I learned a valuable lesson.... and felt the obligation to share.

Back in October when D and I got married, I made the decision that it would be cool to get a bikini wax for the big day. Don't ask me why I made this executive decision, because I'm not really sure as my dress was long and absolutely no one was going to be seeing what was going on under there, but I'm going to associate it with watching too many TikTok videos. That, and my paranoia of my husband taking my garter off in front of EVERYONE. Which by the way, I was extremely self-conscious and mortified about.

I digress.... you know, so we can continue on with this.

The decision was made and while I had never gotten a bikini wax before, I figured it was more awkward than painful and since I have a fairly high pain tolerance, I assumed all would be well in the world. The day came and I prepared for it almost the exact same way that you would prepare to go visit your lady doctor (ie: gynecologist). 

I would be lying if I said it wasn't a little bit painful the first time, but nothing extreme. I wouldn't associate it with torture or anything. And like I assumed, it was far more awkward than painful. However, my esthetician was very professional and friendly and actually made me feel (somewhat) comfortable. She just went on with her everyday job and informed me that it was kind of like when I worked in the nursing home, as in, once you see so many people naked, it really doesn't phase you anymore. 

I liked the results so much that I've continued to keep up with it. And honestly, the visits eventually get to be more spaced apart and so much easier to the point that you barely feel anything when you get waxed. But, then a couple of weeks ago, I decided that I would just shave instead of making an appointment, because my lazy won out over logic. And oh boy, was that an.... experience. You ever heard of the term fire crotch? Well....

Needless to say, I had to wait about a week or two and then I called and made an appointment with my new esthetician. And let me tell you a couple of secrets that they don't usually tell you. 

One: when you are used to getting waxed and then you decide to shave between waxing appointments, it is essentially making you start over from the very beginning all over again. Seriously, do you remember the first time you got hair down there? It was uncomfortable, itchy, thick and awful? Yeah, that's what you revert back to and it is NOT pretty.

Two: speaking of "starting over" when you are used to waxing and then shave in between and then go back for your first wax since you shaved, things are much more.... painful. You see, apparently by then, your "area" is much more sensitive so every little pull or tug feels like someone is essentially yanking barbwire out of your skin. (And yes, I know what that feels like). Seriously, it hurts way more than it originally did the first time you had it done. Then, it's still a little sore the next day.

Obviously, this was an unwelcomed surprise to me, but it also made me realize that there is no going back. I will either be continuously getting waxed or let's be honest, it's gonna look like a real shit show down there.

And yeah, I know I shouldn't be talking about my crotch, especially in this lengthy of a post, but I felt the need to warn other folks about the consequences of switching back and forth. Mostly because it would've been real f*cking nice for someone to have warned me. Oh well, you live, you learn, you move on.

I'm gonna stop talking about it now. 

I got real drunk and ordered a bunch of stuff off of SHEIN.

I also had all of my hair chopped off (a few months before our wedding) and I'm trying to put forth at least a little bit of effort into the way I look on a day to day basis. Sure, it isn't much, but at least it's some form of effort.... right?!

My hair isn't styled correctly, but at least it looks like I have bed head on purpose. My makeup is at a minimum with just foundation and powder, but that takes some of the redness out of my face (who in the hell knows how I'm supposed to get rid of these dark circles?!). And, I've been wearing a series of my drunken purchases.

Considering that the majority of things I own these days are caused from my drunken antics, it should be no surprise that a box showed up at my house the other evening for me and I was like wwhhhaaaaa??!!!! It was a box full of clothes from a company called SHEIN and apparently when I'm drinking someone should take my phone away from me.

Luckily, I loved everything that was in there and everything I've tried on so far has been really comfy (and cute). Because let's be real, everyone that knows me knows that I value comfort over all the other stuff 24/7 (hence why I love my wedding dress so damn much). What can I say? Drunk Katie knows what's up and what I like.

But now, sober Katie wants to get a couple more of these tee-dresses from the company, because did I mention the comfort level? Them being extremely cute is just a bonus. Who knows, maybe one of these days I'll look like a functioning human being that belongs in everyday society. But for now, I'll be over here with my questionable hair (that I honestly love) wearing a tie-dye dress with an alien and alien cat (yeah, you read that right) on it.... to work. Because I'm an adult.

