Life's Adventures

Merry Jingly

claytonsgrrl — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 22:01:07 GMT

There's only so much Christmas music one can listen to before it all sounds the same unless it's distinct like Dominic the Donkey or Grandma Got Run-Over By A Reindeer. So I switch to Youtube during work today, thinking I'll play some AMVs to mix up the music for awhile but instead I type in Lie To Me.

I've been a little bit obsessed with this show since Steve called me down in Virginia two weeks ago to tell me he's been Netflixing a new show. I roll my eyes and sigh into the phone; we already have enough trouble keeping up with the ones we DVR so why bring a new one into the mix? He tells me he's watched like 6 episodes in a row and swears to me I'll love it. "What is it?" I ask skeptically. "It's called Lie To Me." "Oh the one with Tim Roth?" Yep. That's the one. And now Mr. Orange is all over my Netflix queue because I can't get enough of him.

Maybe it's his mannerisms for Dr. Cal Lightman but he's fantastic regardless. His flamboyant hand gestures and the way he just lounges as he looks at you with the pug head tilt makes me laugh. Though honestly, if a 5'7" Englishman got all up in my personal space with his nose mere centimeters from mine, I'd probably show signs of lying too.

Naturally I'm shipping Callian (Cal and Gillian's relationship for those who don't speak geek) and I have found a bunch of music videos dedicated to them on the Yube. I now have a new list of songs to download (legally of course...head tilt) including a strange and silly new Christmas song.

I didn’t know Lady Gaga cashed in on Christmas but I love it anyway! Enjoy!

What would it take to make you see that I'm alive?

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 13:08:58 GMT

For years I have this nagging suspicion, this weird feeling that something is definitely wrong with me. No matter what I do to make my appearance more appealing, no one ever turns their heads to look at me, especially men. I'm not even sure how I won the affections of previous boyfriends but when I stop to think about it things fall magically into place: Weisman resigns himself to dating me after months of me letting him know during English class that I want him. EJ takes a liking to me but then again, the majority of the time we spend together I am in full hockey equipment, my face hidden behind a cage to make talking to me more bearable. Even Steve falls in love with me via AOL Instant Messenger when we spend three nights talking deeply over door openings and dings into the wee hours of the morning.

The dawning realization that I'm one of those girls, the ones that have the "good personality" rather than the one that can turn heads with a flirty glance kinda sucks. It really does. But what really sucks about being the "good personality" girl is that when people don't know you, they tend to ignore you.

I can handle being ignored by strangers (since it happens once I grow out of cutesy in early middle school and hit puberty for four years) but what I can't handle is being treated as if I'm invisible.

I am patiently awaiting my turn in Jamba Juice because I've got a hankering for some oatmeal with the brown sugar crumble this morning; I've been thinking about it since hitting the Mineola station. Right before the customer in front of me is about to pay for their smoothie, in walks Yuppie Douchebag Man. He barely spares me a glance as he asks, "did you order yet?" I shake my head no and answer, "no, I haven't ordered yet." He then walks past me (as if I didn’t just answer him) to the cashier and orders.

I stand there, puzzled, staring at his annoying business-backpack-in-lieu-of-briefcase clad back and wonder just what is it about me that people feel the need to treat me like dirt? I think I'm dressed very nicely this morning, according to the bottle of perfume I spritzed on myself I smell like Jessica Simpson so really, what's so unappealing about me?

I'm starting to get that paranoid feeling that I see something entirely different in the mirror and also when I look at pictures of myself. I'm starting to think I'm stuck in Shallow Hal and really I'm some gigantic ugly woman that sees the beauty from the inside on the outside. Though the unibrow I’m sporting is all me.

You know what this calls for today?

Hey Yuppie Douchebag Man!...YOU'VE GOT BALLS! (though they must be really tiny if cutting a woman in line makes you feel better about your manhood)

Pudgie's

claytonsgrrl — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 17:07:36 GMT

Maeve and Kim love Glee. They suggest I watch the third episode one night after Idol and I persuade Steve to tape it for me. We make it through about five minutes before he throws a look in my direction that tells me I need to shut it off and put ESPN back on pronto.

I tell them I tried but they don't think I tried hard enough so when Mel, Maeve, and I travel down to Virginia for the BGE Weekend (Busch Gardens Extravaganza), they set us up to watch the first few episodes of season one. I'm very receptive to the idea because I heard their version of "Somebody To Love" and thought it was nicely done so I figured, what the heck? Why not give it a chance?

I'm very glad I did because they introduced me to Jazmine Sullivan's "Bust Your Windows" which is like the R&B's answer to Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats". I really enjoy this tune a lot but when Lauren J. posts a different version of "Bust Your Windows" on Facebook, I can't listen to it without changing the words.

You HAVE to watch this. You HAVE to. This kid not only has a good voice but he's damn funny. His lyrics are hilarious and his facial expressions kill me. Even the two guys in the background who pass by crack me up. I sincerely hope he makes more of these videos because he's really talented.

Show him some love:

I'm allergic to feathers.

claytonsgrrl — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 13:52:04 GMT

I'm not entirely sure but I think I was just goosed coming out of the 86th Street Station.

There's this move in Naruto that is called Konoha Secret Finger jutsu: 1000 Years of Death. It's been my preferred attack as of late because it not only accomplishes our daily imaginary weapons game , it also humiliates the person you do it to. The last time I get Steve with it I am so stealthy, sneaking out of the loft while he is busy bending over, engrossed in a task with the wires by the TV. Caught completely unawares, he not only jumps out of his skin, he almost sends me through the wall for violating him in such a way until he sees the goofy grin plastered on my face for the attack is quite humorous.

Instead of explaining it in gruesome detail (which once you see the nature of it you will understand that I actually can explain it in gruesomely vivid detail that will haunt you forever) here is the attack itself in cartoon form:

(You should really pause the video on Naruto's face as he shoots into the air. 'Tis funny.)

So being that I'm a fan of this attack I am not pleased when I think that some stranger has just performed the jutsu on me as I exit the subway. As I feel a strange sensation in my butt region I immediately tense and shoot around to discover no one behind me. I start to think it's my underwear playing a trick on me as I trudge up the stairs but when I turn I notice a tall lanky man scooting over to the other side of the stairwell. I always swore to myself that if anyone touched me inappropriately in the subway or on the street I would not hesitate to hit them repeatedly over and over with my fists/my manbag/my water bottle/someone's toy dog they were walking/with anything really but the thought never occurred to me that I might not catch the culprit that snuck a grab or poke at me.

As I narrow my eyes at this guy I think about how fast I turned around with my ninja-in-training reflexes yet still did not catch him in the act. For a fleeting moment I consider kicking him down the stairs anyway on the off chance that yes, he did just try to poke me in my butt Kakashi style. But as quickly as this thought crosses my mind so does the one that if he didn't poke me in my tush then it really isn't the right action to take, kicking someone down the stairs because they might have groped me. It's not a very nice thing to do, especially at 8 in the morning.

The whole way to the Surge I'm torn between feeling violated and not feeling violated. It's a very confusing predicament to be in. The only way I solve me being this uncomfortable is to stuff my face with a toasty corn muffin and write a BLOG and surprisingly…

I feel much, much better.

^_\

Thanks Rob!

claytonsgrrl — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 16:25:30 GMT

You guys are in luck! Steve has brought me into present times (kicking and screaming though) by gifting me an iPod touch so now I have no excuse not to check my email more frequently. How great is this for you? I'll actually be a tad more social! And all those things you sent me over the years that are still in my AOL inbox will finally be read! Wu-hoo!

First up is an email sent pretty recently from Rob. It's a nice way to start out a gloomy Saturday, with a laugh. Some silly lad decided to add his own voice to John Williams’ Jurassic Park score and it works and it's hilarious.

The only warning I have besides peeing yourself is that the language is foul so usher the kids and pets out of the room before hitting play.

An Early Birthday Gift

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 01:29:30 GMT

I don't remember when exactly I become curious about the origins of my name but one day as a youngling, I brooch the subject with my parents. If you haven't noticed by now my siblings and I share the same initials, KJR and CJR. In keeping with the girls being "K", my dad lets me in on the secret that he wanted to name me Krista but mom didn't go for that. I then ask, "Well, if you had named me Krista what would you have named Chris?" Neither of them has an answer for that but mom tells me that Chris wasn't exactly planned and that the fact he was due so close to Christmas she decided to name him after Christ. Not bad being named after our Savior.

