kool skool

*As soon as I wrote this, I felt better. I actually did manage a four-mile walk today and gave the dog a bath. The walk in the rain was super, for real. It felt good and cleansing and like maybe I’m a hippie now? I also started chipping away at my homework, like an adult. I was just going to leave this in my file folder but I’m gonna post it anyway because that’s what the Internet is for – being an open diary that no one cares about.*

Rant, rant, rant. What about this time, Kate? School.

I don’t have a lot of stick-to-it-ivness this time around. Why did I start? Because I can’t seem to get any interviews because the new hiring process goes through a web filter and I don’t have a degree in what I have done for a decade. So I get weeded out.

Aren’t you learning what you should know? Sorta. I’m learning theory and background, which were covered in the intro class. Cool, nine weeks was good. Let’s move on. Outside of deductions for improper MLA citation formatting, I receive very few points off for actual content. I have a 4.0. I don’t feel good about it. What the hell is wrong with you? WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT RIGHT NOW.

If you’re so damn smart then why don’t you just relax and take the easy grade? HAVE YOU MET ME? All I am working on is this giant chip on my shoulder of “I’m so smart so why don’t these dummies hire me” and it is real super. Clearly I am doing something wrong.

I am taking a full course schedule, so two classes every nine weeks. It’s online through a real school in St. Louis. Each week we are assigned three to four discussion questions per class. You make your initial posts then have to respond to everyone else, seven to nine times a week total. Let me tell you why this is a load of garbage.

First, instructors need to post ENGAGING topics. Using a question to ask about definition gets real stupid real fast. For instance, taking a term right out of the text and asking for the definition. Assuming the first person to post gets it correct, WTF is everyone else supposed to say? “Yeah, I agree you paraphrased the text correctly.” Get away from me.

Second, some people post dumb shit. Since you can’t convey tone as well through written communication, the best thing to do is ignore it. You can address someone’s bizarre or wrong answer but you will look like a straight-up dick. The program isn’t set up as a cohort but I have followed the same handful of people through for the past nine months. I corrected one lady’s historical inaccuracy regarding Rosinenbombers during the Soviet blockade of Berlin but that was it. (It really bothered me. I couldn’t let it go. Read a history book.)

Third, some people write NOVELS for their responses. Just a thought but since this is a communication program maybe you should learn to communicate succinctly. We had to turn in one project that needed to be 2,000 to 2,500 words and post them for others to read. One lady posted 4,500 WORDS. She clearly took materials she had from her job and copied and pasted it. That’s fine but none of the extra words provided any value. Made me crazy grumpy. Still does actually.

We know you work for Big Fancy Company because you mention it in EVERY SINGLE RESPONSE. Cool, bro, we get it. Thanks for imparting your superior knowledge on the rest of us. Let me slide this into my IDGAF file for ya.

So what am I doing instead of replying to discussion posts? Blabbering on ye olde blog, watching football, having a few cocktails, and refreshing social media accounts. I am the worst about just doing what I need to do if I deem it “boring” or “stupid.” I also have an assignment to do that is due tomorrow night. Don’t care right now.

It’s a good thing I pulled my pinkie finger nail completely back when I was putting on pants today because that fucking hurt and has distracted me for a bit. Maybe I’ll attempt a home manicure.


kool skool

exciting update, road rage, and square pies

Everyone stop what you’re doing cause I’m about to ruin your perception of me as a heartless curmudgeon. THE ATLANTIC CAME TODAY!!! WTF are you talking about? OH, the fact that after many months of hoping and waiting and thinking that I should have an allowance and someone to look after my finances MY BENEVOLENCE AND PRIVILEGE GUILT PAID OFF! We had a sort of ice storm today but the mail came because literally neither rain nor sleet nor snow stops USPS and it was FULL of magazines: Bloomberg, Home & Garden, Fast Company, Seventeen, and The Atlantic. Smugness ACTIVATE!! Why do I get Seventeen? I dunno. Before The Atlantic, I haven’t paid for a magazine subscription in years. They just sort of show up. I think Major paid for Women’s Health for me for a year and they just keep sending more and more sister publications. As I opened the mailbox and said out loud “what the hell” because there was so much stuff, I started rifling through the stack as Shiner tried to wind himself around the light pole. And here it is, a red beacon of hope and light and mercy and future counseling school:


So now what’s next? A job?! I got another one of those “zoom” letters today about “we received many applications and are pursuing applicants with qualifications who more closely resemble what we are looking for” or something like that. It’s not like I have it memorized or anything. I am also making zero headway with school. I’m not registered, no one answers emails regarding status update, and I have no funding yet either. So, it’s going well.

