The day breaks, your mind aches.

It is quite possible that I will delete this by the time I roll out of bed in what is sure to be the afternoon. Nothing good can come out of a directionless blog written during a bout of insomnia. I did try really hard to go to bed early, which makes me all the more annoyed. At two, I decided that I would watch some movie with Jake Gyllenhall and cutie pie Reese Witherspoon. You'd think that was a romantic comedy, right? Well, without my glasses, I didn't bother to read, and just turned it on, hoping it would bore me into sleep submission. Nope. Huge drama about a women whose husband is taken by our government on suspected terrorism to another country to be tortured. I totally forget what this movie is called now, even though I literally just finished watching it. Retribution, maybe? Whatever, Reese is running around Washington DC in her third trimester and terrorists are plotting jihad. Now, when I try to go to sleep, I just picture a bunch of scary men who hate us and scary governments who don't know what to do so they torture people on any sort of suspicious activity. Its why I hardly pay attention to any sort of war talk. It stresses me out so bad, I can't sleep.

So, chamomile tea is making me have Gwen Stefani play in my head. Terrorists and Gwen. Minds are so weird. Especially when really really tired.

Christmas is like three days away and the Christmas spirit has not even begun to sneak up on me. Not at all. I was thinking earlier about how happy I was that Ramie had me over to decorate her Christmas Tree. (Thanks Rams) It kept it from this being the first year of my life that I didn't decorate one. Although, the fact that I don't have one in my house, kind of makes me feel like a 28 year old version of my grandma that brandon loves so much. Except I don't have a cause. I just don't have any desire to have a tree. and society can't make me. In good news though, I currently have, in my office, enough chocolate and candy to wipe out a large colony of diabetics. Funeral homes just keep sending them to my department and its really nice. But there is soooo much! If any one needs a few pounds, let me know.

Hmm, what else can I bore you with? This should really just be an email to someone. Then I am only affecting one sorry soul instead of all of you (or three of you). My first boyfriend made national news today. His house was raided. In it, they found cocaine, a whole weed growing operation, mushrooms, 88 guns (automatic and...manual?). They said he was responsible for delivering 50 kilos of cocaine to Western PA over four years. I think that is a lot. Man, I used to know how to pick 'em. You know those movies about kids and in the end they say what happened to them when they grew up. Like Stand By Me? Sometimes I look back on people I used to know, and its astounding what happens to them and I wish I would have written the story and these wouldn't have been the final results. Like, how on earth do you go from being an 8th grade kid to that? Its a good read. http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/tribunereview/search/s_603803.html

Also, today was the first day of winter. I just learned this, because I personally thought it has felt like it since September. I keep making promises to myself when I walk outside into 2 degree weather that this will be my last north eastern winter. I even further kid myself by meandering around the Nashville craigslist looking at apartments (which are so cheap and nice) and jobs. But, I know myself, I'm going to be making these promises every year until I am 80. Then its Tennessee for sure.

Thanks for reading this mess if you got through it. Its 4:46 and think I will go organize closets or something. Also, I might think its funny in a few hours to give some of you wake up calls. And I might guesstimate what time you actually set your alarms, so you may get to wake up early and get a jump start on your days. You can thank me later. I picture Ramie just jumping through the receiver at me.

And, I think Jim Croce slays. Yes, SLAYS. Operator is such an underrated song.

I would read all of these.

Little love

I don't know why I was thinking about the celebrity crushes I have had in my lifetime today. Okay, yes I do. I was driving to work and listening to Queens of the Stone Age. I had the biggest crush on Josh Homme for a good year after Lullabies to Paralyze came out. Now, I listen to his lyrics, "I know you're dying to be free, so kill yourself," and I think he is a bit insensitive. And doesn't have a whole lot of eyelids.

Its amazing how my tastes change. It really makes me feel like I am schizophrenic with my choices.

My first celebrity crush was very unlikely. I was five or six years old. Every Sunday, while my family was watching M*A*S*H and ignoring me, I would play dress up with my mom's clothes. Dressed with my mom's slip pooling around my feet, which were swimming in light pink heels, a fur drapped around my neck, I had makeup just dripping off my face. My brother, who is four years older than me, started making fun of me. Brutally. I said, "Shut up, I am getting ready for my date with Webster." That's right. My first ever crush was on the little guy who played Webster on the TV series.

I don't think I have ever recovered.

lolz

Isn't it pretty to think so?

Quick hates:

~The distrust that gas stations have in my ability to pump gas. Why, when it is so cold, does the pump slow down at $24.70. Those last 30 cents are the longest.

~Weirdos who lurk around my cubicle and annoy me so much that I have to IM co-workers to call me so they will (maybe) get the hint and go away.

~Girls who buy fake Louis Vittone bags. Or the real ones. But at least I will have more respect that you actually shelled out the cash for the ugliness.

~Math. I spent all day being mad about my paycheck. Turns out, I just can't add and multiply.

~Jody Sweetin. She was the shitty girl on Full House. Even at age nine, I would groan when the story line revolved around her. Mr. Bear was ugly. "How rude" is a lame catch phrase. I don't care about her meth problems or divorce. Jody is a dumb name. The Olsen twins will still outshine you.

~That Pandora thinks I am depressed. Its all Mazzy Star, Jonas, Damien Rice, Cat Power, Belle and Sebastian. One bad week, and Katio Radio is shot to shit. Also, I made the mistake of adding the Fray (what?) and have opened myself up to all sorts of John Mayers and Counting Crows. Tread carefully when on Pandora. Pretty soon, it can just be a cry fest.

~That cell phones have made it less fun to hang up on people. We talked about this at work yesterday. There is not the same satisfaction of flipping a phone shut as there was with slamming it down. So, I flip and throw, which is just bad for my phone. Or, the hung up-ee will call back and be like, "Did you lose signal" and I have to say, "No. I hung up on you." and then the flip and throw would have to start all over again. Its been a long time since I've hung up on anyone. Any takers?

~Santa Claus. The fact that parents are willing to let their children sit on a stranger's lap and beg for things astounds me. My grandma told me at age four that he didn't exist (she really does like to hold off Jesus' competition.) I thought my Kindergarten class would like to know the truth. Mrs. Phillips did not think that this sort of truthfulness was a part of the 'honesty is the best policy' lesson we just had. If you chop down a cherry tree, you better fess up. If you find out that your parents are liars and the man you are leaving cookies for is a myth, keep it to yourself.



~That my online social life is far overshadowing my real life-social life. Can people please leave their houses? I know its cold. But, any where we would go has heat. Its like magic.



~That we, as humans, are expected to eat three entire meals EVERYDAY. Its so annoying and expensive. And, really, if we are so "evolved" why couldn't we be more like camels. It would be such a time saver.



