I’ll start off with a fun little story.

Once a upon a long time ago, I dated a man 10 years my senior. Long, tumultuous, 7 year story short, he was more into drugs than he was into me. Cheating was the norm, stealing money became expected, and emotionally damaging comments were just everyday happenings. One day, I grew up and moved on.

My brother has seen this winner of a man in jail a few times, and most recently in a local convenience store. The first thing that the ex asked for was my phone number. Luckily, my brother refused to give it. He then asked how I was, and said that he had heard that I had moved.

To Florida.

To do Porn.

….

I’m not quite sure where this rumor sprung from. Maybe it was the last bag of drugs he ingested. Or, maybe people be talkin’ yo.  I’m not even close to being worried about this little rumor so much as I am amused at it. If he had the mental capacity to Google Me, he’d see exactly what I’m up to: Owning my own business, kicking some ass and learning how to be authentically happy.

My friend, Mister Smalls said that if I had a porn name, it would be “Katie Cock-in-Hand”.

According to the internet Meme, My porn name would be Barney Roberts. (Name of First Pet + Name of The Street You Grew Up On).

Anyway. Just to clear the air, you special person, you.  I am not doing porn in Florida. Sorry about what you heard. Then again, I heard you were clean and off the drugs. So, so much for what we hear, eh?

—

Usually, I’m not a big book reader. Since I am an instantaneous gratification person by nature, I prefer to watch movies rather than read the book because I can watch the flick from beginning to end in about 2 hours.  Then, if I love the movie, I consider reading the book.

This blew up in my face with Dexter, though, since I watched Seasons 1-6, then moved onto the books. Jeff Lindsey, the author of the Dexter series has a very distinct voice that he created for the Dexter character in the book. This voice is nothing like the Dexter that Michael C. Hall has portrayed. So, I’m having a very hard time making it through Dexter the books. I think if I had read the series first, I’d have an appreciation for it. But even though different things occur in the book than in the series, I just can connect to the character on any level.

Last week, due to a recommendation from my best good friend @nessabegood, I started reading the Hunger Games. Since she’s all into Harry Potter, and I couldn’t even get past chapter 3 of the first book, I was hesitant. But she assured me I’d probably like it.

Last Sunday, I picked up the book and I was instantly in love with the voice of the speaker in the book, Katniss. (In the movie, I can totally picture Ellen Page in her Juno Role as Katniss. Seriously.) There was a point in the book where I got a little bored, but my friend insisted  that I just push through. I did, and the story picked up super quickly. I read it from cover to cover in a matter of 7 hours.

Then, I went right on to book number two in the series, Catching Fire. This one kept my attention throughout the entire book. This is probably because I was already familiar with all of the characters by now. There were parts where I chuckled, parts where I cried, and parts where I read it twice because the comment or dialogue was so heartwarming. I finished book 2 in 3 days.

I’m now on the final book in the series, MockingJay, and I’m about 3 chapters in. I plan on dedicating the weekend to finishing it because I really do want to see what happens at the end, since I hear it’s a big ending.

After I get through the Hunger Games trilogy, I plan on having tons of discussions with friends about it. I’d actually be interested in joining a bookclub, maybe.

Regardless, my friend, Vanessa and I have already started talking about what we want to move onto next. We  decided to try out the Sookie Stackhouse novels. Since I’ve seen just 2 Seasons of True Blood, and don’t really remember the details, I think I’ll enjoy the books, or I hope to.

I love that I’ve learned to love reading again. I’ve loved it since I was a child, but with how busy life gets, it’s so easy to ignore. But the accomplishment and satisfaction I feel after completing a book is completely worth it. Plus, one of my favorite things about reading books, is the discussion you can have with your friends about it. I forgot how much I love doing that.

What are YOU reading right now? Do you have any recommendations?

Let’s have a little pow-wow, yeah?

I’ve been absent from a lot of my commitments lately. Like, the #vodkagirls, the Twitter, and even here on good old Katie Blogs.com. I even cancelled a trip to Austin to spend time with some incredible fellow bloggers + friends.

It happens.

This has happened before. I get all caught up in stuff, and I apologize profusely and vow to try harder, do better and to be around more.

Not happening today, cupcakes.

I’ve learned something during my few weeks out of the spotlight. It’s a little thing called Fierce Love.

