couches and watched Hannah Montana, Harry Potter, The Amazing Race and America's Funniest Home Videos.  

It was a great weekend.  I met some cool new people, got to go time travel, ate the best cupcake of my life, make a dress & go to Jersey... duh.

Classy- 1, Sassy- 0.  Thanks Steve, I'll work on that.

lawst.

It is sad that my life derives its meaning from the television shows that I watch. Like today for instance is a good day because Lost is on tonight. Tuesdays are bad days because there is no scheduled viewing. Thursdays are freakin' sweet because they consist of the Office and 30 Rock. Fridays are usually party/friendship days and obviously the weekend is chalk full of activities. Mondays are GG and the City....
Is it bad that I spend an enitre Wednesday foaming at the mouth for JJ Abrams' genius? No. Although watching Lost over in 1868 is totally not as cool as LOST CLUB in Guild 301. But now, I have a DHARMA teesh so...
What it all boils down to is that I need a job. This will better my life significantly as well as provide me with money, so I can eat dinner & watch the telly. Instead of just watching and being hungry. Or thirsty.
I think Alec Baldwin is on to something with this Hulu business about mushy brains. I can hear a squishy sound when I turn my head quickly... weird.

talkin' outcho neck.

Unfortunately, because of my current unemployment, I am forced to spend my days glued to a computer chair, formatting and reformatting my resume and cover letter, basically pleading with companies to let me clean their toilets.  It's sad actually.  I am not below cleaning toilets with a 4 year BA from a private institution under my belt.  But, alas, I am viewed as overqualified... 

Fortunately, because of my current unemployment, I spend my days glued to a computer chair.  This allows me to keep updated with much of the hot gossip on such sites as gawker.com.  I also spent a considerable amount of my day today on sethrogen.com (my ultimate would).  Recently Paul Rudd, Seth Rogen, Jason Siegel and Jonah Hill graced the cover of the April 2009 Vanity Fair cover in an Annie Leibovitz spoof of the 2005 Tom Ford/ScarJo/Keira Knightley nude cover.  OH HOW I WISH THEY WERE NUDE... but no, they are all (save for Rudd) wearing nude colored leotards.  Apparently this is causing an uproar within the feminist blogging community... 

A) who the fuck reads feminist blogs?

B) why they fuck would feminist care?

I LOL'd at a recent post on Shakesville condemning the shoot: 

"Even when women do what they're meant to do by the fucked-up standards of The Patriarchy-get naked and submit themselves for public objectification-they're going to get mocked for doing it. Because, even though we're ostensibly laughing at the Judd ApatowBoyz for their uproarious send-up of a sexy female-oriented VF cover, implicit in that laughter is a condemnation and marginalization of the female-oriented cover: See how silly it is when a man does it?! Ho ho ho."

Umm, really? Honestly, who (besides me and only for Seth Rogen) has an overwhelming urge to see these guys naked?  I don't think it is patriarchal condemnation of the female cover.  I think the photographers were merely shielding the eyes of the Vanity Fair readers.  People who buy this mag usually prefer beauty and high end not Jonah Hill's fat naked ass... I mean, if it were Jude Law, Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt DUUUHHHH they would be naked.  It is actually shallow of Vanity Fair to not put those funny ass dudes naked.  I would, jus' sayin'.

ANNNYYYYYWAAYYYYYY

I had a lot of fun with my little sister these past few days.  She is a nut.  We went to the wax museum which cost a million dollars but worth it because I got to touch what I pretended was Joey Fatone.  I took her shopping a little.  She just gets fiercer and fiercer and I am afraid she is going to be infinitely cooler than me very soon.  It's completely awesome that she is old enough now to be my peer.  She is almost 20... weird.  But before, I felt like I had to hold back when I was around her because she was so innocent, but now college has tainted her and I feel like I can curse in front of her.  (She curses back!) We got snowed in on Monday.  We literally loafed around all fucking day and watched TV and ate food. Allday. It was a dream.  I missed her as soon as the Chinatown bus turned the corner.  She is too cool for her own good.

So, now back to applying for jobs and reading gawker.com. FML.

white rabbit.

Last night I went to my alma matter (the old staten island stomping grounds) and saw Threepenny Opera. It was dec. My heart almost burst with pride for Regan. He is an angel from heaven. And that voice!!! My goodness.
It is always strange to go back to Wagner. I get this really weird feeling that I had never actually gone there and that I just had a dream that I did. Everyone looks young and the entire feeling of the school seems to lack whatever it was that drew me there in the first place. At the same time I miss going to 301 and just sitting around chat chitting or watching movies or being hung over and walking to brunch. Going back there is like unearthing a buried friend. You hope that they are going to be all preserved just the way you remember them, but it turns out it is just bones. Wagner is just bones.
I am about to depart to Mdme. Tussaud's Wax Museum to entertain Girl. It will most likely be a most excellent adventure because I enjoy making a scene. However, I am prepared to go to jail for stealing the Jonas Brothers new wax figures... I plead the fifth already.
Happy first day of March!

this is our last goodbye.

