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I'm typing with my left hand because I'm holding the little one with my right.

New blog:

It's here.

Click to be amazed.

Follow me. I don't bite. I nibble.

When font reflects life

I hate when The Fray is right.


That's not a good feeling.


I gotta write away the wrong. Nawmean?

This all seems vague and emo, but this is a blog so what do you expect?

Today I realized I need to be bold. Really bold. Not just wear straw fedora hats and blingy watches but really bold in life. I'm going to start that... now.


It begins.

Growing- A little lovely poem for my little lovely girl

Everything is growing.
Your hands, your feet, your hair.
Everything is growing,
And now you're everywhere.
You're in air I breathe;
You're in the world I see;
You're in my thoughts while I'm awake,
And always in my dreams.
You are still my little baby,
Only 14 weeks
And yet you're growing so fast;
So fast I fear to blink.
Everything is growing,
Your arms, your legs, your toes.
As soon as I learn a new part of you,
It grows and grows and grows.
Everything is growing,
And this is only the start.
Everything is growing
Most importantly the love in my heart.


I love you. You amaze me.

Even when you poop on me.

Blog Jesus

Sup, peeps?

So... I am working on my new blog, but in the meantime I will post a few posty posts on this blog. 

First, The News:

This blog is now displayed on DelightfulBlogs.com. I'm going to go ahead and do a "WOO!" 

Just go to the "Personal Journals" and scroll down and wamblamshabamman thank you mam there I am. Make sure you like it and give it amazing ratings! 

I feel like I'm a sitting in someone else's urine on a toilet seat. 

This is my metaphor for writing on this blog. This blog is the toilet seat (a very interesting and entertaining toilet seat) and someone else's urine is my old self. Don't get me wrong. It's clear urine. The good kind. Very hydrated. It's just not mine anymore. I am a different person. So excuse me if this writing (particularly the metaphors) isn't as fresh and as clean clean as it once was. 

My new blog is going to be significantly more amazing than this one, though. It's going to actually have a design rather than just have a very sexy, beautiful picture of me on a blogger template. My new blog gives me purpose and seeks to do the same for you. Yes. My blog will give you purpose in life. It is what you have been looking for... what your life has been missing. 

So stay patient because my second coming is... coming. 

I have a new baby, a new super-sweet apartment, and a new view on living. So take my hand and let me lead you to the blog promise land.

 

Suspense

The new blog.



It's happening.


It's sexy. It's fun. It's...above average....

Where I've landed

It may be time to retire this blog.

I have changed immensely since having the little one. I am no longer the angsty douche-face that wanted to punch everyone in the neck with my fists of witty fury.

I am now a mom. No more witty fury fists. Just mom fists.... not for punching my child.... it's just a metaphor.

Actually, I just want to be me and a mom and not feel like I have to keep up with my old self or with my peers who are out doing crazy wild peer-people things like punching children. I want to prove that I have nothing to prove.

Sounds like a new blog.


Thank you all for reading my life. I dedicate this blog to tortured animals, diminishing native cultures, dying ecosystems, minorities, bloggers with inflated senses of self-importance, and other hippy liberal things that I will inevitably trade in for conservative, God-fearing, and money-focused ideals. God bless you, Fox News, and freedom fries.


Seriously, though, don't buy products tested on animals.


Unless it's cheaper and/or advertised on Oprah.



I'm so confused. Not much has changed.


Definitely a new blog. Maybe.


I'll let you know.


On this blog.


So yeah, I'll be back. This isn't a very impressive ending.....


-Katie the Blogging Lady

I'm a lot like Buddha

I'm in self- pity mode.

Stop giving me that look! No one ever lets me feel sorry for myself! It's awful being me!

Do you ever just feel like you are trying super hard to be super awesome and very much succeeding but then not one single parade is thrown in your honor. NOT ONE PARADE!

I need more gays in my life.

I really am sitting around waiting for things to change and they don't. It's like..... why don't things change without me exerting any effort? Why???

I like to think that by sitting around a lot I am doing Buddhisty things. Yeah... Buddhisty things. Buddhism. That's a hip thing to include in a blog, right? So yeah, I sit around and allow my chi and zen and feng shui to transcend my frustrations.


My point is, I am extremely good at rationalizing my life. So because I am so good at rationalizing, it is only rational that I keep doing that.


I just want attention. Why else would I have a blog?

poop

Brothahood

So I want to start a new blog. One of those fancy .com ones. Is it wrong to want to make money from my blog? Does that make me a sell-out? Honestly... I just want to be able to blog and hang out with my baby for a living.... Can a brotha do that?


I am the "brotha" in that scenario. I am in most scenarios...

Moms Gone Wild

I am topless more that I am top....full?..... topped?....untopless?

I don't wear a shirt a lot.

Is it because I am so super sexy and scandalous and down to party?

no.

It's because shirts are more problem than solution when you have a baby and are breastfeeding. She's hungry every 4.6 minutes. She spits up all up on me. She has somehow managed to trick the diapers into not functioning as diapers...they...undiaper?...and she then pees or poops all over my shirt.

So I just walk around like some tribal mother, feeding the baby and gathering wild berries.

Blog poop (I feel slightly uncomfortable with this title... but I'll manage)

I talked to my therapist today (aka myself while I'm driving) and I realized I am about 73% insane. Luckily I have a really good therapist so I feel optimistic about being able to work through this.

