A Day in the Life of a Typical College Student

Nude Stripper Girls Nude Nude Naked Nude Sexy Two Girls One Cup Nudity Found Here Come One Come All

2012-02-11T09:32:00.003-06:00

Good people of Earth, welcome. How are all of you doing? Have you had your vaccines? I'm doing quite well. No complaints here. I am as content as a cock on a cold day (rooster talk). Yes, yes. I am quite happy.

Just kidding: Once again I am miserable beyond belief.

This misery stems from one reason and one reason only: I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life.

Part of me always figured I'd be a song and dance man. Alas, that is highly unlikely. I can sing. Heck, I can even dance. But, when I try to do them together, someone always ends up dying.

In high school, I was voted "Most Likely To Own More than Five Cats." Mayhaps I should pursue a career as a veterinarian?

No, I don't like war. I've always been a pacifist.

When I was three, I told my preschool teacher that I wanted to be "The Lion King" when I grew up. Should I perhaps move to Africa and explore this possibility?

No, lions are racists.

Should I move to Paris, France and become a supermodel?

No, that will never work out. I've got a nose that you could land a plane on. And all my fingers fell off last week for no reason at all, after I chopped them off.

So, good people of this blog, what should I do with my life?!

This isn't so much a blog post as a desperate plea for help.

But actually, I want to enter the entertainment industry. Development work. Writing work. Trophy waxing. Turtle waxing. Leg waxing. Anything I can get.

So if any of you can help me out with this little dreamsicle of mine, I will knit you a hat and mail it to you. I will also worship you. After that I will change my name to your name, to honor you. Then I will stalk you, and begin living my life as you. Stalking is the sincerest form of flattery. But you already knew that.

With love,
Kattles McGee, PhD

P.S. I noticed that if I do gross porn titles for my posts, I get more blog traffic. So, expect this for now on. Hey, look: nobody said this was a children's blog.

P.P.S. As always, this blog is intended for children.

Love in the Time of Eczema

2012-01-25T13:29:00.002-06:00

Walked into the bar. Dressed to kill. Had my skirt tucked into my underwear (if you've got it flaunt it). All eyes were on me.

Saw her sitting at the bar...sitting like she owned the place (which she did)...sitting like her name was Agnes Monty (which it was).

Me: Agnes.

Agnes: Kate, baby, good to see ya!

Me: Likewise.

Agnes: What can I do you for?

Me: You know what I'm after, sweetcheeks. What do you serve at this here bar?

Agnes: Liquor. That ain't illegal anymore, Kate.

Me: Ah course I know that! Give me a Diet Pepsi, straight up, on the rocks, with a twist and an olive. And make it snappy.

She got me my drink.

Me: Now, tell me sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Stevie Twotoes?

Agnes: Stevie Twotoes?

Me: Yeah. His body washed up on the Hudson last night. He was deader than a baby with a bomb for a binky.

Agnes: Ain't never heard ah him.

Me: Ah really?

Agnes: Yeah.

Me: Surely you heard of a man like Stevie Twotoes. He only had two toes. One big toe on each foot.

Agnes: What happened to the others?

Me: They fell off in a freak synchronized swimming accident. Poor guy couldn't go near ice cream after that.

Agnes: Ice cream?

Me: You scream.

Agnes: For what?

Me: Ice cream.

Agnes: Are we done here?

Me: No. Not until I find out what you did with Twotoes.

Agnes: I just told you, I ain't never met him. I don't know what happened to him or nothin'!

Me: Then how do you explain this?!

Pulled out a picture of me at my birthday party.

Agnes: I don't know...

Me: Oh...I meant this! A picture of you with Twotoes!

Pulled out a picture of Agnes gettin' awfully intimate with Twotoes.

Agnes: He told me his name was Tim! Tim Waterglass!

Me: Nice try, lady marmalade.

Agnes: Don't waste your time on this, Kate. I’m innocent!

Me: I'll waste my time anyway I choose, Agnes baby.

Turned to my boys.

Me: Book her, boys!

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How did I know Agnes was guilty?! Keep reading to find out!

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Agnes made the dire mistake of tattooing “If found please return to Agnes Monty at 455 East Broadway. I killed this man, and would like his body back before police find it” on the chest of Twotoes...a common mistake that criminals make.

Put Your Right Foot Forward in the New Year.

2011-12-31T10:26:00.004-06:00

My name is Katie Marovitch and I am a romance specialist, specializing in romance.

Anyway, it is almost New Year's Day, and nearly one of you has been frantically emailing me thrice a day, asking me to provide my expert step-by-step advice on how to become romantically involved in the New Year.

Finally! Here is my advice, you adorable blogthings! Note: advice only intended for women-people. Men-people, don't you dare read this. I'm warning you. Don't you read another line! I know you are reading this! Stop it!

Step 1: Locate the males.

Males tend to hang out in packs, in such places as: the outdoors. They can often be found hunting game and gathering wood. Their hobbies include archery, horseback riding, and gun shooting. They often say things like "Shoot 'em dead, son. Shoot 'em dead." They drink beer by the gallon, and have spit-shooting contests every day at noon. They have names like "Joe," "Elton John," "Dan," and "Steve."

To locate the male you want, simply do as the males do. Once you start drinking beer, shooting spit, hunting game, going by the name "Joe," etc. etc. and so forth, and so forth, the males will come to you. Then, you will be able to pick out the male of your heart's desire.

Step 2: Pick out the male of your heart's desire.

Unfortunately, society frowns upon women who have multiple lovers. Yes, yes. It is necessary to do as the animals from Noah's Ark, and pair off (or should I say "pear" off! HAHA. Fruit humor.).

Your heart will guide you to the male you should pursue. If this doesn't work, choose at random. Not a big deal. All males are the same (I'm allowed one sexist comment, relax!). Ladies, I have excellent news for you: it is now time to start your pursuit.

Step 3: Start your pursuit.

When going after your chosen man, it is necessary to always put your best foot forward. Your best foot is, of course, your right foot. So, stand with your right foot in front whenever your chosen mate (CM) is in the general vicinity. Wiggle it around ever so slightly. CM will be instantly attracted to your fancy footwork, and will surely approach you. When this happens, kick him. Hard. It shows him you are not an object, but a woman: a woman who will kick him again should he ever hurt you in the heart-department. CM will most likely ask you on a date should you follow these steps perfectly. You must now date him, date him like your life depends on it.

Step 4: Date him, date him like your life depends on it.

Practice fancy footwork, hair flipsies, and hip wagging. This will allow you to force him to stay.

Step 5: Force him to stay.

He can't leave if you get pregnant with his baby.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Tyler Perry Presents

2011-12-16T13:22:00.006-06:00

Good people of Earth. Welcome. Please sit down. Refreshments are on me. Youch! Get them off! They're hot and they're burning my skin!

Anyway, I recently voyaged to the exotic country of California (pronounced "cal eek norn ina"). For those of you who are unaware, California is a distant land where ridiculous people put small dogs in large bags and carry them around, pretending that that's normal. It's also where the world's biggest celebrities are. Like David Hasselhoff. And the cast of Laguna Beach (Team Lauren Conrad!).

On this trip, I met a man. He was the kind of man you'd like to bring home to granny. The kind of man you'd like to see wearing your underpants. The kind of man you'd like to marry and then divorce and then marry again.

In other words, he was/is/will always be the love of my life.

I met him in the line for the men's restroom. (Why was I there? As a feminist, I refuse to acknowledge segregated restrooms. I'm sorry, but until women's restrooms have urinals, they are NOT EQUAL!)

He was standing behind me and said "Miss, the women's restroom is over there." Flattered that he knew I was a woman, I turned to thank him. It was mid-turn that I realized I loved him.

You see, while I was turning I caught a whiff of his peppermint breath.

Peppermint breath is, as you all know, literally the greatest kind of breath to have. It puts peanut butter breath to shame. It makes chocolate breath look like child's play.

While I continued to turn (it takes me a good five minutes to gather enough momentum to complete one turn), I said to myself "Katsi baby, it's now or never. You got this lady long legs," and I pounced on him.

My intention was to reenact that legendary scene from my favorite movie (Tyler Perry Presents "A Very Madea Love Story") where Madea makes a man fall in love with her by pouncing on him. (Perhaps. It's possible that this never happened and that I just made that movie up.)

Unfortunately, the move failed. It turns out my dream man was 75 years old. The doctors told me that when I "tackled him to the ground" I "ripped out his oxygen" and "stabbed him with the sword" I was carrying at the time, which resulted in "his heart attack" that "stopped his heart" thus "killing him" and "we're calling the police" because "you have to go to jail now."

California! Jeez! What a silly state! You kill one elderly man and suddenly everyone hates you!

Murder She Goat

2011-11-10T12:51:00.006-06:00

Walked into the police interrogation room. Dressed to impress. Had my new leather underwear on.

Sammy "Birdseye" Montgomery was already at the big table. The lights were shining on him. He was as sweaty as the armpits of an obese man on the Fourth of July.

Lit a cigarette.

Started coughing.

Tossed the cigarette.

Apologized to Detective Finn for hitting him in the eye with said cigarette.

Me: "Listen up, Birdseye, we've got three witnesses saying you were the one who whacked Old Lady Bouvier at her mansion on the Upper East Side. Now, kid, what's your side of the story? And make it fast. I've got a new pair of underwear on."

Birdseye: "Come on, Detective Kate! I've been framed! You know stranglin' ain't my work!"

Me: "Hm...You worked for Bouvier's husband a couple of years ago, didn't you?

Birdseye: "Yup."

Me: "So, you knew that Old Lady Bouvier had inherited quite a pretty penny after her husband died in that freak zamboni accident."

Birdseye: "Yeah, but I wouldn'ta harmed her! I loved her like my own ma! Rest her soul."

Me: "When did you find out Old Lady Bouvier was rubbed out?"

Birdseye: "Not until your boys booked me."

Me: "Aw yeah?"

Birdseye: "Aw yeah."

Me: "Aw yeah?"

Birdseye: "Aw yeah."

Me: "Well, let me ask you something, Birdseye, old buddy old pal. You accrued an awful lot of debt after college, am I right?

Birdseye: "Yeah, that's true. So what? In this economy, who doesn’t have debt?"

Me: “Where did you go to school?"

Birdseye: "Saint Augustine."

Me: "Really? You seem like more of a Lafayette man."

Birdseye: "Naw. I wanted the small college experience. Plus, Augustine had a great Comparative Literature program."

Me: "So I've heard..."

Birdseye: "Is that all then? Are we done here?"

Me: "No...there's just one more thing."

Birdseye: "Oh really? And, what's that?"

Me: "Put him in the slammer, boys. He killed Old Lady Bouvier."

Birdseye was shocked.

HOW DID I KNOW BIRDSEYE KILLED OLD LADY BOUVIER?

Keep reading for the answer.

As you may have guessed, Birdseye made the dire mistake of filming himself killing Old Lady Bouvier and putting the video on YouTube. I came across the video on my search for Beyoncé’s new music video.

It was an open and shut the door it's cold outside case.

God, I love this new underwear.

And remember, if there's a crime out there that’s easy to solve, I will be there to solve it.

Je t'adore,

Kate

Hal O. Wein

2011-10-19T11:36:00.011-05:00

Good people of Earth. I am so sorry that I have been absent from the blogosphere as of late. My modeling career has really taken off, and I've been traveling the world, using my fierce beauty to sell toilet paper and hemorrhoid cream.

