Oh Hello March, You Fucking Douche Nozzle

beware the ides of march, ides of marchHappy Ides of March!

In honor of this holiday, and to explain why I’ve been MIA for over two weeks, I present a fictional tale of me and Julius Caesar, another person who has cause to think that March sucks.


(I’m doing this because, for one, it amuses me to have arguments in my brain with dead people, and two, because making it somewhat funny helps me deal.)

((For those of you who don’t fancy a story but still want to know where the hell I’ve been you can CUT TO THE CHASE.))


As I sat down at my computer, the ghostly visage of man wearing a torn and blood splattered toga appeared before me. It was Julius Caesar.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snarled at him.

“You speak with barbed tongue toward one who merely appears to share lamentations about this cursed month,” he replied looking hurt.

“Look Caesar, we went through this last year. March is much more of a shitty month for me than for you,” I replied.

“I would see us revisit this argument and draw new conclusion,” he said in that snotty tone of his. “Our last meeting saw your quarters recently abandoned in favor of more familiar surroundings.”

“Yes, I moved from my apartment during which I nearly cracked my head open on a coffee table and then spent the next month trying to unearth my shit from the mountains of boxes scattered around the house. I still haven’t found my K-Y Jellies from Around the World collection,” I glared. “And I had to hunt through those boxes with a broken hand.”

et tu brute, ides of march“Ah yes a broken hand. Such an injury is surely more grievous than say being stabbed twenty-three times,” he clutched his hand to his chest where deep gashes could be seen weeping bloody tears through the shredded toga.

“Oh please! Not only did I break my hand but I had to deal with an awful doctor.”

“And I was afforded no physician!” Caesar countered.

“That’s the best thing that couldn’t happened to you! Apparently doctors turn to into complete idiot-moron-assholes in March and even if you had made it to a doctor you would have died anyway!”

Caesar sighed and pulled out a chair. “As you wish. But these events are stale and I would brooch argument with events of more recent days. Favor me with details of the slights seen in this March.”

“Okay, let me just break it down for you, Emperor-boy.” I gave a humorless laugh, “On Tuesday of the first week of March I received a letter stating that I owed the government for money in back taxes.”

He nodded, “Alas one must render onto Caesar what is Cae-”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “I didn’t owe ‘Caesar’ shit. My ex-husband received a large sum of money and filed it with my social security number.”

“A misfortune, yet one surely corrected by merely presenting evidence of such duplicity.”

“Oh surely,” I said in my most sarcastic tone, “because it is so easy to have something corrected within the government–especially when my anal fissure of an ex used his own birth date and fucked up mine in their records.”

“Perhaps if you spoke to them more gently,” Caesar tilted his head in reproach.

“You mean that maybe I shouldn’t have told them that their words fall from mouth like shit from ass?” I snarled.

Caesar look startled and opened his mouth to reply.

“I did not say that,” I interrupted him, “but I could have. But let me continue because that was hardly the worst thing that happened last week. I had mentioned that my dog was having surgery, remember?”

“I recall such an entry,” he nodded.

“She had the surgery on Thursday which should have been a simple teeth extraction and scaling, but this is of course my life and nothing is simple.
“I dropped Kira off at the vet’s surgical center at 8:30 in the morning and was told that the office would call me after lunch to let me know that she was ready to be picked up. As it happened I did not hear from the vet until after 2pm and it was to tell me that Kira’s heart rate had dropped near the end of the surgery so they took her off the anesthesia and gave her oxygen. That was several hours ago however and her heart rate was still low and her blood pressure was dropping. The vet had given her medication to counter the anesthesia but Kira still wasn’t waking up.

“I called my mother to meet me at the surgical center and then left to go there with my cousin. My aunt ended up driving my mother and she arrived at the vet’s office a few minutes behind us. The vet tech took us into an exam room and finally brought my Kira to me. She was completely limp and felt cold even through the blanket that they had wrapped her in. I tried talking to her, saying all of the words like “cat” and “walk” that would usually make her perk up but did not get any response.  The vet came back to listen to her heart a few times as I held her and reported that her heart was starting to drop again. She had that she may have an underlying heart condition that was causing her to struggle. She went out and then came back to tell me that she had called the emergency animal hospital and that they were waiting to see Kira immediately.

“We ran out the vet’s door at which point my own heart issues kicked in and I started to collapse both from dizziness and from threatening hysteria. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms and we stumbled to the car where my aunt was waiting to drive us to the hospital. I kept talking to Kira as we drove but she was not responding. I placed my hand on her chest and felt her heart beating slower and slower until I finally let out a strangled cry that I was losing her. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms, shook her and screamed her name. Miraculously Kira’s eyes opened slightly but then she went back under.

“We were nearly to the hospital when my aunt took a wrong turn and had to go into a jughandle that would have put us on the opposite side of the highway from the hospital. (Fuck you, New Jersey and your fucking roads.) The hospital was in sight so my mother and I jumped out of the car and ran down the block to the hospital. We burst into the hospital where the receptionist immediately called a nurse who appeared almost instantly and took Kira from us into the back room. What followed where thirty of the longest minutes of my life.

“We were finally told that we could go into an empty room and that the vet would be in to see us. As I went into the room and sat in the chair all I could think of was that this was how it happened with my dad. He arrived at an emergency room and then we were shoved into a back room where a doctor came in to tell us that he was gone. I sat in a stupor waiting to hear the same thing about my Kira.

