PlatKat.com: June 2006

Friday, June 30, 2006

Making a king-size bed by yourself is more painful than most people might imagine.

posted by platkat @ 10:23 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Super. Man...

The new movie, Superman Returns, is not without its good moments, but it's really freakin' long. I was also reminded of why I don't see movies in the theater very often. Noisy children and questionable smells abounded, but at least no one's cell phone was ringing this time.

I think moviegoers have gotten even stupider since the last time I saw a film on the silver screen. I know it's normal for people to be milling around in the theater before the show starts... getting snacks, going to the bathroom, whatever. Hell, I do it myself. But now, it seems like folks are so captured by a moving picture that they feel the need to watch it as they walk all the way down the stairs to the exit, and once they reach the landing, pause to stare for just a few more seconds, just in case there's the slightest chance that they'll never get to watch that 20-foot Coke bottle dancing around again. Morons.

Anyway, the movie... Lois Lane was horribly miscast, and Kevin Spacey absolutely ROARED as Lex Luthor. The scenery was great, the special effects stunning. I was surprised to see Parker Posey in this one, and although I may have chosen someone else for Lex's bitch, I think she's a great actress and there's really nothing she does that I don't like. I thought the script was kind of loose sometimes and the motivations of the characters seemed unrealistic, but I suppose that's my biggest gripe about most movies. Quoting Mr. Cranky, "I may not have a PhD in 'feelm,' but I know what I don't like!"

Back to hating the theater. I sat still in a dark room for a very long time. I brought a Mountain Dew and a peanut butter sandwich, but those didn't keep me from wishing I could get up and move around some. When the movie ended somewhat after 10pm, I was not in a super mood. So what happened when I went to the bathroom? I broke my goddamn thumbnail clean off. Shit!

After saying good-bye to my friends, I hit Wal-Mart on the way home. I needed (and still need) a new notebook for my journal (you didn't think I wrote all my business in here, did ya?) and since I'm extremely anal retentive about certain things, I need to have the exact right notebook. It has to be a spiral Mead NON-PERFORATED college-ruled notebook with a normal cardboard cover, solid-colored and one-subject if possible. Walmart, like every other store so far, didn't have it. Another trip to Wal-Mart made in vain. Fucking Wal-Mart.

I remembered at the last minute that I needed a big suitcase. My recently purchased ladybug suitcase is cute, but lacking in durability. Such is the nature of most cute things.

I found a big ugly suitcase to put all of my ugly clothes in so I can go to New York and Colorado without all my ugly crap spilling everywhere.

At the shortest checkout line, this disgusting excuse for a woman was trying to write a check for some of her shit and pay cash for some of her other shit, and she wasn't being very quick about it. Some equally gross dude was behind her. I thought they were together, but it turns out they weren't, so things took even longer. Miss Cashier wasn't going anywhere, so I didn't expect her to give a shit.

When I got out my wallet to prepare for my three seconds of customer service, I found that some Dew-resi-due had spilled on my nice wallet. Awesome. I played with my chiseled nail some more to pass the time.

As I approached the cashier, a man in dress pants and a leather jacket carrying a helmet asked my cashier for change for a dollar. Seemed to be an odd place to stop in and do that, but whatever. The dress pants and motorcycle getup was also odd. I noticed it, but perhaps only because he was the only thing standing in the way of my purchasing an ugly suitcase so I could get the hell outta there.

I know, I sound like a real bitch, but I was out late last night and still put in a full, productive day at work. My face was a big oil slick that had not seen soap or makeup in over 14 hours. I haven't eaten anything healthy in days and I skipped my morning workout. I felt slimy and jolted. I have two days to get my shit together before I leave town for three weeks. I just know I'm forgetting something...

I walked to my car and opened the trunk. The trunk was full of Gus's clothes, which I still haven't taken to Goodwill because I forget to do anything once it's out of my sight. (I just know I'm forgetting something else...) So I had to shove the suitcase into the back of my little Camaro.

I'd put the car in reverse when a man on a Harley rode up behind me. I figured he wanted the space, so I gave a quick nod and signaled as if to say, "Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving. The parking spot is all yours." The man called out something as he turned off his bike and took off his helmet. When I turned again, I saw the medium-length dark hair and immediately recognized the clothing of the man I'd seen make change just moments ago.

