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

reunion

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?”
“jones.”
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.

Sunday, September 06, 2015

creepy

part of being a human woman is dealing with creeps. thankfully, in my very safe corner of the world, dealing with creeps is annoying and sometimes degrading, but rarely dangerous.

so as a human woman, i've developed a way to deal with creeps so i can move on with my life. i tend to cope by diffusing the situation. genuine creepers get off on a woman's discomfort and so i refuse to let them see my discomfort and i react as condescending and maternal as possible towards them. it usually works. most of the time i'm able to take control of the situation and extricate myself.

here's my example. yesterday, i went to the sheepdog trials in midway. and a random vendor came up to me and handed me an ipod, took my arm, and said, "come with me." he started to lead me towards a booth that said, "massages" and - because i hate massages-  i said, "oh! no thank you." and tried to hand him the ipod back. he wouldn't take the ipod and he didn't let go of my arm.
there was another guy in the booth who joined him and complimented my arms and my body in general.
i was creeped out, so i put on a friendly, patronizing smile and said, "thank you! that's so kind of you. i lift a lot of weights."
"ya? so you're like a body builder?"
"yep. i am a body builder."
"really?"
"absolutely. i'm incredibly strong."
"wow. that's amazing." the guy, by this point, had let go of my arm.
"thank you. it is amazing." i set the ipod on a table and started backing away.
"if you don't want a massage, maybe you'd like a lap dance."
"no thanks, but good luck to you." and i walked away.

it was a two-minute interaction that was creepy, but not threatening. and the only reason it stuck with me was because it happened right in front of my five-year-old niece. and while it was happening, i kept wondering if i should be handling it differently so that my niece's takeaway isn't that it's okay to be treated that way.

i don't have a conclusion or a point. except that, if possible, don't be creepy.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

rejection

i have a really hard time dealing with rejection.
and ya, sure, don’t we all?
but even after 20ish years of liking boys, i just haven’t figured out the whole resiliency thing. i swear i’m trying. i’m trying to put myself out there more and risk being rejected because, frankly, the guys i’m interested do not notice me and i’m tired of going out with guys who are basically a yawn in corporeal form.

when i say that i’m trying to be less ambiguous with the guys i’m interested in, i mean that i actually let them see that i like them so that when they don’t ask me out, i know it’s because they’re not interested, and not because i purposely ignored them for a month so that they wouldn’t know i like them. and then a year goes by and i’m still waiting for them to call me and say something like, “wow! i’m so impressed by how indifferent you are to me! let’s go out!!”

so, ya, that’s my goal.

and i kind of hate it. worst goal ever.

because so far, i’m getting rejected. which makes me feel, well, let’s just say, not so great about myself. and my stupid, rat face. and my stupid, spazzy sense of humor.
but there’s also kind of a relief in being able to be done. to, in one day, be able to delete someone from my phone and delete all texts and NOT over analyze anything.

i just hope that at some point i’ll be able to, you know, actually date someone i like.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

skit

a buddy of mine asked me to go on a group date with him tonight.
i haven’t been on a group date since college.
but don’t worry! they haven’t changed.
a group of us drove up to millcreek canyon and made tinfoil dinners. five couples. four of the five guys live together (my date was the odd man out), and each of them brought a girl who was way too cute for them (my date was not the odd man out… kidding!).
we made tin foil dinners and sat around the bonfire and chit-chatted and then there was a lull in the conversation.
one of the guys said, “ok, ladies. we’re gonna do a skit for you.”
and i laughed because, haha, good times. remember when we were 17 and did stuff like that?
but then he was like, “okay, come on guys. let’s do a skit.”
and the guys stood up and conferenced with each other for a second and then... well… they did a skit.
and then they did a second one.
and then one of the other guys showed us a game he learned in scouting.
and then someone proposed that we go around the circle and share our most awkward kissing story.
and maybe i’m just inhibited, but the only thing going through my head was, “i’m 34 years old i’m 34 years old i’m 34 years old…”

i mean, it was fine. bonfire and a skit… whatever. but i have a new theory that the mere act of going on a group date makes people revert to 16 year olds. or age into scouting leaders.

either way.

Monday, August 03, 2015

botox and bookclubs

a few months ago i won a free botox treatment.
actually, i won either my choice of a botox treatment or a latisse treatment. both options scared me, but eventually i decided to get botox.
i hear two questions come back at me through the internets.
1- why?
and 2- why???
you guys ask such good questions.
mostly because i can’t imagine ever paying for botox. i don’t mind wrinkles, especially smile lines. also, i’m in my 30’s so i don’t have a lot of wrinkles to worry about.
but i’m curious about it. and it was free.
so i decided to inject poison into my face in an attempt to hold on to my fading beauty-- for science.
anyhoodle- i got 5 injections right between my eyebrows by an expressionless, duck-faced nurse  who calmly told me not to bend over or lay back for the next 8 hours so that the botox wouldn’t move around.


