How To Blog, Gain Followers & Be a Rockstar

Okay, first I must set the scene.

You all have to imagine me in a study decorated in cherry wood paneling and sitting in a dark leather easy chair in front of roaring fireplace.  I'm surrounded by shelves of books because this gives the implication that I read a lot and therefore must know what the fuck I'm talking about.  I even have a book sitting in my lap, in which I am so engrossed that I don't see you arrive until I look up in surprise.

Got all that?  We're good?  Off we go then.~

Oh!  Hello there, friends.

[author's note: remember I'm looking up in surprise because...actually, I don't honestly know why the fuck they did that on Masterpiece Theatre, but I'm rolling with it.]

Yes, hello there, friends, and welcome to another stunning edition of "Tapetum Lucidum".  I'm here today to tell you how to blog, gain followers and how to generally just kick the ass out of the blogosphere.  I am the perfect person to tell you how this too, because I've won not one, but two blogging awards.  I'm both stylish and versatile.  What more could you ask for?  Intelligence?  Pfft.  That's for douches.

Okay, so kicking the ass of the blogosphere begins with creating a blog.  Why would you want to do this?  Because you probably have a job of some sort and having a blog is one of the best ways to avoid getting any actual work done.

This doesn't look obscene or anything.

Now that you have a blog, you should decide on a theme.  I put a lot of thought into my blog, and when I say "a lot" I mean "not a damn bit", and finally made the very conscientious decision to have my blog be about nothing at all--and I believe that this is the best option for you, too!  For example, I try my best to have each entry contain as little quality writing as possible.  That's not to say that you should make your entries short, oh no no no.  On the contrary, you want to post as many long ass entries as you possibly can.  Your goal should be to say as little as possible with as many words as you can.  Make your blog like a Twinkie: a ton of calories and absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever.

As for the specifics of your entries?  Try to start off with whatever random shit popped into your head as your computer booted up.  Or tell your readers what your Rice Krispies said to you this morning.  When you come up with an idea, say it out loud.  If it sounds mental, then you've got a winner and are ready to begin writing.  Just be sure that, no matter what subject you choose to start your entry, that you don't stick with this idea until the end, or you might accidentally come up with a coherent post.  This needs to be avoided at all costs.  If you do find yourself making an organized, cohesive entry, just take a step back and type the word "dildo".  Just throw it right there in the middle of a paragraph.  That should get your ADD brain working in another direction and your entry will be saved.

Speaking of dildos, pay attention to your vocabulary.  Be sure to use a lot of words that would make your grandmother slap the taste right outta your mouth if she read your blog.  I aim for at least a dozen swears in each of my entries, with about half of them being variants of the f-bomb.  You basically want to make your blog entry as inappropriate as possible so that your readers are so shocked by your language and content, that they don't realize just how mental you really are.

Another way to achieve the desired level of inappropriate content for your blog is to write smut and pimp the shit out of it in your entries.  Nothing makes you feel like more of a pimp than encouraging begging people to read the story you wrote about sex on a pool table or two chicks gettin' down.

In summary so far, if you want people to read your blog then you must: 1) write about nothing, 2) write a lot about nothing, 3) write about nothing while cursing, 4) write about sex.

Super duper, cherry merry muffin.~

Another way to trick people into reaching your blog is to use bizarre pictures in your entries.

That picture up there is from my Inferno entry and it gets hits all the time.

I've no idea why.

Incidentally, if you are landing here as a search result for that picture, can you please leave a comment telling me what the fuck you are searching for and why, because it's driving me mental for some reason.

If all else fails, then resort to threats to get readers.  Now, you may not know many people in "real" world, or more accurately, you may not know many people who will admit to knowing you, but the point is that they are people that you can physically touch.  This is important because cyber-threats can only go so far.  You want to threaten people who wouldn't put it past you to egg their house if they don't follow your blog.  For example, bobo from "Ahoy Hoy!"?  You may notice that he comments on here a lot.  That's 'cause I know where he lives.  (heh heh heh)

Finally, if you do manage to trick threaten gain some followers, and they are brave enough to leave you a comment, make sure that you respond back.  They've made it through your entry of what-the-fuckery, so it's the least you can do.  Now a commenter may not know that you replied back because, well let's be honest, they're probably scarred enough from reading your entry the first time and are not gonna be coming back for a second helping, but I still do it because I can never stop talking anyway.

So there you have it, my lovelies.  Follow all of these steps and you too can be a blogging rockstar.~

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This Post Starts Off A Bit Naughty And Just Gets Worse

First and foremost, I should have said this sooner, but I have some new followers and just want to say thank you for joining us and say "welcome to jungle, darlings".~  Also, much love to my veteran followers who continue to read my blog in spite of its insanity, and especially to those who contribute to the antics.  To the new followers, the vet followers, the silent readers and the commenters alike, thank you all so much for reading. You all make this one smashing adventure.

Alright, that's enough of that touchy-feely nonsense now, yes?  Back to the usually scheduled in appropriate talk we go.

*breaks out the Tequila and salt, licks her shoulder*

I'll let ya'all decide amongst yourselves who gets to do the first body shot while I go on about why Friday was brilliant.

Despite being without chocolate during a critical time of the month, Friday was a pretty kickass day.  I was part-y-ing, par-ty-ing, yeah, par-ty-ing, par-ty-ing, yeah, fun fun fun, yeah!  <--Not really, but if you don't understand that reference, then you really don't want to know.  You can blame my friend, S., for infecting my brain with that song.

And speaking of infection, one of the reasons that this Friday was brilliant was because I made it through my workout, thus completing the first full week of my regular workout routine since the battle with The Mutant Flu From Hell over a month ago.  I physically felt like shit afterward, but I was mentally spiking a football on the face of that little bastard Flu virus and telling him to fuck himself, so YES!

Then, even though I didn't learn about it until Saturday, my very sweet and darling Heather, from Sugar Free Thoughts, gave me the Versatile Blogger Award on Friday.  I'm pretty versatile in many forms of, um, entertainment, but I hadn't didn't realize that I was such in blogging as well.  Now that I think about it though, I really am quite the versatile blogger given how I manage to use the word "fuck" as an adjective, verb and noun in nearly every entry.

The best part of this award though?  Heather said that when I picked up my award from her that I could spank her with it.  Oh, and indeed I will take advantage of that invitation, my love.  I'm not even going to use my paddle, but my bare hand because I adore her so much that I want it to be personal like that.~

So the rules to which a Versatile Blogger must abide are:

-Thank the person who gave it to you
Well usually I insist that the one that I am spanking thanks me for each whack, but I'll make an exception for Heather and say "thank you" to her.~

- Share 7 things about yourself
There are the standard twenty-six things here, and I threw in six more here (and I see that was the last time I gave a welcome so I'm verbally chastising myself for waiting so long to do it again--bad Kat!) , plus there is this entry here, so between all of that, I think you have the facts of Kat pretty covered.