I got issues, yo. I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the world that has issues so I'm definitely special. I overthink everything and stress and have serious anxiety, and you care about this because you don't have your own problems to deal with.

As happy as I am, I'm also miserable. It's only because I am constantly thinking about how my life is working and what I need to do to be better. Then, I end up not doing any of that stuff because I spend most of my day thinking about needing to do it. And watching 30 Rock.

I just had a day. You know.. just one of those days when I hated everything and everyone.. except my daughter, of course. I love my daughter. The faces she makes when she poops makes life worth living.

Let me tell you a major turning point in my life: when I felt ok with the fact that I poop. So liberating.

And yes... you do poop when you birth a baby through the vageen. I mean... I didn't.... because I don't poop....but most people do....so I hear.


Ok yes I did. Sorry about that. I had a brief relapse with the whole poop issue.

So listen, ladies. It's ok to poop.


This post is weird.


I think I'm now at 82%.

Kids and their music

This moment sums up being a mother:

I was holding my little baby precious in my arms. I was staring into her big blue eyes, and she was staring lovingly back at me- studying my face as I was smiling at her. Then there was this moment when her look changed. Her face brightened, her eyes widened, and I felt this surreal connection was happening. My smile widened and she seemed to be trying to smile back, and then she let out the longest, wettest fart-poop combo that the world has ever known. I swear it lasted 10 full seconds. Then she fell asleep.

And I loved it.


I remember the days when I would wake up at noon after spending the night before doing crazy party things (I'm such a mom now that I literally can't think of a cooler way to say "crazy party things") and then spend the day watching reality TV, going out to sushi with friends, shooting up heroin behind some abandoned building (I tried to make up for the "crazy party things" moment with that last one, and I fear I went too far in the other direction), and then cramming in a bunch of school work to turn in the next day.

That life seems so far away. My life now is so... responsible... and doesn't include any crazy party things or abandoned buildings. And yet...I like it.

Being a mom is so sappy.

I really am getting significantly more lame on a daily basis. I snap a lot more when I dance in the mall (mall dancing is less noisy than club dancing...see? lame); I am losing touch with neato slang terminology; I call people younger than me "hooligans." When you become a parent, though, you don't care about things being in style. You don't care about knowing who Joseph Bieber is. You don't care about what the homies are sayin' these days. You just care about germs, and living in suburbs away from sex offenders, and making your daughter Miss Toddler USA at the Miss Toddler USA pageant.

Priorities people.

I'm not gunna lie.... I looked up "rue the day" before I posted this because I fear I am an idiot and don't know what expressions really mean.

Well I'm officially a madre now. My daughter was born a few days late, but totally worth the wait. She is abnormally beautiful. Like... if I was a week-old girl, I would totally hate her and call her a biatch but only because I would be deeply jealous of her. Jealousy among babies runs deep.

Being a mom, even for such a short time, has already changed me so much. I am even less tolerant of bullshit from others. I really know now what is important. She is such a relief in my life. Yes... she keeps me up at all hours of the night; she destroys my nip nips on an hourly basis; she poops what appears to be old mustard; but she reminds me that things I used to stress so much about- being a "successful" artist, money, keeping up with the Kardashians, etc.- are so so very silly. Old mustard poop is more important than these things so obviously they aren't that important.

I love being a mom. Everyone should do it.

No. Really they shouldn't.

One negative personality trait I may have acquired because of her birth is my true hatred for anyone that could possibly endanger my child in any way... I'm talking the vaguest way possible... A car drove by us when we were getting out of our car and I immediately felt burning rage because that other driver could potentially be a little tired while driving and swerve and hit our parked car and hurt my daughter. I called the driver a douchlord "beepity beep" (my attempt to censor) and swore to myself that if I ever met that driver again, I would make him rue the day that he ever even got inside of car.

My hate, though, is all rooted in a strong overwhelming love for my daughter. So... it's a good thing.

So... my point is that I am very happy these days, even though the number of people I despise has increased substancially since I became a mother.



Love (hate),
Katie the Mom Lady

Happy Mother's Day!

It's Mother's Day!

I am an emotional hot mess.

And still pregnant.

I need to eat before I blog

The sooner I realize that money doesn't matter, the happier I will be.

How much more annoying and cliche can this blog get?

Don't challenge me.


I am just waiting for that turning point in my life when all the lessons I have learned, and all the wisdom I have blogged, and all the knowledge I have spit come together in a way that is conducive to real life. Yeah. I have said, "Money doesn't matter," but I sure as hell don't believe it. I have said, "Looks don't matter," but I still know the only reason I am such a successful stay-at-home pregnant writer wannabe (I want to be a writer; I actually am pregnant) is because I am so damn attractive (My sarcasm and ridiculous displays of confidence are just defense mechanisms. I don't need them because I am so perfect in every sense of the word, but I use them to make my blog more relateable.)

Today I am feeling heavy. Mainly because the baby inside my belly has to weigh at least 20 pounds at this point. I am also feeling heavy in the emotional sense, though, because.... well I am having a baby (did I mention I'm having a baby?) and that shit is real.... but also because I know big changes are about, and I feel all the past mistakes and decisions and lessons and blog musings are very present in my life now but I cannot yet put them into action. Everything is a big blob right now... a big leaky, awkward smelling, waddling blob of baby goo, and maybe when this baby thing is actually real then this blob phase will finally make sense. If not, I have gotten pretty good at squatting down to pick things up as a blob of baby goo and my glutes are pretty fantastic....so things really aren't that bad. Maybe that's the point of all this. All these life lessons culminate into amazing glutes.



