If I Don't Know, It Isn't True

think you know what makes nerds hot?

2009-05-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

Big announcement today, after a prolonged absence from the SadOrAwesome crew! (Let's just blame that on the swine flu outbreak or the John & Kate Plus 8 scandal, shall we? Good.) But first, allow me to set the stage:

As Maya has said, the three of us are a match made in Internet-heaven. We share a dark, biting sense of humor, zombie survivalist mentalities and a penchant for geekdom. Add to the recipe the oh-too-common 20-something's lack of funds and the fact that Maya and I aren't the most hideous people on the planet. Got it? Good, because I'm about to get to a point here.

These observations sloshed around in my head for a while, and it hit me like Greg had swung a severed light pole at my head (note: this has not happened, but I imagine it would have quite an impact.) Nerdgirls get a bad rap for wearing comfortable shoes and T-shirts with jokes about binary code. You can be nerdy and hot. Nerdy can be hot. We needed to do something about this.

And thus it was decided to create the Nerd Pinup Calendar, featuring two real-life nerdgirls: Maya and me. And here's where we need your help. There's only 12 nerd scenarios we can feature (uh, because it's a calendar, and there's 12 months in the year), and we want to highlight the best of the best of being nerds.

So, submit your ideas here. Love WoW? Tell us why we should show how hot it can be. Have an obsession with robots? Convince us that other people would enjoy it as much. Our goal is to create a calendar of two nerds for all of geekdom to savor, so your input is utterly crucial. (Please keep it SFW, we may be hot but we aren't that kind of cewebrity.)

Now please, stop reading and start geeking out. We're counting on you.

Great Expectations (and Accompanying Failures)

2009-04-14T13:27:00.000-07:00

Okay... I'm frustrated.

I know being hopeful is better than the alternative, even if it amounts to nothing. I know nothing in life would be good if it wasn't for all the bad stuff in between. I know optimism should make things happen to my advantage. AND YET, I don't think there's any worse feeling than false hope.

I just met two women who work for a prominent publication, in advertising for entertainment and fashion. They asked me about my favorite movies and tv shows, so of course I had plenty of strong opinions and I'm sure they noticed my sparkly eyes (it happens when I talk passionately about something). It's the only explanation for what happened next. One of them asked suddenly, "How tall are you?" "Um... five-six," I answered, confused by what this had to do with the latest Matthew McConaughey disaster we'd been discussing. "Have you ever modeled?" I searched her face for signs that she was mocking me, but found none. "Um, no," I replied, as my reddening cheeks erased the freckles on my nose. "Honey, you have the perfect body for modeling," she declared. "Especially for Ralph Lauren. He would love you. I can picture you on the back of a horse in a polo shirt." "Oh yeah? I used to ride horses!" I giggled, already imagining meeting Gaspard Ulliel in a photo shoot and then maybe in a hot tub later and then taking family photos with our four children - Wait, I'll have to steal him from his boyfriend first probably, I reminded myself, before snapping back to reality and a ringing phone, declaring that my visitors should be let upstairs.

They were gone for an hour, giving me plenty of time to plot the perfect escape from receptionisting (receiving? recepting? answering phones). I had already told my saviors that this was a temporary position, but I felt like I hadn't made myself seem eager or available enough. Could I slip them my email address? Jokingly ask if they could put in a good word to Ralph? BEG FOR JUST A TINY SPECK OF HUMANITY IN THIS GOD DAMN ECONOMY? My stomach was fluttering; my heart pounding every time I heard the elevator start to move.

Finally, they stepped out. The phone wouldn't stop ringing, but luckily they had to put on their jackets and get their things together. I basically hung up on three people. "Maya!" they yelled, "it was so lovely to meet you!" "Oh, it was great to meet you guys too!" I yelled right back. "Honey, do you like living in New York?" my biggest fan inquired. I had mentioned my college career in California, shamelessly bragging about the two majors and subsequent honors I'd acquired there. "Well, it's taken some getting used to," I grinned, "but it's really not so bad." "Well, you have a lovely face. Come back to LA." She started walking towards the door. "WHY?" I screamed in desperation. "Do you know of anything in LA?" "No," she laughed, "but good luck, darling!"

Just like that, they were gone. I know I should be excited just that someone thinks I COULD hypothetically be successful in such a career, but I guess I just wish someone would help me through it. Everyone knows you can't just walk into Ralph Lauren's office and demand to speak with him. CONTACTS! It's all about contacts. And shit, I just lost my only one.

This is like when that cute boy approached me at the Apple Store last week, hung around even after his iPod was retrieved from the Genius Bar, told me I was cute, and then left abruptly and inexplicably without asking for a name or number or anything. Fine, maybe that's how some people do it, just harmless meaningless flirting, but dammit I fall in love with every boy that talks to me. And it's hard to find a cute, funny mac geek who can rock khaki pants and give me compliments without seeming desperate or condescending.

In conclusion: I don't have a boyfriend or a modeling career (TWICE over, since I just this weekend failed to follow through on ANTM), so I guess... suicide, then? Who's with me? Greg, I know you're in.

Midwestern misconceptions

2009-04-13T12:28:00.000-07:00

Living in Nebraska for more than the past decade has provided me with ample opportunities to be mistaken for a backwoods hick, something that honestly couldn't be farther from the truth. What Mr. New Jersey? Am I from a farm? No. I've never even been on a farm. Hell, the closest I've been to farm life is a petting zoo.

Why is it that residents of either coast, mountain regions and the South assume that Midwestern residents are all rural dwellers who know how to butcher a cow, watch NASCAR and haven't hear of T.I.? Ugh. Count me completely over it.

I see how the mystery of an unknown region of our pretty large country leaves sufficient room to full the absence of information with assumptions and stereotypes. But don't be shocked when those presumptions are inaccurate. Ask me what I do, where I grew up and how I feel about Larry the Cable Guy (verdict: 837 thumbs down).

In fact, this girl from the Heartland of America has never: hunted, gone cow tipping, partied in a field, had a class of less than 450 or owned a pair of Wrangler jeans. I'm better suited to barter with a street vendor, cruise down an expressway, know which flatware to use and carry armfuls of grocery bags several flights up to my walkup...all in four-inch stilettos.

In simplest terms, jiust being from the Midwest doesn't make me a country girl. Sometimes I wish it did; I'm as fascinated by the idea of open spaces, fresh air and hot farm boys as anyone else. But at the end of the day, when I fall asleep to the sounds of sirens and people yelling as they drunkenly stumble home from the bars, I'm still (and always will be) a city girl.