In honor of how much my life should be a novel... a Valentine's Day story... that is true and happened to me. (names changed for privacy)

Blind Date: A Love Story

by Kat

We planned to meet at this rotating cube in Astor Place (by NYU) in the Village which is a really hip part of NYC at 8:30.  I showed up at like 8:40. Not only were the subways slow, but I wanted to make him sweat a little. When I got there, he was not there. I stood there for a little while looking cool and collected. But inside I was bugging out.  I don't do this kind of stuff. The whole boy/girl thing. I am not good at social interaction with a dude, unless he is A) gay or B) my friend already.

I was shaking and I had severe dry mouth. So, then I see this guy in really baggy jeans, and a huge puffy ghetto coat and a VERY VERY VERY long ponytail. And I immediately A) knew it was him and B) wanted to run away.  He didn't see me yet, so I saw him pick up his phone (which was a pink razor????) and call me.  We met and he gave me flowers which was very cute but didn't do anything for me because he looked like a witch.

Me: So, what are we doing?

Dude: Well, I got mugged yesterday so all my plans are out the window!

Me: Oh... my gosh... did they get your money?

Dude: Yeah, about 200 bucks. I just hope they don't use it for crack.

Me: Yeah.... (trying to joke) Or something harder like POT!

Dude: I don't even consider pot a drug. 

Me: haha?

Dude: (he begins to talk about drugs and i am not really listening because i am starving and i don't know where we are going). 

Me: Where are we headed?

Dude: Do you want to just get a drink?

Me: Sure.... (even though i am starving)

So we go into this loud bar.  He orders me a drink (blue moon w. an orange) and we sit down.

Me: I hope those crack heads are apprehended.

Dude: Yeah, I think I know them though. From back when I did drugs...

Me: WHAT.

Dude: Yeah, basically I have done every drug except for crack and heroin.

Me: You've done meth....?

Dude: Well, you know Long Island cocaine... you never know what it is cut with...

Me: (silence). So... what do you do when you are not being a nanny?

Dude: Um, I watch a lot of movies and I play D&D.

Me: Like Dungeons and Dragons? With dice?

Dude: Yeah, every Saturday we spend half of the day on D&D and the other half on a game called Vampires.

Me: Wow.

Dude: But we only roll the dice about 2 times. We are more of an improv theatre kind of D&D.

Me: (I LAUGH IN HIS FACE) I am sorry. I didn't think people outside of high school played D&D anymore.

Dude: I am the youngest in my troupe.

Me: Oh.

Dude: And on Mondays I host at my apartment.

Me: What are you like a Level 5 dungeon master? (I am laughing to keep from crying)

Dude: Dungeon masters don't have levels.

Me:....(MY B!)

He proceeds to explain to me that he is afraid of cars because when he was 14 he crashed his car into his elementary school.  He doesn't like televised sports or sports in general.  He doesn't like going to theatre and the only show he has ever seen is Phantom.  He took two "breaks from our date" to smoke a cigarette outside while I waited inside praying that it would just end.  I was buzzed from an empty stomach and beer.

At the end of his last cigarette break he comes back into the bar to tell me his friend Curtis is coming to meet us. I politely told him I needed to get home because it was late and the trains were slow. I thanked him for a good time and said goodbye at the subway.  That night he texted me that he would like to see me again. I pretended I was asleep and finished watching South Pacific on the couch and ate kettlecorn.

The end.

my plans tonight!

we build build bridges

we build bridges
don't we
sometimes need a hand
despite our best laid plans
don't we
sometimes miss what we had
and we struggle
don't we
sometimes lose the reasons
but in the peacful morning
we can clearly see
where we've been


I find these truths to be self evident.
Liz Durrett you win.

well if my brain decides to quit, i guess that's just it.

Tracy Morgan’s Thanksgiving-Inspired Tattoo

Or should we say, Tracy Morgan's tattoo inspires Thanks-giving? Here's a little post-holiday anecdote from Intel friend Noella Hancock's profile of the 30 Rock star in Maxim: "'I have a tattoo on the side of my penis that says Stove Top,' Morgan tells me proudly, referring to the instant stuffing mix. 'I’m pretty well-endowed. A girl told me to get that because I stuffed her up like a turkey. She said, 'You should call that Stove Top!'" And so he did.

