A Short Insight Into My Insanty and Disgustingness

So far this week I‘ve worked out with my trainer three times.

And I’m sick of the gym.

I’m sick of being sweaty and gross.

It feels good to exercise, don’t get me wrong

BUT . . .

I have this weird hatred of FULLY showering, fully meaning the part where I have to wash my hair. I guess I have to admit that I hate showering in general, not that I don’t DO it, just that I don’t LIKE it.

I REALLY hate washing my hair.

I hate having to put on lotion post-shower.

Then I hate having to DO my hair.

I hate having to get dressed while covered with lotion and the logistic nightmare it presents.

Then I hate having to do my make-up after ALL of that.

And daily exercising makes me have to do all of this EVERY DAY.

And now for some reason, my whole butt area itches like crazy.

So today, I found myself sitting at my desk, wanting nothing more than to reach DOWN my pants and scratch away at my itchy butt.

I blame it on the exercise.

Beerfest 2007

Yes, I have reset the Kateastrophe counter. I was JUST this week thinking “wow, maybe my curse is over! I haven’t had a Kateastrophe in a record amount of days!”

Que karma, kicking my butt.

My husband and I had decided about two weeks ago that, due to hell-like temperatures and a wee bit of cabin fever, and no house projects to complete (HALLELUJAH!) we WERE. GOING. OUT. OF. TOWN. THIS. WEEKEND. We just didn’t know where. For a very long time. And the EVENT PLANNER in me was FREAKING OUT. But I digress . . . to the point, and the point is, that on Thursday evening we finally decided to go to Vegas for the weekend. We hopped on some hotel site that sounds like sliceline.com and bid ourselves into a great deal at a four-star hotel near Lake Las Vegas (so pretty! So worth going there if the craziness of the strip drives you, well . . . crazy. There wasn’t even a CASINO in our hotel! Ah the relief!) and then we bought ourselves tickets to Blue Man Group, which I have been dying to see for a very, very long time. So that was the weekend plans and we were very excited.

Now, I had considered giving you a lengthy description of each of our activities, alluding to possible Kateastrophes around every corner, but alas, I am very sleepy and really need to go to bed, so I’m cutting right to the chase.

We hung out in Vegas all day, ate lots of food, saw lots of shops, ate more food and then FINALLY it was ten o’clock and we could FINALLY see Blue Man Group. Now, having purchased our tickets late, we were on the middle of the very last row of the lower level of the theatre (note to anyone, these were actually GREAT seats and not what I expected.). I was fairly tired of being on my feet and very excited to sit down and relax for the few minutes before the show started. Alas, as is my fate, this was not to be . . . of course being in the middle of the row I had to climb over a bunch of people to get to my seat. I was alone as Matt was visiting the facilities. I had several shopping bags because OOOH SALES at Banana and Express! And of course my heavy purse. I climb over the laps of several elderly people sitting on the edge and finally find our seats. Now, being the good wife I am, I see that, at least for the moment there are people on one side of our seats and no one on the other, and because my husband is shy and doesn’t like to sit next to strangers, I take the seat next to the people.

So I get all my shopping bags situated under my seat and then finally, sink into my seat, so happy.

Que the guy next to me setting down his big-arse beer in the cup holder and not double checking that it’s secure. And que his big-arse beer dumping into my lap.

Did I mention that I was wearing my mostest favorite dry-clean only jeans? Oh and my brand new mostest favorite silk tunic shirt? Also dry-clean only? And my Kate Spade shoes that I got for an amazing steal of $40 and I could never replace if I tried for a million years? Well, that’s what I was wearing.

Oh, and did I mention that I HATE BEER? I hate, hate, hate it. Being Mormon, I don’t drink beer of course, but even if I wasn’t and I could, I WOULDN’T. I hate the smell of the stuff. I cannot imagine drinking something that smells so much like rotten BUTT.

And now? I am COVERED IN BEER. It spilled onto the bottom of my tunic shirt. Into the space between my legs and down onto the seat, which means it spread around my butt. It was all over my legs and all over my left arm and it had also dripped onto my shoes and therefore INTO MY SHOES. I swear it must have been the biggest beer in history and it must have also been the smelliest.