Now, its time for me to Christmas shop.

the need to destroy things creeps up on me everytime

I'm intruducing a new segment. Its called, "Why do I hate so much?" I don't know why I am becoming such a hateful person. But I am.

I hate people who over-share. I know I am guilty of this--especially when drinking--but see, when I do things, its okay. When others do the same things, it really annoys me. I think there is a word for that, but I don't know it.

Today, at work, this crazy old bat leaves three messages to call her. All before 9 a.m., which is well before most people I know are awake, let alone at work. I return her phone call, have to let her know that someone she grew up with in 1930 or whenever is dead. She says she is sorry for calling a lot, but she talks some medication. She is 77. She forgets. She hates doctors. She went to get a pap smear from her doctor, he hurt her. She now goes to a female doctor. She's never had genecological problems before. She would feed me if I was there. She is Italian. She loves football. She met Troy Paulomulu once, tried to kiss him. She had a nice time talking to me.

I try to get off the phone with her. I stand up in my cube to indicate to my fellow workers that I am having the strangest conversation. I just can't be mean to her. I am not keeping the flow of conversation. She's old. Maybe she forgets that I am not her daughter. It just made me hate the phone and the thought of getting old.

More Kate hate later.

Ba Hum Bug

Oh, hi, guys. I am in a terrible mood. Actually, I am JUST in a newly bad mood. This morning, I was all abuzz with coffee. Then I got to work, realized my sweet double time and a half dream paycheck was messed up. And, crash and burn. Now the rage is just intensified by the coffee. The term bitch on wheels could be made for me, if I had skates. Or sexy roller derby gear. But, my work life pretty much couldn't suck anymore than it does.

I'd like to talk more about Christmas songs. Because they also play ALL THE TIME at work. Why are most Christmas songs so dumb? I mean, Christmas is dumb. But hey, walkin' in a winter wonderland, way to use meadow imagery wrong. Meadows to me remind me of springtime and greenery. Not a place to build a snowman. and then pretending he is some Rev. to marry you? How messed up is that. If any jerk says, oh, baby, let's dress this snow man up like a priest and pretend to say our nuptials, break up with him. He's obviously trying to get in your pants. Vows made before snowmen, even ones wearing reverend gear, are not legally binding in the United States, with the possible exception of Alaska.

Rockin Around the Christmas tree is a lie. Maybe my family sucks, but we do no rocking around any sort of tree. There is no dancing. Do any of you dance around with your families? Am I left out? My ex boyfriend's family was awesome and very Christmasy. He however, was not awesome. He thought the idea of white Christmas always should involve cocaine. But his nice family would sit around and play charades and then sing the 12 days of Christmas. I'd always get a big part because I hate to sing in front of people. So they thought it was cute to give me five golden rings for six years. I miss them. Anyways, don't get me started on the 12 days of Christmas presents. What a bunch of crap. No one wants 9 ladies dancing, six geese a layin would make the biggest mess ever and I think only the Steelers can get away with wearing five golden rings. Its like presents you get from your grandma. Except I don't get presents from my grandma. She doesn't celebrate Christmas since it became competition for Jesus. Instead, the only thing she does to acknowledge it, is hang a HUGE, billboard size, sign on her porch that says, Happy Birthday, Jesus. Then she shines a spot light on it. But, your grandma, might buy you presents. And I hope they are ugly, or the fact that mine doesn't do it would sting a little more.

Or Santa Baby. Man, what a whore that girl is. I kinda like it. Santa Clause would be the sweetest sugar daddy.

The kiss of deaf

BEIJING (Reuters) - A young woman in southern China has partially lost her hearing after her boyfriend ruptured her eardrum during an excessively passionate kiss, local media reported Monday.
The 20-something girl from Zhuhai, in southern Guangdong province, went to hospital completely deaf in her left ear, the China Daily said, citing a report in a local newspaper.
"The kiss reduced pressure in the mouth, pulled the eardrum out and caused the breakdown of the ear," the paper quoted a doctor surnamed Li from the hospital as saying.
The woman's hearing would likely return to normal after about two months, Li said.
"While kissing is normally very safe, doctors advise people to proceed with caution," the paper said.

yes. I am a girl.

I just thought these were pretty. I'm feeling girly.

THE real thing.

While everyone may enjoy this picture, this is for a Yinzer's Diary. Which never really was a diary. And is bordering on not being able to be called a blog anymore.

I wonder if Cokes really do hate Pepsi. Their colors are so bloods and crypts, right?

When those blue snowflakes start falling

Everyone knows the Elvis version of Blue Christmas and that Elvis was a sexy boy before he became obese. Even then, obesity sort of worked for him. It was off-set by the mutton chops. Anyways, today I heard the Porky Pig version. This isn't some obsure band you haven't put on your itunes yet. Actual Porky Pig. I hadn't heard it for years. Twelve to be exact. I don't know how I keep missing this piggy gem. But I want to talk about when I heard it last.

I was 16 and my mom, dad and I were driving home from the hospital. My dad died two months later and it was a bad doctor visit. I promise this is not going to be depressing. So Christmas that year was pretty much going to suck and no one really wanted to deal with it. This song comes on, my mom and I had been crying. Porky Pig singing Elvis drove us into near hysterical laughter. Pretty soon, the three of us are singing along, Christmas cheer saved by a stuttering cartoon piglet.

Hearing it again made me so happy for how I handle certain situations--and happy that its something positive that I got to take away from a bad time. Sometimes all you can do is laugh at how much life can be ridiculous at times. It might not always be the most mature reaction to things, but sometimes it just feels good to laugh.

I hope you all think very hard about how cute ol Porky is when you are eating your Christmas ham. I know I will. Cute and delicious.

Sugar, spell it out.

Oh, hey there, Sprint. Just wanted to tell you that I think you suck. And you know there is nothing I can do about it, because you own my text messaging soul until somewhere around 2011. Probably longer, because when your craptastic phone breaks, you will give me a new replacement one that is even shittier (but pink or baby blue--so that I will covet it, you sneaky bastard, you know my weakness for girly colors) but free, if I sign another 3 year contract. And I will cave. Because I am weak.

So, yeah. My phone is broken and I can't receive or send out text messages. For a girl who, last month, used 3,456 texts, this is heart-wrentching. I actually have to dial numbers and then, worst yet, talk to actual humans!

I also went to a very expensive spa to get my hair done today. I was thinking that expensive equals no croqs. I was safe there, but it still didn't stop the girl, who was pretty nice but a little dumb, from DRILLING me with questions. After nosing around about my favorite things to do, "clubs" to go to, favorite movies, shows, places to christmas shop, occupation, age, college, if I think its possible for a pomleranian to OCD, she asked: So, do you live alone? so I decided to make this girl as uncomfortable as possible. Spilling my personal life, with embellishments and some downright lies. The girl didn't even wince. She just went into details about her boyfriend slept with a girl she is aquainted with, on prom night, five years before she knew the boy or girl. And how she confronted the girl. WTF. This made the cut go slower. It took 2 hours. My hair looks cute, if I was going to zen or somewhere. But, I am going to work. With super big, curly hair. I should be on one of those volumizing shampoo commercials. And I am going out tonight. By then I will look like roadkill, with lots of hairspray...

