Beerfest Version 2.Gross.1

Yeah you see it. The Kateastrophe counter is reset without the previous story even being told. And you'll notice a pattern to the title.

WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND BEER????? I DON'T EVEN DRINK BEER! I HATE BEER!!

Ahem.

The story.

SO, some background. At our show last week we had a fully stocked hospitality suite which included candy, snacks, soda and two six packs of beer. All of which were hardly touched due to our slightly slow show. SO, at the end of the show we decided that I would drive the leftover treats back to Phoenix so that we could all enjoy them and not let them go to waste. So I loaded up my trunk with anything that wouldn't melt and drove home. When I got home I took most of the stuff out of the "main cabin" of my car and forgot about the stuff in the trunk. Read: The twelve bottles of beer were in the trunk and a bottle of wine in the back seat.

So, yesterday, Matt says to me "your car smells like you got all boozed up and passed out in here. Do you think the beer leaked?"

"Nah" I responded. "There was an open bottle of wine in the car that I just took out this morning"

**note to self . . . OPEN BOTTLES OF BOOZE IN CAR . . . NOT GOOD! I am very new at this whole alcohol in the car thing**

So we left it at that.

This morning, I got in the car and it smelled like and entire frat house had gotten blitzed, passed out and then threw up in my car.

Beer . . . definitely spilled. Definitely. Definitely spilled.

So, I open the trunk and sure enough, four bottles of bud light had spilled through my entire trunk WITHOUT being opened or having a crack in the glass. Miracle? I think so. It's a stupid beerfest miracle.

I gathered the four miraculously spilled bottles of disgusting smelling Bud Light and put them in their little cardboard home. Then I grabbed the six pack of Fat Tire in it's little cardboard home and headed towards the garage to put them in there for the day until I could decide what to do with them.

I hadn't taken TWO STEPS when CRASH! SHATTER! SPLASH.

"S**T"

The bottom of the holder had given out due to it's wet nature (thanks to the STUPID BUD LIGHT) and the ENTIRE SIX PACK had shattered at my feet. All over my favorite jeans and brand new shoes. All over my car. All over my garage and driveway.

I would have kicked and screamed but there were tiny pieces of glass that had somehow found their way inside my shoe and I had to delicately prance into the house to rid myself of the glass shards, rinse out my pants and try to salvage the beautiful red leather of my shoes.

I realized I couldn't just leave it like that, seeing as how we're trying to sell our house and a beer spattered garage isn't exactly going to go over well with potential buyers. So after trying to clean myself up I had to proceed to cleaning the garage and driveway up. I had to use a broom and a shovel to gather the bits of glass and then get the hose to clean the entire mess up. Picture me, all dressed up and ready for work, in heels, SHOVELING BROKEN GLASS.

It was one of my finest moments and, needless to say, I was very late for work and I arrived smelling like a lush.

Flying High

So, I don't really like to use my blog to brag about myself or talk about how awesome my life is, blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong, my life is great, but I happen to think the humor and humanness of a good life is found in the mishaps and the insecurities and other such things. I don't ever want to be that person who sends the Holiday letter full of bragging about how amazing they are and how brilliant their children are and how much better the whole family is than the rest of the world. It's just not my bag.

BUT

Today I was pulled into my boss' office to talk about my yearly review.

I had a pretty good year. I was finally promoted from my executive admin position and into marketing last August and received my first raise since starting at the company two years before. I accomplished some cool things and love my new boss and feel like I have great chemistry with my team. We work well together and we sell the crap out of our technology. So I figured I would get a standard 5-7% cost of living raise and a good review.

Oh how wrong I was. (And here comes the part I am cringing about and hoping I don't sound like a pompous a**)

I got a rave review, a promotion and a huge - no, unbelievably huge raise. I almost died. I literally almost fell out of my chair.

This news came absolutely out of the blue. I have been walking on clouds all day. Naturally, the promotion and raise come with added responsibility and the guarantee of working more hours and being much more accountable for certain aspects of the sales and marketing team, but OH MY GOSH.

So, in all honesty, my waning participation in the blog world will probably continue. I still plan to be involved and to comment, it just might be less frequently and with less fervor and enthusiasm. But it doesn't mean I don't love you all. I swear.

So, as an apology, I give you a mini-Kateastrophe.

I have this shirt that I love. It's this gorgeous dark chocolate brown V-neck that is so soft and comfortable. I get excited every time I wash it because I get to wear it again. However, it has a little bit of a "bleeding" problem. I have ruined a few tank tops and a bra with it.

So, on Wednesday I had my appointment with the trainer at the gym. I had worn my brown shirt that day. I changed my clothes and went to the mirror to put my hair up in a ponytail and gasped. The shirt had finally crossed the line. It had dyed my armpits an orangy-brown color. I had about four minutes before I had to go warm up so I grabbed a few paper towels and got them wet and put a little bit of soap on them and started to rub at my armpits furiously. This is of course the exact moment that an old lady decided to walk up next to me and she just . . . stared. I tried to ignore her for a minute, but it was getting annoying, so I finally turned to her and said "my shirt dyed my armpits orange! I can't just go out there and lift weights with orange armpits!!"