I then ask mom something along the lines of, "why Kathryn?" because no one really ever refers to me in my full birth name. She proudly tells me I'm named after Katharine Hepburn (but opts for the "y" spelling instead). Moma thinks Hepburn is a strong female that plays by her own rules, that had the guts to wear a pant suit in public when women during that time were expected to be gussied up. Interesting how I'm very similar to my mom's take on the actress but instead of pant suits I accompany Moma to Waldbaums donning plaid pajamas pants, a talking tee shirt, and Converse. Why just yesterday I walk around 86th street in my light blue Wii pj bottoms with the excuse of, well, I am going to pilates later...

Then I ask her, "well why Katie as a nickname?"

Mom beams at me and says, "We named you after a McDonald's commercial."

Funny how Pher gets named after Jesus and I the McNugget.

She goes on to tell me that the little girl in the commercial is beyond adorable with blonde hair, standing at the edge of the pool not wanting to jump in. She said the little girl is so cute with her apprehension to the water and then finally jumps in with a promise of going to McDonald's. Interesting how I'm a total water rat my entire childhood and would jump off pretty much anything if someone promises me McDonald's.

It feels like my mom had some crazy intuition going on when I was a fetus.

As I'm on the phone with her tonight giggling over lyrics to songs and thanking her for my birthday cards, I decide to check Youtube in the hopes of finding the commercial to actually see the little girl that stole my mom's heart which happens to be Heather O'Rouke from the Poltergiest movies.

I have to say, it is WAY cool to actually see how I came to be Katie:

And knowing is half the battle.

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 18 May 2010 17:06:25 GMT

Shannon leaves me a comment on Facebook about the music video BLOG and gets me reminiscing about the past. She says she never can get through We Didn't Start The Fire without messing up a lyric. Being the HUGE Billy fan that I am, I pride myself on knowing all the lyrics to all the songs and memorizing the order of all his songs on each of his albums but there are many many times I screw up a lyric…or mishear them.

There is a part in Getting Closer that for the life of me cannot figure out what it is he's saying. I refuse to look it up on the internet and each time it comes on my iPod I point at the speaker and demand Steve to tell me what he's saying. There is a part in Movin' Out that EJ swears he's saying something derogatory and we argue about it one day in the middle of the Louisville Outback parking lot that there is no way Billy is dropping a racial slur into a lyric. But We Didn't Start The Fire can definitely leave you in the dust on parts and lead you to fudge a little like when Vik, Nicoletti, and I insert Ru Paul for Dien Bien Phu Falls during a karaoke session.

As a kid, I love the Storm Front album so much that I play it in the den (back when our walls are still wood paneling) and dance around the room with kick ball changes and pas de bourrées. And when "The Fire" song comes on I try my best to sing-a-long.

And when it comes time to name my G.I. Joes that mom buys for me to play with my brothers, I go to good ole Billy to come up with some awesome names for them.

Charlie always uses Hardball which for some reason he calls Carl Weathers. One day Carl falls apart because of too much use and we learn that G.I. Joes are connected together by a simple rubber band. Mom goes back to Toys R Us and buys Charlie the same guy again and we keep the pieces of the old Carl just in case we need body parts strewn about after an "explosion". Charlie is also quite partial to Snake Eyes too but Carl is always his G.I. Joe of choice:

Pher uses Muskrat and after going on Yo Joe! I learn it is Version 2 that he plays with:

Then there are a set of twins which aren't a set of twins but I like to believe they are (it just so happens mom bought two of the same guy). I enjoy playing with both Deejays and actually know how to tell them apart. I decide to name the first one Watergade:

And the second one Cooljet:

So to answer your question Shannon, I can never get through We Didn't Start The Fire without singing it wrong. And certainly not without singing WaterGADE instead of Watergate and Cooljet instead of Khrushchev.

The hills are alive...

claytonsgrrl — Sun, 16 May 2010 21:59:11 GMT

After watching the very lame video to Holiday Road that Rob posted on Facebook I got to thinkin'...what do I consider a good music video? Now my taste in, well, anything is pretty bad (except husbands, I think I did an a-okay job there) so I'm sure my criteria for a good vid may slightly differ from your opinion. So I thought to myself, how about I create a meme about your top five favorite music videos of all time? But here's the twist! You have to post all five from YouTube so we all can watch and discuss how way off base I am in choosing my five.

Personally, I think this is a fabulous idea and I am very glad I came up with it. At the end of this entry I will tag five (un)lucky BLOGgers (basically the only people on my BLOG roll) and then you tag and so on and so on.

My number five spot goes to:

Smells Like Nirvana by Weird Al Yankovic

I know what you're thinking already and I beg you not to click that small "X" up in the right hand corner. Hear me out, yo! First of all, Kurt Cobain himself called Yankovic "a musical genius" and I couldn't agree more. His lyrics flow so easily, I mean come on, White & Nerdy is so fast I think he does it better than Chamillianaire. Second, I've been a huge fan since UHF because that movie was one of the three we always made mom rent from the video store when we were kids (the other two were Willy Wonka and The Toy). The guy is hilarious; this video parodies Nirvana's video so well that he even gets some of the same actors for it! I remember mom bought me the single of this and I would make my friends watch me act it out in my room. I also kept a blow-up guitar just for the sole purpose of bending it like he does in the song. And yes, I also had a set of marbles handy (it's a wonder I never swallowed any).

Number Four:

Jeremy by Pearl Jam

Okay, so we all never really know what Eddie Vedder is saying but for some reason in this video we do and the message it has is very deep. It's a sensitive issue in this generation because kids are exposed to so much more than our parents were, especially now that we have grotesque sites beamed right into your child's bedroom without you even knowing. Kids these days are seriously out of control and are crying out but sometimes it's just too damn late once we all notice. The images in this video have embedded themselves into my head, those shocked and scared expressions of the students forever locked away in my brain. I think Pearl Jam made a video that speaks volumes and raises awareness to a growing problem here in the United States.

Number Three:

November Rain by Guns N' Roses

I seriously wore out my copy of this single (with Sweet Child O' Mine on the B side) and I think I was so drawn to this band because Kim was infatuated with them. I learned a lot about music from my two older siblings and Kim was the one who turned me onto MTV at a young age. She liked Dan Cortes, I liked Dan Cortes. She thought Steve Isaac was hot, I thought Steve Isaac was hot. Whoever topped Kim's list had to top mine as well...oh and that cutie frontman of Ugly Kid Joe, Whitfield Crane? Yeah I liked him too. So when the music video of November Rain debuted, I basked in all of its 8 minutes and 57 seconds of glory.

Two facts about this video:
1. I tried to get that wedding dress but they don’t make it in my size.
2. The church Slash is playing outside of is on The Movie Ranch in New Mexico that dad took me to when we drove from Phoenix to Boulder. There was a time when I really wanted to get married in that church but both Kim and Maeve said they refused to wear cowgirl outfits as bridesmaids.
3. Actually Fact One is crap but Fact Two is totally true, see?

Me on the Movie Ranch:

Dad on the Movie Ranch:

Number Two:

Thriller by Michael Jackson

Uh...how could this NOT make my list?! Not only is this a great song but the video is a mini horror film with a creepy yet fun plot and fabulous zombie dance moves (not to be confused with Maeve's fabulous zumba dance moves). Jan Martin did a reproduction of the song as their opening number one year and I remember sitting downstairs in the holding room during the recital, watching the older girls apply their scary make-up and tattered clothing. We then watched the dance take place on a soundless black and white screen as my mom got to witness the sheer brilliance of the piece live. She says it was really cool how they came down all the aisles and then up onto the stage, kind of like Broadway's Lion King.

Even Preston loves this video and has requested it on numerous occasions. The kid has good taste.

And what dance party is not complete unless we all break out into a staggered line formation to copy Michael Jackson's famous moves?

Number One:

We Didn’t Start The Fire by Billy Joel

Every time the song is mentioned dad has to say, “you know, if I were a teacher I would have the kids pick a part of the song and do a project on it.” And every time he says this I counter with, “if it weren’t for the lyrics being in chronological order, I would have failed the second part of my Global Regents.” Thank you Billy Joel for getting me an 88.