I do get to attend the mortician's ball on Thursday night. I am super excited. Its always a lively time.

Eight is great!

You know how some people have those scents that are just completely reassuring to them or remind them of home? For most people its like fresh baked cookies or apple pie. Fresh cut grass. Stuff along those lines. I discovered last night, in the bathtub, that mine is Noxema. I hadn't used it for a few months, because I have been using some expensive stuff that sucks and has made my face resemble a 13 year old boy, working at pizza hut, so I went back to my trusted Noxema. Man. Nothing smells as good to me as that. It could possibly be the only thing in my life that has been consistent since I was like 11. I'm so tempted to spruce up this blog with a photo, but I am too lazy to google to Noxema girl. She is a smokin babe though.

Yeah. I seriously just blogged about face wash. Next I should blog about how I really need to start eating 3 meals on a regular basis so that stuff like this doesn't make me sentimental...or maybe just mental?

I hear that you are an idiot.

Did you ever think about the line from the Christmas carole, Do you hear what I hear?:

"A child, A child, shivers in the cold; let us bring him silver and gold?"

This kid is FREEZING. He is hanging out in a manger, and according to all the Navity Scenes in the world, sleeping on itchy hay. Bring him a BLANKET. I mean, i would be perfectly happy to sleep under a layer of silver and gold, it would actually make me quite warm and happy. But, Jesus didn't care. He wanted a blankey like every other kid.

I am delirious.

History.

My blogs are becoming, irritatingly, like way too personal. But I can't seem to stop it. This morning, I did survive and actually enjoy breakfast. I spent the remainder of the morning looking through old photo boxes. I hadn't gone down in the living room section of the basement since I have been staying here. The house was robbed a couple of years ago, through the basement window, so my brother deadbolted the door that leads there. This morning, I figured I better make sure no homeless dudes were squatting there, and stumbled upon a great collection of history.

This is maybe a Valentine that my brother sent to me. Not sure what the year was, but he had to be like 7 or 8, so I was 4. I love the word order Katie: You I loved. It made me giggle. And the house? Probably the world's highest ceilings.

The next is a bunch of stuff from my dad. A photo, his father's Newman Club membership card, for 1929 to 1930. I like to think it was his firehall and that someday people will keep our cards. It also is a picture of a receipt for the Hotel Annapolis in D.C. The bill was only $16! and a really sweet note from my dad to his dad that says, "The best father a son could ask for. You have given much more than I merit and I thank you for it." I would love to know the story behind that. Its touching and sad at the same time.

There is this rare picture of my sister, Andrea. She died of Leukemia when she was like 5. Well before I was born, during my dad's first marriage. I didn't even know she existed until I was about eight. She wasn't talked about. But, now, here she is, looking happy and kinda like me, maybe?

And this is so sad because it was wrapped up together. But its my grandparent's wedding announcement. It doesn't give the year and I wish I knew. But it says my grandfather was on the editorial staff of the Messenger. Which is pretty cool. But, the morbid in me found it really, really strange that its paired with their burial plot info. Seriously, I see where I get most of my quirks. Its all hereditary.

And, just for fun, its blurry, but this is my in my first show on my old horse, Sparky. Pre-headgear. But I would still wear those boots.

So, I am sorry for the more personal nature of this post, but it was the most fun one for me that I have done yet.

You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold.

I'm not handy girl, but when I go to make a bowl of cereal because the thought of the onset of osteoporosis sometimes makes me get out of bed at night and chug straight from the carton, and I open the fridge and the milk I just bought is completely chunky, I can surmise that the fridge is broken. It was really gross; I spent the night cleaning up that disaster. I also set up my Pandora station, which really is the only reason I am blogging right now, so I can occupy ma. (U2--All I want is you is on right now. Reality bites, Wynona Rider so so sad over a breakup that she just lays in bed and smokes. Awesome.)

I haven't seen one person outside of work who I know since Saturday. Usually this would freak me out, but I am going to embrace the aloneness. Tomorrow I am going to do a first. I have to get up early to take my mom's boyfriend's mother's cat (yeah.) to the vet. So, I am getting up, putting on a pretty dress and going to breakfast all by myself. I have never gone to a restaurant alone before. I get nervous just waiting for someone for more than 5 minutes. So, I am facing it, Holly Golightly style. Here's a pretty picture of my love, Audrey:





Really, Pandora has changed my life. Listen to Damien Rice. And Mia and Jonah: Smile. These songs/artists that I have just met have made me so happy and so sad.

and depressive

Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."


Who doesn't love some T.S. Elliot?

Manic

Too many blogs today? Probably. I am trying to keep myself occupied.

My co worker texted me on my day off to tell me a package arrived via priority mail. I asked if it was a resume, becaue I am hiring. She says it feels like a book. So, today, its on my desk. I open it and find this book.



Its a fasting calendar and contains the wisdom of the saints. Weird, right? Also enclosed, a resume. The cover letter: Dear Ms. M______: I think it would be fun to work at the the _____ in some capacity.

That's it. I love reading resumes. Hate doing interviews because I find it hard to take myself that seriously. And other people being nervous makes me nervous. But, I have never recieved a gift and I feel awkward about it. So overtly religous. Isn't that a huge no no for an interviewer? Strange.

I'm probably going to blog again before the night is through. Maybe twice. Take that, blogger slackers.

Tiny men

This is a secret from postsecret.com I had completely forgotten about this, but I thought the same thing. I also thought that fire whistles were ghosts, crusing around the street. I'd never look out of my window to prove myself wrong, because if I did, the ghosts would see me and burn my house down.

Anyone else have really stupid things they thought as a kid?

brown chicken, brown cow.

Who blogs at 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning? This girl. Because I woke up at 7 a.m., missing my Sunday morning hangover and in a pissy mood.


I've talked about my love for National City before. It doubled on Friday. I was in the drive thru, listening to the mixed CD of girly dance around songs that Michelle sent me in a care package this week. It was probably a little louder than it needed to be, but I didn't think much of it. Don't stop believing was on. I was zoned out thinking about the Sopranos ending, when I heard a male voice on the bank's intercom sing, "Hold on to that feeeeel-iiiing!" The most awesome-est bank teller ever was really belting it out. So, i giggle and turn the music down, he tells me to turn it up. We had a pleasant moment with journey. He gives me my money and says, "this is really cheesy, but don't stop believing!" Cute. Then I went to get my eyebrows waxed and the waxer gave me an entire run down of my personality based on my birth date and my parent's signs. It was the most pleasant conversation I could have had while having hair ripped out by the roots. Scorpios are nuts, we really are.

