So we haven't seen or talked to the boy since Tuesday... that would be the same day in which we discovered that he is a little slimy weasel that we don't want to play with anymore.
Yesterday we were training in Town An Hour Away to do job of The Chic We Never Really Got Along With. Now, we weren't training because we are planning to do her job but because we needed to be cross trained to cover for her should she take a vacation or get sick or not show up (as she is prone to doing).
But we never intended to actually have her job.
Especially not recently when she has seemed to be on her game.

Yesterday, we got Some Dirt on The Slimy Weasel (has a nice ring to it doesn't it?)...
[What is it called when one refers to them self as a "we" for an entire blog post?]
So we are d-y-i-n-g to hear The Dirt but somehow get roped into lunch at The Awesomest Place In The World (for those of you not in the know, that would be Olive Garden) and so we couldn't call her on our lunch break and had to wait two more excruciating hours until we were driving home to get The Dirt.
[It isn't third person... Help a sister out...]
So when we are finally free and in our Brand New Freestyle... with leather and a moon roof driving home, we dial up for The Dirt and snuggle into our leather seat for the hour drive and hopefully an hours worth of good Dirt.
Sadly The Dirt was all confirming what we posted on Tuesday about how The Previously Adorable and Super Nice Cute Boy at work is actually a Slimy Weasel. And he isn't even a Smart Slimy Weasel. He is instead a dumbass. He is going around work telling people about how he is juggling multiple chics and all freaking out that they will find out about each other.
Did I mention that he is doing this AT WORK?
You know, where one of the chics he is "juggling" happens to spend fifty hours of her week?
Well lucky for him, there is now one less chic to be juggled.
There is one more chic to watch out for "accidentally" kicking you in the nuts, but one less chic to worry about juggling.
Armed with this news since Tuesday and only just having it confirmed yesterday, we had been trying to decide how exactly we wanted to react.
Did we want to pretend we didn't know and just cold shoulder the boy out?
Did we want to send The Slimy Weasel a nasty email telling him he is a Slimy Weasel?
Did we want to act like we didn't know and pull the "I've decided to see someone else" card?
Did we want to slash his tires?
Did we want to sit down and tell him we know he is a Slimy Weasel and stupid to boot for blabbing at work?

There were so many choices...
And we really couldn't pick one.
So we thought about it all day yesterday while we were training in Town An Hour Away... we thought about it when we were driving... we thought about it while we were making dinner... we thought about it while we were dropping The Girls off at Softball Practice... we thought about it while we were walking Tucker... we thought about it while we laid in bed last night... we thought about it when we talked to Snakeman...
We thought about it a lot and really couldn't quite come to a decision.
So this morning when we got to work and were talking to Snow on the phone and we saw that he was already here and we still hadn't made up our mind as to what we were going to do, we panicked a little.
[It's called referring to yourself in the plural. I'm totally referring to myself in the plural. I wonder why... Maybe I'm lonely...]
So we told Snow that we had to run because we were at work and we had to face The Music. (The Music = The Slimy Weasel in this case...)
Somewhere in between the car and the seeing The Slimy Weasel for the first time today, we decided to act like nothing had ever happened and that we didn't know that anything had happened.
Why?
We aren't sure.
[You know the Empress from The Never Ending Story totally referred to herself in the plural all the time, like the whole movie. Didn't she?]
Probably because we don't want waves. We are Anti-Waves as it were and have a tendency to avoid them. Like the plague. Also because we are professional. We don't want to create a crappy workplace even if some people apparently don't give two shits about wave making and crappy workplace promoting...
The fact is that there isn't anything that can be done.
A mistake was made (this would be a judgment mistake on my part and a moral mistake on his, I believe) and it can't be reversed and since The Universe has yet to instill in me the right to inflict karmic punishment on others in her name, what's a girl to do?
Except let it go.
Does this mean I will continue sleeping with The Slimy Weasel? It does not. It means that I will be just as nice as I was previous to his transition from Cute New Boy to his current status.
I am going rewind to November and start over.
I am going to be the nice rockin' chic that I have always been and take The Sex off the table. Because he so doesn't deserve The Sex.
And my gut tells me that he will at some point try and get The Sex again and when he does? I will so totally tell him that I know about him being a Slimy Weasel and that no, he cannot get The Sex from me any more.
That's right.
[Ha! I stopped! I'm back to first person! Go me!]
So here's the thing, I get to work today and The Slimy Weasel is totally acting like he was before. All nice and hanging out and flirting. And I'm all looking for that iron box to put my not-able-to-withstand-kryptonite feelings into. Because even though we know that The Slimy Weasel is a Slimy Weasel, the flirting still somehow makes our stomach do flip flops.
[Damn it, I started again! Stop it Kate! I think it has to do with him.]
Anyway, he is all back to his old tricks... you remember them right? Check out October of '06 if you've forgotten.
Oh and for you hard core LOC junkies? October of '06 isn't the only place I've hidden Top Secret Posts.
They are riddled through out this blog.
Riddled I tell you.
His old tricks? They suck because I have to remind my too-forgiving self that we don't like his punk ass anymore.
Note to Self: We. Don't. Like. His. (Charming). Punk-Ass. Any. Fucking. More. Damn. It.

Then, around 8:03am, my Boss comes in and closes my door and lets me know that I am being "promoted" into The Chic We Never Really Got Along With's job. Because she is being fired/let go/quitting. And so I am getting a raise (yay!) and bonuses (double yay!) but I am spending the next two weeks learning how to do her job. And then the next several months trying to balance her job and my current job (and really earning the raise/bonuses).
But I can so totally do it.
And I know it and my boss knows it and apparently his boss knows it too.

Just so long as I can find some repellant for The Slimy Weasel so that I stop being tempted to forgive his lying ass and hop back into bed with him. What the fuck is wrong with me anyway that a day of him being charming is all it takes for me to want to let it go? I am severely damaged.
Severely.
I so just sat here for like five minutes and debated deleting all of that Super Honesty above about The Slimy Weasel because I don't want you all thinking I am a Loser Chic.
But I can't.
Because that just wouldn't be keeping it real.
And those of us that speak of ourselves in the plural? We especially have to keep it real.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, I'm a loser, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing, Snakeman, The Universe, Tucker