So, being that this guy had just dumped his beer in my lap, I glanced over to him, sort of looking for some sort of apology. OH NO. He thought I had been the one to knock it over, so he just glared at me. I quickly mumbled some sort of “I’m sorry” then tried to quickly gather up my plethora of bags (which did not go so quickly) and then try explain why, less than two minutes ago “yes, I know I just sat down but now I appear to have sprung a keg and I’m re-climbing over your lap with all of my bags IN MY NOW WET KATE SPADE HEELS with which I will kick you if you don’t MOVE!”

I finally made my way out of the theatre towards the bathroom where I ran into my husband, who could do nothing but laugh. Meanie. Then in the bathroom, I’m trying desperately to sop up the beer with wet paper towels without leaving white crap all over my outfit. Then there’s the dilemma of the beer in the shoes. I mean, I’m not a huge germophobe by any stretch of the imagination, but barefoot in a public bathroom? Sssssick. Barefoot in a public CASINO bathroom? NO FRICKIN‘ WAY. So I take one shoe off at a time and try to balance with all of my bags (because for some reason after watching some stupid germ special a while ago I cannot bring myself to set my purse on the floor in a public place, let alone, once again, a PUBLIC CASINO BATHROOM and there are lots of people in there and I think it’s rude to set it on the counter and take up the space.) so I’m hopping up and down whilst trying to rid myself of the yeastiness.

So to make a long story longer, I obviously couldn’t possibly get the beer out of my clothes, so I just tried to mop up the best I could and go back to the theatre and watch the whole show damp and smelling like butt. Luckily my sweet husband had taken the seat next to the beer guy, who, throughout the WHOLE SHOW, clutched his precious 1/4 cup of beer in the hand furthest from me. Good idea, pal.

Aloha Flashback

December, 2004 . . . an all expense paid trip to Maui to stay in the world famous, five star Grand Wailea Resort and Spa with my company. They let me take my sweetheart. It was an amazing trip and we can’t wait to go back someday.

Maybe I Should Just List My House as a Meth Lab

Ah the joys of the Phoenix housing market.

When we bought our house, it was a sellers market. We fought tooth and nail and made several overs before bending over backwards and paying out the tuckus to buy our house

Now, two years later, it’s a buyers market. There are gazillions of houses on the market and we’re going to have to, once again, bend over backwards and pay out the tuckus (from our equity) to sell our house.

But whaddaya do right?

Persevere. That’s what you do.

So Saturday, we had our second open house. I must say that we outdid ourselves cleaning this time. I just got a new vacuum, so I still think of it as more of a toy . . . so I vacuumed EVERYTHING. Couches? Check. Rugs? Check. Carpet? Check. Drapes? Check. All spotless and vacuumed. The house smelled beautiful . . . looked beautiful. The yard was gorgeous, Matt has done wonders with the grass in this blasted heat. I reorganized all the cabinets, everything was perfectly in it’s place. I even organized my plethora of prescriptions, cold medicines and vitamins.

So at 11 AM we left the house for the day to go shopping and do some other fun things. Rhonda joined us and we went furniture shopping with my friend Stacey, then went to lunch. Then we saw the new Pirates movie (so good by the way!) and then we headed home.

We talked to our realtor on the way home. The open house was a bust. Only one person stopped by. A guy by himself . . . my realtor didn’t feel comfortable being in the house alone with him, so she stayed outside and he went inside (random I know. I don’t want to talk about it.). He came back out a few minutes later and said we had the nicest house in the neighborhood, said he would go get his brother and come back. He left his name and number and left.

He never came back . . . and our realtor went and visited with the other Realtors in the neighborhood (three of whom were also having open houses) and none of them had seen the guy. Weird right?

Well, our realtor had his name and number, so she was going to call him back and try to schedule a private showing for he and his brother.

We came home late Saturday evening and settled in for a boring night of TV and calling it an early night. We’re so exciting right?

