Good... And Good for You

One of my all-time favorite movie cliches is when the main lady-character's hair perfectly mirrors her character evolution. Such as it is. I'm not being ironic. Okay, well, maybe I'm being a little bit ironic. But I'm being ironic in that way that circles back to earnest so that neither of us can actually tell whether or not I'm being sincere and so we both walk away feeling confused and frustrated. Now, we could totally get into a discussion about how a woman's hair has always been a means for symbolism in cinema and literature (I'm looking at you Scarlet Letter and Bronte Sisters and any other Victorian novel where a woman stands on a moor and lets down her hair in a moment of untamed abandon). But we won't. Because that's not what I'm about today. Today, I'm about movies. And not good movies. No, I'm all about movies with the subtlety of The Rock flexing the cast OFF his arm and saying "Daddy's gotta go to work."...

When I was 19-years-old, I was in love with a guy in my Biology class. He was hot in that turn-of-the-millennium, Heath Ledger in "Ten Things I Hate About You" way where you ask yourself, "Wait. Is he wearing a shirt with embroidery on it?" I know that description hasn't aged well, but trust me, he was beautiful. My love for him was a special blend of pure and awkward. I made sure to never enter his zone of attention, but I'd always sit a few seats away so I could look at him approximately 137 times during class. As a high school geek trying to remake herself in college, I was basically an expert at loving someone unrequitedly and I was very happy with my new, imaginary relationship. One day after class ended, I was shuffling past Hot Bio Boy's seat when he looked up at me and smiled . I was starstruck. I didn't want to look away. So I didn't. And I walked straight into a wall. This is not an exaggeration! This is something I really did. My...

One night, back in college, one of my dude friends falsely accused me of stealing his car keys and then started ranting about how immature I was. I felt like he was being unfair, so when his back was turned... I stole his car keys. I zipped over to Walmart, made a copy of his keys, and then snuck them back into his apartment without him ever knowing they were gone. For the next three months, every time I saw him park his car, I'd wait for him to walk away and then I'd run down and move his car to the other side of the parking lot in an attempt to convince him that he'd gone insane. Sometimes, when a dude is being kind of a jerk to me, I think about 20-year-old Kat. And then I mentally travel back in time and give her a high five.