Here in Katie’s Head

I had a good day. I felt like turning up the iPod and dancing around because, uh, just because. My morning was good, my lunch was good, my afternoon was more productive than usual and that is always good.

So I needed to savor the goodness. By shopping. Because my ovaries told me to.

I started at Target because, hello, there is no 20-something in the States who doesn’t OMG LOVE Target.

I wandered around, tried on some clothes, picked up a pair of pants and some black not-insanely-tall heels and continued wandering.

I knew there was something I was going to get. I couldn’t remember. It was something I could get at a drug store, but that was as much as my memory could recover. So I start wandering down aisles.

Oooh, razors. Maybe I needed razor cartridges? Or maybe I wanted to upgrade to one of those five-bladed wonders? I keep browsing and end up in Nair land. I start reading the packaging because, whoa, the list of precautions fascinates me. I hear the squeak of shopping cart wheels further down the aisle, but don’t look up because, well, who cares that some stranger sees me reading the back of the bottles, completely wide-eyed.

Then I pick up a can of some sort of foam, off-brand Nair-like stuff. Foam? Is there any drug store product that hasn’t been turned into a foam yet? And I start reading the directions, my jaw slowly dropping at all the bizarro WARNING!s. Apparently you can’t get it anywhere near regular soap or you’ll die. I keep reading and arrive at the most shocking instruction possible. I’m horrified and I let out a loud gasp.

At this point, from behind me comes a low and slightly nasal, “Hi, Katie.”

I turn. It’s a newsroom department head. He always makes me nervous because, um, he’s funnier than me and he outranks me. (How often do you think that happens?)

“Hi,” I say, trying to put down the can as coolly as possible. “Those product descriptions are really scary.”

And I flee the aisle.

At this point, I have no idea whatsoever was on that can that made me gasp. Something truly disturbing, apparently, but at the point that I was interrupted, that horrible thought dropped out of my short-term memory and was lost forever.

So Arlice, while I am totally mortified that senior editor caught me totally caught up in the drama of Nair, thanks for erasing something really gross from my brain permanently. I’m pretty sure you did me a favor.

Posted: 8:02 pm · Category: I am an idiot, Work · Comments: 5

I have to move in 48 hours. I have no started packing and/or organizing.

I have a lot of empty boxes, though.

I decided, because this is how my procrastinator brain works, to start by eating everything in the freezer because it’s pointless to try moving any food. Tonight will be a frozen pizza fest.

Also, anyone want a small, old — yet totally functional — TV? And a crappy stand to put it on? And a DVD/VCR combo? All free. I just got better hand-me-downs from friends who’re fleeing the country, and I can’t stand the thought of being outnumbered by TVs in my apartment.

Posted: 9:49 am · Category: I am an idiot · Comments: 1

I just told my boss, sure, I can totally handle this massive project — a project that smarter people have attempted and failed, a project with subject matter that is out of my range in multiple ways, a project with a hard and looming deadline — all by myself. Sure, I’ll get it done exactly how you want it before the deadline, all you have to do is let me do it completely my way.

And then we danced around the implications of letting me do it my way (it’s a dance called There is a Conversation We Desperately Need to Have and I Would Rather Die Than Initiate That Conversation).

And then I think he said yes.

Posted: 5:01 pm · Category: I am an idiot, Work · Comments: 1

Since that last letter from my bathroom scale, I had another cup of gelato.

And then I weighed myself. How can it be that a small gelato weighs far less than a pound, but I seem to gain an entire pound every time I have one?

Thank god for the gym.

And after three weeks of Muscle Pump class, I no longer lay on my mat and cry during push ups. I may whimper like a sad puppy, but I do the freaking push ups. (I wish this were sarcasm, but it’s all true.)

After the first class, I was sore for four days. Well, sore’s not really the word for it. I was in incredible pain and could barely stand up, sit down or walk. But the days after the last three classes, I wasn’t even sore.

So the status report after a month of gym-going is this: I’ve lost a few more pounds. My clothes fit better. Many of my TV shows are going unwatched.

I’ve also rediscovered my crafty side. Sadly my crafty side has not developed any real sense of craftsmanship. (It has long baffled me that with some things, I am maddeningly anal retentive, while with other things I can’t muster more than the sloppiest of techniques, with no real pattern as to which tasks fall in each category).