- Pass it along to whatever amount of bloggers you feel like passing it on to
Now this is a little difficult.  The first time I won an award, I had only been blogging for a few weeks and was able to pass it on to nearly everyone I followed since it was such a small number.  I've met so many new and awesome people since then though that I would feel like an asshole for leaving anyone out, so I'm awarding it to everyone.  Seriously.  I wouldn't be reading you if I didn't think that you weren't versatile enough to keep my ADD-brain's attention, so congratulations to everyone because you all deserve it.~

Did anyone decide who is doing the first shot yet?  I've not yet finished spanking Heather, so just let me know when you do please.

So in this post we have had warm fuzzy follower-lovin', then body shots, blog award-love, and spanking.  How can I end this even more inappropriately?  How about my (much anticipated?) new piece of smutty writing?

Yes, as my Randy would say "oops I did it again".  I'd been working on two (actually three, but the third isn't finished yet) erotic short stories since I got so much very kind and positive feedback from my first foray into erotica.  I emailed the brilliant blogger and my very lovely friend Jewels and asked if she was interested in another piece of mine, and because she is a darling, she said yes even before she had read my piece.  To fully appreciate how much of a leap of faith this was for my girl, and why it meant so much to me, was because that I mentioned to her that it was venture down a different avenue since it's a girl on girl piece.  This did not even phase Jewels since, as she pointed out, she had just posted an Optimus Prime erotic piece, so my bit of girl on girl naughtiness is really nothing very shocking.

As usual, those of you who know me in 3-D are warned against reading it, however if you choose to, I'll just reiterate the rules that I'd rather not get into an in depth discussion about it.  Save of course for the one who tends to verbally thrash me for "writing like a slut".  You darling can call and yell at me again, because it does so turn me on to be called naughty names like that.~

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I Hope I Don't Break The Windows While I'm Bouncing Off the Walls

It's that time of the month that coincides with that time of the year where I torture everyone around me because I give up sweets every year for Lent. 



Yeah, actually I do want a piece of you.

I'm not even really Catholic.

To explain why I do this I would have to get into some personal shit that I don't talk about, but more importantly than that, it's just boring, so for information sake, just take it in stride that I torture myself every year for forty days and forty nights.  The good news is that if the point of Lent is to suffer, then no one around me needs to give anything up themselves because being near me during this time is akin to the tortures of the damned. 

Actually, I've been doing this for so many years now that I'm used to it, and not really all that difficult to be around. 

Except during That Time of The Month.



As many of you know, I grew up with a bunch of boy cousins and a boy as a best friend.  Believe it or not, it's pretty easy to have boys as playmates when you're six because, as soon as they find out that they can't scare you with worms or throwing mud, and that you aren't going to try and kiss them and give them cooties (Puh-lease.  I don't want your cooties, dirtball), then they forget that you're a girl and you can play together fine. 

There is however a brief period (heh) when it blows to be a girl amongst a group of boys and that is during puberty.  In the boys defence, they were still better to be around than a bunch of bitchy girls, but they were still assholes.  If I said one thing that they didn't like then it was, "What's your problem, Kat?  Do you have PMS?"

No you're being an asshole, and I'm just being an asshole back to you.

As a result, pretty much any time someone accuses me of having PMS, I want to put them through a wall.  Mostly because I'm not bitchy (more than I usually am, I mean) when I'm premenstrual, in fact, if anything I'm more congenial since I become randy (more than I usually am, I mean) during that time.  Case in point, I was premenstrual during this escapade.  I usually scare the shit out of whoever I'm dating with my sexual appetite while I'm premenstrual. 

And they love every fucking minute of it.~

I kicked my boy toy to the curb a few months ago because he was more trouble than he was worth and I'm far too busy, and picky, to find another playmate right now.  While I hate to cop to a cliché, it must be true that chocolate is a substitute for sex (albeit, a pretty poor one) because I do go insane for chocolate during PMS timez.  I usually have my chocolate and do what I gotta do, and everyone is happy.  I'm not as happy as I could be, but it's enough that I'm not insufferable.

Then we come to Lent.  And I can't have my chocolate.  And I bounce off of the walls (more than I usually do, I mean).  I am so fucking hyper right now that I'm twirling my 'chucks while typing this.  It's a fucking miracle that I haven't hit my laptop or cracked myself in the head.

Wait.  Of course, it's not a mirable because I'm pretty brilliant like that. ;-)

You know what's fun though?  Is that I looked at the calender and I'll have PMS once again before the end of Lent. 

Don't worry, I'll give you all warning (I won't) and I won't be as hyper next time (I will).

P.S.-I didn't post my prompts yet like I was going to do because I was writing smut and chatting with a brilliant chick who sent me pictures of herself in her skivvies.

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A Brief, Random Entry About Being Hideous! In The Face!

I have my Studio Thirty + and The Red Dress Club prompts to post, which I'll probably do in the middle of the night tomorrow so that they don't clog up everyone's Rolls, but here's a quick goofball post before the serious-pants stuff.  Oh yeah, and I'm almost finished with more smut, so that's coming (heh) soon.

In the mean time, I'd seen this commercial--




--and it tickled my fancy enough to use it to harass my girl, S.

"I am hideous in the face!" I yelled in a Spanish accent as soon as she answered the phone.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I only have one dimple!"

"Ya, and...?"

"And I just found out that this makes me hideous!   In the face!"

"I see.  Well, you don't sound drunk, so I'm guessing PMS?"

"Probably," I said in my normal voice.

"What's wrong?"

"I just told you!  I'm hideous in the face!  Duh!" I replied back in the Spanish accent.

"No, you usually would have come back with something snotty when I accused you of having PMS."

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll have something snotty to say, but I'm waiting until it's the middle of the night to call you and say it."

Lucky for S., I had writing to do and ended up falling asleep as soon as I finished.

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I Probably Really Am Mental, But I'm Sorry, It Was Funny

I've made an important discovery this weekend, ya'all.  I've discovered why artists and writers looks so mental.  It's because we don't sleep and we spend all of our time creating rather than doing laundry, getting a shower or shopping for food.  The next time you see a person with dirty hair, wearing clothes that they spent in the night before, and eating a box of Fruity Pebbles, you can probably assume that they are a writer.

Between the Mutant Flu From Hell, which took its toll for several weeks, and writing my bloody face off, and spending the entire previous weekend dedicated to Jose Cuervo, my apartment was showing serious signs of neglect.  When there is a science experiment growing in your kitchen sink, you know that it's time to load the dish washer.  I've also been off of my regular workout schedule, again from the above two three reasons, so I decided that this weekend would be spent pretending to be a normal person.

