Pole dancing is the answer

I know you know this already, and I know I know this already, but I'm a fan of unnecessary repetition of things so here it goes: I. am. crazy. It's legit. I'm gettin the papers tomorrow. Today, though, I decided to embrace the crazy.

My crazy makes me special. It makes me interesting. It makes me a little scary to most people. I like it. I really do. See... what I'm thinking is that more people should embrace their crazy. We all have it within us. Our society makes sure of that. It forces us to suppress and repress and oppress and caress things when we really shouldn't (I've caressed so many things for society. I blame MTV and Banana Republic). Those various "esses" create these little crazy versions of ourselves that sit inside us and wait oh-so-patiently for just the wrong time to make themselves known. But you know what? (what?) Those little crazy cuties are usually more real than the face we show the world. My crazy's name is Gia. She's from Jersey. She's a stripper and a fiction writer. She drinks too much, works out twice a day but only to meet the studs at the gym, and her favorite hobby is punchin bitches in the club. I love Gia. She's sassy and confident and funny and fuckin crazy.

So as of today, I am giving Gia the attention she deserves.

My first Gia decision is to start drinking more. I'm buying wine after work and I'm getting shit-faced at my house. By myself. WHOA YOUR JUDGEMENT IS NOT NEEDED. Actually, I probably won't get hammered. But, I will drink until Gia feel comfortable enough to potentialy punch a bitch in the club- metaphorically speaking, that is.


Side note: A fear of mine: I am worried that people are disappointed in me for not moving to Chicago or NY or LA immediately to pursue the acting thing. See... I try to pretend that I don't care what people think, but I DO! I know I'm going to have to get over that because it's my life and, as we all know, I do what I want.

The best way I can think of to get over that fear is to let Gia outta her stripper cage and flash her vag in the face of fear (too much).

WWGD?


Who's your crazy? Are you properly acquainted? Get on that.



-Gia

My question of the day to me about me for myself and me

Why do I love to be unhappy?

It's like I choose it.

I want what I can't have and I hate what I want as soon as I get it.


STOP. Life change is happenin today.

I feel like everyday I decide to change my life.

No, but really. I'm choosing happiness. You don't like it, you can choose to suck my nuts.



Love to you and your kind


-KKtheKoolKid

The acoustic version of Hey Ya makes me sleepy... and the naps keep comin.. damn

If naps made you successful, I'd be really successful.

I wore the same thing today that I wore yesterday. I tried to be sneaky about it. I made sure I wouldn't be seeing anyone that saw me yesterday. Then, I blogged about it.

I cried several times today for various reasons. Sometimes I think I get spontaneously and immaculately pregnant, and then Jesus realizes I'm not what he's looking for. That's ok. He's not always what I'm looking for either. I crave weird foods and eat an awkward amount of these weird foods and then I cry/laugh. This situation may not actually be that magical. It's more like my man is in Afghanistan, I'm bored and lonely living at home with my parents, I work with emotionally taxing children all day, I forget to pack a lunch so I'm starving by the time I get off work so I eat anything and everything that I see, and I realize that my life is about to drastically change. And you know what? It's all my fault. I decided to be a fuckin hero and graduate. I decided to move across the damn nation. I decided to work in the theatre. I chose this life.

Well played, free will. Well played.

Actually, I really think I am going to be oddly satisfied and happy with life as soon as I can stop self-handicapping by taking debilitating naps. I told myself, "Ok, me, one 30 minute nap today and that's it! Then you are going to write the play that will change the world and make everyone finally see the world the right way.. the way you do!" So, then I got in bed and heard my alarm go off 30 minutes later and I then say, "Fuck you, former self." Never ever has anyone disrespected my former self like that! It's disgusting! But, here I am. Drunk from over-sleeping and nothing to show for it except a cowlick and a big ass.

If only guys were into cowlicks like they are big asses.... my life would be golden.

My advice for the day: Don't lie to yourself. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. And act on it. The only person's opinion that matters is your own (and mine) in this life.

And for Christ's sake, listen to Coldplay. I'm sick of dropping oh so subtle hints that I think they are amazing. Just do it.

Thank you.

I love you all. (especially Matt... sorry.. I don't like to play favorites... but I actually really do like to)

I miss you all. (especially Matt...again...)


-Yo Mama

Les Claypool enhances my angst

What a day. What a day.

I can tell I'm old because I keep using awkward cliche expressions like the above.

Today was borderline bad.

