Packing

There are not words to express today. 

At least not words for polite company. 

^_-

To summarize: Packed. Lifted. Carried. Packed. Played tetris by fitting boxes and dressers and tables into a car. Brought Nellie-kitten to the park-and-ride and picked her back up after she was at PetCo to try to get adopted. Brought Billy-kitten to the veterinary because he has persistent diarrhea that is not going away with regular treatments. Tried to find a new foster home for babies. Failed. Ran out of kitten food. Drove to Nick's, ate delicious turkey chili and cornbread. Drove Nick to my house, watched Alice in Wonderland with Johnny Depp (amazing!) and made chewy chocolate chip cookies to bribe people to help us move tomorrow. Drove us back to his. Packed more. Drove home. Cleaned. 

WE MOVE TOMORROW HOLY CRAP. 

At nine tomorrow morning Nick and I will be at our apartment filling out paperwork and getting keys and giving them money. At ten or ten thirty our parents will show up with tightly packed trucks and SUV's. We will begin to move. Will probably get tired. I will offer cookies and beg them to keep lifting the heavy things so I don't have to. Katie will lift heavy things. Then eat a cookie or five. 

This time tomorrow night Nick and I will be in our first ever apartment. WHEEEEEEE!!! 

Perfume and Poop

You know what one of the most horrifying smells in the world is? 

Perfume and poop. 

. . .  . . .  . . . 

. . . yes. You see, my last two foster kittens Billy and Nellie were diagnosed with coccidia, a nasty intestinal parasite that causes horribly stinky diarrhea and an apparent inability to make it to the litter box. I've found stinky little piles of pudding diarrhea in my closet, on my pillow cover, in the downstairs closet, behind the guest bed, next to the litter box, and on the bathroom rug. It's so bad that while I was taking a bath today I was trying to figure out what that awful smell was--I was sniffing my armpits, looking for mildew, making sure there wasn't cat poop behind my head . . . and finally realized that it was a few paper towels in the trash that had some diarrhea residue on them. That's how strong the smell is. 

So, that's the poop part, which is damn well bad enough on it's own. Here's where the perfume comes in: 

After I organized my room I realized I needed to put the cat food bowl somewhere else since I had gotten rid of the huge bookshelf where it had been kept, high up away from our constantly starving dogs. (Who, incidentally, adore kitten poop! Hooray! Instant clean!)

So, for lack of a better place, I put the food bowl on my dresser. It worked very well until recently, when in the middle of the night I was woken up by a crashing sound and then a pervasive smell. Since I was still half-asleep it took me a few minutes to realize that Oz had taken a flying leap onto my dresser and knocked into the food bowl which crashed into my perfume bottles which knocked over my blown glass perfume bottle that was holding some of my Britney Spears In Control perfume. So. I had perfume soaking my dresser, a broken bottle, and a freaked out cat--and a pressing need for sleep. 

Here's where my half-assed procrastination approach really shows. I soaked up some of the perfume, consigned the rest of it dripping down my dresser to a carpeted eternity, covered the glass with paper towels and went back to bed. I still haven't dealt with it. 

BUT. (Hah, puns. I kill me.) The heavy flowery scent of the perfume mingling with the knock-ya-over-with-a-feather odor of the kitten poops is simply awful. So awful that I just had to share. You are WELCOME. 

Resolved

Just turned down a cruise to Europe in favor of getting two AS degrees and being able to afford a couch for our future apartment. Currently in shock. Wondering if I made the right choice. Minutes after hanging up the phone with my aunt to tell her no, thank you, I had a screechy conversation with my mom and Quentin and Troy in which I questioned every part of that decision. Still feeling screechy and like I might pull out my hair.

New Katie Slogan:

I'd rather be in Rome.

Clubbing & Ranting go together like PB&J

Boys are weird. I mean that in the nicest way possible.

 . . . generally. 

I just don't understand them sometimes. Usually I can figure out what's going through their minds (at least as much as I want to, but let's ignore that particular field of land mines, shall we?) My confusion is about boys in clubs, which is probably not the best example of prime gentlemanly specimens. 

See, last Saturday Andra, Anna, and I went out to a club in the city again. 

Here we are after getting ready in my room.

We had a blast! 

Anyhoo, back to the point. Boys at clubs. 

Why Boys at Clubs are Weird and Sometimes Creepy Point the First: 

They do not appear to understand the words, "No, thanks." It doesn't matter if you're telling a guy who just grabbed your hand to try and dance with you, or if you're turning down a drink, they will offer again and again. 

For example, last time, after I told this short dude I didn't want to dance multiple times, even having to come up with reasons when he demanded to know why, he GRABBED MY ARM when I passed by him to go to the bathroom. Not the understandable kind of grab where it's to get your attention because it's loud in here, no, I mean the kind where I was jerked backwards because he grabbed it so hard. So I'm trying to shove my dislocated shoulder back into place, and he leans forward to shout in my ear, "Where ya goin'?!" I gave him my most withering glare and said shortly, "I have to pee." 

(Here I am hugging (propositioning?) Anna, even before my vodka cranberry that is much more expensive than I realized because it was after 11pm and that's apparently when prices go up, yikes-a-doodle.)

Why Boys at Clubs are Weird and Sometimes Creepy Point the Second: 

The term "boyfriend" mysteriously loses it's meaning. Suddenly, instead of, "I have a boyfriend, no thanks," meaning exactly that, it means "Why yes I'm interested, feel free to make a pass!" 