i worry that maybe you skimmed over that paragraph. again, the duck-faced nurse told me not to bend over because the poison in my face would move around.
it took maybe ten minutes. it didn’t burn or sting, but it did feel like someone was sticking a needle into my head 5 times and it did make this faint popping noise that for some reason freaked me out more than anything else.
the most terrifying part? when i stopped for gas on my way home and bent over to pick up something and remembered that i wasn’t supposed to bend over or the botox would move around.
and three days later, i looked 10 years younger! or exactly the same.
i don’t know that i feel or look any different. i can still move my face, but my scowling is a little less scowly and it takes more effort for me to make certain squinty expressions. which actually makes me wonder if i’m somehow making my face muscles stronger so that once the botox wears off (in a few months) i’ll have mega muscles between my eyebrows. (science!)
i used to mentally picture a certain look when i thought of botox. but now that i know what a little bit of botox actually looks like, i realize that the creepy, expressionless duck faces are because of fillers and overuse. also, now that i know what a little bit of botox looks like, i’m pretty sure it is way more prevalent than i thought it was.
so would i get botox again? sure-- if it were free. it’s more than i would pay to change something that i don’t really care about (i’m way more likely to spend money on my hair or clothes or something). but it wasn’t invasive, it wasn’t painful. the biggest downside i can think of is how addictive it could be. botox takes a few days to kick in, so for the first few days after i got it, every time i looked in the mirror i would glare into the mirror to see if i could still move my eyebrows. and then i’d look at my face and look at all the lines i never noticed before. but eventually i forgot about it, because i truly don’t care. i’m insecure about other things. but i can see how it would get addictive to dull and eventually fill in every wrinkle.
(botox: a gateway drug.)
the last thing i want to talk about is a discussion i had in my book club about a year ago. we read “snowflower and the secret fan” (mediocre) and got into a discussion about footbinding (a big part of the book). my understanding of chinese footbinding is this… when girls were about 5, their toes were broken and folded under their feet. their arches were also broken. then the feet were bound tightly so that the deformed, broken foot couldn’t heal or grow properly. women were essentially crippled and unable to walk with ease. they had to stay indoors and sometimes died from infection. the reason for doing this was that the small delicate feet were attractive and helpful in getting a good husband.


so in my book club we talked about how barbaric it was to force young girls to do this. seriously, please google "foot binding" if you want to vomit.
and then, of course, the discussion turned to the barbaric things women do to their bodies now. plastic surgery and whatnot. and i was the only person to fight the correlation.
because taking a young girl and breaking her feet painfully and slowly, crippling her and potentially killing her, with the sole aim of marrying her off is cruel and disempowering.
a woman getting plastic surgery still has control over what is being done to her body. she might be doing it for disempowering reasons, but she is still the one doing it. also, if a woman gets breast implants, she isn’t permanently crippling herself.
even metaphorically.
i don’t know how i feel about people getting plastic surgery. where is the line between vanity and self care? why is it more socially acceptable to get veneers, than a nose job? why is it okay to get a facial, but not botox? why is it okay to wear makeup as long as it doesn’t look like you’re wearing makeup? why (in my religion) is it okay to wear a tight shirt, but not one that shows your shoulders?
i think the answer is that it’s a personal decision and there are a lot of internal factors that can’t be quantified. my general belief is that my main focus on any given day should be outwards. my focus should be on working and learning and helping people. i also know firsthand that sometimes my insecurities can be a horrible and paralyzing form of vanity. ideally, i would say that i should just transcend my insecurities. i should exercise and eat right because of how healthy it makes me, not because i’ll lose weight. i should love the way i look without makeup because, hashtag i woke up like this. but that isn’t going to be possible. so i try and find a happy medium. i do what i can to feel good about myself so that when i leave my house, i don’t think about what i look like.


where do you guys and gals fall on this issue? do you think cosmetic procedures increase confidence or do you think they cause confidence problems?


basically, here’s what i want you to take away from my botox and book club experiences:
1. character matters more than appearance, 2. you can’t serve other people if you’re preoccupied with the way you look, 3. footbinding was barbaric. please do not bind your daughters’ feet.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

cute

i posted an announcement for a service activity on my ward’s facebook page. two seconds later, some random dude sent me a message…

dude: hi.
[i wait 15 minutes for additional information. nothing comes.]
me: hi there! are you emailing about tomorrow’s activity?
dude: no i just thought you were cute.



so don’t worry, you guys. all’s right with the world.
because i’m cute.

i know you thought i was trying to single-handedly plan and promote a weekly service activity at an assisted living center. i know.
but... c’mon. i think we can all agree that deep down i was really just hoping that someone would notice how cute i am.
because that is my goal in life at all times.
and honestly? i’m relieved that someone finally had enough courage and natural charisma to point it out in the most flattering way possible: a two-letter facebook message.
and -truly- i just hope my gratitude and, above all else, cuteness came across in my lack of response to him.