This is what I don't like: I don't like depending on someone else in order to be happy. That's why I became so awesome in the first place...so I wouldn't have to do that. Apparently I'm human (and not the magic superhero kind, like Jesus) and I do need others and others' opinions do matter to me or some shit. (I try so hard not to cuss. I think I really am human...and can....fail...?)

So, should I depend on someone or not? Do I close myself off and be relatively lonely but find a sense of strength and contentment (I really don't believe that's a word. it sounds ridiculous) or do I allow a few certain people whom I put my trust and love into to disappoint me every once and a while and make me feel like a flat coke that you leave in your car for 3 months in the summer and everytime you are thirsty you see that damn flat coke and it makes you cringe and yearn all at once? I think my metaphors literally mean nothing. LITERALLY. BUH. Anyway. The sappy romantic side of me says, "Bitch, let people in and stop being such a snobbish cunt" (My sappy romantic side has some anger issues. See what I'm workin with?) The more cold-hearted, independent side says, "Bitch, get over it. Nobody can touch you or that fine ass."

In the end, all you got is you. And anyone, I MEAN ANYONE (even Jesus...yes JESUS) can disappoint you (I think I'm pissed at Jesus today because I need someone to take my anger out on and he's not here or not anywhere near here...in the actual physical real sense....and even if he was here, I feel like his overall muscle mass would be underwhelming and less than intimidating so talking shit really poses not threat for me). So, you gotta deal with that disappointment. Decide if the person is truly worth it. If the good outweighs the bad. And then you do what you do when you do what you do. But never sacrifice yourself for someone else because everyone is a selfish douchbag. Except me. (None of those sentences were grammatically correct. IM AWARE SO STOP IT WITH THE JUDGEMENT).

WELL, I reckon I'll see yuns later.

Why do rich people throw themselves parties all the time?

I've seen things and wiped things you can't even imagine

People who say they don't like John Mayer are full of poop poop. Yeah I know he's a tool, but he makes your soul better when it needs it. You don't think so?? You're just jealous because he dated Jennifer Aniston. I went through that phase too. We all do.

My job is pretty perfect. Thanks for asking. I'd ask you how you are doing, but it's not your blog so no one cares. I love kids. I know everyone says that, but I actually do. I'm like Angelina Jolie and everyone else is like Jennifer Aniston. They both say they love kids, but which one is adopting third world country babies? A. Jo. and we know that means she must really love kids because she's buying the broken ones that no one wants. I love when kids throw little tantrums at me. I understand them. I relate to them. I throw tantrums every ten minutes in my head, but I'm so good at hiding my bad attitude that you would never know that.

You're arguing with me right now. It's the jealousy thing again. You need John Mayer.

I carried a hammer to work today and it made me feel like a laborer. I was only using it to prevent a nail that was sticking out in the floor from de-eyeing clumsy little chilluns, but still. I carried it and used it all by myself. I think I understand the blue-collar life now. It's not that bad.

I've experienced many spectrums of the political and social experience. I've been a poor black child in the Hotlanta projects; I've been a young red-neck girl in the racist hills of Soddy Daisy; I've been an upper-class teenager in the suburban hell that is Brentwood; I've been the Catholic Republican School girl (I was actually a member of the Christian Leadership Council and the Young Republicans); I've been the liberal vegan college student activist; I've been the lazy apathetic college partier; I've been naked; I've been a little slutty; I've been the blue collar worker (see above description); And now I'm the most important college graduate living at home. I say all this to remind you that I've seen things so I have the right to make solid judgements on all classes and races and species. This is why you read this. Sometimes I just like to remind you of that.

I'm full of shit today. Let me tell you why. I had to wipe....a four.... repeat: FOUR.... year old's asshole today at work. He "didn't know how to wipe." I'm pretty sure all you do is wipe...but it can be confusing. I judged him and his ancestors at that moment. Remember: I have the right to. So, I'm considering calling social services on his mother. She was too pretty anyway. I hate hot moms.

I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY HOT MOM I WILL MAKE YOU WIPE MY ASSHOLE. You know I can!

Well, technically I'm at work right now so I should go bleach things. Yes. The harmful chemical, bleach, is required by my bosses. I have to spray down all the toys that the little chilluns like to stick in their mouths with bleach. I'm literally killing children. Granted, these are children that don't know how to wipe their asses..soo....


I said poop poop earlier.

I'm full of reminders.



-Katie the Wiper

I want what I want

I really want to be funny. Like all the time. I don't ever want to be serious. I want to make people uncomfortable with how not serious I am. I want to laugh at  cancer patients and kids with mental disabilities.