Example: a guy from Romania tried to buy me a drink, asked me a bunch of questions when we were taking a break at the bar, followed us to the stage and danced with me--hands attempting to go places they're most definitely not allowed--and then after we escaped found us at the other side of the club and sat next to me for another ten minutes or so, invited me to San Francisco to go clubbing with him, tried to give me a back rub, and tried and failed to dance with me again. He did all this after I told him that I had a boyfriend, and that his time would be better spent hitting on someone single. At one point I was so frustrated I told him, "I really do have a boyfriend! I'm not making this up, I swear!" 

Why Boys at Clubs are Weird and Sometimes Creepy Point the ThirdFourthFifthGAHIGIVEUP: 

Why would you try to pick up a girl at a club? (Don't answer please). 

There are creepy old dudes (Quentin calls them "creepers") that walk around and stare and try to dance with you. EW, I am decades younger!

Don't ask me my age. I'm wearing a wrist band that means I'm older than 21. Yes, I can drink. No, I don't want you to buy me one. Shoo. 

Why ask my name? Does it matter? Will we run into each other on the street? WARNING: I may make up a dumb stripper name if you ask for mine. 

KEEP. YOUR. HANDS. TO. YOURSELF. I have nails and I know how to use them. 

I do have an awesome time dancing with my girls though! Cheers, ladies! 

P.S. Jeans next time! (I mean it this time, I swear.) 

Introducing . . .

. . . Pirate Kirk.

Katie: So tell me, Pirate Kirk, where did you come from?

PK: My trillion fellow 2009 siblings and I lived in a cardboard box behind the sales counter at Anchor Blue. We used to be sold for $12.95, but at the turn of the year became too old to be sold. Everyone wanted 2010 gorillas!

Katie: So what happened? The INTERNET WANTS TO KNOW, Pirate Kirk.

PK: They gave us away free to good homes after the customers spent over 35 dollars! By the way, my original name was not Pirate Kirk. It was Blue Gorilla.

Katie: Indeed? How did your odd name come to be?

PK: This silly girl in the picture above insisted to someone called "Nick" (obviously a superior species of gorilla as he has more hair than the female, though still not nearly as much as me) that they come up with a suitable name for me.

Katie: She sounds very sensible with impeccable taste! Blue Gorilla is a horribly generic name.

PK: So, she wanted Pirate because I am from Anchor Blue and anchors make her think of ships which equals pirate somehow in her twisted mind. The sensible boy held out for a "K" sounding name because "K" names are superior.

Katie: He is sounding smarter and smarter. I like this fellow!

PK: They tried out endless "K" name varieties but none suited a Blue Gorilla of my intelligence and beauty. Finally, at the end of the car ride, just as the silly female was becoming hysterical and insisting that they decide on a name that was not "Garbage Bag" or the French word for "blue" which sounds like somebody sneezing, she was struck by inspiration. Kirk, for Captain Kirk of Star Trek (obviously) would be the perfect name for me! The ladies love me.

Katie: Thank you, Pirate Kirk, that concludes our interview for tonight. Enjoy your stay at Casa Katie.

Question!

I am debating getting a dwarf hamster. I know my house is already overrun with animals, but I waaaaant one. (I am an impulsive sort of girl. Also an obsessive one.) It all started when on vacation I reread my Mice Guide book from back when I had mice (have had mice, birds, hamsters, fish, cats, dogs, rabbits), and I decided that I wanted a furry four-legged little stinky thing again. Since then I have been debating mouse vs. hamster vs. bird.

So I need advice on whether or not to get one.

First! Mice are stinky. And they eat their babies. They are cute, but I am iffy on them.

Second! Hamsters are cute! And fluffy! They probably eat their babies too, but hey! Nobody's perfect! And they are soooo cute and adorable and fun. They usually live for 1 1/2 to 2 years.



(And this is the cage I would like to get for the hypothetical hamster. Our old cage is stiiiinky).

It has a SLIDE. That you climb up! Too cute! At at the top is the exercise wheel! I love it! Ahem.

Third! Birds are awesome and cool, and if I had one I would try really hard not to let it fly away outside like I did with Rainbow, my old parakeet. (BTW, I would get a parakeet). They are colorful and fun, but my cat would try to kill it. They also live for like 7 plus years, so when I move out in a year(ish) Nick might kill me for bringing a bird. ^_~

Help! Decision time! I need advice! 

Sniff and Awww

I am way too emotional right now methinks: 

First, Kyla is getting married!!! I am so excited for her, and glad that it has finally happened! I can't wait to see her this summer! 

Second, Troy just asked me (he needed a "girly opinion") whether or not for prom if he should get Margie (his girlfriend of 6 months) a corsage or a single rose. We both lean towards the rose because 1) I think corsages are lame, they get squished and distract from your dress, and this is just A Thing that I have, corsages just equal annoying, and 2) we agree that a single rose is very romantic. Aaaaaaghhhh why is my baby brother growing up? 

Sniff. Sniff. Waaahhh!!! 

Scary: Part 2

WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON HERE?! My little community college had a BOMB threat! They evacuated the night classes! Whatever happened to my teeny little town?

Edited to Add: There is a kitten biting my toe. He has very sharp teeth.  

Carry on.