Kateastrophe of the Week: 1

My friend Anne suggested that I start writing a Kateastrophe a Week so that those of you who don't know me, can understand more fully my blog title. So, here you go. I hope you are entertained at my expense.

And I promise to do my best to write one of these a week. I'll probably need help from my friends and family, as I'm sure there are Kateastrophes I cannot recall. If you remember one, a few or many, email me and I'll add them to the list!

The Kateastrophe that Bred the Name

The name Kateastrophe is fairly new, despite how obvious it was that the word should have been used in reference to me since birth. My husband Matt is actually the one that came up with it, and in a very fitting situation . . .

*que harp flashback music*

Three years ago, I was on one of my MANY trips from Utah to Phoenix to visit my super hot boyfriend (now husband), and, as was our tradition, we went to dinner every Sunday right before my plane left. (I know, shame on us for breaking the Shabot. But we're sort of over it.)

This particular Sunday we were with our friend Rhonda at the ever yummy, ever crowded Oregano's, a popular Italian restaurant in Tempe, enjoying Pizookie.

Oh man, I could write a whole post on the gloriousness that is Pizookie. It's a personal sized pizza pan filled with cookie dough and half baked so the edges are slightly crusty and the middle is gloriously warm and doughy. Then they top it with vanilla bean ice cream . . . seriously. It's the best dessert ever. But I digress . . . back to the story.

My favorite part of a Pizookie is the crusty edge. There is just something SO GOOD about it. So there are three of us, digging in to this Pizookie, ice cream melting all over it . . . and we're all, of course, going for the edges. Specifically me. With a spoon. And I'm digging around because one of the edges is stuck. And I'm determined to get it. So I keep digging further, trying different angles, abandon ship, regroup and head back to dig a little more and all of a sudden . . . BOOM. The spoon shoots to the edge of the pan under the crust sending ice cream and Pizookie EVERYWHERE. All over me, all over Matt, all over Rhonda . . . all over the floor.

And there I was, the culprit, spoon in hand . . . dozy look on my face. *blink, blink*

Matt and Rhonda just started laughing hysterically, as did I, once I recovered from the shock. Then Matt, in one of his most clever moments, between fits of laughter and wiping ice cream off of his face says: "There she goes again. Another Kateastrophe."

And that's when we all really lost it. And the name was born.