"Ooooooh" she replied. "I just thought you were just a weirdo clean freak."

Thanks lady. Thanks a lot.

Beerfest 2007

Yes, I have reset the Kateastrophe counter. I was JUST this week thinking "wow, maybe my curse is over! I haven't had a Kateastrophe in a record amount of days!"

Que karma, kicking my butt.

My husband and I had decided about two weeks ago that, due to hell-like temperatures and a wee bit of cabin fever, and no house projects to complete (HALLELUJAH!) we WERE. GOING. OUT. OF. TOWN. THIS. WEEKEND. We just didn't know where. For a very long time. And the EVENT PLANNER in me was FREAKING OUT. But I digress . . . to the point, and the point is, that on Thursday evening we finally decided to go to Vegas for the weekend. We hopped on some hotel site that sounds like sliceline.com and bid ourselves into a great deal at a four-star hotel near Lake Las Vegas (so pretty! So worth going there if the craziness of the strip drives you, well . . . crazy. There wasn't even a CASINO in our hotel! Ah the relief!) and then we bought ourselves tickets to Blue Man Group, which I have been dying to see for a very, very long time. So that was the weekend plans and we were very excited.

Now, I had considered giving you a lengthy description of each of our activities, alluding to possible Kateastrophes around every corner, but alas, I am very sleepy and really need to go to bed, so I'm cutting right to the chase.

We hung out in Vegas all day, ate lots of food, saw lots of shops, ate more food and then FINALLY it was ten o'clock and we could FINALLY see Blue Man Group. Now, having purchased our tickets late, we were on the middle of the very last row of the lower level of the theatre (note to anyone, these were actually GREAT seats and not what I expected.). I was fairly tired of being on my feet and very excited to sit down and relax for the few minutes before the show started. Alas, as is my fate, this was not to be . . . of course being in the middle of the row I had to climb over a bunch of people to get to my seat. I was alone as Matt was visiting the facilities. I had several shopping bags because OOOH SALES at Banana and Express! And of course my heavy purse. I climb over the laps of several elderly people sitting on the edge and finally find our seats. Now, being the good wife I am, I see that, at least for the moment there are people on one side of our seats and no one on the other, and because my husband is shy and doesn't like to sit next to strangers, I take the seat next to the people.

So I get all my shopping bags situated under my seat and then finally, sink into my seat, so happy.

Que the guy next to me setting down his big-arse beer in the cup holder and not double checking that it's secure. And que his big-arse beer dumping into my lap.

Did I mention that I was wearing my mostest favorite dry-clean only jeans? Oh and my brand new mostest favorite silk tunic shirt? Also dry-clean only? And my Kate Spade shoes that I got for an amazing steal of $40 and I could never replace if I tried for a million years? Well, that's what I was wearing.

Oh, and did I mention that I HATE BEER? I hate, hate, hate it. Being Mormon, I don't drink beer of course, but even if I wasn't and I could, I WOULDN'T. I hate the smell of the stuff. I cannot imagine drinking something that smells so much like rotten BUTT.

And now? I am COVERED IN BEER. It spilled onto the bottom of my tunic shirt. Into the space between my legs and down onto the seat, which means it spread around my butt. It was all over my legs and all over my left arm and it had also dripped onto my shoes and therefore INTO MY SHOES. I swear it must have been the biggest beer in history and it must have also been the smelliest.

So, being that this guy had just dumped his beer in my lap, I glanced over to him, sort of looking for some sort of apology. OH NO. He thought I had been the one to knock it over, so he just glared at me. I quickly mumbled some sort of "I'm sorry" then tried to quickly gather up my plethora of bags (which did not go so quickly) and then try explain why, less than two minutes ago "yes, I know I just sat down but now I appear to have sprung a keg and I'm re-climbing over your lap with all of my bags IN MY NOW WET KATE SPADE HEELS with which I will kick you if you don't MOVE!"

I finally made my way out of the theatre towards the bathroom where I ran into my husband, who could do nothing but laugh. Meanie. Then in the bathroom, I'm trying desperately to sop up the beer with wet paper towels without leaving white crap all over my outfit. Then there's the dilemma of the beer in the shoes. I mean, I'm not a huge germophobe by any stretch of the imagination, but barefoot in a public bathroom? Sssssick. Barefoot in a public CASINO bathroom? NO FRICKIN' WAY. So I take one shoe off at a time and try to balance with all of my bags (because for some reason after watching some stupid germ special a while ago I cannot bring myself to set my purse on the floor in a public place, let alone, once again, a PUBLIC CASINO BATHROOM and there are lots of people in there and I think it's rude to set it on the counter and take up the space.) so I'm hopping up and down whilst trying to rid myself of the yeastiness.

So to make a long story longer, I obviously couldn't possibly get the beer out of my clothes, so I just tried to mop up the best I could and go back to the theatre and watch the whole show damp and smelling like butt. Luckily my sweet husband had taken the seat next to the beer guy, who, throughout the WHOLE SHOW, clutched his precious 1/4 cup of beer in the hand furthest from me. Good idea, pal.

