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New Orleans Part I

19 Oct

So I went to New Orleans this past weekend.

I’m going to break it up into shorter posts, because I’d rather you focus on one thing at a time.

I knew all along that I was going to New Orleans. Ever since I bought a ticket. But it didn’t seem real to me until I realized that once I walked onto that blue and orange plane over there, I would step off of it.

In New Orleans.

Where Brian would be waiting in his golden chariot to escort me to his palace. And oh how we’d laugh and laugh and laugh and shrug our shoulders and sip warm drinks and go “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm” or any drink for that matter (margaritas, it turned out). And we’d hold hands and skip and also fall and sing and dance and make late night mistakes. Whoops.

And that’s exactly what happened except when I walked off the plane, I was punched in the smile maker by the moldy smell that means “You’re about to be really really really happy for a few days and hopefully remember why later.”

I felt like I was home again. Felt very relaxed immediately. Felt like I’d been gone a month, not over a year. Felt like I needed to lock it up so I could spend more time awake, up, and about enjoying this amazing city rather than vomming during the day. Felt like I should be be eating more and drunk shopping less. Felt like I should start pounding bourbon and ginger ales and Abita Ambers and Purple Hazes and blueberry mojitos and vodka and any wine, white even! Felt like taking my pants off and running through the ghettos! (I have a rule to never take my top off, but pants are okay). Felt like I would soon wake up in a sea of empty bottles, cigarette butts, crack pipes, and to-go cups.

There’s something about being at Monkey Hill that makes me become the poster child for ‘Oops.’  Nope. Scratch that. Not just Monkey Hill. Any bar in New Orleans.

At one point, I tried to say that I talk a lot. Instead, I said “I’ve never been the kinda girl who’s kept her mouth not open.” Because that’s the best way I could think of saying that?

My friend Matt heard through a friend that I was in town and currently at Monkey Hill. It didn’t take him long to find me because when he walked in the door I was the only person standing on the bar. Dancing to a song that I hardly even knew.

Most people recognized me but my hair being a different color really threw some people off.

My friend who got married’s father definitely knows me. I lived with his daughter for 3 years and spent time in his home. I walked up excitedly to him and his wife to say hello after the ceremony, and as his wife is like “Heeyyy!!!!” he’s like “Oh hiii there..?”

So had to do what I hate most, which is say, Hi it’s me Kate. Remember??

Then obviously his eyes widen as he realizes who I am, and exclaims,

“Wow! Kate?! Kate! You look just fantastic! Did you lose weight? Wow, what like 20, 30 pounds?!”

To which his wife responds, “No! She dyed her hair!”


Naturally as the night progressed and story was added to, it became 50, 75, 100, 150 pounds and I became the mopey roommate who blossomed after college, leaving her overweight life behind and learning all the splendors there are in life when you’re thin. (Note: I’ve never been overweight, except when I was in 5th grade and hit rock bottom as a juiceaholic and butter eater. And once my mom called me blown up like Jessica Simpson. But that’s it.)

To be continued…


Little Girl Plays with Dead Squirrel

17 May

This just straight up reminds me of my childhood. Not that there is a video of me floating around anywhere playing with a dead squirrel, but guaranteed there are several videos of my sisters and I playing with dead animals or doing something disgusting. In fact, Rikki and I used to play dung frisbee with the dried up disks of cow shit we used to find in the hills of San Luis Obispo, right off Corrida Avenue.  Nancy loves reminding me of the time that I “wrote a note to the bum who lives here to come back at 8pm so I can give him more pants and a blanket.”

‘Here’ being the park bench near our house.  Apparently I had found a pair of disgusting old pants on the bench and decided that he needed more. I was most likely going to just help myself to my dad’s pants.

Crash Test Kittens

6 May

This had me cracking up quietly at my desk at work today. I want to shove those kittens in my mouth.  In a good way.

Nancy, Nancy Thornton

20 Apr

“I’m Just Not Having This” -Baby

17 Apr

Already hates shopping...

Taking Care of Business… Drunk.

17 Apr

You ever have that moment when you wake up Sunday morning and you stumble into the kitchen to make coffee and shove a muffin in your mouth while it’s brewing and then you can’t wait for the pot to finish so you quickly pull a Mission Impossible and switch the pot with your mug and then switch it back and then add Coffee Mate creamer and then sit down on your couch with your knees tucked in, mmmmming while sipping your warm coffee and then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the glass over the framed image on the wall and a hundred quick flashes of mistake moments run a train through your mind and you start feeling like a total drunken idiot and start half thinking about how embarrassed you’ll be once your coffee kicks in and your mind wakes up and then you finally call your best friend back after you realize you have 13 missed calls from her?

Well, THIS lady is going to wake up tomorrow, make her pot of coffee, do the Mission Impossible, sit down, catch a glimpse of herself, and frantically try to figure out why her hair looks so damn good all of a sudden. And then a hundred images of being in a nice salon in Hollywood around 3:30-8pm will run a train through her mind and she’ll remember bits and pieces of how her amazing stylist dealt with her drunk ass as she mumbled, stumbled, and jerkily slept through her several hours worth of salon hair treatments. She will find a receipt later probably for a lot more than if she would have been sober, speaking English words correctly, not stumbling back and forth from the bathroom every so often, and then nodding off and jerking her head awake – that thing that boys in school are known to do during Spanish class.

She might remember the entire staff wondering how to deal with her, but graciously treating her like she’s a normal person.  Maybe her stylist was like, Thank God, I finally get someone I that won’t be analyzing and freaking out over every snip I make and stroke of color I brush.  It was probably actually nice to have a client that just slept there while she did her thing.

Makes me think she’s on to something. Not the salon part, but the passed out drunk part of doing necessary things. Maybe I should take some shots and then hit up the dentist? Or enjoy a bottle of wine before a wax?

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Check Out My Good Friend Haley in This Video!!

15 Apr