But anyway, it's October now. And that can only mean one thing: It's October now.

Additionally, it means that it is time once again for my extraordinarily useful and also revolutionary suggestions for Halloween costumes, fit for any budget and style. (As long as your budget is over $1,000 and your style can best be described as robotic post-WWII surrealist hippie.)

Here we go! Here, here, here we go!

1. Are you a man? With a plan? Are you going to fry that chicken in a pan? Eggcellent.

This has nothing to do with anything. Please continue reading.

2. Children should be screened and not heard. Dress your child as a screen door this Halloween.

3. Young women enjoy dressing in costumes of a kind most sexual for Halloween. How do I know this? Why, you simpleton! I invented this tradition! (I once attempted to go as a thong for Halloween. Unfortunately, the people I hired to make my costume misheard me, and I ended up going as a pair of salad tongs instead. The good news was that vegetarian people still found me quite lusciously sexy). Anyway, young women of the world, I have a wonderful suggestion for your Halloween costume. You need to go as a sexy badly broken leg. Broken legs are one of the sexiest things I've come across in my short life, and I think you will find that this works quite surprisingly well for you.

(NOTE: There is an alarmingly high likelihood that I do not understand what "sexy" means. My apologies. Continue reading.)

4. According to my data, young men enjoy playing with cats (I did extensive research that allowed me to come to this conclusion. In other words, I saw a picture of a man with a cat one time five years ago, and I am grossly generalizing that all men also like cats). For this reason, I suggest that all young men don a cat costume this year. Specifically, you should wear a black leotard, black fishnet tights, 14-inch high black stilettos, and an abundance of makeup.

5. Let's take a second to discuss the elderly. Shall we? We shall. The elderly are people too. I know--I was surprised as well. For the longest time, I thought they were some other species of animals. Perhaps we should consider including them in our Halloween celebrations this year?

No. Ha. Hahaha. I laughed as well.

6. I don't know about you, but I consider my pets to be humans, and I include them in all the Halloween festivities that I take part in. So, it is clearly very important that your pets are dressed to impress. I do not recommend dressing your pets as other pets, because it is very confusing (I dressed my fish as a dog once, got confused, and tried to take it for a walk outside. The poor thing died. I keep it in my backpack for good lucksies though.). Instead, dress your pet as one of the presidents. That would be very cute. Oh wait...that could also be confusing. You might try to debate foreign policy with it. Forget it...just dress your pets as other breeds of the same species of pets.

Well, that's all I have for now, folks. Have a delightful Halloween. Remember to comb your hair and such.

Love,
Katie

Puke, Kiss, and Tell

2011-09-23T20:56:00.008-05:00

Hello, all. Nice to see you again. Ew. I just puked in my mouth. And outside my mouth. On my table.

Anyway, I recently started my senior year of college. And, so far nothing has been going right. Here are the reasons why:

1. Today I went for a walk to the local Whole Foods Market where I purchased overpriced sombreros, overpriced piñatas, and overpriced guacamole, of a kind most organic. On my return home, I ended up walking next to an elderly (read: about to die any second) man. Now, as a rule, I avoid the elderly. They are so grumpy and near death that I cannot even bear to kiss them, which I always end up doing for some reason.

Anyway, as Old Grumpy and I walked along, we came across a busy street. As is customary in Western societies, we waited until the "go ahead and walk" signal came on, before we began to cross the aforementioned busy street. It was then that Old Grumpy did something that I wish he hadn't: Old Grumpy grabbed my hand as we crossed. That's right: Old Grumpy and I were walking, (young, smooth, not-near-death) hand in (gross, wrinkly, clearly-about-to-die) hand.

Startled, I didn't know what to do! So, I decided to just play it as cool as a cat in Antarctica and continue holding his hand. (It had a nice feel to it, his hand did. I'd say it was a cross between an alligator's elbow and death.) A block later, we were still holding hands. So, I decided it was time for me to say something to Old Grumpy. I said "Nice day, isn't it?" to which Old Grumpy replied "What?! You're not my granddaughter!" A likely story!

After this, Old Grumpy scurried away from me, his little legs carrying him with a power I didn't know he had in him. (Okay: To be honest, it wasn't so much as a scurry as a wobbly, near-death gallop.)

I never even got to kiss him.

2. I am living in an apartment this year. It is quite a nice apartment, and I like the fact that I never see/talk to/associate with people anymore. Really, it's what I've always wanted. The only thing I don't like about it is that I clearly do not know how to fend for myself. It's true. For instance, I do not know how to cook at all. I've been having cereal on a plate with milk splattered over it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since I moved in a week and a half ago. I also have to keep calling my mom to tell me how to do things. Examples to follow:

"Mom, I accidentally turned the stove on three days ago. How do I turn it off?"

and

"Mom, I may or may not have broken a window while trying to air out my room after I started a small fire. How can I fix it?"

and, of course

"Mom, why am I not allowed to pee standing up?"

It's miserable being an adult.

3. All the kids make fun of me on account of my backpack with wheels.

With love,
Katsi

Snoop Bloggy Blog

2011-08-23T08:11:00.008-05:00

Gentlefolk of the interweb, lend me your ears (or better yet, just give them to me you little cheapo de Mayos!)

Last week I went to a party. It was like an after-work business party, only it didn't involve me drunkenly telling my boss that his father was a hamster and his mother smelled of elderberries. Monty Python reference.

Anywayz, last week I went to a party. It was the kind of party that you go to after you've had food poisoning for the past two weeks, your husband asked you for a divorce, your dog was sent to rehab for anorexia, and you need an excuse to get out of the house. You know the kind.

At this party, I met the most fascinating of all people: People with extreme intelligence and creative genius. People with powerful political and inter-specie connections. People with the ability to change the world, if not the galaxy. And people from France, who, to be perfectly frank, didn't quite fit in with the rest of us. The most interesting man by far at this party was a man who had the name of a man. That's right, old chap, a man with a man's name. This man's name was Kingsley Bertrum van Winklestein, man. And, as soon as I met him, I tried my very hardest to get the hell's angels away from that womanizing cad! Let me explain:

Winklbottom was as attractive as attractive can be! He had eyes (two of them) that were as blue as the sky at night. He had legs (three of them) that were as hairy and black as a hairy, black sheep, straight from slaughter (before the owners have had time to shave the poor sap). And, he had a face (one of them) that was as beautiful and tender as a rough night's sleep. He was perfect, and I had to talk to him.>>>MISTAKE!

After the traditional bow-curtsy interaction (which is a bit superfluous, if you want my honest opinion), van Winklepuss sat me down on his lap. This did not suit me well, because five other women were already sitting on his lap. Offended, I got off and ran away. However, ol' Winkie, who is used to always getting his way, was not having any of that!

So, after pushing the five women off him, he began chasing after me, while screaming things like "I'll show you the life of the mind!" and "I'm on a drug...it's called Kingsley...and I also do cocaine."

Having studied the stimulating effects of the drug Kingsley during my freshman year of high school health class, I knew I was in a heaping helping of trouble. Luckily, I knew exactly what I could do to stop Winkleface: I got out my harp (from my butt pocket) and began playing the most resplendent of melodious melodies. I also hit him over the head with a fireplace poker, for good measure. Winksles was on the floor, passed out, in 5 seconds flat. That's right: I tamed the beast with my musique.

I wanted to leave the party as soon as possible, before Winkledoodle woke up from his music-induced coma. However, before I left, I made sure to go back to the five women van Winksies had thrown from his loins before chasing after me. I lectured them on the importance of womenfolk's rights. I explained that if a man ever makes any of them sit on his lap with five other women to boot, that man is the wrong man for them. I left the party post haste, feeling like a real hero (because I was one, duh).

The end.

Goodbye.

Signing off now.

You hang up first!

No, you hang up first!

Seriously, goodbye.

Half-Ton Teenager

2011-07-31T14:00:00.003-05:00

As all of you should know by now, I am living in the City of York this summer, working my patootskie off at my internship. What you may not know is that for the past eight weeks, I have been miserably alone, having not made a single friend in this horrible city due to my abhorrent odor. Luckily, all the crying I did on the phone to my parents about how lonely I was really paid off, and some of my family's family members came for a visit last week. Father, Mother, and Older Brother came out. Oldest Brother could not come. He was on holiday in the great state of Indiana with his fiancée. Older Sister could not come either, having never existed in the first place.

This sounds like it would have been a fun time for all. Sadly, it was not. Indeed, the visit would have been far more enjoyable had Older Brother stayed at home.

You see, Older Brother is quite disgustingly famous among the TLC watchers of America, having starred in their hit show "Half-Ton Teenager" five years ago.

Unfortunately, the fame and fortune has gone completely to his obese head, clouding his obese vision.

Some explanation is, by necessity, necessary:

Older Brother was always Mother's favorite child, having been named after her. Indeed, Older Brother's real name is Older Brother Mother Marovitch. The two have always been alarmingly close, she having breast-fed him until he was fourteen.

In addition to all that whole milk, she would give him cakes and pies and apples (of a kind most caramelized) and cookies and pop and straight-up lard. Needless to say, the boy grew horizontally in no time at all. By the time he hit Puberty (the boy across the street), he was nearly 300 pounds overweight, and I'm not even counting his legs.

Anyway, Mother loved the boy with every breath of her being. And, being an entertainment-enthusiast as so many mothers are, she got him a contract with TLC.

And the rest is history. He became Half-Ton Teenager...and a celebrity.

So anyway, I was excited when Father and Mother decided to pay me a visit. Heck, I was even excited to discover that Older Brother would be coming along (Clearly, the loneliness I was feeling made me unable to think clearly).

Unfortunately, the entire vacation was just another one of Older Brother's publicity stunts. He brought along a camera crew to document his travels, for a TLC special entitled "Half-Ton Man Travels."

The visit was a complete and utter disaster. Let me give you some examples:

I wanted to impress Father and Mother by ordering something for dinner, and having it delivered to my apartment. While I was making the phone call, however, I discovered that Older Brother was already cooking for them. I continued to order, desperate to have my parents see how great I was at using phones to order food from restaurants. But, when the food I ordered finally came, they had already eaten Older Brother's meal. They hardly touched the mutton chops! Drat!

Then, due to Older Brother's morbidly obese state, I had to help Mother and Father wash him. He disgustingly refers to his deep fat folds as his "treasure trenches," and while we were cleaning them out with a hose, I discovered the Tamagotchi I lost fifteen years ago. Excited, I started playing with it...only to realize that the thing had died, as it was never fed properly. This is ironic, considering it was literally residing inside my overly-fed brother.

And finally, we could not escape from Older Brother's adoring fans. Everywhere we went, Older Brother was stopped by some TLC watcher, who would ask him to eat for her as she photographed him. Such is the life of a celebrity, I suppose.

Anyway, I am very glad my family is now gone.

Sincerely,
Katie

Women: Can't Live With Them, Can't Live Inside Them for Longer Than 9 Months

2011-07-23T18:50:00.013-05:00

The following post is intended for male eyes only. Sorry, ladies and men who have lady eyes.

Men frequently approach me, saying things like "Katie, what do women want?" and "Katie, how can I turn the woman I'm stalking into my love-thing?" and especially, "Can you move?! I don't even know who you are, you creepy girl!"

Alas, I stole the President's rubies.

Ignore that.

Alas, men, you are in luck, for I will finally reveal the secrets of womankind! YAY!

Some of you may now be scratching your heads (...and some other parts, of a kind most private. You men! So predictable!) and wondering what makes me so qualified to speak on behalf of women everywhere.

