Another Shameless Plug

Hey team.  I promise to write more regularly in here soon.  For now, follow, share, love. What it's like to try to have a baby when you're not 36, 24, 36.

Self Plugging (TWSS?)

I know I don't update this blog as much as I should (workin' on it), but my wife and I started a new blog together on our journey to start a family. And the Vial Makes Three!  I promise jokes, all praises to Nutella and maybe an rare look into how babies work when there is male parts (eww).

I Think My Feelings Are Best Expressed Through Gifs

At my previous job I would email the company anytime I launched a new website.  I felt like my feelings of working with said client were best expressed through gifs.  So when my last day came I thought it was only fitting I said goodbye via a gif fest.  Enjoy.

My first week or so here I felt like:

And sometimes all the tech speak sounded like:

But then you do your first demo and are like:

And you finally enter a ticket correctly in Redmine and Development is like:

And you start to pick up on some html so you can do things without asking Design and they are all:

Then Sales teaches you how to schmooze clients:

And then you get your first new client:

And you get them to add on a butt-load of extra stuff just because you said so:

And sometimes they ask you some ridiculous questions:

And you say the software gets easier to use the more they use it and they are like:

So you make some training videos to help:

So you arrange calls to walk through things and it feels like:

And sometimes they get it right away and you're like:

And sometimes, after 2 hours of 1-on-1 training they say, "Wait… I haven't figured out how to log in yet.  Can you start over?" and you feel:

But then you have your first company meeting with beer as a special guest:

And you have an afternoon nerding out with Marketing over your shared love of #BastardizingHashtags:

And then you get a new member to the client services team:

So be kind to Jim:

My parting words- May you all receive all the pleasures life has to offer:

And Remember:

Now let's all get out of here before something goes wro-
 

A Little Break For a PSA

I know I like to be snarky and sassy in my blog posts, but I'm going to take a break for a hot sec.  When I was 12 or 13 I realized I was gay.  Alone.  An internal thought when drying myself after showering.  And my first instinct was, "Oh Christ.   If I'm gay I might just have to commit suicide.  I can't even imagine a life if I were a lesbian."  It took me so long to say the words "I'm gay" and then to start from scratch in life.  Now that I am successful (in mind and spirit) and very happily married to my wife I want to post this video of a friend of ours.  Kyle is my wife's best friend since they were young and his, now fiancé, Tommy is a very good friend and a talented performer- he sang at our wedding. This is a video of Kyle's proposal.  Without grandstanding.  Without preaching.  Without prejudice.  I give you love.

 

And now back to our regularly scheduled programing.

My Feelings and Guidelines on This the Day of the Tonys in GIFs

Tony Sunday. It's like the gay super bowl except that Tight End is a compliment and a Hail Mary is greeting.

1. NPH should host all of the things.

2. Chenoweth should be there.  Be adorable.  And sing a showtune. #nocountry



3. No one is allowed to talk while "Once" performs.




4. There is no judgment on how much booze you consume or how many greasy, cheese based apps you eat whilst watching the Tonys.




5. If Sara Ramirez makes an appearance I may scream like I was on the episode of Oprah's Favorite Things.



6. If they let some unprofessional backstage newbie run the mics again this year all of my stage management friends will be like...



7. Let all the casts come together and sing like they did 3 years ago to Hair's "Let the Sun Shine"



and that's how you do the Tonys...

I'm An Idiot

I think, if you've been following my blog, you may have come to discover that I am, in short terms, an idiot.  Now I'm not bashing my intelligence as I work in software marketing and have the ability to logically analyze problems and convey a resolution to people that build computers down to the level of competency that allows you to open a jar.  I'm saying, that I have a habit of creating awkward situations... I also mentally giggle when I write analyze and I'm sure the rest of your 13 year olds out there do the same.  It also doesn't help that my hearing is going.  My wife has to repeat herself so many times that we may start to communicate in a series of clicks and hand gestures.  With this lovely attribute about myself combined with "Kate Luck" (see http://itsallpowertoolsandshowtunes.blogspot.com/2011/08/its-called-kate-luck.html) I present a play in 1 act entitled "Awksauce".

I recently went to get my hair cut in a hole-in-the-wall salon in Dorchester.  <High fives all around that I didn't get shot>.  I walked in and the woman behind the desk greeted me and asked me how she could help me.  I said I needed a hair cut and she started showing me back to the chairs.

...so far normal right?...

The woman made polite chitchat as we walked and then when she turned and said, "##### your ## la ### name, dear?".  I swear I heard what is your last name.  I quickly responded, "Curtis".  She paused, looked me up and down and replied, "Well... that's different and lovely...".  I paused and gave her an odd look.  Curtis is different and lovely?

5 minutes had passed and she turned to get my attention from across the room and said, "Curtis, come back so I can wash your hair."  It was then that I realized I am a deaf asshat.  A normal person would just correct her, make light of the situation and move on.  Not me.  That did not pop up in my mind as a rational option.  I then hung onto this story tighter than Bieber hangs onto his man bangs.

I created a whole story of how Curtis is a family name of a great grandfather who came to the US with a ticket he won in a card game (I may have watched Titanic lately).  The trials and tribulations of growing up a girl with a boy name including a certain altercation that happened on a playground with a kid that got me sent to detention.  Discussions of how employers can be sexist as they assume Curtis should be a boy.  Why I won't just change my name to something more feminine like Kate.  And finally how funny it would be if I married someone with the last name Curtis.

When we were done I went to an ATM to get cash to pay so she wouldn't look at my credit card name. Now, I could look back at this and think... you're an idiot.  Or I could look back at this and imagine that that hairstylist went home that day with this great conversation in her mind and decide that her next born female should be named Curtis as she will grow up to be this amazing person in her chair...

