PlatKat.com: February 2008

Friday, February 29, 2008

My Mind Loss Is Hoppin'

What you know 'bout me?

Today is Leap Day. I treat Leap Day the way kids treat Halloween, the way Cajuns treat Mardi Gras, the way sports fans treat the playoffs... This is one extra and one extra-special day where I feel less responsible for my actions than a normal day. Due to certain societal rules which I am pleased are in place, I can't rob garages, start fights, or tip cars without lasting consequences, but there will be mischief. Oh yes, there will be mischief.

The great thing about Leap Day is that no matter how many dumbass moves I pull, February 29th will cease to exist for the next three years. Therefore, I will have no anniversary date to serve as a reminder of the said dumbass moves until the very distant future. At that point, their impact on my incessantly spasmodic mind will be muted or completely obliterated, and I won't be tempted to call up uncomfortable memories as a result of something as innocuous as a date on a calendar.

Not that I ever do stuff like that now. Because I totally don't. Just like I didn't notice that I was about to pay for lunch with a Texas edition quarter yesterday, so I put it back in my pocket and paid with a different set of loose change. This small token that makes no difference to anyone didn't cause me to reminisce about my happy life in Austin for the next hour as I noshed on spinach and tofu. No. Not at all.

posted by platkat @ 5:42 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Ideas for the Post-Microsoft Era

I spent part of my afternoon in a meeting that discussed mostly items that don't concern me, so I made a list of stuff I can do when my contract is over.

1. Move to San Francisco. Live with eight other people. Abandon all sense of ownership and privacy. (Nudity?)

2. Bring some shit to Florida. Find out if Chirag is actually cool. If he is, sleep on his couch until he tells me to leave.

3. Fly around the country in search of the perfect hearse. Buy hearse. Drive it to LA to have it painted. (Difficulty: Making friends in LA.)

4. Go to Texas. Hide. Spend afternoons in outdoor cafes drinking, smoking, and writing. Avoid the north side.

5. Go to Baton Rouge. Hide. Sleep in Clark's old room. Sit by Sean while he writes his thesis. Write great American novel.

6. Go to Central America. Become awakened by poverty. Wait tables. Get chased back to the states by stout older men and their relentless come-ons.

7. Return to New York. Sell everything. Have long-time-no-see-breakup-sex with Gus. Apologize. Leave forever.

8. Catch a ride to Portland. Figure it out when I get there.

9. Travel around Europe like a fucking hippie. Spend all my money on "experiences." Find myself. Lose it again.

10. Get another job. LOL... whut?

posted by platkat @ 4:12 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Really? Really.

Did that just happen? Did I just see that? Did he just say that? Yes, yes, and yes. Welcome to another recurring segment of platkat.com that I may or may not continue.

1. I was meditating at the zendo last night and someone came in late. No big deal. She sat down. A few minutes later her cell phone rings. In a place like this, you shouldn't even have your cell with you. There's a coatroom for valuables, or if you have a car, you can leave it there. But then she bowed and took the call.

Really? Is no place sacred? Everyone is sitting in peaceful meditation and you're taking a call, saying you'll call back in 20 minutes like it's business as usual. No one's DYING? Really, GTFO. (Get the fuck out, for the unenlightened.)

2. Fox News.

Really? Do people still watch that channel? Some punk at the gym had it on when I came in this morning, watching it like he was learning something from all the shoddy reporting and blatant editorializing. Really, they're the gossipy breakroom bitches of cable television. Change the channel, Beavis.

3. I used to be a member of 24 Hour Fitness when I lived in California. There was this Asian guy who would come in wearing spandex and a leotard. The leotard was salmon-pinkish color and the spandex were aqua-blue.

Really? Wear what you want, but when you get the crap beaten out of you by a gang of crackheads looking for easy money, don't say I didn't warn you. Really, I know it's California and we're supposed to be all peace signs and flower children, but come on. Hit the Goodwill and buy some jams or something.

4. You're a guy. I'm a girl. You like me. I say, "How ya doin'?" or "What's up?" You respond with something like, "Eh, I don't have anything going on" or "My life is pretty boring."

Really? Oh, that's superb. How do I get in on that shit? I was hoping we could sit here in awkward silence for a few hours while you think of something to say. Really, I'm anti-social and hate everyone, but I still make an effort to go out and do stuff and read stuff and talk to people. If you think you're up to the task of going out with me, you should try some of those things too.

5. I'm thinking about putting tinfoil in my windows.

Really? Yeah, despite the fact that my recent break-up left me with practically nothing, I managed to get a job and a place and now I have some money. I can afford curtains, but all the places I could get some require a trip out of the city via car. I actually have enough money to buy a damn car, but why go through the trouble? Really, all I have to do is hit the QFC and buy some Reynold's Wrap and my sunlight problems are solved. It's pretty ghetto, but I don't think the discriminating clientele at Vito's across the street will mind.

posted by platkat @ 4:45 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Laugh at My Misfortune and Please Tip Your Waitress

Last night I left the comforts of solitude to participate in Open Mic Night at The Comedy Underground. My last open mic (almost a year ago at The Velveeta Room in Austin, Texas) proved tragic: I went onstage late and shitfaced, bitched about T-Mobile and forgot all my jokes, and pissed off at least two people because I couldn't figure out how to get back to Miranda's house. I can't say that's the main reason I've been away, but it sounds like a good one, so I'm using it.

I had to get to the club early to sign up, so there was some chill-time before the show. I talked to some other comics, who were quick to inform me of their experience and other comedy-related stuff going on in the area. Someone gave me free tickets to Laff Hole at Chop Suey! Although a whopping $5 value apiece, they were a nice gesture to a strange girl who just appeared out of nowhere.

One emcee and 26 comics performed that night, but things moved relatively fast. After the first few acts, I was appropriately intimidated. These bastards were fucking funny! I was really surprised that the level of quality was consistently better than the bringer shows at Caroline's on Broadway in New York. Bringer shows at bigger clubs like that are considered a cut above open mics where punks like me can just walk in and sign up. Bringer shows involve planning, schmoozing, and coercing, and even then, a club owner could be a real dick and not let you perform.

The open mics I've seen in New York were very mixed concerning talent and stage experience. Here, a few people brought notebooks, but most people had everything memorized down to the perfect hand gestures. You could run for office on an independent ticket with all the confidence swirling around in that club.

Most of the comics were relatively young. Per usual, the male:female ratio was about 7:1. My fellow bitches consisted of two Jews and a black girl. Also pretty standard. The funniest one predictably talked about being a big fat Jew, the other Jew was less ostentatious but still good, and the black girl, while her energy was amazing, told period jokes. As in menstruation. Shocking, sure. But I was more grossed out than humored.

Someone busted out a Heath Ledger joke and pulled it off pretty well. There were a few misogynists who ended up being pretty funny. People talked about sex on a level that left me slightly disheartened with the non-edgy material I planned to share. And a bunch of people talked about their divorces.