My Grand Entrance Into the Adult World

I can’t believe I’m telling this story to the whole world. I really can’t. I mean, I tell it at parties to keep people laughing, but actually PUBLISHING it . . . that’s a different story. But here goes.

So, flashback to April, 2002. I have finally completed my requirements for my Fine Arts Degree in Music Dance Theatre from Brigham Young University. I’m finally a real adult and I’m proud of it.

Now, I must explain a little further how I found myself in the position I did. The MDT (Music Dance Theatre) program was very small and very . . . “elite” as we liked to call it. Only about 25 students per year were accepted, and within a given semester only about 6-8 graduated. We were given the “elite” privilege of performing a musical number at our department’s commencement ceremony and also at another department’s. This was great, but it caused us to have to attend TWO boring commencement ceremonies and also caused several “difficulties” as far as logistics and seating were concerned. We couldn’t file in with the rest of the college and sit in the normal order. We had to wait off stage for the beginning and our turn to sing, then we had to file around the back of the stage and were the first ones to receive our diplomas, and then we finally filed on to the very back row of the risers in the theater and sit. It should be noted that we were the only ones on the back row.

So, we did our thing, got our diploma’s and filed onto the back row to sit through the rest of the speeches and fluff that are common in any college graduation.

Keep in mind that because there were only about 6 of us graduating, we were all very close. We’d spent four years in the exact same classes, learning the same songs and scenes and whatever else we were required to do. We loved each other and had a blast together. Also keep in mind that, despite being at a predominantly LDS (aka Mormon) school, being in theatre meant that we had more than a couple of homosexual gentleman in our major.

So we sat down, diplomas in hand and entertained ourselves by . . . being musical theatre majors. We were notorious around the Fine Arts Department for being loud and obnoxious. We were shunned by dance majors for not being real dancers, by theatre majors for not being “real” actors, and of course by the vocal/opera majors for not being “real” singers. We were the red-headed step-children of the Fine Arts & Communications Department. So of course, my year lived up to the reputation. We were obnoxious and loud and were cracking jokes from the back row to entertain ourselves during the ever-so-boring speeches.

Finally, the end of the ceremony was near. The dean of the department was finally speaking and wrapping this thing up. He thanked our teachers for their hard work and dedication, he thanked us for being hard workers and then he thanked our parents for everything they had done to get all of us proud graduates to the point we were now at.

It was at this point that my favorite gay friend, Clark said to me “we should stand up and cheer for our parents.”

And, being the obnoxious MDT majors we were known to be, we stood up and whooped and hollered and cheered.

Then we sat down.

Only . . . when I sat down my chair . . . well . . . “scooched” backward.

Now, “federal regulations” require that any riser taller than about 3’ has to have “back support” to prevent individuals from falling off the risers. BYU had followed this rule to the absolute minimum. The “back support” was about the equivalent of a ruler held up by two ¼” dowels. So, when I “scooched” the back support “snapped.”

The back two legs of my chair were off the edge of the riser and I had no back support.

And.I.started.falling.

So, I did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do. I grabbed on to Clark to support me. Only, it didn’t work. Clark’s chair “scooched” and he started falling.

So Clark did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do and he grabbed on to Cindy, the girl next to him. Only THAT didn’t work. Now she had been a little smarter and saw the fall coming and held on to her chair for dear life. There was a loud “SSSCCREEEEAAACCCCCHHH” sound before she AND her chair started going over the edge.

Now, SOMEHOW, after losing my chair to the floor below, I managed to grab on to the underside of the riser and hold on, but, my graduation gown flew over my head and I was hanging, butt down, from the riser with my gown covering my face. My calves were the only thing not suspended in mid-air, and probably the only thing that saved me from falling all the way down.

Clark was not so lucky. He started flailing even more and somehow managed to grab on to the curtain of the theater and SLIDE down it to the floor, hitting with a thud.

Cindy and her CHAIR pitched sideways over the edge and landed RIGHT.ON.TOP.OF.CLARK. Face down, provocative style. By itself, it’s funny. But knowing that Clark was very, very gay, made it even better.

Cindy got up and RAN off stage as fast as she could.

Clark sat up, wind knocked out of him and reached behind him and lifted up a rose. Somehow he had managed to land directly on a long stemmed rose and smashed it to death. As he held it up it just . . . wilted. I don't know why that part is so funny to me but it totally is.

I eventually pulled myself back up onto the riser and was laughing hysterically. It was a silent laugh though, because there was a commencement ceremony still going on of course. So I was hunched over on my chair, shaking uncontrollably and had tears streaming down my face.

Our head professor had run from the front row back to see if we were ok. I’m sure she thought I was about to die. She kept asking me if I was OK and I just couldn’t stop laughing to tell her I was fine. Clark, still a little winded, said “I think she’s just laughing.” Now I was pointing to my nose, letting him know that he was “on the nose” with that one and that I was, in fact, dying of laughter and nothing else.