Excellent question, sirs. The truth is I myself used to be a woman, and I've got the photos to prove it. Wait.

I just checked. Excellent news: I'm still a woman. So, listen up, sonnies, as I tell you how to land yourself a Grade A Woman:

1. I'm just going to go ahead and say it: women enjoy being violently assaulted. It shows them that you are a strong, powerful man, and that impresses them. If you hit a woman over the head with a bat (Baseball bat. Not Stellaluna bat. I'm required by law to clarify this), she is sure to fall in love with you immediately...well, after the bleeding has stopped and she's out of a coma, of course. This is actually an evolutionary trait that women have retained since the time of the cavemen, cavewomen, cavebabies, and cavepets. You see, the caveman would hit the cavewoman he was pursuing over the head multiple times with clubs and bats and tree branches and the like. This showed his strength. If the woman did not die, the man was considered too weak to live, and would be eaten. If she died, however, it was a sign of his terrific might, and he'd get to marry her corpse. It's true. I'm not lying. We learned about it in my anthropology class. Maybe.

2. One thing that women especially love is poetry (ooooh!). They go nutskies over it. I'm going nutskies just thinking about it! Control yourself, Katsi! You've got a job to do! So, impress the woman of your fantasies with some poetry that you write yourself (read: plagiarize from someone who can actually write well), and I guarantee that she'll be swooning over you before verse four. However, it is really not enough to just read a few lines of something Shakespearical. Rather, you really need to keep reinforcing your love and knowledge of poetry to your little lady, so she knows that it is not just an act. How do you do this? I recommend reading the poetry to her at her most vulnerable times, when she'll most appreciate it. For instance, is she trying to relieve her bowels and bladder in the bathroom? Read her poetry. Through the door. Did her cat just die? Read her poetry. As she digs Dead Cat's grave. Did she have to declare bankruptcy? Read her poetry. As she weeps on the phone with her bank representative. Is she trying to sleep? Read her poetry. Loudly. So she can hear it really well.

3. Women love men who are rough around the edges and who have been in and out of jail for most of their lives. So, if you are the kind of man who is nice and has been arrested fewer than seventeen times, good luck, because no woman will ever want you...ever. My advice: consider stealing the President's rubies. Ignore that.

With love,
Kat B. Nimble
Kat B. Quick
Kat jump over the candle's pip.

P.S. What is a candle pip? I have never understood that song.

Girl Eats Pudding Nude

2011-06-23T19:31:00.006-05:00

People of the webernet,

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am working at a big corporation's headquarters this summer. Yes, yes! It's true. Overall, I am enjoying my work quite a lot. However, I am not entirely sure I fit in with the rest of my colleagues... or people in general. Here are some of the reasons why:

1.) My teeth enjoy being cleaned. I brush my teeth five or six times during the workday. However, I do not like other people watching me brush. In fact, I downright hate-erade it! So, whenever someone enters as I am brushing, I shout at them "Get out! Get out! What are you doing? Get out! I'm going to tell everyone you are a pervert!" This caused quite a controversy. Apparently, my colleagues enjoy a nice tattle tale every now and again, because my boss found out and told me that I had to stop shouting while brushing and that I needed to stop making the other employees feel uncomfortable. She also told me I had to keep my clothes on while eating in the kitchen area (I wear nice business-lady clothing and do not want to get them dirty as I eat my hourly pudding snack).

2.) My office has a scale in its women's washroom. People commonly use this scale to weigh themselves. I, however, prefer to use the scale to weigh my shoes, as I want to see how much exercise my feet are getting. People are starting to notice this. Someone even took a picture of one of my ceremonial shoe weigh-ins, to put on their blog. Let it be known, I hate people who blog.

3.) I like feeling important. However, I am but a mere intern, which means I am incredibly unimportant. I cannot handle this life position, though. So, one of my favorite things to do at work is to stand up abruptly so that everyone notices me, look at my watch, and say very loudly, "Oh no! I'm going to be late for the big meeting!" I then sit back down and continue working. Today when I did this for the 25th time, someone rudely told me to "sit down, we all know you're lying!" RUDE!

4.) I like taking naps at work. I brought in an air mattress for this purpose. But, when I went to set it up in the hallway in front of the "fire exit: keep clear" sign, someone rudely told me that I could nay do that, sister. However, this will not stop me, for as the saying goes, you can take Katie away from her air mattress, but you can nay take the air mattress out of Katie! (Literally. I swallowed the air mattress while it was fully blown up. I am now an enormous rectangle-person! Send the paramedics. Dying.)

With love,
Pizza Hut

Pizza Hut. Looks like hut, tastes like pizza.

2011-06-18T08:59:00.008-05:00

Hello, everyone. Everyone, hello.

I am from Chicago. Most of you have probably never heard of Chicago. So...

...Chicago was founded in 1992 by Etheline and Franklin Chicagostein. WAIT! I simply do not have time to talk history here. For a detailed and completely inaccurate historical account of Chicago, please read my other blog located at http://www.SweatyFiremenOfChicago.blogspot.sex.com. Warning: inappropriate for people under 17.

Anywayz, as I was saying, I am from Chicago. This summer, however, I am living and working in New York City...a city located maybe five miles south of Chicago, but likely not.

Some of you (smarter) blog-people may recall that I lived here last year. It's true, I did. And, now I am back in this beautiful (read: dirty), delicious (read: polluted), delightful (read: dog poop-ridden), splendid (read: homeless-people infested), and charismatic (read: stinky, stinky, poop-poops) town!

And, let me tell you, it is not all fun and games. In fact, it is neither fun nor a game. Indeed, I am completely miserable. Here are some of the reasons why:

1.) On Wednesday, a homeless man said "you look like a honey" to me as I was walking home from work. I was so flattered that I immediately started crunk dancing. After 15 minutes of this, I thanked him and patted the air above his head in an affectionate and germaphobic way. Then, I looked down and noticed that he had a gun pointed at me. It was then that I realized that he had not said "you look like a honey," but rather "give me all your money." Needless to say, I was embarrassed...and now I have no cash monees.

2.) On Thursday, I took a major fall. More specifically, I fell 15 stories out of an open window at work. Luckily, I landed on the nice, hard sidewalk head-first, so I of course did not die. However, I was painfully and erectile dysfunctionally embarrassed. So, I got up as fast as I possibly could. Unfortunately, as I stood up, I accidentally shoved my head into an elderly man's anus. It was disgusting, to say the least. But, on the bright side, I did manage to fix the man's bowel problems. He sent me a thank you note. It was written in blood. Butt blood.

3.) Last night I went to dinner with some colleagues from work. We went to a pizza restaurant, where we surprisingly ordered pizza. To get them to like me, I decided to make a hilarious joke by placing a piece of pizza on my face and singing "Hey ho pizza face! Hey lookatme imma pizza lady! Pizza yum tum do-dad! Look at me. Pizza pizza lady with a pizza face! Pizza on my face! Yeah!" etc. etc. (That's just the chorus. The song is quite, quite long, with over 75 verses).

Unfortunately, the joke did not go exactly right, as when I stuck the pizza to my face, I discovered that it was burning hot. However, I was born to perform, baby, and I knew the show had to go on! So, I started singing my song, despite my cheese pizza face burns. After the song finished, I passed out and had to be taken to the hospital. Bad news: the pizza and my face skin formed a symbiotic relationship, and neither is willing to part with one another. Good news: This makes me a superhuman superhero. I would now like to be called Pizza Hut (remind me to trademark this...).

4.) This morning I went for a jog to get to know the area I'm living in better. Okay. Let me rephrase that. This morning, I rented a Hoveround to take me around so I could get to know the area I'm living in better without having to get exercise. Naturally, I assumed that since I was riding a Hoveround, I should travel on the street, as the cars do (you know the saying--when in Rome, do as the cars do). This proved to be a mistake, as the speed limit was 65, and my Hoveround allowed me to go a maximum of 15. I got hit by three cars and seven buses...within the first 30 seconds alone. Luckily, I was wearing a helmet and three pairs of underwear and did nay die. However, I am currently typing this with the tip of my nose, as that is the only part of my body that is not broken.

As you can see, it has been a horrible few days. New York is clearly to blame.

With love,
Pizza Hut

Library Romance

2011-05-17T17:08:00.003-05:00

SOS SOS SOS

Currently sitting in the science library. Men on all sides of me. Keep getting flashbacks of Vietnam War. Wait. Was never in Vietnam War. Wondering why I am having flashbacks. Remembered why. Watched Forrest Gump last night.

Made myself laugh by previous line. Man next to me looked at me like I was a nutbar. Started crying. Want man next to me to like me. Noticed he had an apple. Said "I love bananas!" He said "That's not a banana," and left. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Followed library man out of library. Grabbed his apple. Said hilariously "Got your apple, Apple Daddy." He said "You keep it," and ran away.

Chased after library man. Threw apple at his head. Said hilariously, "If I can't have you, nobody can."

Library man called police.

Need bail money.

SOS SOS SOS

So I Married an Axe Murderer

2011-05-05T21:29:00.005-05:00

People of the Interwebby. I have important news gossip for you all:

Today I fell in love. The recipient of my love was a man-person. Unfortunately for me, when I saw this lovable monsieur, I was overly-medicated on Claritin and Cheez Whiz, rendering me incapable of properly asking for his name, cellular telephone number, and credit card numbers.

So, I need to describe this hunkahunka burning love to all of you, in hopes that you will recognize his description and will be able to point me in the direction of my he-man.

Here is the best possible description of him that I can give:

1.) His eyes were like round things that had circles of color inside a white part.

2.) His hands were like penguin flippers, except they had five distinct digits coming from the ends.

3.) His body was like a full-sized Barbie, without the plastic womanly-bits.

4.) His teeth were like white pearls that were flat and rectangular, rather than spheres.

5.) His face was like a regular human face.

6.) His voice was like a little girl's voice...if that little girl had a frighteningly low voice.

7.) He resembled Kim Kardashian in the buttocks department.

8.) He had the distinct odor of a Taco Bell. But, this may have been because we were standing outside a Taco Bell.

9.) He may or may not have been a hip hopper. Wait. Now I remember. He was not.

10.) At the end of our brief encounter, I tried to give him but one simple grab. He did nay like this. Indeed, he pushed me from him and said "Get away from me, weirdo" before running very quickly in the direction of safety. As he was running away from me (and I was chasing him), I noticed that his legs were like long cylinders that could move real fast.

That's the absolute best I can do with this description. Please (oh please!) help me find my bad romance. rah rah ah-ah-ah. ro mah ro-mah-mah. Gaga Oh-la-la! etc. etc.

Sincerely,
Kat E. McFlurry

I hate all my ants.

2011-04-06T17:22:00.005-05:00

This has not been a good week. In fact, it has been a downright calamity for a variety of raison d'êtres. The major reason is, of course, ant related, though:

Last week I returned to school from Springtime Break-Yo-Mama's Backpack. How thrilling (lie). When I returned to my beautiful dorm room, I discovered that an entire colony of ants had rented out the place while I was away. Quite literally (and this is not an exaggeration), there were 4.6 billion ants crawling about my room, acting like they owned the place. Clearly, this was problematicular.

I tried numerous approaches to get rid of them. First, I assumed they were rational creatures, and I tried to reason with them. I told them that half of the colony would have to hit the pavement. The other half could stay, but would need to pay some sort of rent and stop eating my bananas. This did nay work. In fact, this angered the ants, who turned to using violence against me (I fell and hurt my knee. Me thinks one of them did trip me!).

