PlatKat.com: January 2008

Thursday, January 31, 2008

The Status

Taking a break from complaining.

Eating solid food again.

Posting on Fark again.

Still looking for a motorcycle.

Still at work, still can't believe I have another 2 hours of this shit.

No longer taking a break from complaining.

posted by platkat @ 3:34 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Day 10 - I've Done It Again!

What do I win? New pants?

posted by platkat @ 3:51 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Bike Shopping Blues

For some reason, I was shadow-banned from Fark, meaning no one can see my posts in the discussion threads. And so everyone will stop asking, no, I didn't start a fight or post offensive pictures. I really have no idea what happened, but my level of concern over this particular time-wasting vehicle is relatively low. Consequently, I expect absolutely nothing to be done about this, and have thus moved on to finding more productive means of passing time at work.

I, Former TotalFarkette platkat, am motorcycle shopping.

I sold my first and only car last year. I loved that car with every ounce of my being (go ahead, call me white trash) and did not want to sell it. Knowing then what I know now, I wouldn't have. Like a dead pet, it's too soon to get another.

Lucky for me, I took a motorcycle class while bored in New York. I may not be ready for a car, but nothing's stopping me from getting a bike.

Except finding one, that is. I've been combing the ads on craigslist, searching for the perfect first bike, which I will surely wreck or at least scratch to high hell. So whatever I get must be used, and fairly cheap. It's a delicate dance though, because whatever I get is going to be pretty old, but with my limited knowledge of bikes thusfar, it can't require too many repairs.

You'd think Seattle-ites would be unloading their used, cheap bikes during the winter for, well, cheap. But I'm having a hell of a time finding anything that isn't a powerful sport bike that's way too nice, a plethora of dirt bikes, or a quad. (Quads should have their own section, by the way. Who the hell rides down a city street on a fucking quad?)

The biggest catch-22 I've encountered so far is that all the cheap, old bikes (and most of the bikes in general) are located in cheap, old places: Bothell, Federal Way, Renton... I don't know if there's a bus to take me where I'd need to go in those towns, but even if there were, it would mean that if I bought a bike, I'd have to ride it on the highway for longer than I am comfortable.

I'd love to take more motorcycle classes in order to get comfortable, but all the ones I've seen here so far either resemble the beginner class I've already taken or they require you to already have a bike. So it feels as though I pretty much have to wait until the perfect bike goes on sale in Seattle proper. I'm sure if someone wanted to sell their bike badly enough, they'd ride it out to where I am, but usually people with good deals on good bikes get a lot of responses and don't need to put up with such nonsense.

Le sigh...

I might as well look into buying a rocket while I'm at it.

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

Monday, January 28, 2008

Five-Sevenths Full of Win

Today was the big day. I GOT SUED! I'll start from the beginning, and I'll try to be brief even though that is almost impossible for me.

In early December, I attempted to sublet an apartment from a creepy guy with a nice(ish) house in Kirkland. We will call him Creepy Noel. I had a weird feeling about him, but I needed a more stable living situation and I was having trouble finding exactly what I wanted. I've lived in some pretty weird conditions before, so I figured I could handle almost anything.

Of course, after I moved in and signed a written agreement, the caveats came rolling out: he doesn't have house keys ready, the tumbler to the lock on the front door is broken, the bedroom and bathroom doors don't have locks, he uses space heaters instead of regular heat to save money, he smokes, etc. Those things are not ideal, but tolerable. I dealt with similar shit back in California during my short stay with See-What-Happens Larry.

The situation is almost exactly the same, actually. An older, single guy falls on hard times and needs a roommate. But since he's been single for so long, his sense of what is normal (vs. erratic, vs. fucking crazy) is somewhat (or very) skewed. Suddenly, his prayers are answered and Satan sends his beautiful spawn (that's me) and her bank account right to his front porch.

Since I'm being brief, I'll just touch upon the creepy feeling this guy gave me. He smiled just a little too big, winked when he talked to me, acted just a little too needy. Employed as a mortgage lender, he had come out and said something to the effect that he wished he had my job at Microsoft right now since the real estate market is so bad. This is just one manifestation of his desperation, of course. It was See-What-Happens Larry all over again: As his roommate, his money troubles were suddenly my problem.

Think again.

This time, I didn't give him notice that I was moving out. My tolerance for dealing with the terminally fucked had severely waned, so I had to go. There were two deal-breakers:

1. The bathroom door in which I was to shower not only didn't lock, it didn't close all the way. That's kind of a big deal, especially since it was right across from Creepy Noel's bedroom. There was another roommate with whom I was to share this bathroom. That wasn't a big deal, but it meant the house was being occupied by one more person who could walk in on me showering if he wanted to.

2. I wrote Creepy Noel a check for rent from my New York account. He went to the bank the next day, somehow got it in his head that it would take 10-15 days to clear, and despite our rental agreement, decided that it wasn't an acceptable form of payment anymore. But he deposited the check anyway. He told me later that night it was unacceptable, and followed up with a hostile e-mail the day after that, demanding that I stop payment on the check and wire him the money instead. That was my cue to bolt. This charming young Texan doesn't take too kindly to bullyin'.

(At his request, I did stop payment on the check, but then I got a little lazy...)

So that night, having nowhere to go, I went back to the house, packed up my shit, and got the hell out. He was markedly upset and threatened to serve me papers at work, which he later did. I was being sued for around $700 (a month's prorated rent plus deposit). I couldn't believe someone who had to be in his forties was hounding little ol' me for such a ridiculous amount. As I've already told many of my friends, if I ever get that pathetic, just shoot me in the face and let me die in pain.

I fretted and frowned, not worrying so much about being sued, but how the hell I was going to get to the courthouse in Issaquah without losing an entire day's work. I worried about that up until about 10:30 this morning when I mustered up the courage to ask a coworker for a ride. (I hate asking for favors.) He ended up lending me his car, which went above and beyond awesome.

I arrived at the courthouse super-early and waited. At the scheduled appearance time, a mediator gave her little speech about why mediation is better than a trial. Creepy Noel waltzed in at the tail-end of it, so she gave him a condensed version. He made clear that he was not willing to negotiate. My, what big balls you have, Grandmother! (sarcasm)

The judge then came out and addressed all the litigants. Although I was originally annoyed that I had to attend court way out in Butt-Fuck Issaquah instead of Seattle proper, I was thanking my lucky stars at that point. The court was scheduled to hear one other dispute besides ours. The judge reiterated the benefits of mediation and once again strongly encouraged it as a means of settling our disputes. Creepy Noel was having none of it.