It all started in the beginning of November. I was in the middle of an Asthma attack while visiting my mom and her husband who are both smokers. I was laying in bed, and I could feel my lungs filling with smoke. My chest tightened, my eyes watered, and my legs were shaking. Something as simple and automatic as breathing became something that I had to focus on, and even that was becoming more difficult.

I’ve had asthma attacks before, but never like this. Of course, I did what any right minded person would do: I tweeted. Not long after, I raced outside for air. As if out of no where, a major asthma attack became severe.

I won’t discuss the happenings from the moment I walked back into my mom’s house to the time I called my friend in a panic to come pick me up. We’ll say the events were emotionally charged. But the end result was that I left the situation – something I never do.

I’m a hang-tough kind of girl. I have a high tolerance for pain, and the endurance to withstand a lot of stress. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. The truth is that I put up with a lot of unnecessary crap – and my soul, my inner-self takes a beating. Daily.

Each time a choose someone else’s happiness over mine, each time I allow someone to speak to me disrespectfully or talk down to me, each time I say ‘yes’ when I mean ‘no’, each time I say ‘no’ when I mean ‘yes’, a piece my inner-self dies inside.

One day I woke up, and I realized that my inner-self, my true-self was almost completely deflated. She was too tired of being ignored to want to show up for life. I felt unlike myself, like I was a product of what everyone else was wanting of me.

When I left my mother’s that night in November 2011, I breathed life into my soul when I walked out the door. I walked to the end of the block, and my tears had dried. My inner-self (who I’m working on naming, FYI) let out a weak, but appreciative ‘Thank You.” I made an important decision that night.

I chose myself.

Since that night, I’ve been actively taking a time out and examining myself everyday. It hasn’t been easy. When your inner-self is so used to taking the back seat and you bring her immediately to the front of the stage, there’s a certain amount of fear that comes along with it. I battle daily with the voice inside that tells me I’m letting people down; but I really need to focus on myself.  Swallowing those feelings is difficult. Not gonna lie, yo.

So, I want to blog more. I want to be more active on the Social Media, I want to check in with my #vodkagirls. But right now, I need you to trust me. I’m exactly where I need to be, which is exactly where I am.

My weeks are spent working, reading, spending time with my dad, and watching television. I’m taking more things in. And I have more energy and desire to give in the process.

The biggest lesson I’ve learned: It’s wonderful to have goals. It’s great to have a list of things to accomplish.  However, I don’t have to wait for those things to happen in order to love myself. I don’t have to earn love. I deserve it.

Today, one of the absolute best programs ever to grace the internet is being launched. The Fierce Love  program is a product of  @stratejoy and is the basis of my realizations over the last few months. Brilliant, eh? If you’re lookin’ for some Fierce Self Love, then totally check it. There’s really no better gift to give yourself. You deserve it. 

This is totally what I look like when you e-mail me with NOT junk mail. Less the facial hair. Most days.

My mailbox is always full. And I hate it.

When I wake up in the morning and check Maximus, I expect to have anywhere between 15-25 e-mails waiting.

(I finally named my iPhone. I know you’re judging me. I’m okay with that. But just make sure you reference my iPhone as Maximus or ‘Max’ from here on on, mmmmkay?)

I’m a member of every coupon related website so they send me loving e-mails asking me to buy $50 worth of chicken for $15.

(Which I usually don’t. Now PANCAKES, I’m all over that like syrup on…well, Pancakes.)

I also belong to a number of high-fashion related websites. (Hi, Old Navy! Hi Target!).

And then there’s the Marketing e-Mails that I never read. And the Wine Newsletters that I delete. And the blogs that I subscribe to via e-mail, even though I read them via reader. And the bills that I ask for via e-mail that I never pay.

I joke.

The check is in the mail.

Note to self: Send check.

But you know, I wish my physical mailbox would have a few extra letters in it.

Actually, I wish my e-mail box would have a few extra focused, targeted e-mails. And I’m not talking about notification that I have 20 games of Words With Friends, Hanging With Friends and Scramble with Friends waiting for me. I mean actual e-mails. With real words. That start off: “Dear Katie!” and don’t continue with “Buy THIS!!” or “Read THAT” or “Here’s how you make him hot for you.”

Wait, what?

(Maybe I’ll keep those e-mails. I have my eye on my pharmacist. True story.)