What happened to the Hot Topic?!!?! (And our youth by extension?)

This past Sunday, D and I had to go to the mall.... against our will and better judgment, but unfortunately, there are certain stores around here that we like/want/need and they are only available there (HELP US!).

After running into Carhartt (the entire reason for going to said mall) we decided to walk around to browse a few other stores and grab a bite to eat before the insanity of weekend shoppers hit. (I decided that we needed to be there between 11:30-11:45 in the morning, and it would have been sooner, but most stores don't open until 11:00 on Sunday). We ran into a store called Nirvana (and I immediately wanted all of their shirts, incense, and posters) and then had lunch in the food court (he had a Philly Cheesesteak, I had a burrito bowl (isn't that the best part about eating in a food court?), and then we decided that it was almost time to go, but we would hit one or two shops on the way out to the car.

Which two shops did we hit? Hot Topic and Spencer's. Because yes, I am twenty-nine (so is he), but we have hilarious stories and wonderful memories about being kids (because when you're a teenager you insist on being called a teenager, but as an adult you realize you were still a kid.... whether you had to grow up sooner than most) and getting our stuff there.

I always loved the band shirts and he always loved the bondage pants.

We should have known that something was awry, because as soon as we walked up to the door a little girl (like three?) and her brother and dad came waddling out (children used to be TERRIFIED of going in there).... two steps later I noticed how bright it was in there (and I'm not talking a little bright, I'm talking BRIGHT).... got to the doorway and I heard the wailing of Carly Rae Jepsen.... or maybe it was Cardi B? Basically, it was somebody that shouldn't be played inside HT.

What. In. The. Actual. F*ck?!!?!

Sure, D had told me that it had changed over the years, but I didn't think he meant completely and that it would utterly devastate me. Instead of the dark corners that used to feel cool there are bright lights and pink EVERYWHERE. Instead of the amazing band shirts that lined every single wall there are One Direction and Ariana Grande AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE. Instead of the dude that works at the counter and looks so much like a serial killer that it puts you on edge, there's A GIRL CHOMPING BUBBLEGUM AND WEARING BOWS. Instead of the shelves lined with "alternative" tv show and movie shirts and accessories there's DISNEY PRINCESSES EVERYWHERE. Seriously, it kind of looks like the Disney store at this point.

There's nothing in there that even remotely resembles the place that had once let us get out all of our angst through weird clothes, bags, posters, and accessories. It's just.... gone. And that makes me sad.

Then again, there's alot of things that make me sad lately, so maybe it's just me? But no, it might be me, BUT it's also them. I grabbed a couple of band shirts (I'm very upset that they didn't have the Ozzy I wanted in my size), that are way too overpriced and we got the hell out of there.

Needless to say, we won't be going back in there.... seriously, like ever. And I will be buying my band shirts and everything else pertaining to it online. We hit Spencer's after we left HT and perused the shot glasses, lingerie, wallets, stripper poles, hats, and buttons, had quite a few laughs and left.

Once we left there the mall was full of people and since we hate people with a burning passion, we hightailed it out of there as quick as f*cking possible, because people.... ugh.

Rearranging our office. (And now people can stay away from us).

Most of the people that know me know that I have personal space issues. Not in the sense that I invade other people's personal space, because I don't know boundaries, but in the sense that I can't stand for many people to be in mine.

And it's not like that with everyone. If I know you very well and love you then you're more than welcome into my personal space.... mostly sometimes. I try not to be a giant pain in the ass with it, but sometimes, you just can't let shit go.

For the past (almost) five years, Danielle and I have shared quite a bit of our personal space (and she's just as bad at it as I am, if not worse) while at work. Our desks were right next to each other, scooched up against the back wall of our office. If you need a little guide to know how close we had to spend about nine hours a day/5 days a week together then just know, we shared a power surger. And not the extension cord kind.