I rolled down my window and asked what was up. He said he saw me in the store and thought I was very attractive. Having mastered the right combination of flattered and embarrassed, I thanked him. I didn't have much else to say, but I thought about how ever since I was 15, I've always been a sucker for Harleys. I'd love one of my own someday, but not today.

"Anyway, I just wanted to tell you. I think you look great. You have a great body." (Etc.)

I thanked him again, but started growing nervous. This guy was quite good-looking himself. Mid-thirties, smooth, articulate, tall, dark... Harley...

In so many words, he asked if I was interested... and I stammered, "You know... thank you so much... those are very nice compliments, but I..."

He asked, "Are you single?"

"No."

"Are you married?"

(Clearly no ring on my finger.) "Yes!"

"Well, if you're up for it, I'd still like to get to know you better."

In man-language, that means, "I want to sleep with you." This could only lead to something very bad.

And lead us not into temptation...

Our conversation needed to end, but the only way to do that quickly would have been to run him over and I'd be a real traitor to my gender for doing such a thing. I said that he seemed like a great guy, but I just didn't think it would be a good idea. And I said, "Sorry."

I feel bad for rejecting him because this incident is probably going to make him less likely to approach a girl he finds attractive in the future. But I also feel good for doing the right thing, and I feel weird simply because this happened at all. Facing rejection sucks, I know. I feel like I've been there a million times. It's so easy to remember what a big blow it is to be the recipient of rejection that I forgot that doling it out can be even harder sometimes.

Isn't this the kind of shit that happens in movies? I mean sure, dorky dudes with nothing to lose try to get my number with stupid pick-up lines all the time, but there was something totally different about this incident, other than the fact that this guy could have easily looked beyond a Wal-Mart for his next piece of ass.

So of course, I'm thinking about all the stuff I could have said to make the incident seem cooler and more moviesque, or at least to have kept me from feeling this weird right now. But what I regret the most is not asking what he was getting change for and why he was getting it there.

In other news, I wish I had a notebook.

posted by platkat @ 10:17 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Help! I'm Being Stalked by Tejano Music!

I swear, there was a band of Mexican dudes with trumpets and accordions following me through the neighborhood while I was walking Zoey and I couldn't escape!! They were following me! Aye aye aye!

posted by platkat @ 6:35 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Friday, June 23, 2006

Love Advice from a Knowledgeable Veteran

I wrote this poem for a friend of mine so he could remember my simple advice for attaining a smashingly divine love life:

Sex is fun! Sex is great!
When she wants sex you cannot wait!

Am I right or what? If everyone followed this simple mantra, there were be a lot more satisfied people out there. I should probably add something about protection though, since it could lead to an increase in the world's population of ankle-biters.

posted by platkat @ 11:10 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Acceptance Speech

Wow... oh my God! Thank you, thank you so much. I am so, so grateful to be receiving such a distinguished award. I never thought I'd be at this podium celebrating my achievements for having the Totally Disgusting Kitchen of the Year.

Ha-ha! Wow, oh my God you guys, sit down! Well, of course, I'd first like to thank everyone at the Academy of Nasty Kitchens for even considering my humble little roach factory to be even slightly on par with all of the vile cesspools of thriving shit in the world today. I also want to thank Lesser Homes and Gardens for devoting 20 whole pages to a cover story and photo essay showing the years of hard work we've put into making our ramshackle dwelling into a true hovel.

I definitely want to thank all of my friends. No matter what you could be doing most weekend nights, you show up at my house time after time, usually careless and shit-faced, ready to eat up all my eatins and drink up all my drinkins. I especially want to thank whoever sneakily hid that banana peel so it could properly rot in my pantry for three weeks, and whoever spilled that beer on the inside of my fridge door, and whoever tried to throw that giant slab of meat into the sink, but missed the sink and gave my cabinets an impromptu staining instead. You guys are the best!

I've really gotta give it up for the makers of Ball Park Beef Franks for preserving hot dogs in some watery slime that eventually leaks out of the package causing it to stick to the shelf of my fridge and leaves a sticky residue once I'm finally able to jerk them loose. [There's innuendo hidden here. Can you find it?] And thanks to the strawberry packers of Texas for always remembering to throw in a few overly ripe strawberries near the bottom of the multi-holed containers so the red goo can ooze through onto the rest of my fruit and vegetables.