The judge then made a speech about how often times litigants don't talk to each other. They may have discussions via e-mail or phone, but there isn't enough face-to-face interaction. She asked all litigants to leave the courtroom, have a conversation, and see if things couldn't be worked out without a trial.

Having worked remotely for several companies in the past, I am well aware of the value of face-time. Discussing a matter with someone personally is indeed the ideal way to solve a conflict. That is, unless the other party is fucking crazy.

We went out into to the hallway. I told Creepy Noel that I had written him a letter in response to his lawsuit. I asked if he had received it, knowing he refused receipt on purpose, as I had sent it via Certified Mail. I gave him a copy of the letter, in which I offered to pay rent for the nights I was there. (I had done this verbally as I was moving out as well.) This, of course, was not enough for him—it wasn't even the amount of the court costs if that gives you an idea—and back into the courtroom we went.

"You weren't gone nearly long enough," chided the judge. "Let's try again. Go back out into the hall. I don't want to see you in here for at least 20 more minutes."

Great. Out of all the judges in the world, I get my old second-grade teacher. Back out into the hallway we went.

We sat in silence for a moment.

"I don't understand why you believe I owe you $740," I said. "The check I wrote to you wasn't even in that amount. I brought a copy with me."

"You didn't give me proper notice and we're obviously not going to work anything out here," he replied. "So how is your job at Microsoft?" he asked, smiling eagerly.

"I'm not here to talk about that with you," I replied.

A moment of silence passed.

"Our agreement stated that I could write you a personal check. I stopped payment on it at your request," I said.

"I'm not going to argue about this with you," he said.

"Look, I'm doing what the judge asked us to do," I said. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this any more than you do. I didn't feel comfortable dealing with you after the way you handled my payment, and I didn't feel comfortable living in your house. In fact, I don't even feel comfortable talking to you right now without another person here, but since we are here—"

Before I finished that sentence, he walked away, saying, "Fine, I'll stand at this end of the hallway then."

Maturity abounds. I rolled my eyes and returned to the courtroom. He followed me in several moments later. The two of us sat in the deafeningly silent courtroom, alone, for about 10 minutes. I read a book, while he stared at the wall pondering how he came to be such a douchebag.

The judge was not pleased. Courtarity ensued. (FYI to the uninitiated, I made that word up.)

Suddenly, wicked second-grade teacher transformed into wicked Judge Judy, which I appreciated and respected immensely more.

The judge asked Creepy Noel why he thinks I owe him $740. There must have been an echo somewhere.

She went on to question his justification for demanding the entire deposit in his suit. He claimed that I stole one pillowcase from his house and that it was part of a complete set he bought at CostCo. He voluntarily gave her the cost of the set, which was still less than half the deposit. Instead of laughing him out of the room, which she seemed to want to do, she demanded to know if he had sent me a 14-day notice. He tried to say some off-topic shit, but she interrupted him with the same question again.

"If you're going to withhold any amount of a renter's deposit, you need to send a 14-day notice. Did you do it or not?" she demanded.

He sputtered and stumbled, and I smiled. She continued to badger him a little and then she questioned me. Unlike what you see on the day-time court TV shows, you don't have to tell your entire story; the judge's questions were very specific. I went in there planning to do very little talking anyway, and was pleased to find I had to do even less than I expected. I told her I entered the agreement in good faith, but found his breach of contract regarding my payment disconcerting and I didn't feel I could live comfortably in his house. I also gave her a brief run-down of the caveats I encountered after signing the agreement. As I did that, Creepy Noel interrupted me. This was expected and welcomed behavior, as was the judge's reaction.

"Didn't I just give you a chance to speak? Wasn't she quiet while you were speaking? Would you like me to interrupt you or think about something else while you're speaking?" She continued this chastisement for what I think amounted to half the time of the overall trial. I continued to smile.

She also asked him what the contract said regarding form of payment. He was quiet for a long time. He settled for reading item #1 of our agreement verbatim, stating that a personal check was an acceptable form of payment.

In all fairness, the judge had also asked me what the contract said regarding giving notice. I said I didn't know, since I don't like to divulge information that could weaken my case. (This is not only true in court, but anywhere, so you can forget about my answering, "What is your biggest failure?" in a job interview.) That apparently sufficed.

The judge gave us each a chance to tell her anything we may have left out. I summarized my argument, stating that I was willing to deal with the imperfections of the house, but his not accepting my payment forced me to leave. I felt uncomfortable and unsafe in the home and now the presence of this person. He took the opportunity to enlighten her as to the many amenities of his wonderful house. She interrupted him, saying this was a case of why he thinks I should pay him over $700, not what his house looks like. Yes, I like where this is going.

BUT.

There's always a but. But I should have given him more notice, she said. And even more quickly than she could smack this guy's ego to the depths of hell, she awarded him 10 days of rent instead of the two I offered to pay. This means I owe him about $200.

It's less than the price of a moderate hotel stay, and it's certainly not going to break me. I would have preferred to win the case outright of course, but perhaps it's better that I didn't. If he walked away without a single dime, he may have tried to appeal. While nothing is stopping from doing that now, he has less of an incentive to appeal when he can just take the $200 and be done with it.

It's kind of like being held up. I remember being told you should carry about seven dollars separately from the rest of your money, so if someone attempts to mug you, you can throw the money in one direction and run in the other. The assailant is likely to chase the money, and you can get away safely.

My M.O. in this whole shit storm was to get away safely, and I did. Words can't express how glad I am that this is over.

The judge told us that we could each take a copy of the judgment from the clerk sitting beside her. I let him walk up there first, and then I did. As I was putting away the piece of paper, Creepy Noel turned to me and asked, "Do you want to pay me now?"

The clerk said, "She has 30 days."

"Do I have to pay him through the court?" I asked.

"You have to pay him directly," the clerk said.

I smiled and said, "I'll mail you a check."

In 30 days, from my New York account... jackass.

posted by platkat @ 3:22 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

...in heels, pantyhose, and a skirt.

Why does it snow whenever my mind reaches fever pitch?

I'm being sued by a scary man today. Details forthcoming...

posted by platkat @ 11:51 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Happy Doggie Sunday

Oh hai!

posted by platkat @ 4:49 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Friday, January 25, 2008

About Day Four (on Day Five)

Another quarter, another Master Cleanse. Now appearing at Microsoft.

I did my second-to-last cleanse when I was temping at Omnicom in New York. I could pretty much guarantee that anytime I went into the break room to make my tea, some chatty assbag would come in and ask me what I was doing. At first, I didn't mind giving the basics: what's in the tea, how much I drink, how many days it lasts, etc. However, I do mind being asked stupid questions that are totally subjective. Unfortunately, doing something completely unfathomable to the majority of our McNation's populace leads to (you guessed it) being asked stupid questions that are totally subjective.