God I know better.
I totally know better than to get involved with someone who I work with.
I totally know better than to get involved with someone who is younger than me.
And I totally know better than to get involved with someone who puts down clauses about a lack of seriousness.
I even TOLD you at one point that I wouldn't get involved with someone who I worked with again unless it was serious. Unless there was a thread of serious intentions running through it. I mean, obviously one can't know for sure, but I wasn't intending to randomly sleep with a dude I worked with unless I was 'seeing where things were going' not as 'The Rebound Chic' and... well the part of the rebound chic will be played by Katehopeeden today...
I totally know better.
And yet, for reasons I am not completely sure of, I chose to ignore all of those things with you.
I believe it was because you were ridiculously nice. (And I am ridiculously stupid.)
Because you genuinely seemed to care. Because of those things I was able to "see past" all of my rules and knowing better.
Which worked out rather nicely for you, I suppose.
I, on the other hand, am feeling rather like an asshole.
Mostly because I believed you when you said that we were going to see where this was going, if anywhere. And I was totally cool with that. Partially because I wasn't in any hurry to jump into anything... Partially because I didn't know how I felt about you anyway and partially because we do work together. But mostly? Mostly because I thought you were being straight with me. And mostly because I believed you were being straight with me about that and about how we weren't going to see other people.
But I knew.
God I fucking knew.
I knew last week.
Want to know how I knew? Because I have dated - hell, I've been in relationships with people who were seeing other people. And because I have this vast freaking knowledge of exactly how it feels to be The Other Chic, I knew. At first, I thought I was being paranoid, even had conversations about how I was letting my past relationships overshadow my feelings. About how I was acting too much on jaded feelings and not just letting things flow.
Well fuck things flowing.
Exactly nine days ago you and I stood in your office and made plans with each other to get together two nights later. And two nights later you stood me up with the excuse that we didn't actually confirm those plans. Which made me feel like an asshole and really made you look like an asshole. But because this is new, because it is all supposed to be clean slate and because I am too nice for my own stupid good, I believed you when you said you didn't have your phone and even tried to see things for your perspective. But I knew that your reaction wasn't the one I was expecting and I'm pretty sure not the one I would have gotten a few weeks ago.
Deciding to let bygones be bygones, twenty four hours later, I let it go and acted like nothing had ever happened.
And it didn't matter because suddenly you started to act differently.
And I was all thinking that there was no way that was because of me. My reaction to you having blown me off could not possibly have warranted your change in temperature.
There was something else.
Ok, so at first, I did think it was me. That maybe I'd come on too strong, although I seriously doubted it. Maybe you'd realized that it was too much seeing someone with whom you worked, which was possible. I ran through the whole effing list of shit that I could have done and couldn't seem to find something that warranted it.
So after I spent like four hours in therapy reminding myself that there isn't anything wrong with me and I need to get out of the habit of blaming myself for everything going wrong, I took a look at you.
You suddenly stopped making eye contact which I took as a sign of guilt. You suddenly started asking the other chic who we work with to help you with stuff which I took as a sign of you avoiding me. And on the occasions in which I did help you with something, like today, it was so very awkward.
Now I noticed the reason why yesterday but didn't want to jump to conclusions, but then today it happened again and I am not An Idiot (nor do I play one on TV, even when I'm standing in as The Rebound Chic). Your cell phone rang and instead of you answering it, "Hello this is the boy" or "Hey Buddy!" you answered it with a quiet "hello" and then proceeded to talk to some chic quietly and with much flirting. And so, because I am not in the habit of being An Idiot (at least not on purpose), today I stood out in the lobby with three other people, all of whom could hear your conversation and pretended to be interested in what they were saying while I listened to you.
Listened to you flirt shamelessly.
And listened to the following conversation which pretty much solidified things for me:
"Do I smoke? Wait, did you say smoke? Oh "snore", I thought you said smoke. Well, sometimes if I'm out at a club I might have a couple of cigarettes... but as to the other? Well, you'll just have to wait and find out..."
You could practically hear the wink. You know, the one I actually saw not two weeks ago when you used that tone with me.
At which point I went back to my office because it was inherently clear to me that you've found some other chic that you are into and the thing is? That's fine. But god damn, you could have unhooked me before you re-baited. I've just been hanging here trying to figure out what's going on for days.
I'm a big girl and it's only been a couple of weeks, I'm fairly certain I could have recovered and even continue being friends after our "fling" but you, you are a chicken shit. You didn't even have the balls to tell me? It's just disrespectful. And now, I don't know if I can go back to being friends. Mostly because I am feeling like The Stupid Used Girl.

Dissapointedly,
The Rebound Girl
KHE

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, fucking pissed, I actually had sex, I'm a loser, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing

So, my brother is insisting that we buy new cookware and dinnerware and bakeware and silverware.
That's a helluva lot of "wares"...
But I'm all "sure, I'll take care of it..." thinking hey, it's shopping, it's bound to be fun!
Wrong.
I looked around online for a few hours and then I called my brother and I was all, "uhm, so I was thinking we don't really need new pots and pans and dishes and shit. The ones we have are fine."
And he is all, "Kate, get new stuff. Your stuff is old. And shitty. And you can afford new stuff so get new stuff. Did I mention shitty?"
And I was all, "No, I don't want to."
Then there ensued a conversation about how most of my current cookware was given to me when I was broke and moving into a house and had no stuff. And so it was second hand cookware that had "seen better days" and doesn't match and is falling apart and WHY IN THE HELL WON'T YOU JUST BUY NEW SHIT KATE?
I skulked off and pouted about it for awhile and then admitted to my brother that I don't know my ass from good cookware or bakeware. Or hasn't he noticed in the last almost year that we have been living together that I hardly ever cook? And when I do it's because it's either A) Microwavable, B) From Freezer to Oven, or C) Pasta and Chicken.
ps. I make awesome pasta.
Given that little morsel of knowledge, wouldn't one assume that I am not the best person to make major purchases for kitchen? Unless it's a coffeemaker because I rock at buying those. Mostly because I have a tendency to break things and after you've broken like nine carafes, you are a coffeemaker buying goddess.
My brother told me to handle it and then refused to listen to me bitch about it anymore.
So I did what any smart chic would do, I called The Cake Lady. And we had a lengthy discussion about cookware and bakeware and she is all excited and I am trying to stay awake AND retain all of the knowledge she is giving me about various types of cooking apparatuses.
ps. this did not happen
I'm all, "I should just buy whatever it is that YOU have, your stuff looks good." And then she is all, "Well, you should see what different sets are out there because the set I have may not be the set that you will use." And I was all, "YOU MEAN THAT THERE ARE DIFFERENT KINDS OF SETS?"
And then I cried.

So I've put the whole bakeware and cookware and silverware thing on hold but decided this morning to peruse some of the dinnerware. Usually when I do this, I can look at dishes for all of like thirty minutes and then my brain starts screaming at me: Stop it Kate! Stop it right now or I am leaving!!! And I am fairly certain my brain has bailed out before, so I take these threats seriously.
But this morning, on overstock.com, I actually found a few sets that I like. Even though I think that they are ridiculously expensive.
Check it out people. Which one would you pick?




ps. I pretty much can't stand the coffee cups on all of them. But that's because I like HUGE coffee cups. And I guess I could find HUGE coffee cups that matched one or both of the colors on the plates and use those instead.
Like anyone actually uses coffee cups with the dinner dishes anyway.

Labels: Being a Chic, Being Retarded, excuses excuses, family drama, I'm a loser, my crazy life, Noah, The Cake Lady

Remember new cute boy? We try not to confuse him with the original cute boy... which could probably be helped by giving them names but you just can't force name giving. It has to come to you.