Loves,

Kt

I'm not crying, it's just been raining. On my face.

2009-04-11T12:02:00.001-07:00

Let's review. I'm sitting here, shivering in the glass-covered passenger seat of my beloved Volkswagen Bug, huddling away from the rain pouring through the permanently open window, taking inventory of the Things Which Are Lost Forever. This list includes my GPS, so I'm trying to figure out how to get home on my god damn original iPhone which can't find my current location (I dropped and broke my 3G two days ago. That's right. This week is bullshit). Home is a New York town I hate, where I sleep on a pull-out couch in a space so tiny there's no room for anything else. There's a boy driving me home and sneaking pitying glances at me, but we don't know each other well enough to feel comfortable in this ridiculous situation so I almost wish I was alone. How the fuck did I end up here? I'm supposed to be winning the ANTM auditions right now, dammit.

Things I understand have value, and therefore can't be mad were stolen:

My GPS
My gorgeous black pea coat
My zebra print shoes
iPod charger

Things that definitely do NOT have street value, and therefore I'm furious about being stolen:

ALL MY GOD DAMN FAVORITE SHIRTS, which I brought into the city to have options to wear to remind Tyra that I'm indispensable. They're not expensive, but I loved them. My pretty black flutter-sleeved shirt from H&M. All the tank tops that make me look thinner. My brand new cardigan, which makes me look 10 years older. Fuck.
My favorite skinny jeans.
My brand new Victoria's Secret lotion, blow-drying hairbrush, and magic hair products.

Things that for some reason were left behind:

My Juicy sunglasses (thank God).
My John Varley library book.
My 15-page ANTM application.
1/2 of my iPod adapter (they ripped out the cord and took that with them).
The fucking brick that was thrown through my window, breaking my gear shifter in the process.
The picture of me and my friends from 2 years ago. I wonder if the fucker looked at it, saw what a nice girl I am, and felt a tiny bit guilty.

Seriously, you know what pisses me off the most? My car's a piece of shit. It's scratched up beyond belief (I'm a woman driver, nuff said), the front bumper's falling off, there's dents all over the place. Someone, years ago, was enough of a dick to scratch up my "World Peace" bumper sticker, leaving only a dismal reminder of my naivety. Why the FUCK would anyone break into this car, of all the cars on that godforsaken East Village street? Why would they be like "Oh, here's a girl who doesn't have enough money to reattach her bumper, let's see if she's got anything of value"? And who the hell are these people, who do this? Okay, crackheads, probably. But god dammit. Go break into a BMW, you fucker. LEAVE THE POOR VW DRIVERS ALONE.

Disputes in English Grammar

2009-04-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

English is a spiteful, hateful bitch. She'll text you romantic things one day and then change her locks on you the next. I know there are a lot of ridiculous languages out there (French, I'm talking to you. Just change your damn spelling already, or start pronouncing those superfluous vowels. I'm warning you.), but I'm pretty sure English is the only one that even native speakers don't know how the hell to use. Like, what's the past perfect tense of drink? "I had drank? drunk? dranken? drunken?!" Don't feel bad, no one knows. I'm a linguist, and I just don't use the past perfect. I suggest you do the same.

Linguists are a funny group of people because they can spend 10 years arguing about the construction of a simple sentence, and still not reach a conclusion. (Pro tip: if you have to go to a party full of them, stay away from the theoretical linguists. Don't say you weren't warned.) During one of my many hours of downtime at work, after a twitter debate about stranding prepositions (I'm a loser, okay, get over it), I found a fantastic wikipedia article about all the disputes in the English language. Here's my favorites, with my completely unbiased and 100% official decisions on how you should deal with them.

Preposition stranding. Fun fact: someone who hated humanity decided this was wrong. Every linguist says it's okay. Sentences like this should hold all the proof you need: This is the sort of English up with which I will not put. Winston Churchill said that. Do you think you're smarter than Winston Churchill? He and I agree you should just say This is the sort of English I will not put up with. Yeah, sounds like a sentence now doesn't it?

Double negatives. I just like how wikipedia's example is "I don't want no scrubs." Take that, TLC.
Double modals. This is phrases like "You might could use it." It's clearly ridiculous, but I think anything people say with a Southern accent is cute, so carry on. Also, interestingly, wikipedia points out that phrases like "I might be able to" which are more commonly considered grammatically correct, are secret double modals (be able to functions as a modal here, since it means the same thing as could). So there.

Dangling modifiers. That's what she said.

Usage of hopefully. I find the concept of a feud over a single adverb a little ridiculous, but this was one of my favorite examples in college. In English, in a sentence like "Hopefully, the train will arrive on time" the adverb is generally used to describe the speaker's state of mind. However, it's actually a disjunct (meaning, since you're not the subject of the sentence, it's not syntactically connected to you), and if you look at the construction of the sentence the only thing it can logically modify is the manner in which the train will arrive. So you're really talking about a hopeful little train peeking around the corner, and linguists don't like this problem. But they do like talking about it.

Who vs Whom. You guys, it's really easy. Do you know when to use he vs him? It's EXACTLY THE SAME. "I'm fond of him" = "Of whom are you fond?" "He's my friend" = "Who is your friend?" "He is in charge" = "Who ever is in charge?" "I'm going to marry him" = "Whomever will you marry?" Okay? Stop arguing about it.

OH BY THE WAY I had too much coffee this morning and when that happens apparently I lecture people about linguistics. Consider yourself DOUBLY warned.

Tell us how you feel about: Unicorns

2009-04-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

In a bold move for our collective blog, I'm throwing a new thread out there for everyone's (hopefully) enjoyment and to expand our growing "trust circle". I mean, Maya shared her quasi-rational death fears and Greg has shared his anger with, well, pretty much everything. So without much more fanfare, I present Tell Us How You Feel About.

It's self-explanatory. We give the topic and our individual stance and you just read and follow suit. And to kick it off, what better topic is there than those mythical beasts of wonder and fascination: unicorns.

How do I feel about unicorns? I hate them. It's not about whether or not they exist or have ever existed. I couldn't care less. I just think they're stupid. Let me break it down for you.

