Mix Tape

We, well, I get a lot of magazines. I don't care if tech is the future. I like getting something in my mailbox that isn't going to require a payment or a stiff drink. 


One of my favorites is Entertainment Weekly. They just seem to get me over there. Movies, TV, books, you name it. I seldom see a movie they don't rate better than a B. I won't read a book they rate less than an A. That is because I don't read many books at all. But I rely on them to give me just enough info to be relevant in pop culture. The TV reviews are spot on. I adore them. I don't know what I would do without them, really. Also, it is hilarious to call the mag, "Ew" like "gross."


A couple of weeks ago, I was delicately thumbing through the pages when I happened on a column called "1994 Chart Flashback."  Underneath the title, was the quick intro that 17-years-ago, while the nation was still feeling the burn from Kurt Cobain's untimely death, these were the top 10 songs on the chart. 


First of all, what the hell? SEVENTEEN DAMN YEARS AGO? Is this some kind of sick and twisted joke? Because in 1994, I was a half  Freshman going into Sophomore at the Academy. How is it even mathematically possible that was 17-years-ago? Clearly, that was a misprint. Unlike EW, but we all make mistakes. 


Secondly, as I scanned the list of 10, I realized that I had owned some of them, but not all. Furthermore, I had owned all of them in a separate capacity. I am not proud of the amount of time and thought I put into this list, but now, for your entertainment, I provide you, my/EW's 1994 Chart Flashback:


1. All-4-One "I Swear"
While I was a MUCH bigger fan of the John Michael Montgomery version as 1994 began my love of all country music, I didn't hate this version. You know why? Catholic boy's school mixers. It was a perfect slow dance song. A little urban, but just enough sap to get the job done. Plus, it kept me close to my country roots. 
Had it on: Tape single


2.Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories "Stay (I Missed You)"
In my biggest dream I will never work hard enough to achieve, I can play piano, guitar and drums. Maybe cello and/or violin. But because of Lisa Loeb and her nerdy glasses, Boho Chic clothes and ability to make anything look kind of cool, I thought it would be great to be her. And believe me when I say that there was one boy, that she had probably written this song about specifically for me. It was like she knew my 1994 love drama. If you are completely gay like me., you will also recall this was on the soundtrack to Reality Bites. I thought this was the coolest movie ever. I am sure I understood 1/4 of that movie in my Freshman year angst.I listened to it on my walkman and road my ten-speed all over Owl Creek. And sometimes into Anchorage if I was feeling particularly broody. 
Had it on: "Reality Bites" soundtrack tape AND tape single 


3.Coolio "Fantastic Voyage"
This song probably defined my 1994 summer. Kentucky Kingdom, Village 8 movie theater, the OJ arrest; it was a summer of ups and downs. But one thing was certain and that was my emergence into what I was certain was "gangsta" rap. Yes, much to my parents chagrin, their white, blonde, green eyed girl had gone gangsta. They would be lucky to get her back. 
Had it on: MTV Party to Go Volume Something


4.Janet Jackson "Any Time, Any Place/ And On and On"
I bought this CD the day it came out. I BEGGED my Mom to take me to the mall the day it came out. I have ALWAYS loved Janet, Miss Jackson if ya nasty. Like Rhythm Nation in the '80's, this whole CD was amazing. I played it all the time. I did homework to it, cleaned my room to it, got ready to "go out" to it, played it louder to drown out my "stupid" parents. Not only was the CD the best, but the video's were even better. JJ was SO fit with those 6-pack abs and all those awesome dance moves. Back when MTV actually showed videos, like on a show called TRL hosted by Carson Daly, I would watch those videos and know that if I tried hard enough, I could totally learn to dance like that. No. Not even close. Not even if I was nasty. 
Had it on: CD


5. Elton John: "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?"
While I love this Knightly Bitch, and I love the "Lion King," I hate this song more than anything in life. I check my ears for blood when I hear it. It is as bad as the song about Princess Diana. How can something I love so much go so horribly wrong? I don't have time to figure that out and I don't really care THAT much, but it did. 
Didn't Have it.


6. Warren G & Nate Dogg "Regulate"
As I had forayed into the world of gangsta rap already, this was my next phase. Clearly, this was much more hardcore than "Fantastic Voyage." I mean, Nate Dogg was related to Snoop Dogg. That is straight thuggin. This had it all; talk of prostitutes, gambling on dice games and Long Beach! For a beach community, I knew that this was not Destin. This was all hardcore. My mom would not let me listen to it in carpool in the Volvo. She said it was vulgar and advised if I could not find a better use for my babysitting money, she could help me. Shoulda bought a glock with my babysitting money. 
Had it on: Tape Single


7. Ace of Base "Don't Turn Around"
Based on the fact that I still cannot get "I Saw the Sign" out of my head, you can see I didn't bother with the follow-up.
Didn't bother with it.


8. Da Brat "Funkdafied"
While I was bonafide street by this point, I wasn't this street. Bitches got standards, yo.
No. 


9. Aaliyah "Back and Forth"
This was actually a pretty good slow jam. I later found out R. Kelly wrote it for the then 15-year-old Aaliyah and it made me want to throw up and die. 
Had it on: MTV Party to Go


10: John Mellencamp and Me'Shell Ndegeocello "Wild Night"
I love John, Cougar or not. He can be smoking in a little pink house or hanging out with Jack and Diane. I don't care. I love that Hoosier bastard. Marry a supermodel, date Meg Ryan; have the middle name Cougar, drop it like it's hot.; I don't care. This song was probably his last attempt to be relevant on MTV. I remember the video was really high energy. Sadly, he was competing against the 9 before him. So, a then 40+ year old dude from Indiana on MTV probably wasn' the target market. Also, I was too embarrassed to buy the song in any capacity.  I couldn't have that lying around in my collection. 


