Wednesday, October 12, 2016

almost political

as someone with irrational trust and intimacy issues, reading comment threads like the screenshot below in response to certain tapes of certain presidential candidates describing/confessing to/bragging about certain horrific behavior, is my worst nightmare...

essentially these people are saying that 75% of men talk about how they've groping women, and the other 25% think it.
or perhaps, to be more forgiving, maybe they're saying that 75% of men talk about women using degrading, predatory language and the other 25% think it.
that's just how men are.
so people shouldn't be so offended.

again, it's my worst (relationship) nightmare that THAT IS TRUE.

so thanks for that, social media world.

Wednesday, June 01, 2016

a rant, a point, an awkward story

my rant, supported by anectdotal evidence.
as an older, single lady, interactions with all men are a little bit awkward. because no matter my intentions, i'm "on the market" a.k.a. "open for business." so it doesn't matter if the guy i'm talking to is old or young or married or single or all of the above. if i'm talking and joking around, the guy might think i'm flirting with him, other third-parties might assume we're flirting, or i might actually be flirting.
the world will never know.
for example, the other night i went to a big group outdoor movie party thrown by one of my friends. i was standing around the snack table with a frenemy and a couple of people i didn't know and started joking around with one of the guys and one of the girls. then a girl came up and kissed the guy we were talking to and we all kind of dispersed. as we walked away my frenemy was like, "so you didn't notice his wedding ring, did you?" a question which suddenly morphed what i thought was a  two-minute banter with a funny stranger into me flirting and being rebuffed by a married guy.

my point.
my point is simply that whether you're married or single, there's a certain level of self control and adapted behavior that has to happen as you become stupid grown up.

i don't know what it's like for the married folk, but as an extroverted singleton, every once in a while you just have to say, "what the fudge" (tom cruise's character in risky business just rolled over in his grave. because, yes, he died of syphillis.) and do a little harmless flirting.
it's healthy.
and good for the complexion.
and good for the soul.

awkward story.
last night, i went to 7/11 at like 11:00 at night and bought a giant soda. as is my prerogative to do. the cashier was this really cute young guy. like, young. but really cute. so while he rang me up, i chit chatted.
looking at my giant soda i said, "hopefully this'll keep me going for another couple of hours."
"ya? why? what're you up to?"
"i have to finish a paper."
[surprised] "for what class?"
"oh. i'm taking a bunch of psychology classes."
"cool. i'm only taking one class this semester."
"which one?"
"rock climbing."
"that sounds fun. i've been thinking about taking a month of classes at momentum with some friends. are you climbing outdoors?"
"ya... blah blah list of places in the area for rockclimbing blah... it starts pretty early in the morning, but my dad has been really cool about dropping me off."

and then i got a pit in my stomach and blacked out until i got home.

i flirted with a fetus.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

news binge

uggh. over a 24 hour period, i have STUPIDLY read...


and this:

and i spent way too much time reading this:

oh! and i also read this:

... and now i feel overwhelmed and overloaded. and angry. and the kind of sad that stems from not being able to be helpful in any way.
and asexual.

there's probably a word in german that encompasses all of that.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

i'm taking an online social psychology class which involves a weekly "discussion post."
i have copied and pasted old blog posts for two of the five posts so far.
which i think serves as proof that my blog is therapy.

also serves as proof that i'm too lazy to come up with original thoughts, but, whatever.