I find such joy in simple moments, but somehow cannot resist making them more complicated. Today at the park I was so enjoying watching the dogs play and the poor people try to have fun without money, but soon I started putting pressure on myself to write and be productive on this "day off" (whatever that means.) Then I started worrying about if I am wasting time and life and if this baby blob will prevent me from accomplishing my goals. Then I started telling myself to shut the "f" up you crazy pregnant whore face (I'm very hard on my my whore face). Then I tried to be all Taoist and Zen and calm myself. And then I got hungry so I ate an orange and didn't know what to do with the orange peels so I put them in my shoe. Then I didn't have a shoe to wear to bring the orange peel to the trash can.

In the end, though, all my craziness allows me to blog about my craziness and spread the craziness and I can feel good about that.


The longer I am out of college, the worse my grammar and syntax and diction and all those other thingy things get.

Did I mention I am friggin pregnant?

And starving.

That explains a lot.


Goodnight, playas.

Work

I just don't get why I'm obligated to do things. I don't know how I get in situations where I have to do things. That's why I always end up hating my jobs. I always forget that is what jobs are about: doing things that you have to do and all the while hating every moment of it. I just sit and put up with dumb bullshit all day. That is what a job is to me.

Money makes me do things I am morally opposed to. I have sold credit cards to people that do not need credit cards because the job required me to do so. And I hated it. I was extremely uncomfortable. I just suppressed that discomfort, though, and that is why I will eventually lose my hair, become addited to pain killers, and find happiness in plastic surgery.

People can call me lazy because I don't like to work. But I'm not lazy. I'm just too arrogant to accept that I have to do things that I don't want to do.

Until you feel hiccups in your butt, you don't understand what it's like to be me.

I'm watching another friggin documentary (the life of a tired pregnant twenty-something year old tool. ((That isn't the documentary. That is my life. Although if their was a documentary about me, it would probably be called something like that. ). This is a Discovery channel special about stress. And watching it is stressing me out. It discusses the function of stress in mammals and how our culture copes with excessive amounts of unnecessary stress. Stress is supposed to be a survival mechanism, but we use it every day with financial issues, finding work, keeping work, watching too many documentaries about everything that is wrong with the world, pressure to be a sassy unique lady in the world, and other such things and stuff and junk.

This is what is stressing me out most about this documentary, though: They used rats to test the effects of stress on the brain, and yes they found some interesting things about stuff (I'm going on 4 hours of sleep right now so pretend I am much more intelligent than I actually am), but was that really a necessary study?
Why do people always need to "study" and have "numbers" and "charts" to back up things that are pretty obvious. Um. Do you enjoy being stressed? No. Oh... Has anything good come from excessive stress? No. Oh... then it's bad. Ok.

But NO! This study was SOOOOOOOOO groundbreaking because it showed that scaring the shit out of rats for their entire lives had a negative effect on them.

Brilliant.

 They could have saved the time, money, and rats, and just studied the lives of the millions of animals already being tested on for even more useless scientific research/ household products/makeup. These animals endure entire lifetimes of stress.

People just need to listen to their bodies. If you are feeling miserable, you are doing something that is making you miserable. So find that something.............. (long pause)............and stop........doing it.

People are so smart and sciency, that they are actually stupid. They say things like sciency.

We really do need to slow down and breathe and realize that the nonsense that humans create (mortgages, politics, religious differences, etc) are not the important things in this life, and yet we allow them to dictate our actions and feelings a majority of the time.

I'm tired and the baby in my womb has hiccups and I can feel them in my butt (just keeping you up to date on the facts of my life).

I may blog more later. I probably should because this isn't a very good post. I really need to work harder to maintain the quality of my blog. I'm a failure.... Fine... I won't sleep. I'll just dwell on the mediocrity that is my blog. Who needs sleep? I won't believe I need sleep until I see charts that prove 1 million rats suffered and died because they didn't sleep. Then... I'll know.

Stress.

Butt hiccups

What is this prego talking about?

I like it when people surprise you in a good way.


What a dumb statement. Who doesn't like that?


I can't be held accountable for things I say or do anymore. As much of a tough badass baller I am as a pregnant chick, I'm starting to feel really pregnant, and it is exhausting. My back is pissed, my shins are pissed, my ribs are pissed, and my brain is pissed. All of a sudden, my brain is expected to comprehend that I am about to push another human out of my body.... and that's the easy part? Then I am supposed to make that human a functioning member of society? Isn't it enough that I grew her arms and eyeballs and spleen? Now I have to make sure she eats her veggies, and does her homework, and doesn't murder?

I like to complain because it's more fun than being happy (there is a peek into how my brain works), but the truth is that women are the lucky ones. Yeah we gotta endure the gruesome parts of pregnancy, but we also get to feel a baby hiccup in our bodies. We get to feel some of our child's earliest movements. And we get that surreal moment when our child goes from being inside of our body as a mysterious little moving belly creature to suddenly sitting on our chest and existing in real life as a real baby. Pregnancy has to be the coolest thing I have ever done. Except for going to the Coldplay concert.... this baby is going to have to be pretty awesome to live up to that concert (and so the psychological damage I will inflict on my child begins).

Enough pregnancy talk.