Realizing these ants were not rational, I had no choice but to also turn to violence. I challenged some of them to duals. The ants never responded to my dual invitatons. Rude!

So, it became obvious that I needed to start killing some of the ants. Just a couple here and there. I'm not proud of it, but it had to be done. And done it was. Unfortunately, killing some of the ants actually ended up angering the non-dead ants. They retaliated by making me forget to turn in a class assignment. Unbelievable! Dang those ants!

Now I was really beefed! I was fed up and fed down and fed all around by those nincompoop ants. I had no choice but to make them suffer. I wanted them gone! Not just half of them anymore, but ALL of them! To achieve this goal, I began murdering the eldest son of all the ant families, and I stuck his little ant carcass on a tiny stick, to teach the others a lesson and to scare them into leaving. This worked remarkably well, and I am now completely antelope-free! (Note: I also called an exterminator around this same time. I'm not sure which action actually resulted in the ant-removal, though.)

And that was the time I killed a bunch of ants.

With love,
Katsi

Spring Break-Yo-Mama's-Back!

2011-03-25T16:09:00.012-05:00

This week was Spring Breakage Week. And, good gravy, it was the worst week of my entire life. Let me explain. Please, oh please, let me explain!

On Monday some of the other employees at the office I work at got together to file a harassment complaint against me. It was complete bullploppings, though! Since when is it illegal to publicly "spank" (I merely tapped his bottomside!) a grown "man" (debatable)?!

On Tuesday, Mother decided it was time for me to start sleeping in a big-girl bed. She sold the crib I'd been sleeping in for the past 21 years. Hell hath no fury like a lady-woman whose prized crib hath been taketh away!

On Wednesday, Father put me on a strict exercise regimen, after he called me his "lardo daughter" and said that I needed to lose between 15 to 20 pounds to be "even remotely attractive." Since then, he's made me do 15 sit-ups and 3 push-ups every single day! I've never been so exhausted! Luckily, I'm already seeing results from this new fitness lifestyle. I've gained 4 pounds, but I'm certain it's muscle.

On Thursday, three of my teeth fell out. Doctor Dentist says it's because I have eschewed brushing and flossing since the second grade. I just hope I don't end up like Timmy Shillings whose teeth, it is rumored, have fifty fillings, or Leslie Knopps, that old cow, who broke her teeth biting bottle tops, or Betsy McDoodle, who lost her teeth after chewing the bones of her ex-boyfriend's toy poodle!

On Friday, I visited an old friend from high school. She made me leave her stupid ugly house quite abruptly, however, after I accidentally on purpose confused her closet for the bathroom.

And that was my week. As you can see, it was quite miserably horrendous in every which way. Send money. Quickly.

Fin.

Backpack with Wheels

2011-02-27T20:13:00.001-06:00

It was when I was in fifth grade that backpacks with wheels became popular. And, as with most trends, I caught on really late (for instance, I didn't learn how to walk until I was seven). So, while all the other children in my school were wheeling around their books in their fancy backpacks, I was stuck carrying my backpack on my back, like a total dingleberry.

Eventually, however, I began nagging my mother so much about getting me a backpack with wheels that she caved in (sucker!).

I remember the conversation that we had in the car ride home quite painfully well. It went exactly like this:

Katie: Hello, mother. So nice to see you again. Did you remember to spray my pillow with lavender scent eight hours in advance of my bedtime so that I am calm before I fall asleep, but not overwhelmed by the scent?

Mother: Guess what I got you!

Katie: Hopefully something from the Limited Too. Otherwise, save your excitement for someone who will actually care, lady marmalade.

Mother: No...I got a you backpack with wheels!

Katie: Oh my God. Oh good Lord. This is the happiest moment of my existence. Thank you. Thank you so much!

Mother: And, it's green, your favorite color!

Katie: Oh my God. Green?! I love green!

Unfortunately, my happiness abruptly ended as soon as I laid my eyes on the "backpack" that my mother had purchased for me.

Indeed, standing upright on our kitchen floor was a medium-sized green suitcase. With wheels.

I immediately knew this was intended to be my backpack. However, I wanted to play it cool and give my mother the benefit of the doubt. So, I said "Oy, mum. That's a nice looking suitcase. I'll take that on our next vacation trip, if you do not mind, of course."

But, she simply looked at me...with those eyes of hers...and said "No! That's your new backpack with wheels! Isn't it cool?!"

I said no, of course. But, she made me take it to school for THE REST OF FIFTH GRADE anyway.

People still call me "Suitcase Backpack Girl," which is as unoriginal as they come, but still quite horrendously hurtful to my emotional well-being.

Thanks, Mum. I'll keep this in mind when I'm choosing the nursing home to send you to on your 65th birthday. Players gonna play! Winners gonna win!

Some Very Katsi Thoughts

2011-02-12T19:23:00.007-06:00

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's failing miserably at everything.

For instance, yesterday I tried to do a push up. I ended up doing a pull up instead (I read the sign wrong--it said "push," and I pulled).

But, this post is not about my failures, gentle people. Nay, this post is about some random topical ointments that I've been thinking about recently, and that I'd now like to share with you:

1.) How have I not been discovered yet by an elite modeling agency? I'm one of the most disgustingly gorgeous people I know. Don't believe me? Here are my more noticeable features (Note to married men: you may not want to show your wife this. She's likely to get upset and divorce you after finding out that you are reading about such an attractive lady long legs.):
a. I have webbed toes.
b. I am lacking a certain crack in the butt department.
c. One of my eyelids is super-glued shut (with eye boogers). So, I'm constantly winking...it's incredibly suggestive.

In other words, I'm a perfect 10 (...divided by 5). What am I doing sitting at this computer and surfing the world wide web?! I need to be sharing my glorious bod with the rest of the free world!

2.) Children are very low on my list of "Things I Hope to Someday Have." Indeed, they come directly after "A Colonoscopy." Whenever I see a child on the street, I immediately start puking all over it. This usually upsets the child's parents. But, this doesn't bother me one bit, because I am a firm believer in that old proverb...children should be puked on, not heard.

3.) The song "Who Let the Dogs Out" by the Baha Men is easily one of the top three greatest songs ever created. I know this song is no longer popular, but I will always greatly enjoy it. In fact, I plan on walking down the aisle to this song one day. (Note: NOT the wedding aisle. I'm talking about the candy aisle of Target).

4.) It's not fair that Leslie Nielsen died. He's the comedian who most influenced my love of airplanes. Why couldn't it have been Dane Cook?!

5.) I don't like touching Kleenex. It makes me nervous. I also don't like touching nervous. It makes me Kleenex.

And THAT is what I've been thinking about recently.

I Wash My Pens. I Dry My Pencils

2011-01-25T14:16:00.001-06:00

Today was horrible. I got sand in my butt.

That was a lie. But, now that I have your attention...

There are four things you need to know about me: 1.) I am a slight germaphobe. This means that I do not enjoy other people's nasty germs. 4.) I am incapable of saying "no" to people. 2.) I never learned how to count.

Anyway, today I went to class, as I do every day (minus weekends and holidays). While there, Coughy McCoughstein decided to sit next to me, coughing her lungs up and spraying me with her disgusting germ-ridden saliva every few seconds.

Even more unfortunate, Coughy forgot to bring a pen to class (I know! Moron!). So, she needed to borrow one from me. I wanted to say no, but I couldn't (see number 4 above).

So, I lent her my worst pen, and then I spent an hour and a half trying to hold back my tears as I watched her cough and sneeze all over it.

After class, she handed back my pen. I was so disgusted with the situation that I decided I really needed to wash it with soap and water. I knew that if I were to put it in my backpack, among all my other (clean) pens and pencils, it would certainly contaminate all of them, and I was not about to let this happen.

So, I took a nice walk to the bathroom and began vigorously washing the pen.

While I was soaping up, rubbing, and rinsing the pen, I heard the door open. Coughy entered...dun dun DUN!

She saw that I was washing the pen I had just lent to her, and obviously realized that I was trying to remove her nasty germs from it.

This might have been an awkward occurrence. However, I am an incredibly quick-thinking pioneer woman. So, I smiled politely at her, took out other pens and pencils from my backpack, and began washing them as well.

I'm pretty sure the girl saw this as being a very creative and wise thing to do, rather than as a crazy and insane-person thing to do. She probably has a lot of respect for me now that she knows I wash my pens and pencils.

And that is the story of the time I made friends with Coughy McCoughstein.

Tell your grandchildren. Tell your boss.

Open Water!? More Like Milkman's Daughter! Seriously though. This isn't a joke.

2010-12-21T09:27:00.008-06:00

I am afraid of the open water. Water that is open. Water that hasn't been closed for quite some time.

When I was in second grade, my mum (that's British for "mom") took several of my childhood friendsies to the local swimming pool. I also tagged along.

Once in the pool, my friends and I began playing several games. Games of chance. Games of circumstance. Games of logic.

The first game was "Who can hold their handstand the longest?"

The second game was "Who can hold their breath underwater the longest?"

The third game was "Who can pretend to drink tea underwater the longest?"

The fourth game was of a different nature. Yes, yes. The fourth game was of a kind quite unlike the aforementioned...for it was Marco Polo.

This was the game that changed my life forever. It created in me a fear of the open water. Oh goodness! Oh gravy! Oh goodness gravy!

First, my friend Timberly (name has been changed. Not for legal reasons, but because I forgot this girl's name) was Marco.

She began Marco-ing around while the rest of us swam about and tried to avoid her grasping graspers. Unfortunately, I have always failed miserably at playing games like Marco Polo or Hide-and-Seek. I tend to freak out and completely give up my hiding spot by shouting things like "I'm over here! Gahh! I'm right here!" So, I was quickly tagged, and became the next Marco.

I quite enjoyed being Marco. I was comfortable in that role because having all my friends swimming from me and trying to avoid me reminded me of home. I also liked that I had to have my eyes closed throughout the game, because it meant I didn't have to see yo mama's ugly face.

Anywayz, as I was being Marco, I felt a gentle flow of water near me. I had peed. Just kidding. It was the gentle flow of water that comes from a person as they walk around in a pool. I knew one of my friends was near...and I got ready to attack!

I sprung one of my hands forth, and I felt the hair of a girl-child! I sprung my second hand forward, and (what's this!?) I felt the shoulder of a second girl-child!

Deary me! I had managed to tag two of my friends. I was clearly a pro Marco!

Now, at this point, my eyes were still closed. Yes, that's right. I couldn't see a thang. Not even a thang.

So, I decided to be a bit rough with my friends, and began shoving them around a bit. It was during this shoving that I heard the screams. I heard the girlish screaming. I heard the girlish screaming that was quite unlike the girlish screaming that my friends were capable of emitting.

I opened my eyes, and I was shocked to discover that the two girls I had been attacking were not my friends. NAY! They were random pool-goers that I had never before seen. My friends were laughing their bums off in the distance. I wanted to die.

Instead of dying, however, I immediately began crying, and had to sit with my mom for the rest of the miserable, godforsaken day.

And that was that.