Cute boy transferred here like two days before I broke my foot. As you can imagine, breaking my foot really threw a wrench into my ability to bond with new cute boy. Which sucked as we seemed to get along and were just getting to that "get to know you" place. But then I broke my foot and spent the better part of the next six weeks sequestered in my office and on the rare occasion that I was able to come out, I was the pathetic girl on crutches.
Note to self: Do not break your foot again!!!

Anyway, new cute boy started to date some chic he met anyway and as he was a self professed long term relationship dude, I figured they'd be dating for awhile. However, in the meantime we've become friendly. In the weeks following my unfettering from the crutches, we've been chatting and I usually spend the last hour or so on Friday afternoons sitting in his office just talking.

And he's cool people. We dig him. While he is two years younger than me, he's done a lot of living as most of you know I have. (And if you don't know, there are a slew of History Lessons in the sidebar somewhere that will get you all caught up on my crazy life.)

So anyway, over the last week or so we've been talking a lot and had talked about hooking up outside of work to hang out since we seem to get along so swimmingly. Oh yeah, just totally used "swimmingly". Oh you know you're jealous.

So then, he comes into work on Monday and I am telling him about how Noah has a date with some chic and how funny is that since we were just talking about him on Friday and I was telling him I was worried about Noah not having any kind of social life. So he is asking me where the two of them are going on their date and how they met, etc. and I'm telling him everything I know, which isn't much and asks me to keep him updated. Which I thought was a little different.

So then I tell him that I almost called him Saturday night to see if he and hid girlfriend wanted to join Fairy and I to see 27 Dresses. And then he tells me that he and his girl split up over the weekend. I of course am all "I'm so sorry new cute boy, I thought everything was going well" and he doesn't seem too bummed about it... saying it was mutual and I don't push for more details.
And then do you know what I did people?

I am still spending a fair amount of time pondering the decision to blurt out that next brilliant idea.

I say to him, "Oh my god, you should totally go out with Fairy!" (Who he met at the Christmas party.) And then I think why did I say that? I assume it is because my brain is acting faster than... well other parts of my anatomy. He says something like, "oh, well yeah, ok..." and then says that the three of us should go out together and do something.. so that he can see if he digs her or not and because it will be fun. Like going to see 27 Dresses. I'm all, you don't want to watch 27 Dresses, it's totally gonna be a chic flick. And he says he digs chic flicks what with having had three sisters growing up. So I tell him that maybe we can go this weekend if I am not knackered after having packed and moved all my shit from one dwelling to the other (likelihood that i won't be too knackered: 6.3%). I like the word "knackered".

Then he says something unexpected, "Hey Kate, I'm off on Sunday, I can come help you move." I'm all you don't want to come help me move Silly Boy. It's your only day off and in case no one has told you, moving sucks a fair amount of ass. But he is all persistent saying that he would be happy too, "plus Kate, I have a truck!" So I tell him that if I am not all moved by Sunday I'll give him a call. And then I tell him that I talked to Noah and he is talking about taking the chic bowling (since he had asked me to let him know what happened) and he is all, "we should totally go bowling! That would be so fun!" And I said another one of those things that makes me wonder if someone should take a peak at the inside of my head and make sure it's all functioning properly. I say I don't know if Fairy likes bowling but I should ask her... Like I just keep forcing Fairy on him.

And maybe he wants me to since I've mentioned it or maybe he wants us to hang out and every time we talk about it I am Fairy this and Fairy that. Because I'm an idiot of substantial proportions.

Like I have any fucking idea how to do this anymore anyway. It's been FIFTEEN MONTHS since I've done the deed people. Fifteen months! We should all just be happy I don't get into a room with a boy, fart loudly and giggle.

Anyway, we chat through out the rest of the day and it is becoming clearer and clearer that he'd like to hang out. But what isn't clear is whether he wants to just hang out as friends or if he is considering more than that. He is flirting but geez, who doesn't do that any more? It's almost like a cultural thing.

Let's skip forward to later in the day. He left work at two for the day and I tried to concentrate on things that were not about boys which was easier since Original Cute boy and New Cute boy were both gone. But then at four he comes back. I wanted to ask him why he was there but he and I were both busy until I left. So I shot him a text message saying I thought you were free for the rest of the afternoon? He sends one back saying that he was and I text him back and say something sarcastically about how I personally love to spend my free time at work too. Then he writes back the very blunt "So what are you doing tonight?" and I respond with something about the usual: dinner, kids, baths, bedtime, packing and he says "Do you need any help?" to which I tell him I'd sooner be hung by my toenails and have every hair on my body pulled out with molten tweezers and then be put in a tub of scorpians than have someone see my house in it's current state but I appreciate the offer and how about we just try to keep our plans to try and do something this weekend? So he texts back with, "Sure. Give me a call if you change your mind."

And I'm all... whhaaaattt is that?

I'm texting poor Snow Elf with "call me, call me, call me, call me right now. I don't care if you are at work goddamnit! I need your unbiased opinion, help me. Help! Call. CALL." Ok some of that was internal but she knew it was implied. Didn't you Snow?

Then I think, what was that sound? Sure sounded like the little *click* of my mind changing.. I start working the brother angle to see if he would be cool with me bailing which he seemed to be cool with.

I send new cute boy a text and say "Are you still at work?" and he writes immediately back and says "I'm about to leave" and before I can even respond, he writes again, "I just left" so I text him and ask him if he's ever seen The Count of Monte Cristo. [An aside: I'm always shocked by how many people haven't seen that movie! Geez people, watch it. It's so good.] Anyway he writes back and says he hasn't and I take a super deep breath and write back "well how about I bring it over and we can watch it?" And he says sure and then I changed my clothes four times.

Fortunately Snow got off work and we were able to talk while I was on my way to his house. I shared with her the whole entire above story and asked her what the hell she thought was going on and her honest opinion: Stop trying to set him up with Fairy! We talked for awhile and I told Snow that my main thing is that I really like original cute boy and I don't want to screw up the chance (if there ever is one and I can't promise there will be) by making him think that I'm all like Other Girl at Work who sleeps with half the freakin' company. But at the same time Original Cute boy has been talking to me a little lately and cracking jokes and so I am wondering if maybe he is starting to consider it. Of course the opposite would be that he thinks I'm done trying and just wants to be pals. But what do I know? Remember? Fifteen Months.

I get there at about seven and his apartment is exactly what you would expect of a single dude. It's a one bedroom with a loft upstairs that has a poker table and a wet bar. Downstairs the small living room has a phenomenally comfortable leather couch and a ratty arm chair placed in front of the fifty some odd inch tv with the x-box 360 hooked up. Very tidy. In the "dining area" is a huge shelf of dvds and the kitchen was small and clean which was far less surprising once he showed me he didn't have a spec of food in the whole apartment. His bathroom had bare essentials: shampoo, razor, soap, toothpaste, tooth brush, hair gel. I didn't peak in the cabinets. But remember Snakeman? Snakeman knew I was coming over and made it a point to guy-clean his bathroom... you know, wipe the counters, make sure that there was a new roll of toilet paper on the roll, put the seat down. Now maybe new cute boy did a guy clean of everything and forgot the bathroom but me with my mommy glasses on was all thinking I wanted to tidy. Which I refrained from :)

I can hear ya'll all "get to the effing point already Kate!"