Can I help the fact that sometimes I really want to be a snobby rich girl with hair extensions and a personal assistant? Sometimes I just want to bling my accessories with pink Swarovski crystals and wear big sunglasses to hide my anorexia.

hmmm... can I be such a girl and be a good role model to my daughter?

I think so....

Ok. Done

What else do I have on my mind today besides the beautiful and awesome power of motherhood and the equally awesome power of being a materialistic narcissistic socialite?

I have way too much on my mind actually. I am trying to accomplish so many things because I feel like I am getting old. How absurd. But in the world of rich socialites, 22 is 42.

I gotta get botox.


Gosh. I'm pregnant.


-Mom-to-Be

Marriage

Your other is not another you

I would worry that old people are going to read this and get offended, but then I don't care because I am so young and unruly and disrespectful

When old people (aka anyone older than me) talk about youth today having no respect for what prior generations have done for this country, I look at the atrocious acts of violence we commited on other nations and look at our decaying educational system and look at our extreme disrespect for the environment and the blatant disregard for other cultures, particularly in the third world, and I get rather offended. These old folks do not wish to own up to any of these things. They like to talk as if our youthful angst and discomfort with these facts are things to be offended by (the grammar of that sentence are offensive. And yes, that last sentence is ironic) They like to sit and watch the news and talk with their fellow old people and feel as if they are doing something great for this country just by passively observing and defending it. These such old people underestimate my passion and love for this country and mistake my thirst for change as hatred for this country. I am well aware that if I hate America so much that I can just leave. And if you notice, I have not left. That is because I don't hate America.

I hate old people.


Except when I'm old. Then I'll probably hate young people too because they will remind me of a time when I was actually useful and mattered in this country.

I don't really hate old people.

I just hate being underestimated because I am young. I am young, but I am also educated, curious, strong, hardworking, and passionate about equality.


Except for equality for old people.


I hate old people.



No I don't.

I'm tired of pretending

I'm tired of pretending to not know everything.

I try the humility thing and it is uncomfortable.

I am also tired of pretending to be sweet and sappy and lovey just because I'm pregnant with a little joy bundle in my belly of life and future possibilities. Guys, I'm just sayin.... I don't say things like, "I feel so blessed," "I am so lucky," "This is so special," etc. It's not that I don't feel this way. It's that I don't like people to know that I have a sweet precious side. It detracts from my street cred, and really that's what people know me for, and that's what people want from me... street cred.

The only people that I really want to see that "nice" side of me are my daughter, my cat, and my husband...sometimes... I mean, if he likes me too much all the time, he'll actually expect me to say and do sweet things for him on a regular basis. Too much work. I'm too busy for that... blogging and watching Netflix and such.

Ok?


Alright. I love you all, dearly. I am so blessed to be surrounded by such amazing people. May God shine his light on you all.

Let go and let Godiva...

When you wake up and you don't know what to do with life... eat chocolate.

If that doesn't work... eat more chocolate.


If that doesn't work, adopt a cat.

If I was giving birth to a cat, I would use pain meds.....The claws....

There is another person's foot in my ribs right now.

I have been so crazy lately. Fo reals crazy. Like.... I cry.  A lot. It may have something to do with the aforementioned person with the foot.

I get extremely agitated with everything and at the same time I feel the urge to make out with everything. EVERYTHING. (awkward)

Also, the more prego I get, the more crazy dreams about old women turning into half-snakes and trying to denture-bite me I have. And last night I dreamt that I gave birth to a cat. (That's when you know you are a crazy cat person.)

Basically, being awake or asleep is terrifying for all involved when you are pregnant.

Actually, that's not true. Being pregnant really is beautiful and wonderful and yes, you leak a lot of stuff, and things that shouldn't be sore get very sore, and merely standing in your awkward body defies the laws of physics, but all these things are nothing compared to the weird yet awesome fact that you have a life inside of you.

 I'm starting to look forward to labor. Sounds crazy, but true. I just can't wait for my water to break and to tell Matt and Ingrid that it is time! And I can't wait for that moment right after she is born and she is all of a sudden sitting in my arms... outside of my body.... and I get to see what she looks like. So bizarre! This is freaky stuff! I love it.

I feel like I'm a badass. I mean... I don't really do anything badass, but I still feel like I'm a badass. So I'm going with that feeling and using it to squeeze this baby out without pain meds. That's right! I had a talk with the kicking person in the belly and told her that I want her to suck it in tight while I'm pushing on that labory day. She better listen. That's what kids do, though, right? They listen and do what their parents tell them? Yeah?

Yeah.. I'm ready for this.


k. My advice for the day: If you are pregnant or you plan to be pregnant or you know some pregnant lady, expose yourself (yes... get naked) or expose her (could cause some awkwardness) to information (oh. that makes more sense) about natural childbirth. There are many many benefits and no risks (unless there are serious complications ((which are rare in normal pregnancies)) with your birth and you ignore your doctor's advice for birthing interventions). Don't just assume that your OBGYN will make all the right calls for you and your baby. Often, they want you in and out of that hospital as quickly as possible so inductions and c-sections are increasingly popular. And these interventions carry a lot of risks. So, just make sure you know exactly what you believe and what you want on this extremely important and special day.


Yippie for Hippies!

Don't bother looking for a point.

 Half of me just wants to clean house, eat healthy food, and to feed another human being via my boobs. The other half of me wants to run through the streets of tacoma naked and entertain the masses with inappropriate jokes. These two sides have officially collided and therefore I am now doing nothing. I am just sitting and thinking about all the different things I could do. 