I didn’t hear this, but apparently the Dean had looked back wondering about the commotion and said “Well if they can’t hold on to their diplomas now, we might need them to come back and repeat college!” Very funny.

Later that night my family was laughing about what had happened and each person who had been in the audience was telling their reaction.

My Mom had started leaping over people, running to save me, sure I had hurt myself. She was in the middle of the back row, so she caused quite a commotion there.

My friend’s parents had just started laughing uncontrollably.

My Dad had shot straight up from his second row seat to see if he could see me and if there was blood.

My personal favorite as my brother Sean’s reaction. Keep in mind that I went to Brigham Young University and 98% of the attendees and their parents are tried and true Mormons. My brother, seeing my fall says OUT LOUD from the SECOND ROW of the HUGE THEATRE in a LOUD VOICE:

“My stupid sister just F***ING fell off the F***ING back row.”

I’m pretty sure the Honor Code Police are still looking for me to strip me of my diploma for that one.

So there you have it folks. The Kateastrophe of Kateastrophes.

Please, no autographs today.

Perfect Credit

Ok, this is embarrassing to admit, especially to the whole world, but today is a proud day for lil' old me. Why you ask? I'll tell you why.

About nine years ago last month, I left for the adventure of a lifetime. I left my comfy home in Provo, Utah and set out for a summer in Europe. First, theatre study abroad in London, followed by a three week backpacking trek with six friends through "The Continent" followed by the remainder of the summer in London and the surrounding areas just hanging out and becoming cultured.

Cut to the last week in June and what is now lovingly referred to as "the death train" from Pisa, Italy to Nice, France and being robbed by Gypsies on said death train as we slept off our horrid sunburns from our day in the Cinque Terra (I know, my life is so hard. But focus on the ROBBERY.) I woke up to find my camera, passport, Eurail pass, new watch, CONTACT LENSES . . . pretty much everything except (oddly) my wallet GONE. Cut to me by myself getting a new passport in Marsailles (Tourist Pointer: Marsailles is sort of boring, and pretty ugly, despite the romanticising of the city my mostest favorite book Count of Monte Cristo) and having three days of total melt down freak out. Cut again to massive spending to correct the problem followed by my stupid eighteen year old self wanting to GO. HOME. NOW. Mind you, I was broke as can be, savings drained, credit card maxed, all family favors called in. I would have spent the remainder of the summer wandering aimlessly through London like the homeless man who made his makeshift home on the corner of our Queen's Gate school apartment building. So going home was sort of the best and only option.

Cut NOW to me going home and going back to college and deciding to buy a new car and making some pretty dumb financial decisions, despite the awesomeness of my parents who paid for my schooling, therefore I should have been DEBT FREE. Sigh. Alas, I was young and have I mentioned financially stupid? Little by little, I added to the debt that had started when I was stranded in Europe. It was like a little white lie . . . building slowly but surely. Now that I'm older and wiser, I'm glad it wasn't worse than it was. I've heard stories of maxing out student loans and multiple credit cards. Mine was manageable, but still entirely too much.

The ONE advantage I had is that I knew I was in too deep, and I took advantage of the fact that the credit fools thought I was rich or something, because, as horribly in debt as I was, I had a fantastic credit score and a high credit limit and I never paid ONE PENNY of interest. Ever. I transferred my pile of debt from interest free credit card to interest free credit card for five years. FIVE YEARS. Oui.

And again I digress . . . here is the POINT. The POINT is that as of 9:45 this evening, I am officially debt free. The last penny has been paid.

I wish I could take all the glory that comes with this accomplishment . . . but I have to thank my Mother, who hounded me to pay it down, and most especially thank my husband for paying for EVERYTHING while we were dating so that I could get it down to a reasonable total before we got married, and then giving up last years tax refund to help. I'd also like to thank my health insurance company for screwing up last year and having to give me a hefty refund this week for my overpayment.

See? Told you I shouldn't get all the credit. Haha. Credit . . . HA.

Narcissism is good for the soul . . .

Ahhh the memes just keep on comin'! (and i MISSPELLED my original title. I'm so embarrassed)

I am flattered that Gunfigher likes me enough to tag me . . . so here goes. Meme number four bazillion . . . titled "In the Spotlight"

When did you start blogging?
Well, I officially started blogging with this post(and oh my gosh that was almost YEAR AGO??? Where has the time gone?) but it wasn't until the day I wrote this post that I actually discovered the world of blogging as I know it now. I was searching for a picture of a tiny BYU cougar and came across Daring Young Mom's old Blogger blog and then, in turn, her current blog and I realized that there was MUCH more to blogging than I had originally thought. I had written some pretty random posts and was on my way to being the blogger I am now, but discovering Katherine's blog and blog hopping from there showed me what was really out there.

What's your favorite childhood memory?
Because I have some pretty freaking cool parents, my childhood is filled with amazing memories. But I think the memories that have stayed with me and that I think of most often, I wrote about in this post from my old blog. Every time I hear thunder, see lightening, or smell the rain, I re-live those memories.