And, Ramie, you will enjoy this. Because of the apparent sign on my back that says "All creeps, this girl will not want to hurt your feelings if you were brave enough to talk to her, so have at it," I had the biggest dozy of a pick up line last night. The boy tramped HARD on my foot. Like, today I have a faint bruise. So I yelp and balance on one leg while inspecting the pain (I don't know why humans do that, if something hurts on our body, we like to hold it at awkward angles) and he's all, "Oh, I am so sorry. I'm Chris. Do you want to exchange insurance information?" Totally did it on purpose. He must have just watched the pick up artist. Then he's like, "you know what's weird? Girls don't ever buy guys a drink (okay, so abuse my foot and then ask for a hand out) why don't you buy me one and i will buy yours," and I am like, I'll get my own drink if I want one, and he says, but then we won't have a connection. Now I KNOW he's a student of the pick up artist. I saw him at the end of the night, being pushed, almost carried by a mob of other boys, right out the door. Apparently, some other girls are much less tolerant of the foot tramp than I am and had their boyfriends handle the mess.

So, from now on, this is my brilloface and Ramie, you are my wing girl:

Also, you guys are pretty safe if we ever get stuck in a blizzard. There is only a 39& chance I would eat you for dinner. Its not so much that I don't think you all would taste delicious, its more the blood and guts factor. Thanks, Brandon, for that website. Its a big hit at the office. On Thursday, people would just pop up from their cubicles and say, "19! I could take on 19 five-year-olds in a fight, that is amazing!" One staffer was so excited. He got 25.

Totally going to get some McDonald's breakfast!

Talk about a woman scorned.

He's taking her with him.

Man's coffin kills wife on way to cemetery
A traffic accident hurls coffin against the back of woman's neck

SAO PAULO, Brazil - Police say a woman has died on the way to a cemetery when a traffic accident hurled her husband's coffin against the back of her neck.
Police said 67-year-old Marciana Silva Barcelos was in the front passenger seat of the hearse when the accident occurred Monday in the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul.
Barcelos died instantly.

Her 76-year-old husband, Josi Silveira Coimbra, died Sunday of a heart attack while dancing at a party.
The driver of the hearse and Barcelos' son suffered minor injuries.

Not the Cheryl Crow version

I feel like today is going to be a day that I sit around and don't do much of anything at work, since I have already put in a full 15 hours of actual work this week. So, I will probably blog a lot. About nothing.

Last night I watched, for the first time, Leaving Las Vegas. I always thought I had checked it out already, I realize now I was confusing it with Con-Air. I am not sure why. Anyways, this movie was so incredibly sad. It was like watching two hours of the show Intervention. Only with attractive people. Nic Cage is a raging alcoholic. And not in the fun sort of way. Elizabeth Shue is a hooker. They fall in love, she takes care of him. He can't quit drinking, she understands and accepts him-- DTs, sweaty pits, falling through glass tables love. You have to understand, I usually bubblegum my life up with love stories like Atonement and The Notebook. I would say this tops both in the love department. Anyone can love a babe like Noah Calhoune but, really, I think this is more of the love story that is more commonplace in modern times. Hookers and alcoholics.

I'm off to vote in a little while. I hope they let me. I never changed my voter ID out of my maiden name. Because I am lazy. I might have to call CNN's hotline.

Thugs give hugs.

I don't want to be one of those people who blog about their dreams. Although I could rival Hunter S. Thompson's works with the crazy shit that goes on in my head when I sleep, I just think its a stupid thing to blog about. But, the following is what happens when I spent the majority of the weekend watching Weeds, reading David Sedaris and working. oh, and couple that with the brain damage I got from the shots I did on Friday.

So, I am hanging out at the morgue. That's right. Just me, going to watch some dead things on a sunny afternoon. While I am there--oh, and I was dressed really cute in a pencil skirt. My subconscious really wants one---I find this section where it is sort of like a hospice. These people are doomed. Like, obvs., if you are sent to a unit in the morgue, you're hope-level is pretty much going to be shot. The almost-dead are covered in yellow, green and red blankets. If they are in red they are dead, green really almost dead, yellow, pretty much dead. So I am walking around trying to see if there is any of these people that need anything or want to talk and i find a gangster thug hanging out under one of the yellow blankets, all burnt up. He starts talking about his baby and how its mother threw scalding water on him. so i find the baby under a red blanket and go back to tell him. Suddenly, a full blown gang fight breaks out. These thugs are climbing out of the blankets and trying to break out of the morgue. My yellow blanket buddy starts a fire with his bare hands (there's heroes) and after a lot of police dodging, we make it out of the morgue and hole up in his drug den in Compton or wherever. Now I am in a Weeds episode, trying to get along in an environment I am totally uncomfortable with. So, I make my own mark, and by the end of the dream, I am driving around in a cute dress, throwing up gang signs to fellas dressed in pink and green plaid golf outfits, or hipsters in scarves and glasses, all of these thugs transformed by fashion instead of colors. I felt I had really made a difference.

So, while I was writing this, I became very aware of how strange I am. I hope I enlightened the four of you as well.

For the birds

So, last night at the office, Andrea and I are chatting and we hear a squeak. We did the whole, "did you hear that?" bit. And sat silently. Nothing. Andrea went to get dinner and came back, backed slowly from her cubicle and said, I saw something black. I walk over to check it out, and under another cube, see a large dark thing scurry. I immediately climb up on my desk like the leggy characters in a Tom and Jerry toon. We contemplate what to do while squealing like little girls and talking about how weak our legs feel. I get down from atop my desk to see if I can get a better look at this rat-like animal, and there she is.

A bird.

I hate, hate, hate birds. They are scary and gross and one of my worst fears is that a wayward one will crash into my head, biting me and giving me rabies, the bird flu, salmonella, lice and whatever else those dirty little mutants carry around in their creepy little talons. I think it would be less dangerous to be in an unprotected three-way between Ron Jeremy and Magic Johnson.

Full-blown panic sets in. I am a stuttering, shaking mess. Just saying bird repeatedly. Andrea, not afraid since its not a rat, goes in search of it. And never finds it. The bird is still at large and I spent the rest of the night with my feet pulled up to my chest on my chair, watching the drop ceiling for signs of death's silhouette.

There was never anywhere to go but home.