“The vet finally came into the room and told us that they had done an EKG on Kira and there was nothing wrong with her heart. They gave her different medications to counter the previous ones and she had finally woke up. They needed to keep her overnight in case she went back under but if all went well then they expected to send her home the next day. My mother began to cry in relief but I was still in too much shock. And besides that the vet was already showing me a printout of what the bill would possibly be.

“I signed the voucher and went out to pay the receptionist. As I was signed the credit card slip, I happened to see a white ball of fluff toddle past the opposite door.”

kira, bandage

She had stretched out her paw to touch me as she slept.

“‘That’s my dog!'” I shrieked. ‘Can I see her?'”

“The receptionist called into the surgery area and then told me that I could wait in the back room again and they would let me see Kira.”

“The door to the surgery area finally opened and a very unsteady Kira walked into the room. She lifted her head slightly, looked at me, and then her tail have a few weak wags and she wobbled to me. I dropped to the ground to hold her and sobbed my fucking face off. I thought that I would never see Kira wag her tail at me again. We were all crying and rubbing her and my poor drugged pup finally drooped down and started to doze off. As much as I didn’t want to leave her I knew she needed her rest, and I also wanted to make sure that the vet was watching in case Kira went into more than just a nap, so I let the nurse carry her back to her crate.”

“The vet called me later that night to assure me that while Kira had some bloody diarrhea and regurgitation, she was still doing well. Needless to say, I did not sleep, but it wasn’t until the morning that I realized that it was snowing. Even more than before I wanted Kira home so that she could see it.

“Finally at 9:30am the vet called and said that I could come get her. I was out the door by 9:33.

“It was still snowing so I had to force myself to drive slowly, but then I ran into the hospital office. To their credit, they did not make me wait, but took me right into an exam room and went over Kira’s discharge instructions. To my wry amusement I noticed a “WILL BITE” sticker on Kira’s chart.

“A few minutes later, a less groggy but more indignant Kira walked into the exam room. She again wagged her tail and came immediately to me and even gave kisses but as she did she cast pissed off looks at the vet and nurse and hid behind me.

“I had already taken care of the balance of her bill so I gathered Kira in my arms, picked up her bag of medications and walked out the door.

“Kira tucked her head under my chin but as soon as we stepped outside she lifted her head and sniffed at the falling snow. Her tail gave a few wags when the flakes landed on her nose and then she tucked her head again and we finally went home.”

Caesar stared at me.

“And that was just the beginning of her recovery,” I added.

Finally he reclined his head. “I proclaim you again victor in the battle of who has more cause to be wary of March.” He stood up. “We shall revisit this argument upon a day.”

“And I hope that you shall be the victor, Caesar. These are laurels that I could really do without.”


My ex received money and filed it under my social security number and didn’t pay the taxes.

My dog had fourteen teeth removed and nearly died from an overdose of anesthesia and pain medication during the surgery.

I was so sleep deprived that I fell down the stairs and mashed my scapula. (Luckily I didn’t break anything but my back looks like I was beat.)


The good news of course is that, after a hellish week of groaning in her sleep and an upset stomach, Kira is finally recovering. I cannot say thank you enough to all of the people that we had saying prayers, sending positive thoughts and healing vibes to her. As I was sitting in the vet’s office, not knowing if Kira was going to make it, I can’t tell you what a comfort it was when my phone buzzed with another tweet or message saying that someone was pulling for Kira.

I’m a blessed bitch.

I’m a Disaster Area But I Make Up For It With Cute Dogs

The other day The Bloggess tweeted that she had fallen off of the self-harm wagon, and that she was having issues with ICD. A number of people responded with questions about what ICD stands for. Some attempted at being clever and others were genuinely puzzled about the acronym. For those of you that don’t know, ICD stands for Impulse Control Disorder. You’ll notice if you read the definition that self-harm is an “other form of ICD”. It then occurred to me that ICD is an oxymoron. And it was surely a moron with a fancy PhD in Psychiatry who came up with the term while he or she sat on the outside and tried to categorize the mess that people like I sludge through at any given moment.

anxiety girlFor many of us I don’t think that self-harm is an impulse control disorder because the problem isn’t so much the control, it’s about the impulse in the first place. Truthfully I have the best fucking impulse control in the world because for every stupid, manic thing that I’ve thought or done there are at least fifty that I don’t act on. A normal person doesn’t have the impulse to hurt themselves. They don’t know what it’s like to have to fight something that you intellectually know is incorrect but that your basic instinct is telling you is right. Logically I know that slapping myself during a panic attack shouldn’t make me feel better, but Jiminy Cricket’s evil twin who sits on my shoulder assures me that it will.

And the awful thing is that sometimes it does.

For a split second the sting in my cheek makes me forget the war raging in my brain, the irratic pounding in my chest. Unfortunately the moment passes all too soon and it’s followed by the return of all of the symptoms of my panic attack only made that much worse by the guilt and anger that I did something so stupid. You would think that the memory of the guilt and anger would keep me from hurting myself again, but of course it wouldn’t. Because I have ICD.

I’m almost to the next step in my novel, and the best way I can describe the feeling is that it’s like being in gym class when your asshole gym teacher makes you run the mile dash even though you forgot your inhaler and your almost to the end and you feel like your heart is laughing hysterically but nothing’s coming out of your mouth because you can’t breathe and all you can think is how much it would suck to collapse this close to finishing and silently telling that teacher that she’s a fucking cunt. And you hardly ever, ever use that term.