It really is quite brilliant, it flows nicely and rhymes, funny how my history text book does neither of these things. I love the whole video, how the home takes on each decade and we can visibly see the destruction of the modern family as time wears on. I like how Billy narrates our 20th century with burning disturbing images that haunt us and then plays the bongos on kitchen items.

Now for the tagging:
1. Kim
2. Emily
3. Cheryl
4. Michelle
5. savannahjan

Writer's Block: Sheldon and Penny 4ever!

claytonsgrrl — Wed, 12 May 2010 13:11:57 GMT

Do we even have to ask at this point?

I love fanfiction. I love it so much that sometimes I can almost prefer it to the real thing. I love the options that fanfiction gives the author and the reader and how sometimes after finishing off a great novel or manga it satisfies the craving for more or a need to have closure with a certain character. I love the opportunity to write in the voice the original author used and to then play with their creations, giving them new adventures. I love chapter-long works. I love drabbles. I love one-shots. I love it all.

I will never forget the day I come across fanfiction for the first time. I am interning at Hachette Filipacchi Media in Premiere magazine's marketing department which Aunt Pat landed for me. Most days I research film festivals for my supervisor and anything else that one will ask of me which is never because I think sometimes they forget I'm here. I'm in a tucked away closet with my own computer and sometimes on lunch I don't meet up with the editing interns because they're either not present (because their school doesn't force 300 hours on them like mine does) or they're doing something really freaking cool like transcribing celebrity interviews. On these lunch hours I get extremely lonely especially since I just finished Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and I am too busy switching from being angry to depressed to read another novel yet. I'm going on Day Two of not speaking to anyone over the fact Rowling just killed off my favorite character and that she does not even give him a fitting noble death. Instead Sirius Black is killed by drapery.

I'm pissed.

Who wouldn't be?

I set to work on my lunch break in search of a forum of some sort that I can bitch about the ending to book five with other irate HP fanatics. Instead of spewing out my anger with frowny-face icons in a community, I stumble upon a world of writers that I never knew existed. In all of my years of jotting down my own stories and taking my fantasy men and giving them a chance to be with an imaginary me in a fictional world, I never thought to take a character from any plotline and continue a previously written work. The thought of this new writing form both intrigues and scares me into clicking on the section titled Astronomy Tower on FictionAlley.org, a fanfiction site for Harry Potter deviants.

And for the rest of the summer I am hooked. I find a bunch of extremely talented authors and devour their stories then move onto their favorite pieces on the site. I have heated discussions on certain “ships” and find myself shipping Harry/Hermoine and before I know it, I’m a fanfiction junkie. I even find a Clay Aiken fanfiction archive when I return to school that fall and write a piece that I hope to have the balls to post again one of these days so everyone can point and laugh.

Fanfiction has become a huge part of my being and I find myself checking my communities on a daily basis in hopes of an update from other writers I admire and aspire to be like. There are days I will literally do a chair-dance wiggle when I see another chapter posted or even engage in a “Yeah!” fist pump at the screen. Fanfiction is an outlet for me, a chance to be imaginative but not have to create everything from scratch because what fulltime commuter has the time for that?

I would like to share a story that inspired me to finally sit down and begin my own novel length work in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom. The story really captures the anguish that Edward must feel at the end of the (first) anime when he is stranded in another universe without his brother and without the use of his treasured alchemy. The author also introduces the reader to a softer more responsive Roy that tries to help Edward get back home. It’s beautifully written and the added characters are just as lovable as the ones we have already come to know. I give you Conversion written by the talented Arathe.

And now I will give you my first FMA drabble that came from a prompt on all_unwritten, a community for writers here on Livejournal. It’s short but I have been asked by a few people to continue and I am seriously considering doing so. I present to you:

We go through this every time I return from a mission, him behind that mahogany desk, me draped lazily over the office couch. We exchange insults, his are attacks at my height or the damage I racked up in the field; mine are about him being useless and bastardly. He steeples his fingers in front of him and talks down to me; I lash out in anger and flail my arms in dramatic gestures of annoyance. After my tirade he turns his chair to the right and leans back letting his infamous smirk creep over his face as he pages through my report. He knows I’m catching every quiet remark about my atrocious handwriting yet he still pretends as if I’m not there until those obsidian eyes swing my way to dismiss me casually.

Dismiss me as if I’m just some piece of garbage littering the floor. Dismiss me as if I’m not even worthy of his dismissal in the first place.

That’s the part when I turn on my heel in a huff, flip him off or curse him out as I reach the door, rubbing my insubordination in his face because I know there’s not a damn thing he’s going to do about it. I’ve come to the conclusion he actually enjoys this game we play with each other. He lives for it. He baits me on purpose just to see me squirm for an explanation.

Funny how I know all this, that when he thinks I’m preoccupied picking at a lose thread on my pants I’m actually watching him through my fallen bangs. I’m watching his intense stare, the path his eyes are taking. I know exactly what he’s doing and what he really wants.

One day I’m going to break the routine. I’m not going to kick the door in when I make my presence know. I’m not going to take the bait and let him get a rise out of me. And I’m definitely not going to be dismissed.

He thinks he can hide behind that mahogany desk forever but I’m not one to wait patiently.

Blast from the Past

claytonsgrrl — Wed, 05 May 2010 20:00:22 GMT

Somehow, at some point today, 60 hour TiVo gets mentioned. I cannot recall the context of its appearance in the conversation but it makes its presence known. 60 hour TiVo has a significant meaning in my life and words cannot express how I truly feel about 60 hour TiVo.

Once 60 hour TiVo is out there for the taking, I'm suddenly sucked back in time, back to when I did not have this particular BLOG to write in, back when I used AIM and had a profile that linked to an AOL-run journal. I maybe write in this journal a total of six times during my senior year at CU. I remember my first entry has a picture of a pumpkin scarecrow mooning passersby from someone's front lawn. Another entry features Christine and my house pet, George, a tiny field mouse that finds its way into our living room one afternoon. Another entry describes my dilemma of going to Kim's Christmas party or with Pher on an excursion to some unmarked ski terrain in Durango. But there is one entry that starts it all. The entry that helps mold and shape my writer's "voice" and create a game I like to play with my family. The game of How many times can I repeat the same thing until someone notices and completely loses it?.

60 hour TiVo becomes the first overused phrase in my repetitive word game. The first person to expereince the word play?

Kim.

Needless to say, Kim is not very fond of the phrase 60 hour TiVo.

So I try to find this journal so I can share the 60 hour TiVo entry and it has proven absolutely impossible. First of all, it takes me a long time to finally find the member directory on AOL. I can no longer find my profile because it sends me to Bebo where current profiles are stored. None of my old links are visible along with the few pictures I had in there from my sorority that Mai had posted for me back in 2003. So then I change tactics setting to work in Google, typing in “Kate Raab” with random words after the quotations. I figure maybe I can locate the old CU Women's Ice Hockey website Christine and I fashion for the team which has the link to the journal. So I try the word hockey and I get a hit! But not quite the hit I'm looking for though.

It actually turns out to be for an article that was in the Farmingdale Observer in January. I had no idea our town even had a paper. And why am I not notified that I am in this paper? Then I read the article and understand why I wouldn't even want to be notified.

We all know I run races. We all see the pictures on Facebook. We all know in the past two years I have won three awards. We all know I'm very elusive about telling you what award I win. The reason is I do not usually run in an age category nor am I the first female to ever finish. I run in an embarrassing category. A category I have a chance of placing in since it's very hard to place with girls my age because they are in a lot better shape than me.

I run in the (what I like to call because I tend to be self-deprecating) Fat Girl category. I do not mean to offend those other women who are also in this category that are in shape and are heavier because they are so muscular and athletic. I apologize if this is you but I'm in this division not because I’m so muscular and athletic but because I'm a little too lenient with my diet. Too lenient that a diet doesn't even exist and I'm only in this category because I don't know when to put the fork down (and as dad just said, "unless it's going back down into a piece of pie"). Not only do I run in this division but it's split into two different weight classes with me being in the second heavier weight class. I like that they call this Fat Girl category something nice and feminine: Athena. I love the term. I know what this term means. My fellow runners know this term too. My friends? Don't. For two years I fool everyone into thinking I'm good in this category and that it's an honor to win but really what it boils down to is that I receive three awards for running faster than other overweight people like myself.

