Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Judge me.

It's been difficult to find time to write lately, what with all the tv I've been watching and drinking I've been doing. Call me an alcoholic if you'd like, but honestly, I feel like the word alcoholic is tossed around a lot. My friends call themselves alcoholics in jest (Alcoholics Unanimous!), but they aren't ignoring their responsibilities due to drinking.  Getting a DUI doesn't mean that you have a drinking problem, it simply means you made a bad choice.

I'm 26. Even typing that makes me cringe. I have to keep reminding myself that 26 is NOT that old, but when you're dating a 22 year old, 26 seems... icky.  But seriously, people in their 20's drink!  Bars are where we congregate.  Bars are where we celebrate things.  Bars are where we unwind.  Bars are where we meet people.  Bars are where we... get drunk.  But just because you can find me at a bar every single Thursday night (Trivia champs, what whaaaat!!!), that doesn't make me an alcoholic.  

Before you accuse someone of alcoholism, get your facts straight.  An accusation like that is not only hurtful, it can be quite detrimental to the way others' perceive someone.  An alcoholic is someone who cannot function without it.  They ignore responsibilities and hurt others with their drinking.  They drink throughout the day to get by and deal with the withdrawal symptoms.  I only start my day with a breakfast beer when I'm in the desert.  That doesn't count.  And bloody marys are reserved for Sunday Fundays, they aren't my typical breakfast beverage.

Just because someone is in their 20's and drinks a few times a week, doesn't mean they're an alcoholic.  If I don't have anything to do the next day and my friends are at the bar, I may cut loose a bit.  There's nothing wrong with that.  I've been to AA meetings, and trust me, an alcoholic is not someone who drinks a couple times a week with their friends.

Shit, now I need a drink. It's after 12. Mimosas anyone?

Friday, February 17, 2012

Keep away from open flames

I'm not very good at using things like microwaves, toasters, toaster ovens, etc.  I can make a complete Thanksgiving dinner with NO help, but ask me to make popcorn and it'll turn to tar.  Seriously, have you ever seen what happens to popcorn when it catches fire?  It isn't pretty.

So tonight I'm at work and I got the brilliant idea to eat a bagel.  The kitchen is on the top floor of the hotel.  I cut the bagel, stuck it in the toaster oven, turned the knobby thing all the way and pushed the little toast lever thingy down (these are technical terms, of course).  Right at that moment, I heard the bell ring at the front desk.  I rushed down the two flights of stairs to find my last check in waiting for me.

Of course, he didn't want to use the credit card on file, so I had to void the old authorization.  His strip was out, so I had to manually enter it.  Then, the machine just said to try again after all that, so I did it again, by hand.  It finally worked, all the paperwork was done, and I gave him my spiel and directions to his room.  Then, he decided he didn't want that room, and had me switch him to a different one.  This whole time I'm thinking about my bagel and trying to rush, but still be friendly.

He finally left and I SPRINTED up the stairs to find the kitchen filled with smoke and the toaster oven ON FIRE. I knocked down the little door and tried to blow it out.  Nope.  Tried again. Nope. And again. No go.  I turned to the sink and filled up a glass of water and turned back to the toaster oven. I hesitated long enough to decide it was probably a bad idea to dump a shit ton of water into the coils at the bottom of an electric appliance, not to mention the amount of smoke that would add.  I closed the little door turned around.  Fire extinguisher, fire extinguisher, where is the fucking fire extinguisher?!?  I finally found it and it's dusty and attached to the wall somehow and again, the mess that would create!  Shit.  I turned the knob off and finally managed to blow the fire out and pull the bagel out of the thing since it kept catching BACK on fire.

I put the bagel outside to cool so it wouldn't melt the trashbag and smell up the place even worse.  I opened the windows and tried to fan the smoke out with a broom.  I let the kitchen air out and the hotel has now FINALLY stopped smelling like burned bagel.

The pieces on the top used to be the top half.

... I'm still hungry.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

How I see myself in my head

I'm bad ass.

(Full disclosure: this is how I see myself while I am out drinking.  The other 99% of the time I'm crying in the corner, clutching a French dictionary like it might help me remember the past tense indirect object conjugation of the verb avoir. Pretty sure that doesn't make sense, but I'm tired of hearing the phrase "passé composé" and I'm running off of very little sleep.)

Saturday, February 11, 2012

I'm not a pedophile, either...

