Or was anyway, the choice was made already :P
So this morning, I totally overslept. Like woke up fifteen minutes before it was time to leave - that kind of overslept. I jump out of bed, stripping on the way to the bathroom, turn the water on and get in before it is even heated up. (Penance for oversleeping.) And as I am shampooing my hair, I remember that I haven't shaved my legs in... well, awhile. I mean, who cares right? I've been wearing pants as often as possible. And I've made that pretty often, so who cares? It's not like I'm getting laid anymore. (Penance for being a stupid girl.)
I decide that it isn't a big deal, I'll shave tomorrow, I don't have time anyway. I'll just wear pants again. I finish washing the conditioner out of my hair and hop out, wrap up in a towel and hit the closet. And as I am standing there looking at my clothing options, I realize it is too hot for pants. It's that whole muggy before the rain high seventies outside. If I wear pants, I'll be sweating before I am done getting ready. Instead I wear capris. And I silently kick myself for not shaving but rationalize that who will be looking at my legs anyway? Nevermind that I am the only chic in an office of ten dudes.
Nah, no one will look.
Then we sit down for lunch.
And I am sitting next to original cute boy.
And he can so totally see my hairy legs.
He is so never going to ask me out.

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, My pathetic excuse for a love life, self loathing

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

I'm sorry ya'll! I have to admit that Friday really sucked a lot of my positivity out of me. When I hurt my foot on the stupid slippery porch, it really kicked my ass and it was hard for me to pull out of that mood. It was just such a huge reminder of how much this sucks and how much I hate not being able to walk.
And then the surgery which hurt. like. hell. yesterday and I was even more down.
It's hard to stay up and happy when you are in pain and unable to do much about it or the ridiculous nausea that came with it. And even more so when it feels like your house is crumbling to ruins around you. And your brother, who is the only other adult help, has had the flu for like a week and although he's trying he really can't do much and you don't blame him but then you do because he can walk and then you feel bad about that because you know he really feels horrible. And when it's weeks away from Christmas and you have NO IDEA how you are going to shop for fuck's sake because it's so hard.
But then last night happens. Last night when the pain finally melted into something tolerable and I could keep crackers down and then my antibiotics and some pain meds. Last night when the ABSOLUTELY amazing Fairy comes over and cleans my kitchen and my living room because she is just fucking sweet as hell. When Noah takes Amanda and Emilee and picks up dinner so I don't have to worry about what everyone will eat and the fact that the kitchen will be a sty afterwards,
If you know me, you know that I CAN'T STAND to ask for help. And I can't stand to not be able to do something myself. I am proud and stubborn and INDEPENDENT and I have a helluva time admitting I can't do something even when I CAN'T, the last thing I want to do is call someone and ask them for help. Even if EVERYONE I know has called me and offered it. And Fairy, because she is amazing and because she really knows me, came over and told me to shutthefuckup while she cleaned. Because she know I won't ask and because she knows I am pulling all of my hair out and biting all of my nails off and stewing in the pain that is a messy house.
She is totally getting something awesome for Christmas.
But it was that reminder that I am so very blessed to have people like her in my life and so blessed that my foot will eventually heal and that I am going to survive this period of time and one day look back at it and realize that yeah I had to have some humility but it wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to me.
And sure enough, this morning, the pain was even a little more tolerable and I got up at 4:30 and got in the shower (because I am SO caught up on sleep) and got ready for work. And now I am here and on Darvocet rather than hydrocodone and sipping Starbucks and checking all my email and life is slowly coming back to normal. I have an appointment with my podiatrist today and I should have my cast in the next week or two.
But more importantly Miss Effing Cranky-Pants is in hiding and the old katehopeeden you know and adore (I hope :P) is back and apologizing for the cranky posts and whiney phone calls.
Thank you all so much for calling to check on me (even if I didn't answer the phone) and emailing me (even if I didn't answer you) and posting comments (even if my answer posts were bitchy). I love you guys and I am so lucky to have all of these great friends.

Labels: Being Mommy, community, missing in action, My broken foot, my crazy life, Noah, self loathing, The Universe, Who do we love?

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

If you are an older sibling then you can probably remember some time when you got saddled with your little brother or sister and you just felt like you were chained down - withheld from everything you wanted to do.
Sometimes, as a mother, you feel like that.
Sometimes you feel like you just want to get into your car and drive as far away as humanly possible as fast as your car will take you. You want to just leave behind everything and be free like you were when you were a carefree kid out playing with your friends with your little sister or brother safely at home with your mom and dad.
And on days like today, I can totally relate.
Days that start with two hour melt downs, where your emotionally exhausted by 7am when you drop your kids off at school.
Days where you spend the next eight hours feeling like the worst mother on earth.
Days where your boss's boss is there and you have the opportunity to be all awesome but all you can think about is googling new AS ideas in hopes that you can find something that will make your life just a little easier.
Days where you pick your kids up from daycare and school only to find that none of the bad attitudes from that morning have faded, in fact - they've grown into larger and more dangerous monsters.
Days where your daughter won't eat anything for dinner so when she picks up a Halloween cupcake and acts like she might eat it, you tell her to go ahead - only to see your almost eleven year old roll her eyes as she walks out of the kitchen mumbling something about how she always gets everything she wants. And your nerves are so raw that you attack her because you've got to unload on someone. And then your otehr daughter doesn't even eat the fucking cupcake.
Days where she doesn't want that apple juice in that cup because its the wrong color and she didn't actually see you pour the apple juice.
Days where you just can't even imagine surviving tomorrow if it is like today.
Those are the days when you want to drive far far far away and leave these people, these children behind and seek out that feeling of being unfettered.
But it isn't like when you left the sibling with your mother.
You ARE the mother.
Some days, even when you know its just a really bad day, being a mother sucks.