WAIT! I haven't explained why I fear the open ocean yet! Here's the reason, Mr. Gleason:

Three years later, my parents took my brothers and me on vacation to Hawaii. We spent a lot of our time at the beach. One day, my brothers forced me to play Marco Polo with them in the open ocean. I was the Marco to their Polo. I kept swimming further and further into the ocean, desperately trying to catch my brothers. At one point, I yelled out "Marco" and heard the standard "Polo" reply quite near me. I thrust my hands forward, and believing it was one of my brothers, I began attacking...EXACTLY as I had three years prior. I opened my eyes, content with my catch, and received the shock of a lifetime! I had been attacking a great white shark! Holy cow! Oy!

Luckily, I somehow managed to get back to shore completely unharmed.

Moral of my stories: NEVER PLAY MARCO POLO!

Rum Balls

2010-12-19T16:49:00.005-06:00

Today was the kind of day that was more or less a typical day.

I took several naps. I baked rum balls. I watched a movie. I pretended I could not bend my knees and walked around screaming "My knees! Oy, mate! My knees! They're not a'working! Youch! Inform the knee factory that they've sold me faulty knees!" for an hour or thereabouts.

Oh, and I also got all the hairs on my head cut by the world's rudest poopoolady hairdresser.

I would like to now explain that last sentence.

This past quarter at school, I allowed my hair to grow quite hideously long, and it became rather problematic. For instance, I could not eat soup without it falling into the bowl. Gross. Additionally, it would choke me during the night and men would frequently try to climb up it, confusing me with some gorgeous chick named Rapunzel or maybe Cher. And, I have reason to believe that small rodent-like rodents were living inside it.

So, needless to say, the hair had to be cut. And cut it was. By Beelzebub herself.

After forcing me to wait for 15 minutes, the hairdresser finally decided to make an appearance. Soon after, the rude comments began. Here are some examples:

While washing my hair she asked me if I was going to be entering college soon. I replied that I was already a junior in college, to which she replied "NO! No way! I thought you were like a sophomore in HIGH SCHOOL! You look so young." I laughed and said that I got that same reaction a lot. She said that she was glad I said that, because she was worried it was just her being "r*tarded." Then, while cutting my hair, she asked me if the reason I was cutting my hair was so that people would start taking me seriously. Finally, when the haircut was complete, she told me that I should keep my hair shorter, because my face is "super" thin, and that I should not have long hair "until I gain a few pounds."

Ah, excellent. What a wonderful woman. I want her to be the godmother of my future, unwanted children. I plan on tattooing her face on my bum and her bum on my face. I am going to petition to make her birthday a national holiday.

The above statements were sarcastic statements. Sorry for any confusion they may or may not have likely or possibly caused.

Anywayz, the point I'm trying to make here is that she was a nasty woman, and I hate her. Though, it has to be said, my hair looks great.

The end...

...Or is this the beginning?

My father is insane. Let me count the ways.

2010-12-05T17:37:00.010-06:00

My father's name is Joe. And, let me tell you, the man is batpoopies insane. Honest to (nonspecific) God, anyone who has ever met him will agree with me. I would now like to share with all of you some of my favorite anecdotes about my father. These same stories will be read by me at his funeral (I'm waiting anxiously for that day, so I can read these hilarious stories to everyone!). Just kitten, just kitten! Anyway...

1.) Joe calls pants "long-sleeved shorts" and shorts "short-sleeved pants." I think he does it to save time.

2.) Joe does not understand clothing (see above example). During the winter months, he can frequently be found wearing awkwardly short shorts and a coat so massive that it looks like he has nothing on (pants-wise) at all. This is alarming. Whenever he walks around outside, you can see parents hurriedly grabbing their small children and bringing them inside, away from the scary pants-less man. They can run, but they can nay hide!

3.) My family once took a vacation to the beautiful and talented San Francisco. We were eating at an incredibly nice and ridiculously fancy restaurant, and were already inches deep in our Bloomin' Onion when Joe excused himself to use the restroom. Half a minute later, my mother and I decided that we too needed to relieve our organs of a kind most bladderly. The women's washroom had a long line (as it always does, because women are so incredibly lazy that they won't even stand up when they pee!). Waiting in this line along with all the other women was my father. We don't discuss this incident at home.

4.) My brothers and I are incredibly embarrassed by my father's "hilarious" sense of what he likes to think is humor. Example: freshmen year of high school I was in speech club. The speech events had different acronyms ("humorous interpretation" was "H.I.," "dramatic interpretation" was "D.I.," etc.). So, my mother was telling everyone at a family holiday party about the different events, when my father announced that "My daughter is in O.F...original farting!" The joke was an enormous hit, and I use it often (NOT). But anyway, my brothers and I are so embarrassed of this man who is responsible for our births that we frequently lie and tell people that he is not, in fact, our father, but rather he is our mentally deranged uncle.

5.) Freshmen year of college, Joe helped me move in. That was the first and last time I allowed him to visit me at school. Anyway, my mother and I began unpacking my collegiate things (e.g. my computer, refrigerator, swords, toasters for each corner of the room, posters of David Hasselhoff, etc. etc.), while Joe set up my printer and tested it out. As we continued unpacking, the CA (our version of the RA) came by to welcome me. When he attempted to shake my father's hand, Joe just ignored the gesture and instead said, "Katie's printer works too fast. The pages dart out of it. How can we slow it down?" The CA quickly left the room. I don't blame him. My father's insane. That same day, Joe also tried to steal someone's computer chair and repeatedly went into my neighbor's room, rather than mine, completely ignoring the enormous name tags posted on the doors.

Refreshments will be served on the casket. Joe would have wanted it this way.

Sincerely,
Katie Marovitch

Dave!

2010-11-15T19:00:00.001-06:00

Lipstick. All over my face. So embarrassing.

Ween, Hallo? Is Ween, Hallo Present?

2010-10-25T18:36:00.013-05:00

Halloween is coming soon, my children, my children's children, and my non-children. Yes, yes, the present time is a joyous time indeed.

Now, some of you might not know what Halloween is, but this is unlikely so I am going to proceed as if I didn't just bring this up.

Excellent. Anyway...

Some of you have been desperately trying and failing miserably to contact me, asking me for my brilliant and widely acclaimed advice concerning what your costume should be for Halloween. So, here it is, readers, an excerpt from the article I recently had published in Newsweek Magazine entitled, "The Katie Marovitch 2010 Best Costume Guide For People Who Want to Dress Up for Halloween and Be the Center of Attention at Any and All Halloween Parties They Attend." Below are my top five costume ideas from this article, not listed in any particular order, though they are listed from best to worst. Feel free to use any and/or all of them. And by "feel free," I of course mean you need to pay me money to use these ideas, as they are patented.

1.) The best and really only thing a woman can offer the world is her body. For this reason I recommend that my female readers go as any animal that can be made sexy. For instance, turtles are rather sexy animals, aren't they? As are mountain lions, gibbons, parakeets, walruses, gerbils, goats, humans, and fried chicken. Dress as one of these animals. After you make your costume, cut off half of it so it's sexy.

2.) The best and really only thing a woman can offer the world is her brain. For this reason, I recommend that my female readers do not succumb to societal gender roles by dressing in overly-sexual costumes this Halloween. Instead, I recommend that they go as something classic and respectable: Octomom.

3.) Men enjoy dressing up for Halloween. This is an assumption I am making that is grounded in hard data I have arduously gathered over the years. Many men enjoy sports. So, I want to see my male readers dressed as balls. The more balls I see this Halloween, the better.

4.) Children enjoy candy a lot, so dress your children up as a Walgreens, because they sell candy there.

5.) Television shows are quite popular these days, or so I am told. Why don't you dress as one of your favorite characters from your favorite television show? Wouldn't that be a hoot and a half!? My favorite show is Melissa & Joey! No. No it is not.

Excellent. Well, I know I've been a lot of help to all of you. How will you ever thank me? Send money.

A Sad Day For a Very Sad Girl

2010-10-20T20:00:00.008-05:00

Today was incredibly embarrassing for me. I am forever banning days like this from my life!

Anyway, it started off as any other day. I put on my shoes and then my underwear. I put on my belt and then my pants. I put on my lipstick and then my helmet. That was a lie. I do nay wear lipstick. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make here is that today started off as normal as any other. But, then it took a turn for the worse (actually, make that two turns for the worse--left on Humiliation Lane and then left again on I Want to Die Real, Real Bad Boulevard).

What made today so downright humiliating? I'm about to tell you, so tie your shoes and bring grandma back to the nursing home.

1.) I took a midterm in one of my economics courses. The teacher told us to make sure we ask questions to clarify things on the exam. For some reason, I interpreted this to mean "Katie Marovitch, ask a bunch of stupid questions as often as possible so that you will monopolize the teacher's time and annoy everyone and make them think you're really, really dumb and lame." And that is exactly what I did. Some of the stupidest questions I asked include, "Should my name be written in pen, even if I plan on using pencil for the rest of the exam?" and "Can you tell me the time?...yes, I know I'm wearing a watch, but it's two minutes fast." Anyway, after the midterm was over, I realized how ridiculous all my questions had been, and I began feeling embarrassed. I was so embarrassed, in fact, that I had to drop the class.

2.) I frequently daydream--much more than your average bear, in fact. And, sometimes, in addition to just daydreaming in my head, I actually end up acting out what I am thinking in real life. It's like I'm a mime. Except, unlike mimes, I am not a pedophile. This daydreaming/silent acting business is exactly what happened to me today. Unfortunately, a classmate of mine was watching me the entire time, and I didn't realize it until it was too late. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm crazy. I'm not crazy! I'm just...tomato.

3.) My final sad event of the day occurred as I was exiting a building after class. I am a bit on the germaphobic side of the spectrum, so I always avoid touching doorknobs if I can. This usually means that I must squeeze through doors that people in front of me have opened. Sometimes I make it, and sometimes I am forced to open the door on my own...WITH MY HANDS! So, today, a man exited the building, but only opened the door for himself (rude!). I rushed to squeeze through it after him, but I forgot that I had on my massive backpack. Needless to say, the door closed before I was all the way through. Everyone in the hallway saw. Someone even said, "Are you okay?" I was not okay. I cried wee! wee! wee! all the way home. Just like that last little piggy did. Last little crying piggy and I are brethren. We were cut from the same loin cloth. Gross.

What a day, what a day!

BUT MA! I'm a'scared!

2010-10-02T20:34:00.006-05:00

Hello, kind and generous people of Earth. Please, gather your children. I want them to read this post as well. I'm trying to bridge the gap between the generations.

Anyway, this post will be dedicated to the top five things I am afraid of. I will list them for you here. Right here. Starting now... GO!

1.) I am horribly afraid of the nighttime. For realzies. It makes me weak at the knees and forces me to lean on some bees. Luckily, I have developed an effective process that allows me to avoid the night altogether, and I recommend that all of you follow this technique as well. To put it in layman's terms, my technique involves me sleeping during the night. Yes, that's right. I sleep. This way, I am unconscious and am completely and utterly unaware that it is, in fact, nighttime.

2.) I am afraid of people who shout crazy things at me while I am walking down the street. Yes, yes. This happens quite frequently, sadly. For instance, I will be walking to class when suddenly an acquaintance of mine will shout, "Hey, Katie! How are you?" It scares the living urine right from my loins.

3.) I am ridiculously afraid of bicyclists. However, not for the reasons you might think. You see, every dingaling time I see a bicyclist, I have a strange urge to stick my fingers in the wheels of his or her bicycle while it is moving. I don't know why. But, that's the truth. It may be the worst kind of truth imaginable, but it's the only truth I've got, baby.

4.) I am afraid of having my throat slashed by people sitting behind me in movie theaters. I know I've mentioned this before, but it is so scary to me that I must mention it again!