Sunday morning, I went downstairs to take my antibiotics. (I was diagnosed with bronchitis last week. Fun right?) I opened my perfectly organized cupboard and immediately noticed a problem. There was a hole. A hole that used to contain my favorite prescription bottle. My cough syrup with codeine. When one gets bronchitis twice a year like I do, this is the most glorious of all glorious medicines to have. And it was gone. Usually, I’m not extremely organized and this wouldn’t be strange. I misplace stuff all the time. But not this time. I knew exactly where that bottle had been the day before because I had gone as far as to organize my medicines by type and by frequency of use. It was most definitely missing.

Holy crap right???? Some guy had come to our house posing as an interested buyer and STOLEN MY FAVORITE DRUGS. We, of course, started madly searching the house for other missing things, and came up with nothing. Everything else was in it’s place. Stupid guy just took the cough syrup.

What’s funny is that I don’t feel like my privacy has been invaded, because I don’t really have a strong sense of privacy. I’m not scared that he’ll come back looking for more. Want to know what I am?

I’m PISSED that he stole my CODEINE. There was perfectly good doxycycline and steroid cream in there. Take that!! Take anything but the codeine! Do you have ANY IDEA how sick I had to get to be allowed to get that stuff?

Secretly, I’m almost hoping Matt gets sick now so we can go get some more, just to have it on hand.

I’m not a druggie, I swear. I just play one on Blogger.

Hey, Jealousy

I am a shallow, shallow woman. I’m sort of disturbed by shallowness, honestly.

I’ve been home sick two days this week, and I’ve had a lot of free time to blog-hop. And I discovered the blogs of some girls from the past that, honestly, I didn’t like to begin with, so why I bothered checking up on their lives when I stumbled across them is beyond me. Maybe I was hoping that they had turned ugly, poor and miserable . . . who really knows. But I looked . . . and now I’m seething with jealously and envy.

I want to know how it’s possible for young couples with a stay at home mom and three young kids to be building a mega-mansion and own a $40,000 ski boat AND have a pool and throw elaborate birthday parties for their children AND manage to stay a teeny tiny, toothpick legged size 2 with perfect highlights and a tan. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? How are their homes still immaculately decorated and how do they have time for perfect scrapbooks and photography and how do they drive freakin’ ESCALADES? Most of these kids came from significant money and I’m sure they married into families with significant amounts of money and now Mommy and Daddy gave them awesome jobs and fund their perfect lives. Or maybe they are swimming in uncontrollable debt. That’s what I like to dream is going on anyway . . .

Since when am I so proud that I can “hate” other people for what they have and I don’t, and wish I had it so that when people looked at me, they were jealous?

Oh yeah. Since forever.

Then I find myself wondering what they’ll think when they find me.

I feel awkward and guilty admitting that I care what people think of me what I’ve made of my life. I wasn’t one of the “popular” kids in school, but I sure wasn’t a hated one. Most people knew me and, for the most part, people liked me. I always had friends, I always had joy. Very rarely did I feel left out or mocked. I grew up poor and fairly awkward looking, so sure, I had my moments, but I always had the self-esteem to just not care. Only as I got older does it seem that I care. My self-esteem sort of took a dive and now I care more than I ever did. And it sort of makes me sick. I don’t want to show up at my ten year high school reunion next year as one of those people who feels she has something to prove to all of my classmates. Yet I find myself already planning to diet for the next year to be skinny . . . trying to figure out my “best” outfit and what shoes to wear or which expensive ones to buy just for the occasion. I find myself being sucked into the whole superficial thing. Caring about what they think . . . wanting to impress them and come across “better off” than I really am.

In all honestly, I’m sure that those girl’s lives aren’t as perfect on the inside as they look on the outside. I’m sure these girls turned out to be much better women then they were high school students. Heaven knows I did. I’m sure that, in different circumstances, these girls would be my friends. Maybe it’s not family money at all . . . maybe they married amazingly brilliant men with a knack for making money and that’s just the way it is. Maybe they suffered while their husbands were in law or medical school and now they’re finally not dirt poor, and I missed the whole story. In my life I have learned that perspective is everything. I have no idea what went on behind the scenes to get them where they are, what might be going on now to keep them this way. I’m also sure that they are just as worried about impressing everyone as I am.

