Standin’ on their own two feet and ringin’ on their own bells. Sisters are doin’ it for themselves. Now this is a song to celebrate the conscious liberation of the female state! Mothers – daughters and their daughters too. Woman to woman, we’re singin’ with you…!

This weekend I realized, even more than ever, I am truly my mother’s daughter.

In fact, I came to the conclusion that she and I should probably hang out less.

Drew came home this weekend for the first time in about three months and he was appalled at my behavior.

We went out to dinner last night as a family. This restaurant is one of those restaurants that has hibachi style Japanese food (yum!) and it was really loud.  Drew sat between Mom and I and we were in a situation where neither of us could hear what the other was saying.

More than once, Drew stopped and looked at us, exasperated and incredulous.  He could not believe his eyes or his ears.  Not only did both Mom and I interrupt each other, but we were usually asking the same questions or making the same observations.  At the same time, or just seconds apart.

This is deeply upsetting because Drew and I make fun of Mom all the time.  She only tends to half-listen so she ends up saying “huh?!” and “what?!” a lot during conversations.  It also doesn’t help that Drew and I have our own special, weird sibling language. You know, the kind of language where you don’t speak in complete thoughts or even real words.  Really, we can have an entire conversation in movie lines and weird faces. That might sound a little shallow, but in actuality, our conversations aren’t always all surface-y, even though we are using other peoples’ words.

I love that about us.

Mom, however, does not love that.

She tends to get lost a lot.

But then she throws out gems like this:

What? Elvis is walking in a train station?

She said that in response to something I had said to her over the phone one time.

Or she just makes her own conversation and hopes it catches on. It usually only catches on because I think what she said is so ridiculous and random that I immediately latch on and tease her relentlessly.

For example, Drew shared this gem with me last night. She apparently said this:

His cart pulled up and I immediately turned to the kids and said, “Look at that giant wheel of butter!”

I’m fairly certain she said that to the woman she was talking to at our hibachi table (whom she had just met- and then proceeded to advise her 16 year old son about which engineering programs to pursue at various schools known for engineering.)

Oh, the other thing that’s hilarious about my mom? If she’s not talking about work, Drew, or me, she’s talking about Chief.  And with a face like this, why wouldn’t you?

he is SO presh!

My family is awesome.

Get Out, (leave) right now, it’s the end of you and me. It’s too late (now) and I can’t wait for you to be gone

All I wanted to do was sneak by Stella and try to use food against her; a form of trickery used to entice her into interacting with Chief.

She was hovering at the inside staircase and, not wanting to disturb her, I thought I’d ninja my way downstairs using the other set of stairs. Only, when I tried to go in the garage and have Chiefy follow me (so Tam could talk Stella into coming into the kitchen), Chiefy wouldn’t come with me. He hovered at the top step and stopped. He gave me a look that said, “No fucking way, crazy lady.”

It was only when I saw the following when I realized that he was really saying “Kate, something is not right. There is a critter in my food bin. And it looks like it might want to kill you.”

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!!

I hopped back into the house and tried to catch my breath.

There’s a fucking possum in Chief’s food! A POSSUM!! Oh my god, Mom, what do we do?!

Remember that time I talked about how I do not possess grace under fire? Yeahhhhh.

My first instinct was to find the camera while Tam poked her head out the door, armed with the swiffer. “Oy!” she yelled and then slammed the door.

I burst into laughter while she walked back into the kitchen, trying to think of what to do.

Oy? That’s your go-to?! I don’t think possums speak Yiddish!

I could not stop laughing.

But then we got serious: What the fuck do we do?!

I was against calling animal/critter control because I am under the assumption that they come to get the animal and then kill it. I swear to the heavens that the “technician” would just tell me they weren’t going to kill it but once they take it away, they totally do kill it. That’s not okay with me. I may not want it in my dog’s food bin and so close to the entrance to my home, but I do want it to be able to find its babies and significant other and live a long, healthy life in the wild.