The article outs me, lets all of Farmingdale know how much I weigh, and blows my cover of everyone thinking I'm such an awesome runner. It states:

Two determined Farmingdale ladies did especially well in the Athena Weight Division. Colleen Gardner, a 32-year-old who took first place honors in the Athena 160-pound plus weight division, finished with a time of 26 minutes, 22 seconds, and 27-year-old Kate Raab scored third in that same division with a time of 28:58.

What they fail to mention is that I am third out of twenty five which is the highest amount of women I have ever run against. They also forget to say most of us are running in uncomfortable Santa costumes. They also tell you it smells like snow rather than it's "butt-cold out" and I can no longer feel my legs in mile two and I have a trail of snot coating my right glove and left t-shirt sleeve. My time is not a PR and I did not post it on Facebook because all this information is embarrassing.

So now my secret's out. I'm an overweight slow runner that supposedly has inspired some friends to run and now knowing the truth will probably feel duped and a little put off. I'm not elite, I will never get back to running 6 to 7 minute miles like I used to, I will never get out of the Athena Division, and I'm also on my way to a second stress facture because I'm just two damn heavy to run.

Geez, this is all rather unpleasant isn’t it? I never expected to find out that I am in a newspaper clipping. All I really wanted to do this afternoon was tell you about the 60 hour TiVo...

The Awesome Coffee Table Adventure

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 02:44:18 GMT

I would like to say, "as most of you know..." but I can't because most of you don't know. You all have no idea. I'm not sure why I never told you but I just didn't so I'm telling you now.

We're moving out of Lord Land's house.

This must come as a complete shock to you but it's happening and you really need to get over it. We're moving up in the world to an actual apartment with a real living room and no green carpeting and especially no three year old terror waking me up every weekend at 7.

Now since we will have a grown-up place we'll need grown-up furniture, not this mishmash of college dorm crap we've got goin' on in these digs. We have even made a list of all the necessary things we will need to have in this grown-up apartment and one of the new editions to our family will be a coffee table. Yeah, how pathetic is that? I even had coffee tables in college but never one as an adult. Go figure.

Today I go coffee table shopping online in lieu of surfing Facebook (since bossdad as blocked it at the Surge) and I find some interesting... finds. There's one in particular from Peter Andrews that I desire so much so that I almost buy it without running it by Hubs. When I get home I'm bursting with coffee table news and excitedly squeal, "Steve! I have found the coolest coffee table! It's shaped like a treasure chest!"

Because dammit, pirates are cool.

Steve likes it but not to be outdone, pulls up another tab and searches Google for "awesome coffee tables" and of course Steve finds a better one. Of course he does. And not only does Steve find a better one, he finds THE MOST AWESOMEST COFFEE TABLE IN THE WORLD!!

I mean, how on earth can pirate's booty compare to THAT?!

When I click on the link to check out this magnificent piece of wood I realize I'm so 2000 and late because this guy's journal entry dates back to a time when I had thirty pounds less of flesh on my body. This genius gamer, Kyle Downes, made the ultimate coffee table that you can only dream of and salivate over. Not only can you store a buttload of stuff inside it you can also use it to play your Nintendo video games! A GIANT CONTROLLER! How f-ing cool is that?!

Now I want one but they're not for sale. I also wonder if I can make my own because after seeing that there is no way I can buy a treasure chest and be satisfied. And to make matters even worse, Steve clicks on another awesome coffee table:

This awesome monstrosity that would look great in our new spacious living room is designed by Stephane Perruchon who you know saw Downes’ Nintendo controller idea and stole it and ran with it and my message to Downes is, "Dude! You can be a freakin' millionaire because you can actually use yours! Do it, son!" But what really pisses me off is the fact you cannot yet purchase this awesomeness and my thoughts are, “then why tell me about this if I can’t buy it? What the hell is the point of dangling this in front of me and not delivering?” Though having the PS3 controller coffee table would be unbelievably terrific and I would not mind forking over some dough (eventually) to let it clutter up my house.

And then we come across this fine $6,600 interactive gaming coffee table from Surface Tension:

And does it do $6,600 worth of awesome stuff? As long as you find 29 classic Taito Legends games with the ability to add more- complete with buttons and joysticks as well as internet access, iPod compatibility, movie queues, and happy endings really freaking awesome...then yes. Yes it does.

We finally conclude our search, ending on the most feasible option (after the dull treasure chest of course) but then have to quickly rule it out considering we have some "bumbley" friends that will most likely slam into the handles of our foosball coffee table and spill some kind of dark drink on the freshly cleaned carpet.

So I have decided that if I cannot own some kind of gaming coffee table then I do not want one at all. As Steve and I drive to get some grub after this tiring ordeal, I really think about my coffee table-less life and realize I have missed so many creative opportunities. I just might have to take a leave of absence from the Surge in order to build my dream coffee table...though if anyone remembers my 7th grade go at constructing a stable popsicle bridge then you know exactly how this coffee table is turning out.

Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 18:12:29 GMT

I am.

I know I'm 27 but I am terrified of the dark. The more I stare out into the blackness the more the shapes shift and take on forms of my nightmares. When I visit the bathroom in the middle of the night I purposefully avoid raising my eyes to the mirror in fear of "Bloody Mary" appearing. I also worry that one night I will open my eyes to find someone hovering over me but that is the reason why I sleep closest to the door. I do this not for my own escape but for Steve, in hopes that when attacked I will wake him in time and then he can avenge me or get the hell out of there.

And these are the types of things that keep me awake at night.

And apparently these are the things that I dream of too.

I can't really remember what I'm dreaming about but the scenery I'm currently in dissolves around me until I'm staring off into the distance of my own room. Something moves in my periph and my eyes dart to the right as a young woman and man enter my room at a fast clip. I try to move but I'm being pressed down into the mattress by the invisible weight of a dream. I watch helplessly as they both lift their right arms in synchronization and throw knives at both of us. Before the weapons can fly through the air- I do, smearing their images as my hands shoot out in front of me. I take a shuddering breath and look back at Steve who is peacefully snoozing in his comforter cocoon. I look back out into our room and notice the figures are totally gone and it's 320 in the morning.

Swinging my legs over the bed I cringe as I notice the stickiness of my pajamas. I stand up to literally peel the clothing from my body and shiver when the cold air meets my glistening skin. I trudge into the bathroom (while looking down) and try to figure out why on earth would I have a dream about knives coming at us? As I sit on the throne I remember the episode we were watching before going to bed.

Maybe Gundum Wing isn't the smartest thing to watch before sleeping. Maybe I should watch something along the lines of Sesame Street.

Ain't that just the way it is?

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 16:22:30 GMT

I get all kinds of fun phone calls here at the Surge, some entertaining, some borderline excruciating to get through. I especially love the ones that are a little bit of both, like the one I just received.

It’s from a lawyer’s office so naturally they want a patient’s records. No problem, send me the paper work, I’ll send you a fax of how much it will cost me to get my lazy ass up and photocopy it for you, you send me a check, I send you the records. It’s a pretty simple process to comprehend and no one has ever been perplexed by it…until today.

The minute I get the call sent to me by Pauline I know it’s going to be a doozy. This guy sounds as if he’s reading from a script that happens to have ‘um’ and ‘ah’ thrown in there every other word, like the kids that try to sell you candy on the subway to keep them out of trouble. He says the patient name which I have a habit of ignoring until I get the paperwork. My mind goes: yeah yeah yeah, get to the meat of this call, I’ll give you the fax number, you send it to me, and I’ll actually look up the patient when the time comes. My main objective is to get you off the phone as quickly as possible so I can go back to being antisocial at my desk.

He’s bumbling over his words when I hear ringing in the background. He asks to put me on hold and then hangs up on me. Just by him doing that, I know this guy is an intern at this firm and I pray to God he doesn’t try to go to law school. He calls back and gets Dorrette who tells me that I lost his call, like as if putting me on hold offends me to the point I have to hang up. I get back on the phone with the guy (notice he’s told me his name twice thus far and I have yet to even register it in my brain) and he mumbles about the pain management patient coming to our facility. “Sure, he probably came here,” I say. “I can’t release the records until I have the consent from the patient so send it on over.” He tells me okay and hangs up, not asking for a number to send it to or anything. I have a feeling this paperwork isn’t coming anytime soon.