Mental note: When I strike it rich I'm starting a trust for all girls in the Dorchester born after May 21, 2012 named Curtis and in the memo of the check I'll write, "I'm an idiot: don't watch Titanic".

Everything You Wanted To Know About Preparing for End of Times, but Didn't Give a Crap

Let me preface this with the statement that I LOVE my mother-in-law.  She's petite, she's sassy, she's generous, she proudly sports the box o' wine and she put in 50% to make my wife (I'm not actually sure that is how genetics works, but I'm Catholic so you should just be proud I actually know how babies are made and that they are not delivered like Dominoes pizza).  My mother-in-law also believes in and plans for End of Times.

She has stockpiled canned goods, water, batteries and a generator.  She had bottles and bottles of wine (no one said End of Times has to be completely sad).  We were legit at a grocery store and she saw a 10lb bag of rice and she stopped and contemplated buying it.  There are other suplies hidden in secret places that I won't divulge in as this is the interwebs, but let's just make a mental note that these exist.

This had me thinking, "Kate?  What would you pack for End of Times?".  Before answering myself, I complimented myself on how great my hair was looking today and asked if I had lost a few pounds (even though I KNEW I hadn't, it's just polite).

Kate's List of Needs for End of Times:
1. iPad, MacBook Pro, iPhone.  Yes I know internet won't exist, but I have 3 separate games of Bejeweled going on in each device and I would be really pissed if I didn't end all things without a high score.  I have the whole season of West Wing and if a generation rises from the the destruction I will label The West Wing as documentary history of our government and they will build their nation upon its teachings... a kind of Sorkin 10 Commandments if you will.  Everyone will also be fit from all the walk & talks. Also, this will probably be the only time I could read Shades of Grey without looking like a tool.

2. Nutella, Coke Zero, Cheese Puffs and Box o' Wine.  I guarantee that even without me hoarding these items they will all survive End of Times along with Twinkies, cockroaches and Mick Jagger.

3. My bike.  I'm a horrible walker.  I fall over a lot.

4. Monopoly.  Maybe, with nothing else going on in the world, someone might actually finish the game without throwing the bank at the person that just sent you directly to jail again and screaming a stream of obscenities that rival Chris Rock.

5. Batman.  For those of you who don't know Batman, he is one of our cats.  He is the Jabba the Hut of cats, yet is extremely stealth.  He can hold down a couch like none other body of mass and yet manages to pick locks into your bedroom at night (after 2 hours of body slamming the door) to sit on your head and knock every piece of matter made of glass off a surface just to tell you he's hungry (artist rendering below).  But I feel, in a matter of safety, Batman would step up to the plate and protect us.  Or just step up to the plate because it has food on it.

So when it appears that End of Times is coming (4 Horsemen, banks crashing, the Red Line functioning at perfect service) look to the highest mountain top as I will be there, like Moses, hoisting my iPad to the sky beaming an image of Sara Ramirez blasting the soundtrack from Wicked that will lead you to safety... in Bristol, CT.

If I Delivered Your Commencement Address

Dear Class of 2012,

As we gather here today on this great lawn/auditorium/cafetorium/function hall/Elks Lodge, I look at a sea of people I could have babysat.  I mean Jesus.  My version of "illegally downloading music" is when you used to hold a tape recorder up to your stereo at the ready incase Z104 played that Envogue song which you would inevitably miss the first 15 seconds of and/or someone would come in the room and start talking thus messing up your track.  Did you know Oregon Trail wasn't always an app on Facebook?  We had to ford the river with our scurvy or dysentery.  Also I never understood why you could only carry back 100 lbs of meat.  Why not get one of those lazy ass kids of yours to help?

You will leave these hallowed halls/overflow trailers/internet classrooms with hopes of landing your dream job.  Look, I'm gonna be straight with you. 1% of you will actually hold a job that relates to your major.  The rest of you will become administrative assistants.  I'm looking at you theater/communication grads.  Don't go weeping into your PBR.  You'll get to where you're supposed to be, but honestly, it's going to take a while.  Much like Freshman year of college you will face times of being the new kid, finding your class, now meeting, goof off buddy and you will gain weight.  I swear it's like life knows you crossed over some predetermined age where you're not allowed to be a cute collegiate anymore and life is determined to not let you rock cut off shorts and sorority baby Ts (just dated myself).  You will follow ANY end of the day, once class now meeting, with beers.  You will still have roommate's, but Sallie Mae will not be picking up the heating bill so go buy as many collegiate sweatshirts as you can before your student ID discount expires because that will now be your heating source.

Group projects don't go away with graduation.  You will still have "group projects" in the real world, but now you just look like a real d-bag when you run like a 4 year old to your boss because Erwin from accounting won't stop playing CafeWorld long enough to do his Power Point slide.  Take that amazing talent and morph it into a manipulative skill that sets Erwin up.  I had friends in middle school that were so good at this they researched rival student's science fair project topics for RIDICULOUSLY complicated questions to ask in front of judges and teachers just to see them squirm.  Vindictive?  Yes.  But honestly we would have all rather been playing Bejewled... or Oregon Trail.  And most of them are in politics now so...

Abbrevs.  Stop.  Nothing makes you look like more of an asshat than sending this in an email, "We totes had that account.  Obvi, IMHO, Erwin messed it up.  WTF Erwin?!  Evry1 else, KUTGW.  TTYL143." *Note: I had to google half of these.

Foods you should stop eating now: Hot Pockets, anything in a wrap stuffed with items from more than 3 of the major food groups, anything from a vending machine/quickie-mart/street vendor.  Your late 20's gastro-intestine will thank you.

If you are hipster I would like you to line up on the right side of the stage.  We will be confiscating your "retro" glasses with no lenses, anything flannel (that died with Cobain), all hair products that you use a ridiculous amount of to make your hair look like you did nothing to it and any "old school" media.  You look like an idiot.