I’m that person that cried when I ran over a squirrel on accident. I shooed a giant-ass spider out of my room and into the cool October air using a page I ripped out of Cosmo magazine because I couldn’t bring myself to kill it. I just can’t do it. I can’t bear the thought of that little so-ugly-it’s-cute creature being put to death just because it was hunting for food.

That’s like killing Aladdin.

Not everyone can be so lucky as to marry a princess in Agrabah.

So, Tam called our old neighbor, a close family friend who came to the rescue all the other times we had weird animal issues. You know, like that time we came home from London the first time to find a duck was trapped in our chimney. We tried her first suggestion: make a lot of noise. Tam banged some pots and pans together while I let Nikki talk me into contacting Animal Control because she told me that her husband said Animal Control doesn’t kill the animals they capture.

The local office was closed and the lady answering the 1-800 number calls wanted to take my information to have a “technician” call me in the morning. I was like, “Uhm, lady, I don’t want this possum in my garage with my dog’s food all night long. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll just wing it. Thanks anyway.”

I poked my head out one more time.

This little critter had to go.

That’s when shit got real.

We both put boots on, zipped ourselves into our coats and found the thickest gloves we could find.  Tam, armed with a broom this time, tried to ninja herself past the possum and sneak attack by putting the lid to the food bin back on.  It didn’t work out as planned.  I stood, like a pansy, at the door, narrating the possum’s thoughts out loud. You know, like that’s really helpful. But when the possum showed his scary teeth and started hissing, I shut the door and whined. I opened the door again and watched as Tam tried again to put the top on.

Success!!

With the lid safely on the bin, we could begin the move down the driveway. We carried the bin filled with dog food and possum all the way down the driveway and across the street, to a nice snow bank near a bundle of trees.  The plan was that we would dump the food and the possum out of the bin and then run back towards the house.  Things went according to plan in the sense that I ran like hell through the puddles of melted snow back to the house. But I realized that Tam was still back there, with the bin of food, the snow bank and the possum.  A moment later, I saw her walking towards me with the empty bin in hand.  She had surrendered the lid and the scoop used to measure Chief’s food to the possum.

We’re gonna go see if the possum has decided to give us the lid back.

Wish us luck!

Tale as old as time, true as it can be, barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly…

I watched Beauty & the Beast this week.

Here’s the thing about when I watch movies: I think of questions you’re not supposed to think about. I just do. I can’t help it. It’s just how my brain works.

Hey, just real quick, who in the castle made clothes big enough to fit the Beast?

…

………

…………………..

…………………………. Really?

Yes, really! Those household items are not dexterous enough to alter his original clothes nor could they sew something new!

Shit, Katie, I don’t know. Maybe one of them was turned into a sewing kit.

Oh. Yeah. Probably. Good point. Okay, bye!

Yeah, I called Drew just to ask that.

I’d really like to say that that was the end of it.

But then this happened:

Thought of another one: who is MR. Potts???

He died tragically. Why do you think she has to work in the first place?

Yes, we were, of course, speaking about Mrs. Potts, the lovely older woman who was turned into a teapot when the castle was enchanted.

Oh good. That’s what I thought too. So she and crazy old Maurice got together??

I don’t know, Katie.

Don’t get mad!!

I’m not. I just don’t know if he ever recovered from the death of his wife. It’s why he dove into inventing, to ignore his pain.  That is why Belle likes fantasies, to escape her tragic life of having seen her mother die and her dad not recover from it.

Aaaaaaand that’s pretty much why I have the best brother ever and you don’t.

When I let my hair down, that’s when the party starts! And who needs a boyfriend? I got my girlfriends and when we get together the summer never ends!

One of my favorite parts of going out with the girls is rehashing the night’s events. I particularly enjoy the stupid conversations we have and the outrageous one-liners that make repeated appearances the morning after. For example, I have provided you with a snapshot of what the conversation was like upon our arrival to Megan’s house last night after we got home from the bar and the one-liner that never seems to get old:

Just before asking Megan to help me get her DVD player to play the Sex and The City movie, I told her to “S my D” and, to borrow from Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I told her I was going to “B my L on her T’s.”

This conversation only started the hour-long laugh-fest.

It’s not okay to talk like that. Totally inappropriate.

