Good... And Good for You

I’m not a hiker. I mean, I'm a hiker on the most basic level where "hiking" is walking on dirt. But I’m not someone who puts effort into hiking. What I mean is, there are people who travel and camp and have gear and go through a lot of effort to… walk on dirt. And I wish I was that person. I wish I had a mantra that involved the word “adventure” instead of a mantra that involved the phrase “just don’t spend all day watching Netflix, okay Kat? Come on.”   I’ve been trying to change that up. Not necessarily change my nature, but rather work with my existing, Netflixy nature to expand my experiences. So one of my goals this spring and summer was to hike every trail I could find that’s within a five to ten minute drive from my house (because when you live in Salt Lake City, that’s an easily achievable goal), and it's been fantastic. I found some amazing trails and I now hike two to five times a week. It’s worked out exponentially better than I planned.  Valley View...

I know for sure that the human brain is more evolved than any other animal’s brain because of its ability to troll itself. Seriously, my brain can full-on PUNK me. Just for the heck of it. Por ejemplo! I can send a text to a buddy and then 30 minutes later my brain will be like... 🧠 :   What if you had accidentally sent that text to your ex-boyfriend from 3 1/2 years ago, instead of sending it to your buddy? Me: Oh my gosh, don’t even joke about that! That would be the worst thing ever and I would shrivel up and DIE. 🧠 :   Haha, right? But (funny story) you DID! You DID send it to him. Me: Wait, what? No way. 🧠 :   Yes way. Remember? You weren’t really paying attention and instead of typing in your buddy’s name, you typed in your ex’s name! And now you’re gonna have to live under a rock! Me: OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH *checks phone* No. See? I sent the text to my buddy. 🧠 :   Hahaha! Idiot! Why would you have texted your ex-boyfriend from 3 1/2 years ago? That’...

As a young nerdling, I freaking LOVED that Proclaimers “500 Miles” song. I still do. I scream-sing it whenever it comes on the radio. But as a tired, jaded, scream-singing adult, I’m singing a song of lies. Because I know full well that I wouldn’t walk 500 miles (and 500 more) for anyone. I won’t even set my Tinder “distance setting” above 7 miles.

I had to go through some papers from the 80s and, in the process, I accumulated a pile of 80s printer paper edges. So I did what any respectable child of the 80s would do and turned them into 80s printer-paper caterpillars. 80s. ...(wait, or was it the 90s?)

During my little hike up the Avenue Twin Peaks, the song “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” started playing.  And I just want to point out that, um actually, Marvin, there are DEFINITELY mountains high enough to keep me from you. In fact, I’m pretty sure this hill I’m looking at right now is more than high enough to keep me from you. So let’s make our relationship goals a little more attainable, shall we? Something like, “Ain’t no burrito ‘grande’ enough to keep me from gettin’ to you, baby.” ...I should write songs.

I kinda thought it would be a fun, whimsical summer goal to reread (or re-Audible, if I’m being honest) each of my ALL-TIME FAVORITE OF ALL! TIME! EVER! books. But then I started to worry that there’s no way my beloveds (super creepy word choice, Kat) could live up to the hype and I was effectively ruining all of my favorite books. Like when you plan dinner with an old friend that you haven’t seen in over a decade and as you’re driving to the restaurant you think, “Wait. I’ve changed since college. What if they have too? What if they kill puppies for a living?? What if they think dinosaurs and dragons are the same thing??? What if they were always the worst, but I was too stupid to notice it until now?? What if they’re so boring, I panic and start filibustering about how cinnamon is technically a vegetable and pickles are technically fruit???” ... Anywho. So far I've re-listened to "The House of the Spirits," "The Three Musketeers," and "Me Talk Pr...

Let's be honest, each of us really only have four or five truly entertaining stories. Stories that are genuinely funny or compelling and that we know exactly how to tell. Right? So maybe it's just me, but I get SO EXCITED when I make a new friend and I get to tell that person one of my four or five genuinely entertaining stories. This happened to me the other day. I was grabbing dinner with a new friend, and he mentioned something about driving a stick shift, and in my mind I was like, "Oh ya... that reminds me of the time my exboyfriend and I..." and then I realized that I had an AMAZING story that I was going to get to tell for the first time in FOREVER! ... sigh... hello old friend. But then, even though I'd told the story approximately 7.5 billion times (once to every person on earth), I somehow don’t tell it right and it fell flat. Tragedy. Ya. It was like the conversational equivalent of walking into a room with a big cake, but then tripping an...

I tried to start some seeds to plant in my garden, but over the last month they have ALL slowly withered and died. (Hashtag!: Black Thumb) And, as someone who grew up on “Beauty and the Beast,” when the last of my petals fell, I absolutely DID look in the mirror and think, “Whelp! Guess I’m stuck forever as this beast!” But come on. Deep down we all know that, if anything, I’m the footstool dog thing.