I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away. I don’t know where my soul is, I don’t know where my home is…

I’ve finally done something cool.

For once in my life, I have engaged myself into a trend that is actually cool.

For once in my life, I have done something cool to my hair.

And putting sun-in in my hair in sixth grade with a girl from school and getting grounded for doing so does not count.

There’s this new craze that’s all about feather extensions.

I’ve been hearing about it for at least a couple months now and I finally decided to be brave and get some feathers stuck all up in my boring brown hair.  Now, I’m fine, fresh and fierce with my fancy flying feathers.  Oh em gee, that was probably one of my most successful almost-alliterations.  That was a fuck-ton of f’s up in that sentence.

Also, the birds in my backyard and I have something in common now, so that’s pretty sweet.  I’m sure it’s not long before I sprout some wings and fly far, far away from here.  I’ll fly all the way to Hogwarts and become friends with the post owls in the owlery and if Hogwarts won’t take me I can fall back on being a post-owl/weird flying girl with feathers in her hair.  Clearly I have my life all figured out.

Anyway, it took like three whole seconds for Wen to put the little metal bead/clipy-thing onto my hair and to seal it with the three feathers I picked.  Picking my feathers was the thing that took the most time.  In fact, I changed my mind like 4 times.  I was originally going to be a pansy-ass scaredy cat and get all brown tones but then I was like, wait, you should get a light colored one so it’ll at least show uppppp. But then I saw a black and white one and was like Dude, that is MINE.  And it was Wen who told me I needed to have the purple one because that way I have something fun, awesome and colorful but it’s not so overpowering and it still will blend in a little bit.

So, yeah, I ended up choosing a black and white feather, a two-tone brown one, and a purple and black one.  As you can (kinda) see here: I took a picture to show you how it’s clipped in my hair.  I should note that I got all three of my feathers clipped in the same metal clip thing, but Wen really tried to get me to put each feather in separately all over the place.  I was much too chicken-shit to actually do that, so I clipped them together in the same place, somewhere it would show when I pin my “bangs” back.  It goes in this metal bead type of thing, and it holds the feathers and a tiny, tiny section of hair and then gets tightened so it can’t move.

See?

You can hardly tell!

It’s super cool!

The other thing that’s cool about these feather extensions is that they’re supposedly super low maintenance.  I can wash my hair just like normal, and blowdry and flat iron the shit out of my hair like I normally do.  They curl right along with the rest of my hair, too; I tried it out today.  Wen and what’s-her-face who owns the salon I popped into today to have them done told me that they last for a really long time also.  The lady who owns the salon had two in and she’s been wearing them for six or seven weeks and they looked fab.  So, if and when I’m ready for them to come out, I’ll just pop back in and they’ll take my feathers out for me.

Except, fat chance because if I lose my feathers there goes my plan of flying away to Hogwarts and my future as a post-owl.

Here’s what they look like when I don’t do shit to my hair:

Ps. How awkward is this pic of me?! Lolz

Peach out, lovers.

Oh yes, I can make it now the pain is gone, all of the bad feelings have disappeared. Here is the rainbow I’ve been praying for, it’s gonna be a bright, bright sunshinin’ day

I found a book in the study today that I was unaware that we owned. This is not really a difficult thing to achieve, as I have not actually taken an inventory of all the books we own.  But, you know, still. I found this random book and was surprised.

It’s kind of awesome actually, which makes me think this book belongs to Drew.

The tiny, weird-looking D’s throughout the book also make me think this book belongs to Drew, since his handwriting is super jank.

Or I could pretend that this book belongs to my very own version of The Half-Blood Prince.

This book is entitled 501 Things To Do If You DARE.

This book is obviously not mine. I don’t dare to do anything. I’m the biggest chicken-shit I know.

Let’s start off easy.  I’ll take a look at the very first thing to do if I dare.

Public Things: #1 Ride a Roller Coaster

Rating: One skull  & cross bones

For an added thrill, do it without holding onto the restraints.