The last time I checked, there was a complaint of snail mail losing it’s fancy due to e-mail. Now, due to the Social Media shiz and text messaging, people aren’t sending e-mails anymore, they’re sending Pokes and @replys and #hashtags. Maybe the occasional chat message. But even e-mail has lost its personal touch.

Some might disagree with me, and those are the people that probably send e-mails and continuously interact with their friends. I’m guilty of not doing that, I admit it. My e-mails are limited to client interaction and business. E-mail has lost its excitement for me. Instead of being excited to check e-mail, I silently dread it. I’ve come to expect my e-mail box to be filled with junk. Since I’m not putting any positive things out into the mail-o-sphere, I’m not expecting anything in return.

I don’t even like the way that sounds.

So today, as I wrote this post, I unsubscribed from 6 e-mails that I never read, and turned off e-mail settings from another 4. That’s 10 less e-mails per day. How lovely it will be to wake up to 5 e-mails, instead of the regular 15. It’ll probably take a few days to get off the list from other e-mails, but at least I’ll be excited to get e-mail so I can unsubscribe from it.

But that’s not all.

Today starts the 202 project.

Starting today, I’m committing  to reaching out 202 times throughout 10-ish months. To friends. To relatives. To strangers. 101 e-mails. 101 hand-written notes. 1 goal: To bring back the personal connections in my life and to rid my life of day-after-day of disengaging, unfeeling e-mail exchanges.

If you’re the recipient of one of my notes/e-mails, please don’t consider it just a step toward a goal. I’m not sending an e-mail/note unless I WANT to. I want to know that these 202 notes are sent with good intent.

Business e-mails or e-mails about working do not count. Only e-mails with 100+ words of personal interaction will be counted. I’ll be keeping a list of dates and methods of communication sent and also any random notes because, well, it’s my party.

I might throw together a cute little page with a cute little graphic so everyone can cutely keep up. I better get on THAT part quick because WTF Picnik is closing! Even though it’s not so much about reaching 202 (though that would be incredible) so much as it is making it a habit for me to express myself more fully, being grateful for personal responses, and initiating conversations with the people that I appreciate the most, even strangers!

(Except for people on SEPTA. They don’t like to talk. But they do like to pee on the back of the bus. Remind me to tell you that story next time.)

Also, if we haven’t spoken in a hot minute, or you’ve been wanting to contact me, you should totally do it. Well, wait. Don’t do it because you want me to reach a goal. Do it because you want to talk to me, AND because it helps me reach a goal AND you have an amazing joke for me. I’ve already heard every Helen Keller joke, so leave her out of it. But follow her on the Twitter.

By this time next year, I want to have gotten the tendency to write short, impersonal e-mails to people who matter out of my daily habits. I want to renew my connections. You guys are leaving me comments, and I’m not answering them. Sending me e-mails and I’m leaving them “Unread”. Responding to e-mails with brief one-liners, but I have tons more to say to you.

Shit. I suck.

202, baby.

Happy Almost Valentine’s Day. Or, for my fellow single-ladies and gents, Happy Almost Singles Awareness Day.

Did you ever notice that the abbreviation for Single’s Awareness Day is SAD*? I’d go into a long schpeal about how this is bull and needs to be changed, and then come up with a new name for Single’s Awareness Day so that it spelled something better than SAD. But, you know something?

Wait for it…

…Valentine’s Day is abbreviated VD**.

Take that, sucka!

In light of this glorious realization, I will carry on my merry way this Valentine’s Day knowing that I may be doing the SAD thing, but I don’t have VD.

It’s the little things.

If you’re not single, and you’re not in a happy relationship, then you’re in a miserable relationship that you desperately want out of, but just lack the desire to do it. Maybe you’re lazy. Maybe you didn’t realize you were miserable. Maybe you think you can’t get better.

Whatever.  You want out. Now.

Valentine’s Day is the perfect day to dump your significant other because the mere fact that you dumped him/her will make you even MORE of a jerk, and you’ll be less likely to get the “Let’s Get Back Together” phone call while you’re sleeping at 3AM with his/her best friend next to you. (Note: Get your key back, too!)

When you’re lacking the right words to dump your dopey less-than-dreamy date, there’s a gift for that.

