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.