I love flipping people off in my car. I’m not allowed to do it so people actually SEE me do it because of shit like this. So this it looks like this lady went back out with her son to find the dumbasses from the initial incident and ended up dying over it. Awful. We went to a hockey game for my birthday and when we were leaving the game and walking back to the car we/I got into an altercation. The truck was parked at a restaurant across the street from the arena and I was still happily buzzed. (This would quickly turn into “oh God, please don’t puke in the truck” thoughts for an hour on the drive home because I can’t have four beers in four hours anymore. Thanks, 33.)  A gaggle of us were walking on the sidewalk when a car tried to plow through us. We stopped. She stopped. I, in my righteous beer indignation and in my visiting team jersey, made a grand sweeping gesture with my arm and said “aaaaafter YOOOOOU!” No middle finger, but I made my point. This is when passenger dude decided he should open the door, stand up and hide behind the open door, and start calling me names that clever broheims call women who dare call them out. You know, like bitch and whore. SUPER CLEVER. I didn’t even know what to say so I just kept walking because one, it was fucking cold and two, Major encouraged me to keep walking. What kind of piece of shit dude wants to throw down with a woman because his lady friend nearly plowed down seven pedestrians? A SUPER COOL ONE! Anyway, that is why I am not allowed to voice my opinion in real time with traffic bullies or hockey bullies or bullies because you don’t know who has a gun and will put one in your brain because they are SUPER COOL.

For some reason I decided I needed to make chicken pot pie for dinner. It’s been colder than normal down here south of the Mason Dixon so it seemed like a good thing to have. I found this recipe on Pinterest and it seemed k8-proof. I went to the grocery store down the road. It’s not my favorite because their options for organic vegetables is just the boxes of organic spinach. Anyway, it was my second trip there in as many days. I was wearing the same leggings I slept in, tunic, black short Zombie Apocalypse boots, and Columbia bubble coat that I unzipped from the bottom because I decided the $50 price difference between a small and a medium size was too much. Brushed teeth and hair. Put cover-up on my awesome hormonal break-outs. There are only four or five ingredients in the recipe plus the pre-made crust I was going to get. We needed a few regular staples. I should have been in and out in ten minutes…except I couldn’t find the fucking crust. I looked in the case near the butter first with all the biscuits and didn’t see the cans there. I walked back to the freezer cases past the pizza. Past the waffles. Past the ice cream. I could only find the frozen crusts that were for one-crust dishes. I NEED BOTH CRUSTS, DAMMIT! I found one of those tiny Marie Callendar pot pies for Major because I was about to give up. I was getting sweaty, which doesn’t take much but the bubble coat was really holding in all the heat. The butter case was occupied by a lady who needed several moments to pick a fucking butter when I was there earlier, so I went back to the case. We’ve been eating popcorn while watching non-illegally obtained movies and going through a shit load of butter. What was directly next to butter? DOUBLE CRUST IN A BOX! A BOX! I was looking for a can the first time. Silly.

Following a recipe 80 percent is my specialty. We don’t have glass circle pie pans but I have a bunch of those white Corning dishes. My cooking ninja skills aren’t so advanced that I know how to compensate for things or if you need to compensate for different pie plate materials. I found a square glass dish because I DON’T NEED SOCIETY TO TELL ME WHAT SHAPE MY MEAT PIES SHOULD BE! Also, it was delicious and we ate the shit out of it. There is a tiny square of it left in the frig. Usually I have way more self-control but I’m pretty sure we ate nearly equal amounts. NOT SORRY.