Are you a spiritual person?
I am a very spiritual person. I was raised LDS (aka Mormon) by my LDS mother, but my father is Catholic (but not exactly a church going strict Catholic), so I had to decide at an early age if I wanted to take the spiritual route or the "sinner" route as I joke with my Dad (Oh please no one get offended by that. I'm totally kidding I really truly am. I am very lighthearted about religion I swear). I did, and I have no regrets. Having a strong belief in God has helped me more than I could ever say. Abiding by the seemingly "strict" rules of the LDS church has been somewhat challenging at times, but SO SO worth it. I am healthy, I am happy, I am confident in my eternal marriage and family, and I have faith that no one can shake. I feel blessed in so many aspects of my life, and all the credit goes to God.

Do your moral values affect the way that you blog, and if yes, how?
Absolutely. I am not perfect in the "no swearing" rules . . . but I try very hard to keep the subject matter clean and rated PG. My religion and my moral beliefs are so intertwined in my life, there is no way they couldn't affect my blogging. I live and breathe it, and while I have no desire to push my beliefs on anyone else, they are bound to be part of my stories and ongoing life experiences.

I also have a desire to be readable by all and offend as little as possible. I'm a little "rough around the edges" when compared to some of my same religion, but I hope to be a good example wherever I can and to be uplifting and fun at the same time. It is possible - and for me without alcohol! Plus, if you ever meet me in person, you'll realize that it's probably better I don't ingest alcohol, as many people seem to think I live my life drunk. My boss recently said "the more drunk I get Kate, the more sense you make." Touche!

What is the weirdest thing that ever happened to you?
My life is seriously so weird, it's hard to pick the "weirdest." I am constantly baffled by the weirdness of the world and how small it truly is. Plus, I am a weird, weird person. I constantly do weird things and have fun, weird friends. So there are a lot of things to choose from.

One of the weirdest . . . and funniest . . . and most embarrassing things that has ever happened to me, goes as follows:

Summer of my junior year in college, I was working on my "self image." I was a theatre major and also participating in beauty pageants (another post for another time) and I needed to be skinny, hot and original looking. Oh and zit-less. So I was working out like a fiend, I'd dyed my hair dark red and I was on the dreaded Accutane. For those of you who don't know, Accutane is the zit killer drug which basically works by COMPLETELY SUCKING ANY MOISTURE OUT OF YOUR BODY. You are walking around like a dried out corn husk. The doctors recommend dumping an entire bottle of lotion on your body daily, as well as snorting vaseline to prevent bloody noses. It's SO FUN. So I was hot, skinny and all dried up. See? (OK other than the weird eyebrow. What the crap?)



I had started dating a guy I had met at my first pageant parade (again, another post for another time) and we had waited quite a while to start "the kissing" but once we started, we decided we really liked it, and we kept it going despite my dry nose issues, which were many and sort of disgusting.

I must also say that this was a guy like Jerry on Seinfeld. He'd dump a girl for looking at him funny, or for having a weird toenail. So, I was doomed from the beginning for sure, as I have many weird toenails and many funny looks. Add in the weird Accutane issues and I was done for before we started. I just didn't KNOW it.

Cut to two weeks after the kissing started . . . and had kept going. We were at his house, which was, at the time, empty, because he was moving out of it to live with his parents (WAS I BLIND DEAF AND DUMB TO THE WARNING SIGNS OF A LAME BOYFRIEND???) and we were alone, in the dark . . . doing what two 20-something Mormon kids do when you're ALONE and in the DARK. I'm embarrassed to admit this publicly, but it was a fairly . . . intense . . . make-out session that had been going on for quite some time. At some point, I noticed some . . . wetness, on my face. I didn't think much of it, you know SPIT and all being involved, but it kept getting worse . . . and then I realized what had happened. The horrible, awful thing that had happened:

I
HAD
GOTTEN
A
MASSIVE
BLOODY
NOSE
ALL
OVER
MYSELF
AND
MY
BOYFRIEND

I pulled away and said "uh-oh." We turned on a light and unveiled what appeared to be a BATTLE SCENE. We were both covered from the neck up. COVERED. I was MORTIFIED. I didn't know what to say or what to do. Luckily he just started laughing. He went to the bathroom and cleaned up the best he could . . . and came back for some more of me and my hotness.

Five minutes later? Yeah. Another bloody nose.

Followed by the line my boyfriend uttered that I will mock him for behind his back for LIFE.

"Wow, my Mom does my laundry. How am I going to explain THIS?"

Needless to say we called it a night, and shortly after that? He called it a day with me and my hotness. Mama's boy.

And that folks, is it. That is the completion of my Meme. I hope it also counts as the Kateastrophe of the week, because if my sharing my bloody nose story doesn't count, then something is very very wrong.

Now I'm supposed to tag five people, but I seriously don't have it in me now. If you want to play, you can go here to find the rules. Just make sure to let me know you're playing along so that I can witness some of the fun.

Locked In a Room By Myself With No Human Contact Until Further Notice

I'm not nice this week. I'm not even halfway pleasant. I am a giant ball of mean, nastyness.

