PlatKat.com

I was having a pretty boring day, so this afternoon I got ordained as a minister at the Universal Life Church. As the site says, I can now perform wedding ceremonies, baptisms, house blessings, and any other ritual or ceremony, AND I can start my own ministry. Having all these new authorizations really spiced up my day.

This all happened not a moment too soon, as my friend at work (who takes religious rites very seriously) is in need of a charismatic clergyperson like myself to preside at her wedding. Now that I carry the authentic credentials to perform such a task, it is only natural that I graciously offer my services. As I am clearly a definitive authority in all matters concerning strong, long-lasting, unbreakable commitments and have the quality expertise to counsel young couples in such matters, I will probably start my own wedding business in the near future, charging a small fee in the neighborhood of eight thousand dollars and a trip to Honduras.

Since this will be my first wedding, I’ve gotta admit that I’m a little nervous. There are a bunch of books and kits I can buy, but in the end I’m gonna totally cheap out and just wing it. Every wedding is different, so no one will think I’m doing anything wrong when I show up in a Hawaiian mumu and recite the words to “All the Way” by Frank Sinatra.

*cry* So beautiful! The only thing better than a wedding is a funeral.

Came across the word “infinitesimal” in a document I’m revising.

*shudder*

Also, I have been working at this company for exactly six months. I emptied my recycle bin in the mailroom for the first time. It is a crazy whirlwind of activity here, I tell ya.

“So do you have wings or what?”

Twenty-one days ago, I woke up very early to see my orthodontist. After filling out some paperwork, I killed some time in the waiting room with my camera phone.

I was led into the torture chamber where a bunch of nice assistants prepped me for my impending doom. I was wearing a 40s-era cardigan from my grandmother, so one of the assistants loaned me a smock.

They reclined my chair and stuck a bunch of junk in my mouth to keep it open. My gag reflex didn’t like this, so I don’t know why I look somewhat happy in this picture.

After what seemed like 100 years, they finally got the bottom row in. It hurt like hell, so here I am, simultaneously Brakkin’ out while maintaining the genuine afflicted look of a wounded animal. “How could you do this to me?”

They put the top ones on and I went straight to Starbucks to reward myself with a frapuccino. I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided to do this. My teeth weren’t awesome, but they weren’t bad. I thought the braces would at least make me look cute in a little-girlish way, but instead I just looked like I had a lot of gunk in my mouth. Also, while it’s fun to feed the fetish, it would be nice to be taken seriously during the other 23 hours of the day when I’m not having sex. It’s kinda silly, but I made a real effort not to show teeth when I smiled.

Seriously, I look and feel like a fucking teenager now. There are many facets to this behavior, but the braces sure aren’t helping. It’s kind of sad knowing that for at least the next year, my milkshake will no longer bring all the boys to the yard. There will be no teaching, and therefore, I will not have to charge.

After about a week and a half, I decided to seize the day. I wore braids, a cute outfit, and a giant brace-face smile. “Hi, I’m Kat, and I’m 12 years old… like it.”

Later that day I found a feather and stuck it in my hair so I looked like some kind of cracked-out child of Pocahontas. When I met my friends for dinner that night, they seemed more amused than surprised. I got a bunch of you-look-really-young comments, and then the waitress carded me. Just me. I looked at her with really wide eyes and asked, “Why?” Luckily she had a sense of humor.

Only 344 more days to go…

I’m so happy that HEB has such a fabulous assortment of everyday household items. With Gus being out of town for the next couple of days, I’m going to have to stock up!

(I just keeding! Aye Dios mio…)

Congratulations, us! Last weekend, Gus and I celebrated our third year of blissful alternative living in sunny Austin, Texas. Making this event extra-special were visits from some of our out-of-town friends, namely Jim and Adrienne, who hail from Oklahoma, my college friend Kevin, who was lucky enough to escape Houston for an evening, and our friend Leshia, who lives in Toronto now. Hoot!

So… I’m always really surprised when a lot of people show up, and even more so when they show up with STUFF! April made us the most badass cakes in the world (see above), and beyond tasting great, they had toys on them. Toys! And there were Peeps, which don’t taste so good after you barbecue them, we learned. Since it was close to Easter, Brent and Jen hid eggs with stickers, jelly beans, and chocolate all over the house. Also, there were bunny ears. Miranda brought tasty coleslaw, chocolate-covered strawberries, and her new boyfriend. Sweet. Sarah and Erik brought their new baby, the most chilled-out child that ever lived, I believe. It’s also the only child that has entered our house since we’ve owned it. Amy continued to wow me with her cooking expertise as she set up shop in the kitchen to prepare portabella mushrooms and vegetables to barbecue. And Kent got a crash course in white wine when he ventured out to pick up a bottle of my favorite, Luna di Luna. Other assorted alcoholic beverages were in abundance as well, and thanks to everyone who made that possible, from every part of me but my liver.

I’m sure I forgot to give someone a shout. D’oh in advance.