Behold:

A Pizza Hut Engagement

If you’re all up in the news, you’ve probably seen this thing. For a mere 10k, Pizza Hut will give you everything you need to make your proposal one she’ll never forget, but will try to for years and years to come – includes: a ruby ring (ooooh!), a Limo, Flowers (aahhhh!) , Fireworks (boooom!), and a $10 pizza box (nommmm!).

The funny/crappy part: They’re not even giving you the pizza for free. The price of this is $10,010. They include the price of the pizza box.

The only appealing part of this is the fireworks, that is if they’re even REAL fireworks.

Get this gift if you want to get dumped in under 20 minutes, guaranteed.

The benefit: You have comfort food ready to go as she walks out your door.

A brand new STD.***

Before you get crazy on me, go and check out what I mean. I’ll wait.

….

SEE? I mean a STUFFED STD.

Admit it. Chlamydia is sorta cute.

I agree that the STD thing might be a little extreme. But they do have other diseases and stuff. Like the flu. And head lice. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want stuffed strep throat?!

I do back up my claims that this is a great gift for the right person.  I have a  stuffed HIV and stuffed Syphilis. My friends give good gifts. I personally would give you a high-five if you gave me this as a Valentine’s Gift. Others may give you a high-five, to the face, with a bat.  But since being dumped is what we’re going for, we’re winning!

The Benefit: You get to keep the STD without ANY of the side effects.

Bonus: They have stuffed treatments for some of the diseases. Like Penicillin.

The Gift of Reading

Okay. I may or may not have just bought the .99 Kindle Edition just to read this. #noshame

AND NOW, THE MOTHER-LOAD. – If everything else fails, THIS will do the trick.

Hooded Spandex Full Body Binder Sack

Yep, you read it correctly.

There is no explanation. The photo does this one justice.

If you don’t get dumped for lying on the bed in this hooded body bag, then you’re surely be getting dumped for your choice in bedding. Guys, make sure the bedding at the hotel room isn’t circa Woodstock.

I also recognize that headboard. I think that’s the same one my parents had. That gives this photo a whole new level of freakish for me.

Honorable Mention – (aka Back-Up Plans!)
Let’s Break Up – Mp3

Flush Your Ex Down The Toilet and Move On – Book

Sex for Dummies – Book

How to lose weight and get healthy, even if you’re lazy – Book

I now have a new obsession for bad Valentine’s Day Gifts. You should share the worst one you’ve ever gotten with me.

The last time I had butterflies was about three years ago. Ironically I can’t remember why.

As I sat outside the hall to where I was about to give my presentation, I watched college students as they passed by me in their college gear, traveling to their next class. Some complained about a professor’s assignment. Others laughed and compared notes.

I asked a guy walking buy where the building was that I was looking for. He pointed right to it and said he’d walk me over. And he did.

I was pretty early for my speaking engagement. Fear of getting lost made me leave an hour early just to be sure. So I pulled up a seat on the concrete ledge outside the building with my backpack on, my planner in hand, and waiting for the right moment to enter.

The second I walked in, it smelled just like I remembered it – like school. School’s have a smell. It’s the smell of winning, yo. But seriously, the smell of that floor cleaner that they use, maybe the smell of wood doors. I don’t know, but the smell was there. And as I walked the narrow halls, I knew that this was where I wanted to be.

Among other intellectual people. I don’t want to work from home forever. I love the income, I love being able to buy a new iPod, or TV, or clothes whenever I want. But I finally realize that truly, money isn’t happiness. I want to cram for tests. I want to have study groups. I want to work with professors for extra credit. (only if they’re hot.)

I want my degree. I want my piece of the pie.  And if I ever feel the need to be reminded. The University is only a quick train ride away, and I’ll just roam the halls for a moment.

I had a feeling that I belonged. I had a feeling I could be someone. 

On or around this date 12 years ago, when all of my other friends were smoking, underage drinking, and having cyber sex,  I joined a Message Board.

Yes, a message board.

It was on this message board, at 16 years old, that I interacted with people twice my age and others somewhat closer to my age. I couldn’t believe that there were people out there whom I had never met, who actually gave a shit about me. But they did. It was exactly what I needed at a time in my life when nothing made sense.   I was never made to feel younger than anyone. They listened to my ramblings about the guy was dating. They opened their ears, they advised, they cared.

Before them, I used to spend hours with Dr. Sbaitso on my Tandy computer.