There is a scene in Weeds where the teenage son is calling a catalogue company, asking them to stop sending his recently deceased father mail. I had completely forgotten that I used to get irate and freak out on telemarketers when they would call and fumble over his name (Asa, is apparently hard to say?) and it got to the point when I would just bluntly say, "He's dead," and hang up and cry.
Anyways, I just went to my mom's mailbox, and there it was: a postcard to my dad from McKeesport Symphony Orchestra for season ticket holders. He's been dead for more than 10 years, never lived at this address and, definitely, was not the kind of guy to have season tickets to any symphony, let alone the crappy McKeesport one.
I just find it bizarre that something that I hadn't thought of for years was brought back to my memory twice this week.

The partly cloudy patriot.

I'm reading Sarah Vowell's 'Partly Cloudy Patriot,' which is a collection of memiors where she explores U.S. History and and, in doing so, relates them to experiences she has had in her own life. Its really a good read and I will let anyone borrow it when I am finished.

Anyways, I was reading last night before bed, and in one chapter, she states that while she may not have a religion, her faith is in the idea of American democracy. Her Bible is the Constition and the Declaration of Independence. And then she spits out the prettiest little paragraph about voting:

"All of which is to say, look up the word suffrage in the dictionary. In mine, after noting the main meanings-the priveledge of voting is the "exercise of such a right," the third interpretation of suffrage is this: "A short intercessory prayer." Isn't that beautiful? And true? For what is voting if not a kind of prayer, and what prayers are not declarations of hope and desire."

Anyways, I thought that was wonderful and the whole chapter from which I lifted it made me realise how much I take for granted that right and what women had to go through to give me that right. Tough bitches. While I have always voted, its almost been more of a chore to me. Like, ugh, I have to get up early before work to vote. This year, thanks to this book, I will think of it as a little prayer for our future.

Okay, I feel like I should go watch Mary Poppins or something now. Don't worry, my next blog is going to be about how much I hate when people tell me they prayed.

Alcohol online.

Lol cats provides me with all the Wall Street humor I care to have. So, I am usually far too lazy and self-absorbed care or think about the DOW and our impending finiancial crisis, but its all over my homepage, therefore (such as-- haha, ramie) in my life. The middle-aged men with their heads in their hands are really starting to freak me out.

AOL had a little segment on how to save money, so in my old men crying-induced panic I click on it. It was so disheartening. I do alll of those things: home pedicures (yeah, or slapping on some paint to the toes), forgoeing the gym (obvs.), get rid of landlines (I haven't had one of these since 1999), limit trips to the ATM (i never go to them since I can't be trusted), buy generic grocery brands (i do this, and barely eat), get a library card (do my friends count as the public library?) etc. AOL is stupid, I have been living like there is a financial crisis my entire life.



But the thing I found bizzare, instead of saying how to cut electricity costs or use disposable diapers, AOL new source offers this, the best advice ever:











Pre-Game
The markup on alcohol at a restaurant or bar is easily 100% more than the retail price at a liquor store. Next Saturday night when you plan on going out, first have a little cocktail party at your house to help limit how much you spend at the bars. And of course, drink responsibly.

It's useful being top banana in the shock department.

Pathetically, nothing made me really happy yesterday. Today, its been dreary and makes me want to curl up and pull the covers over my head and sleep for days. That would make me happy. However, as I still have four hours left of work, that is not an option.

And the five:


1.) I visited my old friend Abby today. I haven't seen her since she surprised me at dinner by waltzing in, unceremoniously unzipping her coat and letting her five-month preggo belly let me know she was expecting and said, "I want to die." Shocking. She is one of those awesome friends that I don't see very often, but as soon as I do, I am instantly sad that I don't get to see her more. We worked together for years, had lunch every day, our boyfriends at the time loved each other, we ran around Paris together and were mistaken for sisters by numerous tables we were waiting on. Anyways, she greeted me at the door, holding this small child. It was insane. I was so happy that she wasn't in super mommy mode (her baby was toddling around with a lighter in her hand, upon warning Abs, she just says, Oh, yeah, she loves it. She also told the story of being two weeks past her due date, and some old man in a store commented that she must be carrying twins. To which she responded with FUCK YOU and started crying. haha. I really do love her. ) This is getting long-winded and quite lovey dovey but, her baby is awesome and when we were talking, abby and I were laughing and the baby started mimicking us, wrinkling her nose and screaming laughing. So funny. And this baby knows sign language for milk and poop, among other things. And this is awesome, she lives in Andy Warhol's house that he grew up in, and all the original EVERYTHING is in there, like plumbing, etc. So it looks awesome and was cool to think of the history. It really made my day to hang out with her and to have a friendship like that, where even if we haven't seen each other in a long time, we just click back like we saw each other yesterday. It made me very happy.

2.) I bought a Grow-a-Skull toy on Sunday. It says, "So cute, I could die" underneath. I hung it in my cubicle. So now all the ad services people thing I am super goth.

3.) I just met the new cleaning lady at the office. I was introduced to her and she had rubber gloves on so couldn't shake my hand. So she gave me the biggest hug ever. So cute. Her name is Miss Patty.

Only three things made me happy today. I would like to say that the night is still young, but I have a half hour left of work and am going to go home and do that whole forget the world bit I was talking about earlier.

fall time comin and I guess my little bird can sing.

So, I am bringing this back from 5 years ago when I used to do this in my IM profile. Because, clearly, I am regressing. But I love the list. So here is the top list, that I will do every night, more for me than anything, of the top five things that made me happy today.

I know you are riveted.



1.) This monster dog, who I am temporarily attached at the hip displasia with, is Rocky. He's gross; he drools and snores and chewed all of my shoes when he first came into my life when I was 17. There was also the wake up and step in the poop he so lovingly left beside my bed when I was home for Christmas freshman year extravaganza. But we have moved past that. So, I took him for a little car ride today and, in his old age, he just sort of slumped over in the passenger seat like a depressing sack of potatoes. So we went to the drive thru at the bank and when I recieved my money, there was also a doggy biscuit tucked in with my cash. Rocky was happy and it helped his breath. I was happy because who doesn't love a freebie. I just thought it was really nice of National City.



Here's Rocky, just because I like to spruce up my blogs with photos:

2.) Tonight I realized that my 17-year-old self would totally love our life. Freedom to blast Jimmy Eat World at high volumes, drive wherever, smoke cigarettes without hanging out the bathroom window, buy and consume alcohol and stay up really, really late. Because when I was 17, that is all I wanted in my life. My priorities really haven't changed much.

3.) Sylar on Heroes wore a "Hail to the Chef" apron. Two episodes in a row that his fashion choices have been fantastic. He looked smokin hot in the suit last week and completely ridiculous in this one. I actually stopped watching half way through, because there were plot holes all the way to China. It was a snap decision and one I regret, so if someone (chris/ramie) wants to forgive me and fill me in, I would be grateful.

4.) I found the best present for someone today. That's all about that.