What's that saying which I fancy so much?  Oh yes.

Famous.  Last.  Words.

I started out very well.  On Friday, I did my first full workout since being sick, and even though I felt like Death afterward, I managed to pull it off.  Incidently, I hope that Mutant Flu Virus is burning in Virus Hell because I'm still feeling the effects of the little party that fucker threw for itself in my precious body.


My Steampunk ring.


I got home and found out that I'm a stupidass because I didn't have the original version of an article I'd wrote for regular gig at Tastes Like Comics.  Instead of showering, and stayed up until nearly 1 am--because it's not enough for me to just recreate the full version, oh no I have to improve on it, too. 

The good news?  I'm really quite happy with the final version of my Steampunk article.

The Steampunk-isher chest piece I made.

I woke up the next morning, ready to jump right into cleaning--especially since I was still grungy from the day before--but then my bestie emailed me a photo that was released of the costume that Wonder Woman would be wearing in her new television series.  I knew that this would be a great story for Tastes Like Comics, so eventhough I'm the Steampunk writer, I began pounding away on the keyboard and the next thing I knew, it was after 4 pm. 

The worst part was that at some point during this writing, my ADD-esque brain decided that I hated the chest piece I had created for my friend's costume and that I needed to redo it.  That's random and mental, but about par for me.  So instead of beginning my chores then, I ran to two stores for new supplies.  Luckily I don't give a shit what people think because I know I looked like a fright.

The TLC site had been down during the day, but it was back up by the time I got home, however we all know how well Wordpress formatting and I get on, so it's not surprising that it was again after midnight before my article was ready for submission.  The good news again is that I'm happy with the finished piece.

On Sunday morning, I did not even look at my laptop, but instead closed it up and tucked it into my backpack so that I wouldn't be tempted to open it.  By the afternoon, my apartement no longer looked like on a bomb went off in there, and I could finally get a shower.  You can judge away if you want because I, too, was disgusted with myself at this point.  My clothes screamed and ran away when I finally took them off.

The last thing I had to do was to drop off my recycling.  I had so much of it that instead of my usual walk over to the next court where the recycling center is, I had to load the boxes in my car and drive over.

There was a guy there dropping off a empty bottles, but I didn't pay him any mind until I was struggling to open the recycle bin while balancing a box consisting largely of glass and he decided to call, "Hey, how you doin'?" 

"Oh, simply peachy," I heaved as I finally managed to shove the lid up and dump the box into the container.  I went to the car and when I turned back with the next box, he was standing behind the bin where I had just dumped box one.

"Fan of Yuengling, huh?" he held up the bottle.

Dude you are handling my fucking trash!  What the fuck is wrong with you?

I was so stupefied that I just blinked at him.

I guess he assumed that I didn't hear him because he gestured with the bottle and repeated, "Yuengling.  A fan, huh?"

I couldn't believe it, but yes, he was really trying to make time with me while playing with my trash.  Yeah, he needed to be shut down. 

I could have used The Face on him, but I'd just used that last week and I like to keep things fresh.  Besides that, I didn't want to have to look at him that long if it was possible because unlike the kid last week, this guy was not cute at all.

"Not at all," I finally replied and then nodded in the direction of my car where my dog was at the window, "She drinks it."

"Haha!" the guy laughed and finally put that fucking bottle down.

I kept the serious expression on my face and stared.

He cleared his throat and shifted a little uncomfortably as when I finally turned to get the last box.

"So what do you think about  maybe getting together some time and having some Yuengling?" he asked when I came back.

Again, I floored at being hit on at the recycling center.

I quickly looked in the direction of my car and then back to him.

"I'm sorry, she just told me that I can't talk to you."

"Wh...whah...?" the guy smiled nervously.

I looked in the car's direction again and yelled over, "I am hurrying up!"

I looked back at the guy who was still smiling but a little uncertainly, "Your dog?"

"Yeah, she said that she doesn't like you and wants you to stop talking to me."

And then, right on cue, Kira let out a growl.

I nearly lost it.  I don't know why Kira growled, but it was so perfect!  Then I looked at the guy.  His smile was gone and the color had drained from his face, and it took everything in my power to keep from laughing, which would have ruined the entire thing, so I covered the urge to laugh by screaming at him, "See what you did!  Now I have to sit in the naughty box when we get home!"

I chucked my last box into the recycle dumpster, stomped over to the car and angrily yanked open the door.

"Stop yelling at me!  I promise I won't talk to strange humans ever again!" I squeaked at Kira as I peeled out of there.

I do so hope I run into the Don Juan of Dumpsters again soon.~

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Good Girls Don't Drink So Much Tequila...And They Are Boring as F#%&!

Being the one of the two resident Irish mutts who have experienced the island, the other being my dear Heather, I suppose I should offer a Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh and all that jazz, but believe it or not, I’m not a big fan of St. Patrick’s Day.  Not anymore anyway.  I hope the rest of you party your face off though because any excuse to drink is a good one.  Slàinte, all.

I reached a blogging milestone in that over the past two days, I lost not one, but two followers.  Go me!  And congrats to a most brilliant kickass chick, Nicki, who lost her first on the same day as well.~ 

It doesn’t bother me because, well for one it’s their fucking lost, but mostly because I believe in quality versus quantity and I have the privilege of being followed some of the loveliest people I’ve ever met.  Many of them are people whose blogs I started reading and I nearly collapsed with joy when they began following mine.  I honestly never expected anyone to read my shit, so to have 77 of you darlings, is frankly an honour.  To avoid misleading any potential future followers though, I feel as though I should do that "first post introduction thing" so that they know what they are in for.

I never did a real first entry for this blog because it didn’t burst forth into existence like Athena sprouting from Zeus’ skull one day, but more like a sunrise where you see the sun starting to come up and then suddenly it’s just there. 

Did I really just compare my blog to a fucking sunrise? 

Anyway, in case you are visiting for the first time I should tell you that:

If you are offended by:

Foul language in English

Foul language in Gaelic

Foul language in French

Foul language in any of the other four languages in which I sometimes communicate

If you are offended by:

Excessive drinking of Tequila

Excessive drinking of Rum

Excessive drinking of Yuengling

Excessive drinking of any alcohol I deem worthy to put into my smoking hot body

If you are offended by:

Talk of my smoking hot body

Talk of the smoking hot bodies of other smoking hot chicks

Talk of the smoking hot bodies of smoking hot men

Talk of the lascivious things I’d like to do to with all of the above smoking hot bodies

If you are offended by:

Blog entries that are incoherent

Blog entries about random shit

Blog entries that contain mediocre fiction

Blog entries that contain all of the above all at once

If you are offended by:

Someone who writes graphic smut

Someone who is an extreme smartass

Someone who speaks in rampant sarcasm

And most of all, someone who does not apologize for any of the above things,

Then I thank you for stopping by, but this is not the place for you.

