I’ll be there for you when the rain stars to pour, I’ll be there for you like I’ve been there before, I’ll be there for you ’cause you’re there for me too…

Today was/is my baby brother’s 21st birthday.

I thought I’d do something just a little different because of that fact.

There are countless reasons I love him, but I wanted to list just a few.

(Go ahead and dry heave. It’s gonna get mushy.)

1.) I love that I can say I’ve know him his whole life. There aren’t many people I can say that about. In fact, I think there’s only one other person I can say that about and that’s because she’s a baby and was born in April. But Drewy is 21 years old now and that’s a long time to know someone.

2.) He kind of understand my crazy.

3.) We have a crazy awesome way of talking to each other. We can communicate almost entirely in movie lines/gestures. It’s almost sick. But mostly it’s awesome and hilarious.

4.) I can count on him for anything.

5.) He acts like an idiot with me. (Uhm, how many things have we broken when we act like “cub bears”?!?! Let’s never ever stop doing that!)

6.) His commitment to things that he cares about is amazing.

7.) There’s something about him that makes it so that I never actually get mad at him. I yell a lot when I’m pissed but it’s always fleeting. There was that one time we didn’t talk for a couple days ’cause I thought he behaved like a dickhole but then we talked on the phone and cried and told each other how much we love each other.

8.) He might be the best person I know.

I strangely had a hard time trying to list things. There’s just so much I love about him that it’s hard to put into words.  Having him be so far away and not just a text message away has been really odd for me. I’ve been so used to being able to ask him anything at the touch of a button. I’ve been so used to having him laugh at me or be stupid with me on a regular basis (let’s just recall for a moment that time I made him act like a dinosaur with me in our living room? What? You guys don’t know that story?! Ohhh, you’ll just have to remind me to tell you that one some day.) To have him not here, well, frankly, it sucks. I miss him like crazy.

Christmas can’t come soon enough. That’s what I say.

We grew up and you grew away. But I’d follow you ’til my dying day…

Once upon a time….

baha just kidding.

I couldn’t think of anything to write. And I’ve been wanting to write that for a long time. The trouble is, even though every time I start a new post I want those words to start it out, I never have anything to follow them with. Maybe someday I’ll have something to follow “Once upon a time.” Even today, when I attempted to have something flow gloriously from typing “Once upon a time” it was complete and utter crap that came out. I randomly busted out some crap story about dinosaurs. And then I tapped the shit out of my “backspace” key because I thought, Katie, what the hell?! No one wants to hear a story about how you like dinosaurs but know nothing about dinosaurs nor do you really have a good story about why you like dinosaurs. So then I had to think of something else.

And now you got that story.

Actually, I’m gonna do something a little… different. And weird. And awkward.

I started writing something. You know, one of those secret things. The kinds of secrets you don’t tell anyone about. Not even your best friend. Because it’s one of those things that is scary to share because you love it so much and would absolutely die if someone told you it was stupid or that you should just give up your dream right now because there’s no shot in hell you’ll ever be good enough. It’s one of those dreams that you put away in a secret drawer to keep safe because it means that much.

But I’m gonna be brave, friends. I’m gonna share my special drawer-secret with you.

It’s brand new, this one is, and I wanted to share it. (I also didn’t know what else to put up for a post today.)

So here we go. It’s untitled thus far. But it’s mine.

—-

I was riding my classic Schwinn bicycle when I saw him step out of the car. The car was red and one I had never seen before. I didn’t pay any attention to the make or model because it never made any difference to me; I didn’t know cars. His brown hair was longer than I had remembered but it looked nice all the same, albeit a little greasy. My skirt billowed as I rode against the breeze and I felt my beachy curls begin to tangle. I had gone to visit the old lady with all the books, as I called her, and was coming home because my brother was due to show up that afternoon after his last final let out. Before I left, Mrs. Covington (the old lady with all the books) had filled my palms with caramel and butterscotch, just as she had done for the past fifteen years. Since I didn’t have pockets, I put them in the basket on the front of my bike.

He obviously had not seen me as I cruised past the driveway. His face, I noticed, bared no emotion. The hard line of his strong jaw was straight and his eyes bore ahead of him towards the front of the house. I was so surprised, I could not, for the life of me, think of anything to say to even get his attention.

The candy in the basket scattered on the grass when I hopped off my bike and left it in the yard. I didn’t pick it up. Instead, I ran as fast as my flats would carry me into the kitchen, where I knew my mom would be preparing dinner.

“Why didn’t you tell me Patrick was coming home?” I asked her.