So I was rather pleased that by the time Day 4 rolled around, no one had said a word to me about my lemon and syrup concoctions. Man, was I stoked, making my tea, minding my own damn business...

"Ohhhh! Are you doing that... um... that cleaning thing?"

Damn, almost made it through four whole days, I thought.

I turned to find a short, stout 50-something-year-old woman that I had never met before. I stared at her blankly, giving her a moment to search through her small mental database of words until she found the correct one.

"Oh! Cleanse! Is it a cleanse?"

"Yes," I responded, "I am doing a Master Cleanse."

She proceeded to ask me the basic questions. As I answered them, she responded with looks of disbelief with a hint of anguish, almost as if I was offending her obviously sound lifestyle sensibilities. But at the same time, there was also a look of consideration, as if she was trying to think of ways she could somehow pull it off.

"So you just drink the tea, no food?"

"No food."

"How long do you do it?"

"A minimum of 10 days."

Shock, disbelief, etc... And then comes the stupid.

"Do you get hungry?"

"It's not really an issue." (Why can't people realize there are far worse things in life than being hungry, even for extended periods? The food will always be there. If you're going to be worried about what is and isn't being shoved into your fat face, then you're not ready to do a cleanse yet.)

"Is it hard?"

"This is my sixth cleanse." (I should have also mentioned that I run marathons and lived under the tyranny of James and Nancy Taylor for 17 years. I was also blessed with an above-average IQ and a relatively manageable body. Very little is actually hard for me. I suppose it has a lot to do with how you look at yourself and how you use the resources available to you. I chose not to enter the philosophical discussion of differing viewpoints on hardship with this woman, in fear that such a conversation would cause her to explode, covering me with globs of fatty, frivolous, fifty-year-old puss.)

"Wow...." she exhaled, and finally walked away.

A couple of notes about the cleanse: When you don't eat for long periods of time, your breath begins to smell different from the lack of saliva you're generating to chew food. Also, your sense of smell is extremely heightened.

This means that my breath stinks... and yours does too.

posted by platkat @ 3:30 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, January 24, 2008

I Was Told There Would Be Blood

There was indeed blood, but it was too little, too late.

I felt like seeing a movie this week and didn't feel like I had many great ones to choose from. I don't really enjoy seeing first-run movies in the theater, but something was pushing me to do it. Maybe the aspiration of finding camaraderie with my fellow man through a basic, passive activity?

I chose There Will Be Blood based on an 80 percent positive review from Rotten Tomatoes, which is now at 91 percent. I also made some assumptions (always a bad idea) based on a threat stated in this movie title's likeness by the antagonist in the movie, SAW II. So I went in with the expectation that I was going to see a horror movie.

To say it was horrible would be a little rash. It had its moments, and the story was somewhat interesting. I understand why so many movie buffs gave it the thumbs-up: In my humble opinion, it's Citizen Kane for the new millenium.

But I didn't like Citizen Kane.

I know it broke a lot of ground in the history of filmmaking—exciting new camera angles, daring uses of shadow and light... all that good stuff. The acting, for its time I suppose, was fine. It was just boring. I had to watch it in several sessions.

I might have done the same with There Will Be Blood, had I not been trapped in a dark theater between an old guy who can't keep his wrist still and a young guy who kept looking at his phone, having paid $9.25 for the "experience" (with student discount; yes, I still carry my college ID). It definitely wasn't bad enough to walk out, so after awhile I focused on whether there would be actual blood, or if there had been "blood," and the title was just a clever metaphor. There was indeed blood at the end, and the scene that incites it made the film almost worth the trip to the theater.

You can read the synopsis yourself; I'll just share a couple of shining moments:

1. The main character, Daniel Plainview, is in a meeting with some wealthy buyers. He says that even though he could become a millionaire when he leaves their office, what was he going to do with all that money?

"Take care of your son," offered one of the buyers.

Plainview flips out and yells at him, as one would expect of his character. But considering the scene takes place right after he abandoned his son on a train, it would have been even better if he'd replied in a low voice, "Oh, I took care of him."

2. Plainview is looking at a map with some state or county official, going over all of his holdings. At one point he stops and says sharply, "What is that? Why don't I own that?"

I hear ya on that one, buddy.

posted by platkat @ 12:00 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I Miss Texas So Much...

How much do you miss it, Kat?

Well, I miss Texas so much that I visited a friend (also from Texas) who had a giant map of the state in her bedroom. She went to make some soup or use the bathroom or something, so with nothing better to do, I climbed up onto her bed to get a closer look at the cities, roads, and tiny towns that make up my favorite state in the US.

I reminisced about my first visit to Texas, San Antonio specifically, and looked at the highways that extended from it, I-10 going east to Louisiana, and I-35 going north to Austin. Austin! Yay, there's my town, and all the sexy urban sprawl developing around it. Hey there, Round Rock, you're gettin' mighty big!

You can take 71 before having to hop on I-10 to Houston, where my sister is and where my parents were. There's their old suburb, Kingwood. If Houston was a person, Kingwood would definitely be one of its armpits. Big stink, no soul.

There's Dallas where my aunt is, and halfway back to Austin is Waco, where everyone's crazy and I supported my first election. Took me a minute to find Bandera County, which was my favorite business travel experience. I drove on the prettiest road in Texas three times that Election Day: Highway (County Road?) 337 from Vanderpool to Medina. I think the polling place at Vanderpool had four voters show up the entire day.

Speaking of tiny-ass towns, there's the route Barbara and I took when we crash-landed in Amarillo and had to drive all over creation, training 4 counties in 5 days, spread out all over the middle of nowhere. Hey Lipscomb County with the bitchy county clerk, hope you're staying farmy and holy in the name of Jesus Christ our sacred Lord who died for all our sins, etc.!

Oh Texas, Texas I love you so much...

About 15 minutes later, my friend returns to her bedroom. She looks at me nervously as I hop off the bed and ask her what she wants to do.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"Lookin' at Texas," I responded innocently.

"Holy shit, Kat. You've been sitting on my vibrator the whole time!"

If I'd known, maybe I would have turned it on.

posted by platkat @ 5:12 PM 5 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

He Wished He Knew How to Quit... Living?

Just wanted to thank the five people who went out of their way to message me about Heath Ledger's death today.

