Tag Archive: justin timberlake


Chief is molting.

His winter coat, apparently, has decided it is time to get the fuck out of town.

All weekend long, every time I touch him, his hair explodes off his body.  I’ve been pulling tufts of hair off of him, complete chunks of fur. It’s disgusting.

I spent the last twenty minutes of the Oscar Pre-Show brushing his hair to no avail.  It was never-ending.  Finally, after I was covered in as much fur as he was I decided it was time to put the brush away, wash my hands and take my clothes off.

So now Chiefy and I are watching the Oscars and avoiding how much he’s shedding.  He’s sitting happily out in the snow with his stuffed snowman head while I chill out on the couch with no pants on.

I’m having a grand time. And I don’t even like award shows. (It must be the no pants part that is making this night so excellent.)

ABC really knew what they were doing when they decided to have James Franco (omg boner) and Anne Hathaway host this year. Trying to grab that younger, hipper audience… well played.  They grabbed me as a viewer- which must mean I am both young and hip.

I’ll take it.

The only part I like about award shows is seeing what everyone is wearing, not that I even care who really designed the dresses each actress wears. I find the acceptance speeches excruciatingly awkward and embarrassing.  I hate all of that. I also have not seen any of the films that have been nominated this year. Not even Toy Story 3.

I’m not even pretending that it was me Justin Timberlake (omg boner) just presented an Oscar to.  There was no “I’d like to thank the academy…” coming out of my lips.  The second an actor gets up on stage to pretend they are not completely narcissistic and have to feign graciousness and genuine surprise, I leave the room to hang an article of clothing that has been resting on the biggest shelf in my room (aka the floor) for the past week.

Did you watch the Oscars? What’s your favorite (or least favorite!) part?!

It was never really a mystery to us why it seemed like our entire floor in the dorms in college hated us.

Sarah and I lived in the room at the very end of the hallway. Our perfect square of a room was the gathering place every Thursday night to watch The OC and later Grey’s Anatomy. Our room was the meeting place of the whole group of us for those three or four nights a week we went out to parties. And later, our sophomore year of college, our room was next door to two of our good friends, whose room would blare with the latest Justin Timberlake song or One Republic’s “Apologize” before it was cool and overplayed on the radio.

We did dumb shit, like dress up like the some cracked out version of the Spice Girls and sing really, really loudly after 2 in the morning. You know, when the whiners on our floor were sleeping, and had been since 11 pm.

As a group, we’re loud. I mean, I scream and screech a lot, I laugh loudly, and I shout when I’m happy or excited. Multiply that by at least four and you’ve got my core group of friends in college. And we were together constantly.

Add in the fact that we lived in an all-girls dorm. In the really, really old dorms. As in, I lived in the same dormitory my grandmother lived in. The same dormitory my mother lived in. It’s old. We also lived in the dorm mostly populated by the college of music kids. They’re all artsy and hipster-y and obviously too smart and better than us to get loud and crazy all the fucking time, like we did. The best part about our dorm is that it was the closet to the street with all the bars on it. And it was relatively close to a lot of the off-campus housing and greek life. (And let’s get real: I loved me some fraternity parties before I was of the legal drinking age.)

I think this photo adequately demonstrates the potential Le Le and I have when it comes to getting crazy. lolz (Ps. Le, does that headband look familiar? bahaha)

My point is, our floor hated us.

We were constantly hushed and asked nicely to be quiet. And when all else failed, we were told on. When we realized that the RA’s were about to come bust us, we’d quickly finish the shot glass full of five o’clock vodka on Leah’s or my desk, turn the music off, grab our coats and fly out the door.

I mean, we didn’t want to get written up. Again. Or have to pour our alcohol down the bathroom sink. Again.

Even when we weren’t drinking (illegally) in the dorms, we were loud. And probably really, really obnoxious. I’ll leave you with this one memory I have, a memory that really reinforced the fact that everyone on our floor just did not get me, or my friends.

You know how in college dorms there are all kinds of random-ass signs for random-ass shit? Like, sign up for ballroom dancing in one of the rooms by the cafeteria, or do you need a tutor for some really hard singing class you’re taking? Well, I can’t remember why we decided to make a sign but one night we did, and we hung it on the walls all over our hallway, and all of the doors to the bathrooms, and the mirrors, and the door to the stairs.