There’s a small D written beside this one. The Half-Blood Prince is telling me he’s done this one. As have I. And I have done it with no hands, too. Who’s a badass now?!

#2 Drive an Autobahn

Rating: Four skull & cross bones.

A wide, well-maintained road with no speed limit? Mama, sign me up! In some places there are speed limits (and concessions made for conditions throughout), but it’s mainly a megafreeway with no restrictions on your lead-foot instinct.

Fuck no. I’m a terrible driver and don’t trust others. No thank you.

Oh, here’s one.  I jumped around to Athletic Things, located within the Public Things section.

#87 Go deep-sea fishing.

Rating: one skull & cross bones.

There is another D written by this one. The Half-Blood Prince is just a copy cat at this point.

I’m fairly certain that I have done this. I remember on one trip to Florida (with Dad and our first step-mom), we went fishing on this big-ass boat in the ocean. I remember having no form of excitement for this activity as 1.) I have no desire to fish; 2.) I don’t particularly enjoy the open sea; 3.) I suffer from extreme motion sickness.

I shit you not: I had to put my head between my knees and focus on my own breathing to avoid tossing my cookies in a planetarium. A PLANETARIUM. The stars were moving to fucking fast. Talk about middle school embarrassment. As if puberty and petty bitches weren’t enough to deal with in middle school. Ugh.

As far as the deep sea fishing adventure, all I can remember is feeling extremely sick, trapped on a giant boat in the middle of the ocean for hours. I remember getting sick and having my dad hold my hair back while everyone else had a grand old time fishing for sharks or whatever the fuck else lives in the ocean.  I also remember my step-mom telling me I was ruining our vacation by being sick on the boat during the fishing trip and how I was a whiney little brat in the car ride down to Florida because HI I HAVE MOTION SICKNESS AND BEING PACKED IN A VAN WITH FOUR OTHER KIDS SITTING BITCH NO LESS, A FUCKTON OF LUGGAGE AND MULTIPLE COOLERS WITH “SNACKS” WHILE THE WINDOWS ARE UP AND YOU SUCK DOWN YOUR CANCER STICKS IN THE FRONT SEAT AS WE WATCH COOL RUNNINGS AND 3 NINJAS* OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND EATING NOTHING BUT MCDONALDS FOR TWO DAYS AND HATING YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU ARE BECAUSE YOU’RE THE DEVIL AND YOU RUINED MY FAMILY BY BEING A BITCHY, INTRUDING HOME-WRECKING WHORE— uh, I guess I could stop there …

Awkward….

Anyway, where was I?

Yeah, motion sickness.

And I’m the life-ruiner??

* I was not mad at all about watching Cool Runnings and 3 Ninjas over and over again.

Finally, I looked at the very last thing to do if I dare. I thought it would be intense and exciting but it’s not. It doesn’t even bear a notation from the Half-Blood Prince.

#501 Drink some tea

Rating: one skull and cross bones

Dude. I drink vanilla chai tea all the time! It is my jam. Yummo. I have conquered #501!

Perhaps I should make some now to come down from that rage blackout you just witnessed…

Swing, swing from the tangles of my heart is crushed by a former love; can you help me find a way to carry on again?

You know, guys, there are just some days when the creative juices just don’t flow.

There are days that I really struggle to think of something- anything!- to tell you.

No absurd happenings during the day, no embarrassing memories to share, no off-topic rants to speak of.

I got nothin’ today.

Not a one.

So, today, in my state of fail, I give you this:

This gets me every time!

I can’t even decide which one is funnier!!

Ohhhh, lordy, that’s good.

…..

Uhhhh, yeah, if this didn’t make you laugh (or smile- AT LEAST!) then you have no soul.

And, uh, I promise that I will suck less on Sunday.

See you then, fuckers!

Storybook endings, fairytales coming true… deep down inside we wanna believe they still do…!

One of my childhood memories includes our endless roadtrips to Florida for family vacations. At least once a year for a long time, we would drive down to Florida. This was before there were DVD players built into vehicles.