5.) After seven days in a row of work, I had a weekend. Yesterday I had tons of fun. Today, I kept to myself and stayed in my pjs til noon and was back in them at eight and loved every second of it.

Phew, I don't know if I can do that every night. Too much commitment. We'll see.

I helped her out a jam, I guess, but I used a little too much force.

Rock band II has their setlist up. I can't stress how much I don't care about this. But I know that Chris and Steve will so, by default, I will probably get to see you two gents rockin' guy liner and clicking your ways through Sprit in the Sky. I can't wait.

So here you go, by the decade:


• 2000s
Abnormality “Visions”
AFI “Girl’s Gone Grey”
Anarchy Club “Get Clean”
Avenged Sevenfold “Almost Easy”
Bang Camaro “Night Lies”
Beck “E-Pro”
Breaking Wheel “Shoulder to the Plow”
Disturbed “Down with the Sickness”
Dream Theater “Panic Attack”
Guns N’ Roses “Shackler’s Revenge”
That Handsome Devil “Rob the Prez-O-Dent”
Interpol “PDA”
Jimmy Eat World “The Middle” ***HAPPY***
Lacuna Coil “Our Truth”
The Libyans “Neighborhood”
Linkin Park “One Step Closer”
The Main Drag “A Jagged Gorgeous Winter”
Mastodon “Colony of Birchmen”
Modest Mouse “Float On”
Panic at the Disco “Nine in the Afternoon”
Paramore “That’s What You Get”
Rise Against “Give it All”
Silversun Pickups “Lazy Eye”
Speck “Conventional Lover”
The Sterns “Supreme Girl”
System of a Down “Chop Suey”
Tenacious D “Master Exploder”
The Donnas “New Kid in School”



• 1990s
Alanis Morissette “You Oughta Know” ***I see me and ramie possibly getting drunk and singing this. Or, maybe just me.****
Alice in Chains “Man in the Box” ***I didn't know the makers of Rock band were Satanists.
Beastie Boys “So Whatcha Want”
Bikini Kill “Rebel Girl”
Dinosaur Jr. “Feel the Pain”
Foo Fighters “Everlong”
Judas Priest “Painkiller”
L7 “Pretend We’re Dead”
Lit “My Own Worst Enemy” ***I can already hear Chris singing this.***
Lush “De-Luxe”
Mighty Mighty Bosstones “Where’d You Go”
The Muffs “Kids in America”
Nirvana “Drain You”
The Offspring “Come Out & Play (Keep ‘em Separated)”
Pearl Jam “Alive”
Presidents of the USA “Lump” **I can't wait***
Rage Against the Machine “Testify”
Red Hot Chili Peppers “Give it Away”
Smashing Pumpkins “Today”
Social Distortion “I Was Wrong”
Soundgarden “Spoonman”
Testament “Souls of Black”


• 1980s
Billy Idol “White Wedding Pt. I”
Bon Jovi “Livin’ on a Prayer”
Devo “Uncontrollable Urge”
Duran Duran “Hungry Like the Wolf”
The Go-Go’s “We Got the Beat” *I request Steve sing this.
The Grateful Dead “Alabama Getaway”
Jane’s Addiction “Mountain Song”
Joan Jett “Bad Reputation”
Megadeth “Peace Sells”
Metallica “Battery”
Motorhead “Ace of Spades”
Ratt “Round & Round”
The Replacements “Alex Chilton”
Sonic Youth “Teenage Riot”
Survivor “Eye of the Tiger” **better do this while on the stair climber.


• 1970s
AC/DC “Let There Be Rock”
Allman Brothers “Ramblin’ Man”
Bad Company “Shooting Star”
Blondie “One Way or Another”
Bob Dylan “Tangled Up in Blue” **THIS IS AWESOME!!**
Cheap Trick “Hello There”
Elvis Costello “Pump It Up”
Fleetwood Mac “Go Your Own Way” ***As is this***
The Guess Who “American Woman”
Jethro Tull “Aqualung”
Journey “Anyway You Want It”
Kansas “Carry On Wayward Son”
Rush “The Trees”
Squeeze “Cool for Cats”
Steely Dan “Bodhitsattva”
Steve Miller Band “Rock’n Me”
Talking Heads “Psycho Killer”


• 1960s
Norman Greenbaum “Spirit in the Sky” ***so maybe not satanists.
The Who “Pinball Wizard”
**pinball wizard has always pissed me off. There is NO WAY a deaf, dumb AND blind kid could even get the quarters in the slots of a pin ball machine. Let alone play it, meanly. Stupid Tommy.


So, someone has got to get it. So I can drink and laugh and try to play, and fail before the first chorus kicks in.


**Bonus points for naming the song that my blog title is from. Its one of my favorites.

Hallo-weiners.

Ramie offered me a blog idea since I am bored at work and can't think for myself.









Baby Halloween Costumes.









So, the three of you who read this blog all know I wasn't allowed to celebrate Halloween due to religious reasons. Brandon, you don't know this. I wasn't. It sucked. Even when I was six, I knew it sucked big time. I was no permitted to attend school on October 31st and would have to go to the crazy born-again church "lock-ins" on that night. They would still give us candy. It always seemed really hypocritical to me. Like, just don't celebrate it, but please don't lock me in a gymnasium and make me sing terrible Christian music and tell me my friends dressed like princesses are going to burn in Hell for an eternity. My church was so weird.









My mom always tried to brainwash me into being thankful that I didn't have to go around, begging for food from the neighbors like all the other kids, when I just got the crappy Jesus candy for no effort at all.









So, I have a love-hate relationship with Halloween. I love to play dress up, I love themes. But, every year, I feel a little bitter about having missed out on Halloween when it was fun and meant something (besides turning your back on your Lord and Savior.)









Anyways, sorry, Ramie, I don't know what your opinion on it was, but I bet ours will differ. I LOVE baby halloween costumes. I don't even really like babies much...but LOOK at that little thing in a pea pod! I think my future offsping may be in danger of wearing costumes until they can at least say, "Mommy, I hate you."









So, cute costumes. Go for it. Dress your baby like a pizza slice, a bananna, an octopus. The members of baby-killer-bridal-party (the amazing hardcore band, fronted by Fishonascooter) will find this baby look quite inspirational:










Sidenote:



One of my co-workers, a nice older lady, just saw this image on my computer.





I am planning on living out my dreams of candy-getting via my children. I am dressing my little bundle of joy up like Lucifer and taking him/her to my grandmother's, every day in October. And I will make her address him/her as Baby Beelzebub. Oh, just another reason to have children.



Also, if anyone is looking to do a group dress up this year, I have our costume:





I call mid-wife.

Would you like some cheese with that whine?

I have nothing to blog about, but a bunch of complaining to do.