Just some parting thoughts: Melissa McCarthy and Susan Sarandon should be partnered together in way many more comedies. Jenny Slate is a national treasure. Pregnant Mindy Lahiri already makes me giggle. I thought I lost an orange sport sock forever and Major was just standing here saying good night and PULLED IT OUT OF HIS SLEEVE LIKE A MAGICIAN.


exciting update, road rage, and square pies

big news

So, big news: I got a garlic press. I’ve been smashing garlic and shoving it into animal carcasses for like two weeks now. It took me a decent amount of time to find it, too. None at the grocery store. None at Target. None at Christmas Tree Shop. I finally found it at World Market and by my reaction you would have thought I scored a sweet hit of coke. But no, just a 33 year old housewife finding kitchen gadgets. And by the way, I had to drive about an hour north to go to World Market. One day I just decided I needed to get out of the house so I went up to the Big City and went to Super Target; got lunch at Panera with a free pastry for my birthday WHAT WHAT; found my garlic press and some European candies at World Market; then went to a not-scary liquor store for Talisker. I wore my new blazer and had my little tote bag and made it look like I might be a business lady running errands on her lunch. It was great. People at Panera looked at me like “hmm, what kind of transactions is this lady completing today?” GARLIC PRESSES AND SCOTCH, BITCHES!

Have you heard of Talisker? It is a single-malt Scotch whisky and it tastes like a fucking campfire. I love it.


We were in Cleveland for the Tragically Hip Fully Completely Tour and went to a total hipster bar after the show. I asked the helpful barkeep for a scotch that “is super peat-y” and he gave me Talisker. And it was the best. And my mom paid for the round and it was like $30 for my campfire, a beer for my brother, and her pineapple and vodka (I’m not kidding) and I immediately felt bad but how often are you in Cleveland for your 33rd birthday HOLLA! Also, did you know that bars are far funnier when you are not looking to get laid? But then it gets a little weird when you realize your mom might want to and you are sitting in the middle and you WANT to be a cool wingman but halfway through you’re like KEEP YOUR OLD LIVER-SPOTTED HANDS OFF MY MOTHER!! (No one groped my mom in real life.)

I can’t stop using CAPS LOCK in written communication. I yell a lot in real life. The other day the Major and I were “discussing” something and I reminded him that I am bossy as hell and he said “yeah, and a little mean. That’s why I love you” and now I question every single one of his motives. I realized the other day that we don’t fight about money or real things. We fight about the dishwasher and food. Food is the easy one: he eats garbage. Want to know what he made for breakfast today? A frozen pizza. He also told me the other day that he didn’t even buy vegetables before we started dating. I don’t know if this new nutrition is even helping him but it sure ruins his love of meals.

The dishwasher/dishes: the asinine straw that breaks the housewife’s back. We have a split sink. The right side has the garbage disposal. You can put dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher on the left side so someone/ME can rinse and wash dishes on the right side. Totally reasonable. (Aside: I have tried three times to email myself pictures from my phone to include in this post and they refuse to appear in my inbox in two different email accounts. I love my inability to use technology.) Major will rarely put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. When he does they are clean and then I have to dig them out. “Oh, A for effort, K8!” NO. Or he will put them on the sink and say “I thought the machine was dirty.” YEP, I ALWAYS leave four CLEAN dishes in the machine randomly by themselves. TOTES. (But seriously, this is the worst thing he does and I WILL break him but I’m glad he doesn’t spend rent on the ponies or hookers or at least he’s VERY good at hiding it from me and you gotta respect operative-level deception.) This particular day, he put a salad plate in THE MIDDLE of the bottom rack. Look at this shit:


A dish can’t ROLL into place like this. NO. See how it is angled? Yeah, it was placed that way. Passive aggressive dish placement FTW, Major. He’ll pay.