Now, go update your iPod. 

Tattle Tales

Snitches get stitches.

Isn't that how it goes? But sometimes, I feel compelled to tattle. Even as an adult. Will I wind up in time out or have to physically wear a tattle tail? Maybe. And sometimes, it is worth it. 


When I was younger, I was either scared to tattle or quick on the tattle draw. I have a need for justice. I don't ever like to think that someone got away with something. Mainly, because if I even consider the pettiest of crime, I will get arrested by a retired, decorated, off-duty police officer. I will sit through a red light at 3am. I will wait for the walking figure to tell me to go. I don't rip the tags off my pillows or mattress because it says "under penalty of law."  But sometimes, you gotta have justice. 


I recently had an interaction with some women who were in charge and had all the power. I was a lowly volunteer so I had exactly no power. I don't know what bar serves power, but they were clearly over served. Like 21st birthday over served.  21st birthday on St. Patrick's Day when it falls on Spring Break after the Sunday that is Easter, over served. Drunk. On. Power. 


I played nice. I played really nice. But what they had done was more than wrong. And what we were doing was for a really good cause. So, the more ugly the women are, the more likely they are to alienate women like me from helping in the future. It isn't that I can't get over it, but I just don't want to be treated like a child by a contemporary. Eventually, I will fight back. That won't be pretty. Nasty is a really ugly color on me. 


Thinking it was just my typical oversensitivity, I kept my feelings to myself. However, when I was among some really close friends, it turned out, they read me like a book and shared my exact feelings. In fact, they had experienced the same things in the past. With that, one of my most respected friends said she had written the committee about the actions of some of those in charge. I hadn't considered that as an option. But it made sense. 


Therefore, I will be crafting an email to tattle. Tattle in an adult way, but tattle nonetheless. I never dreamed I would still be telling on someone for poor behavior at my age. In fact, I had hoped that the next time I would be dealing with tattling it would be with Sweet B. Unfortunately, I forgot that women are awful. Particularly, women who have any kind of power. ANY kind of power. 


So, if you don't hear from me, I may be in timeout. 

Running Scared

I want SO much to be a runner. 


I see people all the time running and it looks so effortless, so easy. One of my dearest friends in the entire world is a runner and she will casually drop lines like "After running 15 miles this morning, I need a glass of wine." Wow. Because I wouldn't run 15 miles to GET a glass of wine. And I love wine. A lot. 


I could walk 15 miles. I can easily drive 15 miles, but I would love to run. Runners are so fit, so healthy, they have awesome running gear and their metabolism is freakish. But it seems like a lot of work. Frankly, too much work. Especially when I see them running in the rain or in the freeing cold and all they have on is lycra pants and thin jacket with earmuffs. Oh, you aren't freezing because your core body temperature is 1billion times that of mine? Well, I am drinking hot chocolate, so I hope you slip on black ice. 


Since I quit smoking, I have a lot stronger lung capacity. Weird, I know. I wonder if the medical community knows... Anyway, I wonder if I could do it now. I have looked into some "Beginner Running" tutorials and it seems like if you start slow, you can build up. My problem is that I am not  graceful person.  I am pretty sure I have the knees of a 90-year-old man. I am confident there is more shaking and jiggling going past than lean, toned runner. But, I have not given up. I am hoping to get some confidence to try one of these programs. I should probably get some new shoes and a cool running outfit just in case. And refill my inhaler. It is going to get cold soon, so maybe I should just wait until spring. That is probably what I will do. 


As I have done more research than running, I found this and it made me laugh so hard, I cried. Then I cried because there is a lot of truth in this:

Photo: Pinterest

Memories of Motherhood, Year 2

I went back to re-read my journal from the night before Sweet B's first birthday. What a difference a year makes. I had been planning her party for, no lie, 2-months and was probably more sleep deprived than anything when I penned those musings. Or, I only had a single year under my belt. Let's say it is a combination of both just for posterity. As I can now update my resume to include 2-years of Motherhood, here is what I remember, hold dear and have learned. Probably want to get a pen and paper.

1. It is ever evolving. 
Man, is it ever. While I clearly knew that going in, it has shocked me how every day is different. Those days add up to lapsed time that I don't realize is changing us. When Sweet B was an infant, we had lots of downtime and routines. Mainly, because I was scared to death of veering from the carefully crafted plan I had devised for feedings, play, and sleep. Also, if someone else is napping in my house, chances are, I will be too. But it seemed like one day I woke-up from that nap and she was always moving. Now, we are having actual conversations, she can sustain attention to do activities, and sometimes, I can rationalize with her. Sometimes. She is a little adult now. So many times I find myself wondering "How do you know that?" But she is changing every day. Thankfully, I am still young enough to keep up.


It is also changing because just when you think you have it all figured out, BOOM! Hail Mary pass to win the game. You lose. If ever I get confident in my mothering skills, I simply stop, and wait for the other shoe to drop. Sweet B can sense I am getting comfortable...


2. It is a constant contest, whether you know it or not. 
While not a competitive person, I am constantly aware of being judged. I contribute that 100% to my low self-esteem. However, motherhood is a constant competition. A competition you didn't necessarily sign up for or that you pray that there is no swimsuit portion.