If none of the above offends you, then stick around, darlin'. 

You’re my kind of people.~

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Just 'Cause They're Full of Booze, It Doesn't Mean My Entries Are Food, Blogger!!

Before I start I have to tell Blogger what a total jerkstore it is because it ate the original version of this post that I did last night.  Blogger, you are a selfish asshole because you know who suffers?  The readers, Blogger!  The readers!  I can never remember exactly how I wrote the entry and it never sounds right to me when I rewrite it.  You are depriving my darling ones the full experience of my brilliance.  The next time you get the urge to gobble up something go eat a dick instead!

And now that I've destroyed any remote possibility of becoming a Blog of Note--And why did I even aspire for this? Because it's a challenge, and I've a malfunction in my brain where if something is impossible, I have to try to do it--we can finally wrap up this weekend's recap.  If you missed it, here are the posts about Friday and Saturday.

My brother's birthday had been during the previous week while he was still at school, so my mom and I were taking him out to celebrate on Sunday night.  The first thing I did when I got to my mom's on Sunday was to ask her if she had been awake when my brother, M., came home from the Wine Cellar.

"No, but I saw a box in the other room," she told me wryly.

I opened the cabinet and displayed the considerable spoils of my brother's trip.

"Oh dear Lord! Please send them a girlfriend and a boyfriend soon!"

I've no clue what having a girlfriend/boyfriend has to do with my brother's and my drinking habits, which aside from the occasional weekend like this one, aren't really terrible, but if it makes my mama feel better to pray for that as a solution then I'm not gonna rain on her parade.

For the first time all weekend I was not the designated driver.  YES!  This was particularly awesome because we were going to eat at the restaurant that makes my absolute favorite Margaritas.  Line 'em up, boys, 'cause I'm knocking 'em down.

Despite having a *ahem* fair number of Margaritas, and my brother having a several Long Islands, we actually behaved ourselves fairly well.  The only time we (read: me) were raucous was when we started talking about politics, and I went off and called Sarah Palin a c*nt.

I immediately texted S because this is the kind of radmon shit that I text her in the middle of her night.

K.-I just said the word "cunt" in front of me mum.

S.-You're drunk. You used the word "mum".

K.-That's because it rhymes with "bum" and that is what she is going to whack for talking like that.

[Author's note: I love how S. determines that I'm drunk, not because I said a naughty word that I never use, but because of "mum". =P]

Then we started talking about Christine O'Donnell, and while most of you probably don't know who she is, take my word for it that she's as big, if not bigger, dumbass than Palin.  Apparently O'Donnell had put out an anti-masturbation message a few years ago.  Now, my mom is not a prude, but there are a few things that she does not want to hear about and "abusing yourself" is one of them.  She squirmed uncomfortably while M. and I discussed this, which only made us pursue the subject further.  This happened after we were done eating so luckily my mom didn't have to suffer for long.

I grabbed a bottle of water and chilled at my mom's house waiting to sober up--because I'm a responsible boozer, remember?--but unfortunately sobriety didn't arrive before I fell asleep on the couch.  I'm just glad that I stayed awake long enough to drink my water or work would have been fun the next day.

Sunday Stats:
Poison of choice: TEQUILA!!
Amount:  Umm...you really don't want to know...

Shenanigans:  I think blurting out the one curse word that I don't regularly use and talking about masturbation in front of my mother qualifies.

Weekend Post Script:

I woke up Monday morning and checked the computer to find that my Facebook status had been changed to "You listen to me you coozed up gypsies.  I'm bored so I'm just gonna sit here in a mask and tickle myself with a feather."

No, that was not me.  That was my brother taking advantage of my Tequila stupor and jacking my iPod to wrack havoc on my cyberlife.

It seems an appropriate way to end the weekend of nonsense though.

But my brother's still a jerkstore.

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Jack & Coke/Yuengling/Margarita Weekend (There was a lot of Booze) Part 2

We pick up from Jack &Coke/Yuengling/Margarita (There was a lot of Booze) Part 1 and continue with Saturday.  I didn't have any booze on during the day because I had a shit ton of things to do on three hours of sleep and borderline dehydration, but I also had a St. Pat's tent party to go to with my cousin that night.  I did a lot of tweeting from the tent party, so I'm just going to let my tweets do the talking and explain a few of them.

katsidhe Kat Sidhe 

These old dudes are kicking the shit outta this music. O_O They fuckin rock!

The opening band were these three guys who looked like three retired good fellas, in fact, check out their logo over there.  It's difficult to read but it says "a party you can't refuse".

I didn't expect much from them, and their first couple of songs were a little iffy, but then they found their groove and blew the roof off of the tent. They played for about an hour and then took a break which was fine with me because I had to attack the buffet.  You know what's funny?  I get yelled out for not eating, but the ironic thing is that when I have any alcohol, I will out eat anyone, so in a way it's good for me to imbibe.

At least that's what I'm trying to convince my cardiologist.

katsidhe Kat Sidhe

Very slim pickings at this party let me tell u.
 
And indeed they were, my darlings.
They were either too old, too young (even for me), or wearing stupid shoes.  I know that some of you may be thinking, 'Stupid shoes? WTF?', but a possible subject of prey was wearing those type of sneakers that look, kinda, almost like pillows.  I don't know how else to describe them, except that they look stupid.  Now you are probably thinking, 'So what if he was wearing stupid shoes, get over yourself, Kat', and I would tend to agree except that wearing shoes like that indicates a level of idiocy that I can't overlook even just to sate my impure needs for a few hours.

katsidhe Kat Sidhe 

Old dudes back from their break n rockin the fuck outta this place age. 

They probably had to take a nap.  Whatever they did though, they came back and rocked the place even harder than before.  They did "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" that blew my face off with its awesomeness.  I was wishing that I could have called Nicki and held the phone up for her to hear since she had been rocking out with her bad self to Meatload just the other weekend.  The band even kicked the obligatory Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi songs outta the tent.*

katsidhe Kat Sidhe 

Old dudes on the stage and a fetus drinking a fucking TWISTED TEA is making eyes at me. No way child.

There's two problems here: the first is that the kid was just too young (even for me), but more important than that was his choice of drink.  A guy drinking a Twisted Tea just screams 'I've [figuratively speaking] got no hair on my chest'.  I had to shut this down, so I gave him The Face.

He stopped peeping me.