Labels: Being Mommy, family drama, my crazy life, self loathing

I swear to... well, whoever that the reason I even have guilt has everything to do with my mother going to Catholic school and being raised Catholic. I don't think she had any choice, she had to just riddle us with guilt when we were growing up and now I just can't help but feel like shit when I think there is even an indirect way that I had something to do with something bad happening to someone.
Yesterday at New Kickass Job, my boss fired someone.
Someone I really liked.
And he did it right after he and I had a meeting.
And even though he assured me that our meeting had nothing to do with it, I just couldn't help but think that maybe I could have said something during our meeting to sway him not to fire this person had I just known that was going to be his next thing on his to do list.
And I just keep replaying, over and over and over again the talk we had trying to think of something, anything I could have said or done to have helped this person's case.
But then I started to think about why I was doing that.
(Because I'm all into self therapy apparently and since I already knew how it "made me feel", the "why I felt that way" was next on my check list. See how I just saved like five hundred bucks?)
Anyway, I realized that I frequently feel guilty, even when I know something isn't my fault.
Even when my boss has pulled me back in to assure me that what just happened had nothing to do with me and our talk.
Even then, I still feel bad.
And so I do what everyone in therapy does (self therapy or otherwise) - I find a way to blame my mother :)

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, my crazy life, my mother, self loathing

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?

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

That girl you used to dig? The one who used to post with regularity and some occasional hilarity? You don’t remember?
Ah, well I don’t blame you. She has been out of the loop a lot lately and if your attention has strayed to new and more exciting blogs, well who is she to bitch?
You ready for the reasons behind her semi-disappearance?
Here’s the deal: I went to work for the devil’s sister. Any semblance of relative freedom with a computer was TAKEN from my very hands and I became what can only be called a drone.
It sucked.
I didn’t realize it for awhile. Just thought I had a new kind of job and that was part of it.



That was, until I realized my very soul was being sucked out. My day to day happiness was like fuel for her Evil Fire. The more she stole, the more she could go home and cackle into her cauldron. And let me tell you, I got tired of being cauldron fodder.
Lesson learned over the last year: YOU SHOULDN’T HATE YOUR JOB PEOPLE!
You shouldn’t hate Monday and want to trade parts of your body to have a few more hours on Saturday and Sunday. If you do, CHANGE something. I can’t stress that enough. Already I am back up to 90% as opposed to the maybe 50% I had been working at for the last 8+ months. I’d be at 100% if my lazy ass was getting out of bed and doing a couple of miles in the morning AND if I could find a fucking house to buy! :)
The good news? I foresee much blogging in my foreseeable future as I have a job where I can do it from work again!
SO for those… what… two? Maybe two of you still reading? For you two clingons, I am thinking there will be content :) Yay for content!
TTYL!

Labels: At work, Being a Chic, excuses excuses, exercise, missing in action, my crazy life, self loathing

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

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

It's amazing how something as trivial as a new comforter can make me sleep like a baby... Where the hell did "sleep like a baby" come from anyway??? Have you ever *had* a baby? They don't sleep well or for very long... ANYWAY, I got a new bed set... I LOVE it! The comforter is micro-suede and by far the coolest material ever used on a bedspread... I also got a set of t-shirt sheets. I slept so very well last night. I was just simply thrilled at the prospect of laying in my bed reading a book :) Slept great, got up early this morning, rather than hitting snooze a half a dozen times!

Took the girls to daycare where they were invited to a sleepover tonight! Yay! House to myself, well myself and Ruthie anyway :)

The only thing that bummed me out was that I never got called last night from Mr. I... But that was fine, since I got a few extra hours of sleep. Then, this AM, he walks right into my office! And takes a gift from his pocket, wrapped no less and hands it to me. Surprised me because he never comes over here, to keep ppl from seeing he and I together. So I open the gift, a talking picture frame that my kids can record something on and a cd he made me.

So, what do I do? Come on! You know that you know! I invite him over! Why? Because something is severely wrong with me. I am lacking in several departments, such as "will power" and "self control" and... oh yeah, intelligence. I asked him if he wanted to come over and play Risk! Risk! I don't even know how to *play* Risk! He said he didn't know, which I can only hope for both of our sakes means no.

I need professional help!

~Kate

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