It probably started when I was pregnant. "Who is your doctor?"  "Where will you deliver?"  "What kind of stroller system are you getting?:" And my favorite, You aren't finding out, are you crazy?"  Yes. We are. Thank you for asking.

Now, (and I am just as guilty of it) you notice all the "observations. "  I shop at Target, I know what clothes come from there. And chances are, my kid is wearing them too. I am a consumer of children's products, therefore, I too know the cost of things. But when you are out, you notice people looking at your gear and judging you. "Oh, you only love your kid "X Brand" dollars worth." Right.

And thanks to Facebook, you can constantly get caught up in "Why didn't I think of that?" Which, if you haven't played, is a super fun game.  The moms who do impromptu art projects and then post pictures, or the perfect family vacations with the kids who appear to have not had a single meltdown. Oh look, they took their kids to some festival I had no idea about. Their kids will probably get into Harvard now.

Even better is the competitive nature that comes with the scale of Birth to Weight. Meaning, how old is your child and are you still losing baby weight or are you just agreeing to be that fat now? I love the moms wearing their seven jeans out of the hospital. Two-years later, I am still wearing maternity tank tops. Yeah, I am.

But in that, comes the back story that I have learned always exists. You learn that their $1200 stroller system came from Ebay. You learn that right after that perfect beach photo, a jellyfish attracted to smocking, attacked their child. You learn that the festival was more of a block party and they crashed it. You learn that those jeans fit because mom never eats.

I have learned that it is okay to use so much of that as motivation, but not to let it make me crazy. I know it only gets worse as kids get older, but if I can try to get a handle on it now, then I will require less medication later.




3. It only gets better. 
Now that we are looking at the future with Sweet B as a child who doesn't just swing and poop, it is so exciting. I keep thinking of things I cannot wait to experience with her. All the fun stuff that I enjoyed as a child that I cannot wait to show her. My mom was really good about sharing things with us like classic movies,  or little field trips to see fun stuff. I am so excited thinking about getting to share all of that with her. In addition, I have planned about 900 mother/daughter trips for us in the future. This is assuming that she still loves me when she is older. If she is a typical teenager who is too cool for her mom, I will drag her to ALL of this fun and embarrass the hell out of her. That, is a promise.

Again, it is just the 2-years under my belt. This list next year could be VASTLY different.

Don't Know Jack

Each Girls Night Out (GNO), my dear friend, Claire Dunphy brings chips and salsa. Specifically, baked Tostitos and the world's greatest salsa ever manufactured this side of the Chimichangian border. 


And, like a moth to a flame, I Kobiashi almost the whole thing myself. I can forgo the cookies, the cheese and crackers and any kind of "I saw this in Southern Living and thought I would try it. Can you believe it only has 10 sticks of butter?" But the chips and salsa, they call my name. 


Finally, I asked Claire what kind of salsa it was. If you recall, I am not the most strong willed person when it comes to abstaining from delicious treats. Therefore, I feared that if I knew the origin, I may just be buying this for myself on a thrice- weekly basis. But I had to know. It was killing me. What if Claire moved away without me ever knowing? How would I ever find that Heavenly salsa again!?!?!!??!


She told me the brand name and the exact coordinates in Kroger where I could find it. Now all I needed was a reason to buy it...


So, I made one up. And off to Kroger I headed. 


I am not going to say that the Kroger company has asked me NOT to bring my kid with me, but let's say she doesn't love the overall experience of "Krogering" just yet. But I knew this was a really quick in and out trip, so she could manage. I had a quick list and about 900 goldfish as bait; she would be fine.  I walked in and to the exact place where Claire had told me the salsa would be. I figured the light shining down from Heaven would also help guide me. 


No salsa. 


Claire had told me the brand name, which I knew was Nick's. I saw El this and La that, but no Nick's. There was no Nick's. I broke out into a cold sweat. Frantically, I ran to seek help. An older gentleman came over to help me with my search. We plowed through the specialty salsa. "Was it Picante" he asked. Picante, I thought. Are you out of your freaking mind? This is SPECIAL salsa. It is with the fancy cheese. Get it together, man. 


No Nick's. I was devastated. Sweet B was not helping, but rather getting fussy. Could I go to another Kroger? Should I call around? Is this something I can order in volume and have sent directly to my house so that this never happens again?  Could I find this Nick and marry him and become some sort of salsa heiress and live in a world where I would never be without Nick's salsa again? 


"Oh, here is Jack's salsa. Is that it" asked my helper.


"Yes, Jack's. That's what I said." 


Jack's salsa. It's called Jack's. Like as in "Jack Ass blonde freaking out over by the fancy cheese and the Jack's salsa."

Photo: 1cupawesome.com

Sticks and Stones

I really got my feelings hurt this weekend. 


Worse than that, I have been mad at myself for letting it bother me. And I know, sticks and stones, but sometimes, you have a few scrapes and bruises for the wear.


Without getting into too many specifics, it happened in a social setting and alcohol was involved. That is basically my "bless your heart" or "with all do respect"  for the following paragraphs.


It was pretty much a backhanded compliment that was relayed to me, about me, in a loud, degrading tone. And while it wasn't any words that begin with A, B or C, it was a like a linguistic slap across the face.It wasn't an attention getter or a big draw of a crowd. It was just the two of us, at a table.  I am seldom shocked anymore, which I blame completely on reality TV, but this, this shocked me. It was definitely one of those times where I was left thinking of 100 million things to say, but chose to remain silent. Which was most definitely in my best interest. That sounds a little more Jersey Shore than I am proud of, but I was proud of myself for letting it go. Because I am NOT good at letting things go.