And it was like this, because we had no space. And I don't mean that metaphorically, I mean that literally.... WE HAD ZERO SPACE. Our entire office was filled with two desks and enough file cabinets to drive a gal insane. This is how little space we had.... we had to store files on our "deck" that was basically falling down and we risked our lives every single day that we attempted to go out there.

Everything was dirty and disgusting.... and cluttered.

But ever since we had an additional room added onto our office to replace the janky deck (remember?) we've been slowly trying to pull things together and set up a system to make things more efficient (we were basically just "winging it" until then). FINALLY the additional room was complete and half ass pulled together, but we were still cluttered in our office.

You see, no matter how many good intentions that we had, the fact that our company has been busier this year than it has been in years (yay!) has made it incredibly difficult to complete (or even start) certain tasks. We usually don't stop working from the time we show up until the time we leave and there's always a stack of shit to pick up with the next day. So, we've kind of just been dealing with it.

Until today.

And today Danielle decided (technically she decided this on Tuesday?) that we were going to make the time to rearrange our office since we FINALLY have the room for it. Further down the road they're wanting to repaint and put some new flooring down, but that's still awhile off, because SO. DAMN. BUSY. So, we decided we might as well get everything moved around to see if it would work and how we would like it.

Sidenote: watching her and I try to move two bigass fireproof/bombproof/judgement day proof file cabinets was hilarious. We yanked and pulled and pushed with all of our might and.... nothing. Forreal, those things wouldn't budge. But no worries.... we never admit defeat! I mean, we might be defeated, but we'll never admit it.

Guess what?! We LOVE it. And I'm not one that drops the "L" word at every whipstitch. It really is just that much better and instead of being so close together that we're almost sharing a chair, now we're.... ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE ROOM. And we're both pretty damn happy about it. I mean, I love her, but COME ON.... we needed space. And now we have it and our office is more open for other activities.... let the Nerf wars begin.

Is a year and a half too late to congratulate your aunt on her retirement?

I mean, it happened in May 2015.... and I mentioned it here and there, but I don't remember ever formally telling people about it. And, I congratulated her (which really is the most important part.... right?), but I just remembered it and found a picture from her last day at work (we worked together) and I wanted to share it.

So, here it is. A year and a half late. HAPPY RETIREMENT, AUNT SUSI. I love you, and miss you (I can say that now, because I know how I feel about it a year and a half later). It took a long time for me to get into a different lunch routine since I used to spend the majority of my day with you for two years. It's weird and good all at the same time.

It's good, because I literally couldn't be happier for you, and I'm excited for you to get to do all of the things that you've always wanted, but had too many responsibilities tying you down to go.

And remember, technically I'm not at the year and a half mark until the 27th of this month, so give me a little bit of credit.... maybe. Afterall, I embarrassed myself at Duckpin Bowling for you!!

Your party was fun, your pink hard hat still hangs proudly, and even though I get to see you less, the time that we do get to spend together is always awesome. I know that you're patiently waiting for Uncle Roger to retire so that you two can go on your many adventures (and I can't wait for you to get to do that), but like you say, good things come to those whom are patient and wait. Patience is a virtue. And that other thing, be calm and collected.

Even though that saying doesn't describe not one woman in our family.... but that's besides the point.

I hope that you're having the best time that you can be having right now (you're on vacation right this second, but I meant just your whole life in general), that you're letting the road take you where it may (you can go places throughout the week not just the weekend now!), and I hope that you remember that even though I don't get to spend as much time with you, I still love you to pieces and will eat peanut butter with you like it's going out of style.

Here's to you (and no, I'm not squatting in that picture, it's my pants that make me look like that). I love you and no worries, I'll watch all those gross/scary zombie shows so you don't have to. Xoxo.

Because we were in cahoots.

(This happened the day before New Years Eve and I'm just now getting around to tell you about it..... Oops?!).

Remember when I told you that my cousin Ashley wanted to set me up on a date with a guy that she worked with? And my reaction was all- "hell no, you're smoking crack rock and there's nothing that you can say or do to make me change my mind." Yeah well, cut to a week later with round the clock incessant bothering and I finally caved and was like- "I'll go if you agree to never talk to me again."