I have so many options and yet so few. I feel so bored and yet so lazy. I get up to do something and then I think how doing that something involves... well... doing something. That sounds so exhausting.

I think all people can relate to this feeling. Americans can, at least. We have all this "freedom" but then we also have all this pressure to be successful and junk. We want to sit around all day on our days off and watch our favorite TV shows, but then at the end of the day we feel so bad about doing that. 

North Koreans are so lucky.

(...)

North Koreans aren't bombarded with facebook friend requests or magazines telling them what is hip and fresh or commercials for 2 year online colleges. What do they have to worry about? Really... What is so bad about concentration camps and having no options to leave your country? Options are the worst part of life. It makes everything I do seem so scary and important. I want someone to just tell me what I have to do and then shoot me if I resist. That sounds super sweet.

I will post this, and I guarantee you not one North Korean currently residing in North Korea will argue with me. Not one. The only explanation for this is that they are all immensely satisfied with their lives.

Why did I just go on and on about North Korea? Um because there are some very interesting documentaries on Netflix about North Korea, and I watched them. I'm basically an expert on the situation in North Korea now.

I obviously do not feel envious of North Koreans. I am very lucky to live in a country I can leave at will if I so desire.  I am lucky to have the ability to speak against my country without the fear of me or my family being murdered. And I will exercise that right now. GETTIN' CONTROVERSIAL ON YO' ASS!

So my husband and I got into an argument yesterday in front of Jack-N-The-Box establishment. Basically, I accidentally offended him and then was douchey and didn't want to apologize for it because I was being self-righteous and thought he was being stupid. Bam.  I was wrong, and I realize this. It grew into this much larger argument, though, because then I read into something he said and got all offended, which now I look back and realize is very hypocritical, but I won't admit to that because I am self-righteous. 

Wow no one wants to hear about marital arguments. Sorry.

I'm trying to go somewhere here. The whole argument was instigated by this gigantic American flag that my husband owns. He really likes it and I... well... really don't. At first, I was just talking about how I find the HUGE flag aesthetically ridiculous and will not hang it in my house at any point in our lives. This discussion though went on to become about what the flag "represents" and nonsense. And we both got VERY defensive of our sides. He, being an American soldier who fought in Afghanistan, feels a symbolic connection with the flag as it represents what he and his friends risked their lives for, and what many have lost their lives for. 

As the woman that loves this man more than anything, and as the woman that waited for him while he was in Afghanistan, and as the woman that is extremely proud of him for the MANY heroic acts I know he has done, I, of course, respect what these men do. Their bravery is not lost on me. 

BUT

This being said.... I feel as though we are made to feel in this country that if we say ANYTHING NEGATIVE AT ALL ABOUT THE TROOPS then we are terrorists and should just leave the country and move to Afghanistan and go ffffk ourselves and our camels (which is rude because camels really don't want that kind of relationship with us.) And on this day in front of Jack-N-The-Box, I got fed up with watching my mouth around my lovely soldier husband. Anyone who knew me before I dated/married this man knows that I have crazy hippie tendencies and have not always expressed great satisfaction with this country's government and views on war. So, marrying a soldier was a shocker for many. And marrying this soldier has not changed many of my views on this country. While it has brought about the profound realization of how difficult life is for military families and how much these families give up for what they believe is right, it has actually increased my resentment for those in charge of the armed forces and this government. So, I got all offended because, to me, the American flag represents the facade that is waved in front of the average citizen so that those in power can take whatever vicious selfish actions they desire in order to increase their power and finances. Our flag is waved while our government and its corporations destroy the rainforests and those people and animals that populate it so that they can drill for oil.

Also, we don't know why we are in Iraq or Afghanistan. Is it really terrorism? Have we found weapons of mass destruction? Do we know what we are talking about? No. I don't. I admit it. I don't know why we are in Afghanistan, and no one can give a straight answer. NO ONE. I don't see plain evidence that what we are doing has a specific purpose and has achieved these specific goals. The goals keep changing. The reasons are altered to what they need to be to keep our soldiers there. I just want a good answer. And I want a REAL exit plan. And I want people to stop getting so fucking defensive over a piece of fabric. As Americans, it is our right and responsibility to question our government and get the answers, but we are told by the government that if "you are not with us, you are with the terrorists." That doesn't sound like freedom.

So stop freakin' getting so offended when I ask questions and don't just blindly accept the way things are. If you just trust that the people in charge of our men and women overseas are good, caring, lovely gems, and you don't question why and how long they have to be over there... then in my opinion you are not a true American. 

Know your rights and use them. Or don't. But don't treat me like I am some terrorist. You are doing a damn good job minding your own business and not delving any deeper than what our government-sponsored news reports (yes... our government controls our news...) so you shouldn't have a problem leaving what we crazy hippies are doing well enough alone. 

I am not impressed by any of this stuff I just wrote. I don't think it really makes full sense. It's mainly just me being emotional because I am pregnant and sick of animal cruelty. 

OH LORD! NOW SHE BRINGS UP ANIMAL CRUELTY!?

I won't go into another rant... BUT I COULD! 

But I won't.

Because I know that if you already feel the way I do about these things then my rant won't serve you any purpose. You know what you know. And if you disagree, you will just get pissed and it will make you more defensive of your beliefs.

There is no point to arguing. There is no point to blogging. I am perpetuating a lot of pointless things at the moment. And that is my purpose in this life. To promote purposelessness.