But it was one of those interactions where later, as I reenacted the whole scene again and again for JD with the precision of Maya Rudolph, I got so worked-up. Hard to imagine, given I am so calm, but stretch your imagination. I was so angry and hurt, I just kept saying things like "Can you believe that?" and "I just stood there and took it. Who does that?" I did, apparently. 


For all the sharp-tongue barbs I can throw about celebrities, or as catty as I can be about stage moms or general morons in society, I really would, in all sincerity, rather die than hurt someones feelings. As daring as I may seem at times and with the electronic courage I have from this blog, I wouldn't have the audacity to  say something like that to someone. For reasons which are many; I am afraid of being punched in or around the face, I cannot outrun anyone and I am not followed by reality TV cameras and writers. Oh, I also hate confrontation. 


Waking-up the next day, it was all I could think about. Why are girls so awful? Why do we say horrible things to and about each other? Is is all based in jealousy or is it because that is truly, the nature of our beast? I ran through the gamut of emotions on the subject; defensiveness, hurt, anger and revenge. Then, I settled on pity. For me and for her. I was still feeling sorry for myself for being accosted, but I was also feeling sorry for her.


Because I let myself belabor this incident, I kept running it over and over again in my mind. JD had tried to console me with phrases like "She was the drunkest person there" or "I can't believe you are letting her bother you like this." It isn't that I am better than anyone else, that is certainly not the case. And the alcohol did play a part, but I am a firm believer that a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. How long had she wanted to say this to me? Why was this weekend the perfect storm? Were the planets aligned, was this an equinox thing? Did I miss Haley's comet? If it was the alcohol, that gave her the courage to finally say that to me, then maybe it is a positive thing. At least now, I fully know where I stand with this person. Ultimately, that is something I can handle. 


If I know that you dislike my laugh, I will make a conscious effort to dull it around you. If I know that I am too loud for you, I will try my hardest to soften my tone. If it is the sarcasm that you hate, I am happy to leave it at home. As long as I know the rules, I am happy to play. I didn't like the idea that maybe she had been harboring these feelings for a long time. It made me wonder how many times I had been with her before that she was secretly loathing me. 


I took what she said about me and put it away. Today is a new day, and I have vowed to myself to really try with all my might to let it go. I am still stunned, but that is okay. I haven't been stunned in a while, I was due. What I am struggling most with, is that I don't want to be changed because of this. Like in a negative way. I want to keep on being the same girl I always am, the same kind of friend I thought I had been to this girl, and know that it isn't for everyone. Some people will just walk away or separate themselves, the move will clear a lot of this up, and some will get really drunk and tell me exactly what is on their minds. I respect honesty more than almost anything. So I should be focused on the fact that she had the nerve to say exactly what was on her heart. However, I respect it on an even playing field. Either we are both drunk and spewing vile or neither. 





I would say that by Wednesday, I will have found something completely new to obsess over. I borrow most of my own worry, so that isn't an issue. It is just kind of a weird feeling to be an adult and have your feelings hurt. I kind of thought we were done with all of that. 


But for the record, "I know you are, but what am I?" is what I should have said. For starters...

Debbie Does Dallas and Heather Does Make-Up

I love make-up. I love products, brushes, paints, lacquers and lipsticks. I believe every lie they tell you about firmer skin, youthful glow and celebrity lookalike. 


But I am not super adept at application. I get distracted, (what?, what's happening?) or hurried or just bored. Later, I see people who actually take the time to artistically put on their make-up and think, "Wow. Pretty....."  I also whisper a solemn vow that the next day, I will take time to learn to apply eyeliner that resembles a straight line and not a fault line on a map. 


No. Never happens. 


When I was 14 and gave in to wearing make-up at my Mother's insistence, I, was taken to the Clinique counter for the following:


1. Moisturizer
2. Blush
3. Mascara
4. Lip gloss
5. Toner/Facewash


The sales girl also sold my Mom on something called an eyeshadow base, which was funny, because I was not getting eyeshadow. However, this would brighten my eyes to give them a little glow. It had a faint appearance of glitter, so I am shocked my Mom let me get it without a lecture about how I present myself is what I will attract and not making mention of the word "whore."


I still have my go to make-up pro's who tell me what to wear color-wise. They also show me how to apply.  But let's be serious; there is lots of loud music and shiny stuff in those places. It's like taking me to a bar to teach me Algebra. 


But one of the blogs I read shared this gem. And I am mesmerized. It is like watching an older sister get ready for the prom. The tricks are really simple, reasonable and not overly time consuming. This girl is also really generally cute, so she can wear anything. 


Now, if you want a real life pro and you are local, you need to check out this gal. Not only is she uh-mazing, but she is one of the nicest people you will ever meet. 


Also, this kid is available. But not with a guarantee. 

FINALLY!

Okay, I think it is working.  If you look to the right, you should see a tab that says "Blog Sale." That should take you to the page with the items. When you are there, you can read the directions on how the sale works. 


Enjoy!

Stuff For Sale

While everyone chose to email me, I had a pretty great response to the idea of a blog sale. Which I am thankful for! So, I will begin working on that this week. 


It will be kind of a smorgasbord of things clothes wise. Especially since it went from 113 to 7. But again, if you are thinking that just because you have self control and don't weigh as much as I do, there will be more than just clothes. And I have varied in clothing size like Kirstie Alley in the late '80's/early 90's. So, it is literally, a wide range. 