We only continued to speak in solitary letters, communicating pretty obscene and obscure messages.  It got pretty crazy when we had to explain to Seneca what we were saying. Her guesses were not at all correct.

“B my L on her T’s” quickly became “buzz my labia on her toes” which is obviously not at all what that means.

The laughter wouldn’t have been an issue if we hadn’t been snaking on some Doritos at 3 AM. The laughter led me to say that I needed to stop to breathe because I was “choking on some D’s” which obviously was misconstrued.

I meant Doritos, for the record.

Rather than offering friendly advice, such as DRINK SOME WATER, or refraining from speaking altogether to prevent further laughter, Seneca simply yelled at me to “Lock it up!”

To which I made the only appropriate response, mid-choke, “YOU LOCK IT UP!”

Then, for some reason, we all then pretty much passed out.

This morning, at approximately 8:30 AM, we were all awake.  When Megan came downstairs, her usually put-together ponytail was completely out of control. She looked disheveled.

I don’t think I even got in a “good morning, sunshine!” before she headed to the bathroom to fix her hair and I yelled “You look like Kid Rock” at her.

There’s rarely a morning after a night out when someone doesn’t get told they resemble Kid Rock. I’m not sure why he’s the go-to disheveled-looking name to drop nor am I sure why I think it’s so funny to tell people. For whatever reason, it gets me every time.

I understand if you don’t find these interactions as funny as I do, but today, every time  I have thought of what a crazy night last night was, I laugh.

I laugh when I think about how we danced with Willy the Can Man (kind of against our will). How Megan shouted “Embrace your inner Whale” as we ran around East Lansing with no coats on in the snow. How Leah repeatedly still tries to get me to “get on the ride” despite the fact I decline every time to hop on her back for a piggyback ride. How Ashley ripped a large, decorative candy cane off the wall and danced on the stage with it.

I do not care for Toby Keith, but he’s right about one thing: There’s not a lot I regret, Night’s I can’t remember, Friend’s I’ll never forget…

Don’t be a chicken, boy, stop actin’ like a beeotch. I’ma peace out if you don’t give me the pay-off. Come on, baby, let me see whatchu hidin’ underneath!

During a facebook chat conversation this evening, I said the following to my dear friend Megan:

i wanna see your peacock

Now, this could mean many things. You may not think so, but I can give you at least three different scenarios right now:

1. She recently came to own a peacock and I was expressing my desire to introduce myself to her new pet.
2. I was listening to the Katy Perry song entitled Peacock and “singing” to her.
3. Innuendo. (Even though Megan is definitely a lady and doesn’t even a have a peacock.)

Even though I sincerely wish it was 1 that was the truth, it was really 2.

are you brave enough to let me see your peacock?

After I told her I wanted to see her peacock, she told me, “that is a very personal comment.”

This made me realize something: there are many personal things shared between friends. Obviously, you talk and share secrets and shiz. And I would say that my group of friends is pretty…. personal. We’re super close.

Not in a dirty way. (No homo.) Just… in a we’re-all-really-close-friends-and-lack-boundaries-now-at-this-point-in-our-friendship kind of way. I wonder when that started. But honestly, for as long as I can remember, it’s been like that. Although, I can also honestly say that my friends now seem to just ignore my I don’t like to be touched rules. Like, to the point where it’s not really an issue for me anymore. I’ve come to accept that I’m going to hug Leah awkwardly when I see her, I’m going to be tackled when reuniting with a friend I haven’t seen in a couple months, my boobs will be touched by hands that don’t belong to me, Alecia will smack my ass whenever she feels like it, when we’re out at the bar I will grind up on my girls and they’ll grind right back.

It’s a fact of life.

I then wondered if all groups of friends were like this. You know, personal.

I would assume so. But, gosh, you just never know!

So I started thinking about my other group of girlfriends. I would say that we are pretty personal in the things we discuss. We’re not the kind of friends I have from home and from college, and stuff, but we’re friends all the same. We do, however, spend the entire week together and that just makes us close by default. We talk every day. About pretty much everything.