It was a nice sign. It didn’t ask anyone to donate their first born to some demonic cult or require anyone to spend any money on anything. It was just a nice little sign to remind people to have a good day and to provide a little pick-me-up. Sometimes people just need that. Classes are hard. It’s really hard to walk fifty feet to a building across a nice little field to go sing for a couple hours a day. And it gets cold in Michigan.  And sometimes blowing off class on a Friday to play Ultimate Frisbee in Adam’s Field is just really… hard. So we posted our sign to let people know we cared.

Our sign was not appreciated. When we woke up the next morning, every single sign had been torn down and thrown away.

The people on our floor were dicks. And they hated us.

While we were in Philadelphia this weekend, I was reminded of something I love.

Something I simply cannot get enough of.

Something I wish I could constantly have in my life.

Something that just doesn’t get old.

Rob, a friend from college who now is all fancy and lives in New York City, met up with Erica and I in Philadelphia. He is the reason I am going through withdrawal. On two counts. Rude.

Robby & I after graduation! Go Green!

First of all, I hate him for making me love him and then leaving to go live a fancy life so far away.

Second, I hate him for reminding me of my love of Play by Givenchy and Justin Timberlake. It’s like THE BEST SMELL EVER. For men.

Robby wears Play. And I smelled him last weekend and fell in love all over again. (With him. And with Play.)

I remember clear as day the first time I smelled it. I shit you not. It’s, like, locked in my memory. I was flipping through Cosmo like MONTHS ago.

(Side note: I would just like to say that yes, I do subscribe to Cosmo. But it should also be noted that Drew usually got to it before I did. And sometimes Sully. Yes, Drew, you can be embarrassed that I announced it on my blog. Because the viewership has increased since I started it in June. And your secrets just keep spilling out of me. LAHV YEW!! That totally just reminded me of Mean Girls . You know, the part where all the girls are in the gym doing trust falls? And Karen apologizes to Gretchen for laughing at her for the time she got diarrhea at Barnes & Noble, and that she was sorry for repeating the story in front of everyone right then. Omg. That movie is genius. I love you, Tina Fey.)

Anyway.

Gosh, my ADD really needs to chill out.

Okay. I was “reading” Cosmo and all of a sudden it was like BAM!! HELLO BEST SMELL EVER!!! So you can bet your bottom dollar that I ripped open that tiny little flap of paper to sniff the tester page of this fragrance.  And when I looked to see what it was that I had pressed against my face, I saw Justin Timberlake. DOUBLE WIN!

LOOK AT HIM. HOT. AS. HELL.

This stuff is like catnip to me.

I smell it and just… want to breathe more than normal.

I cannot describe to you what it smells like, nor can I explain to you the degree to which I love this smell. It’s just amazing. And if I smelled it in real life, I would probably be embarrassed by my response to it.

It’s that good.

And every time Rob would walk by after he put it on, I just followed behind him sniffing the air he left.

Cannot. Get. Enough.

So, pretty much, I’m obsessed again.

Thanks a lot, Rob. Oh, and you too, Justin Timberlake. You just had to go ahead and render me completely out of my mind at the smell of the sexiest man-smell ever.

Oh, I doubt I need to make this disclaimer but, um, I haven’t been compensated in any way to plug this product. It just smells really, really good. And when I was cleaning up my closet and saw all of my perfumes, I thought of the one smell I wished I could smell at any given moment.

I need a boyfriend. So he can wear this. And I can behave like a cat that was recently given catnip. Or something??

Cats are funny.

lolz

 

While we were in Philadelphia this weekend, I was reminded of something I love.

Something I simply cannot get enough of.

Something I wish I could constantly have in my life.

Something that just doesn’t get old.

Rob, a friend from college who now is all fancy and lives in New York City, met up with Erica and I in Philadelphia. He is the reason I am going through withdrawal. On two counts. Rude.

Some people do their best thinking in the shower. When I’m in the shower my mind is usually blank, or singing Christina Aguilera songs at the top of my lungs like I’m the winner of American Idol. And in between songs, I could be thinking really excellent thoughts, like MmmMMM! Shampoo smells yummy OMG I need a band-aid why is shaving my legs so hard!? DAMN IT!