I'm trying not to talk to people. I'm actually trying not to LOOK at people, for fear my eyes will become deadly laser beams and I'll kill someone I care about. I'm trying to hide in my cube and say nothing.

And yet . . .

PEOPLE KEEP CALLING. Or they keep "stopping by my cube" to say hi. Or they ask me to DO THINGS for them. To like, work. Or they want me to do things like EAT LUNCH WITH THEM. Are they crazy?? Have they MET me this week?

I need a door . . . or a sign or something. They need to know it's not safe to play near me right now. Maybe I'll make one that says "Swim at your own risk: lifeguard eaten by a Kate shark and not likely to return."

If you have a better idea for a sign, let me know. I'm getting desperate at this point.

I'm Too Irritated to Even Think of a Title

I woke up Monday morning and just knew this week wasn't going to go so well. I know I'm not alone in it either. I think there's something in the air. I know a lot of people who aren't having the best week. I also know some people who are having a great week. (Hi Hannah! Congrats on the beautiful baby!!) Good weeks are not what I'm here to talk about. Bad weeks. Focus on bad weeks.

Hi, my name is Debbie Downer. Hahaha.

It's just . . . blah.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. I hurt. I feel fat. I feel nasty. American Idol had BEE GEE'S NIGHT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

This morning, somehow, I slept in until 8:20. I never sleep that late, I have usually left for work by then. And somehow, I am still tired.

I had people asking me the dumbest questions today . . . and I'm usually pretty upbeat when that happens. I usually answer the question without missing a beat. Today? Not so much. Someone asked me what that "thing on your desk that holds the file folders" is called. Someone else asked me what to do when our employer's pool guy installed a vacuum that doesn't work and the employer in question doesn't want to pay for a broken pool vacuum. Someone else showed me a typical, normal, everyday thank you card and asked WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO WRITE THE NOTE PART.

I'm sorry, did I miss the part where everyone but me is an idiot? I was seriously ready to punch everyone in the neck.

Then, on top of everything else, I'm craving FAT. I don't care what form it comes in. Sugar? Great. Cheese? Even better. Pasta? Come to mama. I've been SO good for so long and yesterday? Arby's . . . and I ordered cheese sticks. Today? Pizza, a giant ravioli and PIZOOKIE (read: a half pound of cookie dough, halfway cooked and topped with vanilla bean ice cream. Granted, I split it with someone but still.). I just did not have it in me to eat a vegetable or whole grain. I am just mad at those little bastards today. I wanted FAT.

Hopefully I can use my magic cheerful pills I've got hidden here somewhere to turn this thing around.

Anyone else want to share their bad week? Because, as you can tell, I'd love to commiserate!

A Pause

So, I realize I have made promises of Kateastrophes and Flashbacks, but unfortunately, this week has been a little insane and I have been unable to deliver thus far.

Please accept my most humble apologies.

Tonight I am flying to Utah for a well needed trip to the 'hood and to see my gals, Brillig, Jewels and the soon to pop out a baby Hannah, as well as my most loved Mother, sister Tofutti and SHIRLEY! THE GRANDMA OF ALL GRANDMA'S! And I'm there until TUESDAY! FOUR WHOLE DAYS?!?! Wooo hoooo!

If you can't tell, I'm excited . . . and I have a full schedule.

I will try to post while I'm there, because I know all five of my loyal readers that are not included in that list up there will miss me so . . . but I'm not making any promises.

So in a little less than seven hours . . . let the vacation begin!!

Kate = Stupid

Sorry to any of you coming to see the A-listed post. I realized this morning that I posted my ADDRESS for the WHOLE WORLD TO SEE.

I am an idiot.

Kateastrophe of the Week: 2

Beat up by a soda can . . .

So, about five years ago, I was driving from my job on the south end of Utah Valley to meet up with Jewels for lunch. I'm listening to music, chillin' . . . you know, what you do on a beautiful spring day.

Between songs I hear an odd noise . . . pssssssssssssssssssssssss . . .

"Are my tires going flat?" I wonder? No . . . it's coming from inside the car.

"What the crap is that??"

I start looking around madly, reaching blindly in the backseat to find the culprit.

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss . . . it's still going . . .

"Seriously!" I say out loud "WHAT IS THAT NOISE??"

I'm still reaching around in the garbage I keep in my back seat (I am not really known for keeping a clean car) and I find the culprit. A can of Diet Coke. Somehow it was punctured by one of the under-sear contraptions.

"AAAHHH" I scream as it sprays a fine mist of Diet Coke all over my face and upper body. I start panicking since I'm driving down the busiest road in my home town and it's lunch time and there's lots of traffic, and I can't see because I'm being squirted in the eye.

I quickly turn it around to avoid blinding myself further.

Bad freaking idea.

Now it's spraying my windshield, and I am, once again, unable to see.

Anyone watching this scenario unfold must have been laughing their butt off. I was screaming at the top of my lungs and myself and my entire car was being misted with cola.

Finally, thinking clearly for at least a second, I rolled down the window and held the can outside of the car so that it wasn't obstructing my vision anymore. I'm sure anyone driving next to me didn't appreciate it very much, but hey, I wasn't being blasted anymore!