And yes, the Twisted Tea bothered me more than his age did because I've my priorities in order like that.

katsidhe Kat Sidhe

Just got my cousin her first shot. So proud.

I got my cousin a Lemon Drop, which had been my first shot, too.  The only difference being is that my first shot was consumed several years before I turned twenty-one.  My cousin did an excellent job with her shot though because I've seen many pussies people sip and/or gag on their shot and she pounded it like a pro.

After the tent party, I went back to my mom's to pick up my dog but then my brother walks in with a box of liquor and insists on using me as his guinea pig to try making a Long Island Ice Tea.  The thing about my brother is that he doesn't believe in measuring things, so basically he just threw every bloody liquor that exists into a glass and squeezed a lemon into it.

It tasted like the devil's vomit.  I told him that is what he should name his drink because it sure as hell wasn't a Long Island.  Thus ended Saturday.

Saturday Stats
Poison of choice:  Everything.  Seriously.  Ev-er-y-thing was in that disaster that my brother created.
Amount:  Not as much as it looks like because I was again the DD, so I stopped drinking in time to drive home, and then even though there was fuck ton of alcohol in that drink my brother made, it was too disgusting to drink and we dumped it.
Shenanigans:  Traumatizing a barely legal kid with The Face.

I could probably squeeze Sunday into this entry, but Annah requested pictures to accompany these posts and she has had a rough few days with her poochie, so I'm going to stop here, and add one for her.  Unfortunately I don't have any pictures from Saturday because my cousin has this thing about cameras, and since I wanted to enjoy the night with her instead of being stressed out, I left it at home.  I do however have a picture of my adorable Eskimo since Annah is a fellow animal lover.~

Such a lady~  (Yeah right.  She's as much a lady as I am.)

So tomorrow is the final piece about my booze weekend.  I know you're all on the edge of your seats, aren't you? ;-)


*In south Jersey there is some rule that if you have a party you must play Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi at some point.

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Jack & Coke/Yuengling/Margarita Weekend (There Was a lot of Booze) Part 1

Much like the first Margarita Weekend, this weekend began at lunch on Friday.  As a lot of you know from all of my bitching, my job has been less than brilliant lately, and Friday was an Are-You-Trying-To-Make-Me-Go-Postal-Because-I-Am-About-To-Completely-Lose-My-Shit-On-You kind of day.  My coworker and good friend saw the steam coming out of my ears and suggested that we go out for lunch.

"Let's be bad and get a margarita, too," she said.

"A margarita?  Sweetie, we are getting an entire fucking pitcher today," I told her.

A pitcher of The Mexican Food Factory's finest margaritas later, and the office was safe from the threat of my destroying it for the rest of the afternoon.

I went to the gym for about an hour, and then came home to find that my girl, Jewels, who had been planning on seeing a concert that night, had her plans canceled because her sister was sick and she couldn't find another person to go with her.

Oh hell to the no!  I knew how much Jewels had been looking forward to this concert, so I was making sure she was getting there!  I texted her STAT and asked her if there was still time to make the concert.  Jewels is a complete love and told me that she didn't ask me to go with her because she becomes ill when she drives into the city, and felt bad about having me drive past our final destination to pick her up.  This was hardly a deterrent, so I told her that I was going to clean myself up a bit and I'd be over to get her.  Luckily I'm still not completely over the Mutant Flu From Hell and have only been doing light workouts so I wasn't too sweaty since there was only time to wash my body and not my hair.

I picked up Jewels and we had a fucking awesome time.  The concert was fantastic--I am now a big fan of Grace Potter & The Nocturnals--but I couldn't have had a more kickass chick to hang out with.  If you want to read more details of Jewels' and my night, I could not describe it better than she did in her brilliant recap here.  The only bit of the night that it doesn't contain, aside from Jewels' grandma calling her soused (ha!) is the obligatory stupid situation that I invariably get myself into which happened about five minutes after I dropped off Jewels.

Jewels' lives in a suburban area outside of Philly that is somewhat hilly and a bit wooded.  It's not like being deep in the mountains by any means, but it's not like where I live in which there are the neon lights blinding you at every bloody angle from the gas stations on every block and convenience stores on every corner.  I usually love this about that area, but I most definitely did not love it on Friday night.

About five minutes after I dropped Jewels off, my kidneys decided that it would be abso-fucking-lutely hilarious to insist that I evacuate the alcohol from my system immediately.  I did not have to go at all while I was in Jewels' complex, and I swear that my kidneys and bladder did it on purpose.  Actually, if we assume that my organs are of the same temperament as their owner, then yeah they definitely did it on purpose because if I were my kidney I would do the same thing to myself and laugh at all of the squirming and cursing.

I was surrounded by nothing but trees and houses on the road that lead down the mountain and I seriously wondered if I would make it to the main road.  I did manage to make it to the main road, but then there was another snafu: there wasn't any kind of gas station or store on that road either.  My teeth were floating at this point, and I knew that there was no way that I could make it down the highway, so I did the only thing any rational person could do.

I pulled over and peed in the woods.

The good news is that because I'm awesome, I had napkins and Purell in the car so at least I was a step above the other animals in the woods.

Friday Stats: 
Poison of choice:  Margaritas, Jack & Cokes, Yuengling
Amount of booze:  A lot (though I want to mention that I switched to plain Coke two hours before Jewels and I left for home because even though I'm an alcohol slinger, I'm a responsible alcohol slinger--especially if I'm driving someone else, too.)
Shenanigans:  I guess drinking during work would qualify but, well for one thing I really don't give a shit if I rankle anyone at work, and the other is that it's definitely trumped by peeing in the woods.

I had thought that I could get the entire weekend into one post without it becoming ridiculously long, particularly since I referred to Jewels' post for the details of the night, but it's already a bit lengthy so I'm going to stop here and continue the weekend in another post.

In closing I just want to say thank you to Jewels for one of the best evenings I've had in a long time.  You are so made of "win" and "awesome", sweetie.~

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Title? Withdrawal & A Story? I Need More Coffee...

My hands are shaking.  I've broke out in a cold sweat on several occasions.  At one point I curled into the fetal position and hid in the closet.  Yes, you've guessed it: withdraw.

I've not touched a computer since Friday evening, mes amis.

I can't even hide behind a shield of righteousness and say that it's because I've been busy with work or some such adult foolishness, because it's quite the contrary.  I didn't plan it this way, but this weekend has already surpassed Margarita Weekend for overindulgence and general shenanigans beginning with a impromptu concert adventure with my lovely Julie on Friday.  I'll tell you all about it tomorrow since, for one thing, it's only Sunday morning and we're celebrating my brother's birthday this evening (read: More overindulgence and shenanigans are guaranteed.), and I have to finish this week's "En Papiliote with The Kat" article for Tastes Like Comics.

