Thursday, March 27, 2008

Yeah, you're totally the chubbiest 5'7, 90lb woman I'VE ever seen.

Here's a conversation I was a part of the other day at rehearsal:

90lb, 5'7 Blonde woman:
Ugh, Gawd...I feel totally bloated today. I had like seven M&M's! Can you believe that? Seven! I really need to learn self-control.

(Remains silent. Hides my Snickers bar behind my back)

90.5lb, 5'6 woman:
Yeah, I know what you mean. Just be sure to eat a salad with no dressing tonight for dinner.

90lb, 5'7 Blonde woman:
But I don't like tomatoes, cucumbers or carrots.

90.5lb, 5'6 woman:
So, get your salad without all that.

(They both nod in agreeance)

So, you're just going to have lettuce for dinner?

90lb, 5'7 Blonde woman:
Yeah. (She shrugs, obviously seeing nothing weird about this)

Why don't you add some avocado to that? Or tofu. Tofu's healthy.

90lb, 5'7 Blonde woman:
Um, ew. Carbs.

Tofu's protein. Not carbs. And avocado is nature's miracle food. It's really good for you.

90lb, 5'7 Blonde woman:
Whatever. It's fatty.

(presses lips together, fighting the urge to make her look like the dumbass she is)
Ok. Enjoy your lettuce.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


I'm having trouble keeping this blog up to date with my new job writing for Animal Fair. I apologize and I will try very hard to post something soon! In the meantime, let's discuss this video of my true love, Milo Ventimiglia. I fell in love with him when he played Jess on Gilmore Girls (Stop laughing. No seriously...stop laughing at me, it's a good show!!), then I followed him to the Bedford Diaries and stalked him mercilessly hoping to run into him at a bar while he was in NY (came relatively close once, but he had left the bar half an hour before I got there!!! DAMNIT!) And then lastly watched him religiously on Heroes (the first season...I haven't been following the 2nd very closely). But now with this video...I'm seriously worried that he is not the man I thought he was.

How could you do this to me, Milo? To our future children? I hate to do this, but I'm not so sure you and I are meant for each other anymore. I'm afraid we've grown apart throughout the years. But I wish you the best.

Saturday, March 22, 2008


Luna may just be the luckiest dog ever. I received a call yesterday from a veterinarian in the city who wants to help Luna get better. Pro-bono. She must be Luna's guardian angel.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Ups and Downs

The roller coaster peaked, and took a hard fall. My dog, Luna, has to be put to sleep on Saturday for reasons that I am not yet ready to discuss. She is a quirky pet who has her issues, but was still a good dog in many ways.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm a wreck right now and I can't imagine my tears ceasing any time soon. Please think of me and Luna at 2:00pm on Saturday and say a prayer that she falls into her eternal sleep peacefully and that I have the strength to make it through the weekend without falling apart.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Go Ahead...Guess!

Guess who just got a freelance job writing for the amazing Wendy Diamond and her magazine, Animal Fair? That's right--ME! And I am so excited that I am this close ::pinching fingers together:: to peeing all over my desk chair right now!

Thursday, March 13, 2008

The Most Comfortable Toilet Ever

So, I don't know if anyone saw this article already...but this woman sat on her boyfriend's toilet for two years. TWO YEARS with her ass on that hard plastic seat! Her skin had apparently grown over the seat!!!!

Now, this raises a few questions in my mind:
1)Why??(IE - what was wrong with this woman psychologicallY?)
2)Was this a case of abuse? Did her boyfriend force her to stay in the bathroom...but even in that case, if he's locking you in the bathroom, that doesn't mean you can't stand up from the toilet now and then.
4)If this is not a case of abuse, why did it take the boyfriend 2 years to call the authorities, reporting his girlfriend was "acting funny." After 24 hours, I would have called someone!
6)Where the hell did her boyfriend go to the bathroom during those two years?
and lastly...


Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Things Said To Me By Previous Bosses

**None of the quotes below are from my current job. My boss here has always been wonderful and polite, almost family-like in a lot of ways! These are all from previous jobs!

(While working at a restaurant)
Boss: (not knowing I was behind him, talking to the new bartender) You should check out Colleen. As a waitress, she sucks. But she's easy on the eyes.
New Guy: Oh yeah? Which one is she? What does she look like?
Boss: Picture a really pretty face. Now put that face on a two by four. That's Colleen.