Mostly, I remember spending my time coloring in the backseat and ending up with some pretty jank coloring pages. I also remember singing along to Disney movie soundtracks at the top of my lungs. There were also some very long naps.

The other thing I remember is listening to Charlotte’s Web as a book on tape.

Dude. Why on earth did I ever stop listening to books on tape?!

All you have to do is sit there and listen to someone read to you.

It’s not even like that lame reading aloud we had to do in elementary school, you know, when you had to follow along. Or when you sounded like you had a stutter because reading out loud in front of people is hard. Or when you had to play that game where someone would be reading and then, like a dick, that someone would shout “popcorn!” and call your name and you were supposed to start reading but because you were busy picking at the chipped nail polish on your fingers or worried about the hole in the crotch of your leggings (because that’s all I wore in third grade, apparently! Thanks a whooooole lot, Mom!) you hadn’t been following along so you looked like an asshole.

What? I’m not bitter.

That is the best idea ever. Books on tape, that is. Not that shitty “popcorn” reading game.

I feel really good about this audiobook idea.

That’s why, when Harry Potter 7 came out and I hadn’t had time to read the book again before seeing the movie, I decided, OH EM GEE, I can totally just listen to it on CD!

Luckily, my mother is addicted to her ipod and happens to be a huuuuge fan of audiobooks. I never thought I’d be happy about that fact, but I think she might be on to something.

I listened to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD. First thing in the morning, as I was getting ready for work in the morning, I’d fire up whatever disk I was on and let Jim Dale’s voice fill my ears of Harry’s last quest for goodness to conquer evil.

Once I finished Harry Potter, I perused my library’s choices of audiobooks.  I decided upon Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult. I seriously love her books. I never know what is going to happen. The ending is always a surprise, and that’s really awesome for books. I highly recommend pretty much anything by her. I read The Pact by her earlier this fall and that book was also excellent!

Finally, today, I started Goodnight Nobody by Jennifer Weiner. I enjoy her books as well. It may seem silly, but I actually was carrying the paperback version of this book around in my purse for probably a month. I hadn’t gotten past the first chapter. With the audiobook, I can listen while I get ready in the morning, I can take the book with me in the car on the way to work or when I’m just running around town. SO CONVENIENT!!

I’m seriously obsessed.

I’m never reading a real book ever again.

(Writing that kind of broke my heart. I take it back. I heart real books!)

Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

I remember in the fifth grade, we had to write a memory or something for our silly little yearbook. I remember that I was sitting in the middle pod of desks, next to the boy I had loved since the first day I saw him in third grade. He had broken his arm. Again. Now, I can’t remember what happened to make him break his arm this time. I can think of the time my friend broke her arm by falling off the monkey bars on the playground at recess in elementary school. And I can remember the time my other friend broke her arm when she fell on her rollerblades when we crashed loverboy’s birthday party in sixth grade, but I can’t think of why he broke his arm that time.

That is neither here nor there.

What I wanted to tell you was my memory.

Ding Dong! The witch is dead! Which old witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead!!

I was little, and my parents were still married. We still lived at the house on the lake, the one I remember as my first home even though it wasn’t the first house I lived in as a child. We were outside, and Maggie, our golden retriever, was outside in the driveway with me and Dad. I can’t remember if Mom and Drew were outside with us.

I must have just watched the Wizard of Oz.

Standing at the base of our driveway, by the wooden fence in the front yard, I stood. Though I’m not sure what I was doing down by the fence and the road, I’m sure it was something awesome, like picking grass, or licking rocks, or climbing the rickety, not-made-for-climbing fence. Out of nowhere, I heard something hit the ground with an odd jingle-smack. When I turned to look what it was, I saw that a set of keys had hit the ground behind me. From the sky.

I looked up and saw that the once perfect blue sky was dark, and there were words written in the sky. Don’t ask me what the sky said because I sure as hell can’t remember.  I could swear I saw that mean old, green-faced witch ridin’ off into the sky.

Yeah. That was my memory. That’s the memory I chose to write down to be published.