A big hells-yeah goes out to Sam's Club for selling chopped broccoli in three-pound bags, which a family of 18 paired with a pack of ravenous bunnies couldn't even begin to finish. Usually I just buy broccoli and forget about it, but the smell this broccoli emitted after just a few short days of negligence ensured I would remember it forever!

Oh yeah, and thanks to Rubbermaid for making my garbage can too small so shit is always falling out of it or behind it. And thanks to my little dog Zoey for pulling shit out of it when something smells particularly foul.

Okay, okay, I swear I'm almost done. I told my agent that I wasn't going to give a really long speech because I didn't want to come off like one of those total jerks who acts like they're so cool just because they won some great award even though everyone could easily forget about them before not even a year goes by and they're living out of a trash can wearily reminscining about what could have been and what used to be. Whew! Oh, and I want to say thanks to my agent!! (What do you actually do anyway?) Seriously. I'm totally finishing right now. I'm just so... so... oh my God y'all... shut up!

Well... I also want to thank Jesus and God and the Virgin Mary and St. Thomas Aquinas and Moses and that one dude with that ark and the animals on it and all dem other holy mutha fucks up there for making all my dreams come true. No matter how much fame, money, and power comes my way, I'll always be a soldier of the Lord. I will always keep the Lord in my heart, for he is the true creator of all that is ostentatiously sloppy, confusingly gross, and deservedly award-winning.

*sigh* And of course, I want to thank the fans... All of you folks who show up at my house who don't really know me that well but can feel comfortable enough to go through my fridge and pantry, eat my food, and leave the remains wherever they land... It's really all about you tonight. Because if you didn't exist, well, my kitchen would be just another half-unkempt room in the house instead of the raving shithole it deserves to be!

Thank you so much! Good night, everyone!

*crescendo reaches climax*

*Kat is escorted offstage by an unusually large cane*

*Kat reaches climax... somewhere else... minus the cane... really*

posted by platkat @ 7:09 PM 3 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Hit Me Baby One More Time

Having braces at 25 has shown me just how many people around the office have a school-girl fetish. I've been given all kinds of great tips on what cute attire I can wear to make everyone's fantasies come true, but I believe even pretending to consider such things would lead to much discomfort among my superiors as well as my eventual dishonorable discharge.

Only 282 more days till I become a woman again.

posted by platkat @ 12:19 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Monday, June 19, 2006

Perplexed in the City

Why do I like to take pictures of myself outside right after I wake up?

Because I'm moving to New York, that's why!! Ack, I can't wait!

posted by platkat @ 7:35 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Sunday, June 18, 2006

They Didn't Have the Big Salad

Last night I stepped inside a parallel dimension: The Canary Hut Pub. The Burnet Road karaoke bar is almost exactly like my neighborhood cocktail bar on Metric, the Canary Roost (also a karaoke bar), except it's... different.

The entrance has a little wall in front of the door, but when you go inside, the large, centralized bar area is right there, but instead of standing next to the stage, you're behind all the tables watching the stage. The bar area is the same size, the stage is the same size, and the chairs and tables are exactly the same.

Typical Roost-style, there's a pool table in the back, some crusty old people around the bar, and some kids trying to tear up the dance floor. The bartenders are pretty similar in appearance and attitude to the bartenders my Canary, but in a strange, less friendly way. And they still allow smoking unlike the Roost, which I think got in trouble.

Still, the place looked the same, but the vibe was totally different. And instead of getting shitfaced, writing "FART" on the bathroom chalkboard, heckling the singers, acquiring a posse, and hollering into the intercom about an after-party at my house, I stayed for a few songs, chatted civilly with Thomas and Trevor for a bit, and went home well before two.

This Canary Roost doppelganger was not the cause of my unusually polished weekend behavior, but was also not a good enough reason to break it. When I wake up tomorrow morning, I will have been completely sober for an entire week. That hasn't happened in a long time, and it had been so long since I gave it enough thought to see if it could happen. But now that it's about to, I couldn't be more excited!

posted by platkat @ 3:45 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Friday, June 16, 2006

Joy to the World... Inside My Head

I can't explain it, but I'm really feeling Christmas right now. The big pine-scented trees, themed window displays, carolers at my front door singing "Silent Night," red and green M&Ms, sitting by the fire with the family while the snow swirls outside the window, something about chestnuts and all that... For some reason, there's a strangely wonderful warm 'n fuzzy Christmas spirit out there and it's got me in the mood for candy canes and playful snowball fights. Anyone else feeling that?