Wow, a horse with a horn. Oooooh, big deal. Not impressed.
They remind me of Lisa Frank erasers and folders, which reminds me of the girls who owned said Lisa Frank paraphenalia in grade school, which reminds me of mean cliquey girls who thought they were super cool but ended up living in the suburbs with their high school "sweetheart", snotty Gap kids babies and "luxury" SUVs. No thanks.
I doubt unicorns would be friendly. In fact, I bet they'd be ill-tempered and quick to use their "magical" horn to impale you into a fencepost at the slightest insult.
In a fight with a lion, a unicorn would always lose. Hands down. I can't respect that.
After centuries of unadultered adoration, unicorns probably have gigantic, undeserved egos. They most likely think their unicorn droppings smell like rainbows and glitter. News flash: unicorns are a kind of horse. they don't smell nice at all.

Your turn. How do you feel about unicorns?

Unusual Deaths

2009-04-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

I worry about dying, a lot. But not from something lame like a serial killer or lung cancer. I only worry about things that are unlikely to happen to me. I figure with my luck, I'll be the one person to have a plane land exactly on my face (none of the passengers will be harmed). Since most of you maybe aren't crazy (or SMART) enough to bother researching the danger of unlikely events, I've compiled this convenient chronological list of The Best of Wikipedia's List of Unusual Deaths. I've also included a helpful number, on a scale of 1-10, of how concerned you should be about each one, and how to avoid these situations if applicable.

892 (AD): Sigurd the Mighty of Orkney strapped the head of a defeated foe to his leg, the tooth of which grazed against him as he rode his horse, causing the infection which killed him.
Level of concern? 0. We have a little something called Neosporin 1200 years in the future. Enjoy all the necrophilic activities you'd like with your defeated enemies. Also I know I said the scale was from 1-10. It was a test. You passed!
1410: Martin I of Aragon died from a lethal combination of indigestion and uncontrollable laughing.
Level of concern? 8. Holy crap, I worry about this one all the time. I don't know how much indigestion played into his death (that's another thing about me: I don't perform very diligent research), but uncontrollable laughter can be terrifying. Did you hear about that girl who died because she couldn't stop hiccuping, or sneezing or something? It's like that.
1601: Tycho Brahe, according to legend, died of complications resulting from a strained bladder at a banquet. It would have been extremely bad etiquette to leave the table before the meal was finished, so he stayed until he became fatally ill.
Level of concern? 10. Okay, maybe we don't have banquets anymore (or... none that I'm invited to), but this issue should really be your foremost thought the next time you don't want to get up from your window seat to go to the bathroom on a plane. Or when you think you can get just one more thing done at work before you go. Or when you REALLY don't want to miss 7 Lost plot twists by leaving for 30 seconds.
1814: In the London Beer Flood, 9 people were killed when 323,000 imperial gallons of beer in the Meux and Company Brewery burst out of their vats and gushed into the streets.
Level of concern? 2. Although drowning is never fun, I'd say this is probably the ideal way to go, horrible accident-wise (okay, it's a tie with the Boston Molasses Disaster).
1927: Isadora Duncan, dancer, died of a broken neck when one of the long scarves she was known for caught on the wheel of a car in which she was a passenger.
Level of concern? 9. It didn't help that every time I left the house with a scarf on my mother told me this story. Note the past tense. I don't wear scarves.
1979: Robert Williams, a worker at a Ford Motor Co. plant, was the first known human to be killed by a robot, after the arm of a one-ton factory robot hit him in the head.
Level of concern? Malicious robots: Non-existent. Design them with an OFF BUTTON, duh. Robot accidents: 7. They're just as prone to malfunction as we are! Watch your back.
1994: Gloria Ramirez was admitted to Riverside General Hospital for complications of advanced cervical cancer. Before she died, her body mysteriously emitted toxic fumes that made several emergency room workers very ill.
Level of concern? 4. Being toxic could be kind of awesome, or it could be related to your cervical cancer and make everyone around you sick in one final fuck-you to the world before you die. Which would be kind of awesome.
1998: Every player on the visiting soccer team at a game in the Democratic Republic of the Congo was struck by a fork bolt of lightning, killing them all instantly.
Level of concern? 1. It's not like it's gonna happen twice... OR IS IT?
2003: Dr. Hitoshi Nikaidoh, a surgical doctor, in Houston,Texas, was decapitated as he stepped on to an elevator and the elevator malfunctioned, pinning his shoulders. His head was severed when the elevator car moved upward.
Level of concern? OH MY GOD 11. Take the damn stairs.

Bob and Peg Ride the Elevator

2009-04-02T08:24:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty damn fortunate to work in an awesome office with really rad, laid-back (read: not stuffy) people. We throw things at each other, exchange profanities, blast music and do all of those things that a really creative and productive office does that suits and squares just don't. Here's the catch: we work in an office building with a lot of suits and squares.

Don't get me wrong. There's a place for people who put on a tie every day and see networking as an actual conscious activity. And most of the suits and squares (let's call them the Bobs and Pegs) are really friendly and seem like good human beings. But regardless of their worth as decent, amiable people, there's a few things almost every Bob and Peg do that really, really aggravate the hell out of me.

Take an average ride in the elevator. No matter if it's first thing in the morning, to or from lunch or even leaving at the end of the day, Bob and Peg can only initiate two topics conservations with me: the weather or the streak of hot pink in my hair. While the weather is good ol' standby small talk fodder, there's really only so much to say about it. Take this exchange from a recent 25 degree day:

Peg: "Can't wait for Spring, huh?"
Me: " Yeah, won't be here soon enough."
Peg: "I heard it's going to warm up this weekend. The 50s or something."
Me: "Let's hope so. "

And that's pretty much every weather conversation. Ever. Replace the details if you want, but the menial pointless dialogue remains the same. Now check out the small talk about my hair:

Bob: "Wow, what color would you call that?"
Me: "Oh, uh, pink."
Bob: "Huh. Is that, permanent or..."
Me: "Semi-permanent. Gotta keep things interesting! "
Bob: "Well, it's...striking/bright/working for you, that's for sure."
Me: "Ha, thanks."

Now let's just completely gloss over the fact that's it's pretty ballsy and borderline rude to question a complete stranger's personal appearance (I could have a whole post just for that). What is there to say here? Yes, part of my hair is pink. Yes, I know this. No, you don't know nor care about the difference between permanent and semi-permanent hair color but I can certainly tell you which of the two it is. Glad we had this talk.

While I don't expect to discuss philosophy or debate the dominance of Hellenic references in pre Judeo-Christian Persia during my five story ascent, where's the creativity? Where's the interest? Have the Bobs and Pegs of the world fallen into such a routine that even something as simple as small talk on an elevator has a mere two forms? No deviation, no straying from the traveled social road, no...improvisation.

