Here in Katie’s Head

It seems that at the end of every weekend, almost without fail, I find myself in the same place. After even the most fun, uplifting, relaxing or exciting of weekends, somehow Sunday night my brain decides to focus on everything that is wrong in my life.

My theory is that after spending, oh, the last decade of my life stressing out with last-minute homework every Sunday night, I have become hardwired into finding something, anything to panic about each week. The long-term significance of that something may be next to nothing, but for a good three hours, it will be the only thought in my head.

Maybe it’s bills, maybe it’s about a boy, maybe it’s that damn speeding ticket, maybe it’s the POS slipcover for my couch that I should really just return, maybe it’s a thousand things I’ve put off for too long. Okay, this week it’s all of them.

But this morning? All was well. Hell, I got to meet Matt Haughey. This afternoon? I was in the garage stripping paint with a heat gun and a sander, loving every sweaty minute of it. Tomorrow morning? I’ll happily rise and shine when my alarm goes off.

But somewhere around when Desperate Housewives starts, my thoughts turn to things that make me cranky. When Brothers and Sisters is over and I don’t have a TV show to distract myself, it gets worse. And then I think I need to write a blog entry about Sunday self-loathing in case I’m not the only one. Most weeks I decide to read a book or go to bed early instead.

This week I’m blogging it. So. Sunday self-loathing. Is it just me?

Posted: 9:26 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: 1

Since the first time I got good and drunk at a house party (man, that was an awesome night), I’ve noticed a sort of post-drinking halo effect.

For about a week post-drinking, I’m just in a really good mood. The kind of mood where you want to go up to people at work and give them a big hug and then go back to whatever you were doing. And where every nice thing that someone does for me is just, wow, so incredibly touching.

This is probably further proof of a brain tumor, which has clearly fucked up my brain chemistry.

But it’s nice.

So I’m sober now, but I still love everyone.

Don’t worry, though. Next week I’ll be back to hating everyone.

Posted: 10:56 pm · Category: Drunk, Theories · Comments: 1

The Morning After Email, Part II

After all that work to come up with an email that sets the right tone, sparks interest and whatnot, then comes the waiting.

I am an impatient emailer. And while I realize that not everyone checks their email every five minutes like I do, as the hours pass, I become nervous that the other party has indeed checked his email and ignored my witty subject line and and charming paragraph of Katieisms.

Some people fire back an equally witty response in about an hour. This makes me very happy.

Some people take days. Do they not realize the AGONY I am in, wondering if my gesture of friendship has been utterly rejected, ignored?

So I sit at my computer, playing java jigsaw puzzles over and over, trying to get a better score while I wait for some sign that this person is actually interested in talking to me.

I keep opening my mail client, waiting for the familiar ding of the “New Message Received” notice.

Nothing…

Then DING!

And it’s spam. Hot chixx want to chat over their live webcams, eh? Not quite what I was hoping for.

And just as soon as I find a distraction, DING again and…

My roommate says, “What wast that?”

What was what?

“You made a noise. Like something surprised you.”

He emailed me back!

Posted: 2:58 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: 2

The Morning-After Email, Part I

Go to a party, meet another scholarship hall resident from down the street, who makes good conversation, seems cool, you’ll likely bump into each other again sooner or later, but sooner would be better than later.

So, internet whiz that I am, the next morning I spend the 15 seconds it takes to dig up this person’s email address.

And then the challenge is deciding what to say. It’s like having to break the ice all over again.

Hey there. You weren’t too drunk to remember me right?

Too stupid.

Hi, this is Katie, the geeky girl from the party.

Too vague (at least for identifying a schol hall girl).

Hey, this is Katie…from that party. I really liked you. Well, not that way, just…unless you like me that way. You know, my dad’s never really liked any of my boyfriends, but he might like you. Let’s make babies!

Too desperate.

Hi. I have no friends and was hoping you’d consider being one. Kidding! I mean, I have friends, but I can squeeze you in somewhere. Damn, this is not as funny as I’d hoped.

Too creepy.

I’ve heard you’re a creep but decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Lucky you!

Too honest.

And coming up for the subject line is even harder. Can’t look like spam, can’t look like a stalker, has to be specific enough to ring a bell, has to be somewhat witty.

I’m finding that references to alcohol go over well. (Two out of two almost establishes a pattern, anyway.)

Posted: 12:13 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: 2

For as long as I can remember, there has always been a distinct motivation for getting a haircut.

When I got the urge to get my hair cut, be it drastically or just a trim, it was always a sort of defense mechanism for dealing with my life.

If there was something I didn’t like that I wanted to change, I would get a haircut.