Not even a minute later, Cassandra gets him again and when he asks for a Ms. Reed she argues that it’s Raab. They go back and forth for awhile, confusing the guy even more until she realizes that I’m both names (I’ve been waffling lately on hyphenating, going all the way new, or just sticking to what I knew for 27 years but that’s an identity crisis not pertaining to this particular story) and sends him over to me again. He states his name for me again (I don’t listen) just in case I have forgotten in the past two minutes (didn’t remember in the first place) and launches into his spiel once more. He reiterates he needs the records. I reiterate I need the paperwork. He tells me they sent it. I say I didn’t get it. He asks me why not? I tell him that sometimes things get misplaced and just send it again. And that’s when he lays this on me:

“I have a fax from you from February saying that you regret to inform us that this patient has never been at your facility.”

Shit. He got me. Apparently I did get the paperwork and then I actually did my job and looked up the patient and wrote a letter back. Huh. Interesting. He then goes on to accuse me that in the previous call I told him the patient came there and that the doctor has an office at the Surge.

“I never said the doctor has an office here. I said it was a surgery center which is like a hospital, that doctors come here to perform surgery and then leave and go to their own office. And I’m sorry I didn’t remember that I answered this request already. I receive a lot of these every day, luckily I kept this letter and I’m looking at it right now. The patient was never here.”

He pauses. “Yeah but you said the patient came there for injections!” He’s pleading with me as if his job depends on getting these records. I sigh heavily, dropping the professional voice and manner.

“Dude, I’m gonna be honest. When you called I didn’t bother to look up the patient so I assumed he came here but you already have a letter from me stating I have no records so why call? It hasn’t changed.”

He considers this for a moment then tells me we’ll be in touch. “No!” I exclaim. “No we don’t have to be in touch anymore. The guy never came here.” He tells me he’ll pass it on to his supervisor and she’ll call me. “No!” I exclaim. “She doesn’t have to call me either!” He pauses again.

“We’ll get back to you later today," he says affirmatively.

“Please don’t," I beg.

He responds with a click.

I respond with a sigh.

Fraud Alert!

claytonsgrrl — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 16:25:38 GMT

Apparently my spending habits confuse the hell out of my banks. It sure doesn't confuse the hell out of my wallet since cash never actually reaches it. My paycheck does a disappearing act the second after I cash it every week. But sometimes I like to use my credit card to get points towards Borders or my ATM card so I get cash back. It makes sense right? These days cash gets you nothing, well maybe a few cents extra at the gas pump, but even street merchants take cards now. They should just make cash non-existent at this point but I digress.

This morning I receive a call on my cell from my bank telling me there is a fraud alert on my card. Already? It's 730 in the morning how is that even possible? So I choose the option of speaking to someone because these calls border on fraudulent themselves. And I wait. And wait. And wait, watching the minutes tick by until I hang up. Why waste my bajillion minutes on a crap call? So I use the Surge phone instead and call the number on the back of my card and wait. And wait. And wait.

While I'm waiting I think back to a recent fraud alert put on a credit card. It's baffling to them that an overweight girl would purchase McDonald's for dinner then go down the road to fill her truck up at the corner station by her house. Very very baffling. COMPLETELY out of my normal spending habits of fast food and absurd amounts of gas. And around the same time of day too. Baffling.

I finally get through to a person and I explain my situation. "Fraud alert? Oh I have to send you to that department. Hold please." I look at the phone. Did I not specify fraud alert to the voice animated rep when I called? Which department did they send me to that sounds like fraud alert? So I get put on hold and he transfers me to the Hang Up On Me Department.

I just don't have it in me today to call back. I just don't. Because my fraud alert today is just beyond ridiculous that I don't even want to talk to these people.

I work in the city. On the first every month I buy two train passes (how unusual!). So why, pray tell, would someone at 645 in the morning use my "stolen credit card" to head down into the bowels of Penn Station to buy themselves an unlimited subway ride when they could take said card and purchase something of better value like a scooter?

Credit where credit is due.

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 18:34:50 GMT

I am lunching on greasy buffalo wings in my old office today with a few co-workers when the subject of all-things-wedding comes up (because Tammy is engaged! Congrats!). Bridget and Valerie bring to our attention this new phenomenon of filming your Save The Dates. In this day and age (had to use it at least once in my BLOG) with technology being so present in our daily lives it makes sense to create something like this. Burning DVDs costs practically nothing and the shipping is free according to Netflix so it seems like a pretty damn cool idea to get some good filmmaking friends together and shoot your life story.

This couple is definitely intriguing and I find them unbelievably adorable together. I wish them good fortune and happiness. Check out their Save The Date:

Now check out my Save The Date:

Yeah. When you tend to procrastinate you lose out on the opportunity for Save The Dates.

The games we play.

claytonsgrrl — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 13:24:39 GMT

I'm in the bathroom. Steve is patiently awaiting my return in the living room so we can continue our show without more interruptions. But as I go to yank open the door, I find him standing directly outside of it. His face is expressionless and I wonder for a split second if he's about to puke. Instead he raises his arms, the heels of his palms together, fingers crooked as if he's holding an imaginary ball, and he loudly states:

HADOUKEN!

I do one of those defeatist sighs and admit that he got me. There can be no counterattack to the hadouken; he beat me fair and square. But I'm not going down that easily, I will get him back some day.

And that day is the next day, when he goes to leave the living room. I'm bent over the video games searching for something when I call out to him. He turns and I shoot around, hitting him with a silent hadouken. Instead of him accepting his fate he complains. "You didn't say it! You have to say it!" "It's a sneak attack!" I argue. He huffs in response and we decide we need some rules to our new game.

RULES:

1. You can only do one attack per day. The first person to attack wins for the day. No counterattacks.
2. You still cannot counterattack even if the person messes up the special technique but you can block it.
3. An attack must have either the words or hand signals to count.
4. If the attack requires a "power up" (ie Kamehameha), you must wait patiently.
5. You have to switch it up. You cannot always attack first thing in the morning.
6. You also have to be creative.

Most of the attacks come from Street Fighter but we allow certain ones from Dragonball, Mortal Kombat, and Naruto among others. There have been days that have slipped by without any kind of imaginary weapon thrown at each other but it just makes it more intense for when it does finally happen. Steve is in the lead (of course) and seems to be quite partial to the Sonic Boom. I like the Tiger move because of the hand sign that goes with it but I’m already planning my next attack which will be totally hardcore.

I get Steve with a paper Sonic Boom taped to his steering wheel because there was no way he could defend himself. It takes a week for him to recover and when he finally creeps out of the shadows it’s a good one.

I’m in Hot Topic getting a gift for Michelle’s birthday when Steve looks at me anxiously. I pop an eyebrow and he tells me after my purchase I need to meet him outside. I get a little giddy and start singing to myself: I’m getting a present! I’m getting a present! When he comes out he hands me a bag. The gift feels suspiciously like an energy drink and when I pull it out….

Well played, Steve. Well played.

Really, Kate? Really?

claytonsgrrl — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 20:42:22 GMT

I tend to jump through hoops in order to avoid an unpleasant task and sometimes I find myself jumping through more hoops than necessary and realize at the end of the hoopla that I should have done the unpleasant task rather than waste all that energy with the hoops. If I just did what originally needed to be done my life would be simpler, more relaxing, hoop-free. And I wouldn’t say I’m stubborn or full of pride; I would say I’m lazy.

la⋅zy [ley-zee] (from Dictionary.com)
–adjective
1. averse or disinclined to work, activity, or exertion; indolent.
2. causing idleness or indolence: a hot, lazy afternoon.
3. slow-moving; sluggish: a lazy stream.
4. (of a livestock brand) placed on its side instead of upright.

That last definition just might sum me up perfectly.

Let me prove to you my complete and utter ~~uselessness~~ laziness. I’ll do this with the evidence of my cell phone.

Once upon a time I receive a Rumor LG for $50 because for three years I torture myself with a phone I hate but never think to get an upgrade that I deserve. So mom and dad take me to the Sprint store and I pick out a texting phone.