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank you for this day. Please bless Tracy Morgan and  Stove Top stuffing.  Oh, and the Daily Intel for publishing this.

Amen.

So, Sadie, Sadie opens tomorrow (!) at the Gene Frankel Theatre.  We have been dragging through numerous 6+ hour rehearsals and I have been in my apartment only to change clothes, throw things in a bag and sleep.  I can't believe that this is all coming to fruition.  It has been a long three months and I am stoked to see it come to life.  I am also glad to be moving on to a new project.  I think I have creative ADD. Wish us broken legs!

an overdue letter to a john.

Dear John,
I am writing you this letter because it almost makes me feel like I am talking to you. Because, let's be honest, neither of us have the guts to call. It's easier this way. Safer. And you have to be safe around me. You know that. I am a loose cannon.
Speaking of phone calls, did you ever think that the now infamous phone call placed spontaneously two years ago would land us in this mess? Okay, maybe not mess... maybe an ultra-complicated, seemingly unanswered, distance ridden enigma? I sure as hell did not. I never expected you to affect me the way you have. No one ever has. Even through all the shit we both pulled (buying those planes tickets, you telling me to cancel them, the silence, your visit... the not so kind February where we yelled a lot, the silence...), I have never once stopped thinking about you. Even when the hurt was unbearable. I guess life is funny that way. We hurt the people we care about the most because we know that they will probably stick around...
It's like a rollercoaster ride that keeps sloping up and down. A constant loop-d-loop of feelings and experiences. I have loved? Been loved? Been hurt. Recovered. Been damaged. Been repaired. I am still not sure whether I should get off or stay on. Which decision would hurt less? The jolt of the ride or feeling my feet on the ground for the first time in a long while?
It's poetic justice, or God's plan or whatever you want to call it that I am here and you are there. And that's the way it has always been. By all rights we shouldn't even know each other.
But something always brings me back to you. I can't shake it. I tried. I have kissed someone else. But the whole time I wished it was you. And if I closed my eyes tight enough, you would be there when I opened them. Like when you are little, and you think that if you wish with all your strength, the thing you most want in the world will magically appear. I think my eyes are still closed tight.
People come into your life for a reason... or so I am told. I am still figuring out why you are in mine. I thought I used to know. I am not sure about it anymore. I'm not sure about anything with you. I never have been.
I apologize for taking liberties with your silences. I am sorry for dragging you along with me through all of it. I am sorry for projecting unrealistic expectations on you. I don't regret anything. But looking back I should have played things differently. I wanted too much too fast or just more than you were willing to give. I know that now.
But you are at fault too. You never said stop. You never told me no. So I kept running. And you did too.
We were so close.
But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
With love,
Kat



In life, there are paths that we take. We can't see the end of this path, where it will take us. Sometimes, it is a dead end. Sometimes, it is another path or a destination. But what matters isn't where you are going, but how you got there. The journey. No matter what happens at the end.
Isn't that what life is all about? The journey. I hope so.

i only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.

I just read this morning in a Daily Intel blurb that amNew York is reporting that New Yorkers who binge drink are three times more likely to have 2-4 sexual partners in the past year than non-drinkers...

First of all: DUH. 

Second of all: Who in New York is considered a non-drinker these days? I mean between the failing economy and the price of a subway ride, how else are we supposed to deal with this? I didn't know that these so called 'non-drinkers' existed in this day and age. 

On top of all this, if I drink heavily they are saying that there is a RISK that I will be touched by a man? I am not going to lie, that is one risk I am fully prepared to take. God forbid I have a few too many and spend the rest of the night kissing someone I think looks like Seth Rogen...! 

However, my frequent binge drinking has not lead to this. At all...  

Let's say for instance that I was a normal human being with an average binging record and average amount of sexual partners.  Let's say one night a week drinking heavily and up to this point 4 sexual partners...

However, I drink heavily on Friday and Saturday nights. There are about 4 Fridays and 4 Saturdays per month. 12 months in a year. So that is about 96 nights worth of chances (give or take random Thursday nights and a few Wednesdays) to meet a sexual partner.  In the entirety of 2008 I had one. One singular male sexual partner.  

In conclusion, no matter how hard I drink, my level of sexual partners does not rise? What needs to change here? How do I become a part of that level of elite bingers? I am technically at a mysterious 'non-drinker' level right now. Let's step this up a notch.

i want to know your plans

Why does the NY Times, even in this time of its uncertainty, get everything right? For example, this snippet from a particularly/bone crushingly honest article from the Honest Love section entitled, "So Tell Me Everything I Know About You". 

read it here.