Ugh. Even thinking about being that static is making me bored. I think that calls for a break to pose the action figures on my desk, take photos and post them to Facebook.

Loves,

Kt

April FAILS

2009-04-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

I really love holidays. Sarcasm aside, I genuinely feel that they bring people together in a way that, say, August 14th or something fails to do. People are cheerful when they're buying presents, or drinking a lot, or wearing silly sweaters, or pinching each other. Having something in common makes us more conspiratorial, and that makes life feel more like a movie. And I'm autistic, so I can only identify with feelings that I've closely studied in Cameron Diaz movies. Anyway. The one holiday I can't stand is April Fools. I'll even take the one where I can't eat all day - is it Rosh Hashanah? I forget. I'm a bad jew. - over this garbage.

Look, I'm the most gullible person on the planet. I think it comes from all my psychological disorders. No matter how strongly I comprehend, logically, that something isn't true, a tiny part of my brain goes Wait, wait, what if you're wrong this time! What if they really DID take gullible out of the dictionary? What if there really IS a spider on your face? Better check. Once, my high school boyfriend pinched me because I wasn't wearing green. I was PISSED, not because it hurt so much, but because I love St Patrick's Day and I never fail to wear at least green underwear or sparkly eye shadow or something (Note: I'm 8 years old). It took me hours to realize it was October.

So I've always hated April Fools. I always get mad at people, because they always trick me even when I specifically ask them not to. Duh. This morning I was furious when I found out Merlin Mann wasn't really following me - wtf Twitter? That shit's not nice. But the worst 4/1 I ever had was my junior year of college. It's mostly a long, complicated, dramatic, irrelevant story, but the short version is that I drove down to Beverly Hills to visit a boy over my spring break. It was a long drive, I'd never been there before, I was staying at his house with his whole family, I had just met him 2 weeks previously, oh and I had a boyfriend back in Santa Cruz - I felt really vulnerable. We were having a great time, until he had to take me to the emergency room at 2 am. Sorry, I digress.

I woke up the morning after the ER, feeling exhausted and sick and sorry that he'd had to deal with my drama (although he was very nice about it, and loved me, so I figured he didn't mind). He was already awake, sitting at his desk and glaring at me. I figured he'd gotten in a fight with his parents or something, so I went to take a shower, figuring I'd give him some space. I opened the door to go back into his bedroom and he was suddenly in my face, furious. He yelled at me about how my stuff was all over his room, how rude it was to take over his space like that, how annoying it was that I had to go to the emergency room, and he said that he wanted me to leave right away. I was supposed to be there for 2 more days. Oh, and I didn't have anywhere else to go. My family had recently moved out of state, my boyfriend wouldn't let me stay at his house, and my college had a policy about not letting people stay on campus during vacations.

My eyes filling up with tears, too shocked, sad, and disgusted with myself to say anything, I started to pack my bags. He watched me, waiting until I finished to speak again. As I hoisted my bags and lifted my head to walk out of the room, I noticed him looking at me with a nervous smile. "What the hell are you smiling at," I snarled, tears still dripping down my cheeks.

He shrugged and spread his hands out, sheepishly.

"April Fools?"

I collapsed, sobbing, and couldn't be consoled for hours. We never quite worked out.

Anthropomorphism

2009-04-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

I wrote a new blog for you to read.

Actually, no I didn't. April Fools motherfuckers!

I got you good, didn't I? You had no idea it was coming. One minute you were filled with joy, and in less than a second, I took it all away.

I imagine you are depressed now, and I can understand that. You came here expecting something, and got something totally different. Maybe I intrigued you by titling my post "Anthropomorphism", maybe not. I wouldn't think about it too much if I were you, it was just one of the words that randomly popped into my head. I thought it was neat, so I'm sharing it will all your asses. Here's another one, for old times sakes:

Transubstantiation. That's when Catholics eat Jesus (definitely in a non-sexual way...maybe). Mmmm, Jesus meat. Well, its still bread and wine... but when you put it in your mouth, MAGIC.

Anyways... when the hell did April 1st decide to be the biggest dick out of all the days of the year? I mean, I like April. It's warm outside, plants and shit are starting to grow, and everything wants to have sex. But amidst it all you've got April Fools Day, standing there like that chronic masturbator guy that lives on your floor of the apartment building and constantly locks himself in the laundry room.... What I'm trying to say is, you know he's there, but you sure as hell don't talk about him or agree to come over for dinner (and it might be prudent to wash clothes at the laundry mat).

Honestly, April Fools Day really cramping my routine. Is posting a link to what I thought was spoilers about who the new Batman would be but in reality was a link to lemon party considered funny? This shit is serious! Don't toy with me (or get me fired for pulling up a picture of old men playing with each others shriveled wieners).

So, to set this day straight, wanna know what I think is funny and would make for good April Fools Day pranks?

Call up a cancer patient and telling them that their tests came back negative.... APRIL FOOLS!

Send loads of boxes to Darfur labeled food and fresh water, but when those wonderful hopeful people open them up, the boxes are full of nothing but sand! APRIL FOOLS!

Tell your boyfriend that the test came back negative and that you really AREN'T pregnant. Then, nine months later... APRIL FOOLS! (Note: it may take a pro to pull this one off).

Stand on the deck of a aircraft carrier and declaring that the war in Iraq was a success.... APRIL FOOLS AMERICA! (Note: this one gets progressively funnier every year).

These are just a few, I swear I have literally tens more that I could share. But I don't want to ruin the element of surprise.

(Side note: I need to buy a van.)

(Side, side note: Any of your chemistry folks know how to make chloroform?)

I'm like the Mr Rogers of Mortification

2009-03-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

How to Turn Perfectly Neutral Events into Situations Which Are Embarrassing Because You're a Temp So No One Wants to be Your Friend at Work

(Sidenote: step one is obviously to have debilitating social anxieties.)

Get to the fancy cafeteria. Order your fancy food. Go to grab a napkin - the guy in front of you has just taken the last one. "Oh, do you need this?" he asks with an almost imperceptible sneer (but you're crazy, so you catch it). "Oh no," you laugh, "I'm not a messy eater." Too much information, you scream at yourself, now you look like you're trying to be his friend. Quickly break eye contact, worry you look too bitchy, resign yourself to sitting alone and reading a book AGAIN. Lift the fork with your first bite of delicious tortellini - oh, it's on your pants. And there's no napkins. Proceed to surreptitiously remove the pasta from your lap, put it back on the plate, and attempt to clean the sauce from your pants with your fingers. Fail. Finish your pasta, realize you ate the one that fell. Worry that everyone in the cafeteria noticed for some reason.