(while working in retail)
Boss: (while doing inventory with me) Hm, these are torn. They're a you want them?
Me: Uh, aren't we supposed to send them back to the manufacturer or something?
Boss: Nah, people shoplift all the time here. We'll write it off as that.

(Same retail job, same boss)
Boss: You see that guy? Keep an eye on him. I think he may be shoplifting.
Me: Why? What's he doing?
Boss: He's black.

(While working at the same restaurant...a different boss)
Female Boss: I told my husband you and I were going for drinks after work.
Me: Uh...but I'm not 21.
Female Boss: So? We're not actually going.
Me: Oh.
Female Boss: (Leaves in an unidentified car with a man who is not her husband.)

(In an office job)
Boss: Don't wear that lipstick. It looks like you should be out at a rave.

The lipstick was red. And not a "whore" red. Just a deep, crimson. I wore the same lipstick the entire week just to piss her off.

(At Disney World)
Boss: (trying to explain to the group what working at Disney is like) Some days, it's like Boom, Boom, Boom. Other days....just Boom.

Missy, Lynne and I: Huh?

(While working for a small publication)
Boss: Be sure to buy that ad space for us today. Use the company card.
Me: Ok.
(the next day)
Boss: What is this $600 charge to our credit card!!!!!
Me: The ad space we bought yesterday.
Boss: What ad space!?
Me: Er--the one you told me to buy yesterday.
Boss: I did?
Me: Yeah...
Boss: Oh.

(male boss at the restaurant...again)
Boss: Are you bulimic?
Me: Uh, no.
Boss: Really?
Me: Yep, pretty sure.
Boss: But you never steal any food on your shifts!
Me: Well, that's cause I'm anorexic. Not bulimic. There's a difference. (I was totally kidding)
Boss: ....
::Blink. Blink, blink.::

(Different Male boss at the restaurant)
Boss: Are your boobs real?
Me: (silence...does this dumbass really think I'd pay for boobs this small?) No, but I told my doctor before the sex change operation that I wanted the boobs to match the rest of my body.
Boss: mean, you're a dude?

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Over the Hill

The other night was my good friend, Frank's, 26th birthday. 26. And that's when I realized that I will be 25 in July. 25. 25 freaking years old! I remember meeting people who were 25 years old when I was in high school and thinking, "Wow.'re like an adult." Then, I remember meeting the assistant producer when I first started as an intern at my company...and she was 25. And I remember thinking, "Whoa. 25. You're old." And now I am that old girl. That so-called "adult."

This whole getting old thing sucks. I'm used to being the youngest in every group. I was the youngest of three kids. I was always the youngest in school. I've always been the youngest out of all my friends. And this is slowly starting to change. I think I need to find newer, older friends. Anyone in their 30s feel like hanging out?

There are a couple new interns in my office, two are in college and one graduated last year. We all went for happy hour drinks a couple of weeks ago. I honestly wasn't feeling it. I would have much preferred to run home, slip into pj's and watch the Rachel Ray Show, which I had DVR'd earlier, with a cup of hot tea. But I decided not to be a fuddy-duddy and managed to oil up my walker and head to the Village Tavern with all these youngin's. Over a Magners (the greatest cider EVER) the college kids and I were chatting about where everyone was from. As it turned out, one of the girls was from a town in Connecticut where a guy I used to date lived. After telling her this, I mentioned his name to which she responded:
"You mean Devland Avocado?" (obviously, this is not his real name...I am protecting his privacy)

I felt immediately cool, and hip and with it and pushed the thought that my back was aching out of my mind. "Yes!" I replied, "You know him?"

She smiled and started laughing sadistically. "Yeah! Mr. Avocado was my history teacher, senior year in high school!"

I died a little inside that day, hearing her call a man I dated, "Mr. Avocado."

I chugged what was left of my Magners, wiped the foam from my lips and immediately left the bar.

I was starting to feel better the next night as I babysat Maddie, my best friend's five year old daughter. We were skipping and playing and exploring the city. And all was right with my world again.

"You know what I told my teacher yesterday?" Maddie looked up at me with big, brown eyes.

"No, what's that Maddie?"

"I told her I was hanging out with my bestest friend in the world tonight."

"Really?" I smiled and ran my fingers through her silky hair,"You're one of my bestest friends too, Maddie." Then I added, "And my favorite five year old."

And just then, I started to think...I'm not 25 yet. I still have four glorious months of my 24th year on this planet. Four wonderful months before I roll over that hill. And I should explore it like a five year old, excited and thrilled with every moment and every opportunity.