5.) My final fear is of clowns. They wear too much red and their cars are freakishly small.

Thank you for reading. And remember: you are what you eat, tubby.

Katie Marovitch: Kind of a Loser.

2010-09-25T09:54:00.009-05:00

People. It hast been a half-fortnight since the commencement of my junior year of university, and already I am feeling the pangs of childbirth and the spasms of indigestion and bloating.

Not literally, of course.

Anyway, this past week I have learned a lot about myself. And, I must say, I'm a horrible person and I'm embarrassed to have to be seen with myself.

There are many reasons why I am simply no good, and why you are better off ignoring me and cutting the cord between your life and mine. Let me count the ways:

1. I have never accomplished anything of importance. All of my friends have written plays, novels (or novellas, at the very least!), and successful movie scripts. All I have ever done was create this crappy blog and write/illustrate a ten page children's book that was a complete rip-off of DreamWork's Shrek. My only other accomplishments include: a) learning how to use my phone for text-messaging, and b) discovering a noxious strain of bacteria, found in several brands of whole wheat crackers, that was causing severe illness in children whose parents failed to have them properly vaccinated as babies. I know, I know. NO BIG DEAL. I regret bringing it up.

2. I am incapable of being generous to other people. In fact, my life motto is, "What's yours is mine." Note: That is actually the clean, Internetz-appropriate version of my motto. The real version discusses the consequences people face for not giving me things I want. Included on the list of consequences: a severe beating.

3. I have an extremely low self-esteem, and am constantly putting myself down.

Thank you for reading this. I make no apologies for being this way. But, seriously, I'm so, so, so sorry!

Food, Glorious Food!

2010-09-17T10:28:00.010-05:00

I'm a pretty typical big, black, and beautiful woman. But this post has absolutely nothing to do with that. Instead, I'd like to discuss my intense dislike of dorm food.

Unlike vegetarians, I am not a vegetarian. This means that I eat meat every now and again. My meat of choice is chicken (or human, depending on which is easier for me to obtain). However, I won't eat just any ol' chicken. No. I prefer my chicken to be white meat, the stuff of champions. It also must be of good quality. Now, reader-people, do you think that my school frequently serves decent quality, white meat chicken!? HELL NAW.

The chicken they serve is rarely even properly dead. You get a mouthful of chicken feather and beak every time you take a bite!

The meat quality of the meat's quality is not my only complaint, of course. I also would like to complain about the variety of offerings available. Simply put, there is no variety. Every single day of my miserable existence, I get to choose between a panini, pasta with sauce, potatoes (either baked, fried, or mashed), some sort of mystery entree, mixed vegetables (frozen first), bread, and the exact same salad bar. Oh! And there's also a stir fry option. Every. Single. Day.

Blah.

Doesn't my school know that it is not healthy to eat the same thing every day!? Apparently not. How about shaking it up once in awhile, school, and offering fish or nice vegetables that are actually prepared well?

I have decided to go on a hunger strike in order to encourage my school to improve the menu. That's right. Let this be a lesson to you, school! I need to finish this granola bar first, of course. Oh...and I saved that cookie for today. Okay, okay. Hunger strike starts tomorrow.

I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant

2010-09-04T08:40:00.010-05:00

Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up and read my blog...

Today's post is so important to me that I'm going to get right into it without talking about anything else first, unlike what I usually do. Yes, yes, I have no intention of beating around the mulberry bush (while chasing a weasel with a monkey) by mentioning how awesome the new boots I purchased are, or by describing the level of deliciousness of the cookies I baked yesterday (10 out of 10, biznatches!)

Nope. Today's post will be entirely dedicated to one of my favorite television channels/freak shows: TLC.

TLC's programming satisfies my innate desire to watch people as they go through horrific life experiences. No other channel exploits people's suffering quite like The Learning Channel does, and for this, I am thankful.

I will now discuss my favorite TLC shows.

1.) "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant"
The show follows women who confuse being pregnant and giving birth with having a massive bowel movement. That's right. Surprise! Your food baby is an actual baby. Do not laugh, readers. This is more common than you might think. I myself am a toilet-bowl baby, and I've got the scars to prove it.

2.) "Half-Ton Mom," "Half-Ton Dad," and "Half-Ton Teen"
This show is actually incredibly depressing. It follows the lives of people who are hundreds and hundreds of pounds overweight, and who are therefore fighting to lose weight just so they can survive. Oh God. I want a sandwich so badly right now.

3.) "Half Man, Half Tree"
I must admit, every time this show airs, I turn it on with the intention of watching it in its entirety. However, once I see that tree-man's treelike features, I must turn it off. Nothing makes me want to puke more than the sight of trees...or men.

Special message to TLC:
Dear TLC,
I have several suggestions for new shows I think you should consider:

1.) "Jackass Man"
The story of my father.

2.)"I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant: Las Vegas"
Same premise as above, but in Sin City.

3.) "I Didn't Know I Was Not Pregnant"
This would follow the story of women who think they are pregnant but who actually just really need to make a doodoo pie.

Excellent. Keep up the good work, TLC.

Strange Markings Mark Girl For Greatness

2010-08-31T09:34:00.000-05:00

Everyone, I have excellent news! I may or may not be some sort of magical entity, placed on earth to do good deeds and save mankind!

What led me to make this possible, but highly doubtful, conclusion? While examining my body in a reflection-window-glass-pane (known as a "mirror" to normal people), I found an alarmingly large marking on my back that resembled the face of Zeus. Or possibly Jesus. Or maybe Santa? Hulk Hogan? Not important.

The important thing to remember here, people, is that the enormously large, and quite possibly cancerous, marking that I just discovered clearly identifies me as having special powers that the rest of you do not. In addition to this back blemish, I also noticed some hair growing on my chin, upper lip, and basically all over my face. All great men in history had beards. And I am no exception. Do not be jealous, ladies and non-ladies alike, for I will use my special talents for good. The following are on my "to-do" list of things for me...to do:

1. My first world-saving and extremely kind act will be to release the zoo animals from zoos, and integrate them into our society. No longer will lions, penguins, elephants, and other zoo creatures be locked in cages for us to view, shout obscenities at, and hit with large rocks. Rather, they will be trained to work and interact with the humans. Some will be policelions, businesspenguins, or even firemonkeys. Others will be actors and actresses. Still others will be politicians or street performers. All will be happy.

2. My second act will be to re-write the epilogue to the seventh Harry Potter novel, so that it doesn't suck so badly (Spoiler alert! In my version, Fred doesn't die. Also, Harry and Hermione get to be together. As do Ron and Ginny. I know that's technically incest, but COME ON people! It's what all of us wanted all along!)

3. My third deed will be to make every night taco night.

4. My fourth gift to humanity will be to do away with pants. Our legs should be free, rather than confined to pant-materials. For as it was written in the Bible, "He who doth nay weareth the panteth will inherit the Earth." Delightful.

5. My fifth and final act of goodwill will be to provide tents and sleeping bags to the homeless people of the world. Yes, yes. I am very kind and generous. Sleeping bags and tents to all, and to all a good night! Of course, in order to receive their free tent and sleeping bag combo, they must agree to banishment on Hobo Island, complete with daily strip searches.

Ah excellent. I will begin these wonderful acts of charity after a brief visit to my dermatologist. Goodbye, all!

Girl Upset By Lack of Free Candy at School

2010-08-23T14:03:00.014-05:00

People of the Internetz:

You may or may not have noticed the tears that are currently flowing down my face cheeks (as opposed to those other cheeks, located further south along my body's longitudinal axis). These tears are tears of sadness, angst, and anxiety, rather than of happiness, allergies, or problems with my contacts.

Why the tears, you might ask?

School, my delicate flower children. Yes, yes. These tears are school-related. Summer is knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door currently. And, with the death of summer comes the rebirth of school. I can already hear the school bells in the distance, and when I peer through the windows of my friends' homes as they are getting dressed (I'm really into Extreme Voyeurism--that new sport that all the kids are talking about), I see them donning their school apparel. Disgusting.

Now, there are several reasons why I am dreading my return to college. These reasons are quite typical of the average college student, I believe, and they include:

1.) Quiz-icles and test-icles. That's right-I'm talking about exams. Exams are loathed by college students everywhere, because they are frequently difficult and hardly ever involve us getting free candy.

2.) Dorm food. The stuff even the hungry, hungry hippos (or, heck, even the hungriest of hippos!) would refuse. As a classy good-looking lady with a hearty appetite, I am disgusted by the offerings at my school's cafeterias. My stomach craves delicacies like squirrel, owl pellets, and Dove soap, but all my school can provide is chicken, shrimp, and white wine. And I'm all like, "Hey, school, that ain't right!"

3.) High price of books. College students are notoriously poor, because we spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on books each year. We barely have enough left over to pay for life's necessary necessities. Just last week I purchased my books. The total was $390 dollars. I hardly had enough money to pay for (extremely necessary) full-body massages for me and my toy poodle, and I was only able to tip 15%!

4.) Teachers who cannot be bribed. The worst kind of teacher is the teacher who refuses to accept your money in exchange for improving your grades. I have found that these professors are extremely dishonest, unscrupulous, and are most definitely of questionable upbringing.

5.) Classes that teach you useless things.
Higher education has a hefty price tag, and college students want to put that money to good use. We're sick and tired of taking classes where we must memorize oodles and boodles of tedious factoids, and where free candy is nay provided for us! Quelle injustice!

Sadly, there is not much that we college-folk can do to extend summer and hold off going to school. Whether you want to or not, you're going to have to take off your summertime underwear and instead put on your schooltime underwear (Metaphysically speaking, of course. Whatever that means.)

Good luck, all! Kisses from your misses.

Melanie: Part Deux!

2010-08-01T20:50:00.012-05:00

DISCLAIMER: All characters and events in this post—even those that concern both real roommates and real events that took place with my roommates—are entirely fictional.

Everyone, I must once again ask you to gather around me. Get closer. I want to be able to smell your hair...excellent. Ah, you use Pantene. That's classy.

Anyway, the most hilarious series of events has happened since my last post. Warning: If you are like me and you have a weak bladder that is three sizes too small and four shades too dark, now would be a good time to put on a diaper.

So, do you remember the post I wrote entitled "Melanie Blah Blah?" (If not, quickly go back and read it ya little goof! Godspeed.)

Well, the roommate who "Melanie" was based on discovered my blog somehow (creepy!), read that post, and immediately realized that she was, in fact, the real-life "Melanie." This did not go over very well.

Melanie (whose real name I cannot say--she's probably reading this right now. Hi, Melanie! Love you longtime!) was quite upset that I used her in my blog. Thankfully, I had gone to the grocery store when she discovered the post, so she had probably cooled off a little bit by the time I came back.

After I returned home, she came up to me and said "We need to talk. I found your blog." YIKES!

I knew she had found the "Melanie Blah Blah" post, but I decided to play dumb (in other words, I mimicked her normal behavior). I said "Ah, swell, old chap. You read my blogthing. Did it tickle your pickle as blogthings are supposed to?"

Not even my adorable phrasing of that sentence could win her over, however. She starting lecturing me on how immature it was to not confront her about how annoying and disgusting she was, and that I needed to be careful when I use the Internetz, and she ended by saying "The world doesn't revolve around you." Charming.

So, all was fine and dandy. I didn't talk much while she confronted me, because I had to urinate quite badly because I was nervous, and all my attention was focused on that.