Notice your chapstick is missing. Must have fallen out of my pocket. Ugh. That shit costs like $4. Fuck it, I have another one at home. Not worth staying late to look for it. Get your stuff, go out to sit (alone) on the company shuttle. Before it can leave, someone climbs in with your chapstick in her hand. "Someone lost their Burt's Bees!" she exclaims, as if she's just saved a box full of kittens from a burning elementary school. Don't say anything because you've already resigned yourself to having lost it. Everyone on the bus proceeds to check their purses and pockets, announcing one by one that they all have theirs. You panic inwardly. It's been too long now to say something, and you don't feel like going through the ruse of checking your pockets. You also don't want to say anything, because you're hoping no one has noticed you exist, let alone that you're sitting on their bus like a criminal. One woman says "Oh! I think it's mine!" She goes up, opens it, crinkles her nose and says "Nevermind, mine was new. Look, this one's used." She throws it in the garbage, and you have a 25 minute bus ride to deride yourself for being so blue-collar as to actually use your $4 chapstick. Which is now in the garbage.

Smash your finger in a drawer. "Oh my god, are you okay?" asks your (probably faking it)concerned coworker. Pretend like it didn't hurt; kick yourself for grimacing when you should be producing a convincing smile. Gradually realize that the pain is getting worse, not better, and that you may have broken your finger. Shit, it's bent. Did it always look like that? Do I need to go to the ER? Glance at your coworker; she hasn't noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. Announce too loudly that you need to run to the restroom. Hide there, running cold water on your finger, until you can convince yourself it was always slightly bent and that if your future husband really loves you he won't mind. Worry that you've been in the restroom too long and that someone will assume you're up to something. Consider faking puke noises to further your bulimia charade; decide against it in case the CEO overhears. Sneak back to your desk; announce too loudly that you stopped by the kitchen for some water.

TO BE CONTINUED.

signs a girl likes a boy

2009-03-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

So there's this boy I like, and because I also respect him (novel concept, right?), I'm handling the situation in a patient, mature manner. This, my friends, is not how I ever handle boys. So with this new adult approach to pursuing a potential relationship, I've noticed I've been displaying new signs that I am interested.

In the past, my methods of signifying I like a boy often include 1) blurting it out in the most socially awkward scenario, 2) making out with him out of the blue, 3) telling him he is going to like me, and the piece de resistance 4) oversharing and spilling my guts about every ex, bad life decision and any flaws I have. It's actually shocking I could even get a guy this way, I'll admit that.

But in this new situation, the signs are so different. And it's not like I have to try not to make all those fatal awkward mistakes of yore. It's just...different and easy. Wanna know how I know I like him and how it's becoming apparent to my near and dear?

I don't talk about him incessantly. In fact, most of my friends don't even know who it is I like. I'm keeping this romantic development close instead of announcing it to the gossip mills.
I cleaned my apartment before he came over. Seriously. I dusted, did dishes and (gulp) vacuumed. (Note: I have vacuumed maybe a total of 6 times in the past two years. True story.)
I'm not rushing it. I leap before I look, and many times, I don't even look at all. But in the hope of not screwing this up, I am finally taking it slow and not immediately assigning labels.
I get butterflies. I know this is the corniest, gayest, girliest, most cliche sign, but it's honestly one I haven't experienced in quite, quite a while. And it feels good. So suck it.

There it is. Dudes out there, take note, as you may be causing this effect on a chick but had no idea. Look for these signs. It means she's totally into you. And girls? If you're experiencing any of these symptoms, run with it. Apparently, this is how adult relationships happen. (Or call your doctor; you may be experiencing a minor stroke.)

Loves,

Kt

Unspoken Twitter Rules (That I Just Made Up)

2009-03-25T10:06:00.000-07:00

You know how, before facebook sucked, it had rules? Like the one that said you couldn't join unless you were a student, at a university, with an .edu email address? Yeah, that was awesome. Considering the increased media attention that twitter's been receiving, and the subsequent exponential increase in users, someone really needs to tell the slower people that THEY'RE DOING IT WRONG. These unspoken laws of twitter are (for NOW) just my passive-aggressive opinion, but I think twitter should officially adopt them and remove anyone who doesn't comply. Or at the very least: I just can't follow you if you commit any of the following twaux-pas.

You really shouldn't:

Use 5-year old internet acronyms (like lol, roflmao, brb, g2g) or 1-year old lolspeak (like I can haz, I'm in ur - -ing ur -, or anything else obnoxiously misspelled). The only exception is if you're doing it ironically. Otherwise you look like you haven't been on the internet in years, and you might as well be my grandmother. Acronyms that I won't judge you for include omg, wtf, ftw, ftl, and fml.
Spell things wrong. The people I follow write complete sentences, and spell-check if they're not sure. This is not a chat room; it's not about speed. It is, however, about exchanging intelligent information, and I'm not interested if you can't communicate like a person.
Ask "What does # mean?" "How do I send a reply?" "How do I find people to follow?" Do your research, dude. You shouldn't be allowed on twitter until you understand the basic concepts. There's like 4 things to know. Also, let me google that for you.
Abuse caps lock and/or punctuation. Again, this isn't 6th grade, and we aren't in a chat room. Sometimes caps lock is funny; a lot of people use it for emphasis since bold/italics aren't supported everywhere. Bad punctuation is only funny if we already know you can use it correctly.
Follow a million people, wait til they follow you back, and unfollow. I shouldn't even have to say this. You're an asshole for even considering it.
Steal people's ideas without giving them credit. I know, it's extra work sometimes to reword tweets to make it fit with a RT, or maybe you feel weird mincing their words, but trust me, it's better than just pretending you came up with it. And I promise, there's always a way to make it fit.
Ask people to RT. This is retarded. If it's interesting, we'll RT it.
Use twitter as your personal messaging system. If your entire history of tweets is you replying to one friend about where to get dinner tonight, good luck to you. Direct messaging was invented for a reason. Also, EMAIL.
Bribe people to follow you. I swear to god, if I see "If you follow me I'll follow you back!!!" in one more bio, I'm going to explode. Is that REALLY how you want to describe yourself? That's all you've got?
Talk about your meals. I'd rather hear about almost anything than what you're eating right now - no matter HOW DELICIOUS that Subway sandwich is today. This just alerts everyone that you literally can't come up with anything else to tweet than the fact that it's 12:00 and you're eating, just like everyone else in your time zone. You know what? If you don't have anything interesting to tweet, don't tweet anything at all. This should be in the constitution.
Use twitter as a truncated RSS feed for your blog. Look, if I like your blog, I'm subscribed to it in google reader, and I'll see when you have a new post. If I have to hear about it twice, I'm going to get rid of one source of those alerts - and it's probably going to be the one where I have to click a god damn link to see what you're talking about. I'm not saying you can't link to your (infrequent) blog posts, just don't let it be the only thing you use twitter for.
Tell everyone when you're "logging off" for work or sleep or whatever. Um, this isn't instant messaging. It's expected that you won't be there all the time, and if you don't respond instantly no one's gonna be like "OMG are you mad at me?"
Oh yeah, and don't say tweeps.