We decided that it would be a double date since neither of us had ever met each other (and I'm convinced that everybody is a secret serial killer). The good news is me and dude liked each other enough to be friendly, but not enough to actually date. Plus, I got pizza, onion rings and beer, so all is fair in love and war..... Right?!

His opinion on me: "She's cute and very sweet..... And also, VERY opinionated." Why yes dude, I am very opinionated. Thank you so much for noticing. It just comes naturally to me.

My opinion on him: "He's nice and has pretty teeth..... And also, I think he would rather have a boyfriend." Which is completely and 100% fine, I just think it's sad that there are still so many people that are hateful out there that people feel like they have to hide their true selves.

Now I know that I hate dating for a fact (I was pretty sure that I did, but needed to confirm it) and Ashley leaves us both alone. All in all, I think dude and I totally win. Here's looking at you, kid.

I wanted to put my face in my hands and just shake my head.

(Sometimes people are so dumb it makes my brain hurt).

Momma and I dropped Greg off at work on Wednesday and wanted to swing by to get us a fountain drink and look at a couple houses. We turned on a side road to cut through to the gas station instead of going down to the stoplight and passed a truck broke down on the side of the road. There was a girl in it, probably around my age, so we stopped and asked her if she needed some help.
She informed us that her grandpa was on his way to tow her truck and that she was just trying to push it into the parking lot up the ways a little so it wouldn't be on the side of the road. She asked if I would help and I said sure. I got out of our car to go to the back of her truck and push it and she fell out of her truck.

And I don't mean she went to step out and lost her footing. I mean she legit- FELL.

I went around the truck to make sure she was ok and that's when I realized that this girl was messed up. And not your "I'm just having a really bad day" kind of messed up, but the "I've consumed too much alcohol and whatever drugs that I'm taking" kind of messed up. And the only thing that kept repeating in my head was when Dyer used to repeat that saying- "She's tore up from the floor up". And I always thought that it was a dumb saying, but now I understand it. It was made for this girl that I was looking at.

I decided to still help her push her truck just a bit and next thing I know, she put that shit in neutral and was standing behind it with me. I asked her- "Who in the hell is steering?" And she answered with something along the lines of- "Bushkujhduqahjbhcebhkwbdujknsj -insert pause- jkhagbdloqjnfjkmfp". So, I asked her when her grandpa was going to be there to get her and the truck and she informed me that she hadn't really called him yet. I asked how he was supposed to know that he was coming to get her then and she didn't have an answer, she just paused for a really long time.

Then two cop cars pulled up behind us. Now, I'm perfectly fine with police officers, I think that there are a few assholes out there (like with all other things in life), but for the most part, I think that they're good people that get the rough end of the stick.

This girl did not share my sentiment.

She turned around and marched to the front of the truck and sat down in it. Which was fairly hilarious considering the fact that she had to hold onto the steering wheel and seat to stay upright. The female officer passed me and went to her and the male officer (who was a massive guy) asked me what was going on. I told him that Momma and I had seen her broke down and stopped to try and help her. He asked- "So, you're not together?" And I said no and he was like- "Got you".

During this the other officer had started asking this girl questions and the first thing out of her mouth was- "I just got out of rehab. I haven't relapsed".

Oh, honey.

She was so dumb at that moment that I actually wanted to take pity on her. I wanted to take her aside and tell her- "Honey, don't you know when you're clearly inebriated on God knows what, you don't say the words rehab or relapse to a police officer? Unless they ask it and your denying, those words should never come up". And I wanted to buy her a cup of coffee. I wanted to do none of this as much as I wanted to smack my forehead and shake my head at her though.

The officer that I had been talking to then looked at me and said- "You can go, thank you for trying to help her, but we've got it from here". I feel like that was code for: "This bitch is going to jail". Which is probably true considering the fact that when we drove back by on our way home, nothing was there. No cops, no cars, no truck and definitely no girl. All Momma and I could do was look at each other and shake our heads.

Bless her heart.

My brother and his brood.