It sounded more like an accusation, like she had deliberately held information from me and I had just discovered the truth. She did not like how I spoke to her, I could tell, because her face clouded with confusion and then slid into the expression I recognized as her disapproving of the tone I had used. “Patrick McKenna?”

“What other Patrick would I be talking about?” I snapped at her without thought.

“I didn’t know Patrick was coming home,” she told me as she reached for her glass of chardonnay. “Kath didn’t say anything on our walk this morning about him coming back.”

“Well,” I said impatiently, standing squarely in the kitchen, obviously flustered, “he’s here. He’s back. I just saw him get out of his car and go inside!”

Just then, Jack, my step-dad, strode into the kitchen and tossed his keys on the counter. It was a Friday, so Jack had finished early for the day and headed up north for the weekend. It was the common practice for summertime. He pulled the hem of his polo shirt from the waist of his khakis as he leaned in to place a kiss on my mom’s cheek and I wondered why he had so much fun playing golf every Friday.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said to me with a nod in my direction. “What the hell’s your bike doing in the lawn like that with all that candy everywhere?”

“I was in a hur-” I began.

“Patrick came home,” my mom told him, interrupting me. The significant glance between my parents was not lost on me.

“McKenna?” he asked immediately. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

—-

Thoughts?

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years from “Better Homes and Garden” magazine, plans were made and concrete poured, nail by nail and board by board, Daddy gave life to Mama’s dream…

Last week, I went with my mother to a furniture store.

We went to look for a maroon love seat for the study.

This new house is really becoming exciting. When all of this mess began, I was pretty psyched for her because it was kind of fun talking about all the fun things we would maybe have in this new family home. But then there were a lot of repetitive questions and I lost interest. And then I started to feel bitter because this was replacing our home. This brand spankin’ new house was going to make us have to get rid of the house I grew up in. And that made me sad. So I ignored all the new-house stuff. I became really irritated when conversations turned to all the “fun stuff happening with the house” because I really didn’t like this new-house stuff.

But the house is almost done. It has to be done by September 24 for the parade of homes. It’s gorgeous.  And now it’s super exciting for everyone.

So with everything coming together, we needed to find a maroon love seat for the study.  And we were going to just look at bedroom furniture for the room intended for Drew.

I was really, really helpful. Like when Mom asked me to go re-measure something because we forgot the dimensions, I went to the part of the store that had the dresser Mom was looking at for Drew’s blue room.  But then I saw this:

THAT BEAR IS WEARING A BASKET LIKE A BACKPACK. OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO WANT TO OWN THIS PIECE OF ART.

Hello! I LOVE BEARS! (And dinosaurs. But there were no backpack-wearing dinosaurs. Sad.)

So THEN I found THIS:

What a precious little bear face! I immediately wished that “my room” hadn’t been painted a perfect yellow color and that all my furniture and bedding wasn’t already decided upon. I wished I could change the design concept of “my room” to BEAR LAND.

And then I found THIS and knew that we had definitely made the wrong choice with the yellow.

DANCING, HAND-HOLDING BEARS. I was IN LOVE. How can you NOT love that?!!? It’s hilarious and precious! What an excellent conversation piece!! THIS IS ART!!!

I obviously was taking way longer than she had anticipated, so after a while, Mom came looking for me. I had been running around like a ninny, looking for all things bear-shaped/themed.

I found this gem when Mom found me:

It reminded me of the time I murdered one of God’s creatures. And Mom wondered what the fuck I was doing.

I told her I had a brand new design concept for any room of the house. I told her bears would look glorious in any room, or that we could spread them out throughout the house.  I told her that they would be great conversation starters and that if no one else would appreciate them, I would appreciate the bears enough for everyone on earth. Because I loved them.

But then she scolded me, reminded me I’m an adult and t0ok my phone away.  I followed behind her, dejected, as we made our way to the place where she paid for her maroon love seat and Drew’s bedroom furniture.

Looks like I did a lot more looking than she did. And the bears remain at the store.

I have the best Christmas Present ideas….!

2 am and she calls me ’cause I’m still awake, “can you help me unravel my latest mistake?”

It is always been my strategy in school to procrastinate. My strategy in life is to avoid. They’re essentially the same.

Second semester of my senior year of college, I let procrastination (and probably my avoidance behavior) get to a new level. I remember hating myself then more than any other semester because of the procrastination. What I learned from it, however, is that there is nothing I can’t do if I set my mind to it.