I found a side road and pulled over, allowing the carbonation and fizz to finally subside so that the can was no longer a pressurized, blinding bomb. It's AMAZING how much carbonation is in one of those tiny cans! It "pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssted" for like ten minutes!

Finally, I got back in the car and sullenly drove to our chosen lunch location. Dejected, I got out of the car to face Julia, who had been waiting for me.

I didn't even have to say anything. All she saw was my wet face and hair and my favorite pink shirt, now permanently stained with what looked like airbrushed liquid poo.

Que uncontrollable laughter.

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.

Where Paper Goes to Die

Oh. My. Gosh.

I am waiting for the tree-huggers to come take me away for my execution at any moment.*

I am cleaning out my cubicle at work. I took the opportunity to swap days off -- as in, my company has a holiday today, but I'm working in exchange for NEXT Friday off so that I could get some stuff done and CLEAN MY FREAKING DESK ALREADY without anyone bothering me.

So I'm cleaning my desk, like you do . . . and let me just tell you, it's bad. I inherited a cube used by three previously fired employees who took their personal crap and ran for the hills. So I got ALL their old stuff. And I was told not to throw it away but to go through it all. I also brought with me two years worth of Executive Assistant notes I was told not to throw away either, so I venture to say that I have at least ten years worth of CRAP here. That I have to go through. So I can tell WHOEVER that I went through it before I threw it's punk-arse in the TRASH.

So here I am. Hour three. GOING THROUGH IT ALL.

During this process, I discovered something disturbing.

I have a paper problem.

Specifically? I have a "using-part-of-a-notebook-then-losing-it-somewhere-in-the-mess-and-just-going-and-getting-another-one-no-good-very-bad-problem."

Pardon the horrid quality of the pictures, but here you have a visual of just how horrible my problem really is:

This is the pile I plan to use up before I allow myself to get ANY MORE NOTEBOOKS.

This is the recycling pile . . . And I've already half filled the recycling bin (that is the size of a giant curbside trash can)

Hopefully, I can focus enough that by the end of the day I will have a beautiful (yeah right), clean workspace.

Anyone have any organization tips? I'm DROWNING IN PAPER here folks!

*Tree-huggers, I know you don't actually execute people. And I know I shouldn't call you that. I promise not to do it again.

The first "Mattastrophe" in history!

My husband is a sweet, calm, careful human being. He very rarely makes mistakes, very rarely makes an accidental mess . . . pretty much the opposite of ME.

Last night, however, we had ourselves an accident ala Matt.

The blinds in our dining room were misbehaving. One side went down just fine, but the other just stayed up. It was totally stuck. So we were both checking it out, trying hard to figure out what the crap was wrong and praying we didn't have to go find new blinds for our money pit house that we're putting on the market soon anyway.

Nothing was happening . . . we were frustrated and figuring we needed to buy new blinds. I told Matt we should just give up, the stupid blinds were stupid broken. Stupid. Yeah.

Then . . . it happened. Matt tried to fix the blinds one more time. And down they crashed hitting not one, but BOTH of us. I got hit in the head, Matt got hit in the mouth.

I was in that . . . shocked, surprised and scared mode . . . and I just sort of started to cry.

Matt was bleeding in two places . . . on the outside of his mouth AND on the inside.

It was traumatizing for a few minutes, then it was just funny. Today it's just funnier, although Matt may still not think so!

There is also a silver lining on our cloud because, while the blinds were on the ground, we were able to see into the guts of the stupid things and fix them! NOw we just have to NOT TOUCH THEM EVER AGAIN.

**Random sidenote that has NOTHING to do with this post. HOW IN THE CRAP IS SANJAYA NOT IN THE BOTTOM THREE OF AMERICAN IDOL? This is just makin' me angry. Stupid.

Gone missing

I'm here, I'm here. Shhhh. Calm down, I didn't leave forever.

My Mom and sister Meagan came to town on Thursday so I've been away from the computer and busy with them . . . but I'll post pictures and stuff very soon.

And I've reset the Kateastrophe ticker, much to my dismay. I'll explain that too. It's gooooood.

Bear with me another day or so. I promise I'll be back!

I do not pull off "bed-head" well

For those of you who don't know me, I have ridiculously.long.hair. I was blessed with the thick hair gene and blessed/cursed (depending on how you view it) with STICK STRAIGHT hair too. So, if I have a decent haircut with some minimal shaping, I can pull off getting out of the shower, putting some smoothing products in the mane, running a brush through it and going. I don't usually do this, as "mi esposa" prefers it when I "DO" my hair (which includes a blow dryer and curling iron) but today the lazy in me took over.

So I did just what I described above and off I went to work.

I just took a little trip to the ladies room and whilst washing my hands I glanced in the mirror.

"HOLY CRAP!" Said my inner monologue "I look like one of those little white trash elementary school boys who have never met a comb and use soap to wash their hair!"

The gently mussed look? So not for me.

Messy bun . . . meet Kate's bad hair day.