"I realize it’s hard to resist the impulse when we live in an age of nonstop access. If you’re a skilled time-waster with high-speed cable, it is nearly impossible not to know more than you should about anyone with a searchable name. But in the long run it’s a little less interesting, isn’t it? Just as when you turn the corner and find yourself face to face with your cute new neighbor.

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I was just down at the deli.”

Having just wasted yet another morning poring over his Facebook news feed, you think: 'I know. You needed tomatoes and cereal. I already know.'"

I was contemplating this very issue with my friend Lu just yesterday over one of our hour long phone sessions that occur mid-afternoon when the Facebook stalking is prime. In an age when it is so incredibly easy (not to mention tempting) to Google search that cute hipster you chatted up at the bar last night, the line between what you heard from the horses mouth and what you read in his MySpace blog is blurred.  

This is personal because of a certain situation that I have, by choice, continuously involved myself in. A three-thousand mile wide situation.  Instead of asking Arizona Jeff what he has been doing, I can just log onto his MySpace profile and see for myself. Pictures are worth a thousand words.  Why do I need to spend the extra energy keeping tabs through an actual phone call when everything I need to know is displayed so conveniently for me.  It's less emotional, more detached... which I guess for this situation is better for both parties.  But if I didn't have this access, things would be closer, more personal, less digital, less safe. 

Is that what we are looking for when we type in that name in the search bar at google.com? Safety.  A certainty that would be missing by doing the usual "So, tell me about yourself" at the first date?  You already know everything.  The scar above his right eye is from a skiing accident when he was 12 and his younger brother owns a software company and he resents him for it.  It's safe because you are prepared for his answers.  It is a fake psychic ability.  He got that scar from skiing? You LOVE skiing! His favorite band is Say Anything? That is so funny, you were just listening to them on the way here! Conversation is a synch.

I don't know where I stand on this.  I am ashamed of it, but I feel like it is sort of necessary if used only for good. Like karate. Or vodka. 

I guess you can walk the blurred line until it disappears from beneath you because you accidentally mentioned that he thinks that you look like Mickey Rourke but might be worth sleeping with anyway and he is positive he never said that out loud and had just written it in his blog not 20 minutes before meeting you at this cafe... FML. You have done it again.

and my tendons sang "nothin's right i'm torn..."

Ladies and gentlemen, I am crutches bound. I have planter facilitis? My tendons have decided that they no longer want to be a part of my foot anymore.  RIP wearing my moccasins everyday.

 Now I am forced to crutch around Brooklyn/Queens taking the bus when I can. My armpits are on fire and I believe I am developing a hunchback. Not to complain or anything, I mean life could be worse.  Little Polish children could point and laugh at you on the street... oh wait... that happened. Mexican men could scream "Sweet ass girl" as you crutch by.. oh wait that happened too.Happy 2009 limpy.

damage control for a corpse like me, like you.

Happy New Year! My body is suffering from manic exhaustion, I am still limping and my knuckles still read ROCK and ROLL in permanent marker.
The bk4 + boyfriends decided to go to Jersey to crash our friend Lu's party. Surprise! We jammed 6 adults into a Chevy Malibu and made it there without getting pulled over. We had a couple of close calls however, which forced me to curl my spine in ways that I only though invertebrates could do... without spines... Anyway...
It was a rockin' basement party filled with gorgeous people (obvi). Jager was filling shot glasses and beer bottles were overflowing. Between Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It) and The Macarena, the music was hot. It sure beat the 2 degree adventure we would have taken to the Village.
FML moment of the night came when it was 2 minutes until the ball was to meet the drop. It is the point of the party where the champagne has been poured and the couples are all arm in arm and the few single stragglers either strategically place themselves near someone who they think is attractive enough to share this first moment of 2009 with or next to their gay BFF who will probably kiss you regardless of relationship status. Lu's friend, we will call him (for the sole purpose of anonymity)... "Eyes" cause he has gorgeous green eyes... approaches me and comments that he was going to be the one I was going to kiss at midnight. And I was perfectly fine with it... if not practically begging... So, I strategically place myself next to him for the big moment. 5...4...3... (tongue or no tongue? church tongue? what the fuck is church tongue?)2...1....HAPPY NEW YEAR! I turn to Eyes with a smile and! he turns his back to me and kisses his good friend Kelly. I stand there in shock. And pick up a party favor and blew it like a kazoo (feeling like that lady from that commercial about the friendly dinosaur at the birthday party really being a fire breathing monster....memorieeessss ... :/) hoping no one had seen the diss. I was actually sort of mortified. What had just gone on?
It wasn't that big of a deal. Just a funny thing that I laugh about now. I laughed about it then too...
I realize now that it is probably a sign of how 2009 is going to pan out for me. At least I will have some subject matter for this huh?
To 2009?