On top of this Kira has to have dental surgery on Thursday. I made light of how traumatic it is to take Kira to the vet and turned it into a funny anecdote because that’s what I do, but in truth it’s a challenge to not cry hysterically when Kira screams at the vet. On top of her screams though, I have the terror that something will happen during the surgery. I know she will be fine–I know this–but we’ve already established that the logical portion and the emotional portion of my brain are woefully disconnected.

Also the hard drive on my fucking shitty computer is going which isn’t stressing me as much as you would think, but it’s pissing me off that I have to waste time trying to figure out what to do about a replacement.

So that’s where I’ve been up to for the past two weeks. I did however make this month’s BirchBox Unboxing video and the bloopers video, but the big news was that Kira and Lily got their first BARKBOX.

When Mothers Yell To Bite Them

My mother is quite the pistol. Whether she’s insisting that there is a  dead cow in the road or smashing apart an entertainment center with a hammer, she’s an endless fount of entertainment. What I neglect to mention on here though is that my mother is the kindest, most loving person that you will ever meet. Seriously, Jewels can vouch for my mother’s sweet personality and super hugs. Aside from her hugs she also does things like rescuing squirrels from swimming pools (long story) and catching mice with a set of tongs and taking them outside instead of trapping them. She also puts up with my shenanigans which automatically makes her a saint., but not only that has supported my dream of being a writer and never stopped believing in it when a lot of parents would tell their daughters to grow up and get a real job. Finally she is incredibly patient and despite being half Irish she has very a long fuse and doesn’t easily lose her temper, and she rarely curses.

That is of course except during her daily trips to Farmville.

As I’m sure that anyone on Facebook knows Farmville is a virtual farm where the player can grow crops, build little buildings and complete missions. It’s simply charming. Unfortunatly the game is full of glitches and between that and Facebook’s new feed system where my mother’s Farmville friends don’t see her posts for them to help with the missions, she flips shit at least twice an evening.

farmville comicfarmville comic 2 Farmville comic 3 Farmville comic 4

Two minutes later…

Farmville comic 5 Farmville comic 6 Farmville comic 7 Farmville comic 8 Farmville comic 9

One minute later…

Farmville comic 10 Farmville comic 11 Farmville comic 12

Thirty seconds later…

Farmville comic 13 Farmville comic 14 Farmville comic 15 Farmville comic 16 Farmville comic 17Farmville comic 18Farmville comic 19

And then I get my riot gear and wrestle the Oozie away from her.


This happens every single night.

I have been planning this post ever since I first heard my mother scream “Fuck you, Farmville!” but I knew that it would take me a while to create. (Yay comics!) Seeing that today is my mother’s birthday, I took the extra time to finally create her tale of Farmville angst.

Happy Birthday, to the most wonderful, supportive, amazing Mumma ever! I love you, you crazy woman!

Once Again I Just Shake My Head and Say “This is my Life”

Many of you are well acquainted with my dog, Kira, in fact I’m fairly certain that the reason most people watch my youtube videos is because they usually feature a Kira cameo–and I don’t blame you because she’s fucking adorable and hilarious.

Kira features a lot because she is “my” dog, but we do however have our “family” dog named Lily. Unlike Kira, Lily is very friendly and easygoing and 99.5% of the time is perfectly well-behaved, so she also doesn’t give me as much story material as does my Brat-skimo.

There is of course that .5% though…

westhighland terrier, lily

Lily. She looks so innocent.

Since I had my own medical issues to address last Monday I decided to make it a full Doctor Day and have Kira and Lily visit the vet as well. A trip to the vet is always extremely stressful because Kira–who is a rescue dog that had been abused–hates going to the vet with a passion. I know that most dogs hate the vet but Kira literally screams–screams that sound like a fucking human being–as soon as the vet touches her. While Kira’s vet is used to her dramatics and very good with handling her, my aunt suggested a mobile vet service that she used who comes to the house might be less stressful. I didn’t hold much hope, but I decided to give it a shot.

As soon as the vet arrived at the house, Kira began barking her face off. I explained Kira’s history to the vet and that, while I was having both dogs examined, Kira was the reason that I was trying an in-house visit. The vet suggested that she examine Lily first thinking that if Kira saw that Lily was okay that she wouldn’t be as scared. This sounded like a good idea at the time.

Lily trotted over to the vet, sniffing and wagging her tail, and didn’t object when the vet picked her up. Lily did begin to shake a little when she was placed on the mobile table but stayed fairly still as the vet examined her. She did begin to squirm when it was time to have her blood drawn but the vet tech held her still without too much fuss. I went over to praise Lily whenever I could but unfortunately Kira’s barking only got worse when she saw the vet handling her Lily and it was all that I could do to keep her quiet. Even after I gated Kira in the other room she was causing a ruckus. Finally the vet was finished except she said that Lily’s nails needed to be cut. I have tried many a time to cut Lily’s nails, but unlike Kira who I trained since puppyhood to hold still for a pedicure, Lily fights so furiously that I can’t do it. I told the vet to go for it but I would understand if she wasn’t able to trim Lily’s nails.

The vet picked up the nail clippers and I actually saw the words “Oh hell no!” form in Lily’s eyes. She immediately began squirming, thrashing and putting up such a fight that you would think that the vet was trying to cut her paws off. The vet tech was nearly laying on top of Lily to hold her still and it still wasn’t working. The vet suggested that she hold Lily in her arms and the tech cut the nails since she was faster. Lily squirmed furiously but the vet held her tightly enough that the tech trimmed her two front paws fairly quickly. HOWEVER, the moment that the vet tech moved to touch Lily’s back paws, Lily lost control of her bowels. This is unfortunately not unusual for an animal to do under stress. What is unusual though is for the animal to lose her bowels with such fervor that the poo becomes airborne and hits the vet tech in the chest.