Maddie stood on the subway chair beside me and threw her arms around my neck. "I'm turning six in July!" She stated as if reading my thoughts.

"I know!" I said, "My birthday's in July too! Know how old I'll be?" Maddie shook her head. "25!" I said smiling in an exaggerated way.

Maddie's eyes grew wide and her face dropped, mouth gaping open. "Whoa. That's. Old." And she paused between each word for effect. You know, to give herself some time to twist the knife.

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Monday, March 10, 2008

A List of Lists

A List of Lists

1. Things I would like to do to Angelina Jolie:

2. Things I would like to do to Brad Pitt:

2. Things I shouldn't say to my parents:
a) Can I borrow some money?
b) Vote Obama.
c) Jesus Fucking Christ!

3. Things I shouldn't eat for the risk of ruining perfectly good pants:
a) Broccoli
b) Canned chili
c) That curried chicken with a side of curried rice. With curry. And did I mention the curry?

4. People I'd Like to toss off a bridge:
a) Ryan Seacrest
b) Anne Coulter
c) Ted Nugent

5. Reasons to adore The Boyfriend!
a) The smell of his cologne
b) He gives the greatest hugs
c) The fact that he puts up with my crazy dog

6. Drinks I will order at Frank’s birthday party this evening:
a) Pinot Noir
b) Dirty vodka martini. Extra olives.
c) Whatever she's having. But make mine a double.

7. Nicknames I'm tossing about:
a) CoKat
b) Panic at the Colleen
c) Ice C.

8. Nicknames to combine The Boyfriend’s! name and mine (like Brangelina, Bennifer, etc):
a) Cosea
b) Kamurphy
c) Sealleen

9. People I would blame if I ever got arrested:
a) The entire SCAD administration
b) Republicans
c) OJ Simpson

10. Things I'd love to eat right now but won't because I have to lose 10 pounds:
a) Waffles. With fruit. And whipped cream.
b) A Moe’s chicken burrito with a side of macaroni salad.
c) That whole bag of Peanut M&M's sitting on my producer's desk.

Thursday, March 6, 2008


My mother has heard through the grapevine that her dear, darling daughter has a weblog. And has requested the URL. Actually, what she asked for was the "thingy." It took me a few seconds to figure out what "thingy" she was requesting.

"You want my social security number mom?"
"No, the thingy so I can get to your stuff."
"A map of the tri-state area?"
"No, the computer's thingy!"
"I don't think that the computer has a penis, mom."
"You're so crude! I mean the thingy you type in to get to your webpage."
"Ohhhh, THAT thingy!"

In fact, my mother is so computer illiterate, that she couldn't figure out that the "send" button is what sends the emails through cyberspace (I love you mom).

So anyway, it is because of my mommy's dedication to her daughter and interest in all that I write that I will be going through and censoring my previous blogs. Not that there's anything that she really can't or shouldn't see...but just out of respect for her and to maintain some privacy in my life. Because, apparently living 562.04 miles from home does not offer enough of said privacy.

And mom...I'm sorry for the bad language you will inevitably be reading. You raised your daughter better and while I do have an extensive vocabulary, sometimes there is just no substitute for "Fuck."

Tuesday, March 4, 2008


“Morning mom! Can you hear me? Here, I’ll lick your face for a bit to make sure you know I’m talking to YOU.

So, I know it’s an hour before you usually wake up, but I thought I heard a click. And I then I thought perhaps that quiet click noise was the sound of your alarm going off. And I would hate for you to be late because your alarm clock was malfunctioning. Mom? Mom! MOM!!! Well, now that you’re up, can we go out? It’s not because I have to go to the bathroom, because I don’t yet, and when you let me out I’m just going to sit there like a moron. Because I’m retarded. Or at least, I like you to think I am because it means I don’t get in as much trouble when I eat your saltines and pee all over the floor.”

“I see that strange electronic thingy in your lap which you constantly tap your fingers against. And I totally know that means you’re working…but I’m bored. And I need you to amuse me. No, NO, I do not want that bone! BARK! It has no flavor left and it just sits there. BARK! BARK! That bone doesn’t throw itself mama! Ok, that’s good…you hold one end and I’ll tug on the other. Oops, sorry! Your thumb got in the way of my teeth. You should really be more careful, mama.