I'll admit that my slight crush on Liam Hemsworth (Gale from the upcoming movie The Hunger Games) borders on pervy since he's only supposed to be 18 in the movie, but for the record, he's 22.  Back off.  This in no way means that I lust after high school boys.  In fact, I couldn't have been more uncomfortable when I found myself in attendance at a high school wrestling tournament this afternoon.

One of my best friends has a son who is a freshman in high school.  During football season, supporting him wasn't such an issue, but she's finding it a bit, well, awkward being a single-early-thirty-something sitting alone in the bleachers while teenage boys role around trying to "pin" one another.  I'll leave that one alone (too easy).  She asked me and another friend (male) to go with her.

First off, the unitard.  Okay fiiiiiine, singlet.  Seriously?  I understand the movement required and that the clothing needs to stay in place and whatnot.  I also understand that wrestling has used them for a looong time.  However, I'm a fan of MMA and BJJ, and they fight in shorts.  They make it work.  And they roll around on the ground too, yo. I successfully diverted my eyes as much as I could, but my dear friend pointed out that they don't wear cups!!  You can see everything!!  If I bleach my eyes, will I go blind?

Next, what kind of superhuman growth hormones are they putting in Slim Jims nowadays???  This was a FRESHMAN competition and some of these kids are HUGE!!!  As they circled one another I totally expected one to throw his arms into the air and roar like a bear to intimidate the other one.

The neck pulling.  Ouch!  Don't hurt my sweetie's neck!!!  His mother is Puerto Rican!!  She'll beat your ass, kid.

Finally, well, shit.  I don't know how to put this delicately.  What the FUCK is the purpose of the long rubber thing that looks like a double-sided dildo that the kid by the score table caries around?!?  I never saw him use it for any legitimate purpose.  He just walked around waving it about and smacking the ground.  WHAT IS ITS PURPOSE?!?

Okay.  I feel better.  I'll also ignore the obvious criticisms like the positions, and one's preference to "top" or "bottom."  However, I will say that I have a new appreciation for my father and any other dad that has to watch his daughter's dance competitions.  It's awkward when watching seems inappropriate and looking away seems rude.  Still wanna know what the dildo is for though...

I'll leave you with this little gem.  You're welcome.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

I am not a prostitute.

In the last couple months, I've been propositioned twice.  Not great for the ego.  You would think it would happen when I'm taking a smoke break in front of the hotel, but no, not that obvious.

The first time was in Palm Springs.  I was walking from our hotel to the liquor store around the corner to get a pack of cigarettes.  I left the hotel and walked past the balcony where my friend and boyfriend were, and headed down the street.  I got about halfway when a car pulled over and the driver offered me "a ride."  I got back to the hotel and they had seen everything from the balcony, and didn't let me forget it for the rest of the weekend.

The second time was last night.  I had an awesome night out with a girlfriend, and we hung out at the bar my boyfriend works at.  The details are a little fuzzy (don't judge me) but apparently I told the boyfriend about being offered $2,000 to sleep with some dude who already had two chicks with him.  Ambitious much?

Both times, I was not dressed promiscuously.  In Palm Springs I was wearing jean capris and a tank top (not even a low cut or spaghetti strapped one!) and last night I was wearing jeans and heels.

I don't get it.  Is this normal?  I mean, I could use the money, but I'm not THAT desperate.  The only illegal thing I've been asked for while standing in front of the hotel I work at is cocaine.  Which they asked for in code, and it took me an uncomfortable amount of time to figure out that "white girls" was a metaphor.  I should have known because they were clearly coked out to begin with, but apparently I'm not quite hip to the drug slang these days, yo.  But, I digress.

 I apparently have no idea what hookers actually look like or wear since I'm being mistaken for one.  I'll try harder to... um... yeah, I got nothing.  How do I turn this into a positive?  People want to sleep with me?  Duh.  I have a vagina.  Dudes have low standards.  Oh well.  I guess this just means that if things truly get worse for me financially, I'll make a good living selling my body.  Or at least a living.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go stock up on condoms and thigh high boots... 

Sunday, January 29, 2012

I made a list.

Things I do when I should be studying:

1. Smoke

2. Watch reruns of Archer on my boyfriend's DVR

3. Spend hours browsing Pinterest

4. Make useless lists

5. Read other people's blogs

6. Watch hair tutorials so I can do this:

Je ne veux pas etudier.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Ooh la la!!