A texting phone is the perfect mix of being social and anti-social at the same time. I no longer always have to make voice calls (social) and can text instead (antisocial). Eventually as the Rumor becomes less popular and iPhones and Blackberrys take over the market, texting (once antisocial) becomes social. Texting is social because Blackberry/iPhone involvement can lean dangerously close to antisocial like when you’re having a conversation with someone at dinner but they are updating their Facebook status neglecting their food and you. Facebook (antisocial) can’t talk back to you right away and a text message (social) can.

The Rumor comes in two colors, white or black/blue. I want the white. They don’t have the white in stock but they could order it and call me when it comes in and I could swing by and pick it up later in the week.

I leave with the black/blue.

And that’s when the whole cell phone laziness begins.

During the first year with my Rumor I notice the battery charge isn’t holding as long as it used to. Sure the days of charging it once every other day are long gone but I am lucky if my battery lasts through one conversation with Maeve. It finally gets to the point that action needs to be taken.

The unpleasant task: Take the phone to the Sprint Repair shop.
What Katie did: Carried her phone charger with her constantly instead.

I figure, I’ll charge the cell at my desk and at home. If I get a call I will hunch over the power surge in my bedroom and talk, aimlessly picking at my carpet during the phone conversation. Eventually the phone dies upon unplugging it and trying to plug it in somewhere else. My time is up. I need to take it in. I have no choice.

So I begrudgingly trudge the four blocks to the Sprint store. Oh yeah. The Sprint store. Yeah that sucker is only four blocks away from the Surge. Has been the whole time I had the Rumor. Yeah I knew the store was there too but you have to understand it’s four blocks. Four. Yeah I don’t understand it either, I’ll voluntarily run nine miles but I won’t walk four blocks.

They replace the battery for free and I go back to charging every other day. After awhile even the task of charging seems arduous and I try to avoid it at all costs. Apparently my port becomes askew and plugging the charger in doesn’t work unless I twist the wire around in odd directions, wrap it around my cell, place it carefully on the ground, and walk away from it like I was creeping away from a sleeping tiger.

One day I pull out the charger and the important metal parts stay lodged in my phone. After surgically removing the metal shards I discard the charger telling Steve I will purchase a new one at the Sprint store the next time I am at the Surge.

The unpleasant task: Buy a new charger.
What Katie did: Shared with Steve since his charger fit in hers too.

Eventually I get a new charger after many weekends of Steve forgetting the charger at work and both our phones running out of batteries and not being able to be reached in case of an emergency. We were lucky because there were no emergencies. About a month ago, while in Best Buy, I break down and purchase a charger and I am relieved not to have to walk those four blocks.

Until today when wrapping the wires and placing heavy books on top of the phone doesn’t make it charge. I finally throw my hands up and loudly exclaim, “I can’t take it anymore! I just can’t stand one more MacGyver contraption to make this thing charge! I’m walking the four blocks!” I barge into bossdad’s office begging him to let me run to the Sprint store, he obliges, and ten minutes later I am walking out of the Sprint store with a brand new phone.

The nice customer rep even asks me if I want a Blackberry and I quickly shake my head. I explain to her that if I get a Blackberry then people would expect more social behavior from me like going on Facebook on a regular basis and actually checking the emails they take the time to send me. I ask her if I could get another Rumor. She says absolutely and gives me a choice of THREE colors! I look down at them and say, “red’s cool.” She informs me that it isn’t red but orange. “Orange’s cool.” She says she will have to check if they still have orange and naturally I say, “blue’s cool too. You know whatever is in stock is cool with me.”

So I leave with orange.

When I get back to the Surge I have to re-download my ringtones and as they play back they sound awful, far away, and static-y. I play other sounds and they’re fine. I turn the phone over in my hands thinking about my next move.

The unpleasant task: Bring back the phone.
What Katie will do: Play the ringtones until she gets used to the shitty sound quality and it doesn’t bother her anymore.

Baby Grand

claytonsgrrl — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 04:40:42 GMT

I've watched a lot of people do this on Facebook and on BLOGs and everyone forgets to tag or they just tag immediate friends with a good taste in music (not me). I forced Liz to tag me verbally because when I put my iPod on shuffle the worst possible songs are played so I think my answers will be just plain awful. Sometimes I wonder (as I skip through fifty-two songs and waste all of my battery power to get to the song I'm currently listening to five to twelve times a day) why I even put these songs in the rotation and after this exercise, WHY DO I HAVE THEM AT ALL TO BEGIN WITH?! This actually worked out decently though but then again, anyone with an advertising background can twist things until they make sense and fit the purpose.

The Rules:

1. Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT

After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
May It Be by Enya
This would be kind of passive aggressive to the question. Typical behavior.

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
When I Paint My Masterpiece by Bob Dylan
Ahh the pipe dreams of yours truly. We all know I have big aspirations that usually end with more talk of different aspirations. It's just a big cycle of talking up a future that will never be. I hope you're not seriously waiting for this masterpiece because it'll probably be another pencil sketch of an anime character (that I didn't create) hanging on my fridge.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Crazy by Gnarls Barkley
The Surge theme song! (and the one dad and I broke out to on the dance floor during our Father/Daughter dance) I like humor but a little craziness never hurt.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
I'll Be There by Escape Club
Okay well I'm not dead (at least I hope not...there's always a possibility though that this is all a figment of everyone's imagination) but the title could work since wherever I said I would be today I was there.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
One Of These Days by Tim McGraw
Oh I'm so pathetic. This is TOTALLY what I want. I just want to love myself and want everyone to be nice to me and love me too. I just...*sigh* mean people suck.

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Pardon Me by Weezer
Hmm apologizing for myself constantly? That seems about right.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Something To Talk About by Bonnie Raitt
If I'm a topic of conversation than I feel bad for your conversation.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Mobile by Avril Lavigne
Well our family sure is all over the place geographically so it can get hectic to try and get everyone in the same place at once.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
I Don't Love You by My Chemical Romance
Being that the play count on this one is 47, I'd say I think about this A LOT. It was one of the first songs I picked to help along my third story in the four part fanfiction series I'm currently writing. Oh readers, stay tuned for the unveiling soon!

WHAT IS 2+2?
Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash
Sure! Why not?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Laura by Billy Joel
Okay which one of you am I having a stifling affair with?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
My Best Friend by Weezer
I just turned to Steve and loudly sang the chorus to him. I'm sure Lord Land appreciates this at 1044 at night.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Falling For You by Weezer
I think iTunes has a hard-on for Weezer tonight. Refer to "my motto".

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Invisible by Clay Aiken
I guess I got my wish! I definitely grew up to be just that!

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Footloose by Kenny Loggins
Definitely the first thought I have upon seeing Steve everyday.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Everytime I Close My Eyes by Backstreet Boys
I'm their favorite so naturally they'll think of me all the time even when they blink.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Hell Yeah by Montgomery Gentry
Didn't quite make the playlist.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Interstate Love Song by Stone Temple Pilots
Good tune, the lines Promises of what I seemed to be only watched the time go by is definitely good for my funeral. Though the title reminds me of truck stops and truck stops always lead to GLORYHOLES!

*segue unintended*

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Gay Boyfriend by The Hazzards
I'd say my frequent trips to a yaoi fanfic site definitely qualifies for a sad hobby or sick interest.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Pig by Weezer
It's true. I'm actually a farm animal.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
I Could by Kimberley Locke
I assure you friends; I do not feel this way. I love you guys, I swear.

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Baby Grand by Billy Joel and Ray Charles
I was honestly hoping for Ass Itch by Korn but I guess Baby Grand will do.

Now the five [un]lucky individuals I have tagged:

Kim
Michelle
Emily
Mai
Maeve (You should post in the comments or on FB, you'll totally love doing this. It's fun!)

The Butterfly Effect

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:12:27 GMT

I'm the type of person that if I do not put things back right away they tend to get misplaced. And not misplaced in the sense like it's never coming back. Oh it's coming back. It just comes back and I look at it and it looks at me and I'm like, oh...right...that's where I left you. Like the time when I thought I lost my Movado watch. I searched high and low but to no avail, I moved from Bay Shore without my Movado. I even went through everything when I packed and unpacked but the Movado was gone. It was gone up until the time I was packing for Vegas three weeks ago and needed sunglasses. I went through the jean drawer where I know I keep them and found a pair I had forgotten about as well as what was hidden underneath the pair of forgotten glasses....my Movado…in its case…where I would always put it when I was done with it.