Really?! I think about that now and just think, Really, Katie? REALLY?! What the hell!?

The best part about this is that I swore that this memory was legit. I would have bet my life on the fact that this actually happened. Of course, when my mom read what I had written down (of course, once this silly little booklet was printed), she had no idea what the hell I was talking about.  The other best part is that I didn’t have a doubt in my mind about the validity of this memory. I didn’t believe I had anything to be embarrassed about by sharing this memory. I believed I had experienced something paranormal, g-d it! I had encountered a physical object falling from the sky! I had seen a witch writing words in the sky!

That was fifth grade. In fifth grade, I still believed  that this memory existed. Who am I?!

I was a weird kid.

Oh, remind me to tell you about the time I ran into a moving van on my bike. Or the time I got my fingers stuck in a wiffle ball. Or the time I found a power tool (drill) and put it to my forehead, turned it on and left a cut in the middle of my forehead. Or the time I played the piano with my face and cried every time I banged my head too hard against the keys.

I bet you’re glad you stuck around to read this.

When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer. I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there. In the midnight hour, I can feel your power. Just like a prayer, you know I’ll take you there!

Well, I can tell you that 23 doesn’t really feel any different than 22.

I can also tell you that last night, out on the town, celebrating my 23rd year on earth with some of my best gals, I had the best time. It was a top night.

Thankfully, none of us had the sense to bring a camera to document the shitshow that was my birthday celebration. I did manage to snap a couple pics on my crackberry, which I will of course share with you here.  I can’t post all of them because some are embarrassing, so those will just stay on my phone for my own viewing pleasure, for moments when I need a good laugh. Or to remind my old ass that I was once, indeed, young, pretty, and fun.

that measuring cup doubled as a shot glass

At dinner, I ordered a Shirley Temple. I turned 23, I’m at a nice dinner with my mother for my birthday and I ordered a Shirley fucking Temple. Who am I?! And while I was sipping my mocktail of sprite and grenadine, I had a thought: cherry vodka and sprite! So I went and got burnetts cherry vodka, like I’m in high school and will drink anything with alcohol in it ’cause you take what you can get when you’re underage. Except not me, when I was underage I almost exclusively drank Bacardi. But that is neither here nor there.

I sent the following text to my friend: “So, I bought cherry burnetts for tonight… I’m pretty much gonna die”

It was pretty much right on point.

the only appropriate photo of the entire evening

I had a birthday crown. It was made for a four year old, I’m sure, but I wore it all night long. The “jewel” on the top of the crown had a button on it that made it light up and blink different colors. I was very excited by this for the simple fact that I could use it as a beacon to locate my girls when we inevitably got separated. Needless to say, that idea didn’t really work out, but in theory it was genius.

The best part of last night was that we haven’t had a night like that with a bunch of us girls together in a while. And we also haven’t scattered like that in a hot minute. There were six of us and there was a time when none of us knew where any of the others were. It was awesome. I decided to wander away from the group (okay, so that’s pretty normal) and go somewhere else with someone else, and as I was leaving I ran into Meg and Kirsten. We went to another bar and didn’t have any idea where the other three went. We only found out later that Le and Mil went home, and Sen had left to go to another bar with other people.

I woke up this morning still drunk and thanked my lucky stars that I was alive! Then I ate a piece of birthday cake and found religion, it was that good.

It was a top night.

I hope 23 is a good year!

So much to do, so much to see! So what’s wrong with takin’ the back streets? You’ll never know if you don’t go, you’ll never shine if you don’t glow

Once upon a time, Mom took us along on a business trip.

The Detroit Regional Chamber has a conference on Mackinac Island, like, every year or something and lots of organizations and politicians attend, and for a few years Mom got to attend as well through work. We were obnoxious, school-skipping, sleep-in-late-and-waste-the-day’ers. And, apparently, too young to go unsupervised on a 3.8 square mile island. Grandma was our adult buddy every year but one.