This week, I decided that I’m tired of my ugly, cheap (read: I bought it at Target/Wal-Mart/Big Lots and put it together myself without needing a single tool) furniture. So I went thrifting and found myself a new nightstand ($10) and a TV stand ($5!!!). It amazes me that I can find furniture that’s twice as sturdy as what I have, twice as attractive once it’s painted and far, far cheaper than even the DIY Target equivalent. I’m spending more on paint than I am on the furniture.

So I’m left with two major concerns:

• How can I rearrange my living room so that it makes sense? (It’s nearly impossible given the ridiculous proportions of the room, but right now, it says “stay the hell out of my territory” rather than “make yourself at home.”)
• How do I deal with the fact that my ugly couch and loveseat are solid black? (I would never have chosen them on my own. Why didn’t I hold out? Yet another chapter in I am an Idiot. It’s a long chapter, entitled “I have no skill for design, except when criticizing other people’s work.”) I’ve heard there are slipcovers that are actually attractive, but that sounds pretty laughable to me.

Anyway. Cheers to progress.

Posted: 7:44 am · Category: Duplex, Fitness, I am an idiot · Comments: 5

Dear cell phone,

FUCK YOU. There are not enough curse words in the world for how annoyed I am with you.

I don’t care that you can play mp3 ringtones. I don’t care that you can connect to the internet. I don’t care that you can play games. I do care that you CAN’T FUCKING RING WHEN SOMEONE IS CALLING.

When I am thinking about buying some trendy gadget, I generally have the common sense to ask around, see what my early-adopter friends have to say. And I did.

“So how do you like your RAZR?” I asked them all.

“It’s great,” they all said.

Maybe I should be writing this letter to all my idiot friends who apparently are not good judges of cell phone character. But I think you’re to blame.

Within hours of purchasing you, I realized that we’re maybe not the best match for each other. What I really wanted was a superslim flip phone, and you fit the bill, so I bought you. But your address book is stupid and your menus make no sense. I thought we’d grow to appreciate each other, but we didn’t.

So I told my friends, “Next time you get a phone, don’t get a RAZR because they suck.” And that’s fair because it’s true.

But as soon as you hear those words come out of my mouth, you decide to retaliate.

When I get an incoming call, you don’t make a peep. You’re getting perfect reception and your volume’s turned up, but you stay silent, sometimes alerting me about the missed call AN HOUR LATER, sometimes not. Or you alert me to voicemail left by callers you claim never actually called. Oh, and the locking up? And the turning off mysteriously? WTF is that?

Yeah, like that’s gonna make me stop telling people that you’re a piece of shit.

You’re too young to be pulling crap like this. I haven’t dropped you that often.

So here’s the deal. You keep pulling this crap and I’ll replace you. And smash you to bits. Behave and maybe I’ll hang on to you while I wait to see if Kevin Rose is telling the truth about that iPhone.

Can we call a truce? Please?

Sincerely,

Katie

Posted: 7:46 pm · Category: Geek, I am an idiot, Letters · Comments: 6

Dear driver who hit my sister this evening,

You might want to take a look at the Kansas Driving Handbook, available online in a handy PDF.

Sections of note:

• Speed and speed restrictions, page 11. Hint: the Kansas basic speed law means you’re supposed to slow down when it’s raining.
• Drivers and pedestrians, page 23. Hint: pay special attention to the first rule listed for drivers, which says, “If there are no traffic control signals, drivers must slow down or stop for pedestrians within a marked or unmarked crosswalk.” The introduction to that section is also relevant: “A pedestrian sometimes does thoughtless or foolish things. But, in spite of this, if your vehicle is under control at all times you should be able to avoid hitting him.”

Besides the black eye and some soreness, my sister will probably be perfectly fine. But jeez, slow down when you’re driving on campus. Hell, when you’re anywhere near campus.

Love,

Katie,
who is more likely to hit a parked car than a moving person, mostly because I’m an idiot

Posted: 10:45 pm · Category: Cars, Family, I am an idiot, Status · Comments: None

Dear liquor store cashier,

You are cute.

I was going to say that next time you should flirt with me.

And then I pulled into my drive way and said, “Shit!” because I realized that when you asked me how I drink my vodka, that was you trying to flirt with me.

I’m sorry. I promise to be less retarded next time.

Anyway, you’re still cute and you don’t have to apologize for carding me.

Love,

Katie

P.S. With cranberry juice.

Posted: 11:22 pm · Category: Boys, I am an idiot, Letters · Comments: None