Overweight girls that wear the following: baby Ts, pants with writing on the butt, sleeveless anything, white pants, and metal upper arm bands (most of you are wearing them as bracelets....).  Line up behind the hipsters.

Clothing: Dress like you don't buy everything at Forever 21.

Money: Get used to not having it.

Friends:  BFF is a load of shit.

Now.  I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer.  This part will be fun.  You'll have your own apartment (still with roommates, but at least your fate is not in the hands of campus housing).  You should probably get REALLY good at writing passive agressive notes.  Then you can post them to the web, become internet famous and solve the money problem for a hot sec because we all know the possible tv show "Sh*t My Roommate's Say or Do That Inspire Passive Aggressive Notes" is going to die after the pilot.

You will succeed at something.  Some of you will be amazing at-home moms- please limit your posts of "Timmy Eating Applesauce" to less than 400 pictures.  Some of you will become business men/women and we will secretly hate you for your business lunches that include liquid lunch on an expense account.  Some of you are going to work for the MBTA and for that I'm assuming you punched a kitten at some time in your life and this is payback.

The point is: Make friends with a really good bartender.  Don't buy furniture/massage services off craigslist.  Don't expect to be Director of Awesomeness and Head Blogger at your first job, but don't settle for a life of post-its and board packets.

In closing, Class of 2012, I leave you with this.  Live your life like Oregon Trail.  Don't be a lazy ass kid.  Carry your fare share of the meat.  Always be the banker.  And when it comes time to write the epitaph for your tombstone make sure they use the word toot because everyone laughs at gas humor.

<drops mike to a standing ovation>

If Ticketing Managers Could Record the REAL Box Office Voicemail Message

Thank you for calling . Our hours…. Ma’am are you listening? Because I can pretty much guarantee you’re not listening to this portion and will leave a ranting message about how we aren’t answering the phones at 6am. Our hours are 10am-5pm Monday through Friday. Our performances start promptly and aren’t delayed due to: “the green line being a bitch”, “Red Sox game let out all over me”, “toe cramps”, “low blood sugar due to Dunkin’ being out of crullers”, “facebook ads lied to you about free parking in Boston” or “Walk for a Cure for Restless Leg Syndrome”. Be advised we will put you on hold if you begin our call with the following: “I’ve been a subscriber for …” or “Oh, good an actual human being!” or “What’s your name?” or “My show is tonight and I want to exchange despite your exchange policy as I donated $5 in 1981”. Our performances last as long as it takes you to sit in your seat so pee and sit the hell down. To keep things short: No, we don’t have any better seats- the seats we list for you are the best as we want to keep our interactions to the length of a prison phone call. All stories about the last time you saw this show or this performer are best accepted in email for to spam@company.org. Don’t ask to be upgraded to orchestra seating due to using crutches as I saw you chasing down a sales clerk at Filene’s yesterday yelling that you didn’t get your AARP discount. Thank you for calling, though you probably were yelling at your husband during this whole message about something or other and heard none of this, and we look forward to hearing your message of you saying, “Hello? Harold, I’m waiting for the beep. Did it beep? It’s 5:25am and I’m calling to find out the dates for your shows 3 years from now because we’re planning a trip. This is Mrs. Smith. I’m in your system.”

Are You Fo Real?! or Life In General

This blog post is brought to you by recent ruminations, rants and the letters F and U.

Queuing. Lining up. Did you learn nothing from 1st grade?!

I don't understand why people have to be first in line. I was flying recently and sitting in the terminal. When the flight attendant announced that boarding was about to begin people ran life it was Pamploma. You have an assigned seat... we aren't leaving until you are seated, belted in and you have been threatened with your life if you don't finish your game of "Words With Friends".

On the T. I get that the train can be more packed than Twink Night at Ramrod, but really you don't have hover at the door even though your stop is 15 stops away. Also, to every tourist coming to Boston. EVERYONE IS GETTING OFF AT PARK STREET. No need to show how awesome of a linebacker you are fighting to make your way to the exit. We're all heading to the same finish line and you are wicked annoying. Go Pats.

To conclude. Are you a passenger on the Titanic? Is Dunkin Donuts handing out free iced lattes for life? Do you have the opportunity to meet Sara Ramirez? Then calm yo self.

Why is Aaron Sorkin Not Writing Life?

I think we can all agree that Obama smacks down Bush in public speaking. It's almost embarrassing. Nay, it's more awkward than watching me write a note in permanent ink attempting to spell correctly the following words: guarantee, embarrassing, and awkward. But if you have even watched 1 episode of West Wing you are currently giving me the highest mental high fives as you too wish that Jed Bartlett could be your president and that Aaron Sorkin wrote all of the things.

Operation: Achieve All the Things

You know me... well at least most of you reading this know me. Last year I changed my career path... and 8 months later returned to it. I got married to only person in the world that can both love me and not laugh at every joke- it makes me try harder than whipping out the tried and true twss. And since the Golden Globes last night we all saw the signs of the apocalypse:

• A blonde singer from the midwest will go all Harry Potter
• Laura Croft will achieve the same body as the children she adopts
• We will all do a spit take at Ben Kingsley's wife
• The best actress of all time will drop the S-bomb and still be the most elegant woman in the room
• The writers of "Modern Family" will prove that geeky sarcasm is hot

I have decided to make a bucket list of things I want to accomplish:

1. Find a career path that doesn't involve me wanting to stab my eye out every time a phone rings/not hear the following phrases on a daily basis "And that's why you can't see a Wagner with a husband who has incontinence" or "You have student rush, but no senior rush? That's agism!" or "Why aren't you open at 6am? I have been calling for hours to exchange my tickets... this is Lyric Stage right?". Do colleges take coupons?
2. Volunteer more. I started with The Boston Marathon- not running, the only thing that runs on me is my boxed hair dye... I mean... I'm a natural red head. I'm debating volunteering for the Wine Festival, but I think we know that could lead to a shit show of epic, Lohan, Spears proportions.
3. Read. And Playbills don't count. Also, reading books that are above the average reader age of 14. Hunger Games don't count. Hunger Games could solve world peace and make a perfect omelet. I feel we should put "May the odds be ever in your favor" in the constitution.
4. Take classes. By 2013 I want to be able to build my own app, make my own mozzarella, sail a boat on the Charles, make pottery b/c I keep losing our damn tupperware.
5. Change the world a little at a time: Talk Chenoweth out of singing country, stop playing Plants v. Zombies in staff meetings, tell more heavy women to stop tucking their shirts into their 'skinny' jeans- don't make us all look like new stuffed sausages, tell people to stop yelling at Rosie O'Donnell... we know she's an annoying angry lez, but we got this.
6. Support local shops. If that means that I have to eat all of the cheeses on farmer's market day to keep those guys in business I will. They do God's work.

This is going to be ongoing and suggestions are accepted. But let it be known, any defamation of Nutella's character will not be tolerated. Ridding one's life of that delicious nectar is a sin and, essentially, we would let the terrorist win. Yeah... think about that.

Letters to my 17 year-old self...

Dear 17 year-old-self,

I want to start off saying I know these will be of no use to you as I’m now 30 and I’m a grown ass adult and understand the workings of past and present, but I feel that these epitaphs should serve as a reminder of things done terribly, horribly wrong/if you are a fat, pimply closeted chick in the south surfing the interwebs… you might want to take a gander at these.

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

Learn that that $3 box of hair dye is never the right option. This whole lesson of “you get what you pay for”/”fast, cheap and easy” will never work out well for you- no if, and or butts (heyooo, cause it’s a joke on ‘easy’ and… never mind). Also, you will start going grey in 1 year. And I’m not talking a strand or two. I’m talking full blown bustin’ out all over. And just accept the fact that you are a brunette. You. Will. Never. Be. A. Blonde. You are just killing the living crap our of your remaining hair and you will regret it when you are a broke ass college student and you have more episodes of roots than the Lifetime Movie Network in February making up for the fact they never have any diversity throughout the remainder of the year in their “Not Without My Daughter Who Secretly Huffs Coffee Filters” staring Meredith Baxter Burney marathons. Lastly, magenta is a color meant for swatches of fabric, not your hair.

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

You do not/will not like boys. Stop using whatever “acting skills” (we’ll get to that later) you think you have when you “gush” over Curt, Tim, Chris and Mike. The only thing you will EVER share with them is a love of “Wicked” and gossiping over a box of wine. Your extremely strong feelings of bonding with certain females- they are called crushes.

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

Despite the fact you think that your acting skills are extraordinary, Broadway is your new home, your dreams are immense and, much like the Koolade man, no walls can contain them. You have no talent. You are not an actress. You are a witty person that likes attention which is understandable why you confused this with talent. You will not be an actress. Also, grades make a difference. You do well in high school, but enjoying the on-campus Chick-fil-a and plethora of parties that serve free beer you will slowly slump into a semester of Suma Cum C average… although later on you will learn an appreciation for free beer. Choosing a PR major, as it was the closest thing to acting- being able to talk and entertain to sell something to make money, you are only kidding yourself. You will intern. You will graduate and you will sell tickets for 10 years after college. You grow an affinity for boxed wine and a sarcasm muscle so huge it is ogled by men and women alike. It’s not too late for you to become a teacher. They share a lot of these above traits, but make more money and have better retirement.

Also, GET OFF YOUR ASS AND APPLY FOR SCHOLARSHIPS. I am broke and student loans will majorly impact your Broadway show fund. You will come to learn the importance of finding change in between the seats of your car so that you can get lunch from the 99cent menu at Wendy’s. You will learn to post-date checks to the point you forget what year you’re in. You will learn how to get free drinks from anything that even remotely mouth breathes. Clipping coupons will be cool. You will learn to fold your laundry in a certain way so that people at the Laundromat will not see the Gapê tag aka the knock-off Gap/Nordstrum/Bebe item of clothing you bargained for because then you could also pay the cable bill.

We all know you joined all of those clubs to be in as many year book pictures as possible. Your ego is ridiculous. You will be given a shot of reality very soon and then, wincing, life will make you say, "Please sir, may I have another?".

This is not meant to depress you. This is meant to slap you in the face and any other teen that thinks that food will always be in the fridge, gas tanks have no empty and that moving out will be the most awesome thing ever. Stop it. No!

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

Your skills at skipping class will come in greatly in skipping meetings. Well done there kiddo.

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

Spend less time studying and learn more $10 words. They will get you jobs and save you from looking like an ass when you have been playing Angry Birds throughout a staff meeting- whip one out, hopefully applying to the same discussion topic on the table feigning any shred of interest you could possibly have about whether the filing cabinet should be organized by alphabet or defaulting on the system created by a staff member 15 years ago that is more complex than the Dewey decimal system, but couldn’t organize itself out of a paper bag.

XO,
K

Dear 17 year-old-self,

This is part 1 of many in a continuing series so sit back, turn on some Greenday/N’Sync/Bone Thugs n’ Harmony you big poser and stop telling people to call you Rosie O’Donnell 2. It’s not going to turn out that great to have that relation and actually turns out to be AMAZING foreshadowing.