Of course, this was way before interacting with people you had “never met” was cool.  Meetups and Blogger Conferences didn’t exist yet. Friends that I had the courage to tell about my “online friends” never understood. I tried to get my “Real Life” friends to join the crew, but it wasn’t their thing. So, it was just me and the tons of older brothers and sisters.

I’ve since lost touch with all but about 4 of them. Writing this post actually inspired me to reach out to a few of them in particular.

I found an old online journal that I had back in 2002 and I spent the majority of my weekend reading it from start to finish.

It was bittersweet. Reading my own thoughts and words surrounding my high school drop-out time was tough. I made ridiculous decisions in the name of what I thought was love, which was more like “attention”.

I was a desperate little girl back then. Hanging tightly to any rope of attention someone would throw my way, and praying that my parents would pay MORE attention to me, just see me and make me feel loved and not so alone.*

I’ve come a long way since then. I don’t think I’d ever allow someone’s opinion of me determine how I was going to live my life. The people I surround myself with people that lift me up with I’m feeling down. I’ve gotten stronger; a large portion of this strength I attribute to writing – and that community of amazing people who accepted me.

The day that I was invited to share my life happenings with a bunch of strangers who quickly became friends was the day that this blogger was born. My success in blogging, my thirst for connections, my love for social media, I owe a great amount of to that group of people for welcoming me in with open arms and giving me permission to share my world with them.

To my long-lost family – Thank you. This…all of this, my life is thanks to you and your making me feel at home and a part of something. If you had never encouraged me to share my feelings, I would have kept them bottled up and gone batshit crazy. Well, more crazy than I am now, yo.

So, happy 12 year anniversary of blogging and online community involvement to me, and a great big ‘thanks’ to all of you, for keeping me strong, helping me trek forward, and welcoming me into your lives.

Here’s to another 12 years, baby!

*I don’t blame my Mom or my Dad for anything that happened to me. I just felt as any other child of divorce felt, left out and lonely. My decisions were just that, my decisions. I do wish they were more involved in them, but I would have done what I wanted anyway.

I like to spend at least one day per week with my dad. Whether it’s an impromptu breakfast or a trip to Walmart to check out the $5 DVDs, I value the time with dear old dad.

Like any good daughter,  whenever I talk to him, I ask my dad “What do you need?” and he always says “The winning lottery #s”.

The funny (or tragic) part is that my dad DID win the lottery about 20 years ago. Or, he almost did. Each and every Tuesday and Thursday, he played the same lottery numbers. One Thursday, he worked overtime and didn’t play them. That night, his numbers came out.

If you ever meet my dad, he’ll tell you this story. He tells it much better with so much more dramatic effect.

Recently, my old man has been changing up his request for lottery numbers. Now, when I ask him what he wants, he says “A new life.”

Break my heart, old man, why don’t you?

Dad has been going through a tough time with my brother, and the typical senior citizen Social Security / Pension Check discrepancies that many people complain about. Of course he’s almost 76 years old, so his health is slowly failing too. It gets him down. I know he wants me to move home, but he knows I need to be in the city for my own sanity. Don’t get me wrong, when my dad is rendered incapable of caring for himself, I’ll pack my things, break whatever lease I’m in, and be at his side. Right now is not the time.

I’d be lying if I said that when he pulls the whole “I want a new life” it doesn’t make me want to move home. I don’t ask him why he wants a new life. I feel like that’s feeding into his desire to be negative. It’s important for him to let his feelings out, but I refuse to have a pity party.

Call me a harsh daughter, but I’m trying to instill positive thinking into my Dad.

I saw Dad for breakfast on Friday. As usual, we wandered into WalMart to scope out which DVDs we could get. As we were walking around, checking out the electronics, I asked him if he wanted anything. True to form he said “A New Life.”

This time, I broke the pattern, I (kindly) asked “What the heck do you mean ‘A new life’”? I knew I was about to open a can of worms and I was going to have to listen to a half hour of his list of complaints; from the nominal (McDonalds forgot to give me egg on my McMuffin!) to the big (I’m having a hard time breathing. They want me to go on oxygen).

I prepared myself.

I had to repeat myself, because dad wasn’t answering my question. “Dad,” I said,  ”Why do you want a new life? What’s wrong?”

“Because,” he said, “I’m running out of time in this one. I want to reset the clock.”