After every heartbreak, when I was ready to move on, I’d cut my hair. I can attribute a lot of haircuts in highschool to boys I loved.

I cut my hair really short during sophomore year. I kept it short for a while. Dad became suspicious that I might be a lesbian because of this.

And then a couple years ago, I took things into my own hands. I still couldn’t take active control over whatever was bothering me, but I could cut my own hair, damn it. Mom’s tried to take me to her hair stylist countless times over the last few months, but I always refuse. She doesn’t understand that it’s an expression of control to attack myself with scissors. Plus, I feel pretty good about myself when it doesn’t look completely shitty.

Justin let me cut his hair yesterday. I did a good enough job and it was cheaper to buy a $2 pair of scissors to do it with than to get it professionally done. But it didn’t give me that same satisfaction as doing my own hair.

And just a bit ago, Dad said to me, “Your hair’s getting long. For you, you know.”

Yeah, I know. I’ve let it get longer than it’s been since whatever heartbreak provoked me to chop it off two years ago. Or maybe I like it longer because I feel a little girlier than I used to. You know, I almost bought a dress today. I thought it might be nice to have a dress, just because every girl should probably have one.

But I thought about it. I haven’t really hadthat urge to snip away my golden locks in a while. Why? I was happy, totally content with my life.

Recent events have caused me some minor anxiety. It’s been a couple months. I could use a trim.

But I’ve had my eye on that red hair dye at the drug store…

UPDATE: I have orange hair now.

Posted: 5:59 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: 3

I figured it’s about time to post the Yellow Underwear Story, since it’s close to New Year’s and all.

It is a Columbian [as in the South American country] tradition to give a gift of yellow underwear for your loved ones for New Year’s Eve. Just before midnight, you give them the underwear, they change into it, and then the next year will be lucky.

I am not generally a supersticious person, but I will not go without yellow underwear at midnight on December 31st!

You see, until 1999, I had a ho-hum life. Nothing too exciting. Then that year, my mother introduced me to the Yellow Underwear Tradition. I was having a party with all my girl friends to celebrate the coming of 1999, and Mom bought yellow underwear [specifically, thongs -- it was all she could find] for all of us. At 11:45, we all changed into our new lucky underwear, giggling because we’d never worn thongs before and…well, it’s an experience.

1999 was a great year for Katie. First boyfriend, first kiss, first job. Made great friends with some people I still hold very dear. And I owe it all to Yellow Underwear.

On the eve of 2000, I was going to a party at Danny Meyer’s house. Embarrassed to change there, I put on my lucky underwear early. This fucked it all up. You can’t put it on 5 hours early, apparently. 2000 was miserable! Full of unrequited love, trouble with teachers, bad driving experiences [as this was the year I finally, after years of practice, got my driver's license].

So I decided to start 2001 off right. I stashed the lucky yellow undies in my purse and headed out to a party at Paul’s house. They all teased when I headed up to the bathroom at 11:45 to do my little New Year’s ritual, but I didn’t care.

And what happened then?

2001 was the Year of the Katie. Best. Year. Ever. Full of romance, scandal, fun vacations, hysterical hyjinks, 18th birthdays, money, and lots of material wants. There’s nothing else to explain it but the lucky underwear.

So today we bought lots of yellow underwear and Mom is wrapping it as we speak. I got a pair for Rae, too.

2002 is going to be every bit as good as 2001, I can feel it.

So, these are the requirements for making lucky yellow underwear work for you:

1. It must be a gift, bought and paid for by someone other than the person who will end up wearing it.
2. It must be yellow. Style is not important. I would warn against patterns that merely include yellow–at least get one where the main color is yellow. You don’t want to screw this up!
3. You have to put it on just a few minutes before midnight. But don’t wait until the very last minute, or you’ll miss the countdown on TV. :-)

Happy New Year’s!

Posted: 12:03 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: 4

More about the charm…

Identifying charcateristics of charmers:

• They have cool shoes.
• They’re undeniably sexy, but in an unconventional way.
• They often have ecclectic tastes.
• They like weird foods, weird combinations of foods.
• They sometimes have unusual speech patterns.
• They have a strong sense of self, personal style.
• Some charmers are known for messy hair, but not all of them.
• They have strong opinions and like to argue about them.
• They sometimes hurt people emotionally either unknowingly or unintentionally.
• They often have silly reasons for breaking off romantic involvements (I know of one who broke up with his girlfriend because he didn’t like the way she laughed).
• They seem to know a lot of people.
• It’s hard to tell if they’re being completely sincere sometimes.

Posted: 1:41 pm · Category: Theories · Comments: None