Also?  This entry is the one that I meant to do yesterday where I post what I came up with for Studio Thirty Plus's weekly writing prompt, and you all know how I feel about sharing assaulting your eyes with my creative writing.  I don't like to leave my fiction entries as my most recent post for long because I'm not a real writer so much as an entertainer who specializes in the absurd (Hot priests anyone?  South Park-esque pornography?).

If you follow me on Twitter, then you know that I'm behind in my blog reading, but I'm catching up, and if I've not read your post yet, then don't worry it's just because I don't love you.  Joking!  I love you all more than Tequila, and I genuinely do not like being behind in reading your blogs, so that is what I will be doing this evening.  As long as I'm not ridiculously fluthered.

That's all for the entry portion of this post, and now here is my response to this week's Studio Thirty Plus writing prompt "childhood dreams".  Technically this is last week's prompt now since I should have posted this yesterday, but fuck it, I wrote the bloody thing so I might as well still throw it out here.

I hope you are all having inappropriate weekends, and I will be back tomorrow to tell you of mine.  And now onto the story.

CHILDHOOD DREAMS

Louisa felt uncomfortable in her dress.

This was mostly because she still had her jeans on underneath it, but also because the scratchy lace trim itched at her arms and neck.  She pulled at the collar, forgetting that she was holding a nail polish brush, and managed to pain a bright pink stream across her throat.

"Oh Louisa, look what you did to yourself," the little blonde girl sitting across from her at the plastic pink table wrinkled her nose.  She pulled a small white handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to Louisa.

She accepted the soft piece of cloth and thought that it was a shame to ruin a nice handkerchief when she didn't mind having paint on herself, but it seemed to worry her cousin, so she dutifully scrubbed at the paint and then handed it back, "Thanks, Erin."

She turned back to face the other little girl, a brunette, who was sitting next to Louisa with her fingers splayed on the table.  Louisa dipped the paintbrush back into the bottle of nail polish and then applied in to the last two nails of the girl's left hand, "Done, Fiona."

Erin snatched up the bottle of nail polish and reached for Louisa's hand, "I'll do yours now!"

Louisa hesitated to surrender her fingers, not because she didn't want her nails done, on the contrary she rather fancied the sparkly pink polish, but she was more concerned that she wouldn't be able to eat any of the cookies arranged on a white china plate in the middle of the table while her hands were occupied.

"Louisaaaaa!" Erin whined and Louisa finally dropped her paw into her cousin's outstretched hand.  She watched with longing as Fiona delicately picked up a cookie and nibbled at it.

"You should ask your mum for a fancy dress of your own, Louisa," Fiona peered at Erin's handiwork, and then back at her own nails.  The paint job on Fiona's fingers reflected the artist's haste to return her attention to eating rather than grooming.

"Maybe," Louisa wasn't really paying attention to what her other cousin was saying.  She was too busy willing Erin to not do such a careful job of painting and to just finish it faster.

"We have plenty of fancy dresses though, Fiona.  Sharing is nice," Erin looked pointedly at her sister.

"I know that!" Fiona snapped.  She flounced in her chair causing the skirt of her pale green dress to billow around her.

The heels of Louisa's sneakers knocked the legs of her chair as she swung her legs impatiently.

"Hold still," Erin chided.  She stuck her tongue out in concentration and finished the last stroke of paint with a flourish.
"Finished!  And just in time for tea!  I'll see if Mum will let us take it out here!" Erin slid off of her stool and then skipped out of the purple and pink playhouse.

Louisa had reached out and grabbed a cookie as soon as Erin had lifted the brush from her final nail, but unlike Fiona, she didn't pick it up with any care and there were now cookie crumbs stuck to her newly shellacked nails.

"You're going to get fat," Fiona made a face at her.

"Not-uh," a spray of crumbs launched from Louisa's mouth and she laughed.

Fiona rolled her eyes, "You're mental."

A few minutes later, Erin came skipping out of the house followed by two boys.  One of them was carrying a tray with five teacups on it, while the other walked with a curved stick on either shoulder.

Louisa was delighted to see the surprise arrival of her two favorite boy cousins and dropped off of her stool to run over and hug the smaller of the two boys.

"Ger-off me, Louisa!" he bellowed but smiled, his bright blue eyes twinkling mischievously in the afternoon sun.

"Don' do that ta' me or I'll drop this tea right on yer head," the older one warned, but he smiled as well.

"Oh that's nice, Patrick!  Aren't you glad that Louisa's back?" Erin grabbed Louisa's hand and pulled her into a skip beside her.

"I guess it'll do," Patrick replied as they entered the playhouse.  He set the large tray down precariously on the small plastic table, then tousled Louisa's hair roughly.

"Dia Dhuit, Fiona," he added nodding in his other cousin's direction.

"Who said that you could join us for tea?" Fiona crossed her arms and scowled.

"I did!" the younger one piped up, "Then we're gonna play to Iománaíocht."

"Are we now, Christopher?" Fiona turned her scowl to him, "Well I'm not."

"Ya, well we didn't mean you anyway," Christopher matched her scowl, "Like I'd let you touch my camán."  

Patrick laughed at something that went completely over the younger childrens' heads.  He picked up a cup of tea and took a noisy slurp.
"Oy, Louisa, lookit this!" Christopher reached into the pocket on his shirt and withdrew a small brown field mouse by its tail.

Erin and Fiona shrieked and backed against the wall, but Louisa's hand shot out and took the mouse.

"Don't hold it by the tail, you prat, do it like this!" she said making a cave of her two hands so that the mouse couldn't escape, but could peek it's twitching nose through her polished fingers, "What did you name her?"

"It's not a girl!  He's a boy and his name's Harry."

"Hm, did it bite you and nearly get away when you caught it?"

"Ya he sure did!" he held up his hands that were pocked with red wounds.

"Then it's definitely a girl!" Louisa laughed.

"It's vermin and I want it out of my playhouse!" Fiona screamed.

Póg mo thóin, Fiona!" Christopher snarled.

Louisa laughed in spite of herself.  She'd heard her father use that phrase enough times to know what it meant.

Fiona's mouth dropped open, "I'm telling my mum what you said!"

Patrick snorted and finished his tea in one gulp, "Go on and tell 'er then, puss-face.  Off we go then, Chris?"

"Feck yeah!" he placed his half full cup of tea on the tray and then accepted the mouse back from Louisa and deposited it back in his pocket with a piece of scone.
"Want to have a go at it, Louisa?," he asked, "You can play with my camán.

Again Patrick laughed to the puzzlement of his brother and cousins.

"She can't go!" Fiona insisted, "Girls aren't hurlers!"