Every week in my womens’ studies class we had a reflection paper due. This reflection paper required critical thinking and (obviously) reflection on whatever piece of reading we were to have completed over the course of the week. It was to prepare us for discussion. Every week, it meant I had a book to read and deep thoughts to think.

I tease my brother that he doesn’t know how to balance having a social life, school/homework and an actual job because his school is screwy and makes them work three months and then go back to school for three months, and then go back to work, so on and so forth. This means he never EVER balances all three. I balanced all three while I was in college.

You probably shouldn't bother me. I'm obviously very busy and important.

My point is that I tend to have excellent time management skills. I am a freak about how I spend my time, who gets to control the time I have, and what I do with said time. So, the fact I procrastinate has nothing to do with me having poor time management skills. It’s a choice. I choose to wait to the last minute to do everything.

It was my choice to wait to begin reading my women’s studies reading material until the night before it was due. For example, it was my choice to start reading Glass Castle (Sweet Jesus, I hated that book!) at 11:30 pm (after I got home from work, made some dino nuggets, changed into sweat pants, took my contacts out and set up my “reading nest” in the corner of my room). It was my choice to stay up until 4:30 am hating my life until I finished the most absurd book I’ve probably ever read. It was also my choice to then sit myself down at my desk and pen a reflection paper filled with critical thinking and deep, refelctive thoughts. Just like it was my choice to start writing my 15+ page final research paper twelve hours before it was due.

I think it’s clear I make really good choices.

And even now, when I should be writing a paper for my HR class, here I am, writing this little love letter about procrastination to all of you delightful readers of my blog.

I guess what I wanted to tell you was, there must be something wrong with me. Or maybe this tendency to procrastinate means something, maybe it tells you something about me. Maybe it means I live for the drama. I crave the excitement. I can’t function without the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I need to hear that tiny voice in my head say, “Maybe you can’t do it! Maybe you suck, Katie! Maybe you won’t finish and you’ll fail the assignment and then have to drop out of school because you suck so much!” only so I can prove it wrong.

Either way, it’s how I work. And, really, the way I see it, it’s still pretty early that I can probably spit this paper out and be in bed by midnight watching Sleepless in Seattle.

Back to work I go.

What to write... what to write...?

If you’re lost you can look and you will find me, time after time. If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting, time after time…

I have trouble with time.

I don’t understand it.

I’m confused by it.

I don’t understand daylight savings time. WTF is that about? WHY?! How can places just decide they will not partake in the confusion?! I don’t know about other states, but I know Indiana was one of those places to stick it to the man and say no! Although, I think I read that even they gave in.

Anyway, what I really mean is that I’m generally confused about the timing of things. I have trouble placing events in a timeline.

Not, like, recent events. Oh no, big, historical (?) events. I just can’t keep things straight.

Last Christmas, my family was discussing this very thing and it became clear to everyone that I’m an idiot.

I came up with the idea of negative time.

The way I see it, everything ties back to Jesus, and that’s confusing to me.

Last Wednesday, Drew called me to wish me a happy birthday. The phone call quickly turned into a quiz about time. It wasn’t until I had exhausted my list of events to place on my timeline did he even get the chance to say anything at all about my birthday.

When did the dinosaurs exist?!

Really?

Before or after Jesus?

*his soul dies a little bit* Before.

Negative time!

Yes, Katie, negative time. *soul dies a little more*

What about Christopher Columbus? Before or after Jesus?!

Seriously?

Drew! Tell me!

After.

What about the vikings!

Dark ages.

You know what I mean.

790s to 1066 AD.

That’s not negative time?

No.

What about cavemen?

Prehistoric. Very, very BC. Like 10,000 BC.

Like the movie?

Yes.

That means… before Jesus. Negative time.

Yes.

What about…. the movie Ice Age!? When was that? That’s negative time too?

Yes. Because cavemen show up in the very end of the third movie.

When we were speaking on the phone on my birthday, I heard chuckling. Then I heard a lot of chuckling. And that was when I knew that there was a small group listening in on our conversation. His fraternity brothers heard me sound like an idiot, asking for an explanation for shit everyone already understands.

But, the best part is, he still at least explains it. He still goes through the motions of trying to make me understand.  My brother is one of the good ones.

damn girl, damn girl, damn girl, damn girl, damn girl, damn

So there is this new(???) trend that I have started following.

I don’t know when, where, or how it started.  All I know is that a few weeks ago I thought it was stupid and didn’t give it another thought, and now I’m fully engulfed in the excitement.

Silly Bandz.