I try to work, but it's not working

I have been trying way too hard lately. I've actually been effort-ing. See? Even then. I tried so hard to make effort a verb, and you know what? (what?) It didn't work. Me trying is never a good idea. You would think after 22 years of trying very hard and failing miserably, I would know that by now.

What I am good at is not trying. Exhibit A. I wasn't trying to get pregnant and guess who is 7 1/2 months with child?

Me

I am very good at getting pregnant (sexy) without any planning or practicing (so to speak) or any of that nonsense.

Anytime I genuinely give it the old college try, though, I end up stressing out, buying Oreos, eating Oreos, and then looking back at the accomplishments incurred from the previous efforts and realize that all I have accomplished is consuming a lot of sort-of-food. Now, it's not all that bad seeing as how my failure just involved me getting to eat a lot of sort-of-cookies, but the point is that I am a neurotic white young woman with a bulging belly (75% baby/baby related goo, 25% Oreos) and these attributes make me a very uncomfortable person. I'm tired of being so uncomfortable all the time.

(Side note: My cat just tried to scratch the couch so I threw an uncrinkled napkin at her to scare her. If you have ever thrown an uncrinkled napkin to instill fear and communicate rage, you realize that the aerodynamics and physical composition of a singular napkin prevent those goals from being achieved. I include this because I, again, tried something and failed.)

I got the West side of my brain telling me to WORK HARD DAMMIT! YOU ARE ABOUT TO HAVE A BABY AND LIFE IS ABOUT TO BE SO DIFFICULT THAT YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING ONCE THE BABY IS HERE! YOU NEED TO WORK SO THAT YOU CAN PROVIDE FOR YOUR BABY! WORK! ARE YOU WORKING!? WHILE YOU ARE WORKING YOU NEED TO BE THINKING ABOUT FUTURE WORKING ENDEAVORS! YOU NEED TO TEACH YOUR CHILD THE VALUE OF HARD WORK WHILE IT IS STILL IN YOUR WOMB! PLAY CLASSICAL MUSIC ON YOUR BELLY SO THAT YOUR BABY WILL START WORKING! OH AND BY THE WAY, YOU REALLY DO NEED TO FIND A PEDIATRICIAN FOR YOUR BABY! JUST A REMINDER!





Then, I got the hippie East side of my brain telling me                               chill






Very profound.





The ambitious side of me is like Fox News- stressful, completely unreliable, but motivating in a scary sort of way.

The "zen" side of me (some call it the lazy side) is like a gentle summer breeze or raindrops falling on leaves- peaceful, calming, and a little bit boring (let's just be honest).



I just want so much from this life. I want so much for me, but I also want so much for my family: my husband, my daughter, and my cat. It's hard to desire so much and yet be such a neurotic hippy wannabe. For every desire I have, there is a documentary telling me why it is bad for me! WHY DO I PUT SO MUCH STOCK IN DOCUMENTARIES!?

I know what I should do. Calm down and let life happen. What is meant to pass will pass. But it sure doesn't feel like that at times when the news is yelling at you and life is screaming at you all the time and everything feels so urgent and important.

It is my nature to be anxious. To overthink. To worry. To ramble about how I am anxious, overthink, and like to worry. This is me. So I am going to work on allowing myself to think about the things that sometimes cause me fear and anxiety without allowing them to overwhelm and control me.

Personal growth. I'm working on it.




At least I'm trying to.....

Taxes are taxing. Puns are lovely.

Working an 11 hour day in a tax office makes you question some things.

This is what I got out of today:

-The last name "Nutt" is funny. I don't care who you are.
-When people try to argue with me about better competitor's prices, it takes everything in my power to care enough to respond
-Being pregnant automatically makes people like you in a tax office (unlike at a gym where everyone hates your awkward body for existing)
-Because I have to be so nice and polite to customers on the outside, my thoughts are becoming more and more bitter and nasty by the hour.

Today

Nevermind

Snap, Crackle, Pop

Ok I am done. Done done done.

I have been faker than a silicon tit lately. I have been working so hard to be a good wife, a good soon-to-be mother, a good responsible adult, and my soul is withering. Writing, painting,...HECK existing have been nearly impossible lately, and I know it is because I am suppressing myself.

It all started when I tried to stop cussing. A noble cause. A worthwhile endeavor. But a bunch of bullshit.

From there, I tried to be this great housekeeper that makes my husband's lunch every evening, cooks him dinner, listens to him talk about his day and gives him brilliant and loving emotional support. Have you ever heard a more ridiculous thing!?

Ok. The whole being a good wife thing is not all that absurd, but I did subconciously feel this pressure to live up to his standards, his family's standards, my family's standards, the great Jesus' standards (I'm still stuck on the whole 'Boo Satan' post from earlier. Oh you don't know what I'm talking about? Maybe you should stop doing things in your own life and spend a little more time reading my blog), and my OBGYN's standards (the woman is so smart and sophisticated and old and wise and sassy! I can't compare to that!), and to Natalie Portman's standards (she's pregnant and a vegetarian and has a shoeline!). In all my efforts to live a "good" life that satisfies so many different people's expectations, I forgot about my own.

Yeah.... some people in my life don't like that I cuss and make Jesus jokes. Many of those people are important in my life. But you know what is more important? Being funny. So, sorry, people.