I don't have a million followers, and I'm not pretending I can teach that (You should be a celebrity or a fictional character. There, I did it.), but I CAN suggest a few ways to have a decent amount of not-retarded ones. Or at least, to have me.

if you're not awesome, you're out

2009-03-24T07:11:00.000-07:00

I am a woman of theories. I think I have the world somewhat figured out, and although I am completely aware this is a self-induced delusion, I feel compelled to spout my theories as gospel. But then there are the theories or systems or whatever stupid buzz word you like to call them that really ring true, like how I determine who to befriend.

I hate being bored. It's probably my most despised thing (except for ranch dressing, which is the most atrocious development in the history of humanity). With my hatred for boredom in mind, it's accurate to assume I don't like or befriend boring people. So that's any easy befriending issue. But what about all those people who don't fall in the completely and utterly boring category? Let me break it down for you.

Say we're meeting for the first time. You have about 15 seconds to reel me in and prove that I should at the least continue this interaction. If you bore me or push any of my numerous buttons during this time, you're going in either the "hate you" or the "mere acquaintance" group. It may sound like a snap judgment, but it's not. I'm just smart and observant and know what I like in the people I surround myself with.

And this method has paid off. While I have a vast group of acquaintances and casual friends, my true friends are the most interesting, talented and smart people I've ever met. (Feel free to blush if you fall in this group.) It's not like it's a static list, like where someone has to die or something to make room for a new friend. But just by investing this first 15 seconds, I figure I've saved myself thousands of hours of wasted time with people I don't even really like (note: thousands is by no means a scientific measurement, just the estimate by this self-important blogger).

So the moral of this tirade? Stop wasting your time with stupid people.

back from (near) death and sxsw

2009-03-23T10:59:00.001-07:00

Bet you all thought you'd never hear from me again, huh? I was in my beloved Austin for SXSW Interactive until last Wednesday, and then what felt like the plague attacked me until yesterday. I still have a fever, but you deserve my feverish ramblings. So here's a recap of my past ten days:

SXSW: I work at an insanely awesome tech place, so I went on the company dime with my super rad coworkers. Learned a lot, did some demos for Microsoft, drank and made friends with the crew from LostZombies.com (more on that last item soon with photos, I promise).
Down with the sickness: After shoving a giantQ-Tip into my sinus, chest x-rays and blood and urine tests, I officially have a "mega-virus" (direct quote from my doc). The treatment? Rest and fluids. Well worth the insurance co-pay.
Boys: I totally have a major crush on a guy that I cannot find a major flaw with (and trust me, I hunt flaws like Greg hunts alcoholic hobos). That being a first on its own, I'm also handling the situation with maturity, patience and respect -- another first. But of course, it can't be more than a crush now. You win some, I lose...all of them. Meh.
Random awesomeness: Point Break, the cover of Vanity Fair, a new (read: not shitty) Twitter pic and going motorcycle riding on Sunday afternoons. Oh, and my KU Jayhawks going to the Sweet 16.

I know, my life is super interesting. Do not fret, my loves, more anecdotal insanity will follow now that you're officially caught up.

Loves,

Kt

Are You a Smart Ass?

2009-03-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

Do you have something to say? A topic you want to discuss? Just want to tell us to go fuck ourselves? (Or propose marriage?) Well, let's hear it. Just click on the button below and enter your phone number. Then, when it rings, answer. (Note: you're going straight to voice mail, so you don't have to worry about ACTUAL human interaction).

Dealmakers & Dealbreakers

2009-03-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

Maris over at one of my favorite blogs recently listed her dating dealbreakers and asked for responses, but strangely didn't mention any dealMAKERS, which I think are far more interesting. Maybe dealmakers are all the same, and she did mention some stereotypically ideal qualities in guys, but to me the qualities that make or break the connection with a prospective boyfriend are the little tiny weird things that no one else notices.

Like......... Here's the things I love about the boys I've loved.

They're geniuses. They tend to be on the crazy side, but I think that's just what goes along with extreme intelligence. So I'm not asking for crazy, per se, but I tend to find myself attracted to it.
They look cute in anything. As a rule, I don't date good dressers. I can't stand fashion, I feel hottest in jeans and a hoodie (that's the California girl in me, I guess). So it follows that I'm uncomfortable around guys in dress shoes, or in jeans that cost more than my iPhone. I'd rather be with a guy who can pull off a K-Fed outfit (ahem) than with someone who insists on dressing up to go to the movies.
They're kissable. Dude, if you kiss me the first time and I don't enjoy it, it won't be happening again. Not only are the guys I date fantastic kissers, but looking at them makes me want to kiss them more. That's important, I think. If I can watch someone talk without interrupting them for makeouts, I'm probably not sufficiently into them.
They have MY sense of humor. Yeah, everyone wants someone funny, but I want someone who enjoys contemplating alternative realities. Someone who laughs more at silly puns and your-mom jokes than at the latest Will Ferrell movie quotes. Also, I really like guys who think I'm more attractive making a dumb face than I am smiling demurely (and vice versa).

That said... here's what I can't stand, and this was much harder for me to come up with for some reason.