That’s right, friends: my dog projectile shat.
She apparently has missiles in her ass and fired two at the tech as soon as she was within range.

The vet, the tech and I and just stared at each other for a moment during which Lily–who was apparently quite pleased with herself–held still. Would that we had taken that opportunity to finish the pedicure because at that moment Kira broke through the baby gate in an attempt to save her Lily and all hell broke lose. Lily redoubled her squirming efforts, Kira barked and galloped around the table, and I began to calculate just how much Tequila I was going to need after this was over.

The answer was “a lot”.

And the real kicker of it? When it was Kira’s turn to be examined, despite being in her own home, she still screamed like a fucking banshee when the vet touched her.

Verdict? Number 26 on The List of Shameless Shit: Make a mistake.

The Hoo-Ha Freezes in Hell AKA The Polar Bear Plunge Recap!

freezing unmentionables, frostbite on my unmentionablesWell, we did it. We plunged into the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of January.

And the verdict of it is? It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It definitely helped that the air temperature was 46 degrees–and I am extremely grateful that God smiled on our stupid asses and waited until this week to send the current deep freeze which we are experiencing on the US east coast–but that said, it’s still no picnic to be standing on a New Jersey beach in nothing but a bathing suit in the middle of Winter.

I woke up on Plunge Day and my nerves immediately started twisting my guts into knots. The first thing that I did was yank my hair into a set of messy pony tails because when you are going to plunge into a cold ocean you really don’t give a fuck about the world seeing you looking like the dirtbag that you really are.

polar bear plunge wildwoodAfter a very *ahem* entertaining hour and a forty minute drive to the shore, my mother, brother, Jewels and I arrived at the check-in point at the Wildwood Convention Center. I noticed that I was shaking–not unusual for me with my arrhythmia–but I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t my blood sugar dropping so I crammed a piece of a bagel into my face despite my jumping tummy. Finally at 12:30, the organizers began to herd us all out to the beach. Now, the thing that I don’t like about Wildwood is that the beach is hella long–you have a decent hike to get to the water line–so I’m not surprised that they made us move out that early since the Plunge was at 1pm sharp. The problem with this was that you had half an hour of just chilling freezing on a beach, staring at the water and thinking ‘what the fuck am I doing?‘.

The plungers had their own roped off area where we were gathered into our huge group to countdown and then take off for our freezing Hell together. I had noticed in our “Plunge Packet” of info that it suggested that if it was your first plunge to not go near the front of the group so that you could go into the water at your own pace… so who wants to guess where we stationed ourselves in the group? Yup. Right near the front.

polar bear plunge wildwoodIn typical Kat fashion, my countdown was off and as I was screaming “Four!” the pack started taking off. Nonetheless I grabbed Jewels’ hand and began running, too. I’ll be honest and say that I kinda, sorta don’t remember details about the run because I was so jacked on adrenaline and just determined to get as far into the ocean as I could before cold/nerves/my heart gave out that I went on auto-pilot. I remember screaming as we approached the water at full speed. I remember losing my flip flops as soon as we entered the water and not even considering to stop and pick them up. And then the next thing I knew the waves were crashing around my waist and I was only a few feet from the wall of life guards stationed in the ocean at chest height to keep the plungers from going too far.

I’d made it!

I turned around to Jewels, held my fingers up to do a “1, 2, 3!”, grabbed my nose and then dropped my full body into the water as a swell came. As soon as I stood back up, I started to feel dizzy and was having trouble breathing. Jewels had stood up too but since she couldn’t feel her feet she ended up falling back into the water for a second dip. She managed to gain her balance and we started trudging back to the beach. I fucking hate admitting this but I was really struggling and it was only the thought that if I passed out that it would be into freezing water that kept me upright. Jewels may not have known it at the time, but she was holding me up during our celebration hug when got to the shore. The good news though? When you are about to pass out you feel warm so that when we reached the beach, while most people were beating it for the towels and robes, I was just like “Nah, I’m good, don’t need the towel right now”. I eventually did wrap myself up and then we began the hike back to the convention center where they would have lunch for us.

When we reached the ramp to get onto the boardwalk there was a huge clot of people made up of both plungers and spectators making their way on the boards.
“I think that if you didn’t plunge that you should have to wait and let us dripping wet people go first!” I complained to Jewels.
A lady in front of us who was bundled in a hat, gloves and jacket turned around and stepped aside so that we could walk ahead of her. I was shocked because I spout off so much goofy shit that I’m used to people not taking me seriously, so I felt like a jerk and started stammering and apologizing. The woman was really, really sweet though and just smiled and told me that I was completely right. (I still felt like an ass though.)

The food at the lunch was, um, rather… not good. But it was food and it was warm and it as nice of them to provide us with lunch in the first place so I didn’t complain–especially because each plunger could bring a guest to eat for free, too. While we were eating the Special Olympics athletes came on the stage and did a group bow to say thank you, and if the chicken soup didn’t warm you up then that certainly did.

Believe it or not, even though this entry is long, this is actually the condensed account of The Polar Bear Plunge. There was so much that happened, and it was just such an incredibly fun experience. To help convey more of what it was like, we shot a lot of video and then put it all together into a mini movie. It’s long, but I think it’s entertaining enough to get you through 17 minutes. 😉 (FYI, watch to the end for an Easter egg–especially if you’re a fan of my dog, Kira.)