I have no clue how many years we went, but it seemed like the very beginning of every June it was time to skip a couple of days of school to take a long weekend, hop in the van and sleep through movies the whole way up north while Mom and Grandma yammered on up front.  Out of all of these times we went, I can really only remember a few scattered memories, one of which I’ll share with you today.

It doesn’t involve eating myself sick with yummy fudge, or watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on DVD as soon as it came out while it rained, or pillow fighting Drew on our hotel balcony while wearing my brand new *NSYNC concert t-shirt. The memory I’ll share with you doesn’t have anything to do with attempting (and failing) to learn how to skip rocks on Lake Michigan, nor does it include the time we went horseback riding and Angie’s (our cousin) horse went rogue and took off with her still on-board. (I hate horses.)

Oh no, dear readers, this one directly involves Grandma. And bikes. And a trashcan.

This is from one of the many trips. Probably not the same time as this story, though. Visual aids are always helpful. Note the bunny-ears. I’m super mature.

Riding one’s bike around the island is the thing to do on Mackinac Island. So much to do, so much to see! The foliage, the lake, the horse poop and the fudge. The Fort, and the Grand Hotel. Horseback riding, golfing, and eating. What’s not to love?

One day, as we had done so many times before, we decided it would be a grand idea to ride around the lake. After hopping on our bikes, we took a right, passing Fort Mackinac.  We continued on our way, passing one of the places I never did learn how to skip rocks. Soon enough we passed probably no less than 487 Adirondack chairs out in front of one of the lovely hotels with beautiful landscaping my grandma was likely dying to investigate. Unfortunately for her, Drew and I never were big fans of stopping to smell the roses.

The back side of the island is not as fun as the side with all the touristy crap. There are a lot of trees, people on bikes (omg tandem bikes are hilarious/adorable but impossible to ride- maybe that’s just me??), crying children, people with backpacks full of pb & j sandwiches and girl scout cookies, and one rest stop that I never wanted to use but we stopped at because Grandma wanted to ensure we wouldn’t pee ourselves. (I want to measure how many cc’s of liquid my bladder can hold because I’m sure it is superior to most everyone I know.)

Beyond that, we hauled our asses up big hills and flew down other hills with Drew making everything a race.  Soon enough we passed other landmarks, like the Grand Hotel and some place called Devil’s Kitchen, although I’m not sure if that’s an actual place or if it’s something Drew and I invented in our heads. It’s hard to say now, since it’s been so long since I’ve been there.

Finally, we’re on the homestretch. We’re riding down the main drag, past restaurants and hotels. We pass those touristy shops that sell crap you bring home and immediately break or throw away or forget about. We had convinced Grandma (okay, it was her idea) that it was time to get ice cream since we had just spent all afternoon in the hot, hot island sun (bahaha it’s Michigan, I know).  We were shouting the different kinds of ice cream we were going to get. It was so close, we could taste it.

That’s when it happened. Drew and I practically throw our bikes in the lovely flower garden off to the side of the building in an attempt to race to the door when we hear a human cry for help and a crash. When we turned around to see what happened, hoping to high heaven that a horse carriage hadn’t crashed, we saw that it was Grandma.

Fear not, dear readers, she didn’t crash into a horse carriage. She crashed into a garbage can on the side of the road. Turns out she had forgotten that her brakes were on the handlebars. Apparently in the olden days, to activate the brakes on one’s bike, one had to pedal backwards, so that’s exactly what Grandma did, only to no avail. She didn’t slow down at all. She went full force into a stationary trash can right in the middle of downtown. It was glorious.

We laughed because we’re brats. Then we went and helped her up, got the bike out of the way, and stood the once standing trashcan back upright. Grandma scraped up her arm and leg but we got some ice cream, a bottle of water and moseyed on back to our hotel for a nap. When Mom came home from her meetings at the Grand Hotel, with her fancy name badge and everything, and saw Grandma all scraped up, we dissolved into fits of laugher as we told and retold the story over and over, reenacting the yelp and the fall and the crash.

Good times were had by all at Mackinac Island. And that’s why we haven’t been back since.