Some people don't like that I am always right. Well, sorry people, but I wasn't Novice Princess for the ASTO baton twirling organization when I was 10 for nothing. It was because I was born to be royalty. And as we all know, royalty is never wrong. Look at the Queen of England... (insert any knowledge you have of something cool and correct that the Queen of England has done here. I honestly know nothing.)

I am empowered by my own ridiculous ego. By constantly convincing myself that my shortcomings are just little jokes that I play on myself, I inflate my self-worth so much that no one can hurt me. I am like a really smart, sexy, awesome hot-air balloon (which are already the epitome of sexy). You can't hurt a hot-air balloon. I can't think of one way to stop a hot-air balloon. Not any balloon, really.
 Um... have you seen the movie UP?! (again... don't know the relevance....)

You are asking yourself what I am talking about. I am telling you, I couldn't tell you. I am watching Macbeth on Netflix and playing fetch with my cat while my baby kicks me in the ribs. That should explain something...


No?



I tried.


So, I love studying and reading and performing Shakespeare, but sometimes I just think it's just too much. No one is that important. Not even Shakespeare. Honestly... he didn't even have a reality show...Snookie has a dang reality show.


A lot of things have been said here today. I'm going to let you have some time to think on all this.


By the way, this post is probably very similar to the kind of lecture I will give when I become a teacher.




-Mrs. Katlyn

I'm smart

I should not be allowed to watch documentaries. I know this because I watched a documentary about it. As soon as I watch a documentary, I feel compelled to change my whole life. I can't keep doing this! But hot damn! We have streaming Netflix now and there are so many options!

Right now I am watching a documentary about the crazy competitive nursery scene in New York. Parents will pay $20,000 per semester and endure a grueling interview and admissions process to get their child into the best nursery. Nursery.

My daughter isn't going to nursery. I'm just dropping the kid off at the public library while I go run errands. She will get plenty of exposure to different cultures. She will be surrounded by books and other educational resources. Not to mention, she will get to practice her survival skills because shit can get real in a public library. I saw more criminal activity in the Tacoma Public Library than on an episode of Cops. This is what I look for in a nursery.

What I learned from this documentary: Parents are stupid. They get so blinded by trying to raise the "perfect" child and trying to give them the most opportunities in life that they lose sight of what is really good for their kids in the first place. Kids do not need laptops at age 3. I watched a documentary about how laptops can lower people's sperm count because they sit them on their laps all day!They do not need to start working on their resume at birth. I watched a documentary about how babies with resumes are more likely to become pathological liars and eventually murderers! Children need to enjoy life, and from what I can tell, stupid people tend to have a lot more fun in this life. So screw preschool!


I wouldn't know for sure about the whole stupid people thing, though, because I'm so smart. I watch a lot of documentaries so that's how you can tell.

Boo Satan

I should write an advice column. Or at least be a political advisor.

Advice I just gave: "Never think about chicken and waffles. Just do."

Tell me that isn't applicable to basically any life situation.

I just ate flax seed waffles with sauteed chicken for dinner. I just made chicken and waffles that could be digested by white douchebags. Just another service I perform for society. White douchebags never get what they want. So, you're welcome.

I have been getting some of my sass back lately. I lost it in the miserable Washington mist for a while, but now I am transforming and all that cold and drizzle is merely feeding my witty angst. I realize that if I wasn't a little bit miserable all the time, then I would not be myself. I have to hate something. We all do.

This is why the hippies won't win. Hippies preach too much love. We can't relate to that. I think we all need to have a healthy amount of hate in our lives. Like I hate landlords, cranberry sauce, racism, white people, bad grammar (ignore the beginning of this sentence...and the majority of my blog), and when smokers go out and smoke and then come have a conversation with me like my baby and I want to inhale their skank breath. The only exception in any of these scenarios is if it is my cat committing the act. Then, I don't hate it. It immediately becomes adorable. If Ingrid came to your door, after smoking, and got all up in your face saying, "I doesn't get your rent last month," you'd find it adorable too.

I think it's those people that are awkwardly nice all the time and never say a bad thing about anyone that we need to fear the most. I don't trust 'em. If a person doesn't have an obvious touch of misery in their demeanor, I won't associate with them. I wouldn't know what to even talk about.The first thing that comes to my mind as soon as I detect one of these nice people is Satan worship. It's hard to make that into something nice.

I'm one of those ex-Christians that says I don't believe in Satan but then as soon as I say the word, "Satan," I immediately start saying really nice things about Jesus in my head.

I gotta go do laundry. Good thing Jesus is so great.


K. I'll talk to you later. You, too, awesome Jesus guy.


Bye friends! And the lovely Jesus!


-Jesus Fan

This is vomit. I'll clean it up later

It's about that time again. That time of year for me to have what we call an "epiphany" and to spread the good news to all of you.

I like to pretend that Julia Roberts has nothing to do with these little life transformations, but she usually does. The woman knows things... she's played a hooker before. Sorta.

I have been particularly depressed recently. Lonely, uninspired, bloated, and other uncomfortable adjectives. I saw it happening, too. I saw the depression looming and I yelled "SUCK IT!" per usual, but this time it just got darker and more pressing. This depression was urgent. It was in a hurry to make me miserable, and I just couldn't fight it off fast enough. I tried things. I tried writing. I tried listening to classical music. I tried reading great plays to hopefully inspire my creativity. One of these very impressive intellectual important interesting activities usually helps me. But not this time. I also tried not doing things too. I tried not to watch tv and tried not to become a lump of pregnant on the couch. I tried not to dwell. I tried not to let it defeat me. But all of these efforts just made me tired, which only intensified the sadness. This was it. This was the end of my spark. My light. The vigor for life that always won out in the end. I was now... an adult.