When do I do my my best thinking? When I’m driving.

One minute I’ll be blasting *NSYNC and singing along obnoxiously (Laaaance, Joey, Justin, JC, Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!!!)* and the next I’ll have an idea pop in my head that makes me wonder something.

This very thing happened the other day. Only it wasn’t *NSYNC, it was John Mayer featuring Taylor Swift (OMG love love love!). And it wasn’t so much of a great idea as it was that I realized yet another thing in this world I just don’t understand.

Item # 58,492: The Compass

I don’t get how they work. The only way I know what direction I’m going is by the little green letter on my rear-view mirror. And even that means nothing to me. I forget it’s there because I never, ever use it. N, S, E, and W mean nothing to me. Nor does NE, NW, SE, SW, or any other combination of those letters that is actually possible that I may be forgetting. (I don’t think you can have EW or WE or NS or SN?? Baha!)

One time or another, when I was asked by a boy which direction he needed to be driving, I used my hand to point. It wasn’t really the answer he was looking for.  Communication fail. He was asking a NSEW type of question while I was answering in a(n) (almost) Left or Right type of way. But I was mostly thinking “that way” or “this way” or “over there.”  So, yeah, obviously, it went well.

Exasperation ensued. I explained that NSEW meant nothing to me and it really shouldn’t exist anymore since L and R tend to suffice. He explained that it has something to do with how our brains are wired (men and women, that is. Not he and I, specifically.) Apparently, men are wired to understand NSEW while women …. aren’t?

Perhaps it goes back to evolution and how men left the nest to hunt?

That makes me wonder, though, about those tribes or areas where women are the “breadwinners” and the huntresses for their villages. In those places, women are the ones that go on a quest for food while the men sit home and do jack shit except get fat and talk shit about how the women are never there to take care of them. Even now, women do the grocery shopping. That’s today’s “hunting and gathering” and you don’t need NSEW at the grocery store!

Penguins = Love

AND PENGUINS!  THE LADY PENGUINS LEAVE THEIR LITTLE FRAGILE BABY EGG WITH THE MAN PENGUINS TO GO FIND FOOD WAY THE FUCK OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN ANTARCTICA AND THAT PLACE IS FUCKING FREEZING. THEY JUST GO TO FIND THE FOOD AND THE MEN SIT THERE ALL HUDDLED UP TO KEEP WARM WITH THE UNHATCHED BABY PENGUINS AND SING ABOUT THE SAFE RETURN OF THEIR LADY PENGUINS.

(This is clearly very professionally researched.)

My point is, in these cultures (yes, penguins included), do those women understand NSEW or do they go by landmarks? Because that’s what I do. Give me a landmark and I will direct the shit out of it.

Maybe in those cultures, the lady penguins are like, “Oh, giiiiiiirl, I REMEMBER that glacier! It’s this way! We’ll be home and ready to vomit into our freshly hatched baby’s mouth in, like, twenty minutes! Let’s get waddling!”

Maybe I don’t feel bad about not understanding compasses. It’s not like I’m outdoorsy and enjoy going places where there isn’t a starbucks and a sushi place within ten minutes of wherever I am. I probably won’t ever require the use of a compass. It’s not like I’m a pirate. I don’t even like boats! I have terrible motion sickness. No open seas for me.

I’m sure this lack of understanding of direction has nothing to do with the fact I get lost all the fucking time.

*Oh, I’m sure you were wondering why I made a little note for this footnote about *NSYNC. Here’s the deal: if you do not understand why I typed out the guys in *NSYNC’s names like that, click the link. Watch that video. And around 2:10, you will know why I did that. Whenever I listen to that song, I sing their names in that order at that part because it’s fun.  Also, at 1:25, Chris looks like a chimp.

That is all.

When closing arguments began, I had no idea what I would decide. I was dying to know what my fellow jurors thought of everything we had heard. Throughout the four days we were in court, we couldn’t speak to each other about anything relating to the case. Every minute spent together in the jury room was filled with small talk. I couldn’t wait to actually be able to talk about the case, ask the questions that had been haunting my dreams, and finally wrap my head around all the facts.