A couple weekends ago, I was back in O-Town and my neighbor was wearing this tiny, yellow squiggly rubber band around her wrist.

WTF is that?

A horse.

Explain yourself.

*Takes off yellow squiggly rubber band, twists it around for a minute, places it flat on the table*

It’s a horse.

Why?

There is no answer for why. As far as I can tell, there is no purpose to these squiggly rubber bands. I’m also sad to report that I have no good reason for being as excited as I am about them.

I currently have six on my wrist at this very moment.

what they look ON

I know. It’s totally ridiculous. But I feel like it’s what happens with pringles; once you pop, the fun don’t stop.

LOVE LOVE LOVE

Starting at the top left: That first one is supposed to be Gingy, you know, from Shrek. In the yellow, next to Gingy is Shrek’s head. The red one beside that is supposed to be Donkey. These slay me. My neighbor gave these to me with my My Little Pony birthday card at dinner last night. GLORIOUS. Below that, the pink one, is a crown from the Disney princess package of silly bandz. Then, of course, my two favorites (I would): The red one is a brontosaurus and the green one beside him is the mighty T-Rex.

LOVE LOVE LOVE.

I’m weak. I hop on bandwagons. So sue me.

Now, go get yourself some silly bandz. We can trade. 🙂

Unbreak my heart, say you’ll love me again, undo this hurt that you caused when you walked out that door and walked out of my life

So we all know how much of a freakshow I am. We all are well aware of all the crazy shit I do that somehow makes me feel in-control, normal, and sane. I’m obsessive. I’m anal. I’m compulsive. None of this is new information.

Because of this, I know none of you will be surprised to know that I have a love affair with office supply stores. Uhm, hello?! They have everything!

Also, I have a love affair with the clipything that goes on my work-keys.

please note the dino! RAWR!!

It’s just so perf. It clips to my clothes. It’s retractable. It holds all my keys AND my dinosaur keychain. It allows me to not have to worry about leaving them somewhere, losing them, or having to have something heavy hanging from my wrist/arm. It’s just… so convenient. And everyone is jealous of me because I never lose my keys. (Maybe not that last part but whatever.) I’ve had it for a few months, since I stole it from my mom.

I guess Karma really does exist because the m-f’er broke on me the other day. And I was very, very sad. Actually, it didn’t just break. I broke it. It was still hooked to me and the rest of my keys were stuck in a door. And the door was closing and I was definitely still super far away. And the string-y part stretched too far. And then I heard something snap. And I just knew the metal hook-y part bent and broke off.

😦 RIP clipy-thing-for-my-work-keys.

The good news is that since my work-keys-system worked so well, and I’m a freak about things that work well for me, I immediately took the necessary steps to replace my clipy-thing. I needed to quickly remedy the broken-ness and put the pieces of my broken heart back together again. So, I went to the place where my first clipy thing was from but the girl who worked there was all, oh, uuuuuum we’re, like, out of those. Yeeeaahhhh, we, like, ordered them so they’ll be in, like, sometimes soon… probably. But here’s something similar WHICH, by the way, was not at ALL similar. I totally showed her the broken thing with both of the parts (the metal hook-y part and the stringy part) and she showed me a clear, hard plastic ID case. WTF?

So then I went to Office Max. Office Max usually can help me with just about anything, and I just really love it, but the one I went today was not my regular Office Max. This one upset me, deeply. NO ONE asked if they could help me. And this was the ONE TIME I really wanted someone to ask me if I needed help. And then I couldn’t even find an employee. So I was like eff this and took my business to Staples.

I traipsed through Staples, looking at folders and pens and hole-punches.  I had compiled a list of things I definitely believed I needed when I remembered that I was actually looking for something specific. So, I put down the crayola markers and folder with a kitten on it and wandered aimlessly down one of the main aisles until someone asked me if I needed help. Luckily, I hardly had to lurk because some dude immediately came up and was like, uh, do you need help finding something?

And I was all, oh, actually, yeah I do. This is really dumb, but, uuuuuum, do you have those clipy things that hold keys and hook to you and have a stretchy stringy thing?

That’s when he knew I’m a pain in the ass.

Actually, he was just like *blank stare* and then it was like I could see the light go on. He knew exactly what I was talking about. And the best part? I was lurking right by the endcap of the aisle they were hiding in.  So he was like, we have the plastic ones like you have there (i totally showed him the broken one) or you can get the heavy-duty ones.

I bought the five-pack of the plastic ones. The girls at work are gonna be so excited. CLIPY THINGS FOR EVERYONE!!!