(curve ball, Dad, eh?)

Trying to hold back tears, I asked, “Do you regret anything from your life?”

“That I never learned to read. Smoking for 40 years. And for not kicking [name redacted]*’s ass for making you feel that you were unlovable for even one second.”

“HA! It’s fine. I’ve mentally kicked his ass a ton of times for the both of us.”

“Oh, and I really really regret not playing the friggin’ lottery 20 years ago.”

It might seem like a trivial conversation, but this was a game-changer. I know my dad is older, but I never thought of it as his time is running out. He went on to tell me that being older means you go to bed hoping that you wake up the next day. He said that he wonders when he drops me off if it’s the last time he’ll see me.

He now gets his favorite meal whenever he goes out, says he loves me before we hang up, says ‘yes’ to a glass of wine, and will accept an invitation to go to Atlantic City with his friends. He’s living a life according to what he wants, because he doesn’t know when he’ll drink his last cup of coffee, catch his last fish, or put his last coin into his (really annoying) slot machine bank.

Here, I thought I was the one instilling positive thinking in my dad. Clearly, it’s the other way around. As it should be.

*see how grown up I am? I don’t even throw ex boyfriends on public blast anymore. Dad must be proud.

I spent my day between the bathroom and the sofa.  For some reason, I decided to tune into the Lifetime Movie Network, also known as LMN, also known as “Chick Flick Capital.” I put it on initially to have something to fall asleep to. Vicodin extra strength makes me sleepy. I was going to take a drive, because that also makes me want to sleep, but I figured TV didn’t require me to put on pants. At least until my roommates come home.

The thing with LMN is that the movie is either a psychological thriller or a chick flick. From what I’ve seen, there really is no in between. I tend to ignore the love, sappy shit. I just don’t see the purpose in watching two little love birds canoodle over each other for 2 hours. Love birds ruin my walks through the city with their lip wrestling and back scratching. I don’t need them to ruin my television experience too.

It’s not that I hate love. I don’t. I like to think I’ve been in it once or twice. (7  if you count Ricky Martin, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Ralph Fiennes, Michael C. Hall, and the guy from LaBamba). I just don’t like an overwhelming amount of it. Even when I’m in the real relationship, I don’t like cuddly-time all the time.  I need some Katie-Alone time, or some Let’s-Do-Something-Different time. Basically I need a balance of love VS other stuff. It’s why I adore shows like Dawson’s Creek. There’s love, but there’s also serious fights at the creek, frosted tips, and emotional events that get this face.

SEE.

BALANCE.

So, yeah, I decided to watch a movie on LMN today; “Listen to Your Heart”.  I won’t ruin the movie for you, but the premise is that this guy who’s a waiter falls in love with a girl who is hearing impaired and controlled by her over-protective mother. There’s the typical struggle to be together, the “climax” an hour or so in, and then the 2nd hour of the movie where shit gets super serious to the point where I was doubled over crying.

Yep. Katie was crying. Not just crying. More like wailing. More than Titanic. More than Armageddon. More than Old Yeller. More than the Finale of Dawson’s Creek and the episode of Saved by the Bell where Zack and Kelly go to the prom as Romeo and Juliet. More than YOU cried at the Notebook. There may have been a point where I was balled on the floor.

The movie made me feel all the things. It might have been one of those “Cashing in my saved up tears” moments.  It was just one of those movies that I assume hit me at a weird time, especially since I have more medication in me than Michael Jackson.

(No, it’s not too soon. And I have a free pass since I’m going to see the Cirque De Soliel show.)

I’ve always had a connection with movies and songs. This is more than likely because when I was younger, I loved TV and Music and whenever my parents were arguing, I’d disappear in Milli Vanili, Celine Dion and Unsolved Mysteries.

(I know, this girl had awesome taste. They don’t teach that kind of taste in school.)

The big thing that I took out of the movie was that you really need to find out what you love and do it. Have hope that things will work out. Push through the shitty times. Bask in the good times. Believe in yourself. Know your talents. Let others love you. Surrender to the happiness.

I know, everyone is preaching this stuff.  You know that whole thing where people could tell you the same thing over and over and over again; dozens or hundreds of times and you nod your head, and try to adopt the way of thinking, but it doesn’t stick? And then you have this unexpected experience that leads to a monumental ground breaking realization. Even though the message is the same, and the lesson is the same, once you learn it on your own, it sounds completely and totally different than anything you’ve ever heard before. No matter how many times you’ve heard it, it’s a brand new realization that’s all sparkly, shiny, and heavenly. Like the perfect combination of wine and cheese.