Conservative beliefs. I'm sorry, I gave it a fair chance, and I just will not be dating any more republicans or religious folk. I'm not some crazy liberal jew, but I kind of am a crazy liberal jew.
A lack of interest in non-traditional conversation topics. That was a lot of negatives, but what I mean is I can't get along with anyone who just wants to talk about sports, or the new Coldplay album (get over it, Chris Martin sure did), or what they did that day. Those are all fine (uh, except sports), but if you're done talking when we've blown through those topics, I'm over it. I like having conversations about time travel, serial killers, strange diseases, baby names, fucked up books, bad movies, historical trivia, zombies, and whatever ridiculous/stupid questions strike my fancy. Aright?
The insistence that the past is the past. I hate people who won't talk about previous relationships, or their childhood. I understand it's over - I don't need you to keep reminding me what year it is - but all that stuff made you who you are now. Plus I want to know all the ways I'm better than your last girlfriend. The other side of this issue is I can't hang out with people who have no interest in where I came from. You don't want to see how cute I was when I was little? Are you kidding me???
Animal haters. You don't like my dog jumping on you and smothering you in dog hair? Get out.

Disjointed thoughts

2009-03-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

Maya says I have a funny accent. I say she breathes too much city air and is full of herself.

Apparently I drove all the way to the comic book store with a seized brake caliper. My tire was smoking when I got back to work. That's bad. Guess I know as much about cars as I do about women (hint: enough to break them AND NOTHING ELSE).

There's a dead bird outside on the sidewalk with its heart ripped out. If it hadn't smelled so bad, it would have been cool. I took a picture, but you don't want to see. To anyone in the vicinity: stay vigilant. I believe there may be a squirrel close to attaining immortality.

Speaking of squirrels, there was another one in my office this morning. Little fuckers aren't even scared anymore. Contemplating leaving some crackers out on my coworkers desk....

And now, some announcements.

To the creepy guy at the comic shop: please don't hit on me anymore. :(

To the asshole woman at Taco Bell: when I say "put nacho cheese on it", that's exactly what I mean, no explanation needed. Next time you ask, "What do you mean, put nacho cheese on it?" I'll get your food stamps taken away.

To the person who writes in chicken scratch: I cannot read your writing, therefore two things will not occur. One, I can't do what you ask. And two, I can't call you to ask you to decipher. If it's important, get with the times and send an email (or at least a phone call).

To the person who works in my building who is having chemo today on their birthday: that sucks, dude!

Did this deserve a new post? Probably not, but I don't want to do any work right now.

Go fuck yourselves,
Greg

On Learning

2009-03-18T09:23:00.001-07:00

So, I'm pretty smart. But every time I start a new job - or get a new responsibility therein - everyone thinks I'm an idiot. And it's not just because of my crippling social phobias, which prevent me from ever pasting an appropriate expression onto my face. It's also because of the way I learn, which THEY don't understand because they didn't spend four boring years in college reviewing the same high school Psychology material over and over again. Incessantly. (Are you impressed with my degree yet?)

Everyone has different learning styles. In the simplest theoretical terms, I'm a visual learner, because I learn best by writing things down, which inherently means I have trouble processing things just by being lectured. This might also partially explain why I literally black out as soon as someone starts trying to explain football to me (although I suspect there's something deeper there as well... like a brain tumor maybe). More accurately, I'm what's called an accomodator, which is someone who learns best by engaging - either by mapping things out, writing things down, or asking questions.

In other words - I ask a shitload of questions. I cannot accept "You push this button instead of this one." Irrelevant though it may be, I will not only ask what the other one's for, I will insist on knowing. I literally cannot move on to the next topic until I know everything there is to know about that gratuitous button. I cannot fathom the role of the useful button unless I fully understand the useless ones around it. Once explained, it's like - duh, I'm a genius. But you can't really sit your boss or trainer down in the real world and say "Look, I need you to explain every detail to me, because I'm smarter than you, and I won't be able to function in this unfulfilling position unless I know everything about how this entire company works."

This happened to me in retail - I was a manager, but was unable to delegate even the simplest tasks until months into the position, when I could map out in my head exactly who my employees were, where they were standing, what tools they had, and what their mothers were doing last night (hint: they were with me). Instead of looking like a detail-oriented (read: OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE), responsible person, I apparently gave off more of an "I don't speak english" vibe. And now it's happening to me again. I'm a receptionist. I have a double BA, for gosh sakes. AND YET, every time I forget an extension - usually because I'm trying to memorize them instead of looking them up - or mispronounce a foreign name - because I'm trying too hard to replicate the exact pronunciation - or try to help someone I should hang up on - because I have trouble following rules - I get screamed at by people who can't even spell.

And I don't care what your learning style is, there is NO excuse for poor spelling.

The Blog...

2009-03-16T14:09:00.001-07:00

...is black, mainly to reflect my feelings on Blogger (it should die a slow and painful death), so channel your inner minimalist while we deal with this shit filled cesspool. Honestly, working with blogger is like sadness taking a shit on depression. If I had to choose between working with blogger and sodomizing men in the bathroom at Denny's, well, I'd probably still mess with blogger but it would be a tough choice.

Hugs and kisses (from Hell),
Greg

Nip/Tuck's Life Lessons

2009-03-16T13:18:00.000-07:00

Believe me, it was tough to narrow it down to 10.

1. Plastic surgery can fix anything. Missing an arm? Here you go, and this one shoots lasers. Face burned off? No problem! Penis enlargement? So easy, we'll let this teenager do it. Rosie O'Donnell? Well... they can make her noticeably less obese.
2. Every plastic surgeon will either develop an addiction to nitrous oxide or murder people with it. So uh, don't get plastic surgery.
3. Even though your child is born with a horrendous physical disability (say, crab hands), you can just leave him with the babysitter indefinitely after you're done banging midgets to get through your own emotional turmoil.
4. That HIV-positive lady you hooked up with, unprotected? Don't worry about that, you're going to have bigger problems once you invariably shove her off a roof.
5. Oh, except your crimes don't have any repercussions; you can just self-medicate until everyone else forgets about whoever you murdered/kidnapped/robbed. Be careful though; the same goes for your enemies.
6. On the other hand, anything you do to hurt someone feelings will be brought up EVERY TIME you see them, ever. For the rest of your life. So you should just lie instead.
7. Porn is a very lucrative and classy industry.
8. You never know who might be secretly a man/woman. What you can count on is that everyone is gay.
9. Just accept the fact that you're related to everyone and forget you ever knew the definition of incest. It's okay to keep banging your mom or sister as long as you didn't know who she was the first time. Also, it's not weird that you're the grandfather of your girlfriend's daughter, or that your husband is leaving you for the underage daughter of your ex-mother-in-law's girlfriend. Happens all the time.
10. You never have to feel guilty about being a dick to everyone, as long as you're very handsome. If you're ugly though, you should (and probably will) kill yourself.

What do you think - any other invaluable life lessons I'm missing?