Things that annoy me right now:

1. Awful Haircuts.

I'll be wearing a lot of ponytails and buns this fall, apparently. On Friday, after a few atomic cups of coffee at my brother's house, I decided to go along with my sister-in-law and get a haircut while she got hers colored. I thought it would be a good bonding experience. Wrong, wrong wrong. We go to her hairdressers and the first sign that things were going to go terribly wrong was that the stylist was wearing crocks.

Hot pink freaking crocks.

I think that they also had some sort of lime green embellishments on the sides, but I can't be sure. I averted my eyes because they could not take the assult.

Top five fashion crimes:

1. shorts (especially on boys)

2. crocks

3. footless tights or leggings or any sort of pants that are not pants.

4. black paired with brown

5. the perm

Anyways, Jess complimented her new haircolor. And the woman said it was a wig. Which kind of broke my heart and I was thinking this woman was maybe a cancer survivor or something. Now I think that she just severely chopped up her own hair.

Okay, I know I am blogging about my hair, and its really lame and girly. 1. my name is narcisstic nancy. 2. Ramie blogged about f*$k me boots.

So, the croc woman sits me down in the chair, acts like she has never seen hair as long as mine in her life (judging by the clientel of balding 80 year olds who had their hair set in rollers before me, she may not have.) I tell her to take as little off the ends as possible, just a trim to get the dead stuff off. She then, without washing my hair, just starts making mad wacks at my hair with the sheers. Boom. Three inches of biotin vitamins, conditioning treatments and patience, just lopped off by this croc wearing sadist. Then she just started chopping layers in my unwashed, partially curly hair. She went after my bangs and I stopped her. I had to go home and cut them myself.

I hate getting my haircut. Its traumatic. I hate the small talk and the probing questions. I do like the shampoos though, and I didn't even get that. Even Chad, who is usually fearful enough of me to tell me I look nice when I ask, told me he hates this haircut. He said it makes me look ordinary (?). Ugly, yes. Ordinary, not so much. Pretty soon I will be wearing crocks and thinking I am edgy.

2. The Matrix

I went to Julie's bachelorette party at the Matrix on Saturday night. Let me preface this with admitting that my bachelorette party was, indeed, at the Matrix. I also drank a ton before going to that. And I am glad the lovely Julie had a good time, and I can see why its important for brides to do that before they get married. But, while the brides are having a good time, the rest of us are getting hit on my the smarmiest of men. One popped-collar blazer wearing boy just stood beside me, making the strangest small talk ever. Like minutes of me ignoring him, he'd still be lurking. This other, probably 40-year-old man (okay, if I am 27 and feel I am too old to be at the Matrix, you mid-life, should definately go home to get up early for church on Sunday.) kept saying weird things to me like I see you are married, I can help you out of that ring if you want," and I would glare at him, and he'd laugh and slur, "Imma just fuckin' wit youuu." Gross, gross. I don't know how people actually go there and take themselves seriously. There is absolutely nothing good about this place. (except for the photos of Marilyn Monroe hanging in the Goddess room. But, even she looks a little bored.) And girls dancing on the bar in your little dresses: Those old men sitting on the bar stools right below your gyrating bum? Yeah, they can see your Britney.

3. Turnpike stupidity

This bothers me every day. WHY do people not use every open stall availble at the toll booths. The ones on the far right and left are always empty. The ones in the middle have cars lined up. And the easy pass lanes. Just a waste. Why are people so unable to utilize ALL of the booths. Are they scared of lane changes after they pay their toll? Because I cut off semi-trucks. They are just starting out, they won't catch me. The whole phenomenon reminds me of when little kids play soccer and they just travel about the field in a big mass.

4. People calling me Kathy

I really like my name. I was named after a woman on a pocket watch my mother owned. She thought the woman cradling a baby looked like a Katherine. She is kind of strange, but I like to name things as well. I don't have a problem with the name Kathy. Its not like Brenda, which I hate. Or SOOKIE. But, I have been mistaken for Kathy all of my life. First it was a school, now on random emails at work. It feels like a slap in the face when it happens. Nothing is worse than working really hard, doing someone a favor and getting a "Thanks, Kathy!!!" Response email. I can't wait til I hit 40 and go by Katherine all the time. By then I will have perfected my snooty voice and can say, "Its not Kathy. Its Katherine. Deal with it." No, I just sqeak out the monosylabic Kate.

I will bad that this is all complaining. I was going to round it out with a number five so I could be all High Fidelity-esque. But I will just make a top ten list of things I am grateful for and happy about.

And I am doing that with ten minutes left of work, so it-like the rest of this blog, was not well-thought out.

1. The fact that the Velveteen Rabbit is coming to the Byham Theater and I got tickets!

2. My security guard for the day was reading Star magazine. He's like 65.

3. Heroes new season starts tonight!!

4. I am very grateful for my friends. I feel blessed everyday that I have such good ones.

5. Jeff is coming home for Christmas. Which makes me happy in itself. It also reminds me that it will be time for the Thanksgiving/Christmas friend events which are my favorite!

6. Today was the perfect fall-ish mornng. Foggy and cool, perfect tea-drinking weather.

7. Donora has a show on Wednesday. This always make me happy.

8. A funeral director just called me kiddo. I like that.

9. Thinking about racing golf carts yesterday made me smile.

10. I get to go home now!

The Big Mac isn't all we have to offer...

Welcome back to work, fellas.

So, over the weekend, news broke of a great establishment that emerged on the undergroud scene of North Huntingdon seven years ago.

This unknown treasure is tucked into the rolling hills of Turner Valley. It is called The Church of Spiritual Humanism, where for $50 a couple, $75 for single man and no charge for women (Ladiezzzz night!!) you too, can participate in the "services" which begin at 12:01 a.m. every Saturday night.

I can't believe all those Saturday nights I spend hanging out with my friends, and you know, not having sex with strangers. That is, however, before I peeped a picture of the Reverand. Although he looks like the godliest of men, I'm just not buying it.

See?

WTFFFFF?!

These are the alleged owners of the Swingers Palace. I really, really do feel bad for swingers. Seriously. This is who they have to do stuff with.

The neighbors in Turner Valley are holding all sorts of zoning meetings with county commisioners, angry about boxes of condoms and tissues that are strewn about the driveway of this place. I guess once they found out it was being pawned off as a church, they really got all up in arms. But when it was just a swing club, they couldn't do anything about it.

Craziness. and Creepy. And I had a lot more to say about it, but I have to run.

Do you think i am going to get a bunch of swingers at my site now. I sure do hope so!

Roses are red, violets are black...

Vintage Sarah Palin.

Yes, I stole this off perez.

The T shirt reads:

I may be broke, but I'm not flat busted.

I love the pop-out quote feature.