Look, I'm sorry. We were still partying hard this morning, getting high on speedballs with some of our other celebrity friends. I left him chillin' with my girl Mary Kate a little earlier, as Brad Pitt had invited me for a quickie in the den. He said I was the closest thing to Angelina he was gonna pork that night, and I didn't see a big problem with that. Anyway, if I had known Heath was gonna take a bunch more pills and do a whole other eight-ball, I would have stuck around to talk him out of it. I'm glad no one's blaming me for this shit, but seriously guys, I almost feel a slight twinge of something that could be recognized as regret or sadness or something.

Anyway, thanks for letting me know what happened. And thanks also for reminding me what shitty movies he was in so I'd remember who the hell he was.

posted by platkat @ 3:00 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Monday, January 21, 2008

Welcome to Your New Home (Several Months Ago)

I awake to screeching sounds coming from outside.

Me: (Rubbing my eyes.) Is that a monkey?

Him: No, it's a SEAgull. They're common here... in SEAttle... which is by the SEA.

Me: Oh, I SEE.

(Pause.)

Me: They sound like monkeys.

posted by platkat @ 11:28 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Olde Timey Recorded Vocal Correspondence

Ahoy ahoy, good sir! Regarding an auditory mishap this Saturday evening past, it would appear as though I must reacquaint myself with the operations of my telephone machine. I assure you this is not the case indeed! I simply wished to inform you discretely of the many occurrences that had transpired throughout the evening hours and to enquire as to the nature of your post-twilight activities as well. The consumption of numerous libations prior to my attempt at communication caused a brief lapse in mental reasoning within my brain-center. I was remiss to recognize that a conversation via telephone machine is rather improbable during the pinnacle of a grandiose carousal. The fete at which I was present featured the playing of musical instruments that produce a sound akin to large metallic objects rhythmically colliding with one another. These musical stylings are referred to by the younger generation as the "heavy metal." In conclusion, my friend, please do respond to this correspondence forthwith and we shall discuss news of the winter season. Cheerio, darling!

posted by platkat @ 9:57 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Torture

What would happen if I were wrongfully detained by some foreign law enforcement agency which sought information I did not have through various means of torture? This scenario makes the assumption that I can't get out of it by saying, "You've got the wrong girl, and besides, I'm an American!" Let's review all the ways they might torture me, based on stuff I've heard and absolutely no in-depth research.

They could pull out my toenails with a pair of pliers, which puts a person in a lot of pain, but does no permanent damage. I've done this to myself three times.

They could electrocute me. I used to report to hospital weekly to be mercilessly shocked for 30 minutes at a time. It was under the guise of "physical therapy."

They could beat the shit out of me, leaving me aching and bruised for long periods of time. But that would be no different from the pain I experience the morning after a particularly eventful Saturday night.

They could light my privates on fire, which I'm sort of ashamed to admit I have also done before.

They could also make me listen to some kind of music that is considered awful by most Americans. I heard they've subjected some Middle Eastern torture subjects to Metallica and children's songs, and some pathetic souls actually cracked! I once worked for a radio station that prided itself on how obscure its world music collection was. So go ahead, do your worst.

Sleep deprivation? Um, yeah. I went to college. And ask me about the time I lived on top of some train tracks.

Tie me up and whip me? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Seriously...

At the risk of some international guerilla group not only capturing me, but also bothering to read this blog, I will now list some ways you could definitely get me to spill the beans, or fabricate some beans and spill those.

Send me clothes shopping in a major city on a Saturday afternoon.

Make me drive in a foreign country in the rain with no headlights or windshield wipers.

Put me in a room full of people talking on cell phones.

Make me brush my teeth with weird-flavored toothpaste.

Set me up with a guy that I hang out with for several weeks and like, and then cease all communication between us forever.

Set one of my friends up with a guy who beats her and play a continuous loop of her making excuses for him: "But he's under a lot of stress... He loves me... He said things would change..."

Give me a computer that is internet-ready with no internet connection.

Put me in front of a conveyor belt supplied with newborn babies that I must continuously pick up, hold, cradle, act interested in, and find someone to relieve my holding duties for.

Supply me with ideas for which I can only use dangling prepositions to explain understably.

The list is long, but you get this jist of it. And yeah, maybe that last one wasn't as bad as that time I lit my crotch on fire. You get the idea...

posted by platkat @ 1:34 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Friday, January 18, 2008

I Did It!

I said I was going to try bellydancing classes, and I don't like going back on my word. This is the first time I have attempted something other than free-form dance in a long time, and I'm sure it showed. Despite my lack of coordination and fluidity, a little something sparked inside me, telling me I was alright and passable for sexy at times. All I can do now is keep attending classes until I'm good.

posted by platkat @ 1:54 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, January 17, 2008

The Ghost of Puget Sound

No after party? No problem! I will haunt your dreams!

posted by platkat @ 1:10 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Last Night / This Morning

Yesterday evening I met some people for drinks and called it an early night (for me) around 11. Much to my dismay, I was awakened around 3am to the sound of someone's shitty stereo. Unable to ignore it and go back to sleep, I turned on the lights and assessed the situation.

I realize I'm somewhat sensitive to noise, but after living in my old (almost literal) trainwreck of a sublet last November, I figure I can deal with most things. That experience, and having lived in Midtown in Manhattan for awhile, desensitized me a little, so now it takes a lot more to rile me.

But riled I was. And even more so was I riled when a neighbor rang my doorbell, assuming I was the culprit. I opened the door wider so he could see my semi-dark, dead-silent apartment.

I looked at him as if to say, "Are you fucking kidding?" but I really said, "Honestly? What do you think is going on in here? I was trying to sleep as well."

Not understanding the concept of "recognizing a mistake" or "leaving me the hell alone," he proceeded to tell me that the noise had woken him up, his wife is pregnant, and he wants to find out where the noise is coming from. Any idiot could do that, but apparently not this one. I knew exactly where the noise was coming from, and knew that I'd have to take care of it myself if it was going to stop.

I put on some sandals and a sweatshirt and grabbed a pack of Parliaments purchased earlier that evening. I don't enjoy confrontation much, but a cigarette sometimes takes the edge off. Also, should the confrontation become heated, it's a good commonality to share with your opponent. Like this:

"You're a dick!"

"Fuck you! You're a dick!"

"Okay, we're both dicks. Let's have a smoke and work this out."

So I got myself together and went downstairs. I walked to the apartment situated directly below mine, stood by the door, and listened for a moment. Yep, this here's the place. *knock, knock*

Music is turned off, skinny white guy answers the door.

"Hi, I live above you and your music has not only disturbed me, but also my neighbor and his pregnant wife. He came to my door thinking your noise was mine, and I am further disturbed. Don't let this happen again."