***update: 02-17-16***
three out of six.

Friday, February 12, 2016


i’ve been taking a pottery class the last month or so. and it’s been so much fun. i’m not good, but i’m decent enough. and i have enough of a sense of humor to really enjoy the weird stuff i unintentionally create. (so many ashtrays!) plus i my teacher is really great and chill.
i was sick last saturday so i went in on monday night for a make-up class, which isn’t supposed to be a big deal. you slip in and find a wheel in the back corner and go about your business. people do it all the time. so i slipped in and found a wheel in the corner and i started to prep my stuff.
and then the teacher stopped teaching class and started giving me a hard time for being there. he announced that he had a full class and i needed to leave.
i don’t know what it was about me that rubbed him the wrong way, but there was another non-class member who came in the same time as me and set up a wheel and started throwing with no problems. i’d counted the number of people in the room and the number of wheels when i first got there and there were enough. so when he confronted me, i pushed back. i explained that i’d been sick on saturday, that i’d tried to come in the saturday before and waited an hour for some space to free up before i gave up and went home. i also offered that instead of throwing, if he’d just let me trim my two finished pieces, i’d be done by the time he finished his instructions to his class.
he begrudgingly agreed to let me trim my pieces. he made me move my stuff from one corner to another, which, you know, whatever. he also stopped his class to tell me that i shouldn’t put a trough on the wheel and i should just let the clay shavings spray everywhere.
i made this face...
...and then went about my business.
while i trimmed my pieces i listened to his instructions to his class. and -shocker- he was a total dick. he talked for an hour, made them take notes and refused to give any one-on-one help because he wanted them to work from their notes.
as soon as i finished trimming, i cleaned up my wheel and moved to a table where i could finish add some pieces. the class dispersed and everyone miraculously found a wheel. in fact, there were two wheels to spare.
the teacher came up and asked me what i working on. i thanked him for letting me trim my pieces and explained my project while self-deprecatingly adding, “i’m probably over-reaching.”
i feel like a good teacher would’ve helped by, oh i don’t know, teaching me, but what i got was, “um… ya. you’re gonna need a lot of slip. like a lot of slip.”
so i looked at him and said, “ok then.” and turned back to what i was doing. i finished up my trimming, went into the glazing room, googled “slip” on my phone, put some on my pot, and placed my finished piece on the firing shelf right as the teacher walked in.
“i wouldn’t do that if i were you”, said he.
sigh… “ok. what would you do if you were me?”
“i’d spray it the crap down and i’d leave it in a bag for a week before i set it out.”
“oh! because the pieces i added have a different consistency than the pot?”
“no. because the pieces you added have more water content than the pot.”
“... super. i’ll wrap this up until next saturday. thanks for the tip. do you have any more advice?”
and he just rolled his eyes and walked away.
horrible man.

so why am i blogging this instead of posting it on yelp?
because i walked out of the art center that night angrier at myself than the teacher. i was so mad that i let someone be such a jerk to me. what i thought would be a relaxing evening, wound up being stressful and demoralizing.
and i realized that it was in large part because i had revertigo-ed. i’d reverted into passive, college art student kat, the poor dummy who made it into an art program out of sheer luck and was really hard on herself for not innately knowing the things she was supposed to be taught in her classes.

i’d forgotten how hard it was for me. or, maybe it’s not that i’d forgotten, but i’d grown emotionally distant from it. i remember stuff about being an art student, but i didn’t remember the the feelings part of it. truthfully? i hated byu’s art program. because the teachers were mean (i got publicly shamed a lot) and they didn’t want to teach (when i went to them with a question, they were almost always more likely to roll their eyes at me then help me).
it was brutal.
it also created a weird dynamic among classmates. not the friendliest, most supportive of atmospheres. also, i’d totally forgotten what it was like to have an entire classroom of my peers stare at me while a teacher got after me.

so i’m letting myself off the hook for momentarily reverting into art school kat. and i’m letting the pottery dick off the hook for being bad at his job.
this time.
but so help him, if i ever have to deal with him again.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

700 a.k.a. the force

on sunday, i taught my niece/”rey” about the force. and how to properly use it when you’re losing your lightsaber battle with your aunt/”dark vader”.
and how to pretend to get your hand cut off at the climax of the light saber battle.

...this is the first time in my life that my biological clock has ever ticked.

Thursday, January 21, 2016


walking out, after going to see an opera...

familiar voice: hey, kat.
i turn around and see a guy i went to high school with.
me: oh, hey there! how've you been for the last twenty years?
him: pretty good. you?
me: same... well. see ya.
him: bye.

and we both went our separate ways.

i feel like this is the ideal high school reunion scenario.

Thursday, January 07, 2016

on or before the third sentence of my second interaction with every person ever, i will inevitably get asked, “how tall are you?” or “how tall are you?” or the super casual, “so how tall are you anyways?”

it’s a thing.

i’m so not offended when people ask, it's just that i get asked it a lot. like, a lot. (i do get a little bit offended when people make me stand back-to-back with them. and i get super annoyed when someone asks how tall i am and then doesn’t believe my answer. come on, guy. i don’t somehow think that taking an inch off my height will suddenly make you think i’m a beautiful, delicate flower.)

i guess i just don’t understand why people need a quantifiable height. they need my espn stats. they need a concrete number. i’ve never been on the other side of it that i can think of. i don’t think that i ask people their exact height or weight or age or ethnic heritage, but maybe i do and i just don’t realize it.

i guess- if i’m being honest about why i’m blogging about this- i just want to be a tease. because admit it, every single one of you are now thinking, “okay, so how tall are you?”

