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Showing posts from August, 2015

Gentlemen...

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This is right outside my therapist's office.  Do you see it?   I'm the only one who sees it, aren't I.   Look closer... I envy that sidewalk. Here you go.  Please feel free to use this photo for making jokes about large penises.  I insist.   So that no one is left out, besides women, here's one for those with small penises: Ladies.

Love Cruise

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When it was time to go to bed, Andy and I would call it "Cruisin' for a Snoozin'".   I just found a love letter I wrote him while he was sleeping, and I know it's a love letter because that's how I addressed it in the subject line.   It's dated January 16th, 2003: Dear Andy, Good morning!  It's a bit past 6am, and I still can't sleep.  I woke up around 3am and was wide awake.  It's too chilly in the house during the night.  My feet are purple. You look so snuggly right now, and you smell good.  (Next to this is a drawing of him looking snuggly.)  I keep kissing your head.  Thank you for driving me to work every day.  Sorry I ruined dinner last night.  I wanted to make it special too.  (Frowny face.)... I'm being good.  I want to wake you up so that I can play with you.  Why do our jobs exhaust us so much?  This isn't any way to live life.... How come you can sleep through the night so well?  You just rolled over and smile

Bad Kitty

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Recently something happened that got my goat, which isn't easy, because my goat is morbidly obese but runs like the wind.   Someone did something that I found hurtful.  He found my response to it hurtful despite my sincere attempt to behave appropriately.  If you know me, then you know that I can't tolerate causing others harm.  I did everything I could to prove that I'm sorry, and it won't happen again.   That's the end of the story.  The ironic part is that what had started this was that I felt treated like I didn't matter to him, like I was nothing.  It ended with me actually believing that I'm nothing to him.   I may seem like a doormat, but there's a fence, and someone has to go a long way to cross it.  I hate having to lock it behind them.     People generally question me about my motives before assuming I have any bad ones.  When bad motives are assumed first, it's because that person is looking for a way out and needs to blame me for

Love and Haight

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Last week, my BFF got laid off from her job without warning.  Today, she wanted to know who sent her this in the mail: "You lazy bum!"  -A pantsless 35 year old woman typing this in the dark because it's too much work to reach over and turn on the light.   I'm a bit insulted that after twenty-one years, she can't tell my handiwork. 

It's a Katt-Throat World...

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“All I ask is one thing, and I’m asking this particularly of young people:  please don’t be cynical.  I hate cynicism.  For the record, it’s my least favorite quality, and it doesn’t lead anywhere.  Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get.  But, if you work really hard, and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.”  ―  Conan O'Brien This is one of those quotes that went beyond an inspirational platitude to the career advice I needed.  There is a business side of me, where I know that, like, 90% of my work is going to be "networking".  I can't use people though- I care about them too much.  It's just my nature.  Like, I would rather cut my own throat than be "cut throat". It's always been my dream to go on Conan, ask to borrow a shirt, then giggle at how long it is on me.

Picking Friends

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This is the present I got for my 8 year old nephew last Christmas.  By the time I was his age, I had read several of my peers diaries. I apologize.  Also, you're fucking boring.  That's probably why we aren't friends anymore.   Because every eight year old boy needs to know what I'm doing in the bathroom at 4pm.

Limp Throttle

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This is my car Alvin: "My name is Alvin, and I only get baths once a year.  Nice to meet 'cha!" in a parking garage, he tried to hit on this sexy, hot tomato.  A hot boxster. Poor Alvin.  She's totally out of his league.  My little roadster and I drove home, and I put up his top so that no one would see him weeping in the parking lot, listening to Adele.  

Booby Trapped

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I ordered a shirt six weeks ago from male friend, and it finally arrived, but with a tear in the collar.  I was so annoyed that I sent a mean email bitching about it, demanding a refund.  He apologized, told me to keep it, and that he would send a new shirt immediately. I felt so awful that I sent an apology email telling him not to send me a new shirt, bought another shirt, then attached a photo of me in my underwear sewing the rip.  Not to be seductive (I see people as big bags of smelly goo), but because it's easier to forgive people in their underwear due to them being so non-threatening.  It's the same theory as picturing the audience naked.   Normally I would be horrified to post a picture like this, but yesterday I was going through old photos and discovered that no matter how hard I try to get rid of those "boudoir" pics from my early twenties, you know, the ones that seemed like a great Valentine's Day present, they'll always reappear.  By t

Time to Drop the Rot

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I just returned home from my sixteen day pantsless wonderland.  Speaking of pants, I can barely zip mine now because I thought eating all their expired food was an intelligent sport for a thirty-five year old woman.  It will take about a month to lose the weight I gained. This was taken roughly three weeks ago:   Like a ballerina who doesn't know when to retire. Oh, there's no "after" photo.  Are you kidding?  I'm just going to let the sands of time erase this bout of gluttony and its plumpy repercussions.   Now that I'm home, my standard weight loss routine has commenced.  Any time I want to lose weight quickly, I use this wildly unhealthy routine:   Here's my exercise gear.  It's an ab roller, a pilates ball, and tea in a language I can't read.    The pilates ball is for sitting on while I watch Netflix on my phone. Here's my typical meal:  lettuce, an unripe pear, herbal tea, and green tea.  The green tea is actually ma

Kiss My Feet

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It's not easy avoiding the KISS paraphernalia where I'm house-sitting.  I grabbed some of the teenager's slip on's by the door when I went outside to do my pantsless watering and discovered that my feet were partying.  