My husband and I both have college degrees (albeit my degree is useless but THAT’S NOT THE POINT.) and we have good jobs and we work hard. We have nice cars (and more cars than we need) and a nice home and have the things that we need and lots that we just want. I guess if we decided we HAD to get an expensive boat and an expensive truck to pull it, we’d find a way to make it work. We have no debt to speak of and we live in joy. We go on vacation and we have enough money to get a really nice vacuum when the crappy one I got on sale breaks. I’m sure there are a number of people who look at my life with the same disgust I feel when I look at those girls. People probably wonder how I got so lucky . . . wonder “what did that snotty girl from high school do to deserve what she has?”

If I put this all into perspective, I realize that we all have someone we envy. Someone who has “more” than we have of something. I know I’m not alone in my fear of what people think, nor am I alone in my envy of others. I just have to let go of some of my stupid pride and accept that fact.

But, so does everyone else.

Hahahaha. Just kidding.

Kind of.

If Walls Could Talk . . .

If walls really could talk, first of all, the walls in my current house would be saying the following:

“Ouch hothothothot oww hot owwww“

“Who is that coughing wretch inside? Tell her and her phlegm to SHUT UP!”

“My self esteem is taking a serious hit because no one wants to buuuuyyyy meeeeee“

Basically, that sums up to these three points: I am sick (and it sucks but I plan to be better soon thank you for caring), Phoenix is getting VERY HOT (shocking, I know) and in this crap for a market, no one wants to buy our house. We are dropping the price (which is fine for now, we listed high on purpose) so hopefully that will help. We’ve had a couple of lookers and all had very positive feedback, so I’m not ready to kill myself YET.

Second of all, the walls of my new house would say:

“WAAAAALLLS WE ARE ACTUAL WAAALLLSSS!!”

Yes folks, almost exactly one year after signing our contract to build our new house, we.have.walls. And window holes! And a single story house behind us who’s view we TOTALLY block. Oops! Our bad!

It’s sad that I’m so proud of my little cement pad and mish-mash of walls. But I am. Oh so proud.

And just to be random, knowing this has NOTHING to do with my current post, I give you a picture from our anniversary trip! Just for kicks and giggles. This is us at the Hotel Del Coronado, enjoying the beeeeutiful evening sunset. Sorry about the weird lighting over Matt’s eyes. While he looks hot in a hat, it doesn’t really make for a great picture that includes his eyes!

And now, without further adieu, off I go to be sick and watch old South Park episodes. Because yes, I am twelve.

My Grand Entrance Into the Adult World

I can’t believe I’m telling this story to the whole world. I really can’t. I mean, I tell it at parties to keep people laughing, but actually PUBLISHING it . . . that’s a different story. But here goes.

So, flashback to April, 2002. I have finally completed my requirements for my Fine Arts Degree in Music Dance Theatre from Brigham Young University. I’m finally a real adult and I’m proud of it.

Now, I must explain a little further how I found myself in the position I did. The MDT (Music Dance Theatre) program was very small and very . . . “elite” as we liked to call it. Only about 25 students per year were accepted, and within a given semester only about 6-8 graduated. We were given the “elite” privilege of performing a musical number at our department’s commencement ceremony and also at another department’s. This was great, but it caused us to have to attend TWO boring commencement ceremonies and also caused several “difficulties” as far as logistics and seating were concerned. We couldn’t file in with the rest of the college and sit in the normal order. We had to wait off stage for the beginning and our turn to sing, then we had to file around the back of the stage and were the first ones to receive our diplomas, and then we finally filed on to the very back row of the risers in the theater and sit. It should be noted that we were the only ones on the back row.

So, we did our thing, got our diploma’s and filed onto the back row to sit through the rest of the speeches and fluff that are common in any college graduation.

Keep in mind that because there were only about 6 of us graduating, we were all very close. We’d spent four years in the exact same classes, learning the same songs and scenes and whatever else we were required to do. We loved each other and had a blast together. Also keep in mind that, despite being at a predominantly LDS (aka Mormon) school, being in theatre meant that we had more than a couple of homosexual gentleman in our major.