Anyone?

No?

Okay.

But even if it's just me, it's a nice feeling that brightened my day. I may not believe that Jesus is the son of God, but I can enjoy the month of December with the best of them! I enjoy it so well in fact, that I can do it in June.

Is this gay apparel that I'm donning actually a straight jacket?

posted by platkat @ 8:40 AM 1 million people love The Kat

Thursday, June 15, 2006

JOE IS THE MAN

All hail Joe Hershberger, who is cooler than Jesus, who is the hardware tech of all hardware techs, whose last name I probably spelled wrong, but most importantly, who fixed my REAL mp3 player, a 30G Zen Creative Nomad. Now that I have ALL of my favorite workout mixes back at my fingertips and blowing up my ear drums, I need to think of something fun to do with this iPod.

iPod Status: Not Yet Destroyed.

posted by platkat @ 7:53 PM 5 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Running in Circles

Dinner ended early and I was out of stuff to do. So I opened my sidekick and looked at my To Do List.

"Buy running shorts at Academy"

Okay, I can do that. To Academy I went. I returned home empty-handed, but learned some things:

1. My right breast sags lower than my left. Thanks, cute-but-slightly-large pink Adidas top!

2. I have armpit fat.

3. All the short shorts that I guess people are wearing now make me look freakish overall and show off every dimple in my legs at best. They apparently stopped making normal shorts for normal people like me.

In conclusion, I need to work out some more before I go shopping for more workout clothes.

posted by platkat @ 9:09 PM 0 million people love The Kat

If you want to be one of the finer things in life, you can't always enjoy the finer things in life. Here's to my third day of sobriety and eating more sensibly. Yes everyone, it was getting that bad.

I got a lot done last night. I saw a friend, washed my car, did some laundry, made a healthy dinner for myself, removed a virus from my computer, and somehow managed to catch two episodes of "Law & Order" amidst it all. I also cleaned the banana peel gunk off my pantry door using a 409, a knife, and a scouring pad. I am the McGyver of housewives.

Most notably, I completed the obnoxiously extraneous steps for putting songs into my iPod Shuffle. I downloaded the barest version of iTunes I could manage. Even though you can install the software onto your computer and let it totally jack up your music collection, I installed it so I could put songs into my library for the purposes of iPod-loading. It took longer than I thought. I had to copy each song into the library using control commands because Apples don't use a right-clicking mouse. Also, I had to circumvent a zillion silly features just to figure out how to get the library onto the actual device. Bah! What also sucks is that it doesn't "re-shuffle" each time you turn it on. And the "120 songs" boast on the front of the box is a total lie. And since it's white and I'm a slob, it looked dirty from the second I removed it from the box. But it suits my current need for running music.

iPod Status: Locked and Loaded. I still hate it though.

posted by platkat @ 9:24 AM 1 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I'm not sure which is more gross, someone eating a banana at my house and leaving the peel in an inconspicuous place in my pantry, or the fact that it took me several weeks and a swarm of fruit flies to find it.

posted by platkat @ 6:57 AM 1 million people love The Kat

Monday, June 12, 2006

I have an irrational fear of iTunes. It doesn't matter anyway... my computer has a virus so I need to get rid of that before I do anything earth-shattering like download a tool that's going to totally screw up the organization my entire music collection.

iPod Status: Opened and Empty.

posted by platkat @ 8:21 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Making poop jokes when you actually have to poop really isn't so funny.

posted by platkat @ 12:44 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Pounding the Pavement

Apartment hunting in New York is a pain in the ass, especially when it's raining. But I guess I had a better day than this little guy.*

More to come...

*I found this bird in the middle of a busy intersection in Grammercy Park. Even when the auto traffic cleared out, there were still tons of people walking by. When they saw that I was taking pictures of a dead bird, they were all really nice about it and stepped around the bird so they wouldn't ruin my shot. Also, no one looked at me strangely or asked, "What the hell are you doing?" like they do everywhere else. I think I'm really going to like New York.

posted by platkat @ 9:48 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Lessons in Douche-Baggery

Guys hit on me all the time. Most of them are random douche bags and I forget them even before they leave my field of vision. But every now and then, a really special douche bag comes along, with qualities that completely transcend all that is douche-baggedly such that we have not properly coined a term for such enormous douche-baggedness.

Hey, Douche Bag that tried to pick me up last week, this post's for you.

I decided to join Adeline and Ron for a few hours of karoake at my neighborhood cocktail bar, the Canary Roost. We parked and decided to have a cigarette before going inside. We chatted for a few moments when Douche Bag sat down next to me and joined our conversation.

Normally, I don't mind when people join my conversations, especially when the setting lends itself to it. As long as you're friendly and mildly interesting, you're okay with me. Of course, that was not the case here, as the conversation quickly headed south.

I think we were talking about anti-smoking laws, and Douche Bag took the opportunity to talk about all the places he's lived (or goes, whatever), such as the San Francisco Bay Area and Manhattan. He did it with an air of snobbery, attempting to non-verbally communicate that he was very cool and well-traveled. Due to the nature of his job, which he all but openly stated is way better than any of our jobs, he travels all the time and is probably the coolest guy we will ever meet.

Well, I happen to know something about the two places he mentioned, having lived in one and being in the process of moving to another, so I entertain the topic. We talked about living in the Bay Area for awhile. I said I worked at Intuit and he cockily said, "I love stealing their people." I maintained that it was a good company and I enjoyed my time there, and he scoffed, "Heh, yeah, it was a good company." This kind of talk continued for awhile.

Man, this guy is so cool. I wanna have his babies!!

Then I purposely worked into the conversation that my boyfriend (DING DING DING! sirens! not interested! go away!) got a job at Bloomberg and we're in the process of relocating to Manhattan. He asked me what my boyfriend did. When I said he was a programmer, he immediately launched into a futile argument that he could get my boyfriend a better job. Besides the fact that Gus had started his job less than a week ago... no!! Bloomberg is a prestigious financial company in the heart of one of the most amazing cities in the world. Gus is a brilliant, attractive, super-cool guy who doesn't need a fucking douche bag recruiter to find him a job. Just... no!!

I politely tried to tell him several times that Gus was happy with his new position, but this guy just wouldn't let up. Finally, I gave him my card and said, "Hey, it sounds like you have some really interesting leads. Why don't you e-mail them to me and I'll pass them along to my boyfriend and he can tell you if he's interested?"

Some people might find that ballsy, but the card doesn't have my cell on it and I'm not in the office that much anyway. Regardless, I knew Douche Bag couldn't top Bloomberg. We both knew it from the second he started discussing it.

So then he looks at my card and gathers that I'm a tech writer. He couldn't sell me on getting work for Gus, so I guess he figured he'd try to sell me on getting a new job for myself. Also a futile attempt. I love my job. I love it so much that instead of getting a new job making more money in New York, I'm going to work there remotely as long as I can.

Forgetting that I am moving to New York soon, and showing that he hasn't been listening to a word I've said (because New York is pretty much all I can talk about these days), he starts throwing around names of Austin tech companies. "You wanna work at AMD? I got loads of contacts there." I live in Northwest Austin, I really don't see the point in commuting to the southern tip of the city. "Freescale." Don't make me laugh! I know what they pay their writers, and it's not close to what I make. When he said, "Dell," I burst out laughing. No, I don't want to work at Dell. The people at Dell don't even want to work at Dell.

Again, I said, "Look, send me some information about what you have and we'll talk. I don't feel like we're getting much accomplished here."

He looks at my card and says, "Kat?" like he's spitting it out. "That's your name? What's that short for? Kathy? Katrina?" Not that it's important, but it's short for Katherine, which very few people call me. I actually find it rather annoying when people try to pick apart my name. It is not particularly uncommon, and it's a very nice name in my opinion. For some reason though, a certain set of the population can't just take it for what it is and they need to find out what it's short for and call me that like they have some kind of insider info even though they hardly know me. Why does it matter? Plus, they always guess incorrectly, as Kathy is actually a nickname for Kathleen, and Katrina is not a name for whiteys, and I am clearly a whitey. Beyond that, when you get someone's card and it says, "Rob," do you go into a fucking tirade about what it's short for? Even the world's largest douche bag doesn't do that.

Anyway, I'm clearly sick of talking to this asshole and my annoyance is showing. My cigarette is over and I want to go inside and listen to people butcher Carly Simon and Jimmy Buffet songs. I told him that Kat was the name on the card and that's what people call me. He was rather offended by this. He said, "God, why do you have to be so offensive?"

That was my cue to stand up and go inside. Don't interrupt a conversation that I'm having with my friends, spout off about some self-important bullshit, and then start insulting me when you find I'm clearly not interested in anything you have to say. He cornered Adeline and Ron outside of course, and I sat inside with my sidekick for awhile.

It should end here, but it doesn't.

Finally, everyone comes in. Douche Bag goes and sits on the other side of the bar with his douche bag friends. We order our first round of drinks. Douche Bag somehow conveys from across the bar that he wants to buy us shots to apologize or something. But instead of sending them to us like a gentleman, he makes us go over there. I do so reluctantly, as Adeline had taken a shine to one of Douche Bag's friends, who had the same craptastic personality and snot-nosed attitude. We drink. Hooray. And then Douche Bag opens his fucking mouth again. "Hey, I'm sorry about the misunderstanding, but you shouldn't be so offensive..." I don't remember how I responded, but I said something to the effect that he was the one who sat down with my friends and I and he was welcome to leave our group at any time. Also, he can't offer me anything that I could possibly want, so he should either chill out and just have a normal conversation or leave me alone. He said, "I'm just treating you the way I treat my customers." I said, "I'm not one of your customers" and he shut the fuck up and left me alone the rest of the night. Thank you!

People whose entire approach revolves around the "I'll hook you up" motto are really abrasive. If you want to talk to me, sit down and talk to me. I don't need to hear about how great you are or what great promises you're going to make just so you can reneg on them later. Talk about something cool, talk about something sad, talk about your bird-watching grandma. But don't walk around me flaunting shit like you got something.

As an aside, technical recruiter? Give me a break. Technically speaking, they're about as knowledgeable as I can throw them. The ones I've met know very little about the skills different people in the industry possess and how they apply them. They're not all douche bags, but at least one of them is.

posted by platkat @ 5:26 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Monday, June 05, 2006

Free Ass-Kickings All Day!

Today was supposed to be my first apartment-hunting day, but actually calling it that would be misleading. I saw exactly 1 apartment, rode 5 trains, walked 800,000 blocks, and visited 4 cafes... laptop in tow. The plan was to go to a cafe in one of the neighborhoods we'd like to live, look at listings, call some people, and see some apartments. It was a bad plan.

I started my journey by walking down the wrong street and going to a subway station I hadn't been to before. I rode it to a larger station where I could transfer to the 6 train, which goes to all the places I need. Of course, the 6 train from this station is going downtown and I need to go uptown, so I have to ride downtown to the Brooklyn Bridge to transfer to the train going uptown. Sure, that makes sense.

When I got to that station, I had to exit and re-enter on Bleecker Street. That would have been just fine with me, but I had no idea where the hell Bleecker Street was until I walked around for 100 years.

Finally found it, caught my train to Union Square Park where I was trying to go and then busted my ass some more trying to find a Starbucks because they have free wireless.

Wait, no they don't. And guess what I don't have. Money! Yay!

I searched through my laptop case for a good 15 minutes and couldn't find my wallet. Did I forget to pack it? Was it stolen? Who the hell knows? I'll find out when I get home tonight.*

So after about 3 hours of walking around and riding trains, I finally get to settle down somewhere, and I find myself broke and internetless. The only sustenance I had for the rest of the day was a pack of cigarettes and a Nutrigrain bar.

I called Gus and rode the train to Bloomberg. He came to the lobby and brought me a bottle of water, a banana, and $100. The banana was really nice, I thought as I ate it while waiting for the train back to Union Square Park. The last time I could remember eating a piece of fruit, it was from the bottom of a glass of sangria.

After hoofing around the neighborhood for another good hour and some change, I found a cafe with free wireless and started responding to apartment ads. All this shit is going to take longer than I ever imagined. Getting started at 4:30 when everyone goes home at 5 sucks too.

One guy tried to show me an apartment very close to the cafe where I was chilling and couldn't get the super to come down. Awesome. He was trying to be helpful, but I'm a little frazzled from getting lost 20 times and having no money.

As an aside, I also walked by two separate men in two separate neighborhoods, representing two separate age groups and nationalities, who both said, "Sexy" when I passed as matter-of-factly as you would tell someone his shoe was untied. I don't know what's sexy about rushing around with a 200-pound laptop looking confused but ready to kill someone, but it shocked me much more than a traditional cat-call. I didn't show it, of course. (Right?)