Spoiler Alert

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I'm still house-sitting... The majority of food in this house has expired.  I'm attempting to eat all of it before they get back.  So far, I've gained about fifteen pounds and have spent about eighty hours in the bathroom.   The "secret" is revealed about an hour later and lasts about a day.  I actually waited for it to expire before I drank it. How?

Pantsing With Myself

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I'm house-sitting and wanted to see how long I could go without having to put on pants.  I made it nine days. This is a drawing of me watering the plants without pants on.  This is a drawing of me reclined on their leather couch without pants on,  eating boxes of expired cookies.   Here's a picture of me without pants on drawing myself without pants .    

Ten Scoops of Chowder

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*Dedicated to Nathan "Chowder" Malachowski, aka The Big LeChowski, aka Nathan Bacon Deserves a Spankin', aka Natron, aka Flock of Seagulls, aka Leslie 1.  Nathan was my first boyfriend and still my best friend (except for Meghan, who is my BFF).  We met while we were in high school and eventually moved to Germany to become hair twins. Nathan and Katt in Germany.  People mistook us for Nordic siblings, but he's 100% Polish, and I'm majority Native American.  Our jam sessions usually ended by him asking me to stop singing 'Nathan Is A Dirty Pole".  Later I wrote a song called, "This Song Isn't About You Nathan Malachowski, Geesh, Get Over Yourself.  Not Everything Is About You." 2.  Once a big black dude in a bar mistook him for my sister and began stroking his head.  Nathan thought it was me.  When he finally turned around, they were both were surprised.   3.  My dad was hard of hearing and wouldn't do anything about

And They Call It Puppy Love

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I'm house-sitting for the first two weeks in August.  Here's my new friend. "Hi, my name is Snuggles.  If you touch me, I swear to God, I will cut you!  Nice to meet 'cha!"

Smells Like the Teen Spirits

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Done and done...and I mean done .  This is the door to the teenager's room where I'm house-sitting.  Look carefully, you can see the candelabra in front of the window.  On the ceiling is a poster of Bauhaus (of course there is).  The message is unnecessary because I'm too creeped out to go in her room anyway.  She's either a pagan, wiccan, or methodist.  I can't remember.  

Backyard Party

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This is the backyard where I'm house-sitting.  There appears to be a clothesline, cage, and zombie in a blue corset.   Dunno what they're into... but count me in. Just an ordinary day on the compound.

I Bore Myself Awake

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Once I had a dream that I was waiting in line.  It was so boring that I woke up.  Just last night, I was forced awake because the plot of my dream went nowhere.  If I was a fiction writer, you would probably be asleep by now.  (The ghost of O. Henry just gave me a high-five.)   Recurring dreams tend to be unoriginal.  Mine is the Billy Madison-like one, but I can't figure out how to go to classes.   Maybe because I'm Native, but probably because I'm kind of balmy, dream interpretation makes sense to me.  In this case, I feel anxious because I can't catch up with my peers. Yeah, I'm thirty-five, and have never been married or pregnant.  Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out the name of the career that I'm pursuing (more on that later).  The first two are on me though because I'm way too nice and let men know right away that I'm smothering and idealistic.  (You're welcome.)   Funny how I've never worried about that pushing away friends.  

Parting of the Mediterranean Sea

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I'm house-sitting.  There's a large painting of Fabio in the dining room.   Lah-ove me. 

Smelly Kat, Sleepy Girl

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I just finished watching all ten seasons of Friends and am still in disbelief that it began airing over twenty years ago.  I've had dates who were born after the Friends premiere (yes, recently.  Shut up.) For the ten years it was on (and longer), people sang "Smelly Cat" when I introduced myself.  In return, I had to swallow my irritation and come to terms with what a hackneyed world we live in.  A t some point, my younger sister started just calling me "Smelly", but that turned out to be because I thought heroin was more interesting than hygiene maintenance.  It didn't have anything to do with the occasional bouts of homelessness, which is what happens to moochers who aren't Rachel and Joey.   After January 3rd, 2007 (my sobriety date), I began gradually following a more curious path.  Eccentrics like me, who are sensitive and intuitive, tend to wind up as either ascetics or occultists.  The "dark side" involves more teamsmanship,

Black Leather and Red Paint

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I started working full-time during the summers when I was fifteen.  My first job was as a nanny for a couple of my sister's friends...and my sister.  My mom never paid her bill and exploited me for free labor.  Why?  Because she could, my friends.  Because she could.   My financial goal was to buy a car so that I could have a place to smoke freely.  I settled for a 1988 red Nissan Sentra and put a "Hooked on chronic works for me!" sticker on the bumper.  Why?  Because I could, my friends.  Because I could.   Prior to buying the car, I spent $350 on a black leather jacket at Banana Republic because it made me look rich.  The next day in sophomore chemistry class, an actual rich girl was wearing the same jacket, which ruined my life, and I still owe her a kick in the crotch.   The car lasted a few months before I crashed it with my friends and a French foreign exchange student in the car.  They forgave me, and I'm still sorry.  Except to Chloe.  She stil