However, after the urine was released, I realized how hilarious the situation was, and I wrote several statuses on my Facebook detailing the event. Right before I got in the shower, for instance, I wrote one that said "I'm afraid to shower. One of my roommates is going to knock down the door and murder me while I'm in there...and all I'll be wearing is a pair of cut-offs" (Yes-this is an Arrested Development reference). After writing the status, I finally turned around, and realized that she had sneakily been looking at my Facebook the entire time!!! What a creep-a-leak! I didn't even hear her come over! She tip-toed like a mouse, which is ironic, because she actually resembles a butt-faced-loser-mouse.

THAT was when the fighting occurred! Dear God-she was angrier than a drunk during Prohibition. She literally screamed my name, and started shouting out crazy-lady things left and right! Fortunately, I was once again not really paying attention, as my bladder was quickly giving way to the nervous urine that had formed. However, I did manage to ask "Why were you going through my Facebook?" to which her lame reply was "This is a public room." Yes. She literally thought that our room, and everything in it, was "public." I responded by screaming back "NOT MY COMPUTER. MY LAPTOP IS PRIVATE." The fighting continued, until she stormed out.

Where did she go? She went to cry to the RA about me. I know! Whattabaybay!

Anyway, that night I was terrified that she would try to murder me. She was quite an aggressive girl, and she was at least double my size. I also thought she might break my laptop. So, fearing for my safety, I packed up my things, and moved out to a single room. Best move of my life. The end.

The Lesbians Will Eat Your Flesh at Midnight

2010-07-22T20:06:00.005-05:00

Women of the Internet, listen to me! Read my words, and gain meaning from them!

We are no longer safe. The lesbians...they are coming!

Let me explain:

Today I was waiting for the subway. The time was 8 o'clock. I was pretending to smoke a pretzel rod. My right foot was giving me problems. And so was a homeless crazy man that kept walking near me.

It was this crazy man who told me my future, and all of our futures!

He said to the women on the platform, "The lesbians are going to eat your flesh at midnight."

Yes. Those were his precise words.

Everyone-it's time for us to start panicking! I'm completely terrified. I think he might be right-he seemed so credible. I live with four other females currently. One of them has to be a lesbian! She's probably eyeing my flesh this very moment! If only I had known this yesterday-I wouldn't have moisturized. My flesh is practically begging to be eaten by a pack of lesbians. STUPID, STUPID KATIE!

Anyway, after Sexist Homeless Man gave his warning, he provided us with his interesting thoughts on Mel Gibson. According to him, all of Mel Gibson's problems stem from "his woman."

Indeed, Sexist Homeless Man explained that Mel Gibson simply needs to start beating his woman. That would solve everything! In fact, why don't all of us beat our woman (I hope this means that even I get to have a woman to beat!)?

Sexist Homeless Man taught me some good life lessons today.
1. I need to stop going out at night in New York.
2. I need to avoid homeless people that can talk.
3. Everyone needs to beat women. It'll solve all of our problems. And Mel Gibson's problems.
4. I'm going to die at midnight.

Balls.

2010-07-18T20:20:00.007-05:00

Blogfriends currently residing in New York and the surrounding areas: I urgently require your assistance. Can one of you use these scissors to cut this piece of paper for me? I cannot cut things on my own. Mother doesn't allow it.

____________________________________________________________

Hello, blogtards and bloghogs. This weekend was a gastronomical delight. Yes. That's right. Yum in the old tum. Yum in the old grimgrum as well! ("Grimgrum" is Mother's maiden name. Lie.)

Saturday began with a trip to the local Whole Foods grocery store, where I discovered Peanut Butter Puffins (the cereal, not the band). They were incredible, and I could hardly taste the puffin meat! Each puff of this cereal is incredibly large and thus very noisy to eat. This was an added bonus, because I was able to annoy my roommates by crunching as loudly as I possibly could.

Then I took a trip with my lovely friend Lauren and her lovely friend Eric (Adam? Paul? Unimportant.) to The Meatball Shop. BEST MEAL OF MY LIFE! If you ever have a chance to go to this restaurant, take it. For God's sake, take it!

I ordered the chicken meatballs and had them served on a toasted brioche bun with homemade tomato sauce and provolone cheese. I ate every last morsel of the sandwich and about two-thirds of the plate. Thirty minutes later, unfortunately, I puked it all up (I'm allergic to balls). But, that's beside the point.

'Twas delicious.

Here's a picture of me eating:

(Note: This is an exercise in using your imagination---no real picture exists)

Melanie Blah Blah

2010-07-12T17:53:00.011-05:00

DISCLAIMER: All characters and events in this post—even those that concern both real roommates and real events that took place with my roommates—are entirely fictional.

I only have two fears in life.

First, I am afraid of animals.

Second, I am afraid of everything else.

Among the second grouping falls my fear of roommates who are dirty and who annoy me whenever they are in my presence.

Alas, ladies and laddies, I must tell you again about my roommates. Or, should I say "roomgreats." I should not, because they suck.

One particular roommate annoys me more than the rest. Whenever I look at her, I vomit a little.

I will refer to this vomit-inducing roommate as "Melanie," to deter her from finding this post when she undoubtedly next searches for her name on Google.

Melanie is a pigsty. Or, rather, she is the pig and she has turned our room into the pigsty. She throws her clothes on the floor and does not pick them up, and she also wears so much makeup that it covers our shower and sink after she tries to wash it off.

She also has an eating disorder--she eats really, really loudly. I have literally never heard anyone chew as noisily as she does. The first time I heard it, I turned and stared at her. She knew exactly why I was staring, giggled in her sad, pathetic way, and said "I know. I chew really loudly. Just wait until you hear me chew gum!" Moments later, I had the "privilege" to hear this sound for myself. If only I were brave enough to cut off my own ears!

Melanie also comes into our room late every night, after the rest of us have gone to bed, and makes a lot of noise. She frequently eats in her uncouth way (gross!) and types on the computer with the lights on while we try to ignore her and continue sleeping. Several nights a week, she goes out drinking and comes back drunk. Frequently during those nights, she forgets her key and makes me let her in, rather than politely calling the RA to help so I can sleep.

Hopefully, Melanie never finds this post. If you do not hear from me again, know that she has read this and has taken her revenge.

Misery Loves Chumpany

2010-06-30T17:22:00.004-05:00

Everyone. I don't want you to pity me. Nay-I'd rather you just feel enormous amounts of sympathy for my suffering and send me care packages.

This week has been a rather difficult one, roommate-wise. Three of them became infected with typhus, and the fourth, with dysentery. Not to worry, though. I'm CPR certified, so I've turned our suite into a medical ward, and have been performing CPR on all of them quite vigorously and with great frequency, since Sunday.

There's no need to call me a "hero," though (of course, you wouldn't be incorrect if you did).

Besides my roommating issues, I have also had to deal with being ridiculously sans cash in the most expensive city in the entire world (New York).

For example, a box of cereal in Chicago costs me two dimes, and I am usually able to haggle it down to only one dime and two nickels.

However, a box of cereal in New York costs me $10...sometimes more!

It's awful.

It's gotten to the point where I've had to become quite crafty in order to eat. For instance, just yesterday, I waited until my roommate (the one with dysentery) finished her salad. Then, I offered to wash her salad bowl for her. After she handed it over, I sneakily took it to the sink and licked up the leftover pieces of lettuce, dysentery, and dressing.

The day before that, all I ate was a plastic sandwich baggie.

Misery and a half.

From Justin to Kelly

2010-06-23T19:28:00.002-05:00

Everyone. I have some exciting news to share that is going to affect all of us.

I have moved to New York for the summer. I have a job here, and thought it might be inconvenient to have to take a plane to work every day.

But anyway, New York City is SOOOO different from Chicago-it may even be in another state (I'll research this and share my results with you later).

Something I've noticed about New York is that there are tall buildings lining the streets. Needless to say, this is completely and unequivocally and also judiciously different from Chicago, where there are only fat buildings, skinny buildings, and buildings that climb on rocks.

Another thing I've noticed about the city I am now residing in is that the streets have a very distinct odor of urine and dog feces. I believe it comes from the urine and dog feces that cover the sidewalks.

Not only is this the first time I'm living in New York, but it is also the first time I am living with roommates. I am in a suite with four other girls, and there are three of us packed (sardine-style) in my room.

I am living in Awkward City, USA.

Currently, one of my roommates is talking on the phone to her mother. The volume of her phone is quite loud, and I can hear every part of their conversation.

I am not sure what the typical procedure is when a roommate is on the phone discussing personal matters. Should I leave? Should I stay? Should I participate in the conversation? Should I go behind her and start massaging her back?

I have decided to stay and listen to their conversation. I'm a curious person. Oh my. The conversation is a bit humorous. Oh no. I've just laughed out loud at what her mother said.

Control yourself, Katie.

Oh no. I've just laughed out loud again. I believe the children call this "lol-ing."

My roommate is aware of my laughter. I must put an end to this.

I'm going to Google "Holocaust." That should return me to my normal state of severe depression.

Goodbye, bloggtards.

Regina Spektor

2010-05-30T17:45:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, Regina Spektor came to my school to perform for me (and the rest of the student body). Regina is the best musician of all time, and she has really nice eyebrows.

Anyway, I got to the outdoor concert early so I could be in the front row and could lean up against the fence while Reggie sang to me. However, I had no way of knowing beforehand that this would entail me being murdered.

oops...I meant to type "However, I had no way of knowing this would entail me having the back half of my body be in constant contact with the woman standing behind me for two hours straight." (Do not worry, little readers and big readers alike, for I am very much alive. I have 20/20 heart-rate.)

Yes. For two hours straight I could feel every curve of this woman against my back and bottom-side. It was quite an experience, and I'd like to go into great detail explaining it:

1:00 PM: I arrived at the concert, and immediately began making my way to the front. There were a lot of people there, but after a lot of shoving and punching, I managed to gain a coveted front-row position.

Within five minutes of standing there, I could feel breathing on my neck. I turned around and saw "Curves McGee." A look of lust for my body was in each of her eyes. I wanted to run, but I couldn't...Regina needed me there.

Soon, even more people began arriving. The entire field was packed with thousands of students. The result was that Curves McGee had to move even closer to me. Eventually, she was so close that her body was literally up against my body. It was romantic, only it wasn't at all.

Soon, Regina began playing her wondrous music. Curves McGee decided to dance. Her dancing was literally just bouncing up and down. Oh the horror! Each roll of her body began to bounce all over me. I wanted to puke, but I couldn't because the puke committed suicide before coming out of my mouth.

The concert ended, but Curves McGee wasn't finished with me yet. The weather was in the high 80s, and for the entire two hours, we'd been in constant contact. Needless to say, we were both drenched in sweat. Unfortunately, my sweat is actually 50% superglue. So, when it was time for us to separate, we could not. I had to walk home with her attached to my back.

My walk of shame.

The Death of a Salescomputer

2010-05-25T08:38:00.000-05:00

Everyone. This will be a very somber post. Crying guaranteed or you get your money back.

People of earth: Last Thursday my computer decided to die on me. I innocently clicked on a link that said "interested in penis enlargement?" that someone sent me through an email. My computer wasn't wearing protection, and needless to say, it didn't take long before the virus had destroyed it beyond repair. I believe it was the Ebola virus that attacked, so my computer didn't stand a chance. In fact, the virus was so strong that it actually managed to escape from my computer. It ate my desk and three-fourths of one of my legs. It was the left leg, though, so it doesn't matter.