The short of it is, we watched the movie but paused it like four times to talk and one of those times for over an hour. And since I am a chic and one who is paying attention to little tiny details because that's just how I roll, I was watching to see if he was gonna make a move or do something obvious to insinuate that he might want to. We both sat on the couch and there was some playful touchy stuff but nothing that crossed any line. At one point I pulled the neck of my shirt down a little to scratch my shoulder and I very clearly saw him looking at the teeny bit of skin I had shown but that was pretty much it. I didn't pick up on any signs that he was trying to make a move and wasn't sure how to but then again, what does that even look like anymore?
All in all, I had a good time but stayed up WAY too late. I got home around midnight and passed smooth out. He came in this morning and said he had a great time and wants to know when we are going to do it again. And he reoffered to come over on Sunday for moving if I needed him.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, History Lesson, I'm a loser, My broken foot, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, Noah, Snakeman

Here is the break: my Jones Fracture (otherwise known as The Suckiest Thing Ever.)


I was supposed to get my cast on Wednesday. It was going to be white because the stupid podiatrists in my stupid town don't have colored casts and apparently only orthopedic doctors do. But me, being one of those people who is always afraid of hurting someone's feelings, can't bail on my podiatrist now that he's seen my naked foot and his wife (also his receptionist) has "awwwww"ed over how hard it is for me to hobble around on crutches.
So white it is.
And I had reconciled myself to white.
But then my podiatrist unwraps my foot and lets it have some air after five days of being wrapped in some kind of sticky white tape (that was wet when it first went on but dried and itched like a bitch) and secluded in cotton and supported by my fiberglass splint.
Here is what it looked like before the wrapping came off:


Here it is all swollen and green and with sticky white tape residue all over it:


Yes, I know, there was a collective "eewwwwww". I heard it. It's ok, I forgive you.

But here's the kicker.
My doctor comments, "hmmm, Kate, it looks a little swollen still...."
And I mention that not only is it swollen but it hurts like a bitch (only I didn't say bitch because he's all old and I would have offended him and you should never offend a podiatrist methinks on account of who knows what they are capable of? They look at feet all day, there is certainly something brewing under the surface) and that every time I have to walk around or anything I get horribly nauseous.
And he says, "Well, have you bumped it on anything or have you stayed off of it like we discussed last week?
Normally this is where I would have looked at my feet but he is all there by my feet so there was no avoiding the question.
So I got into this whole bit about how I was such a good girl who stayed off of her feet the whole weekend. No really, like I only got up to pee! But I had to go to work on Monday and maybe I thought I was a little better at using the crutches than I actually am. Well - no I definitely thought that and boy was I wrong because I am like the worst crutches user ever. And I kinda thought I could go up stairs on crutches and in retrospect that was probably a little presumptuous for someone who is already balanced challenged but even more so for someone who has never used crutches before save a few trips to the potty and a demorhal laced walk down the emergency room hallway.
This is where he interrupts me, "So you went up the stairs on your crutches?"
And I explain that I tried and failed miserably and by 'failed miserably' I of course mean that I fell down. And landed right on the broken part of my foot.
This is the part where he stops wrapping my foot with... pre-cast material and thinks for a moment. Then he looks at me and says we will have to have another xray to see if (my stupid vanity) has broken the bone even more than I had already horribly broken it.
And I felt a new kind of guilt.
The I disappointed my podiatrist kind of guilt.
Monday morning I get new x-rays. I won't get them on cd which sucks ass but maybe I can convince my podiatrist to email them to me. I think that they found me to be charming when I brought the camera in and told them I needed pictures for my blog. Or crazy.

Labels: Being Retarded, I'm a loser, My broken foot, my crazy life

I've gotten a ton of emails asking how in the hell I managed to break my stupid foot.
It's really not a great story... I was in a super hurry (as I almost always am) and I was wearing these CUTE shoes. I can't find a picture of them but they are kind of like platforms.. except not hooker shoes... They have about a 2.5 inch platform on the back and about a two inch platform on the front. The entire base of the shoe has gorgeous purple and green flowers on it and then the top had just a red leather knot across the toes and an ankle buckle. They match perfectly with my wide leg green slacks.
Anyway, I wear these about every two weeks and I've only ever almost fell in them once before.
So, I am in a super hurry picking Amanda up from advanced Art on Thursday. The reason I am in a super hurry? Yeah, I was TOTALLY flirting with the new guy and the time got away from me and before I knew it, I was ten minutes late leaving. This is a big deal because I was coming back to have dinner with Rico Suave, his girlfriend and another co-worker before we went to a seminar. And that was a big deal because we were going to Olive Garden and I fucking love Olive Garden.
So after I get Amanda and am walking out of the school, Trin's teacher stops me to talk for a few minutes which puts me even further behind schedule. I tell her I am in a super hurry and can we talk next week. She says sure and then I walk out the front doors and as if to emphasize that I am in a super hurry, I walk very quickly.
For about ten steps.Then I eat shit.
I rolled my left ankle and since my cute shoes had zero ankle support, I could correct it. And since I was walking very fast, I fell down very fast. And hard. Landing on the outside of my foot before propelling forward and scraping the top of my other foot. My phone landed fifteen to twenty feet away in (thankfully) the grass.
I immediately stood up because that is what you do when you fall down so you can lessen the amount of people who see you. Right next to me there was stone pillar and I leaned up against that and told Amanda (who looked like she had just seen a ghost, I would later learn that I had just eaten shit in front of the boy she has a crush on) to go grab my phone while I composed myself.
It took me all of about 2.3 seconds to realize that I had absolutely broken my foot.
The dead give away would me the protruding bump in my skin and the rapid swelling.
I had Amanda help me get to the car which I am so glad I parked right in front of the school instead of in the parking lot thirty feet away. And as soon as I was in the car, it took everything I had not to cry. Instead, I started making phone calls.
1. Co-worker to find out where I could go with our insurance.
2. The Cake Lady to meet me at the gas station since I was almost out of gas and couldn't get out of the car.
3. The daycare to let them know I was dropping Amanda off and not coming in and that I might have Fairy pick up the girls.
4. Noah to let him know what was going on and set up how we would get the girls home.
5. Snow since she had inadvertently been called in the midst of the accident and was wondering what the hell was going on.
6. Fairy to let her know what was going on.
After the calls I was parked in the parking lot of the Urgent Care place trying to decide if I could walk in or not. The answer would be: not. I took one step on my broken foot and all the tears I had so gallantly held in came out. So there I am crying from pain and frustration and standing next to my van trying to figure out how the hell I will get my ass in there. I decided to google their number on my phone but my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn't even type it into my phone when this lady walks out. I call her and ask her to please go inside and get someone for me which she thankfully does.
I am wheeled directly from the car to the x-ray room and then three x-rays later, to the patient room. Before I am even out of the wheelchair, the doctor is there telling me to lay on my stomach because it is broken. They wrap it, give me some crutches and a copy of my x-rays on cd and then a shot of demorhal in the ass and send me into the waiting room. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than an hour.
I am going in this afternoon for my cast.