Finally, another huge thank you to our supporters. I’ll be putting your links in my sidebar very soon!

PS-This is so Number 11 on my List of Shameless Shit: “Dress to show some skin” because putting on a bathing suit is daunting enough, but you have to be completely shameless to put one on in the Winter when you’re pale and not only at your “Winter weight” but at your “writer weight” where you have been too busy with edits to hit the gym. Not. Attractive.

The Tale of The Flaming Buns

Okay, I admit it: I have a tendency to torture myself. Whether it’s setting my own broken hand, starving myself in a seven day detox or getting all of the hair ripped off of my nethers in a Jewish Community Center, I have a special proclivity for putting myself through some ridiculous shit. I would like to point out, however, that in every most cases I have a legit reason for torturing myself. For example I was forced by a lack of medical attention to set my own hand and the detox was bolster my health and the Brazilian wax was necessary because it was the start of swimsuit season.

See? Good reasons for insanity in all most cases. And such it is too with The Flaming Buns that I had a good reason for torturing myself.

If you’ve watched my videos on youtube then you can probably tell that I’m constantly sniffling between perpetual allergies and/or a cold. One of the things that really sucks about this–aside from the obvious abundance of snot–is that because of my cardiac issues I’m not supposed to take regular allergy or cold medicine so I usually just suffer through it. However the other day I was scrolling through Pinterest–where all good ideas come from–and I found a homeopathic cold remedy in the form of a Ginger detox bath which promised to help you sweat out your afflictions. The next thing I knew I was grabbing my keys to make a trip to the supermarket.

“Where are you going? It’s dark out!” my mother exclaimed as I headed toward the front door. (My mother is from the school of thought that females should not go out after twilight or they will surely be accosted by ghoulies, beasties and long-legged nasties.)
“To get some ground ginger,” I replied.
“Why do you need ground ginger at 9:30 at night?”
“Because I’m going to bathe in it.”
And as she is so used to doing, my mother just accepted that I had said something inane.

After aquiring the ground ginger without being kidnapped–though I told my mother that I fought off a hooligan who tried to shiv me and an old man who offered me candy–I dug the baking soda out of the cupboard and went upstairs to brew a Gingered Kat Stew.

I ran the tub full of hot water, added the ginger which turned the water a disgusting shade of brown, shook approximately a third of a cup of baking soda into the mix, eased myself into the mess, grabbed a book and let myself cook. It only took about ten minutes before I started to sweat but you’re supposed to soak for at least forty minutes to get the full effect of the ginger so I continued to soak and read my book.

Pikachu Spanking gifI’m not sure exactly when it happened but at some point I looked up from my book and realized that my ass was hot–and not “hot” as in “cute”, “hot” as in “I feel like I’m sitting in a vat of salsa”. While I had been occasionally swishing the water around in the tub, a healthy amount of the ginger had settled to the bottom and I found that I was sitting in a layer of pure ginger. I swished the water around some more but it was too late; my buns were officially on fire. It wasn’t exactly painful though so I went back to reading and sweated out the remainder of the time, however by the time I got out of the tub, my ass was numb. It was one of the most fucking bizarre sensations I have ever experienced… and of course I made worse by smacking myself and then laughing like a bloody lunatic because I didn’t feel anything when I did it and my mind instantly made a dozen filthy jokes. But aside from amusing the hell out of me, I will say that this ginger soak did actually clear up my stuffy, sniffly nose, and not only that, but I went to sleep soon after I got out of the bath and didn’t wake up once during the night, which is very rare for me.

polar plunge logoAnd in a hilarious turn of irony my next tale of maschicsm is already in the works except that instead of burning ass, I’m going to be freezing it off. Tomorrow, 1/19/13, I’m going to be jumping into the semi-freezing Atlantic Ocean with my Gal-Friday of insanity, Jewels, and my brother Mike (known on here as “Gator”). Again there is logical reason for this madness and we are not arbitrarily jumping for my hypothermic fun of it but because we joined the Polar Bear Plunge to benefit the Special Olympics. Jewels and I have already our minimum donation goals thanks to some brilliant peeps who I’ll be linking to their blogs/twitters as my featured Super Peeps next month, but my brother hasn’t reached his goal yet, so I’m extending my thanks of pimping to anyone who contributes to his goal, too. For a minimum donation of 5 bucks toward Gator’s/Mike’s goal, I’ll shout you out in the post I do about the Plunge and also have the link to your blog on my sidebar in all of its glory for thirty days (or more usually).

But before you think that I’ve gone soft and am helping my brother because I’m a nice person or something, let me clarify that by donating to my brother you are actually still helping me because if Gator/Mike doesn’t reach his goal, he can’t plunge and I will feel much better about plunging into icy water if I can look over and laugh at my brother’s freezing ass.

Finally I wanted to add that by donating, not only will you be helping me, but you will also get bragging rights that you personally helped me in my latest tale of what-the-fuckery.

How can you resist that, right?

(And this is Number 25 on the List of Shameless Shit: Ask for help.)

A Peek In My Brain (God Help You All) Aka: LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN DRAFTS!!!

So you know that shit to which I referred in this video post here?*

*I find it somewhat hilarious when I curse and yet use proper English.**

**That said, I’m easily amused.***

***Especially by my own humor.

reblog for stupid questions

(You’re gonna get some soon.)