Like "they" say: It's always in the last place you look.

But Steve and I say: It's always in the stupidest place to look.

So when I recently misplaced my marriage license, social security card, passport, and original birth certificate we knew we were in for it. The materials were in a manila envelope that came back into the house after my excursion with the social security office and did not leave again, I knew that for sure. But after the search of the century we gave up and I moped for days.

Last night, as I'm chatting with Moma, Steve makes me hang up the minute I come through the door. I'm told to close my eyes and he leads me through the house. I'm walking cautiously, knowing there's stuff strewn about the floor from the search and he assures me he'll get me there without a problem (since he's the one bumping into everything first). He sits me down in the King's Chair and tells me to cover my eyes. He moves the snack table in front of me and steps back. The anticipation of what this is about is killing me!

When I open my eyes I'm ecstatic! He found the manila envelope! He found it! Where was it?!

Under the fan?! We moved everything in this apartment five times but neither of us looked under the fan?! We moved the couches! COUCHES! But we didn't move a five pound FAN?!

But what really gets me about this whole debacle is today when I go to update my Facebook status message to happily share with the world [a few friends] that the important documents have been located, my eyes shift to the left to look at my profile pic. I pause. I squint. I sit back. I laugh. Loudly.

The manila envelope is in the goddamn picture!

I must have moved the fan when I played EA Active. I must have moved the fan right on top of the manila envelope without realizing it. And if I never moved the fan I wouldn't have lost the manila envelope and I wouldn't have been anxious for a week. I wouldn't have been angry at the drop of the hat, I wouldn't have fought with Steve over not putting the laundry away, Steve wouldn't have felt bad so he wouldn't have put the towels away and wouldn't have knocked into the fan while putting the towels away, and Steve wouldn’t have had to find the manila envelope.

So if I didn't move the fan, the towels would still be sitting in the laundry basket in the kitchen. At least something got accomplished!

Seriously Trippin'

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 19:24:47 GMT

I take the day off from the Surge so naturally I'm wracked with guilt about it. Therefore I have already set up a plan for each minute of the time I'm not at work to be doing something just as productive at home. I made sure to sleep until I would actually arrive at the Surge then proceeded to do a quick EA Active workout, successfully snapping my thicker resistance band during a shoulder press leaving a nice welt across my left foot. I then set to work collecting my stuff for the trip to the DMV to change my name on my license and my collection is halted when I realize I can't find four important documents. I break for a shower then start tearing my paper piles apart, reorganizing them into smaller paper piles to file away. After an hour long search I break for a dry cleaning run, bank deposit, CVS stop, and a Fatburger lunch. I dine with Steve during his midday break and he helps me tear apart more places. We're not successful in locating these misplaced items so finally I call it quits. There will be no DMV trip today and this makes me sad which is just pathetic. After a small breakdown of watery eyes, forehead pressing, and hand shaking, I set to work on a DSW bag that has yet to be unpacked since moving from Bay Shore. Yeah, that's right. I have a bag of miscellaneous papers that has been sitting in the back of my walk-in closet just waiting for it's time to shine.

2007. I find CVS receipts from 2007. Early 2007. I find my Lazy Days of Summer Reading Book Club list I did with Moma..in 2007. How sad is it that I read only five books in one summer? Then I find my journal from my CU sophomore year Creative Writing class with teacher, Star. Reading this drivel has seriously calmed my nerves to a mellowness I haven't experienced since living in Boulder.

Maybe this poem about how I prefer writing in black ink to blue might make you as comatose as I am right now.

Black
I will never stray from what is the norm
The color my hand most desires
Black as night
Black as the soul that burdens me
Black as my lungs, searching for the sweet crisp air
	that black sucks in
Black as a sea of gothics
Black as the stretched line of cars
Black as the death that descends upon all of us
I cry out to anyone who may respond
But all I get is
	Black.

1-16-2002

Writer's Block: Seeing stars

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 17:23:10 GMT

Why am I always drawn to the fictional relationship questions?

Lately, and I have no problem admitting it, I've been indulging in children shows. If ESPN isn't on when we power up the HD that means it's tuned into Nick. Go ahead, judge me on my new found love of Sponge Bob (though Preston thinks I'm a way cool aunt for watching this inspiring cartoon so there). I'll take in the occasional Fairly Odd Parents and the scarcely shown anymore Drake & Josh but I pretty much squee when I see that iCarly is on for the next three hours straight.

The show definitely has it's tween moments but it's offset by Carly's 26 year old brother, Spencer, that happens to be her caretaker in the sickest apartment ever (because this is so believable especially since he's an "artist"). The writing is actually very funny and the delivery of these teen actors is pretty spot on but of course I'm drawn to the antics of the not-really-employed brother. He's quirky and eccentric, tall and lanky, looks better in my wardrobe of talking tees and Converse than I do, and pretty much steals the show (and my heart) every episode.

I love Spencer.

I strive to be Spencer.

So let me take him to the Groovy Smoothie and then we'll create some kind of wacky sculpture together out of paper clips and troll doll hair. I promise if you grant me this one platonic dream date with Spencer I'll never complain about making charts again.

Because grown men on tricycles are funny...okay maybe not as funny as chimps.

I'm a bad speler.

claytonsgrrl — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 19:10:41 GMT

Daniela has a spelling question and unfortunately for her the question is directed at me. My answer to spelling queries is to bring up WORD, type it in there, and wait for the red line to appear underneath. Today I actually know the word and air spell it with my fingers as I say it out loud. She says she's horrible at spelling and to make her feel better I tell her about one of my many spelling mistakes:

I tend to use the word frustrating a lot in daily talk. I use it so much that my roommate in junior year calls me out on it. But she doesn't call me out on it like, hey, you use that word too much, stop. No she calls me out because I've been saying it wrong for the past 20 years. Maybe it's my accent (or maybe it's my stupidity) but frustrating tends to sound like fuss-trating.

"This is so fuss-trating!" "God I'm so fuss-trated!" “Everyone knows how to fuss-trate me!”

It gets to the point Naughty puts down what she is doing one night to look directly at me. "You know there's another 'R' in there right, Kate?"

I pause as this information slowly sinks in. The blank stare I'm giving her finally melts away into comprehension as it dawns on me.

"So that's why I always spell it wrong in WORD!"

Two R's. Who knew?

For My Angelface

claytonsgrrl — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 03:33:48 GMT

"Now say something positive!" Christina shouts as we make our way along the Preserve, running in 90 degree heat. I rack my brain searching for something positive to say about our 9 mile run this fine Sunday morning but all that comes to mind is "Goddamn it's fucking hot!" Tying for second are: "my hips feel like they're dislocated" and "Goddamn it's fucking hot!" I consider saying something like, "I'm enjoying my utility belt of water" but instead I use wonderful grammar and report, "I'm doing good."

Christina is satisfied with my answer and lets out an encouraging whoop and we carry on down the shaded path. Christina is my running buddy from GLIRC and she has been pushing me to become a better runner since March. I've noticed an increase in my speed and my endurance has definitely picked up since last fall. She's training for a half marathon in December and that inspired me to up my weekly mileage. Last Saturday we did 9 and I felt great in our mile cool down and recovered by Monday with very little joint pain and no muscle soreness what-so-ever. Maybe I came cocky today therefore I’m unprepared but I'm just not getting to mile 9 and I can't figure out why. I have my spurt during mile 6 and 7 but decline rapidly upon hitting 8.

I fall short of our 9 goal but I'm happy with my result and we exchange goodbyes at our trucks and I head back home. I can't wait to open my Saucony's because my right foot feels like it’s about to tear the shoe apart by exploding. I probably tied it too tight but after release it still kills. I use this as an excuse to slather on Tiger Balm (which has a scent Steve can actually smell but does not like) and go my merry way.