Labels: Amanda, Being Retarded, I'm a loser, My broken foot, my crazy life, self loathing

1. Pain.
Obviously it will hurt right? It's a bone in your body and it is broken. But let me tell you, I've had three kids - three - and breaking that tiny bone in my foot effing hurts. It hurts so much that I have been nauseous for five straight days.

2. Crutches suck ass.
Maybe when you were a little kid you envied another kid in your class that broke his leg because he got to cruise around on crutches and had a cast that he got signed and got a ton of attention. Guess what? You envied wrong. There is nothing, I repeat: nothing cool about crutches. You've went from walking around on two feet to walking around on one foot and two sticks. They're bulky, loud, wobbly, difficult to steer and basically do not even begin to compensate for the leg you were previously using.

3. Your other leg will hurt.
You'd think that your other leg would gladly step up and assume the role of its counterpart with pride and dignity. However, your other leg will only begrudgingly do the broken leg's duties. It will whine and bitch the whole time about how it isn't fair that the other leg just gets to sit around all day doing nothing while it now has to carry twice the weight. It will voice these concerns in the form of cramping up and making you feel like you have no other choice but to sit down right where you are immediately which happens to be on a curb which then makes standing back up next to impossible.

4. You can't carry ANYTHING.
Not a glass of water, a cup of coffee, papers from the printer, dirty laundry, dishes, socks! Nothing. I would rather have broken my arm and been turned into a one handed typer. When you break your foot, you lose the other leg to extra work and both hands to crutches and it sucks ass. And even if you want to just tough it out, every time you stand up to do something everyone who sees you in the hall asks why you are up because "didn't your doctor say to stay off of your foot for another week?" and then you have to proclaim that you "just want to go to the goddamned bathroom" but thank them for asking. This will seriously affect the flirting you are trying to do with the new guy.

5. On account of #4, you have to ask people to do everything for you.
Initially you will probably need help changing your clothes. Need a glass of water? Guess what? Someone else has to get it. Hungry? Someone else will have to carry your food from one place to the other. Your co-workers will start joking about how if they come into your office to ask you a question, they will receive a "honey-do" list.

6. You have to invent new ways to get in and out of the shower.
If you are like me, this will involve a precarious balancing act on the side of the bathtub. This is when you start to consider how important it is to bath daily and how feasible hiring a stunt double would be.

7. You have to start using the handicap accessibilities.
And handicap ramps are LONG. I made the mistake yesterday of thinking I could just hop up the stairs, there are only six of them after all. I cannot hop up the stairs. In fact this caused me to fall on the broken part of my foot and nearly made me throw up. However, the little motorcarts at Wally World are pretty rad and I have went shopping twice since this accident and both times I have been able to race around the store honking at those who get in my way ;)

8. You will stop needing to pee in the middle of the night.
You will stop because there is no way in hell anyone should attempt to operate crutches unless they are at full working capacity. And the amount of time and effort that goes into crutching from the bed to the potty is enough to completely wake you up and render sleeping again nearly impossible. For that reason alone you will hold it for a few extra hours. For this same reason, you will lay in bed until you are fully awake before getting up in the morning. Crutches should only be operated by someone fully awake and alert.

9. Everything takes twice as long.
Everything. Double the times in which you think you will be able to accomplish anything because you will need twice the amount of time. Fifteen minute showers are now thirty. Getting dressed in three minutes? You'll need at least six. Walking from the car to your office used take thirty seconds, now it takes three minutes. It's ridiculous. Welcome to your lesson in patience.

10. People in public do not help you.
No one opens a door for you or gets out of your way. No one picks up your crutch if you drop it on the ground. No one will offer to carry something for you or take your cart back into the store. People just don't. And I was one of those people. I always thought it would be embarrassing for the person on crutches to have you come over and help them. And I'm sure that it is. But let me tell you, if you see someone on crutches today, open the door for them. It makes their day that much easier.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Mommy, Being Retarded, community, Health, I'm a loser, My broken foot, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing, unsolicited advice

That would be my broken fifth metacarpal metatarsal (correction made ny nurse Tux, thanks!)...
Broken.
As in I will be in a fucking cast.
I wanted to write something all witty but the pain meds have taken away all my creativity.
I am taking Pity donations all week.

Labels: Being Retarded, I'm a loser, self loathing, The Universe, un-fucking-believable

"So Fairy & I were having this debate and she said I should ask your opinion since your a dude..."



"Ok..."



"Ok. So if a guy says that he likes your purple office and then someone else says 'isn't it cute?' & he looks you in the eye, like this, and says 'yes, it is very cute' and then walks off, does that mean he likes you?"



"No Kate, it means he likes your office. If he likes you he would say 'hey Kate, want to get together sometime?' You know what the problem is with you women? You OVER ANALYZE EVERYTHING!... oh and also, if he thinks your purple office is "cute" then he is probably gay."

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, I'm a loser, mobile blogging, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, Noah

Today my construction boss was training a guy who is going to be doing the same job but in the Austin area. And little Training Boy? Holy fucking shit he was hot.
The Cake Lady saw him when she stopped by and said, "he is TOO good looking."
Amen sister.
I have no idea what his name was because when he introduced himself, my brain was all mushy and girly and playing soft slow music while creating scenes of the two of skipping down the beach holding hands minutes after our marriage ceremony.
*sigh*
But when he shook my hand (and probably because I was so dumb-struck by his amazing gorgeousness) he ended up embracing my entire hand, instead of just my four fingers. Does that make sense?
Anyway, I just found myself sitting here off in Fantasy Land thinking about how funny it would be to tell that story later on as a "The First Time I Met..." tale... with him sitting beside me, holding my hand (the right way), laughing right along about how nervous he was.
*sigh*

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, I'm a loser, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life

The other day, my boss asked me to go and look at a couple of the houses that we have for sale and to pick out an accent wall or two and a color for those walls. No pressure right? Just potentially fuck up three houses, I pointed out to my boss that, in case he may have forgotten, I am the girl who just painted her office purple...