Anyway! I’m stupid busy with that shit, yet trying to maintain a better blogging schedule (because who doesn’t want to up the ante on their blog posts when they have a deadline to finish rewrites on their first novel and the pressure is ridiculously on, right???) and luckily I found this little ditty in my drafts folder thanks to some questions posed by my girl Jewels a while ago on her blog. This is actually perfect because I’ve received a number of really weird? personal? WTF? questions in my email and various DMs and I’m going to add my answers to those questions at the bottom.

1. What side of the bed do you sleep on?

The top.

2. Do you believe in ghosts?

Yes. I don’t discriminate against a person just because they don’t have a body.

3. Would you be willing to go on a cross country (driving) trip with me?

More than willing, in fact I think that we should do this because I’ve always wanted to drive to Hawaii.

4. If you could only watch one show for the rest of your life what would it be?

Cupcake Wars. As long as Florian Bellanger remained one of the judges. (I fucking love him!)

5. If you could only read one author until the end of time who would it be?

I’m going to go with George R.R. Martin because I really want to know how the “Song of Fire and Ice” series ends, and at the rate he’s writing, it’s going to take until the end of time for him to finish it.

6. If you HAD to get something pierced what would it be?

A Tragus or a Helix because I kinda want those anyway.

7. Given a choice of a mystery meaning Chinese symbol, butterfly, or zodiac tattoo which would you pick? (You HAVE to pick one)

A butterfly. Zodiac is hoo-ha, and a former friend of mine had a Chinese symbol tattooed on himself that he found out later literally translated to “Kill Whitey”. And then there’s this:

English tattoo on Asian girl

8. Would you rather have sex with Wilford Brimley/Susan Boyle or give up sex for good?

Well I’m not a lesbian, and I’d rather not give up the option to have sex, so I’ll go with Wilfy. He and his “die-beetus” wouldn’t last long anyway.

9. What would you pay for a vaccination that prevents kids from being bitchy, sassy, dickheads?

I already have a vaccination for this.  It’s called The Naughty Box.

10. Would you rather serve a week in prison or try and survive for a year alone in a jungle?

Jungle. Easy. Only I wouldn’t just survive, I’d be ruling that shit by the time a year was over.  And everyone who visited would be greeted with “Do you know where you are?  You’re in the jungle, baby.  You’re gonna diiiiiiie!”

11. What is it about nice people that attract total idiots?

You smell nice.


How old are you? (Number one question I get asked.)

Old. Like super old.

Let me put it this way, there is a reason that I write about vampires.

Are your stories really true? (The majority of the time this question refers to the story about what I did to The Cheating Dude and his keys.)

With the exception of the story about the toaster, yes, the stories involving me are true. I’m seriously a magnet for WTF, and I’m just blessed that I (seem to) have an effective enough writing voice to convey just how bizzare some of this shit is.

Why haven’t there been any stories about S. lately?

This is my own fault since I probably didn’t state it clearly in the post that I wrote , but S. succumbed to the cancer that she had been fighting on the day before Thanksgiving in 2011.

What kind of dog is Kira?

A Brat-skimo: 100% American Eskimo* and 100% Brat
*Kira is a runt though and only about 12 lbs when she should be closer to 20.

Did you go to school to be a writer?

No, with the exception of a few courses, I didn’t go to college period. I said that I graduated from a college to get into first “real” job and then moved my way up by always asking for more responsibilities. I do not advocate this at all, however when I left that job I was the head of the department and had reorganized it so that the practice was making twice as much as it had under my predecessor who had a Masters degree.*

*And by admitting this I realize that I’ve given my future spawn a massive weapon to use against me when I harangue them about the merits of proper education.

Since turnabout is fair play, here are some questions for you all!

1-Did you ever wonder how they get the “M”s on M&Ms?
2-If you could only read one book for the rest of you life, what would you have for a snack?
3-What was the first CD that you ever bought? (Not record or tape, but CD.)
4-Are you stealing your Internet? If so where are you located because I’m tired of paying for mine.
5-Do you think that I’m joking?
6-Should I keep asking questions?
7-If you answered “no” to number 6, why did you read this? If you answered “yes”, are you mental?
8-If you answered number 7 yet said “no” to number 6, are you a Cthuhlu? If you answered “yes” to both number 6 and 7, then you are probably me.
9-I talk to myself.
10-Number 9 wasn’t a question unless you are me, then you know what I was asking.
11-Are you sleeping okay, dear?

Finally, since I’m sure that I’ve just told you all way more than you ever wanted to know about me, I’m chalking this entry up as Number 23 on my terribly neglected List of Shameless Shit: “Air one of your secrets.”

New Drivers and Old Drivers: The Reason We Can’t Have Cannons On Our Cars

I know that no one thinks that they are a bad driver, in fact, not only will no one cop to being a a bad driver but we are all convinced that we are brilliant drivers and everyone else on the road is a fucking moron. There are however two kinds of drivers on which we can all agree suck: student drivers and old drivers. You see, I take this two lane back road for much of the way to my job-that-gets-me-out-of-the-house-so-that-I-don’t-become-a-recluse and it is a veritable magnet for both of these drivers thanks to the high school where several driving schools meet, and the garden shop which draws older ladies like wrinkled bees that are both located on this road. It would be easy to just rant about both of these types of drivers, but since I am the spirit of altruism I’ve come up with solutions to both of these problem drivers that doesn’t involve lead balls and gunpowder.

New Drivers

dogs driving car

My DOG is a better driver!