I mean, the things we discuss are pretty personal. I mean, we for realz talk about everything. We talk about food and candy and things I won’t eat (blue!) and things I’ve never eaten (corn dog!).  We also talk about sex. And boys. And babies. And bowels. And our frustrations, the joys in life and Glee.

It’s just a different kind of close.

For example, while my closeclose friends may share all of those things as well, they would not at all apologize for reaching out and grabbing a little bit of boob as they tried to pull something off my shirt. But my other friends totally apologize when doing that.

I guess it’s just different strokes for different folks.

I kind of love how wildly inappropriate we are, though, so I wouldn’t change a thing!

How close are you to your friends? Do you lack boundaries like my group of friends?

Chokehold (is that what this move is called?!) in the middle of the dance floor in the basement of a fraternity? No big deal.

Maybe this is wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming, but if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right

Oh hey everyone.

Here’s this week’s Sunday list:

1.) A car drove through the wall of my town’s library?

2.) I finally got to pick up the stuff I had waiting for me at the library today. The hole in the brick wall was covered by some wooden boards. It looked really, really safe/cute.

3.) Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, and Sara Bareilles sing directly from my own heart.

4.) I spent the entire day packing while hungover.

5.) The movers come tomorrow morning at 8am and the house is like… not done being packed up into boxes and shiz.

6.) I’m so excited for my hair appointment on Thursday.

7.) I really need Eclipse to be out on DVD. Like, yesterday. I watched New Moon one night last week and had many, many thoughts and a few questions. And luckily Erica understands how my brain works and didn’t even judge me for this gem: “And I’m fairly certain that Ashley Greene is a douche in real life so it’s fitting that she and Joe Jonas are togeth. They can be douchelords together.” Nor did she judge me for this one: “Why the fuck is Jasper so creepy?!” Or this one: “What is Esme’s importance in the saga? What does she bring to the table other than serving as a positive role model?” And this: “Also, Edward and Bella’s relationship is sooooo unhealthy.” And, finally, this most important thought: “Jacob is just too cute!”

I know. I need an Intervention.

8.) I found this while looking for my New Moon related texts I sent to Erica. I found this. And it’s the truth, so I’ll share this one too: “I really feel like I’m the dark and twisty Meredith and not the bright and shiny one. And it’s weird that I changed from Cristina to Meredith, but I just know I’m Meredith now.”

9.) I’m really tired.

10.) I had to perform the Heimlich Maneuver today!!! And I wanted to cry! It was scary. And the whole experience just reinforced the fact that I definitely do not possess the quality of “grace under fire” so the poor soul who ends up with me better possess that otherwise my life will be a mess.

Well, here’s to hoping that Tuesday brings more “together” me. I’m hoping to have some pictures of the move as it is in-progress to show you how things are going. Until then, my loves… until then. 🙂

LAHV YEW

There’s a place downtown, where the freaks all come around, it’s a hole in the wall, it’s a dirty free for all…!

1.) I got Nicole Richie’s new book Priceless from the library. I’m so psyched to read it! I read her first book as more of a joke than anything else but I actually really liked it. haha I think this one’s gonna be good.

2.) Oh, speaking of books I’m reading, I finished The Pact by Jodi Picoult finally! It was SO GOOD!! I loved it! I didn’t know what was going to happen and it was like I couldn’t read fast enough. You should read it!

3.) I’m on a country music kick. I mean, I generally always enjoy country but lately it’s as if I just can’t get enough. I want it all the time.

4.) I had the following conversation today via text:

megan: bahahaa you live a kesha life fo shoooo

me: Hahaha sometimes you just gotta rub some dirt on it, roll in some glitter, brush your teeth with a bottle of jack, dance with no pants on, look like a pimp in a gold trans am, and like someone’s beard while having a slumber party in your basement. you just gotta.

5.) I think that was the best text message I’ve ever written. And I summed up Ke$ha real good.

6.) I miss having a dog.

7.) I still have no idea what I’m going to be for Halloween and it’s stressing me out. I keep getting really good suggestions but I just don’t know what to do!