Then, they called me up... early! I figured I would perform second-to-last, since I came alone and they had no reason to bump me to a better slot, but someone did a little rearrangin'. No matter; this opened me up for a great proximal joke. "The Industry" may have already coined a term for this type of situation, but a proximal joke (in my warped imaginary world of sparkly colors) is one made fitting to tell only by that particular night's previous comics and events.

So when my name was called, I ran up to the stage screaming, "I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming!!" I grabbed the mic and said, "Like half the people here, I'm also divorced so it's been a long time since I've said that." Everyone laughed. I should have just ended there.

I brought my notebook, just so I'd have a lineup. Even when sober, I have a habit of forgetting which jokes I want to tell. I talked about some Seattle stuff, but most of my topics were a little New Yorkish. I need to write new stuff. (For those of you saying, "So do it," give it a try yourself. Writing clever, concise jokes to tell in front of a live audience is hard.)

So, I was on the weak end of the scale in terms of relatability, but I didn't bomb and I'm going to Chop Suey tomorrow, so the night was a success. I might try going onstage again, but not for a few weeks. I think I should start recording my rants and somehow make them funny, since that's what everyone seems to expect when they look at me.

I could get into a whole rant about how fickle audiences are when you don't give them what they expect, but I wouldn't be able to use it. Dissing the audience is retarded no matter how you do it.

posted by platkat @ 12:59 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Overheard in the Zendo

Me to male monk: "I decided to wear pants this time."

****

Succinct female monk to me: "I strongly encourage you to come on Tuesday when we can work on your sitting posture."

No offense meant, and no offense taken. I'm used to being the tallest girl (and sometimes kid) in the class and have decades of experience hunching, slumping, and leaning to keep with the pack (or at least hear what they're saying), so I know my posture leaves a lot to be desired. I guess I have plans on Tuesday now...

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

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Georgetown to Downtown

I had to run an errand in desolate, industrial Georgetown today. Because I am ~~fucking insane~~ really hardcore, I decided to walk back to Downtown Seattle. I knew the walk would be long (as you can see from the map, it's five miles), but I had the city skyline in my sights and figured I could handle it. This proved to be one of the most ~~ridiculously dangerous~~ advantageously healthy ideas I've ever had.

Yeah, I'm google-earthing this shit, just in case you can't already infer the lunacy of trying to cross over from "ghetto" to "normalcy". Cities have "natural" man-made dividers to keep these worlds separated, and I would have just taken a bus back to town if I'd given any thought to the giant highways I'd be required to traverse.

The map shows a direct route, but my journey involved a lot of zig-zagging. I kept heading west in hopes of hitting the viaduct and walking along the water. I ended up getting stuck at Marginal and faced with another highway. Zoom in on the map and notice the amount of large buildings (all abandoned on Saturday), empty lots, and train tracks.

Surprisingly, I saw no homeless people. However, as I crossed through the truck lot of yet another giant distribution center, a rig pulled up beside me. We had the usual What-the-hell-are-you-doing-here? conversation, and I implied that I needed directions without appearing lost. I was not in fact actually "lost". I used to live in the Bemis building, conveniently located on the edge of Hell, so this part of town looked very familiar to me. But a little direction with the pedestrian in mind would have been nice.

Instead, he said, "Is there a way I could contact you, call you sometime?"

I smirked, almost laughing, "No, actually. No."

I continued on my way, knowing and not minding that I can be a condescending jerk when things aren't going the way I planned. (I believe I've mentioned this before; I'm not sure if this is something I want to change.)

He was a young, decent-looking guy, but we were in a fucking truck lot. Come on. Plus, he was one of the types I've been running into lately, where the question is not, "Do you have kids?" but "How many kids do you have? And how many different women are hounding you for child support?" Christ almighty.

Anyway, I made it back to Pike Place Market in one piece. I got a chocolate milkshake and sat down on the ground by the sound... relaxation-bound.

posted by platkat @ 7:31 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Friday, February 22, 2008

An Open Letter to the Mayor of Redmond

John Marchione
Mayor's Office, 4NEX
City of Redmond
15670 N.E. 85th Street
PO Box 97010
Redmond, Washington 98073-9710

Dear Mayor Marchione,

I write to inform you of a horrific traffic signal malfunction that costs me and possibly dozens of uninteresting, less garrulous people valuable minutes every day. The pedestrian walk signals on 40th Street to cross the access roads of East and West Highway 520 do not sync with one another, nor do they sync with the walk signal to cross 40th Street. Because of this abomination of city planning, those traveling on foot to the northwest corner of 40th and 520 suffer extreme losses of time, productivity, and overall quality of life.

Like many Seattlites, I ride the 545 bus to Redmond every day to avoid the cost of rising gas prices and the ridiculous amount of traffic on 520. I considered simply living in Redmond and walking to work instead, but I found upon further investigation that your fair city has the potential of sucking what is left of my black, angry soul from my unassuming, caffeine-saturated body. I'm sure Redmond has its own unique set of amenities, perfectly fitting for Microsoft zombies, soccer moms, and people who don't like good times and fun. However, as mayor you have an obligation too great to ignore to accomodate the commuting masses, most importantly those who ride the bus from Seattle like myself.

Please direct your attention to the following illustration:

Figure 1-1: The Shittiest Walk in the History of Mankind

As you can see from the professionally charted map I have provided (Figure 1-1), the current traffic light situation is in dire need of reform. The process begins when I exit the bus and walk toward 40th street. Upon viewing the illuminated "walk" signal, I cross the eastbound access road and walk onto the bridge that spans the width of 520. From a distance, I see that the "walk" signal to cross the westbound access road is already illuminated! Now it's counting down! This happens every day! What the hell??

I reach the crosswalk and wait a full light cycle so I may safely cross the westbound access road. I will safely cross this street when the light dictates, for if I don't, a large surly crossing guard who probably gets paid more than I do will shout at me and give me a lecture about jaywalking.

Once I have crossed this street, I must wait another full light cycle to cross 40th Street. By this time I have already slain three dragons, fought a pack of hungry wolves with my bare hands, and avoided being eaten by 50 sharks with lasers on their heads. I am very tired, and just want to get to work where I can pour myself a cup of free Starbucks coffee and try to edit protocol documentation before I contemplate stabbing myself to death with a loosened support beam.

Although I do not live in Redmond, I hope you will give this correspondence the attention it so obviously deserves. Remember, dozens of people are counting on you, but most importantly, I'm counting on you to put aside whatever mayoral issues that currently require your attention and see to it that mitigation for this atrocity is delegated to the appropriate department.

Please do not hesitate to contact me with further questions.

Sincerely,
Rev. Kat Taylor, Esq., MD, CNN

Addendum: I never sent this to the mayor, or anyone, via e-mail or otherwise. Although it would be nice, I do not actually expect this problem to be rectified. This letter was intended to be a satirical format through which I could laughingly bitch about my morning commute. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That is all.

posted by platkat @ 1:27 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Awhile back I said I'd tone down the absolutes... last night I should have turned down the Absoluts. Now I feel like I'm trapped in an MC Escher drawing.