Whenever I turn the corner onto that back road and see a “Student Driver” sign sticking out from the roof of a car like an obnoxious cowlick, two thoughts pop into my head. The first thought is that I kinda want to do everything I can to harass the nervous student by revving up to the tail of the their car, tail-gaiting, blowing my horn, hanging out the window and swerving.

(Don’t get all sanctimonious on me, like you’ve never thought about traumatizing a student driver.)

The second thought I have is that these student drivers are some lucky assholes! They can drive like some kind of maniac and it’s cool because “they’re learning”. It then occurred to me that I need one of these student driver signs. If I had a bright yellow sign that said “Kat’s Driving School” I could turn at illegal red lights, drive down the wrong direction on one-way streets and speed like a motherfucker, and no cops would stop me because, hey, I’m just learning officer and I promise to better next time. I’m not greedy either, so I’m even willing to take new students into my driving “school” and hook them up with a sign granted that they pass my own personal driving test. I could go over what that test entails but that’s another post entirely. Suffice to say that if you drive the way that I drive (brilliantly of course) then I’ll help you to break the road laws.

Old Drivers

old lady drivingOh Lord have mercy, where do I begin with these people. Between them leaving their turn signals blinking for ten miles and refusing to pull into traffic unless the car coming down the road is still more than five miles away, I want to bang my head on the steering wheel every time I see a car that appears to be driving itself because I know it’s being operated by a wizened old lady who is sitting on a stack of telephone books to see over the dash. Their worst sin of course is that they drive so fucking slow. I’ll admit that my impatient nature coupled with a hatred of driving in general turned me into a bit of a speed demon in my younger years, however a few speeding tickets cured me of that and I’ve try to stay below ten miles over the speed limit as an adult.*

(*The exception was when I wondered if the 120 MPH mark on my dad’s car’s speedometer was just for show or if the car could really go that fast.**)

(**FYI, the answer is that it can.)

I don’t think it’s too much to ask that a driver does the speed limit, but I’ve found that seniors like to drive at approximately half of the limit. The solution to this problem is in the senior’s car. I think that after a person turns sixty that they should only be allowed to drive cars that are shaped like a wedge with the low side face the back. This way when a senior is poking along, pulling a Gandolf and insisting that “you shall not pass!”, you can rev your car right up the back of theirs and Dukes of Hazard over that shit. They get to poke along the road and the rest of us get to make to our fucking job on time.

This concludes this latest edition of my helpful posts, and as always:

youre welcome, you are welcome

You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello: The 2012 Year in Review!

So 2012…

you say goodbye I say hello, statler and waldorf


The year started with a trip to Boston, and in typical Kat fashion I arrived late, damp, cold, drunk and having locked myself in the train station bathroom at one point.


February was a weird month, and it culminated in the decsion to move out of my apartment and crash at my mother’s place for the time being. In hindsight I can tell you that, true to what I had mused in the post where I announced my decision to move, this choice fit the mold in that it was extremely difficult at the time but ended up being the right one. And of course since once I’ve made a decision to do something I have to do it immediately and by the end of the February I was packed, ready to move and leaning on Bestie and my brother to help me get my shit out of my old place and into my mother’s. Naturally the move was done with the usual fanfare that erupts around me and so it included my mother smashing apart an entertainment center with a hammer and me nearly knocking myself unconscious. All in all though I accepted that I had closed a chapter but that something better was coming.


Less than a week after I moved I broke my hand in a most spectacular fashion and was subjected to the world’s shittiest doctor (whose time will come when the new doctor’s office down the road from him opens and takes his patients). I was still adjusting to living with my family on top of being in pain and it inspired this short story which I wouldn’t usually included in a Year in Review except that it becomes important in another moment this year. I also got a kick in the chest with some personal shit that I didn’t talk about on here and though I realize now that I kicked ass through it, March was a difficult month.


you said what

“You said what?”
“I forget but it probably inappropriate.”

For a number of reasons, not the least of which is that I just like to torture myself, I did a Seven Day Detox “diet”. I’d probably list this event anyway because this was not an easy task and I still feel a bit gloaty that I made the week, but this is something else that plays a more significant role in a later month. While my paw was still healing I somehow managed to design the Writes Like a Slut logo that I had been talking about doing for over a year. I finished the month by sharing one of the wrongest stories ever which has resulted in some really, really fucked up search results landing here.


May was a huge month. Not only did I receive my “Writes Like a Slut” shirt, and my dear Jewels receive her shirt and become the first member of the WLAS Posse, but I also gave you some kick ass zombie survival advice all month long, and became a contributer to the new site The Indie Chicks. The hilarious thing is that my first article was about makeup, and somehow the beauty section has since become my li’l niche there. Despite all of this brilliance though, there was a dark moment in May with the passing of M.C.A of the Beastie Boys and how that much affected me.


For the halfway point of the year I did some more graphic designing including the “Tequila is Cheap” and the “Dirty Stay Out”. I also did a rare serious, activist type post where I threw a holy fit at Urban Decay for deciding to allow animal testing on their products. The month concluded with a post on cell phone etiquette and a link to my newest article at The Indie Chicks on what to expect during that Seven Day Detox I did in April. The article received 10,000 hits within the first week and remains (I believe) the most popular article on the site. To date I know that it’s been stumbled over 63,000 times and thus is the most widely read piece of my work (so far).


grumpy hug

And then there’s this.

I got my first professional Brazilian bikini wax…at a Jewish Community Center because that’s how I roll. I also created Facebook Fan Page for this site because I’m so hilarious. Finally I did something rather bitchy, wrote about it, and it has since because one of my most popular stories because everyone has had a guy or girl treat them like shit and my act of nastiness was for us all.


