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