XO,
K

It's Called Kate Luck

So in the 1 week before the wedding I have managed to be diagnosed with a severe ankle injury from multiple third degree sprains that have torn all of my posterior talofibulars (who has 2 thumbs, speaks limited French and will be in a cast all summer next year... this moi), experienced a Nair accident and dropped a 25lb box of thermal tickets on my ring finger hand. Now don't think for one second that this is going to be a serious post because despite this crap that has happened there is a definitive reason for it so acceptance comes naturally. It's called Kate Luck. Kate Luck is ironic and the pure jet fuel situation comedy that couldn't possibly write itself. Some people were born to be doctors, some people were born to be nuns. I was born to have the weirdest shit happen to me and then tell the world about it. Please open your hymnals to Kate as a 5 year old.

My parents were high school teachers and with that they often found it convenient to hire their students to be babysitters. One night I'm chilaxin' at the sitter's house and her brother was in the process of moving out. Apparently, you will start seeing the stars align, he was a deer hunter and had been showing his equipment (heh) to someone earlier in the evening. I, having the balance of a drunk epileptic with an inner ear problem, ambled down the hall and fell onto an arrow. Now on this fateful day, that being if you were alive, it was the scream heard across the land. Prairie dogs stood on hind legs, dogs howled in three-part harmony, Mariah Carey said, "Who dat singing my notes?!". I was told that an ambulance wasn't necessary as my screams cleared the lanes to the doc-in-a-box that I was taken to. Kate Luck: I've been shot in the thigh by a dear arrow.

I used to love chocolate milk. It was just a carton of awesomesauce when I was a kid. I, being the rotund child I was, took a cup of it everywhere. Not like a sipper bottle, not a sports bottle with a screw on lid. A cup. I was walking over to my friend Amanda's house one day with my cup of chocolate milk and cutting through the backyard of a neighbor. I encountered a fence. The full bright scholar that I am, I decided that the best way to handle this was to hold the large cup of choco with my teeth and climb on over. Please refer to my level of balance and grace from the previous paragraph in-which maintaining balance on a flat surface is even hard for me. I held that cup with all my might and swung my leg over. In the next amazingly awesome moment I made a decision that would change my life. I lost footing on the fence and in the split second of panic my mind rationalized all the outcomes and chose to attempt to save the chocolate milk. As my body slammed, straddled on the fence and that feeling of panic/all you can do is constantly inhale much like the times you sat on your bike's banana seat wrong, I winced in pain and my mind wept as my chocolate milk spilled to the ground. Kate Luck: I lost my virginity to a fence.

Cut to: Present Day. So out of the trifecta of awesome injuries/acts of vain ridiculousness that I have experienced this week let me give you a brief run down.

The Ankle: I have sprained my right ankle 5 times. Here are a few of them...
1. Playing softball in 9th grade (no lesbian jokes please, they form themselves). Running to 3rd base I rolled my ankle. My teammates screamed to run and I crawled to the base. The 3rd baseman had tagged the bag, gone to get a drink of water and written/stared/directed a short filmed called "Tubbo Steals Third" before I got to the base.

2. At college. I was unpacking into my junior year townhouse and taking way too many boxes down to the dumpster. I am a firm believer of less trips (no matter how excruciatingly painful or breaking all laws of physics) is better. I missed the last 2 steps and rolled said right ankle.

3. I can be a sloppy drunk sometimes. That ankle was on the mend and almost back to normal. One night I was partying out in the trailers (George Mason University- one of the best schools of law/not that that was my major - has a housing option that is an on-site trailer park. Setting the bar a little low kids.) We had run out of booze so I was walking through the woods to someone's house to go get more and in what was either a Fouetté rond de jambe or Kate was being her well-balanced/box of wine night self rolled the ankle. Dogs howled, Kate howled and a barrage of creative curse words were spewed that would have made a sailor blush.

4. Working at Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival. I had come in on my day off to hang out with dancers and interns. I stepped down an uneven step and rolled my ankle. Hey they all can't be witty.

Ticket Thermals. This, my non-box office friends, is the term for those long tickets you get for events. (The more you know! *shooting star*) I was trying to organize my office and instead of, you know, doing the smart thing like asking for help or following any laws of office safety protocol, I lifted said box. I would like to again point out my stellar record of grace. The box began to slip and I swear that it performed an epic 90 degree turn in projection so that this mammoth box then sandwiched my hand between itself and the sharp edge of my ticketing printer. It was like watching Final Destination 1 and 2- I didn't care for 3. Now don't panic. It's only swollen, my ring finger is fine and I can still successfully flip off those people who stop immediately after they get to the top of the stairs from the subway.

Nair. A blessing and a curse. I come from a very European stock that provides me with dark, thick hair... in places other than the top of your head. Shut up, don't be that nasty person (although in any other circumstance I would probably giggle with you and slap the highest of fives), I'm talking about facial hair. Those of you who are in their late 20s/early 30s will immediately know of which I speak of. It's like God said at a certain age, "You've had enough time to find a mate. I'm upping the stakes. You will grow ridiculously dark, coarse hair in awkward places and I will turn everything flabby. This is my Hunger Games and we should totally have a datesy for the opening night of that movie!" So I was taking care of a patch of awesomeness and I put some Nair a little too high. This resulted in removal of hair so close to my hair line I look like the 13 year old that was going to shave her hair, but then chickened out. It also is whiter than Michael Jackson after a bleaching (too soon?) Again, don't panic. How do you solve a problem like Maria.. Kate? Self-tanner in a very concentrated area. Let us pray.

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be Tina Fey

First off, I'm sorry I've taken so long to post to my blog. I could lie to you and say it was due to overcommiting myself to society and my career, but let's be honest... I'm getting married in 1 week and Parks & Rec is on Netflix so...