Not so merrily once Tania spots my excessive swelling at work on Tuesday and insists upon wrapping, elevating, and icing my foot. Even my broken toe looks a little under the weather. This morning my toe pain is unbearable so I grit my teeth, sterilize the clippers, and dig into the dead nail trying my hardest to rip it away from my skin. I broke the toe at the Mineola Mustang in November and then on my birthday at the NYPD run so why it refuses to grow out is beyond me. As I dig and wince it begins to bleed. I give up, slap a band-aid on it, and race out the door.

Tania takes one look at my aching foot and marches me straight down to recovery to Dr. Delmonte, the podiatrist on the schedule today. She explains the situation and he looks at it then gives it a poke. "Hurt?" I ponder for a second as a shooting pain races up a nerve. I nod. "A bit." He calls his office and makes an appointment for me at 2.

2 comes and I find myself sitting in his office conversing with him and his assistant. He's a very likeable guy and really takes his time with all his patients which in turn pushes back all of the appointments. He asks me if I need to get back to the Surge right away. I reply, "I work for dad." which is a perfectly logical answer to that question. He nods in agreement. I must say, his waiting room is the calmest I've ever seen when on a thirty minute delay because this guy is worth the wait. And he's hot.

So he convinces me the nail has to go which didn't take much convincing since him shooting the toe with three needles and doing it for me is a lot better than leaning over the toilet trying to pry it off myself. They block my view of the surgery and I apologize for the grossness of my neglected toe. It's no longer broken but I severely ruined my nail bed with my constant running. Dr. Delmonte says the nail should grow back normal.

Should.

So they wrap it up and I look at it thinking it's going to be like Christmas tomorrow when I get to open it up before my shower.

Then the big news comes. My swollen foot is a result of a stress fracture from running too much. My first thought (and then) sentence to come out of my mouth doesn't surprise my masochistic self in the least.

"When can I run again?"

"Four to six weeks."

Next thought?

This. This is how I feel:

Though check out my cool "walking cast"! It's like as big as my ski boots and check out what I'm pointing to in the picture.

Yeah that's right. It's a pump. Like as in Air Jordan Pumps. Go ahead. Be jealous. I know you are.

So maneuvering in this beast of a cast isn't too hard as I soon find out chasing down a cab. I'm totally walking without feeling much pain and I'm still weaving in and out of people on the sidewalk because they're insanely slow walkers. I even call Steve to boast about how incredibly cool it is to walk in this moon shoe! I even so boldly state, "I betcha I could run in this thing!" to which Steve responds not very lovingly.

For once in my life, the people on the street are actually following me with their eyes as I pass. It's the first time I'm witnessing being checked out. Of course they aren't undressing me with their eyes but instead trail down to the clunker attached to my foot and just stare. They should wonder why someone injured is walking faster than them but they probably don’t.

When I make it back to the Surge the teasing starts. I’m thoroughly enjoying the barrage of comments being thrown at me from each nurse. After enduring the snarky remarks of my co-workers like, "Can't run away from the wedding now.", I head to the 4 and 7 trains to make my way home. The cast attention is in full force as I enter the subway as all eyes turn to the girl hastily pushing into the car wearing a cast. I gain so much attention from being pathetically injured that guess how many men get up and offer me their seat?

I'll give you a hint. It's between zero and none.

Runnin' Down A Dream

claytonsgrrl — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 14:10:26 GMT

Delays to Exit 18.

That's perfect considering that's the exit I need to get to.

I'm just creeping onto the Southern State at Exit 30 and I have about 45 minutes to get to my race. Judging by the gridlock I'm stuck in at the moment, I don't think I'm making this Summer Series 4k. I contemplate calling Dadquest because dad knows everything about everywhere so he could probably give me a back way to Hempstead State Park that would take just as much time driving there as it would staying parked on the highway but dad looks at it like, we're moving so it's better than traffic even though it's a longer route. Though Dadquest is very handy (got Maeve out of a tight spot in Queens once) I'm not sure he knows the exact location of this park. Even Mapquest doesn't know exact locations of state parks which baffles me because they're STATE PARKS. They belong to the state which belongs to the country so one would think it would be easy to find directions.

I'm quite calm despite the approaching 7 o'clock start time which has magically dashed ahead of traffic and left me at Exit 24. Steve is quietly reading a manga next to me as I grip the wheel until my knuckles turn three shades whiter (if that's possible for my bluish skin tone). Traffic breaks up at Exit 18 which makes me both happy and scared. Happy that I have two minutes until start time, scared because that means they probably cut off traffic for the runners and I'm too late. I pull up to the jammed parking lot and I'm directed onto the softball field. I place Pedey in park and leave it running, letting Steve take care of shutting down the iPod and removing the keys. I jog towards the starting line with other late runners, thinking they might hold the race since more people are pouring in but instead I see a guy in front of me yell in frustration back at his lagging friends.

"Did we make it?" I ask even though I already know the answer by surveying his facial expression. I can't see beyond the trees but something tells me it's begun. He looks annoyed and tells me that they definitely started. I'm disappointed because all I think about is the 2000 people already running and how this will effect my time. I’m not even in control of my body because I’m thinking to go back to the truck but instead my legs take off in a sprint. I dart through the parking lot, past the BBQers, side step and practically jump over children eating hotdogs, fly through the camping area, hop the wooden fence, and shoot past the starting line and all of the walkers. I'm so far behind my nine minute milers I'm not sure how I'll ever catch up. I ignore the cones and barrel through the ten minute+ joggers but have to jump back in line because the leaderboard is already coming BACK the other way! I maneuver through more bodies and find the grass. Ignoring the rolling of the ankles in my street shoes, I take off on the uneven terrain to gain a better position.

When I spot my fan club on the sidelines on my way to the second mile, I'm in wall to wall people, sweaty bodies not moving fast, a massive roadblock of lacrosse shorts and tees. At this point there's no more hope for me. This is my pack, stuck behind an older man in a "Go Tell Your Mother" shirt that I'm not quite sure I even get. I kick it up before the finish but not much because it's such a narrow path the entire time. I feel I wasted most of my good running before the run itself but it's definitely a plus to make it back home before 8 pm. The Summer Series usually eats your Monday nights but today I have plenty of time for a shower, a breakfast dinner, and an hour of SPARCS.

Do I know how to pack a day or what?

I have one thing to say to you, US Open...

claytonsgrrl — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 13:10:41 GMT

I get the letter a few weeks ago, right before Lord Land stopped the mail for like EVER. The letter is from the higher-ups of the Farmingdale Village committee and they are happily gushing on about being chosen for the LIRR stop for all things US Open. This means that train riders specifically heading to the golf course are to get off in my town rather than the town the US Open is located in. They then are to board a bus which will take them to the next stop over. It completely makes sense when you break it down this way. Why stop in Bethpage when the tournament is in Bethpage?

When I get this letter, Steve tries to look at the bright side of it. "Kate, this is pretty cool having the US Open on Long Island!" There will be pro golfers just five minutes down the road so I can see how this would excite a sports fanatic like my fiancé.

So Farmingdale is elated that they are bestowed the honor of ruining the commute for their fellow citizens by taking over both station parking lots. Why do they need both lots you say? For unnecessarily huge vacant tents of course! So what does this mean for you, the troubled commuter, in this predicament of no parking for a week and a half? Oh no need to show me concern; the higher-ups have taken care of us! They so considerately found three other lots we all can park in during the time of the US Open. Never mind the fact all three lots are over a half mile away from the station. I am very grateful for this little hand-out, especially this morning when it's raining sideways and my umbrella is doing not much of anything to keep me dry.

In order for me to just not deal with walking a half mile and ruining my shirt with back sweat before I even get to work, I decide to recruit Steve into the mix. I'll just have him drop me off for the early train all week and not have to worry about the parking situation at all. This seems reasonable and he agrees to the terms of dropping off and picking me up everyday. He agrees up until the point of me shaking him awake at 535 this morning. He grunts and rolls back over, grumbling about getting up earlier than normal. I shake him again and remind him that the US Open is in town and we have to drop me off outside the station. As he picks himself up out of the comfy bed I can almost hear him cursing inside of his head. He then drags himself into the bathroom to groggily brush his teeth. He barely has his eyes open yet and I’m cheerily leaning on the doorjamb observing his misery.

"US Open in Bethpage not so cool right now is it, Steve?"

The look I receive says it all.

Us Open, you’ve got balls!