There is beauty all around me, but I cannot stop climbing stairs.

posted by platkat @ 6:45 AM 2 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Ten Reasons I Am Like a Supervillain

1. I have black hair.

2. I wear a black coat.

3. I smoke cigarettes.

4. When I'm laughing or smiling, it's usually at someone else's misfortune.

5. Whenever I'm in the middle of a conquest, I overconfidently divulge my whole plan and all of my secrets, which leads to my ultimate demise.

6. My lair is high above ground. Its location is well-known, but few are willing to face the perilous journey of trying to enter.

7. I have henchmen (in other cities... *sigh*).

8. I use my intelligence for antisocial purposes.

9. I have theme music that is dark and moody, but strangely magnetic.

10. My plight is relatable, therefore you are attracted to me in a non-traditional sense.

At the moment, I'm lacking a worthy adversary. This gives me more time to plot against the world in general, but it's nice to have some focus sometimes too. If you think you're up to the task, leave me a comment and I'll start devising a plan to destroy you. In addition to an arch-nemesis, I would also like a pet to lovingly stroke as I sit on my perch and cackle at the wreckage crashing down before me.

posted by platkat @ 9:24 AM 4 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Last Night on First Ave...

I saw you looking at me, Jason #1. You and your coworker/ex-girlfriend/friend-with-benefits. Still picking the low fruit, I see!

Anyway, I just wanted to address the question burning in your mind as you stared intently through the gelato shop window, waiting for me to notice you: What was I listening to?

Well, the songs on this album are most comparable to Jen Buchert's down-tempo, atmospheric style. The track playing as I graced your presence is pretty similar to the last three songs you lifted from my myspace profile before I deleted you from my friends list... but 10 times better.

You know what? This artist is actually pretty obscure. You wouldn't be able to find most of his stuff, even if your web knowledge did somehow transcend the frequent usage of a social networking site.

Whoops, gotta go! I hope you and your little friend (I use "little" in a figurative sense) enjoyed the eye candy. Bye-bye now!

Addendum: That moment was so Seattle, my head is still asploding.

posted by platkat @ 2:09 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Monday, February 18, 2008

Life Improvement Sunday Workshop #2

The way things have been going, it looks like I'm slated to have one workshop per month. I suppose they're the antidote to my series of unhealthy reactions to culminating events over which I have no control. So everyone, in the interest of timeliness, please plan future mind-fucks accordingly.

Anyway, here's #2: Kinda the same, a little rearranged. Let's do this.

Health
I woke up early and did cardio for about 90 minutes. I've been spending about an hour in the gym at least five times a week and I'm already feeling the difference. I recently rebuilt my iPod playlist, which has been the source of many impromptu extended workouts. After the long run, I lifted weights. It's hard to directly notice how much it helps with my running and overall body composition, but I know it does.

Cleanliness
I took a bath and shaved all my body hair for the first time in I-don't-know-when. I decided that I need to keep a stricter self-maintenance schedule despite the fact that I'm not going out every night, and most people can't tell the difference. To my credit, I've been taking more care in getting ready for work lately, mostly as a result of frequent morning workouts and not wanting my hair to freeze in the cold morning air. But also, it's a nice way to remind myself that I'm awesome, even though the only other people around to appreciate it are the people I work with, some of whom haven't purchased clothes since before I was born.

I gave myself a manicure and went through the gamut of hair and makeup. I wore a red floral sundress with long tube socks and sneakers. (This will matter later.) Coupled with someone's old homemade laptop bag and some added layers of warmth, I looked and felt like a hipster who thought she might be going to Hawaii later, but wasn't sure and didn't care.

Mental Development
I wandered around the block, cell-yakkin' with an old Texas friend who's been around the block, and seeking a cafe with free wireless and outdoor seating. I ended up at the Bauhaus, staring at a line of occupied tables lining the sunny side of the building.

I was kindly invited to share a primo table (near the corner, against the wall, in the sun) by a man with a British accent. Another long-haired, goateed hipster promptly sat down on the other side of my new companion, noticed some of his books, and instigated a serious, complex conversation about turn-of-the-century German philosophers.

I pulled out my spiral notebook and selected a writing utensil from my Mickey Mouse pencil case. "I FELL HAPPY 2DAY," I scrawled across the page in orange crayon. Then I drooled on myself a little.

I did some writing and rested back in my chair, enjoying my perfect view of the distant Space Needle shooting skyward against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. I couldn't believe how clear the day was, or that I was wearing a sundress in Seattle in February. The wind blew just enough to remind me that my long hair is pretty, and the sun shined just bright enough to keep me warm without burning. I listened to passing conversations with mild interest, pleased with my choice of venue.

The philosophy conversation sounded insanely pretentious, but I was in Capitol Hill, so its presence was almost necessary to establish the uniqueness of my overly self-referencing environment. (Oh crap, it's rubbing off!) For the non-Seattlites, it's just like hanging out on South Congress in Austin, or in the East Village in New York, or at Eric's house in Houston.

Being in good health with a more relaxed spirit, I decided to do some inward-looking. I wrote about rules. Lately, I've been breaking rules almost faster than I can make them. Before I blame myself, I think I should re-evaluate my policy-making. I should recognize that I set those rules based on what I thought I knew at the time. Then I had some new experiences and realized that certain rules can't apply to every case, and I gave myself license to break them. This isn't out of character for me at all, since I already give myself license to break some societal rules too. There are just too many of them, and they shouldn't, they can't apply to everyone.

I haven't vowed not to set any more rules, but I think I'm going to be more careful about how I go about deciding what I should and shouldn't do. Tone down the extremes, everything in moderation, and all that.

I decided to fill up my notebook with everything that was bothering me so I wouldn't write it here, which should be a home for happy/interesting/funny stories. What began as a fun exercise in g00bing ended up being a giant explosion of internet-bile that no one needs to see. Several weeks ago, I wrote the Grand Finale G00b Post, a super-diatribe about how the dating pool in Seattle is entirely fucked. While it may be the truth, it's not absolute. And in its current state, not sharable.

The worst thing about g00bing isn't that I'm bashing a bunch of random dudes who aren't here to defend themselves. It's destructive because I'm reminding myself how awful things are when they don't have to be. My heart is quite capable of radiating endless happiness and love, but at the moment my mouth and fingers can only translate it as, "Fuck you."

I can do better than that. :-)

Neighborhood Patronage
I went to Bimbos and ate a burrito. Filled in part with green onions and garlic potatoes, it was a far cry from anything I'd find in Texas. Different, but better than most of the Tex-Mex abominations I've experienced since I left my heavenly home. As I burped my way up Broadway, I deemed my late lunch "the gift that keeps on giving."

I went to the Massage Sanctuary and got kneaded for an hour. There are definitely worse ways to spend 70 bucks.