Louisa felt a flash of annoyance at this, "Girls can too be hurlers, and I want to try it.  Why don't we all go play with them?"
She caught Christopher's face turn sour at the word "all", but he didn't say anything.

"Why would I want to play a stupid game in a muddy field with some dumb boys?" Fiona sneered.

Louisa looked to Erin and raised her eyebrows.  Erin was obviously torn between wanting to play "a stupid game in a muddy field with some dumb boys" and following her older sister's example.  Finally, she shook her head.
"Maybe next time," she sighed.

Christopher grabbed Louisa's arm, "Come on then.  We don't need 'em."

Louisa felt sad that Erin wasn't joining her because she loved her younger cousin and wanted to play with her too, but mostly she was sad because she could tell that Erin wanted to join in the game but was too scared of her sister's disapproval to do it.

"Alright," Louisa frowned slightly.  She brightened when she saw Christopher's happy expression though, and moved to follow him.

"You're just like a dirty boy, Louisa and I don't know why we bother with you," Fiona declared, "You must really fancy to be a boy because you'll never ever grow up to be a proper lady."

Louisa considered this a moment.  She did enjoy the occasional fancy dress, and painting her nails and the other parts of being a "lady", but she also liked getting muddy, playing with vermin and using phrases such as "póg mo thóin". It didn't seem fair that had to choose to be one way or the other.

"I think..." Louisa said slowly, "I like being a girl, so I don't fancy to be a boy...but I don't want to always worry about being a lady either..."

"Well which are you going to choose to be then, Louisa?" Fiona said sarcastically.

"I choose to be..."

Louisa suddenly knew what she wanted to be, right then and also when she grew up.  She smiled.
"I choose to be...awesome."

Christopher laughed and gave Fiona an obscene gesture with two of his fingers and then started running to the field, "C'mon, Louisa!"

Louisa stuffed the skirt of her dress into her jeans as best as it would fit, snatched up the last cookie from under Fiona's nose and then ran to catch up with Christopher.

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Just In Time For Soft-core Friday & Lent

Now there's two words you don't get to see together often.

Here is an email that I got from my friend, P., a couple of weeks ago:

So, I was Skyping with my sister while she was doing a Google image search, and K. stumbled upon what I think may be an interesting subject for your blog.So, when you have time, do a Google search for "Hot Priest of the month calendar" - in particular, a Google image search. (And no, K. did not search specifically for "Hot Priest of the month".)

My first thought was, 'Okay, just what the f*ck was K. googling that she would produce pious eye candy?'.

[K. swears she was googling something completely unrelated--she says it was the Wizard of OZ Vogue spread.  I'm not sure if I'm buying that, my darling, but that's okay. ;-)  ]

My second one was, 'Wow!  I am so completely flattered that I'm the go-to gal to do a post on something like this!'.

To the google search I went, and sure enough, a search produced this website.  Take a guess at what they are hawking?

You are correct:
A Hot Priest of the Month Calendar.



Bless me Father, for I'd really like to sin with you.


What. The. F*ck.

This is like The Thornbirds on crack.

I don't think any of my followers will be offended by this because if you were offended that easily then you likely wouldn't be reading the ramblings of sailor-mouthed, Tequila-swilling, filthy-minded writer of pornography, but if someone does get their panties in a bunch then please email the website and not me because I didn't make the bloody thing.  I'm just writing about it because it's my job to inform you of random bizarre sh*t like this.

And this is some pretty f*cking bizarre sh*t.

**Mucho gracias to my girls, P. and K. for the inspiration.  I'm honoured to be your go-to gal for the perverse.~ xxoo

This is a short entry because I had a lot of reading to do, and even more writing that needed to be done, and it's 3am and I'm tired as fuck, but I felt the need to give you, my lovelies, a bit of the regularly scheduled what-the-fuckery today because I'll be posting another one of my story teimz tomorrow.  It's all Studio 30+'s fault that you're being subjected to another one because they dared me into writing on this week's prompt "Childhood Dreams" after I said that I didn't think I could pull anything off.

Oh you sneaky sneakers knowing that I can't turn down a challenge.

I made an attempt at the prompt last night and ended up with a piece that made me feel an unprecedented amount of hate for my writing.  I had my tantrum at myself and then got over it, and jumped back on the horse.  I don't know if I'm thrilled with what I finally came up with, but then even I will admit that I'm ridiculously critical of my work.  Anyway, the point (yes I really have one this time) is that I always feel a little guilty when I post a fiction entry--I guess that's obvious by the way I predicate each story by saying I won't be offended if anyone skips the entry--so I wanted to end the week with a what passes for normal entry.

Happy Friday, everyone, and in the words of the very sweet and lovely Annah, go out and be slutty with weekend.~

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Yes, I Frequently Curse, But I Have a Spectacular Rack

I'm not sure how many of you noticed, but I say the word "fuck" a lot.

It's not surprising when you take into account that my aunt had already taught me a fairly comprehensive vocabulary of swear words by the time I was three, but then add an Irish father who, to quote one of my favorite movies, "worked in profanity the way some artists work in oil", and you create one foul mouthed girlie.  For the most part though, I do control my language when I'm in public because I'm a well-mannered little gutter mouth, but there is the rare instance when I pop off with something colorful and scare all of the straights.  Like yesterday.


A friend of mine just kicked off her website called "Tastes Like Comics", and gave me the honour of writing the column that she wanted to focus on "Steampunk".  The only request she had was that the first article be about the definition of Steampunk since not everyone knows what it is.  This should have been an easy article to write, but it took me for fucking ever because the article kept sounding so clinical and boring, and just not like me, y'know?  I spent about five hours at Barnes & Noble on Saturday night working on it and I still hated it by the time I left.

I can't write when I'm home since there are too many distractions-my dog wants to go outside, or my ADD-esque brain kicks in and I'll be in the middle of writing and suddenly think, "Hey let's pull the closet apart!!"-so I had to go out again on Sunday to continue writing.  I went to Panera for a change of scenery and got to work.

It took me a good two hours, but I finally finished the written portion of my article, and was down to adding the accompanying image.  Again, this should have been easy, but that damn little image just would NOT stay positioned where I wanted it to be in the article.  It continued to jump all over the place and I finally just lost it and mumbled "shit!" to myself.  There had been this post-grad chick sitting near me, also working on a computer, the entire time and when I mumbled--quietly, I might add--that small swear, she suddenly looked over at me with this sour look on her face, then stuck her nose in the air and made a point to turn sideways in her seat so that her back to was me.  This rather pissed me off, but I let it roll.