Then, I was sitting on my couch (about 13 minutes ago to be almost sort of exact) and my first daughter (Ingrid) (Yes the cat) (No! Not the kid in my belly!) (Let me move on and stop making me respond to your hypothetical bewilderments ((not a real word...just looked it up.)) with parentheticals!) jumped on my lap and lay (had to look up lay and lie and their tenses too just now. lots of research goes into making these posts. and lots of unnecessary sidenotes are used too) down and she just looked so happy. She was purring and wagging her tail, and she had been doing the same thing as me all day. Sitting in this tiny apartment, watching Julia Roberts, and eating. Why was she so happy, while I, with all the intelligence and creativity that my giant human brain offers me in order to keep me entertained and satisfied, remained miserable.

I just vomited that paragraph. It's heinous.


My cat is happy because she is simple-minded. We often use that adjective as an insult, but I thinksimple-mindedness is quite a virtue. The simple-minded are not usually distracted by ambition, guilt, jealousy, or the like for any extended period of time. They are trusting and forgiving and do what comes naturally. Eat when they are hungry. Drink when they are thirsty. They feel what they feel without fear of what that feeling means. They don't need Freud or Buddha or Charles Manson to extract meaning from their choices. They just do things and then move on.


So in honor of that fact, I am going to sit here and dwell on what they do and what that means.


I wish I had a flagellum.


I have to go now because my computer is about to die and there is no outlet near me to charge it.


Key notes:

Think less.
Try doing nothing for once. If people are disappointed, it's of no importance to you.
Take care of cats.


-The know-it-all that knows nothing

Pouty lips are sexy on some people. Not me.

I have 9 days without my husband at home going on right now. It's weird that 9 days without a husband is weird (I didn't have a thesaurus to find another word for weird.) I have lived my whole life without this husband thing and now bam-sha-blam, I file my taxes jointly.

Honestly, I like to just throw the word "taxes" into conversation and written word because it makes me sound more like I know what I'm doing being pregnant and married.

Living in a new place without friends is like eating plain cheerios.

Oh lordy. Now you feel like I'm pouting about not having friends, and you think I'm a loser.

Ok, well clearly, I'm not a loser. Just look at what I'm doing right now: I'm talking to my cat, blogging, and watching a re-run of Teen Mom 2. So, that's cleared up. And I'm really not pouting. I won't lie. I spent the first 3 months in Washington feeling bad for myself, being lonely, vomiting (that's a seperate issue), and having a relationship with Cheetos. Something clicked recently, though, and I realized that just because I can't necessarily act right now and that my "real-world" job consumes my life, it doesn't mean that I have to watch Martha Stuart, make my own casserole recipe book, understand what a 401K is, or keep a reasonable amount of laundry done at all times. I can still be me. I just got to make my own way and do things a little differently than those that aren't planning to care for every aspect of another being's life for the next 18 years.

Shut up, Katlyn. This is getting cheesy and annoying even to me.

Mom jeans: something I fear. You know how the all-knowing "they" say that when people are getting in a wreck, they focus so much on what they don't want to hit that they end up driving towards it? Well that's a metaphor for me and mom jeans (incorrect grammar, correct sentiments). I'm just sayin', I get it in a way. When you're pregnant, you wear this bands on your pants that go up to your freakin' armpits and you feel somehow safe and secure. Like, you know your pants are on. And that feels good. I like knowing that. I've had issues with that in the past (that sounds accidently skanky. Not like I accidently said something that sounds skanky, but that I found self being skanky accidently.)

Plus my tush looks good in mom jeans.

FINE! I'll wear the mom jeans!


I miss my husband, but it's good that I'm having some time to myself to figure out my life in Washington... finally.

-Me

Carpal Tunnel

Me trying to work out with my expanding gut is a truly poetic sight. I deliberately stood in front of a mirror at the gym today just to see the brilliance that other people were getting to look at as I attempted a thing called "movement."

You know what is impossible? Not talking about being pregnant when you are pregnant.

YOU TRY!

Ok for the rest of this post I won't talk about the being in my belly. I mean, Madelyn. She is a person.

Ok. So I work at a tax firm. Yep. The life I have always imagined for myself... the life I have spent years in college preparing for... is finally upon me. I am now a receptionist, and I now answer tax questions over the phone. Go ahead... ask me a question....

You: "When can you officially file for taxes?"

Client Service Professional Me: "Can you hold?"

You: "How much do you charge to prepare my taxes?"

Client Service Professional Me: "Can you please hold?"

You: "What are taxes?"

Client Service Professional Me: "Wrong number."

Obviously, based on the above examples of my work, you assume I was hired based on my expertise, but actually I was hired solely based on my sexy abs.

I hate being thankful. I have to make freakin' thank you cards and my hand gets tired, and I hate tired hands. Getting married and having 2 b*** showers (I felt the baby word.. oops.. I mean the "b" word breaches the agreement I made earlier in this post) all within ten days was a very bad decision in regards to my carpal tunnel prevention program. 

But I am thankful, despite how much I hate it. People love b**ies and they love weddings and love and people love me. 

That is the point of this post: People love me.

I'm pregnant.

-Pregnant Pregnancy McPrego