During my appointment, it had gotten super-speedy-Seattle-dark, so I was prepared for my bare legs to freeze when I stepped outside. I imagined myself tearing through Capitol Hill, running to keep warm, screaming, "I'm having an adventure! I'm having an adventure!" But it actually wasn't so bad. And I'm not actually that crazy. Yet.

Spirituality
I've returned to the Betsuin Temple since my first Life Improvement Sunday Workshop, and I may go back again. But I need something different right now. So in my continued search for peace of mind, I went to the Dai Bai Zan Cho Bo Zen Ji, aka, "The Listening to the Dharma Zen Temple on Great Plum Mountain," where "Great Plum Mountain" equals "That Huge Fucking Hill Between Broadway and 20th."

Not wanting to interrupt with tardiness, I hauled ass up that hill, arriving at 6:29. Just in time for... zazen. I was there for the Dharma Talk, which was slated to begin an hour later. Never missing a good chance to shut up for an hour (as if I have so few!), I figured sitting meditation would be a good idea.

I began removing my shoes and socks when a monk appeared.

"Go on up," he smiled.

I creeped up the stairs and stepped onto the landing, staring into a familiarly arranged room with several people already meditating cross-legged on mats.

Goddammit, I thought, looking down at my nearly knee-length skirt. (No friends, the irony of a retired Catholic taking the Lord's name in vain while standing in a zendo is not lost on me.)

My shoes were off. The monk had seen me. I'd been running around like a maniac all day. It was getting cold outside. I needed to sit! I needed to sit there! So I went in.

I chose a mat, then shifted and contorted, attempting to modify the lotus position so as not to turn this peaceful hour into a would-be gynecologist exam.

"Sit in a kneeling position," ordered a sitting female monk with succinct precision.

Ah, yes, I fail at Buddhism. For most people, long periods of sitting still and saying nothing is a difficult prospect, but now the hour would go by faster because I'd be spending it crafting the perfect apology for my inappropriate entrance.

The hour did pass quickly, and we had tea before the Dharma Talk. As expected, there's a whole procedure that I had never experienced, and despite a minor misstep, I received tea and cookie. There's also a procedure for consuming these items, and since I'm a slow eater, the procedure was punctuated with my rapid chewing and shooting my cup of almost-scalding tea while everyone waited. I try not to beat myself up over this stuff—I've been to a bunch of temples now, and no two have done anything the same.

The Dharma Talk was a standard discussion of the emptiness of all that comprises the formless universe. There was some light talk of physics, but the main message was that everything is nothing, we're nothing, and the universe is already taking care of itself, regardless of what we do. This is the kind of stuff I know and need to hear more often because it applies to all the junk I often overanalyze to no positive end.

After the talk, I had a chance to talk to the monks in passing. Having just finished a profoundly deep meditation on cleverly woven apologies, I gestured toward my skirt and sheepishly said, "Sorry." One should always consider his audience when advertising his shortcomings. Since the chief M.O. for these guys is quiet serenity, "simple" seemed the way to go.

One of the male monks laughed and said, "Don't mention it! We're glad to have you here," which gave me the chance to say I was glad to be there, because I was. And even though I decided I'm not making anymore rules, I planned to consciously avoid teasing the celibate with any more incidental crotch shots during future visits.

posted by platkat @ 11:01 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Also on Saturday

I woke up around 1pm to the sound of my phone ringing.

"Kat, this can't be happening. I'm going to India in four days and I have pneumonia!"

"Aarrmmppphhhaaaggraaahhh."

"And it's a beautiful day and I can't go outside and this suuuuucks!"

The light shining through my window was blinding me. There was no way I was getting back to sleep.

"I'm getting breakfast somewhere and coming over. AAARRGGHH I FEEL LIKE SHIT!"

"I feel like shit!!"

(In unison) "AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!"

"Okay-see-you-later-bye."

The beautiful day made it worth dragging my ass out of bed. I lay in the grass near Pike Place Market and looked at Puget Sound. I bought discounted Valentine's Day candy. (I knew this made-up holiday served a purpose other than to make me miserable!) As I headed toward Pioneer Square, I saw a somewhat plain, slightly ugly girl with a hideous face tattoo and decided things could be a lot worse.

I had spent Friday night with some friends at Cafe Metropolitan, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places. Or maybe I've just had really good luck snagging the comfortable seats in the back every time I go. I arrived early and spent over an hour sipping a single glass of wine. Some people made idle chat with me, but I mostly did work on my laptop and felt semi-productive.

Then everyone showed up, we got tipsy, and they took me to the Satellite to play dominoes. I don't know how it came up, but I love dominoes, and I'm always up for a live game. I learned how to play on Yahoo Dominoes when I was in college. I found out as the night passed by that most of my opponents had learned the game in jail. I find it amusing that in my short time here, I've met an oddly large number of guys who have been to jail, and in many cases, they share more of my interests than non-criminals. More amusing still is that the high amount of shit-talking combined with drinking did not result in violent ass-kicking.

After last call, my friends and I got more booze and went to some Irish guy's house. He was cool, but kind of off his rocker like most older men who have been single too long (e.g., Creepy Noel). He gave us all black t-shirts that read, "Drunken Chess Masters" and had a picture of a white rook.

Then he repeatedly asked me to tell him about myself, but didn't ask any specific questions. I finally told him a little about my background, that I had traveled a lot, and that I've worked in tech for awhile. I don't know what set him off, but the next thing I knew, he was screaming and swearing at me. Most people would assume I'd retaliate with guns blazing, never being one to hold my tongue when sober and threatened. But when I'm drunk and someone else instigates a real battle (beyond shit-talking among friends), I always search for ways to leave silently. It was really. Really. Weird.

Anyway, my people walked me home, where I drank more, fell asleep, and naturally, was in a shitty mood all day Saturday. I send an open apology to anyone who had to serve, pass by, talk to, or look at me. I probably appeared very scary, but I'm over it now.

Enter: Life Improvement Sunday Workshop #2.

posted by platkat @ 7:33 AM 3 million people love The Kat

Saturday, February 16, 2008

I'm Not Depressed, I'm Camping

Suffering from periodic depression is just like going camping. The same laws of hygiene apply, you eat a lot of stuff you wouldn't normally eat, and you feel the strong urge to constantly light stuff on fire for no reason. So yeah, I may have been wearing this t-shirt for the last three days, that entire jar of peanut butter might also be considered "dinner," and I have no idea how that bridge behind me burst into flames. Yes, I live in a major metropolitan area, but when I go camping, I do it with the best of 'em.

(Thanks, April and Andrew. I needed an alibi.)

posted by platkat @ 10:49 AM 0 million people love The Kat

Friday, February 15, 2008

Bad Beat Blues

I've Got Something to Say!

In light of this small milestone in my post-apocalyptic saga (fleeing NY = apocalypse in my world), I've learned something. Broken-heart stories are like bad-beat stories: Everyone playing the game has at least one, and no one wants to hear it.