Blog Sale

Assuming I get:

1. Drunk 
2. Patience enough
3. Someone to help me

and can figure out how to add a button to link to it, I am thinking of adding a "Blog Sale" page. This would be a page where you guys could see items I am selling from my own, personal collection. 

Very chic, I know. It is your chance to own a piece of Katie Sanderson history. 

Part of my hang-up with this is that it is a little exposing. I would obviously have to list sizes. I will no doubt feel the need to explain those sizes or make a joke about them, so you will have to muddle through that. But it wouldn't be limited to just clothes. I have several other things I am willing to part with as I prep for the move. 

However, this will be a lot of work on my end. I will ship anywhere or deliver in person locally. But, selfishly,  if I am not going to get a response, it may not be worth the work. Therefore, I am looking to gauge interest. If you or your co-workers, roommates, neighbors, friends, cellmates, sister, or absorbed twin think that you might be interested, I would love to know that first. If you could let me know via comment, that would be great. Or, if you want send me a message, please feel free to do so at katiesanderson@insightbb.com. 

Throw the Book At Your Face

If I ever get the gumption to do so, I will apologize to JD for the grief I gave him over joining Facebook. 


I am pretty sure I used words like "pedophile," "freak," "weirdo," "stalker," and I am confident I accused him of trolling for a girlfriend. I am not proud. Sometimes I pick on him for sport.  


But one day, to shut me up no doubt, he showed me what it was he was looking at. And, he granted me full access to his page. I began looking to see what all this was about and within a week, I had my own page. 


Since then, I have not gone a day without checking it. No, really. I love Facebook. I would never run into these people at the grocery, or know that my kindergarten teacher likes One Kings Lane. It really is genius. 


But as of late, I have the following grievances:


1. It is NOT therapy. It is also, not a megaphone. it is not a highlighter or a center stage.  I don't want to have to buy a Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder Ring to figure out someone's status. If I see one more status that is "DJ Tanner is having the worst day ever" or "Blair Warner is weighing her options" I am going to scream. Can you please just put "Natalie Morales needs some attention. Please call or private message me?" It would be GREAT. 


2. I love that you eat out every night; please stop "checking-in." If you don't, I am going to start robbing your house while you are out.  There should be a rule that if you "check-in," you should also have to put how you are paying for your meal: "XXXX checked-in at Blah Wine Bar on the client's tab."  I think when you check-in, you are misleading some people into thinking you are balling out of control, when in fact, you are not. 


Also, I don't care that you are at Target. Unless, this is your way of saying "Hey, I am at Target, can I pick-up anything for you?" 


3. OMG! You went to Mexico? That is amazing! I am so glad you put up 457 pictures. Here are the ones I want to see: any with people. I don't care what your room looked like, or that there was a waterfall or a drug cartel at the border. I want to see what you wore to dinners and what you look like in a bathing suit because I am THAT insecure. If I want to see the topography of Mexico, I will go to Mexico. 


4. Back to #1. I think Facebook should have a breath test. If you blow over the legal limit, you cannot post. 


5. If I want a good quote, I will Google one. 


This post will show up again. Bet your bottom dollar. And, please feel free to add to the list. If you cannot add to the comments section, you can email your grievances to katiesanderson@insightbb.com. 

Her, Really?

Since starting and then "coming out" with these blogs like some sort of writing gay, I have gotten a lot of comments about my writing. A lot. 


First let me say, 99.5% of it has been extremely complimentary. "You write like you talk!" or "I feel like I am right there listening to you" and "This will serve as great documentation to have you committed!" The best, is when people compare my humor. Honestly, the insecure part of me really loves this. It is always a lesson in psychiatry to see how others view you.


The two comparisons I get most are Tina Fey and Chelsea Handler. Two comparisons I could not be more thrilled with. That is like saying "You are smart like Albert Einstein and Thomas Jefferson" or "You are pretty like  Giselle and Pippa Middleton" or "You are going to live a life like John's Candy and Belushi."  It is very flattering. I am big fans of both of their works. Chelsea is on a little late for me. Who can stay up past 10 for crying out loud? Who am I, a Lohan?


So, the other day, I had a "friend," let's call her former friend Kimmie Gibbler, email me and tell me that my blogs were 'hilarious' and 'well-written' and that I reminded her of.... wait for it.... a local radio personality here in town let's call Shelly B. (I am NOT trying to get sued.)


WHAT??? 


This is kind of thinking that says things like:
 "You are as funny as Urkel." Or "You know who was a great President? Jimmy Carter."  It is the equivalent of thinking Mr. Belding was the funniest character on Saved By the Bell.  


Therefore, her email might as well have  said:


"Dear Katie- I read your blogs. I found them to be mediocre.  Your writing is nowhere near MLA format compliant, you lack thought development, you open strong and close weak, your use of profanity suggests you are intellectually inferior and your humor is not overly accepted by all to be, well, let's say "funny." I found you to be quite a dullard. I suggest you make a better use of your time and enroll in some creative writing classes post haste and develop your skills before you continue to sully the Internet with the brand of thoughtless prose. I do not find you to be funny, but rather crass, distasteful and meaningless. Perhaps you should review a real comedianne, like one Ms. Fran Drescher. Fondly, Kimmie Gibbler."