"I'm sorry," he replied in a lisp gayer than 12 pink ponies in a hot-n-heavy circle-jerk.

"This is the first and last time I will discuss this with you."

"I'm sorry," he repeated as I turned to leave.

Slightly jarred by my own intimidation, I went to the breezeway and smoked a Parliament. God, they're horrible. I normally smoke American Spirits, but my partner in crime wanted P-Funks and I was feeling agreeable (yes, it's possible). When you're used to smoking American Spirits, having a Parliament is like having your Bentley switched out for a Dodge Stratus. I smoked the first half, threw the rest away, and headed back to the abode to vigorously brush my teeth.

Before I could do that, idiot-neighbor cornered me in the hallway.

"I went upstairs and couldn't hear it," he reported.

"It was coming from 1012. I took care of it," I replied.

Nonetheless, he felt the need to keep talking to me. He continued to discuss how annoying the music was, reminded me of his pregnant wife, and tried to crack a joke that I was too tired and annoyed to understand. At that point, I couldn't decide who I hated more: the music fairy or this chatty asshole.

"You're obnoxious as shit and I'm going to bed now," is what I wish I'd said. But instead I said, "I'm going to bed now" and went inside.

The next time people ask me why I am so hostile toward my fellow man, I think I'll point them to this story.

Addendum: Maybe I was a little hard on the Parliaments. Instead of a Dodge Stratus, how about an older Chevy Tahoe? Is that fair?

posted by platkat @ 12:17 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Follow-Up

See? I couldn't make this shit up if I tried...

posted by platkat @ 5:34 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Monday, January 14, 2008

So USED

For every LOLcat, there is an equal and not-always-opposite LOLkat.

posted by platkat @ 3:14 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Life Improvement Sunday Workshop

Spirituality
As I slowly become a Seattle resident, I decided that it's time to find a good house o' prayer. Last week, I found out about the Seattle Betsuin Buddhist Temple, semi-conveniently located in the International District. As if knowing my mission, the powers-that-be made yesterday extra warm and sunny for my long walk from 1st Ave to 14thish. After passing countless fruit stands, empty lots, and pho restaurants, I made my way into the unassuming brick building on Main Street (a misnomer, per usual).

A short, Japanese greeter in her early 50s handed me a hymnal and a xeroxed program. In perfect English, she asked if I would like an okesa, a traditional scarf for the hardcore folks. When I didn't answer right away, she asked me if I was Buddhist.

This is such a touchy subject for me. Having read a fair amount of Buddhist literature and visited a half-dozen temples, I am clearly interested in the religion. However, I have made enough questionable life choices in the recent past that I decline to associate myself with any formal belief system so as not to discredit its followers in the eyes of the unindoctrinated. There must be a better way to answer the question, "Are you Buddhist?" than "Not really, but I love your work."

I explained to her that I recently moved to the area and this was my first time in that particular Temple. She happily welcomed me and asked me to sign in as a new member. Also being hesitant to write my name and address anywhere due in part to the questionable life choices I mentioned above, I politely asked if I could wait until after the service. She led me to the sign-in sheet and encouraged me to write down my information, so I did.

The service at this temple was more like the Catholic masses from my younger days than any other temple I've been to. We sat in church pews, listened to a choir, and engaged in one very long chant. Although the format was a little different, the underlying belief systems and teachings were most reminiscent of the Nichiren group I roll with when I'm in Austin. These guys more heavily emphasize chanting than simple meditation like the Inconceivable Joy Temple (also in Austin) or the Tibet Center (New York). I'm okay with it and appreciate the community, but I can't adopt that belief as my own.

Toward the end of the service, a reader stood at the podium and ticked off the announcements. Women's group meeting, a pot-luck... "We appear to have a new member, Kat Taylor. Is she here?" he asked, looking around the congregation. I sheepishly stood, he said, "Welcome," and everyone turned and clapped. I'm not ashamed to say that really made my day, applause following the sound of my own name... and all I did was show up!

When the service was over, I joined the pack making its way to the exit. I handed my hymnal and program back to the same greeter, who smiled at me with warm recognition.

I smiled back and said, "I see what you did there."

Health
I wasn't planning on it, but the gorgeous weather sent me on a long run... outside! I systematically tore through downtown, accepting each pedestrian traffic signal countdown as a personal challenge, until I made it to the waterfront. The sky was so clear, I could see the mountains across the Puget Sound. I locked my gaze on them as I jogged up the shore in my favorite running ensemble with my favorite music buzzing in my ears and April's encouraging words still rolling around in my head.

To do this day justice here, I would need a picture or at least a thousand words, but I didn't take any and I'm not big on weighty word counts, so this is all I got. Suffice it to say the day was so beautiful, and everything so clear, I thought I was having a heaven.

Every now and then, things line up so perfectly and everything is just right, and it puts one's entire being at ease. All at the same time, the mind, body, and soul are at peace. In this moment, I believe it can be said that one is having a heaven. Nothing particularly special has to be happening in order to have a heaven. The few I've had involve simple activities like eating a meal or sitting at a computer. The important thing about having a heaven is the prolonged feeling of tranquility and being completely in the moment.

So I think I kind of had one. There were still a few things on my mind. Usually heaven doesn't involve contemplating going to work for a few hours and/or doing laundry. But I came close, which is greater that I could have hoped for that day.

Cleanliness
I did end up doing laundry, and discovered my basket missing when I returned to the laundry room at the end of the wash cycle.

What the HELL?! cried my inner monologue. Who the hell would steal a fucking laundry basket?!

I put my clothes in the dryer and headed back to my apartment to pen a note. It went something like this:

To the person who took my laundry basket (1/13/08, 2pm):

I hope my laundry basket has served its purpose for whatever reason you took it. Now that you have used it, I would appreciate it if you would please put it back where you found it. If you can afford to pay rent here, you can certainly afford your own 10-dollar laundry basket from Target.

If you need another reason to return my basket (other than the fact that stealing is just WRONG), please know that I do not own a car. Therefore, buying a new basket entails walking to a store and transporting the new basket on foot back to my apartment. Why would you want to exponentially inconvenience someone you don't even know?

Thanks in advance for your positive change in heart!

I returned to the laundry room and tacked my note to the bulletin board, expecting to see it there months later, possibly crumpled and defaced by some stupid kids.

When my drying cycle was done, I returned to the laundry room once more to find my note gone and my basket resting in the far corner of the room. Astonished, I picked up the basket and placed it on the table. And then I laughed.

Did this really just happen? My incessant banter, boasting undeniable directness with discreetly hostile undertones, scrawled on a page and posted for the scrutiny of the public actually accomplished something?