Did you know it is Valentine’s Day in 23 minutes? No one gives a shit. Seriously. The day only exists to set awful expectations that no man or woman will live up to and everyone is sad and sleeps ass to ass for the night and you have to put up with pictures of Michael Kors watches on social media and all you want to do is nap until it passes. I am disappointed that evolution has not come up with a better solution to things like human hibernation to pass time to avoid awkward instances. I am the most introverted of introverts though and you would only see me like three months total all year. I think I would have made a great turtle or a snail because I could just come out and throw an asshole comment out like a grenade then go into my house for a few weeks. That’s my dream. I realize this might make me sound like a “cool girl” but I am not trying to put on any kind of airs. I’m married. No more effort is needed for eternity. Major keeps saying that he feels bad that he didn’t get me anything and I keep telling him I don’t want anything. I got a sweet Kate Spade purse last year from deployment guilt. I didn’t ASK for it but I sure as shit wasn’t going to give it back either, nawwhatImean? I get the impression that he feels like I am going to fucking snap tomorrow when he comes up empty handed. No. I won’t. We will probably go out to lunch somewhere (dinner will be a nightmare everywhere) and then watch a movie from our totally legally-obtained hard drive of current movies. He might do some more homework. It’s fine. Real life isn’t a fucking Folgers commercial. In real life, Netflix buffers 80,000 times and ruins the flow of a movie. Real life has dirty dishes that set you off into Defcon 5. Real life has grad school homework and wine-drunk blogging on Friday night. It happens. It’s fine. You don’t need a shitty box of chocolates to make you feel better. Drink the whole bottle of wine and fall asleep on the couch like a big girl. You’ll be fine.

Here is a sweet photo of Major and me that an usher took at the hockey game for us. I think she has a real future as a photog.




big news

Let it goooooooooo

My birthday is in early January so it aligns nicely with making New Year resolutions I won’t keep. This year I decided to “let it go.” I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little high-strung over small things. When I drop things. When things fall over. Anytime at all when I’m driving. Anytime I am woken up. Anytime I am hungry. Before coffee. (If I have a job) almost any time at all at work. You get it. I don’t think it’s really maturity that has caused this new shift. Mostly I am tired and am noticing physical fatigue from so much effort to be that pissed all the time. So, I’m just letting it go.


Major and I flew to Seattle for Christmas and on one of the flights I was watching Frozen because it was free and I had about two hours to kill. I got so engrossed that I didn’t notice that we were landing until the thrust reversers kicked in. I may never know if Anna and some dude made it before the wolves chased them down in the sleigh. My niece informed me VERY matter-of-factly that they did.
I still don’t have any employment. I had one phone interview, conducted by an HR rep, and I managed to NOT answer “why do you want to work here?” It was one of my finer moments in my career, if I do say so myself. FIRST, when she emailed and asked for my availability and I asked who would be conducting the interview and should I prepare anything specific she responded “it’s just a casual conversation between you and me to get to know you and see how you would fit with our team.” Fair enough, BUT asking me “tell me about a time when you had to grow an audience” is NOT a general question. I was not prepared. As we discussed further I realized it was more of a sales job than a business development job and I’m not good at those jobs. More on that in a bit. The job was also about an hour away, which I didn’t love. But they were the only ones with any interest in me. At the close of our discussion she said they weren’t in a big hurry to hire but would let me know in about two weeks if they wanted to move forward. The next step was a test project. STOP. The next step was not an in-person interview. They would email a project and give me two hours to complete. If I passed that then an interview. Let me summarize this process for you:
1. Application
2. Online questionnaire
3. “informal” phone interview
4. Test project
5. Formal interview
6. Job offer
Since I am taking a new and mature approach to life, when I received my “thanks but no thanks” piss-off email from HR I did not reply “FINE, but you aren’t fucking Google so get off your high interview horse.” I was waiting at Dulles for my flight home on a different trip and was already irritated because flying on a regional carrier is like asking someone to kick you in the lady balls while they drag your luggage on the taxiway with the suitcase open and spread your underwear all over the ramp.
Now I apply for any half-reasonable part time retail job that I can do while I am in grad school. I start in March. I’m not super stoked about it but I can’t get my resume passed the filter internet machines with just job experience. Aviation is a life-ruiner. I have noticed in this new world of job applications that the shittier the pay, the longer and more obnoxious the application. Large companies that pay well will also give you a piss-off letter in about three to four business days. I appreciate the closure.
That’s all. Happy Katy Perry National Concert Day tomorrow!!


Let it goooooooooo