8.) I watched My Generation on ABC and fell in love. It might be my favorite new show this season. I won’t give up watching Vampire Diaries to watch it when it’s actually on TV but I really, really love it. Like, I love everything about it. You should watch it! Go watch it online right now.

9.) I went to the parade of homes this weekend. I need to make a ton of money and marry really well so I can build a sweet house and have it be awesome and beautiful like the houses we saw this weekend.

10.) I had never heard of Pulaski Days before but I went to one of the places where festivities were taking place with one of my friends from work. It. Was. Outrageous. And Awesome. I have never seen anything like it.

Not sure why it's so pink but I sniped this pic on my crackberry

This is the website that explains what the celebration is all about.

I obviously made excellent life choices.

Anyway, there ya go! I hope you guys had a good weekend! I definitely did. 🙂

Now that I’m sitting here, thinkin’ it through, I’ve never been anywhere cold as you…

I have never worked in the restaurant industry. I’ve never been a waitress nor have i worked in any job that involved food. (Well, except when I babysat and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apple slices. Or Kraft macaroni and cheese from the blue box with the powder cheese- because it’s way better than that shitty velveta cheese and shell noodles. Or that time I fed stolen crackers to a drunk friend in the communal shower room in the dorms in college- yes, you know who you are, and I love love love you.)

Anyway, that is neither here nor there.

My point is that I do not know the interworkings of being a waitress or what it’s like working in a restaurant.  So I might be a huge dick for sharing this story and my thoughts about what happened, but just blame that on the fact I’m an ignorant bitch. Or something. On this topic, at least.

‘Twas the night we dropped Drew off at the airport and we stopped on the way to Detroit to get something to eat. We stopped at a Buffalo Wild Wings because Drew and I cannot get enough of the Asian zing sauce. We also love the honey barbecue. Yummmmm!! Anyway. We went to Buffalo Wild Wings, and it was a Game Day Saturday so there were a shit ton of football games on. Grandma was in hog heaven, although it was “way too loud” for her likes.

The place was packed and we had to wait, like, fifteen minutes to be seated, which was fine by me because I was having plenty of fun dipping into the conversations of strangers. In fact, I was having such a good time eavesdropping, I forgot all about how I had been complaining for the whole hour before that moment that I felt like I was gonna vom all over the car and all over Drew.

I listened to a family talk about boring kid stuff. I listened in on a conversation between two ladies as they ate traditional wings and cheese fries. The fries looked gross so I moved to the next table down. And that was where I stayed. I was scoping out their table in hopes that we would be seated in their booth when they left in just a few moments. The three men at the table only had about an inch of beer left in their glasses and they had stopped eating their wings. They were mostly talking about football so they weren’t very exciting to me, but when they were getting ready to leave, I was hooked.

I watched as one of the men pulled out the cash to cover the bill. Their waitress came and before she could come back, the men downed what was left in their glasses and stood to leave.  It was obviously implied that whatever change was left was the tip for the waitress.

What happened next blew my mind. I have never, in my life, witnessed or heard of something like this happening.  My jaw dropped and I immediately tapped Drew’s arm to inform him that he needed to pay attention ASAP.

Waitress (while climbing into booth to catch restaurant patrons before they left): Hey, did I do something wrong?

Man who paid the bill (surprised): Um, what? No?

Waitress (confused): I just wondered if I did something wrong?

Man (confused): No.

Me: Drew! Drew, watch!!

Waitress: I mean, I just want to know if I did something wrong. Because you guys were here for, like, a long time and I just wanted to know. If I did something wrong, you can tell me. I make $2.65 an hour, so I make a living off my tips.

Man: *flabbergasted*

Waitress: Is there a reason you only left… I mean, did I do something wrong? I make $2.65 an hour!

Man: Nah, we’re straight. *Finally walks away*

Me: WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!

Waitress: *Dejected; pissed off* Okay, have a good night. *Walks off to bitch to co-workers*

Me: Oh my gawd, Drew, did you just see that?!!? That girl just did that!?! Have you seen that before?! MOM! DID YOU SEE WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

Mom: No! What happened?!

End Scene.