Getting married is an experience. I'm not talking the ceremony, I'm talking the journey to the ceremony or as I call it, "Sooooo I shouldn't invite your personal trainer, the wine shop owner and the Starbucks barista?/For $600 this wedding dress should make me look like a Lane Bryant model (I aim low)/If the chicken dance is played, so help me God".

During all of this I turned 30 and have begun questioning my future. And by that I mean, I started out in ticketing when I was 22 to build my resume to get into marketing, but after all this time I haven't made the leap. You know you've been in ticketing too long when you refer to the first game of a double-header as "the matinee".

So where does this rambling brain dump lead me? What do I want to do? Let's look back at all the jobs I have ever wanted:
1. 3rd Grade Math teacher- I can't even balance my own checkbook, I can't be trusted not to say, "That's what she said", the words "5am" and "alarm" are considered hate speech.
2. Barbra Streisand's long lost child.... I'm not sure how that's gonna work out.
3. An actress... stop laughing.
5. Writer for SNL. So, from my estimations this is the only legal and feasible aspiration. I call upon you, my lovely readers, other than moving to Chicago to perform for 2nd City or performing stand-up in some skeasty club downtown... how can I make a career out of these ramblings that I'm currently giving away for free? (I love you guys, but a girls gotta paid in the escalade).

So, to sum things up. When planning a wedding you should remain in a constant state of inebriation, Imneed to combine all of the above jobs into a mega job.... I'm not really sure what that is... and I need to blog more and you need to spread it around like mono at a frat party.

XO,
K

Christmas and Sappy Movies Lead to Cheesy Something Something...

I know guys, it's been far too long since I've posted. In following this cheesy ass themed post I promise to post more. I have just watched a butt-load of Christmas movies and made-for-tv godforsaken Meredith Baxter-Burney, "I lost my child, but a Santa who looked like Jesus returned him to me at the 11th hour on Christmas eve and then a strong lumberjack of a man saved my cancer-ridden dog with the gift of song" Lifetime vommed all over it type of movies and thus comes this post.

Things I Am Grateful For

by Kate Walsh

1. Meg. I know to list her first and foremost as she splits half my rent, cooks way better baked goods than I do, loves me despite the flaming gay man I am and she can run faster than I can so in a couples challenge we would actually stand a chance in the physical fitness portion... but if by a stroke of luck we get "Explain the full story of 'Will & Grace' with verbatim quotes in character voices- I got you girl. ;) MT.

2. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. I strongly stand by my belief that "30 Rock" and "Parks and Rec" could solve world hunger... oh wait.. no. My belief was that they could solve world obesity b/c they are so funny you laugh for 30 minutes and that's equivalent to doing like 150 push ups or something... I may have been a little buzzed at the time I stated that... screw it, I still stand by it.

3. Goat Cheese. Seriously... is there ANYTHING this stuff isn't good with? I want to throw big ups to Tommy and Kyle for introducing us to the big log of goat cheese covered in warm fig spread. ... ... We need to come up with a better name for that... it pretty much makes me feel like the first guy to go through the new TSA frisking services... speaking of... I wonder if that will take the place of getting my yearly breast exam...

4. Beatles on Itunes. I say this in complete jest b/c the hype that was created days before they dropped this load on us was ridiculous. So yeah, I get it. It's the Beatles. That's great, but really let's be honest. We pretty much have all the digital versions of the Beatles songs we want b/c we all have that one friend who converted all his parent's record and tapes to digital b/c mom got an ipod and has to have "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" while doing power yoga at book club.

5. A Relly Good Vacuum. Trust me... if you've ever had cats you will attest to this. No matter how much you clean there will ALWAYS be a pebble or two of kitty litter on the bathroom floor that you step on right after you take a shower. And as you angrily exit the bathroom a kitty hair tumbleweed will roll down the hall and stick to your wet leg despite the fact you shaved that little bastard balder than James Carville.




6. Kristin Chenoweth. ... ... ...













7. The MBTA. AHAHAHAHAHA no, I couldn't even keep a straight face... HEYOOOO. But seriously, how mad does Boston public transportation make you? On a scale from 1 to Chris Brown.

8. Lastly, my parents. I know I'm more known for my snarky, sassy posts, but I would like to refer to the aforementioned Baxter-Burney clause. I came out a lot later in life to my parents than I had wanted to, but after multiple times of trying to do it in person things just didn't work out. So I wrote them an email. I know, shut up, just read the excerpt from y my mom's response:
"I cried-but you knew that. Then, I thought of all kinds of irrational crap like how we dressed you in Taylor's clothes (one, because money was tight and two, you hated girly, dressy clothes). Then, I went for my walk. But, I went to the left at the end of the street instead of the right. For the first time!! And, you know what? Nothing happened, nothing was different. It was still 1.5 miles. The sun set and the moon rose and it was still friggin 91 degrees. I heard a bird in a tree singing loud and for all its worth...though it was pitch dark. And, while I was used to birds singing in the day, hearing that bird lifted my heart, it was so beautiful. And, through all of this I kept thinking everything is ok-different but ok."

Merry Whatever Makes Your Heart Happy Kiddos.

So I was trying to think of the next thing to blog about and nothing was really standing out. I'm currently "between jobs" for two days and went to the gym in the middle of the day. It's like whole new world when you go to the gym mid-day. You don't have to hoover over someone like you do when you're in line at a salad bar and they've been in front of the bacon bits building a salad with a lettuce to BB ratio akin to 1:89043 and then they walk away and all that's left are some crumbs and that stupid plastic packet that comes in things to hold out moisture, but thanks to the miracle of the interwebs we all save those in case water get's into our watches or we need to freshen up before going out so we dab a little behind the ear.... wait... oh, right. The gym. So I was on a machine that was acting a little wonky and went to report it. This leads us to the purpose of this post. Stupid, awkward and/or inappropriate things happen to me constantly. Maybe it's so I "learn life lessons" or maybe it's so "I'll stop stalking certain blond petite entertainers" or maybe it's so "I can write this blog for your entertainment... so that I can be discovered and meet certain petite blond entertainers"... whatever, you get the point. Stupid stuff happens to me.