Memo to me: (part dos)

Never mention the subject of babies in a blog post unless you are:
a) pregnant already or
b) planning to make yourself that way very soon.

Sorry for the fire drill folks. I am not, nor am I planning on being pregnant any time in the forseeable future. Here is a list of people you can talk to if that's what you're looking for:

Those to convince to become pregnant:
My sister and her husband (hehehe she's going to kill me)
Brother-in-law and his wife (they are going to kill me too!)

Those already "with child"
Jewels
My good friend Sara
Hannah
Lindsey(who I don't know personally, but I do know she's having a baby soon.)
This random girl

. . . and pretty much EVERY woman I go to church with.

Just not ME. My uterus is closed for business until much further notice.

Mother Effort!

Hahaha. Ok I apologize to anyone offended by my little play on words . . . but seriously, it's fitting.

Today I worked my tuckus off. I had hoped to clean the whole darn house today, however that didn't get done. Something got in the way. A FAN. A FREAKING CEILING FAN.

I wanted to be all handy and install it myself, so while Matt was at the sand dunes, I did it. Sort of. It's all installed . . . it JUST DOESN'T WORK. It took me four hours and it doesn't freaking work. The light works . . . but the FAN doesn't work. It took me forever to figure out which breaker shut the power to my bedroom off. This was after I shocked myself three times thinking "I won't get shocked." Riiiight. I finally just turned off ALL the power in the house. Then I set to work taking down the old fan and starting up the new one. By the time I turned the power back on I had put it together and taken it apart like four times. Nothing was working correctly, nothing was going on the right way, nothing fit, nothing went flush. NOTHING WAS WORKING THE WAY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO. Then, after hours and hours of frustration, I thought I had it right. I went downstairs, turned all the power back on, went upstairs . . . turned on the light and then . . . no fan.

After that, I went downstairs, got a Diet Coke and drank my sorrows away for about an hour.

Then, I cleaned like a freaker . . . but just the upstairs, the bathroom and the kitchen. I'm currently sitting in the living room surrounded by junk mail, clean laundry and just a wee bit of garbage. Ok, a lot of garbage. Ok not really garbage. Napkins. Left over from my pigging out on pasta.

On the upside, I got a new cleaning toy! A Dirt Devil Broom Vac. It makes sweeping the floor so easy! As you sweep it sucks up all the dirt! I wanted a pink one but Target only had red, and I was desperate to have it (impatient much?!?)so I bought what they had. I just want to sweep the floor all the time! (Much different then last weeks attitude of 'I hate to sweep')

So now MOST of my house is clean and I'm happy to be sitting watching my Sunday night TV shows, wrapped in a blanket waiting for my husband to return from his weekend at the dunes. He will be stinky but it will be good to see him!

My mind is as dull as my razor

If you could read my mind, first of all you'd be very scared. Second of all, yesterday you would have been listening to the following conversation I was having with myself on the plane to Orlando.

"Is my butt really that big or did the seats on the exit rows of all airplanes shrink all of a sudden? Seriously, this isn't going to be a comfortable flight at ALL. Maybe I should offer to switch seats with someone not in an exit row and see if I fit better . . . ok that's just stupid all the stupid seats are the same stupid size. My butt just IS that bi . . .ow my leg hurts, I wish I would have gotten some pizza before I boarded because I really hate paying five dollars for two pieces of cheese and a grape but I guess it doesn't matter because this IS a business trip hehehe. . . seriously what is with my itchy leg? SKIN FLAKES? I should have put on lotion this morning after I shaved, that was sure dumb of m . . .ok now the other leg is itchin again and it really feels like my pants are velcroed to my le. . . OH MY GOSH I ONLY SHAVED ONE OF MY LEGS THIS MORNING."

What is the world coming to - and how can I help it get there?

So last week, during the show "24," Maricopa County (otherwise known as Phoenix) issued an Amber Alert. Someone had kidnapped a young hispanic child and no one could find his mother either. They did it twice during the hour that the show was on, and it was your typical "beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep 'this is an amber alert' then all the details (including the woman struggling to pronounce the names, stumbling over words, etc.) beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep"

What I should have been thinking:
"Oh no, that poor child, I should to out and start looking for him. I'm so glad we have the technology to make people aware when something like this happens, I bet they find him right away because of it. I don't mind the words flashing across the screen or the beeping or any of it. We have an amazing world with an amazing alert system. Thank goodness."

What I was actually thinking:

"SERIOUSLY?? During 24? I can't hear a WORD Jack Bauer is saying and I what he's saying is important because EVERY SECOND of 24 is important. This is really bothering me and that BEEPING NOISE! Make it stop! She can't even pronounce the Spanish name. LIKE IT'S WRITTEN LADY, LIKE IT'S WRITTEN. Where did you learn to read? OH MY GOSH STOP TALKING. Oh his MOTHER is missing too?? And you can't pronounce HER name? ACK! Now Jack is torturing someone and I don't know why because of the BEEEEEEPIIINNNGGGG!!! I get it I get it, it's an Amber Alert you already SAID THAT. stopitstopitstopit"

I am going to hell.