Friday night my brother, his girlfriend, their three kids (technically his step kids), and their dog all came up to spend the night. Plus, Solae. Do that math. That equals out to four adults, four children, two dogs, and a partridge in a pear tree crammed into our teeny tiny two bedroom apartment.

Shoot. Me. Now.

I barely survived and my brother is an ass. That is all.

That time I did Zumba and almost didn't recover.

So, last Friday (the sixth) I did something that I never thought that I would do. I actually let Dani talk me into going to Zumba with her. Do y'all know what Zumba is? If not, I'll tell you. Actually, I'll let Wikipedia, because if I tell you it's going to have many more expletives. Just saying.

Now that you know what it is, can you really imagine me doing this? If not, you would be completely accurate. I was a, for lack of a better word, maniac. The fact that I have absolutely no arm/feet coordination was not a surprise to me. I mean, I haven't had it almost 25 years, so why start now? Right?! Everyone knows this about me. It's never by any means been a secret.

I ran into people. I followed the wrong steps. I shook my butt so hard at one point that I thought I was going to fall over. What can I say? I have alot of ass to shake. Also, can we just talk about how hot it gets in those places? SO. HOT. The class was 1.5 hours long and it was to raise money for the American Heart Association. And although I don't think that I will ever do it again, at least I have no immediate plans, I have to say that it was kind of fun. Hell, they let you dance to Bruno Mars.

After I got home from Zumba, my entire body ached, so I popped a couple excedrin and did a few shots, and then Momma and I went to Wal-Mart to pick up a couple things. And so I could have an amazing photo-op with a giant stuffed giraffe. That I named Steve. (Unknowingly after Bennett's brother. What?! I didn't know that was his name!) And when I woke up Saturday morning, I had to take more meds and drink, because- Ouch.  

This is why

[Let me be frank. Plus, I love the name Frank. Sorry.] I haven't dated in a really long time. The last relationship that I was in really did a number on me, for the plain fact that it made me look at things and re-evaluate the decisions that I had been making in that department. After I broke up with him and moved, I decided that I wouldn't date for awhile. I thought to myself- I'll just take some "me" time, there is no since in rushing into anything. I'm not ready for it, nor do I want it. I want to figure out what I want out of a relationship, or if I even want one at all. To me, those are important decisions that one should ask their self.

That was nearly two years ago. I still ask myself those questions and I'm no closer to finding the answer. It has nothing to do with the idiot that I was with, because Lord knows I don't think about him unless someone brings him up, but rather the fact that I want to make the right decisions in my future relationships. I don't want to date someone just so I can be one of those girls that has a boyfriend. I don't want to give up things that I love and do things that I don't want to do. Maybe that sounds spoiled and I'm being completely irrational, but that's how I feel.

I'm not saying that's what all relationships are like. I'm not that jaded. But there are a lot of people that change and completely lose their own identities when they're with someone else. I don't want to be one of those people. I might not have everything figured out. Actually, far from it, but I do know what I do and do not want.

Be prepared. I'm about to sound like a completely horrible person. Sorry, but I'm not sorry. 

I don't want to live with someone. I think that people should have to live together before marriage to see if they're compatible. Just my opinion. Well, I've done the whole living together thing on two separate occasions. You know what I learned? I learned that I don't like living with my significant other. Nope. I don't like the idea of waking up with them every single morning, and seeing them every single day, and going to bed looking at them every night. Sorry, I just can't do it. It's not in me. If I really like that person and love spending time with them, then that is great! However, I like my own personal time, alone, to do what I like to do. I like going where I please, when I please, and not having to "check in" with someone when I do.

I don't want to get married. Let's talk marriage, shall we? I don't like the idea of it. For me. I think for certain people marriage is a lovely, healthy, wonderful thing. Sometimes the universe can't have made two people more perfect to be married to each other. But me? I have no desire to be married. I never have. You know how they talk about little girls planning their weddings with barbies and coloring books? I was not one of those little girls. I was the other little girl that was running after her big brother and his friends, because they would all piggy back me. I didn't want to marry them, I just wanted them to carry my chunky little butt around. Like I said you should live together before marriage, and I don't like the thought of either.