Still, when it's your story, it's totally epic and life-changing. You were holding a full house on the flop and your opponent was a complete idiot for calling your all-in raise with Ax-offsuit. But then he got runner-runner Aces to make the higher full house, and now you're outside smoking a cigarette, bitching about it to anyone who will listen.

Similarly, you can think someone's a sure bet before all the cards are on the table. You back them completely with everything you've got and sit back to watch the magic happen. But then suddenly you find yourself alone, empty-handed... and once again, bitching about it to anyone who will listen.

You can argue that you played your hand correctly, given your chipstack, that of your opponent, the stage of the game you were in, and (to a degree) your opponent's expected behavior based on previous decisions you've watched him make thusfar. You can justify your actions based on all those points and more, and be totally right.

It doesn't matter. You still lost.

But that's how life is sometimes, right? Things went poorly this time, but there will be other tournaments. There's nothing that anyone could have done to change the outcome. Sometimes you're a victim of circumstance.

posted by platkat @ 4:42 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Suspicious Substance, or Late Valentine's Day Gift?

E-mail from Security: A suspicious substance has been received in the mail room of Building XXX. Security personnel have been dispatched to the location or may already be on location to respond to and investigate the package. You may have observed Security personnel arriving onsite, and performing their work, a few minutes in advance of receiving an initial communication.

Oh noes! Everybody PANIC!

E-mail from da boss: If you are feeling uncomfortable about the situation in bldg. XXX, please feel free to leave (if you can). I hope it is resolved quickly and everything is OK.

SWEET! Three-hour lunch break!

See, I get e-mails every day. But send me some anthrax, and I'll know you're serious.

posted by platkat @ 12:16 PM 0 million people love The Kat

A Public Service Announcement

This is Kat:

This is Kat on Valentine's Day:

Any questions?

posted by platkat @ 9:44 AM 4 million people love The Kat

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Stop G00bing -- Before G00bing Stops YOU!

I've been advised to hold off on G00bing for the time being and spend one day not being a snarky asshole. I should cheer up, enjoy the nice day and the free candy, and all that...

Inconsistent with what I said a week ago, this is a user-dictated blog, and apparently some people can tell me what to do.

Humorous Pictures

See? Valentine's Day spirit. I have it in my heart.

"Everything you do right now ripples outward and affects everyone. Your posture can shine your heart or transmit anxiety. Your breath can radiate love or muddy the room in depression. Your glance can awaken joy. Your words can inspire freedom. Your every act can open hearts and minds." -David Deida

posted by platkat @ 4:03 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: Someone Old, Someone New, Either Way, They're Total G00bs

I'm a little behind (real surprising, isn't it?), but here are two quick stories about g00bs who have attempted to court me over the internet only to meet massive amounts of FAIL. I know I said I'd keep it local, and these are, in a way. The phone I was texting on was in Seattle the whole time.

Old G00b
I briefly dated this guy before I met Gus. A West Point graduate, he was a very young First Lieutenant stationed in Killeen. Despite our astronomically huge differences, we had a good time together. He ended up fighting in some war or something, so I hadn't heard from him in a long time until recently.

Instead of messaging me on AIM, where we normally chatted, and awaiting my response, he pulled the g00b move of messaging me, waiting two seconds for a response, and logging off right away. He did this about five times over the course of a week, getting angrier and more defensive with each message. The last one I received was four lines. It went something like:

>Hey
>Look, I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore
>I know it's been a long time
>If you want me to stop messaging you, just type "Stop" and I'll leave you alone

If he'd given me half a second to tell him, I would have let him know that I only receive AIM on my phone right now, and since I'm not an annoying cocksucker, I don't set it to audibly alert me when I have a new message. Had he waited for my response or sent me an email, I would have been happy to deliver the latest news of the PlatKat Empire.

But really, that much hostility over an unriquited message? Grow up, g00b.

New G00b
This morning's g00b, who inspired this internet-centric post, is from Oakland. I have not met this person, nor do I care to. He found my old profile on Yahoo and happened to catch me at the right time (as I was getting on the bus to work), so I figured I'd take a break from my sci-fi novel and see what was crackin' with this asshole.

I know other people's chat logs are boring, so I'll try to stick to the highlights. Most of them just show what a bitch I am, but it's the only way I know how to deal with g00bs...

he: hot pic
[This is how every conversation on Yahoo begins ever.]
me: thanks
he: I am 34, 6'2 dark blond/blue
me: want a cookie?
he: depends what kind
[Here, I tell him my profile is at least a year old and that I live in Seattle to see if he'll prowl somewhere closer to home]
he: i was born in spokane
me: I wouldn't advertise that
[Boring convo about Seattle and sculpture ensues]
he: do you still have a long term relationship?
me: no, it ended
he: still 26?
me: no, as time moves in a linear fashion, I have since aged a year
[More senseless garbage]
he: you write?
me: I have a website, but if that's too complicated and you'd rather just stare at one picture in my profile, that's fine
he: I can handle more, send me the link
me: it's on my profile page. are you new to the internet?
he: nearly
me: I wouldn't advertise that either
he: new to scrolling down at least
me: pretty lame. take a class and get back to me

The conversation continued to go downhill as he read and commented on my site, and then told me about how he gave a rimjob to some chick at the top of a building. It was "interesting" and "totally improvised," he informed me. Right, because most people schedule rimjobs well in advance using their Outlook calendars.

"Hey Kat, we're gonna put together a group lunch this Wednesday at noon. You in?"
"Sorry guys, Wednesdays are bad. I have a rimjob at 11 and then a team meeting at 1, so my schedule's already kinda tight. Better go without me."

I don't know if that was supposed to arouse me or prompt me to talk to him again or what, but I can guarantee that none of that is happening. I wish I could say it made my morning a little more interesting, but the sci-fi novel I'm reading right now is really fucking good.

posted by platkat @ 7:41 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Monday, February 11, 2008

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: Papa Was a Rolling G00b

I met this guy at a bar near my house, and later agreed to see him again over dinner. He moved to the US from Jamaica as a teenager sometime when I was in preschool. He'd been in both jail and the army (one in the same, in my opinion), and now he works as a radiologist at a nearby hospital. He made sure I knew under no uncertain terms that he did well for himself, which made me cringe, but his overall intentions and personality seemed genuine.

He was a nice enough guy, but he had a son. I like children fine, but they usually come with an ex-wife, which I got to hear all about in scathing detail. I'd be calling the kettle black (pun?) to say it was totally inappropriate, but he seemed pretty focused on his ex, and of course his son.

This meant he was too preoccupied to choose a place to eat, so despite the fact that I had been in town for barely two months, it was on me to pick the place. Let me just note here that it is a welcome rarity indeed for a man to explicitly ask me out and say, "Let's go to [place]. I'll pick you up at [time]. If we're in the mood, afterward, we'll go to [other place]." I learned quickly upon becoming single and moving here that the fairytale I just outlined is quite unlikely, so I should plan on doing most of the work.