Like, FINALLY. Politics are interesting. Sarah has tons of skeletons just dancing their way out of her closet. Its a bone yard. Full up with femors and phillanges. remind me to spell check this. Her face is up on my gossip websites as much as Britney's was when she went through her melt down.

Man, I do miss that.

I don't really care that her daughter is 17 and knocked up by some home-schooled brat. (I dislike home-schooled kids.) I guess it happens, especially when you teach absinence instead of safe sex. whatever. And the pics of her daughter so totally wasted. Who wasn't when they were 17. All of you? Good job.

Nor do I care that she had a little shot gun wedding of her own. Or that her husband got a DUI. or that she supported the Alaskian Independents; a group that wishes to break loose from the United States. Or that she is a total workaholic and leaked amnotic fluid for like 11 hours because she didn't want to miss some way important speech she had to give. Seriously, I sometimes really hate women who are like that. It makes the rest of us who would like to be able to spend time with our children, if we ever have them, look like lazy sissys...so I do care about that. But that's just me being lazy.

But, I just can't understand what the big deal is about this picture. I kind of feel really bad for her. When I was in college, I had a tee shirt that said something like, "I got my crabs from Joe's Crab Shack" and I really wanted the one that said, "You may not like me, but your boyfriend does," but I just didn't have the sass for such sluttiness written over my chest. Sarah Palin clearly does. She was just some 19 year old girl in her dorm. I would have a problem with the ridiculousness of it if she wore it at the Repubilican National Convention or something, but it just seems like, with all the other stuff about her, why is this headline news?

This comment is only for Steve, but Hilary would never be caught dead in it.

I kinda think the tee shirt is hilarious. And if I wasn't flat busted, I would totally be on ebay looking for that right now.

I can only hope there is a sex tape. It would make my year.

Let the public flogging begin...

Ah. I feel comforted having this around.

All this political crap being shoveled in my direction from all sides. I can't even turn on my computer without being bombarded with images of John McCain's new running mates over blushed face assulting my eyes.

Even Perez Hilton has turned on me. Do you know he is one of the most powerful forces in the media? Starting his own record label, making or breaking starlets, controlling the box office. And now, since he draws penises all over John McCain's face and calls this Alaskian governor anti-gay, I somehow know who she is.

I willingly admit that I am the worst sort of American there is. I care much more about the fake fighting of Heidi Montag and Lauren Conrad than I do about the democratic national convention. I did care about politics when I was 18 or so. Then I made the mistake of voting for Bush. We all know how that turned out, and, as atonement, I have sacrificed my brain to the bubblegum lifestyle of the Girls Next Door and other reality gray matter zappers.

So, this Sarah Palin woman. I don't know. I guess I am supposed to feel like this is a really great step forward for women and blah blah blah.

But really, do you suppose she feels a little bit used? Like, oh, hey, I am pretty much being chosen as this old man's running mate because I have a vagina? Is it really that much different from the Girls Next Door? Some fairly unknown girl hanging around some crypt keeper to help his career. This is why I don't do politics. Because it stops being about what's best for the country and starts being about tactics and competition. I hate that.

Chris, fact-check this. But I bet you I am the first person to compare Sarah Palin to a Playboy bunny.

Take that, blogosphere.

If I ever bore you, it'll be with a knife.

Louise Brooks:

1920s silent film starlet and author of my favorite quote:

"How I have existed fills me with horror. For I have failed in everything --
spelling, arithmetic, riding, tennis, golf; dancing, singing, acting; wife, mistress, whore, friend. Even cooking.
And I do not excuse myself with the
usual escape of 'not trying.' I tried with all my heart."

My other car is a hearse.

So, I am new to this whole blogging thing, and I am aware that my page looks like a carebear just vomitted the Rainbow Brite sprite it ate for dinner all over my page, but I don't know how to fix that.





A little about obituary writing:





Because I am stuck with stacks of dead people's lives cluttering my desk every day, I have an odd obsession with funeral directors. Its a very sad situation when I have to go to a friend's grandmother's funeral, and I am actually kinda excited that I will get to meet a funeral director. They are like rock stars to me. Like my mom will talk about the time when she smoked a cigarette with Dan Fogleberg. I will talk about the time I shared a coffee with the guy who owns a little funeral home and barks at me over the phone about comma placements.



When went to my first mortician's ball, the annual Pennsylvania Funeral Director's Assocaition's dinner at the LeMonte, I wore a black dress and sensible shoes. I like to plan my outfits days in advance, and I was going for a little bit of Winona Ryder's look in Beetlejuice. I really wanted the LaMonte to appear very Adam's family-esque; a bunch of Lurchs stoicially standing around, while morticians did some stiff dancing around the room. I know, I have been told, I am such a weirdo. But, it wasn't that way. The room was filled with a bunch of soccer dads in really good suits and churchy-looking women in pastels. I was so, so disapointed. The only strange thing was when the funeral directors presented an award to their association leader, they hung it around his neck with embalming string. (Don't know what embalming string is? Boys, they tie the end of your penis up with it. Scary.)





(A really interesting article on embalming. I realize its going to be hard to go onto fashion blogging after this. Way to make an entrance, Kate.)www.timeoutsydney.com.au/aroundtown/embalming.aspx





The best and worst thing about my job is the funeral directors. They are pretty much the funniest people I have ever worked with. Take some of their email addresses (slightly altered so that I do not get fired.) Mortuarymamma@zoominternet.com, thebodyman@gmail.com, morticia@hotmail.com





The body man is my favorite.





Another has a signature stamped on the end of all his emails, "Morticians really DIG their jobs!" Get it.





This is no doubt plagerised from one of the many funeral director online novelty shops, where they sell shirts that read, "Every man is cremated equally" and "Have you hugged your funeral director today." (So maybe this will turn into a fashion blog after all.)



But the novelty items do not stop at shirts. There are cuff links --------> see.


When would they wear these? Halloween? There is also a casket shape wine box for sale. I mean, I guess every occupation has certain presents; like I work for a newspaper, so what would I get, cigarettes and a coffee mug? Teachers get apples and little magnets with a worm chewing its way through a book. So, I guess headstone shaped cuff links are appropriate.

I also keep a Hall of Fame folder where I stick copies of all the interesting obits I get. One man loved Budweiser and thought it best to mention this in his last historical mini-biography on earth. You'd be surprised how many men married their widow's sister or to know that most people die right around their birthdays. Joe Islan from the Valley never, ever peed in the shower. That the busy season is winter, and people just don't die as much when the sun is shining, but they really hate to stick around after Christmas. And the big one: No American has died of old age since 1951.

So, this is depressing, right? I feel like my first blog lacked any real focus. I can assure you this will be true for all forthcoming blogs.

But maybe the next ones will have more pictures... Pretty ones...not about any thing dead....Come back, come back.

Lemmings!!!

I guess I will blog now too, since chris and steve are doing it.