So we sat down, diplomas in hand and entertained ourselves by . . . being musical theatre majors. We were notorious around the Fine Arts Department for being loud and obnoxious. We were shunned by dance majors for not being real dancers, by theatre majors for not being “real” actors, and of course by the vocal/opera majors for not being “real” singers. We were the red-headed step-children of the Fine Arts & Communications Department. So of course, my year lived up to the reputation. We were obnoxious and loud and were cracking jokes from the back row to entertain ourselves during the ever-so-boring speeches.

Finally, the end of the ceremony was near. The dean of the department was finally speaking and wrapping this thing up. He thanked our teachers for their hard work and dedication, he thanked us for being hard workers and then he thanked our parents for everything they had done to get all of us proud graduates to the point we were now at.

It was at this point that my favorite gay friend, Clark said to me “we should stand up and cheer for our parents.”

And, being the obnoxious MDT majors we were known to be, we stood up and whooped and hollered and cheered.

Then we sat down.

Only . . . when I sat down my chair . . . well . . . “scooched” backward.

Now, “federal regulations” require that any riser taller than about 3’ has to have “back support” to prevent individuals from falling off the risers. BYU had followed this rule to the absolute minimum. The “back support” was about the equivalent of a ruler held up by two ¼” dowels. So, when I “scooched” the back support “snapped.”

The back two legs of my chair were off the edge of the riser and I had no back support.

And.I.started.falling.

So, I did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do. I grabbed on to Clark to support me. Only, it didn’t work. Clark’s chair “scooched” and he started falling.

So Clark did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do and he grabbed on to Cindy, the girl next to him. Only THAT didn’t work. Now she had been a little smarter and saw the fall coming and held on to her chair for dear life. There was a loud “SSSCCREEEEAAACCCCCHHH” sound before she AND her chair started going over the edge.

Now, SOMEHOW, after losing my chair to the floor below, I managed to grab on to the underside of the riser and hold on, but, my graduation gown flew over my head and I was hanging, butt down, from the riser with my gown covering my face. My calves were the only thing not suspended in mid-air, and probably the only thing that saved me from falling all the way down.

Clark was not so lucky. He started flailing even more and somehow managed to grab on to the curtain of the theater and SLIDE down it to the floor, hitting with a thud.

Cindy and her CHAIR pitched sideways over the edge and landed RIGHT.ON.TOP.OF.CLARK. Face down, provocative style. By itself, it’s funny. But knowing that Clark was very, very gay, made it even better.

Cindy got up and RAN off stage as fast as she could.

Clark sat up, wind knocked out of him and reached behind him and lifted up a rose. Somehow he had managed to land directly on a long stemmed rose and smashed it to death. As he held it up it just . . . wilted. I don’t know why that part is so funny to me but it totally is.

I eventually pulled myself back up onto the riser and was laughing hysterically. It was a silent laugh though, because there was a commencement ceremony still going on of course. So I was hunched over on my chair, shaking uncontrollably and had tears streaming down my face.

Our head professor had run from the front row back to see if we were ok. I’m sure she thought I was about to die. She kept asking me if I was OK and I just couldn’t stop laughing to tell her I was fine. Clark, still a little winded, said “I think she’s just laughing.” Now I was pointing to my nose, letting him know that he was “on the nose” with that one and that I was, in fact, dying of laughter and nothing else.

I didn’t hear this, but apparently the Dean had looked back wondering about the commotion and said “Well if they can’t hold on to their diplomas now, we might need them to come back and repeat college!” Very funny.

Later that night my family was laughing about what had happened and each person who had been in the audience was telling their reaction.

My Mom had started leaping over people, running to save me, sure I had hurt myself. She was in the middle of the back row, so she caused quite a commotion there.

My friend’s parents had just started laughing uncontrollably.

My Dad had shot straight up from his second row seat to see if he could see me and if there was blood.

My personal favorite as my brother Sean’s reaction. Keep in mind that I went to Brigham Young University and 98% of the attendees and their parents are tried and true Mormons. My brother, seeing my fall says OUT LOUD from the SECOND ROW of the HUGE THEATRE in a LOUD VOICE:

“My stupid sister just F***ING fell off the F***ING back row.”

I’m pretty sure the Honor Code Police are still looking for me to strip me of my diploma for that one.

So there you have it folks. The Kateastrophe of Kateastrophes.