Shelly B is on in the mornings and I cannot listen to her. Mainly, because I have a brain and also, because the doctors said that is the best way to keep my ears from bleeding. Her voice sounds like what I imagine it does if you put baby squirrels in the blender. She also has a gig hocking everything in town, so I get to see her on the TV from time to time.  


She says things like "Oh no she didn't" and "You go girl" both in and out of accent. And it doesn't stop there. It is EVERY catchphrase imaginable. She is the kind of person who can wax philosophical about Jersey Shore and The Bachelor like these are real people and these are real goings on about life.  She is LOUD and squeals for no reason. 


So much of her "comedy" is the garden variety obvious joke; dumb blond, small penis, is he/isn't he?,  low hanging fruit (to which she would reply "Oh no she didn't!!)  Which it has to be to be on radio.  I get that is her "schtick," but it is the most annoying thing I have ever heard. How do I know all this, you ask? Because I, apparently, only patron establishments where this drivel is on. For instance most recently, the dentist. For 2 hours. I am honestly not sure which was worse. 


So when Kimmie Gibbler came up with Shelly B as who I reminded her of, it really burned me up. Actually, it hurt my ego and my feelings. Of course I thanked her for reading and went about my day, but I could not stop thinking about it. I have no idea where she got it. Is that what she thinks is funny? Is that just her point of reference? Maybe I took for granted that most people who read my blogs have similar senses of humor to me. Therefore, I assumed everyone "got" what I was talking about. I am not sure. But that one, I really took that one hard. I was kind of depressed about it. It was a 2-glass of wine kind of night. 


Then, in a moment of clarity (probably between pouring the 1st and 2nd glasses), I remembered that trick where you write a letter to the person who hath wronged you and state your grievances. You don't ever send the letter, but it is cardiac to write it. Cathartic. Catholic. Catatonic?


In my mind, I wrote Kimmie Gibbler back an email:


"Dear Kimmie- Thank you for your interest in my blogs. Unfortunately, at this time, we are only accepting readers with an actual sense of humor. From your reference to Shelly B, it is clear that you are not someone who can sense humor, nor am I certain that you are fit to live an independent adult lifestyle. While I admire your desire for wit and the sarcastic arts, sadly, it is not for all. It requires strength, quick mental aptitude, some physical prowess, and an overall personality sharpness that I feel you lack. If you would like to continue training, I would encourage you to do so. You might start by making application for ANY position the Sedaris family would offer you in the form of a non-paid internship. If that does not manifest, you might quarantine yourself to the confines of your home and study hours of the outrageously defunct series Arrested Development. I cannot promise you this will work, but it might. Additionally, get an iPod/Phone so that you are not subjected to the mediocrity of terrestrial radio, Shelly B, and that infernal cackling each morning. Deep condition your hair each Sunday night and stop wearing so much make-up. You look hourly. Satirically, Katie"


Her? Really? Come on. That is like saying " I thought Hilter was a good leader." Idiot. 

Photo: Pinterest (Duh)

The Black Widow

Some people are just hard to write about. 


Not because the feelings don't exist or aren't genuine. In fact, it is pretty much the opposite. Sometimes, it is just that one person that you find it hard to put into words  how you feel. 


Especially if that person is among your most  sarcastic, pop culture knowing and over all most nonsensical sparing partners. And it is their birthday. 


I met my friend Creighton 3-years-ago this summer. True to someone who has a name like Creighton, she was your typical WASPY Goddess; she arrived in a 4-door Volvo, toting some heirloom casserole in a covered dish that I am certain bore a monogram. She was wearing pearls and a cardigan and she began to divulge details of her life growing up and currently that allowed me to complete and win the Yuppie Bingo card I was playing. But unlike most people with that kind of pedigree, Creighton was not wearing that same stinky cologne that so many do of "like me, please notice my life and like me."  She had an edge under that cardigan. 


Each time we hung out, I realized that cardigan was hiding a RUN DMC shirt underneath. Literally. Well, not literally, although she did, at a later time, wear a RUN DMC shirt. But she was so sharp. And it was like she was in my head. She got all my jokes; especially when no one else did. We watched the same shows, liked the same music, read the same blogs, on and on blah blah. Sweet Valley Twins. 


But then, Sweet B arrived on the scene. So now, I am in this club as a Mommy. It got real. Real fast. "People stopped being polite, and started getting real."  With that reality, you quickly learn who you should ask for advice, who you can ask for advice, whose advice you should listen to, and you overall start looking at your friends as moms. I started to really assess parenting style, marital relationship with kids and overall confidence as a mom and a person and how to emulate that in your life. Every time, I came back to Creighton. 


Creighton will tell you what she thinks of Wills and Kate or Peaches Geldof, but not how to parent your child. Unless you ask her. She has the most diplomatic and sensitive way of offering advice without offending; cradling without coddling and listening without lecturing. She is always quick to tell you about a time when she felt she was  a failure, but also of a time of triumph. Most likely, in a story that will make you laugh so hard you cry. 


She is the kind of person who is always making me laugh. Our lives together are a gigantic inside joke. Not to be a mean girl, but this post is riddled with inside jokes.  I love getting texts that say "When you have a second, we need to discuss Benecio del Toro and Kimberly Stewart. That is all. "  She and I pretty much are probably doing exactly the same thing at the same time on any given day; reading The Daily Mail and pinning things on Pinterest. 