He just smiled and said, "I'm sure you will pick out colors that everyone would like."
Are you? Because I can't swear that I am.
So, I grabbed the keys for these three houses and then went to them, one by one and sat in them. I walked through the entire house and sat in the main rooms from every possible angle. Then I picked the wall(s) and color(s) and moved to the next house.
It was actually kind of fun and I hope that they end up looking as awesome as they did in my mind :)
*fingers crossed*
Anyway, on the third house I went up to unlock the door and found it standing open. I stepped back but looked through the glass door and found that the house was still being put together. There was a roll of carpet on the floor and other supplies that I could clearly see from where I stood so I thought maybe the door was open on account of how there were people inside doing work on the house. But this time, as I went to open the glass door, it swung open at me and I was standing face to face with a reasonably attractive man who was several inches taller than me and wearing glasses.
I asked him the first question that came to mind, "Oh, are ya'll still working on this one?" He gave me a sort of puzzled look and answered, "I don't work here." I stammered out an "Oh." on account of how I was surprised. We don't let people just cruise around inside of houses unaccompanied by anyone and especially in incomplete houses. As I walked in, he walked out and as he closed the door, he asked me to make sure I locked it on my way out. I was further confused but went about my task of choosing a paint color for this last house.
A few minutes later, back in my office, I was making notes and a couple of sketches of the colors and areas of color I liked the most when I saw the tall cute dude walk by my office. He hadn't seen me, but I put aside what I was working on in case he should walk by again so I could say hello. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he walked back by and stopped, smiled and said, "So you work here." I said that I did and then asked him what it was that he was doing. He explained to me that he was from an insurance company that we apparently insure our homes with and he was just "verifying stock". So I asked him where he was from and he said San Antonio and then I was going to ask him something else and my next-door-office-neighbor (whom we can refer to as Jokeman) poked his head in to ask me something, putting a solid halt to my quasi-flirting.
Now a little history on Jokeman: we like him. He is funny and a ball of energy. He flirts some but has a girlfriend (and given my last experience at work, with a dude with a girlfriend, we aren't EVEN going there!). Mostly he is just fun to hang out with. He is a good next-door-office-neighbor.
So as he comes in and the insurance guy heads to my boss' office, I look up to see what he wants. Jokeman sets a paper down on my desk, glances over his shoulder to insure that insurance guy is gone and then says in his girliest sound-like-Kate tone, "So, why don't you just come into my office and close the door huh?"
I was caught off guard and looked up at him and said, "What?" He says, "Oh, come off it! You were totally flirting with him! So, what do you do? And you live in San Antonio?"
Now, I was. Don't get me wrong, but I didn't expect anyone to be listening - let alone call me out on it.
I told him to shut it as I felt my face flush about three different shades of red which was surely a combination of the surprise and embarrassment of having someone I work with totally pay attention to me trying to get a number.
Something I probably wouldn't have done if I had known I was being listened to.
Jokeman laughs and takes off down the hallway as Boss takes Insurance Guy outside to show him something. I grab my empty glass and take it down the same hallway to the water machine. Jokeman is standing in the copy room with cute boy I have a crush on (who still doesn't have a name) and they are talking about something work-related but as soon as Jokeman sees me walking up, he changes what he's saying and says. "So then Kate is all like So, where do you live? Do you want to just climb up on my desk?" Now I'm torn between being mortified that he just called me out in front of the boy I like and being a little grateful that now the boy I like knows I am flirting which is to imply that I am single and available should he ever actually decide to talk to me.
I go back to my office and have no sooner sat down when Jokeman and another guy I work with (the names, the names, I so need to think of names!) walk in right behind me. As they walk in, Jokeman says, "So Kate was just totally throwing herself at him." And the other guy is happily playing along seeing as how they have me razzed. I say, "fine, so I was flirting a little. If either of you had went the last year without having sex, you might be flirting a little too."
And as I say the very last part, as it leaves my mouth, Insurance Guy walks by my office door tactfully not looking in.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, I'm a loser, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing

So, the boy I mentioned in my last post (who shall remain nameless until such a time that he warrants a name)? Let me give you a little bit-o-background. He is one of the guys at my job (yes, yes, YES – I friggen know already about dating guys I work with ok? I remember Mr.I quite clearly, but let’s just ignore that one little detail for now ok? Because it’s that ONE little MINOR effing detail that could stand between me and the possibility of The Sex. And people? You don’t want to be one of the factors of that little detail standing between me and The Sex because I HAVEN’T HAD SEX IN A VERY, VERY LONG TIME. Ok?)
Moving on.
Aside from sharing the same name as Amanda and Emilee’s dad, I have yet to find anything wrong with this boy. (Give me time, it’s only been a few weeks.) The first week I was working at Kick Ass New Job (KANJ? Maybe…), I was in my office listening to Damien Rice on the ipod and nameless boy walked by my office and then came back and popped his head and asked, “Are you listening to Damien Rice?” To which I responded, “Yes.” He said, “Wow“ so I asked him, “Why? Is that bad?” And he said “No… it’s just, I don’t think anyone in this office even knows who Damien Rice is”
(Which, btw, if you are one of those people, those sad, sad people who don’t know who Damien Rice is? My heart goes out to you and you seriously need to get your hands on Crimes and Blowers Daughter and Delicate and the coconut song on his new album. Seriously.)
So, he walked off and came back a minute later and handed me Damien Rice’s new album and then walked out. I waited a few minutes and then went to his office and asked him if I could borrow it and he said sure… actually he kind of said sure, it was more of a yeah you can borrow it and I have a ton of other music here that you can borrow too because everyone kind of just bums his cds… And then he recommended a couple of other artists that I wrote down and CAN’T FIND now. One was Montagne I think…
Anyway, color me intrigued right? Here’s a guy that listens to Damien Rice.
There is one other thing I noticed too. Ok, when I am walking somewhere I snap my fingers. Like snap left and then right, quickly. *snap* *snap* *snappity* *snap* It’s just a nervous habit I guess or my inability to be still. Anyway, the other day, I noticed that he does it when he’s walking down the hallway too! (Check it out guys: THIS IS HOW LOONEY WE FEMALES ARE! WE NOTICE SHIT LIKE THAT!)
Ok, now fast forward to Monday. Monday, another guy that I work with popped his head in and asked me if I wanted him to grab me something to eat at whatever fat saturated place he was going to and I said yeah and gave him some cash. When he got back, he poked his head into my office (Did I mention I now have an OFFICE?? Yeah Baby!) and said food was here and to come eat in his office. I said I’d be there in a few minutes as I was in the middle of something. A few minutes later, I went in to eat and behind the desk is the dude who grabbed lunch and sitting in one of the two chairs in front of the desk? You guessed it – nameless boy. I am all like GREAT, because I really want to scarf down a burger in front of a guy I might like... especially when he is eating a SALAD!
Anyway, I plopped down with my 45,000-calorie lunch and tried to think of something to say. I made some casual conversation with guy who bought lunch about a picture he had on the wall that one of his kids had made and then I was apparently tapped because dude who grabbed lunch had to leave for like 6.5 minutes and I couldn’t think of anything to say to nameless guy.
Nothing. Not the weather. Or insects. Shoes. ANYTHING.
Did I think of anything? Nope.
Just sat there for every second of the 6.5 minutes nibbling French fries and counting the varying strands of awkward that were floating around the room.
It was awful.
Dude who bought lunch finally came back and we all finished eating and then nameless guy went back to his office and I went and slammed my head in the door repeatedly.
When I got home, I was talking to Fairy and telling her that CLEARLY this man had NO INTEREST IN ME WHATSOEVER and she said that I was wrong. She said that he was probably just as shy as I was about the whole thing, to which my darling Snow followed up that he was probably sitting there trying to think of something to say as well. Although I seriously doubt that.
But then, today, I saw a beam of light. Ok, more like a teeny tiny glimpse of a flicker… but light nonetheless.
But before I can tell you that part, I gotta give you a little more background about new job. On my resume, it says I can type like 70wpm, which is true. During my interview with my Boss, he asked me about my computer skills and my typing skills and I responded that both are stellar. On my first day actually working, I was sitting in my boss’s office and we were talking about something and he suddenly stood up and asked me to come sit in his chair. He had been working on an email and I thought he was going to like transcribe to me or something. So he says, “type something” and I asked him what he wanted me to type and he was all like, “I don’t know. Just type…” and then he gave me like two lines of the email he was working on, which I began typing. I wasn’t even half way through when he stopped me and said, “dude, I can type WAY faster than you!” Like I had any idea I was being tested :P
Well now there is a running joke in the office about how I not only can’t type but I also lied about all of the things on my resume. So now, at any given opportunity, one of the guys will mention something about checking into those typing lessons for me or ask me if I know how to do something like… speak German and when I say no, they’ll make the comment that there’s one more thing I lied about on my resume.
Did I mention that I effing love it here?
Today, in our morning meeting, it was brought up by my boss that I was beginning my third week here and after asking me how I was liking everything, he asked everyone how I was doing. At which point everyone said that they loved me and I rocked. Which I do. And then, out of the blue, nameless boy says, “yeah, I hear she is up to nineteen words per minute.”
Holy crap. He just teased me.
I am back in the fourth grade and he’s just pulled one of my pigtails right?
It’s been too long people. I don’t know how to play this game any more. I’m all out of practice. What do you guys think?