I don't want kids. I know, I know. The entire universe just came together for one collective gasp of horror. But I'm just speaking the truth here. I'm not a kid kind of person. I came to terms with this fact a long time ago. I'm not one of those women that's "motherly instinct" kicks in at any given moment. In fact when a kid is hurt and they need help, I don't leave them laying there bleeding or anything, but my first thought is- "How would we fix this in the nursing home?" I try to be good with them, I really do, but I'm just not. I can barely keep my own shit together and remember to wear pants. Add to that? No, thanks. I want to be able to go home to relax in my pjs and watch TV.  

I've done the dating thing and the relationship thing. I don't seem to be very good at either. I've tried and put a lot of effort in. But every time I think about getting super serious with someone I panic. Literally, panic. One time I was talking to a friend of mine at work about it and puked and had a full blown panic attack. Why? Because the prospect of it was so daunting and overwhelming. She said it's because I've never really been in love.

All I know is I know what I want. Finding that? Completely different story. I want someone that's sweet, kind, caring, compassionate, honest and really into me. Is that so much to ask? I don't go for looks. Looks fade and then you're stuck with an asshole the rest of your life. Looks are over-rated in my opinion. I don't care nothing for them when it comes to dating. I mean, I'm not exactly what you would call attractive, so why should I think someone else should look like Jude Law? I don't. Maybe I'm weird, I don't know, but I could care less what someone looks like. However, finding those other traits in a guy is impossible too. I basically just want someone who wants to hang out, watch TV and have sex with only me. Among other things. Is that so much to ask for? Apparently, it is.  

Why am I telling y'all all of this? I should really stop, but I can't.

Now, if you get passed all of that stuff I'm an even bigger mess. Remember when I said that I'm a horrible dater? I was not exaggerating. I really, truly am. I get super nervous and about fifty million questions run through my head. Questions like: What if he's a serial killer? Hey, you laugh, but it's a real thing. Ever watched Criminal Minds? Read about BTK? Googled the Craigslist killer? I don't care how well you think you know a person, looks can be extremely deceiving. What do I wear? Everyone knows that I'm not exactly the most fashion forward girl for my age. Maybe it's from where I haven't dated that much, but I have no clue what to wear on one. Is jeans to casual? Is a dress too much? Flats? Heels? Well, I can't wear heels anyways, but still. Like I said, I'm not what you would call "attractive" anyways, so what the hell do you wear? Can I order the fajitas instead of a salad? I like salad. Salad is delicious and nutritious, and I could eat it all the time. But say we're out and the restaurant had shrimp fajitas. I love shrimp fajitas. So, can I order them without being overly-judged, or is the proper thing to do mean ordering the salad? What's the ladylike thing for this particular impasse?  

Do I pay for the date? I know that traditionally the guy pays for the date. I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know all of that. However, all the guys (which isn't that many) that I've dated (except one) had me pay. So, have I just dated a bunch of losers? Or are the girls supposed to pay for everything now? I mean, I don't want to seem horrible, and I don't mind paying my way, but I was always told growing up by everyone that that's the guy's thing. I also don't want him to feel weird, so what do I do? If we "hit it off" and I'm into him, how soon is "too soon" so I don't look like a skank? Like I said, ladylike. However, it's been a really, really long time. TMI? I know what I look like naked, it's not very appealing. Can I ask to keep the lights out? I see me naked everyday. A couple times a day actually, and I don't see anything impressive and/or appealing, so what's the guidelines on this? What? Can I ask to keep the lights out? Turn the lights out? Or wing it? Do I let them see everything? I'm not ok with that. I get nervous just thinking about it. No, thank you. How much do I tell him? I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I mean, why stop now, right? Like I said, I've dated. But I'm not exactly that "experienced" if you catch my drift. I'm sure you do by now. I mean, I've been told that everything I do is great, but I don't really know. I was a late bloomer and get embarrassed when it comes to my own situations, so what? Do I tell them that or do I just wing it and let them think what they will? Further more, should I read up on this stuff? Or something?

If I could just find a real nice guy that I could hang out with and be real good friends with, that would be great. I don't think that's gonna happen either though. So?