I let the ocean water touch me for the first time since I was eighteen years old and I did it even before I was given a watermelon full of Everclear. This was a major accomplishment for me even if I haven’t actually made it into the water again yet. I also met a Tolkien character at Home Depot which is another incident that comes back later in the year. Finally I followed up on the wrongest story post because one wrong turn deserves another.


I got a wretched eye infection thanks to eye strain that resulted in my dog taking over the blog for me, and then I celebrated the year anniversary of my getting BONed and held my first giveaway.


somebody i used to know, gotye

How many times did you hear this song this year?

This month saw my first (and relatively minor in the big picture especially since it won’t be my last) disappointment as a writer. The story that I had mentioned writing back in March had not won either of the contests that I had entered, but this is another blessing in disguise since it was a serious piece and probably not the best representation of my usual style. The East Coast was then attacked by Frankenstorm aka Hurricane Sandy, however we were very lucky and did not sustain any damage. I also created a youtube channel where you all got to hear my muddled accent in my first Birchbox video. (And yes I have noticed that you all watch the bloopers reel more than the legit product and no, it honestly doesn’t surprise me since I’ve build a readership based on WTF so of course the popularity of videos would reflect this.)


I had a bout of depression because… it happens. And tat’s the beauty of depression is that it often comes for no fucking reason just to rattle my monkey tree. I do know that part of my problem was that my formerly broken hand which never healed properly was feeling the ache of the cold weather and I was having some particularly exhausting cardiac flares. Luckily God sent a door-to-door meat saleman to my house and since traumatizing others always makes me feel better it helped to snap me back to my so-called normal self.


elf on the shelf, iron throne, game of thrones

He made his own Iron Throne.

I held my second giveaway and the prize didn’t even require crossing dressing on the part of the guys if one of them won. I also developed an obsession with Elf on the Shelf which you have to be on Facebook to fully appreciate. My mother, brother and I went to the Show of Lights together for the first time in years and it was pretty brilliant to revive this tradition that spanned back to when I was a kid. I was the honored as the Featured Writer at Studio 30+ where that trip to Home Depot when I met Gollum came in handy since for my article I wrote about how to Blog Like a Bitchin’ Rockstar from Mars. (That’s not exactly the title but it’s what I would have used if I wasn’t trying to censor myself somewhat.) Finally I announced that “Writes Like a Slut” is now on over half of the continents in the world. Not a bad way to finish out what was a pretty fucking amazing year in writing for me.

The really, really final major event of 2012 though?

Writing this year in review and for the first time since 2007 not looking back at the previous twelve months and feeling that I was leaving with a deficit.

I’ve a vlog I’ll be posting later hopefully, but in closing I just want to say thank you all so much for reading and supporting me this year. Right before I started this entry I looked at my stats of visits, retweets, links in, ect and I am touched beyond words at how much you all have helped me grow this year. I seriously could not be doing now–writing, which has and always will be my true love–if it were not for you guys. You’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!


Best wishes for a Happy, Healthy, Prosperous and Kickass 2013!

PS-There were a few other major events that I didn’t mention, but that’s because they are actually precursors to really major events and I don’t want to jinx it. Don’t worry, as soon as it feels solid I will be screaming my face off about it.

“What Are We Going to Do Tonight, Brain?”

First things first, I want to announce the winner to the giveaway! Put your paws together for hilarious Working Dan from Shameless Promotions! He wins the “Therapy is Expensive, Tequila is Cheap” mug and I’ll be shamelessly promoting his site in the sidebar for all of January! Thanks so much to everyone who entered and congrats, Dan! (And on a sidenote, anyone can still get their own mug at my store here.) The next giveaway will probably be February–but don’t quote me on that.

Now on to the entry!

I’ve unfortunately been so busy with edits on my book and Christmas (I had the 12/25 post scheduled) and such that I haven’t had the time to share with you all something really, really fucking awesome that happened recently. Exactly two weeks ago today I received an email from the brilliant Louisa of Weezafish that she had received the “Writes Like a Slut” shirt that I sent her. The reason that this is major news because we had gone to great lengths to get this shirt to her since she couldn’t order it herself directly from my Zazzle site due to shipping restrictions to her location, namely South Africa. Check Louisa rocking out in her shirt, yo!

writes like a slut shirt

First off, Louisa would like you to know that behind her is a handmade African natural grass brush, and that her hair is not in fact frizzy like that.

Second, is a cute little tidbit (I cannot tell you all how much I fucking love that these pics always come with stories!) which is that this pic was taken by her five-year-old son with her camera phone after Louisa wasn’t satisfied with the ones that her hubby had taken with the camera. That’s commitment to the cause, peeps!

But the reason that I am extra stoked about Louisa getting her shirt is because a few weeks earlier I got a picture from Naty, one of the winners in September’s giveaway, that she had received her shirt, too.

writes like a slut shirt

I’d have been thrilled to know that Naty got her shirt no matter what, but what’s really cool is that this shirt made it to South America!

With the arrival of Louisa’s and Naty’s shirt, “Writes Like a Slut” is now featured on four fucking continents! There are members of the WLAS Posse in North America, South America, Europe and Africa! Keep your fingers crossed that 2013 will bring a WLAS in Asia, Australia, and if anyone knows someone heading to one of the research facilities in Antarctica we’ll take that continent, too!

So the answer to “what are we going to do tonight, Brain?” is of course:

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky… Try and take over the world.”

And we are doing it one t-shirt at a time.