Monday, November 30, 2015

i'm the worst

yesterday, i was chit chatting with some random people before church started and, since i didn’t know the guy who was sitting next to me, i introduced myself.
“i’m kat, by the way.”
“i’m buddy”
-- interjection #1: i go to a ward of 800+ people. it’s chaotic and crowded and pheromonic, and the odds of casually running into someone you want to run into are slim to none. fate doesn’t bring you your new best friends, you have to put actual effort and scheming into finding people.--
-- interjection #2: but of course, fate ALWAYS has time to screw with me.--
-- interjection #3: knowing this, i immediately knew whom fate had seated next to me.--
“buddy, what’s your last name?”
sigh… “do you know [my boss. the boss. the first name on the firm's letterhead.]?”
“... oh... you’re THAT kat.”
“yep. i am.”
“... i didn’t plan this!”
“i don’t even know how you would plan this.”
[awkward silence. church starts]

okay. why don’t we rewind a couple of months?

i started a new job in march. it’s been overwhelming and stressful and i’m not sure that it’s the direction i want to be going, but the main thing that stops me from cutting ties is the fact that i really REALLY like the people who i work for. as a paralegal, i will never have attorneys as truly decent as the men i work for.
so i’ve been trying really hard to find my footing and get better at what i do. and i've also been trying to get on good terms with the big bosses who are really nice, but- let’s be honest- don’t know who most of the paralegals are. the other day, the big boss was trying to fix up one of the paralegals with a guy in his ward. she pointed out that she wasn’t mormon and wasn’t particularly into really tall mormon guys. then, almost in unison, the lunchroom suggested that hey, you know who's probably is really into super tall mormon guys…

and that’s how i met the big boss.
he was very kind about the whole thing and really talked-up this tall, mormon guy named buddy and then asked if i would maybe want to be fixed up with tall, mormon buddy.
and even though i hate blind dates (because of how awkward i am and because of how high the chance is that when i open the door, he'll look disappointed), i really wanted the big boss to like me. so i gave him my phone number to give to tall, mormon buddy and told myself (secretly hoped) that nothing would ever come of it.

but of course, a week later, tall, mormon buddy left me a voicemail. because he's a normal human. i am not. i hate talking on the phone and i only have about 10 minutes on any given day when i could call people, and those 10 minutes are usually around or after 10:00 p.m. so i put off calling him. and i already knew i was busy for the next two weekends with halloween stuff. so i put off calling him until after halloween. 

then he left me another message around mid-november. and if he hadn’t called while i was still at work, i would’ve answered the phone, i swear. i thought about texting him, but since he was calling me, i didn’t know if he would think texting was rude and anyways, i knew that i was busy that weekend and the next weekend was thanksgiving…

okay. so i’m the worst.
i am THAT kat.

but to all of you who think i'm awful, don’t worry because fate guided tall, mormon buddy to me so that i would be forced to take responsibility for my actions.

tall, mormon buddy spent sacrament meeting flirting pretty hard with the girl on the other side of him, who flirted back pretty hard. and after sacrament ended, they continued to flirt whilst also blocking the exit to our pew, so i had to sit and wait for them to finish.which was awesome for me.

when they finally said their goodbyes and the girl walked out, tall, mormon buddy turned to me and stared. 
i finally broke the awkward with, “well… sorry i didn’t call you back…” 
.  .  .  .“ 
“okay. well. it was nice to meet you.” 
.  .  .  .“ “bye.

in closing, i feel like the moral of this story is best expressed by a quote from the contemporary classic film “can’t hardly wait”:
“just so you know. judging from my little experience, i kind of believe in fate. it just works in really screwed up ways sometimes.”

happy thanksgiving.

Monday, October 19, 2015

jury duty

i was summoned for jury duty today. i walked in all cocky because there was no way an attorney would put a know-it-all paralegal on a jury. i mean, come on. i know just enough about the law to be obnoxious. so my plan was to sit as patiently as i could through voire dire and then buy a giant cookie with my juror monies once i was dismissed.

after filling out a questionnaire (where i wrote my job title in really big print and was as vague as ethically possible about my newspaper/magazine-reading habits) and pretending to listen to the clerk talk about the joys and wonders of jury duty (and also about air travel tips because i guess she used to work for an airline), we watched an instruction video. the video showed a trial and i thought to myself, “hu. how do i know that judge?”
and i thought about it for a second.
and then i looked over at the man sitting next to me.
then up at the tv judge.
over at the guy next to me.
he finally leaned over and said, “that’s a handsome judge, hu.”

and that’s when i knew i was screwed. because if it comes down to whether to put a paralegal or a state supreme court judge on your jury… who would you choose?

i started to mentally prepare myself to spend the day pretending to care about the legal process and the 6th amendment (see? just enough legal knowledge to be obnoxious). but right when we were getting ready to go, the judge (not the tv judge) walked in and said the parties settled and we could go.

and i sprinted outside to freedom. aka 7/11. where i bought a giant cookie with my juror monies.