Creighton has taught me a lot of things. A LOT. She taught me to make toddler hair bows. In turn, she probably taught me that should I die accidentally, I will not be identifiable because I have no fingerprints. She has given me more advice about raising a daughter than I have been able to absorb. I will no doubt need a refresher course and will continue to seek her counsel as she is raising two of the greatest little girls on the planet. Her guidance on sales/stores/sites has been enough to get me divorced.  She taught me that if you are ever stuck in an elevator in someones home, don't panic until afterward. One of her best pearls of wisdom, I feel should be embroidered on a pillow: "Never buy what you can make." Clearly, you see the irony in that. 


She is the kind of friend that is effortless in that her expectations are minimal. But as a good friend, you have to be on your toes. She is a worthy opponent. To be able to get her to laugh, or to have her call you "hilarious" is truly one of the most valued compliments one could receive. 


Her house looks like a photo shoot for a magazine. She does calligraphy "on the side." When she says she will not buy something she can make, it is true; because she can make anything. She is the kind of woman who sends her girls to school in matching leggings and tunics with their monograms and Santa hat appliques that she did not buy, but made for a fraction of the price and that look better than everyone else's. When someone says "Oh Creighty, the girls look great! Where did you get their shirts?" she will say "Oh, I made them. It wasn't a big deal." Humble is one of her best qualities. 


She married her high school sweetheart. Barf, I know. But, unlike some Lifetime movie couple, they are exactly the couple that you would want to get married. Equally hilarious, they are probably as in love, if not more, as they were in high school. I am certain of it. I can't imagine they haven't always been sickeningly perfect. 


Today, she will have no fewer than 200 Facebook


But again, I did a blog post. Because before I opened up my blog to the masses, I sent it to Creighton as a Beta test. You can thank Creighton for being able to read this blog publicly. Just be sure to write it in calligraphy. 




Happy Birthday, Creighty.  

You Are Literally Right.

I am seriously the world's worst match maker. The problems is, I always see it AFTER the horrible date I have set these innocent friends of mine up on. Therefore, like stirrup pants, I gave up matchmaking years ago. 


But when you have different friend groups, like we all do, it is kind of like matchmaking. This kind of hit me recently when I was at a playdate at a friends house that she had invited another of her friends and her kids to attend. This was one of those times where my complete inattention detail paid off, because I had no expectations for the playdate other than to have fun. 


When we got in, there was the normal chaos that comes with kids and introductions. That part is tough for me because there is so much going on, I sometimes miss crucial parts. Like names. So I have to really laser focus on those first crucial moments. I either look really interested or like I am passing a kidney stone. Without seeing footage, it is probably the latter. 


After the kids got settled, the moms retired to the kitchen for some snacks and chatter of our own. Let's call the mom I previously knew Rose and the new mom Dorothy. I kept saying her name over and over in my head like some sort of mental patient. Rose and Dorothy had gone to college together and then worked together before "retiring" after their kids were born. We are all about the same age, as are our kids. We begin with the usual small talk; the inhumanity of household duties, why doesn't 20lbs fall off in your sleep, apartheid, Tripoli. I begin to notice a pattern with Dorothy. 


She thinks I am an idiot. 


Okay, that is maybe too literal. But, every time I concur with her thought or inquire more about her feelings on a subject, her response is "Oh, you have no idea" or "Oh my God, you don't even know." 


Technically, you are right. Hence the questions. 


For example: Talk turned to schools. We began talking about a local school that has gotten some bad press lately. I mentioned that I had a friend who had looked at the school and felt it was a little overcrowded. Dorothy's response "Oh, you don't even know." Right. Cause notice I didn't say that I had looked at the school. Just my friend. I am merely providing a relational point. I am not saying that I know, or implying that I am in some way an expert on the subject in which we are discussing. Just makin' conversation, bitch. 


It was exhausting. Once I noticed it, I couldn't stop noticing it. It was her response to everything. And what if I did, actually know something. What if Rose had been like "So, isn't it crazy that some people think that the Kennedy family is cursed?" Here chimes in Dorothy with her "Oh my God, you don't even know." Ready for the punch, cause here it comes. "Actually, Dorothy, I do. I read a fascinating book called The Kennedy Curse a couple of years ago that explored that exact notion. It seems that the idea is rooted in the hypothesis that the patriarch, Joe, was so calculated and devious that he somehow "sold his soul to the devil" for the success of his children because he would burn any bridge, spin any yarn, promote any act, no matter how salacious for the advancement of the family. Ironically, his wife Rose was so pious, that even she could not make-up for his misgivings." Boom!  I do know.


I didn't want to say anything else, but I didn't want to seem unkind or disrespectful to Rose. Frankly, Rose seemed a little put out with her too. I began to phrase things in a way to to thwart her; "I am no expert, but blah blah blah."  It stumped her. For a little while...


Dorothy had to leave early. She gathered her kids and thanked Rose for having her. She told me it was great to meet me and that she hoped we could do it again soon. I told her, "I know. You have no idea how much fun I have had!" She looked at me for a minute and I thought maybe she was on to my game. Then, I realized that I had spoken her language.  


Rose explained that she had realized it was a bad idea immediately after she had invited her. I started to feel bad, but she went on to explain that it was because she forgot that Dorothy is not always a crowd pleaser. She practically apologized all over herself. I explained that I wasn't good at matchmaking either and that it was okay. Like dating, at least I had gotten a free meal. 


This is what I hope you imagine Dorothy looks like. 

Photo: Pinterest

Aruba, Jamaica, Ooh I Wanna Take Ya... But I Don't Want to Bring You Back.