I then went on to explain what I had witnessed. She was shocked and appalled like I was. Drew didn’t seem amused so he ignored us and continued watching football.

Isn’t that outrageous!? I cannot believe she did that!? I mean, it is true that I have no idea how much he left her as a tip, and it is a dick move to tip poorly, and it didn’t seem like she was a shitty waitress, but even so! How bold of her! Even if she truly was concerned about her job performance and how she could improve, I can’t believe she did that!

Am I the only one!? Have you ever witnessed or heard of something like that happening? Does that happen often? ENLIGHTEN ME!

Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air? Can’t live, can’t breathe with no air…

There’s a story that seems to come up all the time at work. It gets talked about between us girls and it gets told in front of our customers. It’s all-around excellent, always appropriate story.

If dead animals and murder are always appropriate and excellent.

One morning, I was driving to work. I wasn’t running late, I wasn’t in a hurry, I wasn’t feeling rushed. I was just driving, like normal. I was probably listening to Justin Bieber. I had probably stopped at starbucks and thought it had the promise of a good day.

And then a squirrel darted across the street. And then it stopped. And it turned around, darting back the way it came. And then it stopped again. And turned around to go the way it was originally going. And then it stopped.

I watched all of this happen.  And I thought it was finally gonna cross the street. So I took my foot off the brake and started to accelerate again.

Then the little guy changed his mind one last time. I didn’t have time to stop. I wanted to, really. I can’t even tell you how badly I wanted to stop the car. But, dear readers, even with cat-like reflexes, that little squirrel couldn’t be saved. I ran the squirrel over.

I’m a murderer.

At that moment, I burst into tears.

Then, I busted out my phone and mass-texted the shit out of my phonebook. I texted my dad, my mom, two or three of my coworkers, and a couple other friends. It was highly upsetting.

My parents tried to make me feel better by sharing their roadkill woes. It didn’t work.

When I got to work, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being a murderer.  I had stopped crying, but I still felt really bad.  My first customer asked me how I was doing, and he got an answer he definitely hadn’t been anticipating.

“Well, I ran over a squirrel this morning, so now I’m a murderer. Today’s not going how I thought it was gonna go.”

Silence.

And then my coworkers piped up with tons of laughter and did work to make what just came out of my mouth way less awkward.

It’s now a classic tale shared with all. I enjoy that this story is shared with friends and strangers alike. I enjoy that months later this story comes up out of nowhere and takes the workplace by storm. The story goes over really, really well too. There’s just something about me, I guess, that makes people find murder endearing.

look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh, how did our eyes get so red, and what the hell is on Joey’s head?

I just spent the last twenty minutes Googling “Nickelback sucks.”

His. Hair. Is. Sick. 😦

I can’t really explain what prompted me to do this. All I can say is I completely agree with those people who go about their lives vehemently hating Nickelback.

The magnitude of suckage is beyond words, I guess. Beyond the usual “all of their songs sound exactly the same” and “that lead singer’s hair is disgusting” I don’t really have much of an argument. All I really have to add to the table is that I think Nickelback sucks too. (Although I am sad to report I do have more than one song of theirs in my itunes. 😦 Yes, I’m embarrassed.)

I did learn, however, that Nickelback is “a Canadian rock band,” says wikipedia.

Cute as a button!

Go back to Canada, is what I have to say about that. I will gladly keep Justin Bieber over here in the US, and Canada can have Nickelback (and the lead singer’s sick hair) back.

Upon doing “research” for this post, I have found that Nickelback is not very relevant (anymore??). And by research, I mean that I had a conversation with my mom. And by relevant, I mean that I think they should find Tom Cruise, Mel Gibson, Spencer Pratt, and Dina Lohan and just go the eff away.

Do you know who Nickelback is, or what it is?

Yeah, it’s like a band, right? Or a person.

What are your thoughts?

My thoughts are that they’re like… gangsters.

Mom, nickelback is a rock band from Canada.

They’re just not good people.

I don’t even know what that conversation means. But I like everything about it. And I laughed really hard while it transpired.

Moral of the Story: Nickelback Sucks.

Thoughts?