I couldn't, and still can't believe it. But I got my basket back so I am happy.

Mental Development
Rounding out my peaceful day, I read Being There by Jerzy Kosinski. To summarize briefly, it's the snowball effect of politicians' and media pundits' brash assumptions wrapped in the palatable metaphor of nature. A similar experience to watching a long made-for-TV movie, I found this book a pleasant way to pass a Sunday afternoon/evening.

posted by platkat @ 9:23 AM 1 million people love The Kat

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Back to Babel

Toward the end of Friday's workday, I stepped outside the office to take a break. I wandered aimlessly around the parking lot for a few minutes and headed back to the door. In the twilight, I could make out what looked to be one of my coworkers leaving the building. (My vision is a little haggard in semi-darkness.)

As she approached, she said, "Hey."

I said, "Hey" back.

"Oh, I'm talking on the phone," she exclaimed, holding up her device. "I'm really not crazy! Haha!"

But I, talking to the person standing right in front of me, must be.

posted by platkat @ 8:22 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Saturday, January 12, 2008

What's in MY Coco Chanel Bag?

A pair of ripped jeans, a tub of Country Crock mashed potatoes, and a bus pass.

Oh yeah, it's a knock-off.

posted by platkat @ 4:30 PM 0 million people love The Kat

In the Interest of Balance...

I need to make a new list:

I love sunshine.

I love my dark hair.

I love meeting new people.

I love my tiny apartment.

I love seahorses.

I love being able to help someone.

I love when old friends call me out of the blue.

I love when people enter the gym and turn the TV down.

I love a good marathon.

I love large bodies of water.

I love being literate.

I love Zo-dog.

I love the people who have helped me take care of Zo-dog.

I love over-the-top footwear.

I love bumming cigarettes to homeless people.

I love New York (in a platonic way).

I love being surprised.

I love unsolicited backrubs.

I love LOLcats.

I love hearts and stars.

I love being in love.

And I (still) love technology.

posted by platkat @ 2:22 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Friday, January 11, 2008

A Different Kind of Dance Recital

Last night I watched Kendra's bellydancing students perform in a cozy space on Capitol Hill. I think I'm going to try a class, if only for the chance to eventually slither around in gauzy black clothing and heavy war paint with such controlled confidence.

Photobucket

posted by platkat @ 5:56 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Skip if You Can't Stand Hatred

I need to learn how not to hate the world when I'm not hanging out with my friends or relaxing quietly in the sanctity of my own home. That said, it's time for a list:

I hate that it gets dark so early.

I hate that the hot water dispenser stops at eight ounces so I have to top off.

I hate when people don't return phone calls.

I hate when people don't look where they're going.

I hate not knowing what I'm doing.

I hate when people wear too much perfume/cologne.

I hate when people have extended conversations in an otherwise quiet work area.

I hate acrylic fingernails.

I hate overdone eye makeup.

I hate feeling full and still being hungry.

I hate the overusage of filler words.

I hate olives.

I hate whistling.

I hate the traffic on 520.

I hate having to manually log automated processes.

I hate when people fart in my presence.

I hate feeling tired.

I hate conversations that don't go anywhere.

I hate that there aren't any buses to casinos in Tacoma.

I hate break-ups.

I hate having to censor myself.

I hate when people react to me in ways that make me wish I had censored myself.

I hate Google Talk.

I hate cheap minty chocolate.

I hate the fair.

...

Okay, it's out of my system now.

posted by platkat @ 5:01 PM 3 million people love The Kat

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Hello, Comrade

I'm on the bus back to Seattle and traffic is horrible. I may be on this bus for the rest of my life. From the corner of my eye, taunting me, there's a guy about my age with his laptop open. The reverse side of the screen bears stickers that read "Waterloo Records" and "Keep Austin Weird." If he had an "I rocked Kat's party at the Metroplaza 11/23/2003" sticker, I'd know for sure he's a native. No matter, I want so desperately to talk to him. I want to ask him what part of town he's from and if he misses having a car and doesn't this weather suck?

How long have you been here?

Do you miss Texas like I do?

Do you think about going back?

What made you move here, and was it worth it?

Are there any decent taquerias around here?

Am I going to die?

C'mon pod-nuh, talk Texy to me.

posted by platkat @ 3:44 PM 2 million people love The Kat

I Am Awake, but Not Dry

This morning I passed a gift shop displaying just the thing I need: a long t-shirt that reads "Sleepless in Seattle." I want someone to buy me this so I can wear it to bed when I'm not sleeping. It's funny because I live in Seattle and also happen to enjoy the occassional bout of insomnia.

Boy, it really is neat that someone has taken the title of a once-popular movie starring Tom Hanks and screen-printed it on an article of clothing that one would associate with sleeping. It's kind of ironic though, isn't it? It's a shirt one would use for sleeping, but as it explains, I can't sleep at all! Ha-ha. That sure is a hoot.

In other news, waking up to a new day here is like giving excellent head and getting nothing but a big wad of jizz in your eye.

posted by platkat @ 3:26 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

GOOD Morning!

Once again, I'm here to emphatically document the uneventful...

This Morning's WTF
I woke up around 6:30am to the sound of some strange bird calls echoing throughout my concrete jungle. I had to be up anyway to do my morning run, but if I were any of the hundreds of people still attempting sleep at that hour, I would have taken more care in hunting down and killing the sonofabitch responsible. Seriously, Seattle is a highly populated city. What birds are you calling? And with a nasty screech like that, even if there were birds around, rest assured they're gone now.

Every Morning's WTF
No matter what, there are always several people who get on the bus and pull out their laptops. The ride is 20 minutes, 30 minutes tops. What the hell do you think you're accomplishing that can't wait until you get to the office? If you need to be at work so bad, take an earlier bus so I don't have to deal with you.

This morning, some flipper baby plopped down next to me and opened a too-big-even-for-her-wide-lap-top, invading my arm space to use it. Her flipper hand was on the side closest to me, so I gawked at it while she used the other hand to type. Her middle three fingers twisted in such ways that caused them to resemble lumps of play-doh with fingernails at the end. I wonder how much of an inconvenience those are.

The Good Part
I bounced out of the compound with Mark Farina's "Mushroom Jazz 1" in my ears. By far the housiest of his Mushroom Jazz compilations, it reminded me how much I love to dance. (Plans for a one-woman at-home dance party are scheduled for this evening.) I crossed the bridge over Highway 5 to a bongo beat and sunshine falling upon me. Yes, it wasn't just "bright out." I saw the sun. In your fucking FACE, California!