There were also a ton of people there that I haven’t mentioned by name who I was of course thrilled to get a chance to yakkity yak with. And a bunch of people brought friends, which was also awesome. Until proven wrong, I always assume that if we have the good taste to be friends with each other, then you’ll have the good taste to be friends with cool people… with whom I’d also like to be friends. Make sense? No? Well then, I’ll just say, I can’t believe how lucky I am to know so many extremely cool, friendly people. Every time I have a party I am reminded of this, and it keeps getting better. It’s just amazing. *sniffle*

I took some pictures of the early crowd. After about half of the guests showed up, I became unable to operate light, uninteresting machinery. Stuff kept happening, but like me, no one was interested in documenting it. C’est la vie.

Well, that’s it in an Easter egg. Once again, I was worried about throwing a party on a holiday weekend, and once again, it was a success. I guess you shouldn’t mess with success. See you on Thanksgiving!

After enjoying a 3pm Saturday brunch, my friends and I encountered a roadrunner in the Z-Tejas parking lot.

As with all land-roaming birds, my first instinct was to chase it. I don’t know why I still feel this way, as my home of Illinois is also home to some of the meanest geese you ever seen. Also, when I was a stupid kid (rather than a stupid adult), I managed to catch a baby duck as its mother and siblings fled. It was pretty cool for about three seconds. Then I asked myself the all important question, What the hell am I going to do with this? and let it go. Mama duck hung out and yelled at me the whole time I had it, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t too excited about taking care of it after I’d touched it. Either way, it’s dead now.

So I took off semi-chasing this stupid bird. Then, out of nowhere, this anvil dropped out of the sky and fell perfectly square on my head. I was flat as a pancake! But that didn’t stop me from taking this picture as it continued to scuttle away from me, pausing to make sure I was ready for his next diabolical scheme.

Seeing that I was not giving up, the roadrunner painted a tunnel on the side of a boulder while I wasn’t looking. I did however see him run through the tunnel, so I broke into a full sprint to follow him. Unfortunately, I soon found I had charged into the side of a boulder and was pancaked once again.

At that point, I was really pissed off. That feathered fucker foiled me twice! He probably thought the third time would be a charm and that he’d finally be rid of me. I watched him attempt to run (er, fly) off the edge of a cliff (er, railing) in hopes that I would chase him. But instead of walking in mid-air as he can, I would fall to certain doom (the woods behind Z-Tejas). Not me! Not this time! I snapped my last picture and retreated to the air-conditioned car that awaited me. Us coyotes have come a long way, baby.

Since I was really excited about today (and really exhausted from yesterday), I woke up at 5am this morning and began my hour and a half of physical hell earlier than usual. When I was through, I enjoyed a nice, pre-dawn walk with Zoey through the park.

The sky was a few beautiful shades of purple, and the air was filled with sounds of birds chirping. The most noticable of them was that of a cardinal sitting at the top of a tree right at the beginning of our walk. With his bold colors and shrill cry, he was seriously on the prowl.

A little further down the path was another cardinal. Same deal: top of a tree, tweeting his head off, presumably looking for action. Well, it’s springtime. Everyone should be datin’ and matin’ (but if they’re human, not procreatin’).

And further still, a third cardinal had strategically placed himself at the top of yet another tree, announcing his availability to the world. So I began to wonder about the population of female cardinals in my neighborhood. I was also thinking that they may have better luck if they join forces and go cruisin’ for chicks together like guys do when they go to bars in hopes of jocking some random drunk sluts. But if adult male cardinals go cruisin for chicks, does that make them pedophiles?

When you’re in a public bathroom stall and not sure if you’re the only one in the entire bathroom, do you check for feet?

I may end up cross-posting this question because I’m really curious (at least from the girls’ perspective) as to whether or not it is a common practice. Checking for feet is simply lowering one’s head just below the level of the side of the stall but far enough over the sometimes skanky floor, just to see who else might be in there. I want to find out how many other people do this so I can determine whether or not I should stop before I awkwardly meet eyes with another feet-checker someday.

I am a periodic feet-checker, meaning I don’t check for feet every time I go to a public bathroom. I’d say maybe one in ten visits involve a feet-checking of some type.

Times when I would check for feet include, but are not limited to the following:
-I hear a noise, and am not sure if it came from within the bathroom or not
-I’m about to make a noise, and want to see if I have an audience
-Someone in the bathroom definitely made a noise, and I want to see if I know the performer

I’m not sure what feet-checking frequencies and justifications say about a person. I would venture to guess that a chronic feet-checker is very insecure, or, if they would behave the same way no matter what they found when they checked for feet, perhaps simply very curious. Someone who doesn’t check for feet at all may be at ease with their bodily functions, but could also be censoring themselves before they know whether they are alone or not.

Is checking for feet a good idea? It is for me, but you shouldn’t do it. I’d prefer to maintain my own feet-checking practices without worrying about the possibility of yours ruining them. OK? OK.