Yeah, it was something like that.

*Photo Credit: [IMDB]

So, there’s this thing.

I get overwhelmed when I don’t finish all the things that need to be done. I’m an instant gratification person, which is probably why I don’t watch TV show seasons until they’re over…so that I don’t have to wait a week to see the next episode. And probably why I don’t cook often and opt to go and get a sandwich at the deli next door. I want all the things right away. Like the great big-daddy Jay-Z said, “I got no patience, and I hate waitin”.

Katie Goes Crazy (also the title of my first book, I’ve decided) about open ended and never-ending things has been a very common occurrence in my life as far back as I can remember.

When I was in Kindergarten, my teacher gave me extra work and a special reading group because I could read advanced words like “Because” instead of words like “Cat” like the other kids. From a young age, I knew the difference between their, there and they’re, so apparently that equated to giving me extra homework and projects. Discrimination, yo.

Anywho, the feeling of having more work than everyone else began in Kindergarden and progressed through middle school. There was always another math problem to solve (long division can suck it!), or another book report to write (Cry, The Beloved Country can suck it!). No sooner did I finish it all, I’d go to class the next day and get more stuff to do.

As I grew older and started jobs, the same trend occurred. I’d prove myself capable of completing everything, so I’d be given more work until I was inundated with more stuff than I could handle, or that anyone could handle, I’d say. I mean, SURE I can take on a new project when I have 30 others to do. I’m a superhero! I can do it all!

About 2 months ago, I had the idea to get everything on my to-do list done, including a project that took me 48 hours of straight work to (almost) complete. Thanks to tons of coffee and Big Bob, the project was completed. But I suffered for three days afterward catching up on sleep. Having things left undone at the end of the day makes me feel like I’ve failed miserably.I don’t really enjoy my downtime as much as I should because I’m constantly thinking of what I could be doing, or that my inner critic thinks I should be doing.

Even Dance Moms hasn’t been enjoyable for me. What the heck?

Being the ‘idea girl’ that i am, I thought I could solve this whole ‘hating having a to-do list that never ends’  simply by just stopping the whole to-do-list all together. I gave my beloved Dexter the Erin Condren Planner a break for a week thinking maybe that I needed to loosen the routine and surrender my necessity for lists.

Nope. That just made me irritated AND lost. I had so much to do, but didn’t remember what it was so I just spent my entire day on Pinterest, or making up things to do that didn’t need to be done thereby ignoring the things that truly did need to be done. Before I knew it, it was 2 AM, I had been up for 19 hours, and I had accomplished much less than I know I could have.

Also? Putting things off only makes the to-do-list longer and less manageable.

This may seem incredibly obvious to most,  but realizing that I’m never going to have an empty plate has changed the way I look at my to-do list, my days and my life. The list is not going to get done by the end of the day, but I will check things off each day. Maybe only one thing will get done, but I sure as hell am going to put an effort into that one thing so that I can truly feel as though I worked my hardest.

The inner dialogue of me reaching this realization was something like “OMG I cannot finish all of this stuff!” Usually, that’s the only thing I say. Apparently, my positive side and I were really in tune because she spoke up and said “I know, you’re never going to finish EVERYthing.”

And then the heavens opened and light shined all over my little face. Angels sang and Ralph Fiennes took me in his hunky arms and said, “Katie, marry me.”

Oh, wait, that’s my OTHER fantasy. Oops.

I can only do as much as I can do. And it’s up to me to draw that line of “I can’t do anymore” and to be accepting of what I did accomplish, instead of focusing on what didn’t get done.

I’m still going to have a To-Do list, I always will. But I’ve also begun keeping a “Got Done” list. Not only does this come in handy for Resume Writing, but just as a reminder that yes, yes Katie, you DID get things done. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

I’ll be getting Oral Surgery on Thursday. The dentist is going to be all up in my mouth with drills and stitches. And while I’m in that chair, my to-do list is going to exist. It’ll probably be growing. And that’s okay.

So long as there is one more thing to do, that means I’m not dead.

And that’s good.

Look at me, the little solution finder. Katie for President!