Once on the bus and dealing with flipper-laptopper, I got to admire the choppy side of Lake Washington in the sunlight. I've found that I tend to gravitate toward the right side of the bus, and it may be just for the several minutes of aqueous tumultuousness... ess... ess-ess.

Now I'm at work, and nothing awful has happened yet. In fact, one of my most obnoxious coworkers just left the company, so I will no longer hear his disgusting coughs and farts, nor will I have to evade his awkward attempts at feeble conversation which verify we have nothing in common. In addition, he left me his ergonomic chair and a peeeimp wireless keyboard. Now if I could find a screwdriver so I can steal his sound card, I'd be set.

posted by platkat @ 12:10 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Okay, Okay

Stop tickling me, I'm fine. Life isn't so bad. To stave off any more worried phone calls and e-mails, I'd like to announce that things are peachy, I'd just rather find boredom acceptable than try to fight it. We all choke on the dick of ennui every once in awhile, right?

Except you, Corky. You're on top of the world and livin' large! Go get 'em, big guy!

posted by platkat @ 12:06 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Monday, January 07, 2008

Routines

"Zen is not some kind of excitement, but concentration on our usual everyday routine." -Shunryu Suzuki

Such was the first entry on the page-a-day Zen calendar from Mom. Coincidentally, before reading this nugget of wisdom that I don't like, I was contemplating the idea of having a routine as I rode the bus to work. The bus that I have taken almost every day, from the apartment that I've slept in almost every night, which is going to be about the same for the better part of this year.

I haven't wanted or required a routine for a long time. Not having a stable living situation, not having a job, constant travel, a job requiring a lot of travel, jobs with rotating shifts, and jobs with shiftlessly rotating bosses were all contributing factors. And ever since I started reading the random musings of Henry David Thoreau in high school, I valued the concept of having no routine. Now I think I might be embarking on a new period in my life, one where I follow the dreaded R-word whether I mean to or not.

The idea that I may wake up and do almost the same thing for at least the next 11 months is as scary as it is comforting. I'm pretty sure the last and only time I've followed a routine for an extended period of time was after a couple months of working at NI. I was in love, I had stable and pointless employment, and I had a lot of friends. I was comfortable. I wanted for nothing. And since I was so happy, I didn't need the surprises that the inconsistency of not having a routine could bring me.

Now... shit, now I need something. When I get off the bus, I walk toward my office like the undead on fast-forward, my eyes glazed and my pace unreasonably quick. Music helps. I pull out my headphones in time to say hello to the security guard as I pass through the loading dock. Then I grab my morning coffee and some instant oatmeal, fuel for a morning in which I rarely do more than sit at a desk and rot.

There are small variances throughout the day, but nothing earth-shattering. For instance, on Friday someone stopped me to take a picture of my boots, and today someone invited me to a party. I also forgot my chapstick and my lips hurt real bad, so I'm using 3-in-1 antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet. So what. I'd pull the fire alarm if the weather were nicer.

There must be something in me that desired this monotony, or I wouldn't be here. I know this is temporary, in the same way I knew something would change after I had fulfilled my last contract position a few years ago. I don't know what drastic change I might undergo when it's time for me to bust outta here. I can't even think about it right now because I'm still recovering from all the crap that's been going on these last few months.

Yes, I'm settling in for gray times, I think. But that may just be a northern winter talking. Either way, I'm attempting to embrace the seemingly endless pattern that will become my life and make it work for me while I lazily plot my escape.

posted by platkat @ 5:47 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Another Form of Non-Help (Halp!)

To be filed alongside an earlier rant, "It Should Work..."

I hate when I ask someone a question and they refer me to a written resource that is common sense to reference before beginning a live/online discussion. I know not everyone does the appropriate research before bugging someone with their ignorance, but I make a habit of it. This should be apparent to everyone upon meeting me. I clearly don't enjoy talking to people unless the conversation will lead to something humorous or sexual (bonus points for both at once!), so why would I bother talking to you if I could just refer to the giant stack of paper I was issued at the start of my assignment?

To add insult to injury (really, icing on the cake), people will sometimes add ridiculous closing statements to the ends of their useless e-mails, such as, "Hope this helps!" or "Does that answer your question?"

No actually, your knee-jerk, non-response neither helped nor answered my question. Now I'm forced to either ask my question again, ask someone else who might give my question the attention it deserves, or just do whatever I want, which you're giving me carte blanche to do anyway by not taking a moment to think about what I'm asking and give me a direct answer.

Thanks a million, and please don't call me when everything goes to shit, as I will be busy walking away from the destruction calmly.

posted by platkat @ 10:50 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Not Impossible, but Unfortunate

Every single person who has entered my presence today has been a stupid and/or obnoxious moron, and I haven't even left the compound yet. A quick breakdown:

Stupid Chick at the Gym
Yeah, turn on the TV and make sure the volume is ALL the way up. You wouldn't want to miss a single garbled, indignantly exclaimed word of "Run's House" or any of the other fine programming that MTV offers during its brief, loosely-edited reality shows, also known as hostilely invasive advertising.

Old Man Using the Tanning Bed
I didn't know leather could achieve a healthy glow. You keep at it, buddy. You'll have those twenty-somethings at the strip club swooning in no time.

Emo Kid Using the Tanning Bed
Shouldn't you be in your apartment crying right now? You know tanning is only going to emphasize the scars from when you cut yourself. But maybe you want that.

Loud Chicks Talking in the Business Center
"Oh, you went to India! I've heard of India!" I think the conversation started because one of them was doing a craigslist search for a job as a translator, and the other one was nosy and started to tell her a bunch of shit. Glad they made friends; wish the transaction happened somewhere else.

Chatty Dude in the Business Center
As Loud Chicks leave, enter this guy, runnin' his mouth about how fucked up the weather is and how he had to walk in it. Welcome to Seattle, tard. It's perfectly normal to wake up to a sunny day, watch it get dark all of a sudden, and then witness a heavy snow followed by freezing rain, all within a couple of hours. I've lived here two months and I accept that. You should too, or protest quietly.