French is hard, yo.  I'm officially a full time student again.  This will be my last semester at a community college if all goes according to plan (what whaaaat!!).  This is, of course, if I pass my classes this semester, and if I complete my requirements with whatever university I transfer to.  I've been accepted to one out of three schools so far.  *fingers crossed*

Making the decision to go back to school full time was hard, but I'm confident in my choice; my education should be my #1 priority. Did I plan this whole thing out thoroughly before I quit my cushy office job? No.  Did I get my finances in order first? No.  I was impulsive, over-confident, and careless, and I'm paying for it now.  But no one else can earn this degree for me, I have to do it myself.  If I hadn't been impulsive and careless and taken the leap, I wouldn't have discovered who has my back, and I wouldn't have discovered that I CAN do this.

...maybe.  My French professor sent us an email (entirely in French) containing an assignment that was due on LE PREMIER JOUR DE CLASSE!!!!  I'm sorry, an assignment due on the fucking first day?!?  Are you out of your mind?  Apparently Mr. French Prof didn't get the memo that all we do on the first day is go over the syllabus and take role to weed out the superfluous crashers/wait listers.  

Then, there's Biology.  In addition to the lecture, bio has a lab, 3 hours, once a week.  We had a quiz on the first day.  I don't even have the fucking lab manual yet, how the fuck are you expecting to quiz us?!?  There were 4 people out of 22 that already had their manual.  I'm completely ignoring my History class until the book comes in the mail (it's an online class) which will probably bite me in the ass on Saturday when I realize I have a shit ton to do before Sunday.  Oh well.

I will say that although this semester will be challenging, I finally feel like I have my head on straight.  Kinda.  I met up with a classmate to study this afternoon, and might actually have my French homework done before this weekend.  Plus, the professor taught us how to say that we're fucking up what we're trying to say, so at least I can appropriately mock myself...


Saturday, January 14, 2012

It's a new trend, Bitch.

It can really be exhausting pretending to fit in.  Don't get me wrong, I'm good at it, but I'm silently judging you while I pretend to belong in your group.  Luckily, my lifetime of crafting lies terminological inexactitudes has prepared me for situations like this.  I work at a small hotel in a rich neighborhood. Although I may LOOOOOVE expensive things (go ahead, call me a brand whore, I don't give a shit) I am far from rich...  I mean, I'm living out of my car, for fuck's sake! 

Working at the front desk of a hotel makes me the person you go to if you want any sort of recommendation (or apparently lube, but I digress).  People ask about restaurants most of the time, and I'm familiar enough with the area that I can make a decent recommendation if you tell me what you're in the mood for.  However, this being an expensive neighborhood catering to "well off" clientele means that most of the restaurants nearby are quite costly.  These restaurants don't have dollar menus, so I can't eat there.  Here's where the terminological inexactitudes come in.

If you want seafood, I'll point you to the most popular (very expensive) seafood restaurant up the street.  If you want steak, I'll point you to the most popular (even MORE expensive) steakhouse right by the seafood place.  I can even recommend a little hidden gem you're going to LOVE, no matter what you're in the mood for.  I'll tell you the food is amazing.  I've never eaten the food.  You're asking the college student who works at the front desk of a hotel.  If you ask my personal preference in this class of restaurants, I'm going to lie to you.  I cannot afford to sample the cuisine at every high end dining establishment in the vicinity, especially when there are SOOO MANYYYY!!!  If you ask me about the bars, however, wellllllll... ;P

But don't we all do this?  People pretend to be educated in subjects they know nothing about all the time, especially when trying to prove a point (just listen to politicians!). A girl will pretend to like sports to win over a fanatic. Parents pretend to know the answers to off the wall questions their kids ask.  And it even goes deeper than that.  Girls crop their facebook photos or take them at certain angles to make themselves appear thinner.  And have you ever overheard someone slip out of their customer service voice when they didn't think you could hear?  They aren't so sweet sounding, are they?

As for me?  I pretend to fit in with the rich.  My glasses are Dolce & Gabbana.  Every article of clothing I'm currently wearing was purchased at Nordstrom, Express, or Victoria's Secret. My purse is Coach. My watch is Citizen, and yes, those are diamonds.  My wardrobe is expensive and I wouldn't have it any other way.  I fit in perfectly in this area and my customers come back and thank me for the wooonnnnnnderful restaurant recommendations all the time.  

And then there are days like today.  Days when I think my cute little flats are in my backseat, and I arrive at work and realize I've left them at one of the houses I'm crashing at.

Sometimes a little bit of Kat creeps into Katrina's world, and I'm okay with that. 

Friday, January 6, 2012

One person's "tweet" is another's "twat." Wait, what??

