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
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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
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
Thursday, January 13, 2011
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
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