There was one minor hiccup once all was said and done by the attorneys. There were thirteen of us. Only twelve would go back to the jury room and deliberate. I hoped to high heaven I wouldn’t be the one to be dismissed. How disappointing it would be to sit through the entire trial and then simply be released, to be thanked for one’s service and dismissed with no other words. I would have been pissed. But, as it stands, that didn’t happen to me. The juror in seat three was released.

The judge read us our instructions and then we filed back into our ever familiar jury room.  I took my regular seat and waited to see what would happen next.  First thing was first: we were going to order some lunch. And I was to be the one to record everyone’s order due to my neat handwriting. (I always knew I’d be good for something!) Ordering lunch was a feat in and of itself but we finally got it under control. We called Mike, our court officer, and gave him our order.

That was when deliberations began. During the time it took to figure out what everyone was eating for lunch, we had also decided our foreman. Rather than picking the woman who has sat on a jury every two years since 1985, we went with the man she nominated, who sat in seat number four. We decided to tackle the lesser charges first, and then discuss the big one. It didn’t take long at all to go around the table and say “guilty” to the first count of furnishing alcohol to a minor (Brianna).  We then did the same thing for the second count of furnishing alcohol to a minor (Monika).

To begin our discussion, we went through each of our witnesses and judged his or her credibility. In doing so, we got to hash out all of the details of the case.  We tried to come up with our own timeline of events; we tried to figure out exactly what happened. We tried to determine what seemed to make sense. It was seriously difficult.  That’s when we all started to agree upon all of the holes in the story. We all seemed to have the same questions and a couple of our own theories.

The element of personal injury to the charge of criminal sexual conduct in the first degree needed to be met. While there had been a 2 millimeter “laceration” noted in the medical records of the victim, the sexual assault nurse examiner couldn’t rule out other causes of the injury, nor could she determine how long that injury had been there. The fact that there was no physical, DNA evidence anywhere could have been overlooked had the story made any sense at all.  The personal vendetta theory that the defense had been working on started to seem more and more likely the more we went over what the witnesses had testified. And don’t even get me started on the 9-1-1 tape. We listened to it at least 7 times. I could probably quote it, verbatim.  The worst part: all of it was a fabrication; the victim’s friend/girlfriend had called 9-1-1 and pretended to be the victim. And when questioned on the witness stand by the prosecuting attorney, who was livid, she didn’t have an explanation for her actions.

All in all, we couldn’t convict him of criminal sexual conduct in the first degree because we all experienced reasonable doubt.  It’s such an interesting concept, one that I didn’t even really understand until I felt it.

When we reached our verdict, I wrote Mike the note (“We have reached a verdict”) since we weren’t allowed to speak to him. Another juror called down to his office and told him we had the note ready. Then we waited a few minutes and were called back into the courtroom.  The judge asked our foreman if we reached a verdict and then he read what we had decided.

I still can’t believe I did this, but when our foreman read the verdict, I was looking at the judge.  Can you believe that? I was looking at the judge, rather than the defendant. I thought to look at him, to read his facial expression, after we had moved onto the lesser charges. I missed his very first reaction to the “not guilty” verdict for criminal sexual conduct. By the time I looked over, he looked relieved. He was shaking the hand of his attorney and he looked… thankful. In my head, I decided he was on the verge of tears because he was so relieved.

As soon as he finished reading our verdict, we were shuffled back into the jury room one last time. We waited only a few minutes before the judge came in and talked to us. She seemed to agree with our verdict, which made me feel even better about the choices we had made. She spoke candidly to us about the case. It was really awesome.

Obviously, I think you all can tell that I really, really loved my jury duty experience. I feel like I can honestly say that it is probably one of the most important things I have ever done, and I just know I’ll never forget it. And, just for the record, I think everyone should sit on a jury at least once. It’s an amazing experience!

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. 🙂

So, I think I mentioned this before but my mom is building a house. Well, obviously she is not the one doing the hard labor and constructing a dwelling deemed livable. There’s just no way that could actually happen. But you know what I mean.

Because of this new house, my mom is basically a basketcase and walks around life like a ninny. (I really wanted to use that word!) She has been trying to get her house “ready to put on the market” which means making repairs and throwing all of our random shit away.