Well, you give up rather easy. I’m very strong, I know, but a little more effort on your part would be appreciated. I’ve been patient all morning, so if you don’t acknowledge me soon, I’m going to start pacing back and forth in front of you and barking loudly. And then I will intermittently lay my pathetic head in your lap, resting my chin on that button that makes you scream and yell words whose meanings I don’t understand, but the tone…the tone, I get. And again, you can’t get mad because I’m just your retarded little Katrina rescue. And then you’ll have to get up and play with me.

Mom? BARK! Why aren’t you getting up? BARK!!

You apparently don’t love me.

You’ve never loved me.”

“I know that when your friends come over, I’m not supposed to jump on them. But how else am I supposed to show my excitement? A tail wag just simply is not enough to show you how happy I am to have visitors. And I know that there’s that one guy specifically who I’m supposed to leave alone. But that guy obviously doesn’t like me and I think he should. And I know everyone else visiting loves me, but that one guy, that guy is the one who needs my attention most.

And I know that when he’s sitting across the room, eyeing me warily, that he’s really just inwardly hoping I’ll run over to him and springboard off the ottoman into his lap, licking his face with my gassy, sphincter-licking breath. I mean, he must enjoy that. Even if he doesn’t like me, he’s got to like it when I put both my paws on his shirt, leaving my signature print of dirt and mud. I think that if you just let me persist, that he will indeed like me by the time he leaves tonight. Especially after I sneeze in his coffee.

Mom? Mom? Why are you hanging your head like that?”

“But, mama…you don’t understand. Stop yelling for a second. That hole NEEDED to be dug. There was something moving in there and I needed to protect you from it! Well, don’t waste your time looking now…it’s not there anymore. But I’ll let you know the second it comes back.

What are you doing? Why are you filling in my hole? That took me the whole morning! Oh well, I’ll just start over tomorrow.”

“You’re talking into that thing again! BARK! That small, weird looking thing that you hold up to your ear! BARK! And your voice gets very loud when you talk to that thing and I just don’t understand! BARK BARK! Who are you talking to? And why so loud, mom? Seriously, I know we’re from the south and all, but that accent rarely surfaces this strongly. Usually only when you talk into that THING AGAINST YOUR EAR and when you drink from the bottle with the cork in it.”

"I know YOU don’t love me, but YOUR mom loves me. And when I go sit by her side and perk my ears up and wag my tail with my cute little wrinkled face in her lap, she always gives me snacks. Like that time she cooked a whole pork chop JUST FOR ME! And we all ate dinner together off of the most expensive china you own. And by “china” I mean your Pier 1 plates, of course. And then, there was that time that she shared an entire can of Pringles with me, one by one, even though you told her not to. And I went into your living room, tummy rumbling and threw up every last piece of Pringle and Kibble and leftover hotdog from dinner all over your new white couch. And you had to wake up several times in the night to take me for a walk while I pooped liquid."

“What is this thing you’re doing with your hands? You’re rubbing them against me! That must mean it’s playtime! And I’m going to fling my body around and knock you in the face with my hard, hard head because I’m SOEXCITEDTHATYOUWANTTOPLAYWITHME! And this tail of mine—yeah, I know that it kind of feels like I’m slashing you with a whip, but I really can’t control it. I swear. I even hit myself in the face sometimes, and I agree…it hurts.

What? Why are you pulling me toward you? Are we wrestling now? Ohh, I like wrestling!

Ohhh, I get it. You’re in that weird mood that you humans feel sometimes where you just need to hold me. And your face—it’s leaking again. Here, mom, let me lick that for you. Mm, you taste like cookies. Did you eat cookies today without me? It's ok, I guess...but next time, you’d better share them!

Aw, I love you too, mama.”

Monday, March 3, 2008

Life with a Dog. Much Different than Life with a Latte.

A couple factoids about me: I was raised, first in Pennsylvania and then moved to the south just prior to puberty. I grew up in an Irish Catholic family, which essentially means that life was filled with rosary beads, guilt, and fatal amounts of whiskey.

There was also never a day that we didn’t have at least one dog as a member of our family. Dogs and animals, as a general, are a part of my soul. A reason for living. Our first dog I remember was Bear. Bear was an enormous white boxer who we rescued just hours before he was supposed to be put to sleep. We named him Bear because he looked like a polar bear. (Hey—blame my siblings! I was only 10 days old when he arrived!) He was a lazy son of a bitch—only rose from napping when food was present. Bear was my buddy and very protective of me as a baby. He would allow me to reach my pudgy little hands and grab the softened Kibble from inside his mouth. And before my mother could rush over to stop me…I would swallow it (Yes, I was the child who ate ants on the playground).