I picked a sports bar with a reasonably upscale menu in Pioneer Square because I knew it wouldn't be crowded. He barely ordered anything (one appetizer and no drink) and when my meal came out, he complained about it for me. I didn't think there was anything wrong with its presentation or portion size, but calmly acknowledged his editorializing and ate my food. He also seemed more interested in talking to the chatty waiter than to me.

When he was talking to me, he spoke mostly of his son. His special snowflake of a third-grader was getting to that age where he needs to be more assertive, he told me. For instance, he should be able to tell his absent-minded, negligent mother that if he has to go pee, he needs to tell her so she can wait for him to go by the side of the car in the parking lot at Walmart.

What??

Let me get this straight: Don't talk to strangers. Look both ways before you cross the street. And always, always warn mommy when you're out running errands and have to pee so she can get slapped with a citation for letting her son urinate in public. Got it.

Maybe I'm overly prudent, or perhaps I was just confused by how the conversation had taken such an odd turn. For some reason, I subtly raised the question of why this particular scenario is at the forefront of his mind, during our dinner conversation no less. He went onto explain that the child would just wet his pants if he didn't say something when his mom was ready to leave a place. But for some reason, going in the parking lot is preferable to going back inside the store. I opted not to press it further.

I was getting really tired of being there, so when the check came, I permitted my dining companion space out as I gracefully whipped out my credit card and handed it to the waiter. The receipt was delivered not a moment too soon and as I signed it, he suddenly returned to reality.

"Did you just pay for that?" he asked incredulously, as if the event had not just taken place in his direct presence.

I gave an affirmative reply, wishing I could add, "One of us had to," without sounding like a total bitch. He could have at least pulled a chick move and gone to the bathroom when the check came. But I wouldn't have paid if it was going to bother me; I really just wanted to leave.

I suppose no matter how interesting a person could be, it won't be too long before you find out what's really going on in his head, and if there's room in there for anything else. Having kids (and even talking about them ad nauseum) doesn't make someone a g00b, but attempting to regale me with all the dumb methods by which he chooses to raise them certainly does.

posted by platkat @ 8:25 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Granola Hangover

On the eleventh day of February, my true love sent to me...

80 pounds of granola??

Just to give you a frame of reference for how big this thing is:

And as I stuffed my cheeks like a squirrel at the onset of autumn, I found a card:

You probably can't make out the handwriting at the top, and I'll purposely neglect to transcribe it so as to accomodate the cynics. If it was written to anyone but me, I know I'd G-A-G (and maybe L-O-L afterward).

In all seriousness, thank you self-admitted loyal reader Ajeet, for this lovely gift basket. Now that I'm single again, the mere idea of Valentine's Day makes me want to do something that this granola will surely be able to help along.

(Okay, everyone. Now you can gag.)

posted by platkat @ 2:01 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: The Information G00ber-Highway

I spent part of this evening holed up in the computer lab at my apartment complex. That's right folks, it's been two months since I moved into my apartment and I've been too preoccupied/lazy/cheap to call a provider and get wireless. Go ahead, mock/admire/fear me.

As you may have guessed, any place with free public access to computers is the perfect hangout for unsuspecting g00bs.

At first, I was sharing the tiny lab with a couple of stupid fucking hipsters verbally sharing the contents of their myspace profiles. In my experience with all public places (the gym, the bus, etc.), whenever one annoying person/group leaves, another almost immediately takes its place. They're never all there at once. It's like they all took numbers for the Bug-the-Shit-Outta-Kat Line at some crowded government office.

So once the hipsters took off, I was promptly confronted with tonight's g00b.

There's a man who lives in my building, who I think is just under forty (thus qualifying him as eligible for Kat's Valentine Chronicles), and he exhibits the behaviors of single older-manhood so explicitly that it's petrifying. He is awkward, dresses neatly, looks smiley and overly attentive, and talks to himself. Not unlike some other people I've met here, his mere presence agitates me to no end.

I've seen him around before. Once he said, "Hi."

It took every ounce of my will not to respond, "Die."

This computer lab experience was the first time I'd spent any time near him that wasn't just in passing, and thus I confirmed my death wish for him was not ill-founded. Apparently, by sitting in one place for an extended period of time, all the energy that he'd normally burn by running marathons and lifting cars with his bare hands needed to be expelled. Therefore, he could not stop incessantly rattling his legs and shifting positions every two seconds. If this guy had another inch of rubber on his soles, he'd be bouncing off the fucking walls like we were in a raquetball court. This would be acceptable only if I were also holding a raquet with which to beat him mercilessly.

Another thing that made me wish he were dead was the intensity with which he logged into his yahoo account and browsed news articles on CNN. He stared so closely at the screen, made such ostentatiously rapid gestures, and muttered phrases like, "Okay..." and "Just one more thing here..." as if he was hacking into the mainframe at the fucking Pentagon. You're at a computer. You're using the internet. We get it. Take a goddamn pill and chill the fuck out.

I must admit, though, I'm mostly curious about why this guy doesn't have internet access in his apartment. Unlike the strong population of youngins that run the place, this guy should have some money to pay for such a common luxury. I know, I'm in the same boat. But unlike this guy, you wouldn't assume I'd spend my leisure time surfing porn and jacking off into a dirty sock. So, he either had his nuts chopped as part of criminal sentence and has no desire for anything sexual at all or he's remiss to discard his extensive collection of 80s-era deep-throat VHS cassettes.

OR, the case that is most likely: He is a vacant, feckless, Seattle-bred g00b. He views sex, and seemingly all social responsibility, as an out-of-sight, out-of-mind proposition. The upshot of this is his highly unlikely chance of procreating. I suppose I won't question how he came to be and just accept the small silver linings in life.

posted by platkat @ 6:55 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Girl G00bs: How to Bow Out After You've Put Out

It looks like the weekend is a good time to take a slight departure from the traditional g00b stories and discuss some general issues surrounding the g00b phenomenon. Today's piece is guest-written by Sean, who has some advice for girls who get busy on the first date, but can't be bothered with a second one. Instead of gracefully declining further encounters, she's taken the shallow route by not communicating.

I'd like to point out that your not wanting to be with me (or my friend) doesn't automatically make you a g00b, the same way breaking my heart doesn't. BUT, there are better ways to go about cutting the cord than leaving us guessing. To that end, here are some handy tips for the ignorant daters who could easily eliminate days of dejection in five minutes or less.

I know it was one date. I know we don't have a relationship. I know you aren't my girlfriend. If you don't want to see me anymore, you don't owe me a long conversation. But you do owe me something.

The unreturned phone call? That's how you're going to end it? The unreturned phone call? I thought you were classier than that. No? I was hoping, but I understand. Maybe you don't want me to think that you think we had a relationship. I get you. In order to help you out, I've compiled a list of easy ways you can tell me it's over, even though I'm still in that pre-boyfriend gray area.

Leave a Post-It note.
Call a cab, and stick it on my door on your way out in the morning. Simple. Direct. Wake up really early before I do and put the note somewhere inconspicuous. You can say goodbye with a big smile, and I'll find it an hour later.