None of this would really be worthy of telling you about except it is now encroaching on my life. I have been told that I must pack up all of my childhood books and the rest of the crap in my bedroom that I haven’t taken with me anywhere. Okay, fine. I can do that. But the repairs?  At least give a girl some warning!

After a night out terrorizing East Lansing with a couple of my best gals, I awoke this morning at 6:50 am (ish) to hear my mother fluttering around the kitchen and down the hall as her heels clicked against the hardwood floor. I immediately rolled back over and continued right on sleeping. Much too early to be awake. THEN, a text woke me up (thanks a lot, Nikki- lol just kidding! love you!) around 9:30 am or something. I deemed this a suitable time to rise. So after texting back and forth a for a while, apologizing to a couple people I happened to inappropriately drunk-text, and deciding I needed to watch an episode of Dawson’s Creek, I heard someone walkin’ around downstairs. I assumed it was my mom. (I have this joke with her lately that she just never goes to work anymore- but it’s totally a joke. She does go to work. And she loves her job. FYI. hahaha)

So, because I assumed it was my mom, I got out of bed, opened my door and took a first few tentative steps out into the loft before saying something snarky to Tam (my mom) about how she’s a slacker and never goes to work.

Oh. It totally wasn’t my mom. Whoever it was totally heard me get up and was like, “HELLO!?!”

Uhm. That’s a man-voice. WTF?!

Uhm. Hello?

WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE SAID?! (Maybe I should have gone with something like “WHO DERE?!” bahahaha at least I crack myself up…)

“I’m John,” said the odd man in my home.

Suddenly, I was thankful I put pants on. I almost didn’t!

Uuuuuum, I’m Katie?

“I’m just putting up some drywall here for your mother?”

This is when I just retreated towards my room. I would hide until he was gone. My hair was huge and completely weird shaped. The X drawn on my hand in permanent marker from the bar last night was probably now transferred to my cheek. I didn’t need to know what this man looked like or what he was doing. Just. Go. Away. But he sounded busy, so I figured I’d wait it out.

Oh. Okay.

I hightailed it back to my room, closed the door, took my pants back off, and crawled back into bed. I texted my mom “it’s not awkward at all with this random man in my house or anything…” but she didn’t care enough about me to text me back.

It seemed like I was waiting forever. After an episode of Dawson’s Creek that I pretty much slept through, I decided I couldn’t live like a prisoner in my own home anymore. So I grabbed my clothes and tip-toed to the bathroom. After showering and getting dressed, I got the f outta there and ran my very-important errands. Yeah, right. I basically invented a reason to gtfo of my house for at least an hour.

HE WAS STILL THERE WHEN I GOT BACK. AND HE LOOKS LIKE SANTA CLAUS.

AND HE CONVERSED WITH ME AS IF OUR AWKWARD INTRODUCTION NEVER TOOK PLACE.

meredith grey knows what's up

So, I went right along with it. I pretended this morning never happened, just like the annoying thing that happened last night. And the awkward thing that happened yesterday after work.  If Santa can handle avoidance behavior, then I’m just gonna continue living my life “under a banner of avoidance.” Really, this just instills in me the idea that being “dark and twisty” and an avoider is okay. This all just really reinforces my belief that if I’m any one character from Grey’s Anatomy, it is indeed Meredith. And if you watch that show, she’s not exactly… stable. But whatever, she gets help and becomes bright and shiny. Maybe someday I’ll be bright and shiny Meredith too. Change does happen, you know. I used to be very Cristina, but as I just told you, I’m not so much anymore.

This got very off-topic. Where was I?

Oh yes. Santa. (Sidenote:  As I was writing Santa, I almost wrote Satan. Interesting.)

Santa Claus just continued on merrily, putting up drywall or something. And then he finally left, but not before asking me if it was okay to leave his ladder here since he would be returning at 9 am tomorrow morning.

I can’t wait. Maybe I’ll ask him for a pony tomorrow. Or maybe not since horses freak me out.

Oh, I know. I’ll ask him for a boyfriend an *NSYNC reunion tour! Ooh, or for Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears to bury the hatchet and get their love-fest back on. Or for Mel Gibson to not be so terrible and make him go away. (I could do this forever.)