This blog entry is fucking short!

2009-03-14T20:45:00.000-07:00

Looks like I'm last. Hi, I'm the jerk, also known as "the male", sometimes just called "the dick". If you stick around long enough, you'll find that I'm unreliable, unappealing, lack any shred of creativity, and most importantly... available. Yes, that's right--I'm single (ladies, take note).

I have flashes of creativity that always seem to hit at the most inopportune times. Like while in the bathroom... Tried taking a notebook with me for a while, worried it looked like I was logging various data about my restroom habits. Unfortunately for everyone, I tend to be least creative when sitting at the computer.

When I get right down to it, I'm really just a normal guy. My hobbies include tempting recovering alcoholics, hiding contraband in Arab looking people's luggage, swearing for effect, and running with the devil. I listen to bands with shitty names. Have been known to occasionally bust out something wicked on the harmonica.

I'm currently hanging out in the south, which, if nothing else, is great material for my future in stand up. Yes, I wear shoes. Yes, I can read.

I'm a music nerd, a zombie buff, and I probably know more about LOST than you ever will. Odds are good I will blog about most of these things (especially giving alcohol to hobos). I quote Deadwood on an almost daily basis and one day I'd like to write for a living (but I'm not holding my breath). I love to answer questions, so if there's anything you are wondering about, I'm the (only) man to ask. Luckily for you, I know everything and answer free fucking gratis.

First order of business: deal with all this pink.

Sad or Awesome?

2009-03-14T20:06:00.000-07:00

This is a question I deal with on a daily basis. So much of my life is spent on that precarious line between sad and awesome. Like...

I watch so many geekster-hip tv shows, but the show I get the most excited for is Rock of Love Bus. And I think Bret is hot (what can I say, my type is dirty old men). And I am really rooting for Ashley, even though she's like a whore doing a bad impression of Juliette Lewis. The show is like ANTM without the pretense of a modeling career.

Speaking of ANTM, is it sad or awesome that I've not only narrowly missed TWO different auditions, in two different states, but that I'm sad when I realize it? There was one today in NYC but I was more interested in not showering than I was in, you know, advancing my media-slut career.

What about the fact that I'm failing at being a media-slut? I can't decide if that's better or worse than if I succeeded. You know they're not really happy, anyway. Plus - I wouldn't know how to handle the stalkers (and you can be DAMN SURE there'd be stalkers).

Finally: Greg and I drinking and playing on the internet in our respective states while KT enjoys SXSW? I hate traveling, and I love drinking, so I'm gonna have to go with awesome there. Hermits ftw!

Having a Job is Better... Srsly

2009-03-13T12:23:00.001-07:00

So... I can't tell you where I work, because I don't want to get fired. But it's (probably) a temporary position, so I get the thrilling combination of working 12 hour days AND worrying about how I'm going to pay my bills next month. Sometimes I remember how nice it is to sleep in, and to drink every night of the week, and to watch tv all day in my pajamas. Then, hours of misty eyed daydreaming later, someone reminds me that OH WAIT, those are symptoms of depression.

I spent 6 months in the south, the result of a misguided attempt to prove that I was fully devoted to my boyfriend at the time who of course I would NEVER EVER leave and couldn't live without. His office pitied me enough to give me a job answering phones. Unfortunately the position didn't require me to wake up before noon, leave my house, or stop watching marathons of Jon & Kate + 8. After this thrilling stint, I moved to New York, thinking it would be a great adventure which would result in a modelling career or the title of some company's CEO, or at the very least a husband. It resulted in 6 (and still going!) horrible months of sleeping in, drinking myself numb, watching tv in my pajamas, and the occasional fruitless job search.

I knew I wouldn't enjoy this extended "vacation" when I quit my last job a year ago. Even though I was working 14 hour days, fighting with disgruntled employees, and on several occasions using toxic-waste protective gloves to scrub the blood of hobos out of the carpet... I kind of loved it. I like being busy, and I like being challenged, and this definitely was the kind of job where I didn't have enough time to finish anything and I didn't know what to do in any given situation. It was very painful and dramatic, and therefore it was invaluable to my life. I've never been unemployed, and I thought it might be a nice break from you know, the bleeding homeless people, but it just obliterated what little pride and confidence I had left. Don't worry, it's coming back now that I have this fantastic job ANSWERING PHONES ALL DAY. I'm so glad I went to college for that double major. Totally worth it.

Anyway, you guys sitting at work, dreaming of a full night's sleep and watching every episode of It's Always Sunny... trust me, it gets old. I won't tell you what all the old people are lecturing in my direction, about how In This Economy You're Lucky You Can Afford That Fancy Macintosh Computer, but honestly - even if your job sucks, it could be worse. You could be unable to pay your bills, OR you could be dealing with bleeding homeless people. If you are in either of these situations... I sincerely apologize, and hope you are using the proper biohazard materials. You can come answer phones with me if you want.

don't call it a comeback

2009-03-13T11:22:00.000-07:00

So the time has come for the three of us to move beyond Twitter's 140 characters and into a blog where the space is as endless as the excessive thoughts and stories we'll be sharing. Rad.

What should you expect from me? A lot. I'm an occasional blonde who swears like a sailor and has a penchant for whiskey, nerdboys and fashion. My love life more convoluted than the plot of Lost. I have a zombie survival plan. The vowels fell out of my first name back in the 90s. (And I'll explain it here once and only this time: it's pronounced "Katie", it's not like that on my birth certificate and it isn't initials. Whew.) I live in Omaha. I write for a living. I theorize that ranch dressing is the main cause of the obesity epidemic.

And I will try to love you all, but I'm not guaranteeing anything.

Loves.

Kt

OMG, a blog!

2009-03-13T10:29:00.000-07:00

I've known for a while now that my co-bloggers are my internet soulmates. It was only a matter of time before we collaborated on something other than sabotaging zombie disbelievers during Zombietalk Thursdays.

I can't speak for them, but I'll be writing about whatever I'm thinking, as my brain didn't really come with a filter. Usually that'll be something awkward that's just happened to me, life in NYC, something stupidly funny, music I'm obsessed with for 24 hours, zombies, or my overly dramatic love life.

I think swearing is funny. I find ugly things much more interesting than cute ones. I really like words, and am not ashamed of how much I laugh at puns. My degree is useless. I simultaneously suffer from delusions of grandeur and debilitating social phobias. I fixate on pretty much everything that's every happened to me. I'm kind of bossy, but I'm working on that. Promise.