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Retarded, Dating, I'm a loser, music, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing, Who do we love?

So last night I watched Because I Said So. And since this blog has apparently turned into a website where I review the latest movie that made me cry, I'll tell you about it.
Before I tell you about the movie though, let me tell you about the new boy I am in love with: Gabriel Macht

Isn't he adorable? Even more adorable if you see him when he first comes onto the screen and he is wearing his cute little hat and dressed like Blake Lewis from American Idol 6. And just too un-fucking-believably gorgeous.
*sigh*
It makes you want to scream "WHERE IS MY CUTE BOY? HEY UNIVERSE??? I THINK YOU FORGOT TO GIVE ME MY CUTE BOY!!"
And as if his being a cute boy weren't enough! Oh no, on top of THAT he is also a SINGLE DAD!
Just impale me now.
Note to self: These perfect guys only exist in the movies. They are not real, only in the movies Kate. Deep Breath.

Anyway, good points from the movie:
The mom was a single mom of three daughters (*ahem* - sound like anyone we know?) and she loves it. At one point another character (I think the dad from Seventh Heaven) is saying to her that it must have been hard having three girls and she just smiles and tells him that there are worse things.
And there are people. Much worse things.
And the mother and the daughters had a FANTASTIC relationship. They called each other on conference calls to gossip and they shopped together and went to spas together. I think of all the parts of the entire movie, my favorite was the relationship that the mom had with her daughters.
Anyway, I don't want to spoil the whole thing because I want you guys to watch this one.
Go rent The Holiday, Catch and Release & Because I Said So and have yourselves a nice little sobfest.
I'll be here when you get back :)

Labels: American Idol 6, Because I Said So, Being a Chic, Being Mommy, I'm a loser, My pathetic excuse for a love life, The Universe, what you should be watching

So that guy at work I was telling you about? I think he's single...

Oh yeah? How did you find out?

He was talking to someone outside of my office and she said that her neighbor was a lesbian and had a super hot body and that she should introduce the two of them, to which he replied that he wasn't interested in that kind of challenge. And he always talks about his dog, never mentioned a wife. So he's single right?

Yeah Kate, if he only talks about his dog and never his wife, he is single. We should start a list of ways you can tell that someone is single. And we'll put 'talks about dog and not wife' on there.


*See the longer you go without dating, the more out of touch you become.

Labels: I'm a loser, My pathetic excuse for a love life

I just finished watching this movie and I loved it. Maybe I loved it because I can relate to being that girl, or maybe... no, that's why. It's because I can relate to being that girl.
What girl?
The monologue at the beginning explains it all:
"I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind". Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space! Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years! The absolute worst years of my life! The worst Christmas', the worst Birthday's, New Years Eve's brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back. Oh god, just the sight of him! Heart pounding! Throat thickening! Absolutely can't swallow! All the usual symptoms."

This movie is excellent, more so if you've ever been that girl (or that boy, there's no gender discrimination here on LOC :P).

My favorite part of the whole movie is when Kate Winslet (who gave the introductory monologue) hands Jack Black a drink and they are sitting on the couch together talking after Jack Black has just found out that his girlfriend was cheating on him.
Kate says the following: "I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade."

And she says it all with such heart felt emotion, tearing up even towards the end. And Jack Black watches her intently, listening to every word so sincerely. And after she finishes, she takes a deep breath and looks at him and he says, "Fuck. I think you need this more than I do." and hands her his drink.

Go. Rent it.
Especially you, my soul-sister. The girl who I can call and tell the most ridiculously minute details to and you get it because we've both been and still occasionally are that girl.

The Holiday.

Labels: Being a Chic, Dating, I'm a loser, My pathetic excuse for a love life, what you should be watching