Let me begin with a story some of you already know, but bares repeating to support my previous statements. I've had A LOT of jobs. Current employer that I begin working for tomorrow, this is in reference to Kate ages 13-21. So we're still cool. My first real job was at a McDonald's. I was not thrilled about it, but I needed a job. I should have realized how wrong this situation was by my interview. I was 16 (albeit the daughter of a high school guidance conselor so I was slightly more prepared than most) and walked into the store with a business suit and resume... we didn't interview. He made sure I had the power of speech and told me to start tomorrow. I showed up and had my 2 days of training... pictures on a cash register can be hard to decipher... you tell me the difference between a 5 ct and a 7 ct mcnugget meal in a time of haste. The third day they put me on drive through. I remember it well. It was a Saturday in late May. I was to work 9-5. 2pm rolled around and I was getting the hang of it. You had to wear a headset attached to a communication pack that hooked to your hip. When someone would pull up to the drive thru it would ding in your ear. You had to press a button to speak and release to listen... anyone who has ever buzzed an apartment door or stage managed a show has got me right now. So a car pulls up and her total to be paid is $5.93. I open the window and she begins to pull money from her purse. I stick my hand out to get it when the ding goes off in my ear that another call has pulled up. I instinctively try to grab the monies that she is giving me while trying to be a fast food worker rock star and press the button to talk. In slow motion I see the woman pouring her payment in pennies, nickles and dimes that then go streaming all over the ground and her car. In fear and frustration at what my life had already become at the ripe age of 16 I say aloud a phrase that I'm not sure can be repeated here as I want to keep these readings PGish, but it involved a goat and some level of copulation. I then see out of the corner of my eye my boss (wearing a similar headset) running at me like she's in a Die Hard film and the building behind her is about to blow. She speaks into the mic for the patron who had just heard the exclamatory statement I had just uttered through the speaker to pull around. I peered through the glass hot box of hell I had worked in all day at the car coming around the corner. I then felt my face go hot and that feeling in your stomach as if you ate chili cheese fries and you're lactose intolerant and you have no gallbladder as I started to recognize the car... it was some of the nuns from my old catholic school. I then took off the headset, stepped over the pile of change still in the hot box, walked out of McDonald's and never returned... except a week late to ask if I was going to be paid for those 2.5 days I worked. I've got class.

Another example. I was 17 and working for a bagel shop. I loved that job. Surrounded by bagels and 7 different types of cheeses all day. HEAVEN. My ass still talks about it like it was boarding school and how muenster had made her the big ass she is today. I was working on a Sunday (as some of you probably know, I should not work on Sundays- it brings out the Jersey Shore in me and I'm not even from there) and in the South it is big to go to church and then breakfast so it was extremely busy on Sundays. I was at the prep area when I took orders and made sandwiches. I saw this heinous punta come in and knew nothing was going to go well. She walked up and hand to God said she wanted a bacon, egg and cheese bagel. Now let me set the scene for you. This place is already like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange with people yelling things and making number gestures that I still have no clue what they were trying to convey. I can only assume it meant something related to some underground lox & schmear mafia. My station's only barrier from the motley crew of customers was something akin to a sneeze guard and I say that to prove this point... everything I do and touch you can see. I begin to swiftly make her sandwich and cut it and put it on a plate for her. She has watched my every move with the diligence of a waspy woman around hired help. She looks me up and down and says in a shrilled voice like Gilbert Gottfried and Rosanne procreated, "WHAT IS THIS?! THERE'S BACON ON THAT!!! I'm a vegetarian! I can't eat that". I replied, "Ma'am, you order a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel...". With that statement made she saw that I was not even close to her level of bitchydome and I would be an easy target. She continued to scream at me and although, filled with rage much like the kind I have only felt in similar moments of public embarrassment or when West Wing went off the air, I grabbed the plate with the sandwich, ripped the bacon off, slammed it back onto the counter and said, "YOU WILL EAT IT AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!". I then turned smoothly to make a grand exit as in my mind I had won (how naive) and felt my left foot as I put it down in my leave of triumph step into pea soup that someone had spilled. I can only describe my fall as one that the physical complexities achieved can only matched by a member of Cirque du Soleil or Goofy.

There are many more of these instances in my life and I take some responsibility for the outcome as usually my mouth gets me in trouble, but someone has to be held accountable for these situations... you can't make up this stuff. And I'll end it on where I began. I went to tell one of the attendants at the gym that a machine was malfunctioning. She asked me to find out which machine section and the number of it so she could have it looked at. I went back up to report to her and she said, "Can you just tell me briefly what number machine and what's wrong?" and I replied (obviously without thinking), "Yeah, 69 is jerking on and off"... I slowly put my sunglasses on and walked out... I will no longer be attending this gym mid-day.

An Open Letter to the Big JC

Hey Lord,

What's up? You areeeeee. Lol, I know, it's getting old. Anywhoz, I just wanted to chitter chat about a couple things with ya.

1. Can we talk about the weather in New England? It's like weather by Sybil. I know you're probs pissed at Sarah Palin for blaming it on you (ref: "It's just God hugging us closer") and then there's global warming... we don't have to get into that now... but for ser I moved up North to not sweat during the summer months like a gay republican in church and I wanted a freakin' picturesque winter wonderland during the colder months, but instead it's 40 degrees and the wind is blowing harder than William Hung's Christmas Album.

2. People who "power grunt" while running on the treadmill at the gym. I'm all for psyching up to keep yourself motivated, but if you need to holler so loudly to keep yourself going that it causes the pregnant lady on the stairmaster to start having contractions you may want to seek alternate methods.