Now I'm sitting at Pete's Tavern, which seemed familiar because I've actually been here before, listening people talk about cooler parties than I'd throw, bigger money-making schemes than I could come up with, and more dynamic happenings than I can even begin to understand. New York is schoolin' my ass.

Being in New York City is like getting beat up by your dad. You love each other through the inexplicable laws of nature, but a lot of ridiculously inhumane things need to happen before you're living in harmony. A few glasses of Chardonnay should help me prepare for Round 2.

*Wallet was not stolen. Cool.

posted by platkat @ 6:51 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, June 04, 2006

I Wanted a 13 but They Drew a 31

A few weeks ago, I got thinking about tattoos and how I've traditionally responded to the question, "Any tattoos?" with an emphatic, "No! Definitely not!"

I decided a long time ago that I could never get a tattoo. Tattoos are forever. That Chinese symbol that looks so cool now may feel pretty retarded a few years down the road. You may have thought you would always love the cartoon drawing of Winnie the Pooh's head stuck in a honey jar, but you have to get sick of it at some point. I can't even justify the staying power of the almighty tramp stamp. Sure, it would be nice to have a cute little picture for my man to look at while he's boning me, but what's in it for me?

Beyond the aforementioned factors that most people would consider when deciding on a tattoo (counter-culture trends, personal staying power, and critical audience), I have a fourth one to think about: resulting self-mutilation. I look pretty normal to most people, but I'm actually a neurotic perfectionist. When I decide something isn't exactly the way I want it, I'm going to mess with it until I make it right or get tired trying. That's why I pop zits, pick scabs, hand-wash my car, and repaint my toenails almost daily. I'm not anal about everything, but I guess it would be safe to say I'm really anal about how things look. Especially my things.

So, if I woke up one day and decided I didn't want my tattoo anymore, there's not much stopping me from trying to slice it off with a knife, or maybe file my skin down to a bloody mess. Sure, it would leave a scar, but I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to think about how nothing possibly could be better than getting this horrible abomination off my skin right now, this minute.

But let's say I don't have an affinity for wounding myself and let's also pretend that I'm seriously considering a new tattoo. What would I get? I would need to get something that really defines me. Something that has always been and won't change. Although it would be a kind gesture to write "Gustavo" in cursive on the sparse real estate above my right nipple, that doesn't fit my parameters. Same goes for writing "Austin" in old-English letters across my stomach.

No, the only thing that has been truly constant in my life is writing. From the moment I learned how to do it and up until the very seconds that words are appearing on this page, I've spent hours, days, weeks, months, years writing random crap for personal enjoyment. Most of my jobs have involved writing in some form or another, and when they didn't, I'd take a break and write anyway.

Even though I hate pigeon-holing myself and labeling myself as one thing, I've mustered up the courage to finally admit to myself after 25 years that I am a writer and that's probably not going to change. I may change jobs, fields, cultures, or even dimensions. But when they lock me in that rotting asylum, they better toss in some pens and paper before they throw away the key.

Bear in mind, I don't claim to be a particularly good writer. The only way I can really tell is by what my intended audience thinks. I guess some "writers" would think of that as whoring so-called talent or selling out, but even more than writing, I enjoy having basic human luxuries like food to eat and a roof to sleep under. The money people pay for me to write gets me those things, so I'm not ashamed to admit that I care what they think.

So that deserves a tattoo, right? What kind of picture would scream, "Writing"? I thought about a quill, some ink, and a blank page. Blank, because I won't always be able to commit to what I write or how I'll do it. When you write something that seemed poignant and thoughtful at the time, but turns out to be meaningless drivel, you can throw it away or at least bury it for a long time. Although the blank page feels somewhat meaningful, it's also pretty boring. And I could see how someone looking at it would think, "So... a blank page? Um... interesting." I would probably start to get bored looking at it too and then we're back to the self-mutilation thing again, even though I said I wasn't going to do that.

I could write a short meaningful quote, like "Know thyself." (Emerson) But that's too pompous, even for me. Look at me, I read some shit by some dead guy who also liked to write but was actually good at it and now his words are on my arm. Lame.

So yeah, this idea is a work in progress. I don't think I'll get ink done for awhile, or maybe at all. By the time I can think of something that really suits me, I'll probably be too old for it to matter, and wherever I put it won't be any part of me that the general public wants to see anyway.

posted by platkat @ 12:49 PM 1 million people love The Kat

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