I am not typically the kind of person who wonders about what people think about me. I am confident in the person that I am and believe in the things that I do. So it is rare to find myself questioning my actions.
But when I do, there is usually alcohol involved.
Lots of alcohol.
So, here I am.
You know when you are out with some friends and one of them has too much to drink and starts hugging everyone and trying to strip tease on the nearest table and you seriously consider ditching her ass?
Yeah, I don’t want to be that girl. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to perfect, if you will, my drinking. Typically I do so by not getting shit faced to begin with. I find that nice little having-fun-buzzed place and hang out there. But occasionally I have just a glass or two more than that and hit drunk.
But usually, even when I am drunk, I tend to try as hard as I possibly can to watch what I say and walk slowly and of course, never ever ever drive. I like to think that I handle it all pretty well.
But how do you know?
I mean, really, when you have random memories popping up 24 and 48 and 72 hours later? I didn’t remember these things happening until days after they happened, so who’s to say that I didn’t do something absolutely humiliating?
The first thing I usually do when I start to second guess my behavior is try to remember how effed up the people I was with were. Because if they were shit faced too, then it’s all good. But lets think about this rationally: If I am three sheets to the wind, how in the hell am I going to remember if the other person/people I was with stopped drinking early on and left me hanging out in the wind? That of course presents the worse case scenario, I was drunk and stupid and they were sober enough to remember it.
I also try to gauge exactly how idiotic I was by the next-day reactions. Are there jokes being made at my expense? Am I getting random eyebrow raises or sideways glances? If I make a seemingly innocent comment, does someone snicker?
So why am I torturing you all with this useless post?
Well for starters, I got pretty drunk on Friday. On Saturday when I was in hangover mode, the person I had been hanging with the night before didn’t say anything too nuts about my behavior. Just the one “you were wasted” comment.
Which, lets be honest, is pretty bad all by itself.
Lets add that up with a couple of my “flashbacks” that have popped up over the last few days:
I swing danced. And people, I can’t swing dance.
So there was falling.
I think just once.
In my defense, I was spun around a few times.
I remember some hand holding which in the grand scheme of drunken idiocy isn’t that bad. The bad part is that I can’t remember if it was me being a pushy chic and making him hold my hand or if it was just one of those stupid no big deal things.
There are a couple of things I definitely did not do.
I did not have sex. I know this because I haven’t had sex in almost a year and I would god damn remember if I had.
That and I do remember passing smooth out.
Probably because I was thinking about having sex before I passed out and I remember that I didn’t make it and I was a little pissed. Not that sex was even on the table, but those little details matter not when you’ve consumed an entire bottle of wine.
I did not get naked. I’m not one of those chics who gets all shit faced and then tries stripping down to my bra. It’s just not my thing. I have been known to skinny dip on occasion but I don’t usually lose all my clothes for no reason.
I did not declare my love for anyone. I seem to be much more inclined to do that when I am not around the person. I am too chicken shit to do it in person apparently. But on the phone at 2:30 in the morning? Yeah, that is when I am all about making those declarations.
So all and all, nothing too horrible. We hung out the next day (before a couple of those realizations hit me) and everything was fine. And we’ve spoken and emailed since with normalcy.
I am just feeling like a dumb ass. And since this is my blog and I know all of you love me unconditionally, I thought I’d share. Plus, I am rusty and needed to blog something :)

Labels: Being a Chic, Being Retarded, I'm a loser, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing

Is tomorrow people!
Go, print your cards!

Labels: I'm a loser, my crazy life

First of all, thanks to ALL of you who emailed me yesterday to wish me a happy birthday :) I appreciate it so much.
I know, there's nothing here.
I am totally blocked World.
I can't write an email or in my journal, let alone a blog post that even remotely resembles entertaining.
I'm blocked.
I've got a bunch of stuff going on (totally typed "stiff" the first time and trust me people I don't got none of that going on).
I've got personal stuff, emotional stuff, work stuff, kid stuff.
I've got stuff.
Lots of it.
And not a lick of it blog worthy should I suddenly be able to break down the brick wall with the giant "No Complete Sentences" sign hanging on it.
Be patient with me, I'm still here.
I'm just quiet.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, Being Mommy, Being Retarded, birthday, Dating, excuses excuses, family drama, I'm a loser, missing in action, my crazy life, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing

Things you will need:
2 big boxes of Rice Krispies
5 10oz bags of marshmallows
1 bag of red licorice
butter
red air-brush icing
wax paper
baggies
ribbon

The way that this sort of thing begins is with an idea.
I can trace back for you how the idea came to me.
I picked my kids up from daycare and grabbed my free copy of the NickJr magazine that the daycare lady gives us and took it home. It had some travel suggestions in it so I thought it possible that I'd browse through and see about some random weekend thing the girls and I could do. Like camping. The magazine made it's way from room to room as everyone but me browsed through it.
So last night, after dinner, I suddenly remember that I need to bring snack for the game today. It's my turn. Resigning myself to running into Boerne to hit Wal-Mart, I told my mom and asked if she'd keep an eye on the girls. She says she will but "didn't you see that cute little recipe in the magazine for the baseball shaped popcorn balls? It was so cute, it had red licorice on it for the lines...."
A little light bulb dings itself on over my head and I for some insane reason decide that we should make those. That would be so cool. All the other moms on the team will be utterly impressed by my creative ingenuity and throw flowers at my feet as they wish they were as cool as me.
Ok, well not really.
Instead of Wal-Mart, I run down to the new Dollar/Grocery Store down the road from my house. I don't usually shop there and have only been there twice. Why? Because it's not a dollar store. It's a big convenience store, complete with convenience store pricing. And instead of popcorn, we decided to make rice krispies treats.
I get everything I need and head back home where I begin melting marshmallows and butter and my mother tried to devise a way to cut the licorice into smaller pieces.
Now, let me let you in on a bit of top secret information that you may not have been privy to prior to reading this little entry.
Rice krispie treats do not like to be round.

That's right. The little effing balls would much rather be pressed into the baking pan as the directions mention. So many of my balls fell apart and had to be pressed back together, sometimes requiring the use of some Melted Marshmallow Glue (patent pending).
I fought with these balls for the course of about two hours before deciding that rather than continue to shape them, I would shape them and then wrap them in wax paper, so they could retain the round shape I so desired and I could maintain my sanity.
This is where my mother's part comes in. Make the little licorice strings stick to the rice krispie balls. Seemingly easy task right? With a little help of my Marshmallow Glue, it should have worked. Alas, work it did not. It was as though the licorice and the balls were opposite ends of a magnet and refused to bond. God damn them.
That left my mother and I sitting there covered in butter and little rice krispies, trying to figure out how in the sam hell we are going to make these balls look like baseballs.
And then, I remembered the "air brushing icing" I had purchased for some other brilliant idea I had many moons ago. Was it red? I couldn't remember. I located it on the shelf with all the other cake decorating junk and sprayed a little into the sink.
Bingo!
The fun part was next. Pick up the ball, reshape it for the millionth time and spray red lines around it before it fell apart, wrap it quickly in wax paper and tie it off.
The whole while realizing that the other mothers were much less likely to bow at your feet with the edible abomination you would be presenting their children for snack.
The end result:


Lessons learned:
Never begin a barely thought out made from scratch snack at 8:00p on a school night.
Always have red spray icing.
Do not pick up free magazines.
Always put butter on your hands previous to attempting to shape a rice krispie treat.
Never tell your mother you need to get snacks for the game.
Always have a back up plan.

PS. Watched American Idol, want to marry Blake Lewis.

Labels: Amanda, American Idol 6, Being a Chic, Being Mommy, Being Retarded, I'm a loser, my crazy life, softball

I hate you.
Telling me the truth every morning wasn't fun enough for your sick & sadistic self... no you had to take it a step further and straight up lie to me.
And not in a holy cow [pun intended], I've lost weight!... no, you couldn't give me that! Instead, you have to tell me some OUTRAGEOUSLY low number that is obviously incorrect.
Like, "hey Kate, this is what you WOULD weigh, if you ever got off of your fat ass and worked out anymore."
I hate you.
I am planning to kill you when I get home and bury you in the dumpster.
Sincerely,
~Katehopeeden

Labels: Being a Chic, death, exercise, I'm a loser, self loathing