I might not get to be president, but did you hear the awesome news? I won the ever so prestigious 20sb bootlegs award of “Blogger You’d Most Like To Get a Drink With.” I’ve been nominated for this award before, but this is my first time winning. Super honored. There are something like 19,000 members of 20sb, and of all of those incredible members, I was nominated and voted in. It’s so great. Thanks again to all of you lovely people. #winning.

I Google'd "Dirty Aura" and got this. Poor Patrick. You must've went to the same chick I did.

For Christmas, my amazing friend got me a 45 minute tarot card reading. To say I was excited to go is an understatement because I haven’t had much experience in that whole department. I mean, without getting all deep, I do believe that there’s a higher being and all of that jazz, but I try and keep that under wraps as not to offend.

I went to a psychic down in Atlantic City last summer and she told me in the 5 minutes I was in there, that I had been through a lot in my young age, I moved out on my own early, and that I would meet a man soon with the first initial of “D”.  I took it very seriously and stopped every potential dating process with someone without a D in their name immediately. All that in a 5 minute reading. So, when I got a 45 minute one as a gift, my mind was all over the place with the possibilities.

First of all, I didn’t even get 45 minutes. It was about 20 minutes, maybe. Apparently, I’m getting married, having 2 kids and meeting my husband in the Spring. She knew little things that were creepy like my living arrangement, and my past, including a major breakup that broke me. She told me that “I feel broken, but I’m not.”  That was nice. But then she dropped the bomb.

“…BUT”

I knew there was going to be a but.

“BUT, Your Aura is Dirty!”

“Oh.”

“Yes. You have a bright future, but you have a dirty aura and we MUST clean it.”

“Let’s do it. How much?”

“$200.”

“No. I can’t.”

“I can do a payment plan!”

“…Maybe I’ll come back.”

I walked out, called my friend and told her about my experience. I didn’t even think twice about the dirty aura part until that weekend when I got a raging toothache that rendered me  incapable of seeing straight. I’m now getting surgery on Thursday.

Then, on Friday I fell down a flight of stairs in my house so now I walk with a weird limp and I take about 20 minutes to get into an upright position from sitting down.

I’m told on Thursday that I have a filthy aura, on Sunday I get a Toothache, and the following FridayI fall down some stairs. That’s a little more than coincidence.  I told my roommates about this bad aura thing and they suggested that I just Google how to clean my own Aura. And I did.

Do you know what I need?! TURKEY FEATHERS.

There’s another method that looks like it might be good if I can get past the red font on the black background. Seriously, if any of you are Aura cleaners and are willing to make a deal, I can pay you in Nutella Sandwiches and Wine.

I spent a crazy amount of time looking into ways to clean my dirty aura, but then I was channel surfing and saw that one of my all time favorite movies was on.

I realized how far I’ve come tonight  when I watched the Holiday. I dated someone with whom I shared a mutual love for the movie. After arguments and disagreements, after good date nights, just because we felt like it. It was our go-to-movie. I personally have loved the movie since I saw it in the theater when it came out, so finding someone who shared the love of the movie with me was a dream come true.

Until the dream ended.

I always had a hard time watching the movie without him. Even years after the relationship ended, I’d see the movie and take a pass on it, because it brought back old feelings. And feelings are icky. Plus, since everything has changed, I figured the movie wouldn’t be the same anymore.

I watched the movie tonight from (almost) beginning to end and enjoyed every single minute of it. My fear that it wouldn’t be the same anymore after 3 years was all in my head. I loved the movie before him. And I still love it. Everything about it. Even the parts that were hard to watch or brought back a few little twinges of feelings. Because that’s just the way life is. Ups. Downs. Tooth pains. Heart ache.  But at the end, there’s always a feel good moment. A moment of realization when you know how far you’ve come and even though you have a far way to go, it’s totally doable, because, I mean, look how far you’ve already come, baby.

Once you get through the pain, through the tough stuff, it doesn’t seem nearly as difficult anymore. Eventually you feel that you’re on the upswing. You turn around and look at how far you’ve come and know that you are going to keep going just as you always have.

Even though it hurts to walk and my tooth hurts like a motherfucker at times, I’ll keep on pushing through. It’s what I do.

Maybe the chick mistook bad aura for the occasional negative outlook. And that’s something I can change, and that doesn’t cost $200.