Unfriend me on Facebook.
This one is even easier. There's zero chance of having to engage in an awkward conversation, and your message is loud and clear. This has the downside of affecting the all important friend-count, but I think we'll both survive.

Text me.
We can even make a little code. Let's go with idwtsyaaiwaltiytyslaqgbijdsaltrhiaybtkomwaiwcttlamancmammfu. It stands for "I don't want to see you anymore, and I would also like to inform you that you seem like a quality guy but I just don't see a long term relationship happening. I appreciate you being the kind of mature, well adjusted individual who can take this like a man and not call me and make me feel uncomfortable." One day this will be just like omg or lol. And you can say you started a trend.

Call me back and tell me you have herpes.
This one pretty much needs no explanation. Note that it has the benefit of making me feel like I was too good for you. If you are avoiding a conversation because of the discomfort of making someone else feel bad, this is the way to go.

Tell me you're a Scientologist.
This works a lot like the herpes bit, except it has an even worse social stigma attached to it because it is a condition of your choosing.

Return call/act like adult.
Seriously. Grow some fucking ovaries and tell me that second date is not going to happen. You will only save me a few days, but love is hard enough, and I need every extra day I can get.

posted by platkat @ 3:56 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Saturday, February 09, 2008

G00b-Wrangling: Time to Build Some Fences

Writing about g00bs every day is harder than I thought. Theoretically, it's quite easy, living in a city with such an abundance of free-flowing material. But I have a few stipulations for this exercise that are proving to be rather difficult to write around.

First, I'm trying to avoid stories centered around sex. Although my sex life is rife with hilarious fail, I think it would be wrong to expose the people who come here looking for a light laugh between work-related tasks to what are really disgusting tales of loserish depravity. Also, even though she claims not to, my mother reads this blog. (By the way, Mom, if you're looking for Claire, I mailed her to Abu Dhabi. So you can tell all the alleged people requesting the whereabouts of your daughters that she is there.)

Second, I don't want to talk about any of the Jasons. The story of the Jasons is too long and complex for a blog post. I may go into hiding and write it one day, but for now, there will be no Jasons here. Except you, Auxiliary Jason. Come on in anytime! (cue sexy porn music)

Third, I want to keep it current and local. This means I can only talk about people I've encountered post-Gus, after I moved to Seattle. (I may have to break the last part though. I ran into some funny g00bage in Austin.)

Fourth, I can't call someone a g00b just because he broke my heart. The guy has to have done something truly g00b-like in order to be part of Kat's Valentine Chronicles. In fact, I don't want to write about my broken heart at all. It doesn't make any situation better, and it's only entertaining to people who want to see me upset. If you happen to be one of those people, stop lurking here and give me a call. Ask me what happened to Gus. Tell me I'm fat. But let's spare the folks who like me and want to see me happy, okay?

Fifth, and this is just a general rule, no online personal ads. Most people would say this should be a given. But before Gus (and before the surge in social networking sites like Myspace and Friendster), online personals were the best way to meet new people. Now, online personals seem like a deserted wasteland for the desperate, and yet I feel too old to learn the new rules of dating through the human-herding social sites. Meeting people is hard, y'all! I used to view online personals as a nice screening process to weed out the morons, the assholes, the drones, and so on. Did some of them slip past? Of course, but I usually knew what I was getting myself into, and I got at least a free dinner out of it, which was cool to me back in those days.

Now that I know what it's like to be in love and what it's like to have a cache of superfriends whose company I deeply enjoy, I'd rather eat alone than waste my time with a loser. I don't care how good the expensive dessert is. (Actually, yes I do. I care a lot, and I'd be thrilled to pay for and enjoy it by myself.)

Anyway, the only reason I'd post a personal ad would be to indulge myself in some mean-spirited experiment, the results of which I'd of course use as blog fodder for my own (and maybe your) personal amusement. While the idea is a funny way to take advantage of singlehood, it's a little too harsh, even for me. There are lots of tattered souls looking for love out there. It's tough, and no one deserves to have their feelings messed with like that, even in the name of comedic prose.

In conclusion, those are my parameters. I hope this post helps you understand why g00b-bashing ain't easy. But you know what they say, nothing worthwhile ever is.

posted by platkat @ 2:15 PM 3 million people love The Kat

Friday, February 08, 2008

Hardly Working G00bs

April is writing today's featured g00b, but I have a short rant about an unrelated class of lamentable people. There's a certain type of man I often see walking the downtown streets of Seattle and until recently, Austin. He's older, at least in his fifties, and usually black. He wears dress shoes and he carries a briefcase, but he's clearly not going to work because he's also wearing sweatpants and a flannel shirt with rips and stains on it.

I know, I know. This is also the dress code for some programmers and IT people, especially in laid-back Austin and West Coast work environments. However, these men look so unkempt and disoriented, I'd bet money that 99 percent of them are not doing tech jobs. Still, they shuffle down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon like they have some important business to attend to. I really want to run an informal survey and find out what the hell these bums are doing. But I don't have that kind of time.

So my questions are "Who do you think you're fooling?" and "What is in that briefcase?"

And if the answer to question two is what I think it is, then my third question is, "How much?"

posted by platkat @ 2:24 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: No G00b Left Behind

A well-meaning friend asked me out to dinner one night, and invited a male friend of hers to have drinks with us afterward. Being the new girl in town, I appreciate these random acts of kindness and met the night with positive anticipation.

Before he showed up, my friend gave me a quick briefing. The biggest points of contention: He's 25, and he's a high school teacher. The age difference was not ideal, but something I have begun to learn how to manage. (This is out of necessity, since men that age haven't mastered the art of being born too late on their own.) Also, I think teaching is a very noble profession, and it gave us plenty to talk about; I used to work for a teacher's organization in Texas.

Unfortunately, our conversation quickly revealed that he's almost never in front of a computer, and has no interest in technology at all. He's barely an internet-user. So, we have a 25-year-old high school teacher luddite. This means he has no money and doesn't know what Fark is. A match made in heaven, right?

Before I reveal myself as totally mean and frivolous, let me make clear that I'm not looking for someone to "take care" of me. I have my own money, and to that end, I like to go out and spend it on cool stuff and fun times. I like being with other people who can do the same without bellyaching about how much they're spending every five seconds. And I'm not rich enough to be a sugar mama. Yet.

Also, Fark isn't a huge deal, but it's the source of some pretty funny inside jokes for the folks who understand them. It's not a requirement for hanging out with me, but it is relevant to this story.

So the g00b and I hit a couple of bars, and then he offered to walk me home. I thought that was nice of him, since it was around midnight and I wasn't sure where I was. (Relax, it was Capitol Hill. I could have figured it out.)

We reached my front door and I thanked him for the nice time. Instead of asking one of the more routine follow-up questions:

"Can I call you sometime?"
"Would you like to hang out again?"
"Do you have herpes?"

He asked this question:

"Do you wants make-outs?"