Please, no autographs today.

Cut Off

I can BLOG AGAIN!

I went out of town last Friday, first to visit Kyle, Adie and the new munchkin and then to a huge convention in San Jose for work. Over the weekend, I was busy playing with Hayden and didn’t want to stop! In San Jose, the Marriott decided to hate me and not give me internet access in my room. I felt completely cut off from the world. No email, no blogging, no google reader . . . nada.

Sweet heavens I hope that never happens again. I felt as though I’d lost a limb!

I am back and I am exhausted. Fifteen hour days on my feet don’t go over so well with ye olde body. I ended up wearing my favorite flip-flops on the last day due to severe foot-swellage which was so bad my feet decided to no longer fit into my shoes. I am considering permanently attaching those flip-flops to my feet. The sole is made of yoga mat. Need I say more?

I don’t have too much to say because I spent the last three days pitching eCommerce platforms to online retailers. It’s very exciting if you’re interested. Or not. I’m still recovering and trying to rediscover my wit and humor. As a reward for being patient with me in my absence, this weekend I am going to publish the details from the BEST.KATEASTROPHE.EVER. Seriously.

So prepare yourselves. It’s sooooo good. And thank you for not abandoning me. I’ve missed you so.

Perfect Credit

Ok, this is embarrassing to admit, especially to the whole world, but today is a proud day for lil‘ old me. Why you ask? I’ll tell you why.

About nine years ago last month, I left for the adventure of a lifetime. I left my comfy home in Provo, Utah and set out for a summer in Europe. First, theatre study abroad in London, followed by a three week backpacking trek with six friends through “The Continent” followed by the remainder of the summer in London and the surrounding areas just hanging out and becoming cultured.

Cut to the last week in June and what is now lovingly referred to as “the death train” from Pisa, Italy to Nice, France and being robbed by Gypsies on said death train as we slept off our horrid sunburns from our day in the Cinque Terra (I know, my life is so hard. But focus on the ROBBERY.) I woke up to find my camera, passport, Eurail pass, new watch, CONTACT LENSES . . . pretty much everything except (oddly) my wallet GONE. Cut to me by myself getting a new passport in Marsailles (Tourist Pointer: Marsailles is sort of boring, and pretty ugly, despite the romanticising of the city my mostest favorite book Count of Monte Cristo) and having three days of total melt down freak out. Cut again to massive spending to correct the problem followed by my stupid eighteen year old self wanting to GO. HOME. NOW. Mind you, I was broke as can be, savings drained, credit card maxed, all family favors called in. I would have spent the remainder of the summer wandering aimlessly through London like the homeless man who made his makeshift home on the corner of our Queen’s Gate school apartment building. So going home was sort of the best and only option.

Cut NOW to me going home and going back to college and deciding to buy a new car and making some pretty dumb financial decisions, despite the awesomeness of my parents who paid for my schooling, therefore I should have been DEBT FREE. Sigh. Alas, I was young and have I mentioned financially stupid? Little by little, I added to the debt that had started when I was stranded in Europe. It was like a little white lie . . . building slowly but surely. Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m glad it wasn’t worse than it was. I’ve heard stories of maxing out student loans and multiple credit cards. Mine was manageable, but still entirely too much.

The ONE advantage I had is that I knew I was in too deep, and I took advantage of the fact that the credit fools thought I was rich or something, because, as horribly in debt as I was, I had a fantastic credit score and a high credit limit and I never paid ONE PENNY of interest. Ever. I transferred my pile of debt from interest free credit card to interest free credit card for five years. FIVE YEARS. Oui.

And again I digress . . . here is the POINT. The POINT is that as of 9:45 this evening, I am officially debt free. The last penny has been paid.

I wish I could take all the glory that comes with this accomplishment . . . but I have to thank my Mother, who hounded me to pay it down, and most especially thank my husband for paying for EVERYTHING while we were dating so that I could get it down to a reasonable total before we got married, and then giving up last years tax refund to help. I’d also like to thank my health insurance company for screwing up last year and having to give me a hefty refund this week for my overpayment.

See? Told you I shouldn’t get all the credit. Haha. Credit . . . HA.