3. Leg warmers are in fashion again.. I'm just gonna leave it at that... you know where this is headed.

4. Metabolism decreasing as we get older. It is hard enough that I am 5+ years older than most people I hang out with (and those friends that are my age or older, just claim to be in this category of friends- you'll feel better) and that most of them don't get any references to Alf, Jane Curtin, 9 to 5 or Simon and Garfunkle. That's fine. I'll deal with it. But once you pass 25 and gray hairs start growing, getting out of bed is a process as you walk like a newborn deer until 10am and eating a mini Snickers bar sends you into a spiral of weight gain that Oompa Loompa's follow you around waiting for the word to roll you away is just rough. Not cool. Can we do like a penance thing to balance this out like we do in confession? Like if I eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's, but I unload the dishwasher for my parents without them asking me things could just cancel each other out? Think about, I feel all would benefit from this... especially my hips. My jeans thank you.

5. I completely agree with giving notice at a job you're leaving as it is a good professional policy to give them time to look for a replacement as well as finish up projects, but Lord? Why are the last 2 weeks always so unbearably awkward? It feels like a bad breakup with a significant other, but you still have to live with them. And then why do they take so long to tell everyone, but you aren't aloud to talk about it until they do? Everyone knows about it, but isn't talking about it. It's like a fart in church- sorry to hit so close to home... heyoooo.

6. The MBTA... ... ...

7. Lastly (at least for this letter), I would like to end on a positive note. Thank you for Tina Fey, Kristin Chenoweth, Chick-fil-a, Coke slupees, buy-one-get-ones, Netflix, SNL (1976-79, 1997-1999 and 2004-2007), Neil Patrick Harris, Idina Menzel & Taye Digg's baby (aka will be either the most beautiful/talented baby on earth or the biggest ball of hot mess since Carrie Fisher), goat cheese, Trader Joe's $3 Chuck, Aaron Sorkin (West Wing & Studio 60 should be shown to all entertainment writers so they can never say they didn't know any better when they churn out crap like 'Two and a Half Men') & anything made out of fleece.

TTYL,

K

I Went To The Gym On a Holiday So Suck It

Since it is a holiday and we got places to be and things to eat... Today's post is a collective of best of Facebook posts (please overlook the egotistical nature of this post and bask in the glow of the fact I'm basically phoning this one in):

‎"I'm training for the NYC 1/2 Marathon." ... "Oh, well I'm training for the Jack Daniel's Classic 2010."

Hey crazy lady on the red line, don't harass the girl scouts selling cookies in the station... those cookie dealers are doing God's work. March 2 at 4:23pm

When you switch from working in the arts to software the words "development" and "script" no longer mean the same thing. March 18 at 2:41pm

Guys... it's Friday... I'm gonna make like a shepherd and get the flock outta here... make like a loaf of French bread and baguette... make like The Exorcist and get the hell outta here. March 19 at 4:31pm

So Char and I were hanging out by the docks in Quincy today and decided if we had a boat we would name it "Your Mom". Think about it, "We spent all day scrapping the barnacles off Your Mon." Please feel free to contribute. April 3 at 5:14pm

While waiting in line for our megabus, two girls walk like they are about to cut us. Cue Meg: You know I will shank a bitch if she tries to cut us in line.

Charlotte and I on the vet visit for Batman this afternoon. Charlotte: We stormed in there with him smelling like pee and screaming, those poor vet techs. Me: That's probably what Wal-Mart workers feel everyday. May 5 at 7:36pm

You know how you want to 'like' something, but you know it's gonna be hella popular and everyone and their mom are going to comment on it and then your email will explode with comments you don't care about, but you don't want to turn off that notification b/c what if someone comments on some other witty remark you made... on your friend's page and you like having your sense of humor ego stroked? May 28 at 11:56am

God created Saturn... and he liked it... so he put a ring on it. June 2 at 9:11pm

I may not be able to attend Pride this year b/c we'll be in the Outer Banks, but I'll tell you what I will be doing on Sunday night. TONY'S. It's like the gay Super Bowl only Double Covereage is a little different. June 10 at 11:48am

Me: Guys, what if I were a DJ?
Charlotte: I could see you, "Hey guys, I know this is a rock station, but I'm gonna play a little Patti LuPone." June 28 at 10:34pm

Making sticky buns from scratch is not for the faint of heart nor for those that value sleep like it's a kid with their halloween stash and dad comes in and says, "I need to check it to make sure it's safe", but you really know he's gonna boost your Butterfingers and Fun Dip. July 1 at 5:40am

Hey. You guys remember that time we could walk outside of your apartment not sweat your makeup off in less than thirty seconds and be so drenched in sweat that it looked like you did jumping jacks in the attic, but really all you did was tie your shoe? Me too. July 18 at 10:17am

I need a good piano bar after today. Nothing fixes a crappy day better than belting a showtune while drinking the house specialty drink "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Sangria". July 19 at 6:21pm

Going to see "Despicable Me" with Meg Curtis, Dana Lyford and Alexis Schuette. And probs have a beer during the show b/c if you can't enjoy a beer during an animated feature then we let the terrorists win. July 24 at 1:15pm

Just got my ass handed to me by my personal trainer Tyler. "Squat like you mean it Kate!!" "... I don't think you want me to do that Tyler." July 30 at 8:04pm

Ok world, do we have to have this discussion again? Fine. The following things should not be seen in daylight: 1. Women above size 14 in skinny jeans-we've talked about this 2. Business men on recumbent bikes-I don't care if you are saving the earth, you look like a douche 3. Gauge piercings- if I can jump rope with it... you've gone too far. Shut it down. August 13 at 10:15am

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE.