Tag Archive: mom


I didn’t make any resolutions for the New Year. I never do.

But something I do want to work on is learning how to cook.  My mom’s a really great cook and I really love The Pioneer Woman and she cooks.  I feel like it’s something I should learn to do.

I also don’t think I can get away with being a terrible cook my whole life.

Perhaps it’s not that I’m a bad cook, it’s just that I don’t cook. And lately, every time I attempt to do anything in the kitchen, I might as well just put money in the trash or light it on fire.  Either way, it’s a waste.

Well, friends, I’m about to work on that.  I’ll be fending for myself for almost two weeks and that means that I asked my mom a fuck-ton of questions on how to prepare food.  I have a feeling I’ll probably try to bite off more than I can chew and end up setting the kitchen on fire. That, or I’ll just end up eating cereal and cheese for two weeks.

I can’t be a baby forever, I guess.

Oh, and on an unrelated note, I had a complete nerd-alert moment last week.  I gave two grammar lessons on split infinitives. Each time, it was like I might as well have been talking to a pile of sweaters. I only mean that both parties were neither excited to learn about split infinitives nor were they particularly impressed with my knowledge of split infinitives.  Talking to a pile of sweaters would have elicited the same response: silence.

Now, split infinitives really aren’t a big deal. In fact, they’re not frowned upon like they used to be. But I encountered one in the group project I was working on last week for my finance class.  In one of the sections of our paper that one of my group members had written, I found one. I saw it and was like, oh heeeellllllll nahhhh.

So I changed that shit.

But the cherry on top of this story is that the next day, after I had provided my co-worker with a grammar lesson on split infinitives, I was watching Peter Pan. At the end, Captain Hook is surprised by something Peter does and shouts an exclamation.  Can you guess what his exclamation was?

“Split my infinitives!”

Ohhhhh yeahhhh.

I’m using that from now on.

I read somewhere that the average four-year-old asks, like, 400-something questions a day.

That’s amazing.

I’m not saying that I’m a four-year-old, but I think I ask something close to that.

I just wonder a lot of things.

For instance, I had lunch with my mother today, and I had at least ten questions just about our lunch.

Before you get all “you’ve said that before!” on me, I just want to let you know I don’t really care if I repeat myself. It’s my blog, I can do what I want. And if that means tell you something repeatedly, then so be it! Anyway, let me please reiterate that my mom has this thing about having her ipod headphones in her ears at all times. Usually, she has one of her stupid audiobooks playing at the same time, but you can bet your bottom dollar there’s no way she’s actually listening to her book the entire time her headphones are in. I tried audiobooks. It’s hard to pay close attention. It’s like someone is constantly talking to you and you can’t zone out ever because you’ll miss part of the story and have to just nod and pretend you know what’s going on. Okay, so it’s really no different than sitting in class in college and listening to lecture, or having to listen to some bullshit story from someone you don’t really care about, or someone who just rambles about nothing and expects you to pay attention. Hey, that’s you. Start paying attention again. I’m actually going to get back on track again.

Ugh. ADD. Anyway!

She had her headphones in while she was making lunch and not listening to me talk about how I had just finished the very last episode ever of The West Wing on DVD. Because she wasn’t listening to me, I decided I’d snuggle up to Chiefy on the floor and tell him about it. Sometimes when I do this, she will actually be listening to what I say to the pets- like that time I sat in one of the teal recliners in the living room with Stella in my lap and I sang to her for five minutes, nothing you’d know because it was one I made up as I went. Or like that time I told Tag to get a job one day. Or when I busted my ass on the kitchen floor and bruised the whole right side of my body because I dared Tag that I would be able to jump straight onto a stepstool on the hardwood floor (I’m dumb.) and it clearly didn’t turn out right because I knocked the wind out of myself when I missed the stepstool and fell.

When we finally sat down to lunch, I had already been yammering up a storm, and every time I paused where she was supposed to respond, she always looked lost in our conversation. It’s really irritating to have to battle that in every single conversation, so I requested that she remove her headphones because I had some serious business to talk about.

When you eat tomato soup, does it feel like you are just eating hot ketchup?

Is tomato soup really made of just tomatoes?

How come I like ketchup but hate real tomatoes?

Who invented grilled cheese sandwiches?

Who invented putting grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup?

When you wear your fur coat, do you think about how you could be offending people around you?

Are you supposed to eat crackers with tomato soup?

Are you going to eat these crackers?

Why did you get them out?

Why do I hate Ritz crackers? The Townhouse crackers I do like are pretty similar to Ritz crackers, so don’t you think that’s weird?

Danielle brought animal crackers to work yesterday. Have you had animal crackers recently?

I eat the heads and legs off first. Is that how you eat them?

Did you know that the average four-year-old asks something like 400 questions per day?

Apparently, that last one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Granted, she did make a joke about me being a four-year-old since I had literally just spent the entire time we were sitting and eating asking her completely superfluous questions. Even so, she finished her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, put her headphones back in, told me to finish up, and then took a nap as she waited for the dishwasher-repair man to come to our house.

I bet I have those four-year-olds beat. I ask a shit-ton of questions every day. That’s not even including all the questions I have to ask at work because it’s a function of my job.

If you ask me, Mandy Moore can do no wrong.

I love her.

“Candy”? That’s a good fucking song. I don’t care that it is a hundred years old and bubble gum pop. I love it. I don’t even care that Mandy Moore herself hates it. (Someone told me they read or saw something that said that Mandy Moore actually hates hates hates her first single, Candy.) It’s catchy and fun.

I mean it! Look at her! She looks great and that’s a hard haircut to pull off! She rocked it!

I love that she has tried out different haircuts and colors. I’m glad she decided to stick to being a brunette. She’s gorgeous. Also, I even liked her short, pixie cut- you know, the one she rocked in How to Deal.

Speaking of How to Deal, I loved it. Obviously.

Dude, I read the books by Sarah Dessen, then ones from which the movie was adapted.

Mandy Moore did a great job.

I’m pretty sure I own every movie she has been in, actually.

Look, I know that I’m not exactly the harshest critic because I generally enjoy pretty much ever chick-flick ever made, but I think she’s got the chops. You know, acting chops. Isn’t that the term that’s used??

I mean, really, she’s just so… great.

Anyway, this all stems from the fact that I’m watching the season finale (season 6) of Grey’s Anatomy with my brother and Mom. My house is currently Basketcaseville.

Tam was pacing around the living room for the first twelve minutes before she tried to sit in her teal recliner and play a game of spider to no avail. She’s hiding in her room right now. Drew, on the other hand, is at least seated on the couch, but he keeps running his hands through his hair, rubbing his forehead and hiding his face in his shirt.

“I just find this so disturbing,” Tam said, as she emerged from her bedroom, “I just can’t- I can’t- I just can’t….”

She just took the leash, the dog and headed outside while fighting off tears of anxiety.

Luckily I’ve seen the finale. I watched it when it aired and I was a resident of Basketcaseville. I pretty much sat on the couch, biting off my nails and either crying or on the verge of tears throughout the whole two-hour ordeal.

Mandy Moore, man. That’s all I’m saying. She’s a patient in this finale, and I’m telling you: It’s epic.

Just moments ago, Tam came inside saying something about how Chief was munching on some frozen dog food.

Only, Drew and I were enthralled in season 6 of Grey’s Anatomy on dvd (which he got for Christmas) and Tam is making pot roast for dinner (ew) and the pressure cooker was making that obnoxious noise it makes from that little knob on the top of the lid. It was difficult to hear and I was only half listening.

Turns out Tam was saying that Chief was outside eating some frozen dog poop.

Yeah. You read that right.

Frozen dog poop.

My dog eats his own poop.

He is BEYOND precious

Can I just say….

What the fuck?

In fact, there are a few things that I say what the fuck to because of Chief.

He’s quite peculiar.

Like yesterday, Nikki came over with her family and brought her dog Sally. Chief and Sally became fast friends and played together allllll afternoon. But when they played, Chief kept trying to sit on Sally. They would bite each other ears and run around but then Chief would whip around and put his butt on her.

What is that about?

And Chief really enjoys being wet.

He found an open spot on the otherwise frozen lake and hopped right in. Just decided he’d take a dip. Then he got out, rolled in the snow and got back in the water. And then he cried at the door when it started raining the other day because Michigan weather is outrageous and it went from being freezing cold outside to 52 degrees and raining. He cried at the door because he wanted to go outside and sit in the rain.  He just sat there. Hangin’ out in the rain. And just yesterday, when I turned around to let him in from being outside, I was surprised to see him soaking wet. It wasn’t raining and the ground wasn’t even wet anymore. But then I realized that the cover to the grill had been on the floor of the deck and there had been a puddle and some ice on it. Chief had found it and rolled in it, effectively covering himself in water.

It seems we have figured out if he likes water or not.

Sure, you hear golden retriever and think that of course he’ll like water. But let me just tell you, Ruby, the golden retriever at my dad’s house, does not like water and does not enjoy swimming and being soaking wet like my Chiefy poo does.

I’m so happy we have a dog again.

Happy Christmas, everyone!!

Just a real quick post because I have to get back to losing at every game I play today with my family.

I wanted to let you know that today, on this lovely sort-of white Christmas,…

1.) I took the most adorable picture of Chiefy-poo with a bow on his head but forgot the memory card at my Mom’s house (and since I’m at my dad’s house…) so I can’t share that preciousness with you.

2.) I bruised the hell out of my body (particularly my left ass cheek) from when Drew and I went sledding down the hill in our backyard with the tie-dye sleds “Santa” brought for us.

3.) I bruised the hell out of my body (particularly my left ass cheek) from when I went with Chief to go meet Drew out on the frozen lake while he ice skaing. I slipped and fell while trying to carefully navigate my way down the big ass hill in our backyard and bit it. Twice.

4.) I realized today that I wiggle my body when I’m really excited (but mostly it’s reminiscent of the wiggle dogs do when they’re really excited and wagging their tail).

5.) I also just got the pants beat off me in a game of monopoly against my stepbrothers.

All in all, it’s been a pretty great Christmas.

I hope everyone got to spend time with their loved ones and have the merriest christmas everrrrrr!

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.

Happy Thanksgiving from all of us here at my house.

And by “all of us” I mean Me, Grandma and Mom. And Stella, my satanic, life-ruiner of  a cat.

I did, however, learn something about Stella this week.

Lately, Tam has been been talking an awful lot about a neighbor’s cat who comes to visit Stella. It’s not that I didn’t believe her; I mean, sure, the cat probably does exist. I did, however, question the validity of her statements regarding Stella’s behavior towards this cat. I highly doubted that Stella even entertained the idea of having a little kitty friend, what, with her being a little bitch about everything.

Stella is not social. She is not going to just walk up to the window and become friends with this rando neighbor cat who sits on our front steps by the window and stares into the house, waiting for her.

That was exactly what Tam was saying was happening. She said our little brat of a cat had a boyfriend.

So right before I left to go celebrate the biggest bar night of the year with my girlfriends, Tam called for me to come quietly and watch as Stella spent time with her boyfriend. I crept up the steps and observed Stella sitting by the window, facing a big-ass white cat with the cutest little gray face.

It seemed I was incorrect in my assumption that Stella was incapable of having a friend.

It was precious. And Tam is convinced that this precious kitty cat friend of Stella’s is a boy but I don’t know how she could possibly know.

What I like best is that Stella is pretty much one of those princesses trapped in a tower. She can’t be an indoor/outdoor cat anymore because we are afraid she will get lost since she is unfamiliar with her new surroundings since we moved.  So, she just sits inside and has suitors come to her.

I forget the purpose of telling you this story about Stella. It was not at all related to Thanksgiving.

Interesting.

Well, happy thanksgiving to you and yours all the same. 🙂

Hey y’all!

(I wish I could get away with saying that. But, alas, I am not southern. Sad face for me.)

So I was originally going to write an open letter to my brother because I had to move some of his belongings today and I was outraged by the amount of clothing he has and felt inspired to write him hate mail. I also would have included in that letter (albeit totally inappropriate and unnecessary to include in a letter to one’s baby brother) that I totally wore the wrong bra today to be running up and down stairs as bouncily as I did today. Upsetting. Anyway. Luckily for him, the drive from the old house to the new house is long enough that my ADD and rapid-fire thoughts kicked in and made me think of an awesomer idea.

Remember how I said I would post pictures of the new house? Well, I remembered that too. So I hunted down the camera and plugged the little memory card into my ‘puter.  And I had forgotten about some of the pictures I took. Like this gem:

bahaha she looks SO good!

I also found this one:

Oh heyyyyy beautiful kitchen!

So yeah, lovely pictures, right?! I know!

I did something better though. Anyone who enjoys people making an ass of themselves will enjoy what I did. I did a house tour, like I was on some ghetto, super low-budget, one shakey-as-fuck camera version of MTV Cribs. If you have motion sickness (like me) you probably shouldn’t watch it because I can’t hold a camera stead y to save my life, apparently. That’s fine, though, because I have other important life skills. Like, … uhm, well, crap! I know I have some…!? I’ll have to think of those later.

Anyway, here it is, lovelies!

You should probably leave a comment with your thoughts on my terrible cinematography skills AND (/or?!) what you think of the new house! Or, if you can think of any important life skills I possess, that would be glorious! 🙂

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!

1.) I watched a few episodes of The West Wing on dvd today.

2.) These episodes were viewed with subtitles.

3.) I enjoy subtitles. I think it’s funny to take note of when the actors say exactly what the tv says they say. Actors talk a lot more than the tv says. I like that.

4.) It is still my belief that Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, that TV show from 2006 that aired on NBC for one season, should never have been canceled. I loved everything about it. I hate NBC for canceling it.

5.) I miss Matthew Perry. And not the Matthew Perry in 17 Again because that was an awkward, old-looking Matthew Perry. I refuse to accept that image of him as reality.

6.) Everyone must see Easy A, that new teen movie with Emma Stone and Penn Badgley that references The Scarlet Letter. It was hilarious and I pretty much loved everything about it. Go. See. It.

7.) My voice has returned from when I was sick last week. I no longer sound like I’m dying, nor do I sound like a man. Yay!

8.) I really, really want chinese food. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve had chinese food.

9.) Drew’s in Germany. We dropped him off at the airport in Detroit last night. Mom cried.