I've been avoiding twitter for quite some time now, but have recently been toying with the idea of getting one.  I'll admit, I was tempted when Charlie Sheen had that unfortunate case of mouth diarrhea (who can resist a good train wreck?! Not me...) but still managed to refrain.  However, Jenna Marbles' last video ( has me thinking about social stalkers and social media in general.

I don't think there's anything wrong with checking up on people you haven't seen in a while through facebook.  Besides, it feels SO GOOD to see that the girl who made fun of you in school is super fat now, or that your ex's new girlfriend (or boyfriend) looks like a transvestite donkey witch.

It can also be comforting in other ways, though.  To see that someone who seems so put together is going through something similar to you can make you feel less like a failure (it helps me, anyway) So many people my age are moving home to save money, or going back to school, or dealing with the aftermath of a divorce.  It's nice to know I'm not the only 26 year old fuck up.

When you fall flat on your face, it's your real friends that will point and laugh, take pictures, post them on facebook, tag you, 'like' the photo, then help you up and dust you off.  And why shouldn't they? I'm gonna laugh at you, 'like' the photo, and then comment with support and tell you about the time I fell on my face pulling my dog on my skateboard because I got scared of the speed wobbles and jumped off.  Even though your face is bleeding, someone like me has done the same fucking thing and laughs about it now.  Share it with the world! 

So, follow me on twitter, you guys. @likeatuesday 

I promise to call my tweets "twats."


Monday, January 2, 2012

On the crest of the hill. Pinned to a tree.

Before the days of gays and parades on the daily, Mr. Jeffrey Beene and I were forced to communicate via our primitive cellular devices and actually coordinate conjugal visits to the hills of crest.  Now I know this may confuse those of you who are used to us being attached at the hip and have watched us conquer that town without ever smudging our mascara, but it's true.

Enter the FaceTime Dance Party. 

Now if you're unfamiliar with FaceTime, why are we friends? it's the video chatting feature on the iPhone 4 (and 4S.  Siri, you will be mine...).  So when too much time passed between his visits down to SD, one of us would call the other on FaceTime, play a song, and we'd dance while holding our phones.  It truly is an art form.  Lady Gaga works best, but any old pop song will do.  You're welcome.  And if you don't have an iPhone, what the fuck is wrong with you? [Like, seriously. I pulled mine out of a fucking TOILET yesterday (fully functional today btw, woohoooooo!!!!) and would still rather put toilet water on my face than carry any other smart phone.] you still have options.  Read on.

Fast forward to when Jeff and I finally lived in Hillcrest, where if we couldn't walk to it then it wasn't worth going to.  FaceTime Dance Parties evolved into Backalley Dance Parties and Pants Off Dance Offs.  If you don't have an iPhone, you too can take part in these ridiculous amazing time wasters!! (Disclaimer: they're way more awesome when intoxicated, but if you didn't pick that up from the fact that we actually started Pants Off Dance Offs, you're giving us too much or too little credit).  Simply pull out your favorite music playing device, and play DJ while you walk/dance your way to your destination.  We took the alley home from 7-11 one particular day, and decided a Backalley Dance Party was in order.  Jeff played DJ, and we danced our asses off through the alley back to the apartment.  Well, Jeff isn't so great at walking and scrolling through his insane music library, and walked right into a low hanging tree branch coming around a corner.  As if this wasn't perfect enough, through gasps of laughter, his response was "That tree almost clothes-pinned me!!" 

This is what I pictured:

Just wait for it...  This is gonna be the next big thing in the WWWWWF...

Sunday, January 1, 2012

This is why I can't have nice things.

So I started this new blog last year, and promptly dropped the ball.  Well, since a new ball has dropped, this is as good a time as any for some changes.  Resolutions orsomeshit...

I will update my blog at least once a week.
I will have no credit card debt by the time I buy a new bikini. (You like that one??  Summertime.  It's a combo, I'll have to work out too! haha)
I will stop being late to EVERYFUCKINGTHING.
I will try to be more careful/less clumsy.

That's all I got.  Besides the whole, make better decisions thing...  That's one I'm not so good at (cough*dui*cough).  For instance, I made the decision today to bring my phone into the bathroom with me while I was dumping the coffee into the sink at work.  I also made the decision to hold it instead of setting it down, and the fucker JUMPED out of my hand, and right into the fucking toilet.  Of course.  So now my poor iPhone is sitting next to me, hopefully drying out.  The speaker and exterior buttons seem to be on strike. 

I was hoping 2012 would be the light at the end of the tunnel I've been searching for, but I'm worried the light is an oncoming train...

Oh well.  Positive thinking.  It's a new year, bitches!