First of all, I re-read my last post and clearly, I need an editor. What sounded so good in my head did not make it to my fingertips. I may try to refine that at a later date. Or, dictate it to someone more eloquent, ask them to write it down and then rob them blind of their notes. While it made me sound like the most selfish person in the world, (which we cannot tell for sure I am not, those tests are still pending) I truly had a much more innocent sentiment. 


Okay. 


Can we just agree that if you go on vacation here:

Photo: Aruba.com

You are going to die. I am especially warning my blonde friends. Not to be racists against my brunette friends, cause you know I love you all SO much, but it only took Natalie Hollaway for me to cross this place off my bucket list. 


Also, while most recently Aruba, can we just say as a blanket statement, that if you look like this:

Photo: Politico

and the guy who offers you the trip to Aruba look like this:

Photo: Politico

and is NOT a Baldwin brother, or this is not a scene from a show like King of Queens or According to Jim or another stupid comedy where there is a hot wife and a schlubby husband, HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU. 


I don't solve crimes anymore, mainly because my mystery machine is in the shop, but I will throw you the following bones:


1. If you work at an insurance company, maybe check the "purchased" and "trying to cash-in" dates.


2. If the person of interest tries to go to the airport and leave, THEY ARE GUILTY AS HOMEMADE SIN.


3. If the person of interest story changes several times, suffice it to say, they probably did it. 


4. If your chief of police is named Taco, you have no credibility as a country, tourists hotspot or place able to solve 2 high profile crimes involving American beauties who went missing on your watch. Taco? That is a food. That may be more person opinion. 


God bless this girl's family. I cannot imagine not being able to not have that closure. I also cannot stand the thought of having another Jorgen Van der Sloot slinking around. Very little makes my blood boil like that guy. I hope they get this guy to start talking. I might suggest a wafting a plate of cheese fries in front of him for starters...


Otherwise, stay away from Aruba!!

For Real, For Real Feelings

Maturity, is not always my strong suit. 


While I really hate nonsense, I will never not laugh at a fart joke. I cannot imagine a day when there will not be a minimum of 5 reality TV shows on season pass in my DVR,  I laughed (out loud) the other day on a commercial when they typed out "boobs" on the keypad of a calculator, and I still take shots of whipped cream straight from the can. 


But sometimes, I realize that I have grown-up. It sneaks up on me, but sometimes I get it. 


As I have reviewed the tape, I can't say exactly when it has happened. But I am hoping it hasn't been just in the last year or so; rather I have just become aware of it then. 


I have found myself, genuinely rooting for people.  Wow, that looks horrible in print. Let me explain. 


Hopefully, this is a maturation issue. Hopefully, this is the light at the end of the tunnel that was the competition I like to call my '20's.' Whatever it is, it seems like now, I am genuinely enjoying other's happiness rather than selfishly wondering how it will alter my life. Sadly, that was my mentality. And it wasn't that I did not feel excitement for my friends; not at all. It just seemed that everything was so competitive. 


To give you an example:  The other day when a friend told me she was pregnant. I found myself so excited for her, because she was so excited, but also thinking "whew, better buy some bottled water on the way home."  Where before, I think I would have been tempted with something like jealousy or fear over her impending baby. And when I say fear, it would have been fear like "should I be having a baby?"  But now I find myself being genuinely excited for her and able to show that. I am not worried about "checking that off my list." It was the same thing with getting married and getting a house and graduating college and getting into college and graduating from high school and blah blah blah.  


I have plenty of other pressures now. PLENTY. I never knew being a Mom would bring about so much pressure. 


But I think that is maybe the trade-off. Now, I can really enjoy the excitement that comes with seeing people I love genuinely happy. One of my dearest friends in the world is in a new relationship. That is like buying a ticket to see the BEST movie ever. It is electric!  When one of my best friends got married last October, it was the most I have cried at a wedding since my own. And it was because it wasn't a turn-key "different wedding every weekend" kind of wedding. It was one of my best friends marrying the love of her life in a wedding I had watched her plan with love and excitement. Not competition.  


Maybe everyone else got here before I did. It wouldn't be the first time my development has been a little arrested. It is just really nice to be in a place where I am genuinely enjoying life events of my friends and family now. 


Good job, Katie. 32 seems reasonable. 

Photo:Pinterest

Photo: Daily Mail

Photo: Daily Mail

Photo: Daily Mail

Just No. 

Helicopter Hunk

Photo: Popsugar

Guess who is single again?!?!!?


And going to ARIZONA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


That's right! He will be training something something helicopter blah blah in the desert/dessert. (I gotta figure that one out before we get there.) 


Let me be clear; Harry is merely a vessel. I am only using him to get to the Duchess. I mean, if I have to go to dinner with the guy, have a few drinks, chat him up with my knowledge of all things English, throw around a few Union Jack jokes, so be it. I mean, I am practically old enough to be his older sister. 


While I was gone, I DVR'd (is that really a verb?) "Wild About Pippa" on TLC. Before that, I noticed that there was a "Crazy About Harry," so I just threw that in for posterity.  When I got home, I had plenty to watch while I was unpacking. Not that I texted home to make sure it was recording. Or that it was the first thing I did when Sweet B went down for her nap on Saturday. 


I would venture to say, he and Pippa both have the better gig. All the fun and none of the pressure. 


I would like to think that if I meet him, I would quickly befriend him. I would also like to think that there is even a single possible scenario where I would meet him that involved me looking  and acting like a human. I would also like to imagine that every female at ASU is excommunicated from the state until further notice. I am certain the proximity to Los Angeles will bode in my favor as well. 


God save the Queen!