I eventually browbeat my article into submission, and packed up my bag to leave.  It had been raining off and on all day and it was coming down in bucket loads just in time for me to go out into it.  Snotty Post-Grad chick was still sitting with her back to me in an ostentatious display of disapproval, so I decided to make sure that she knew I was leaving.  Her table was near the window, so I stood next to her, looked out at the rain and said, "Fuck my ass, that rain is coming harder than a sailor on shore leave!  I hope your brought your rubbers, dear.  Get it?  Rubbers?  Coming?"

Snotty Post-Grad dropped her spoon in her soup and didn't say anything (no sense of humour) so I just left.

In closing, Oilfield Trashcan posted an entry about the health benefits of looking at women's breasts, and suggested that for Mardi Gras, all of us womenfolk should take one for the team and post pictures of our boobage.  This is likely bollocks, and all an insidious plot for free eye candy, but I like O.T., and it is Mardi Gras, so what the hell.

This is me from a few years ago when I dressed up as Wonder Girl for a convention.
It's why my chesticles are known as the Wonder Twins.

"Wonder Twin powers, activate!"

You are welcome.
Happy Mardi Gras, everyone.~

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These Lyrics Aren't X-Rated. Oh Wait, Yes They Are

On Wednesday my lovely Randy Girl said that she was drawing a blank for what to write in her blog that day and asked me for a suggestion.  Since I'm usually having inappropriate thoughts at any given moment, I asked Randy to tell her readers about the most inappropriate time that she became randy and what she did about it.  She more than rose to the challenge, and shared with us a very brilliant story of a bar and a Ryan Reynolds look-alike.  A very young Ryan Reynolds look-alike I might add. ;-)

Since turnabout is fair play, I told Randy that she could give me a prompt and she returned with "here is your prompt princess. Song lyrics that best match your sexual style. Cite specifics examples, details!Post it up biotch!"

Disclaimer: Anyone who knows me is advised to stop reading now because I'm going to get fresh.  I know you perverts won't, but at least I tried. =P

I actually considered goofing off and saying something like "Elegantly Wasted" or "Hooker with a Penis" or "She-Bop" or "I Kissed a Girl" or getting really filthy and saying "Jingle Bells".  When we get closer to Christmas, I'll have to post how I discovered that if your mind is filthy enough, then nearly every single Christmas carol can mean something dirty.

I decided to be serious though, and the song that best describes my sexual style is not necessarily one that I listen to that much, but damn is it spot on in describing me.  It's Adam Lambert's "For Your Entertainment".

So hot out of the box
Can we pick up the pace
Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it?
Baby don't be afraid
Imma hurt you real good baby

Let's go it's my show, baby, do what I say
Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display
I told you, Imma hold ya down until you're amazed
Give it to ya til you're screamin' my name
No escaping when I start
Once I'm in I own your heart
There's no way to ring the alarm
So hold on until it's over

Oh! Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do
'Cause it's about to get rough for you
I'm here for your entertainment

Oh! I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet
You thought an angel swept you off your feet
But I'm about to turn up the heat
I'm here for your entertainment

'Sall right, You'll be fine
Baby I'm in control
Take the pain, Take the pleasure
I'm the master of both
Close your eyes, not your mind
Let me into your soul

I'm gonna work it 'til your totally blown

Now my darling wants me to post examples and details of said song applies to my style, so here is an illustrated example of how someone "thought an angel had swept him off his feet", but then I "turned up the heat".

STORY TIEMZ!

Once upon a time, there was a guy that I knew from my gym, who I'd been talking and flirting with for a few weeks.  One night he texted that he was in my area, and asked if I wanted to meet for a drink.  I didn't have plans since it was a work night, so I met him at the gym, left my car there and we went to a local pub.

We'd only had a couple of beers when "Gym's" roommate called because he had locked himself out of the house.  It wasn't that late, so we decided that I would just go with Gym to the house and then we'd hit another bar after we let his roommate in.  We got to the house, let the roommate in and then we spent the next twenty minutes trying to help him find his key.  

[sidenote: do not ever go poking around in a house where three single guys live.]

Rather than waste space talking about the Roommate's epic quest all over south Jersey to get a key copied, I'll just skip ahead and say that we ended up hanging out in the kitchen and having a few more beers there.  Now, this was the first pseudo-date that I had been on since a bad breakup, and I was indeed feeling a little shy that night.  After a couple of hours, I decided to call it a night.

Despite her demure composure, Kat was having impure thoughts.

(Does J. Edgar Hoover wear women's clothes? Hell yeah!)

So we started making out in the kitchen, and one thing lead to another and then he took it upon himself to hoist me up and head to the bedroom.  Okay, I'll admit that it was kinda hot, but I don't care if a guy can whip me around like a ragdoll, I'm still the Alpha, son.

He obviously needed to be put in his place.

Where's his shirt?  I think I shredded it with my claws...

Believe me, he didn't complain.

Oh wait, he did lament that his brain would never work function right again.

The illustrations above where created at SP-Studio.  I'm sure they'd be so proud to learn how I've used their cartoon creator for my own filthy means.~

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My Middle Finger to this #$%ing Flu & A Change of Pace

Yes.  I am still fighting off this Mutant Flu From Hell That Won't Die.  I look back at this post here, where I said that I had a cough, but would probably be better in the morning, and think 'Heh heh, the ride hasn't even begun yet, girlie.  Fasten up 'cause you're about to get your ass knocked all over the place.'.

I swear, there must have been a Flu virus summit where every Flu germ in the tri-state got together and said, "Listen, this bitch hasn't been sick in years and we gotta take her down.  Now, she's a badass, hard as nails motherfucker, so we need the best of the best."
Then they had a tournament to determine their champion, and sent that bastard to terrorize me.
To him I say:

However, I'm gonna win the war because my rockstar white blood cells are already laying the smackdown on him, so I hope he enjoys his Reign of Terror while he can because he's gonna be one dead little fucker soon.

In the mean time, Studio 30+ has been having weekly prompts, and I was inspired to give this week's prompt a go.  The writing prompt was "concrete", and since I'm always trying to stretch my creative wings, I ended up creating something much heavier than is my usual smartass/smut/girl power style.  If you're not in the mood for heavy, or for story tiemz, then I completely understand if ya'all skip it.  I had originally buried this under an old date so that it didn't show up in anyone's feed, but then I realized (with a lot of support from some awesome peeps that already read it) that I had hid it because I was scared.  And when I'm scared then I know that that is exactly the place that I need to go.

If you're skipping story tiemz, then worry not my dear ones, because I will be back in a day or so with my usual sparkling commentary and charming smartassery to delight and appall.~
To the others: grab a cuppa and enjoy this side trip into Kat's "serious" writing.

***

[UPDATE 5/14/2012 Due to submission guidelines I have to remove this short story from my blog.  On the off chance that it wins something, I'll be able to link you over to the place that you can read it.  If not, then it will be back here in a few months.]

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