My initial thought was, I can has cheezburger?*, quickly followed by, No, not yours. But this guy doesn't use the internet. He's not familiar with LOLcats or discussion forums, and he's certainly not chatting online with babes like me all day.** He has no reference for either of the two previous statements, nor does he understand the implications of his own. Therefore, I determined that he had just asked that question in all seriousness and was attempting to be cute on its own merit alone.

Sigh... Your tear gas doesn't work on me, General.

Upon registering his question, my eyes grew very wide and I exclaimed, "My goodness, you are 25, aren't you?" (When things go awry through no fault of my own, I tend to get a bit condescending.)

"Well, I didn't want it to be awkward if you didn't," was his response.

"You just made it more awkward by trying to discuss it!" I laughed.

Yeah, I'm kind of a jerk, but am I wrong? Wouldn't most people agree that you should be able to tell whether someone wants a kiss, and if you can't, maybe they don't? I'm not asking anyone to read my mind, I just think some instinct-following is in order. Rule of thumb: Give it a shot. She'll either kiss you back or slap you. If you made it to the point where you're considering a kiss in the first place, the events that got you there are probably in your favor. And if not, fuck it! You got slapped. Who cares?

So, I inadvertently cut this guy's dick in half, but in my defense, there's really no good answer to that question. I don't care if he could have been the best lay of my life. Knowing that it all began with a timid display of grammatical crisis would have squelched any orgasm I could even imagine having that night.

*This was from another post, but I decided it would be more appropriate here. Funny anonymous comment moved as well. Kind of strange, but it's my blog, and you can't tell me what to do!

**http://dontbejealousthativebeenchattingonlinewithbabesallday.com/ is an actual site. Let me show you it. I still love technology.

posted by platkat @ 1:41 PM 3 million people love The Kat

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: G00b in Transit

I rode the bus home a little late last week. This is good for two reasons: The late buses are usually half-empty, and I get paid overtime.

Despite the increased chances of a peaceful ride home, my intentions were dashed by a fellow rider sitting across from me in the middle-facing seats. He was just a regular white guy in his mid-30s; maybe somewhat attractive. But throughout the entire ride, instead of reading or listening to music or working on his laptop, he made a big fucking production out of biting his nails and otherwise picking at himself.

GROSS.

He just sat there, staring into space and gnawing away at his cuticles, incessantly. Every now and then he'd get a more serious look to him, and since he was technically "grooming," he looked resemblant of a shaven monkey. As he went to work on his left hand, I noticed a wedding ring.

Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding, I thought. If his wife could only see him.

As if on cue, he reached for his phone and called what must have been his wife. A man this dumb-looking would be unable to manage a mistress. With a dopey, shit-eating grin on his face and an overly innocent, blank look in his eye, he reported, "I'm still on the bus," with unnecessary excitement, and proceded to outline his evening's plans of drinking margaritas and having dinner somewhere.

Unnecessary cell phone usage on the bus is annoying in itself, but coming from this guy, it was even worse. Bearing witness to his moronic fidgeting was annoying enough, but I was also given a blatant reminder that I haven't had sex in a very long time, but this fucking guy is getting laid.

What kind of world is it where I, a smart, attractive, young woman, single for the first time in God-knows-how-long, am not getting any, but I'm a captive audience to the foolishness of this stupidass, who is going to take out his stupidass wife, and nail her stupid ass missionary-style when they get home?

If these are the taken ones, there's absolutely no hope for me dating here. Yet, I'm not sure whether to file this under "Fuck Seattle" or "Fuck Valentine's Day." Maybe "Fuck Riding the Bus"? I'll settle for a trifecta of "Fuck" in honor of being chronically celibate.

posted by platkat @ 1:58 PM 2 million people love The Kat

Something Special for Valentine's Day

Kat's Valentine Chronicles: Good idea or most ridiculously entertaining idea EVAR?

In honor of the upcoming greeting-card-invented holiday of public shame, I was thinking of dedicating each day's blog post to a "G00b of the Day." I know I have eight days until the real shit storm hits, and I'm confident that I have more than enough stories to fill those days. Unfortunately, the conflict lies in the fact that some of my subject matter might still read this blog. Yet, this may not be important because if you find that you are subject matter, you've obviously done something to achieve g00b-status... for starters, you're reading my blog instead of just talking to me. Fuckin' g00b.

While I'm deciding, check out my favorite Valentine thus far:

(Thanks, Auxiliary Jason.)

posted by platkat @ 12:47 PM 0 million people love The Kat

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Two Links

1980's Crispy Critters Cereal Commercial
Ahhhh, shit! Every cereal needs a spokesmuppet that sounds like a Bronx construction worker.

Mario Paint gets Rick Roll'ed
Eric sez, "I've seen Rembrandts that impressed me less."

posted by platkat @ 12:08 PM 1 million people love The Kat

Monday, February 04, 2008

(720) 494-5800

Dear (720) 494-5800,

I just wanted to say I'm sorry I missed your call at 2 AM this morning. It must have been really important, since (720) 494-5800 is not listed as a contact in my phone, and you didn't bother leaving a message.

I'm not sure where I met you (720) 494-5800, or how you got my number, but I really hope you lose it and forget about me altogether.

You see, (720) 494-5800, I don't like being woken up in the middle of the night for no reason. If you're going to drunk-dial someone, do it right and slur something into the phone before you realize no one's listening and hang up.

For all the other folks reading this, please feel free to call (720) 494-5800 as late and frequently as you would like. People who call from numbers like (720) 494-5800 should know that making unsolicited late-night calls to my phone is not okay.

Now if you'll excuse me, that bathroom wall isn't going to write all over itself.

Sincerely,
Kat "Don't Call Me Unless Someone's Dying" Taylor

posted by platkat @ 10:47 AM 1 million people love The Kat

Top of the Mornin'

I woke up two hours late this morning, so I didn't exercise or do a salt water flush. So much for maintaining the benefits of the Master Cleanse. Determined to start the day off right...ish, I ate an orange.

Then I put some stolen music into my phone and walked to the bus stop. I didn't want to come to work today.

The bus stop was temporarily closed due to construction. I figured it was a sign, so I continued walking. I lit a cigarette and tried to decide what to do.

What if I didn't go to work? I wandered through downtown in the direction of the water. I picked out a dress for a wedding I'll never have. I shopped for art to hang in a home I'll never keep. I contemplated having my hair cut very short so I could spend the rest of 2008 distracted by the process of its slow regrowth.

I reached a lookout point along Puget Sound. I looked at the calm water, the haze above it, and the shore across it.

"I HATE YOU PUGET SOUND! YOU'RE NOT THE OCEAN! FUCK YOU!!!" I screamed.

A bum looked at me for a minute and shuffled away silently.

I returned to Fourth Street where I could find another bus to take me to work. If I don't show up today, someone will probably notice. So here I am. Another day powered by Mountain Dew and unabashed hatred.

posted by platkat @ 10:19 AM 0 million people love The Kat