Overly Chipper Leasing Agent
I know part of the apartment-whoring schtick is to show off the gym, but try getting to know your customer. I don't think any one of the four people that viewed the facility in the two hours I was there had any interest at all in working out, nor did they look as though they had ever exhibited the interest at a previous point in their lives. But please, don't let that stop you from interrupting my workout by screaming the amenities in shrill, biting exclamations that could resurrect dead cats.

posted by platkat @ 2:05 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Friday, January 04, 2008

I Got Taken to the Cleaners... by the Cleaners

Next to real estate brokerage in New York, the dry cleaning business is one of the world's biggest modern-day rackets. But still, I like nice things, and sometimes they need to be cleaned. So I hoofed it down to 5th and Cherry to retrieve my clothing and pay the ridiculous bill. Then I haughtily plucked a blue jolly rancher from the candy dish on the counter, hoping its unnatural additives resulting in my playfully discolored tongue would somewhat compensate for the wallet-rape.

posted by platkat @ 5:30 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, January 03, 2008

My Pet Orchid, An Experiment

About three weeks ago, the system was down (system, system, system...), so we had no internet or phone in our office. Through an odd chain of events, a coworker and I ended up at Trader Joe's. (It went something like, "Let's get coffee. No coffee? Let's find an ATM. No ATM? Let's go to the bank. Ah, fuck it, there's a Trader Joes right here. Let's get some stuff.")

I bought food, which is always a welcome activity among the non-grocery-chain-accessible. As an afterthought, I also bought a potted orchid. Grown accustomed to never receiving flowers as a result of dating someone overly practical, I am perfectly fine with going to a store and buying something nice for myself. Whether it's a full bouquet or a single rose to say "I love you," I believe there's no shame in enjoying the finer things in life. Even though they die. Quickly.

But my orchid is potted! Surely if I water it and put it by the window, offering it all the sunlight you can possibly squeeze out of a Seattle winter, it will live longer than a few weeks. Right?

At the moment, we're at the cusp of a life or death situation. She looks colorful enough, but some of her flowers have dropped and she's sagging a little bit. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to put it in a better pot, like one that doesn't leak when I water it, especially since the directions say to water thoroughly. So I've skirted it with a Wal-mart bag. I also put a post-it note on it, so people don't mess with it or talk about it when I put it on the table by the window.

I think I'm also supposed to give it some kind of "feed," but I'm not sure if I can even mess with that right now. I have enough issues feeding myself, as evidenced by the ridiculous amounts of bulk protein-rich items in my kitchen and little else to eat with them.

I may not be the best plant-mother, but who knows what would have happened to this orchid if I'd left it at Trader Joe's? Do they eventually get adopted wholesale? Are they euthanized? What happens to all the unbought orchids?

I suppose I shouldn't worry about it and concentrate on taking care of this one. If I still lived in California, I'd have a much easier time with this. I'd probably just plant it somewhere and walk away, allowing it to expand freely in its own flower-heaven.

But you ended up in Seattle, dear orchid, so your days are numbered. And you're probably going to flower-hell because mommy didn't love you enough. Sorry.

Photobucket

posted by platkat @ 5:52 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Two Reasons Today Sucks

Usually things happen in threes (or most of us prefer to interpret it that way), but right now I'm at two. And they suck enough that number three can't really be all that bad by comparison. *ducks as a lightning bolt strikes inches away*

1. My roots are in need of a touch-up, and consequently I discovered my first gray hair this afternoon. Fuck. I'm OLD.

2. I'm being sued. I stupidly agreed to sublet a room from a very unstable man in Kirkland, and now he thinks I owe him a month's rent plus deposit. There are many reasons that I stayed in this house less than two days, among them were physical discomfort, lack of privacy, and general headaches that no one should have to put up with ever. I know I'm being vague at the moment; I'd really rather not think about this at all. I'm going to have to defend myself at the end of the month, and that will surely make a better story than the looming disgust and contempt I'm feeling right now.

posted by platkat @ 4:29 PM 2 million people love The Kat

This Is Not a New Year's Resolution

I went to the gym for the first time in forever this morning. I was surprised to find only one other person there for the entire duration of my hour-plus workout. Maybe new year's resolutions aren't as big as they used to be, which is a good thing. I usually go through cycles of health, followed by cycles of utter self-destruction, followed by health again, etc. These cycles change as I go through important life changes (moving, dating or breaking up with someone, employment, etc.) and rarely do they coincide with a particular holiday or time of year. As this day approached, I carefully weighed the importance of reducing my bulging belly against the prospect of dealing with a bunch of extra people every day. My alone-time is very important to me, but so is not turning into a waddling lard-ass.

So, this marks the beginning of healthy year for ze PlatKat. Or at least healthier than the last couple of months...

posted by platkat @ 3:41 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Happy 2008

This morning I woke up to "Happy New Year" in reverse smeared into my bedsheets with big red letters. One might take that as a euphemism for vomiting last night's heavy consumption, but no. I was dancing to nu-wave at some hipster's loft party when Kendra asked me if I wanted her to write on me. Drunk at 3am, this sounded like a great idea. More heavily hit was Tim, a fellow TotalFarker that I'd just met and hadn't amply prepared for the madness, who still can't remove "Blonde N Bitchin is a pimp" from his arm.

Rewind to the beginning: April, Tim, and I headed to Kendra and Michael's house in Central Seattle, where we (well, I) killed a bottle of my new favorite wine, Monkey Bay Sauvignon Blanc. April got Ethiopian food from somewhere, which almost made my head asplode.

The five of us then went to Queen Anne, where we attended a frou-frou house party overflowing with delicious hors d'oeuvres and fashionable people. I remained pleasant (read: quiet) while downing another bottle of Monkey Wine and a colorful assortment of fine cheeses. The hostess gently chided me when I poured a glass of water from the sink and handed me a Brita pitcher. "We don't drink tap water in this household," she told me, for matters of appearances, as far as I can guess. "It's cool," I replied, and downed my pedestrian beverage. I love that people like that exist in this world because they make me appear down-to-earth, a quality I seem to lack.

A little before midnight, a bunch of us headed downstairs to view the fireworks by the Space Needle:

Photobucket

The fireworks were short and sporadic, but it was a good enough reason to stand outside and scream "Happy New Year!" with a bunch of strangers. Someone brought a bottle of champagne, and I just happened to bring a glass. I love when things work out.

Photobucket

When the fireworks were over, I carried that glass to the car, and our faithful DD carted us to the next stop, a loft party in Pioneer Square. It appears as though someone died there before we arrived, as evidenced by this:

Photobucket

And of course, it was there that I partied the way Mother Nature intended: loud music, fucking hipsters, dancing, champagne, and nonsensical conversations with people I will never see again. As an aside, do men think that complimenting the intelligence of a woman they've just met is a good way to get into her pants? Is it? I'm always wary of people who tell me I'm smart just after talking to me for a few minutes, especially if I'm drunk. It feels insincere and leads me to believe they want something.

Anyway, that was NYE 2007 for me, thanks to my date April, who is AWESOME for making it happen with such short notice.

posted by platkat @ 5:23 PM 0 million people love The Kat

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