We found our next dog when I was four. She was named Cupcake because Bear could have eaten her in two bites like a cupcake. (Again—we were young, cut us some slack) We decided to adopt her because my sister, Bridget, desperately wanted a cat, but my brother and mom were highly allergic. My parents compromised and we found a small dog, who was like a cat in so many ways. She was the leader of the pack. The bitch of the house. Any time we would pet her, she’d roll her eyes up at us saying, “How dare thee get thy hand oils on my precious coat!” Then, snapping her head away, “Go! Get me a rawhide!”

When I was ten, we bought another boxer. A beautiful fawn boy, who was tiny enough to curl into our laps. This lasted a whopping three weeks before his weight began to crush my ten year-old chicken legs. There were now three dogs in the Katana household. This time around, none of us could agree on what to name him. Arguments broke out and fists started swinging. I can’t remember who wanted what, but we ended up “compromising” and naming him everything: Sir Reginald Octavious Smithe of Lancaster County. (I hope to God in Heaven that I am not the one who was voting for Smithe!) We called him Reggie for short. He was the most playful of all three dogs, constantly wiggling around you, curling his body into a U shape so that you would scratch his rear.

A couple years after Reggie entered the family, we moved to North Carolina and lost Bear. The move must have been too much for him. While no dog can ever replace one you’ve had, a new, energetic life can sure lift your spirits. That’s when we rescued MacDuff (Duffy) from the local shelter. He was a lab-pit mix. Very wiry. Very energetic. Very dominant. Cupcake was not pleased with this new Mister and they constantly fought for the throne. Eventually, they learned to live together. And by “learned” I mean Duff relinquished dominance.

We lost Reggie much too soon. He was only five years old when he died of a heart murmur that our veterinarian had missed. Soon after Reggie passed, Duffy attacked my mom. As in, full out attacked, would not stop biting, drawing blood, and went for her throat. She needed stitches—I can’t recall how many. I think I have blocked the details of this memory from my mind. It turned out that Duffy had a brain tumor that triggered severe aggression. He needed to be put to sleep. Losing both Duff and Reggie so unexpectedly and abruptly damaged all of us. So, why? Why do we do it? Why do we continue to let such amazing and dynamic animals into our hearts and grow attached to them, if in a few years, our hearts will be shattered into a billion pieces? It’s a question I still don’t have an answer for. But perhaps it is because my life is more full when in their presence. Maybe it’s because they provide a love so unconditional that my human brain can’t comprehend it. Or maybe it’s because I like having someone to blame my gas on.

Our hearts eventually mended from the loss of Reggie and Duff, but the scars still remain. That’s when we found Mojo. A brindle boxer whose spirit was unbreakable. And soon after this, we rescued a mutt that needed us. A white…something. His breed is still somewhat of a mystery. Perhaps a pit/bulldog/boxer mix? We named him Weejes, after my sister since she was the one who found him (We call Bridget ‘Beejes,’ and somehow that transformed into Weejes over the years). As the runt of the litter, he suffered from slight retardation due to a lack of oxygen when he was born. He was a tough dog to train. We would teach him a command only to have him forget what he had learned within seconds. He was afraid of everything. The steps to our backyard, the hair dryer, the vacuum, the mop…basically anything that made noise or moved or looked strange MUSTBESOMESORTOFDEMON!!! Weejes passed away earlier this year, as well. Another great dog, lost too soon to cancer.

Cupcake passed at the very old age of 16 while I was away at college. She lived a full and long life and will forever be remembered as the queen of the Katana household.

For my 21st birthday, my parents bought me my first dog, Gracie, while I was still in school. She is a brindle boxer (are you seeing a pattern yet?). Unfortunately, I could not give Gracie the attention she deserved with my class schedule, extracurriculars, job, internship, etc . We had no set routine—walks were sporadic, she had no yard or outlet for exercise and in a couple of months, it became very apparent that she would be a much happier pooch with my parents. Besides, my parents were now in a house with no dogs since Bo had taken Mojo and Weejes with him when he moved out. When I brought Gracie back, our home sparked with life once again and I knew I had made the best and selfless choice.

Two and a half years ago, I finally found my dog. In actuality, I believe that she chose me, not the other way around. When I saw her black face peacefully sleeping, I knew I was ready…mature enough to handle taking care of another life.

Yes, I found Ms. Luna. The Katrina Survivor. The Katana Reviver.
(A rhyme that bad should never go to waste!)