Anyway, since my computer died, I have been in a state of severe depression and angst. So, I decided to write a letter to my now dead computer. I know this is obviously a very private moment, and you may be wondering why I am sharing it with all of you. Well, the truth is, I am so used to typing everything out on a computer, that I've completely forgotten how to write by hand. So, I need to write it here (using my laptop). Please ignore the teardrops that will undoubtedly stain this post:

Dear Computer,

I can't believe it. I just can't. We've been so close for two years. We entered the same college at the same time, and were assigned the same dorm room both years. What are the chances?! Ugh...I don't think I can do this without you. We were so close. You even let me turn you on and off and touch all your buttons...

Do you remember when I clicked on that coupon for a free Chipotle burrito, which turned out to be a virus?! Good times, good times. Or how about that one time when the electricity went out in my dorm, and when it came back on you saved the document I had been working on? You really were the best.

I'm sorry I infected you with the Ebola virus. You didn't deserve that. I know you are in computer heaven right now. Actually, no you're not. You're still sitting in my room.

Love,
Katie

Girl Goes Wild Over Facebook Status Updates

2010-05-22T12:13:00.005-05:00

I am a member of Facebook. But don't worry, I wear underwear.

Anyway, one aspect I especially enjoy about Facebook is the "status update." For those of you who are too lazy or dead to create your own Facebook, a "status update" is similar to a Twitter update, as it allows you to tell all your friends some piece of usually unimportant information at the same time.

So, what exactly do I like about these so-called "status updates?"

I enjoy the drama.

I live for the hunt.

This soup is way too hot.

But seriously, I find nothing more entertaining than signing into my Facebook account and reading the long list of overly-dramatic, extremely trivial status updates.

The statuses I find most hilarious are written by silly people who are angry at someone, but rather than confronting that person in private, they write about the situation in their status.

Hypothetical example:
Pretend I am angry at my friend because she ditched me to hang out with her boyfriend. Rather than talking to her in private, I write a status for everyone to see, hoping she'll be among the people who will read it and will feel such guilt that she'll immediately call me on the phone and express how lousy she feels about her behavior and how great I am. My status would say something along the lines of "I am sooooooooo mad. A real friend wouldn't have ditched me like that. I hate my life, etc. etc."

Do you see how ridiculous it is to post this for everyone to see? Why do people feel the need to express these private tiffs with everyone on Facebook?

I'm not complaining, of course. I get great amusement out of everything Facebook has to offer. Also, as a form of entertainment, I like pretending the statuses are about me for some reason.

Compliments Collected Here.

2010-04-24T18:19:00.006-05:00

Everyone enjoys compliments, so I go out of my way to receive them.

Example to follow, please keep reading, example to follow:

Yesterday I was sitting on a bench at school, doodling while I waited for my class to commence. Beside me sat a lad, but since this is the 21st century, we'll call him a man. On the other side of me sat a woman. Have you lost count, you stupid, stupid reader? Together, we made two females and one male.

So, there I was, doodling my life away. Suddenly, the male said "Whoa...your picture is amazing."

I looked down at what I'd just drawn. It was literally just my name written in bubble letters. I hadn't even spelled "Katie" correctly. Nonetheless, I was flattered. I looked him straight in the eyes and said "You think this is good? Just wait until I draw my name in cursive bubble letters!"

The man began laughing. He pointed at the girl sitting next to me, who had just drawn an entire page of anime characters, and said "I was talking to her."

To which I replied, "So was I."

To which his response was, "You were also talking to her? Really?"

To which I said, "Yes."

To which both woman and man started laughing.

Drat.

Crafting with Kate (me): Part 1

2010-04-10T20:55:00.002-05:00

Note: I hope you enjoy the voice of the narrator I hired for this video.

Croatia Forever

2010-04-08T15:40:00.000-05:00

I'll admit it, I'm pretty good in the sack. Potato sack racing is one of my family's greatest pastimes, and let me tell you why!

My family comes from Croatia, a small country located directly between England and Mexico. Potato sack racing became the country's foremost form of entertainment, after WW2, when there was an abundance of potato sacks, and nothing else to do.

Children began accidentally killing themselves with the potato sacks by pretending (and then actually) choking each other with them.

So, my grandfather, Demetrius Bozo Filip Marovitch, decided that instead the children should race each other by hopping about inside them. And thus it began: the potato sack race. Invented by my grandfather. Enjoyed by all.

So the next time you have the urge to pull out a couple of sacks, remember this story. Sacks are easy to care for. All you have to do is keep your sacks clean. A clean sack is a happy, easier to use, sack.

Keep It In The Family

2010-03-30T17:02:00.001-05:00

Most of you don't know this about me, but I have two brothers and one imaginary twin sister. I'd now like to discuss the two siblings that are actually real with all of you.

Actually, I've just changed my mind. Rather than discussing both of my brothers, I've decided to just interview one of them. Here is the interview, for your viewing pleasure (meow).

Katie: Hello, brother Angus.

Steve: That's not my name.

Katie: That's what she said!

Steve: That doesn't even make any sense. You never make any sense.

Katie: Of course I can make cents. Four quarters is a dollar. Ten pennies is a dime. One shark is not a coin. Nor is a zebra.

Steve: This is a waste of my time.

Katie: Four elephants makes a walrus.

Steve: (no longer answering)

The end.

That is the interview that went on in my head. Here is the real interview:

Katie: How old are you?

Steve: A lady never tells.

Katie: How much do you weigh?

Steve: 820, metric units of pi...apple pie...from Baker's Square. Make sure they know it's Baker's Square. Did you write it?

Katie: Yes, I wrote it.

Steve: Let me see it.

Katie: Here. I wrote it right there.

Steve: Good. You make sure you keep that there. I want them to know I like Baker's Square.

Katie: Fine. It's not going anywhere. You have my word.

Steve: Good.

Katie: What's your favorite band and why?

Steve: Kenny G. For me, Kenny G's breakthrough platinum album, "Kenny G-G Force," was a tour de force in the world of alto sax-based popular music. Originally, I bought the record for my decrepit mother who can only find happiness in the form of Kenny G.

Katie: Do you watch movies? Do you watch TV, the abbreviation for television?

Steve: I don't watch movies, because I have always felt that the word "movies" is misleading. The first time I saw a movie, I expected there to be some sort of exercise element, but instead it was just fat people eating popcorn and drinking 48 ounce sodas, staring at a screen for two hours. As for TV, I find the name very arousing, because when I think "tele," I instantly think "Teletubbies." And when I see "vision" I instantly think about oranges-they're my favorite citrus. When you put those two together, you get OrangeTubbies, and that's worth watching.

Katie: If you only had one day left to live...

Steve: I'd probably take the train...

Katie: Stop talking immediately. I'm not done yet, Mr. Fancy Pants. Now, if you only had one day left to live, how would you treat the neighbor's dog?

Steve: I would ignore the neighbor's dog, as I do everyday, because if you don't ignore it, it will talk to you for hours. It just keeps going. Ya ever get stopped by that thing? Oh my God-it's ridiculous.

Katie: What is your preferred bed sheet count?

Steve: 400 thread count, Egyptian cotton.

Katie: One final question. Why are you always in the bathroom when I want to be in the bathroom or when I want to pretend to be a cat with you?

Steve: Let's just say...what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. And by "Vegas," I mean the bathroom, and by "what happens in," I mean touching myself inappropriately.

Katie: Thank you, my brother. Thank you, mama for giving birth to Steven so I could interview him. Did you enjoy this interview, little Steven?

Steve: No.

Remix.

2010-03-27T08:10:00.007-05:00

My wisdom teeth have been stolen! DRAT-in-the-box!

As my previous post explained, I got my wisdom teeth out on Wednesday.

I found the overall experience to be rather poopsie and also blah and slightly wah-wah. Let me tell you what happened. You'll need tissues, no doubt, because the tale is a sad sort of tale.

When I first entered the same day hospital where I was scheduled to have my surgery, I was shocked and also surprised to find that they wanted me to urinate in a small cup. At home, I urinate in medium-sized cups, so I was obviously uncomfortable having to do this.

After the urine was released, I was asked to put on a gown. I put on my gown and immediately felt like a princess. Needless to say, I was stunningly beautiful.

Then it was time for the actual surgery. This part I don't recall at all, as I was under general anesthesia. Though, I do know that the surgery was ridiculously painful, and that the surgeon gutted my gums like a fish. What a jerk.

It was after I awoke from my forced slumber that the party began. And by "party" I of course mean "enormous amounts of pain and facial swelling." My face doubled in diameter. I puked my lungs and bladder out. I was only able to consume food that my mother chewed, swallowed, and regurgitated directly into my mouth. My husband divorced me. My first-born joined the army. My dog had a stroke, etc. etc.

Alas, it has been a difficult week for me. My mouth is still sore, and I do not think I will be able to be a wisdom tooth model like I had always planned.

This has been the worst spring break of my life. The end.

R.I.P. wisdom teeth.

Wisdom Teeth: A Story

2010-03-21T08:28:00.006-05:00

This coming Wednesday, my wisdom teeth will be pulled from my loins (mouth). And I must say, I am quite concerned over one aspect of this teeth-pulling shindig.

Dry socket. Sockets that are dry. Sockets that are the opposite of moist.

According to my oral surgeon, my sockets may get so dry that not even the stream of urine from a giant will be able to help them.

Actually, that's not true at all. He didn't even mention dry socket. I looked it up myself.

For those of you who are unaware of what this problematic problem is, dry socket is "a painful inflammatory infection of the bone and tissues at the site of an extracted tooth."

This causes me great anxiety, because my favorite bone/tissues have been located in my mouth-region since my 7th birthday. I do not want them to be in pain. Mommy doesn't like pain. And nor do I.

Apparently, dry socket develops in 5% of tooth extractions. So, 95% of the time it does not develop. But, perchance I will be one of the unlucky ones. Bad things are constantly happening to my (electrical) sockets.

Wish me luck, femmes and non-femmes. Just think: in three day's time, my wisdom teeth will be taken from me. Who would like to purchase them? They're the perfect collector's item. Give them to your children to play with.

Poopoo Lady

2010-03-13T19:58:00.005-06:00

No one should ever eat at Dave's Italian Kitchen in Evanston, Illinois. I ordered chicken marsala there two weeks ago, and have been in a drunken stupor ever since.

But this post has nothing to do with that. What I really want to talk to you about is baby-making.

Actually that's not true either. (Side note: that's one of the posts on my other, 18 and over, blog which you can find at www.xxxbabymakingxxx.fakeblog.com). This post is asking for your advice. You must understand that I hate the girl who lives on top of me (er...in the room above mine, rather) with a burning passion for fashion. So, I have finally decided to lead the horse to the glue factory, so to speak, and write her a letter detailing my hatred. I need you charismatic Carolinas to tell me what you think. Here it is, Gypsy ladies:

Dear Girl Who Lives On Top of Me (er...above me, rather),

I really hate you, in an intense and undeniable way. Let me count the ways:

1.) Your laugh. The first couple of times I heard it, I literally thought you were puking up enormous chunks of partially digested food matter. I told everyone you were bulimic, before realizing that was just how you laughed. I'm not apologizing. I'm sorry.

2.) Your talking on the phone. During the first month or so of you living above me, I could not figure out where the voices were coming from. Naturally, I assumed I had developed schizophrenia, accepted my fate, and began researching homes for the mentally ill. However, upon further analysis, I realized that the voices were coming from you, and more specifically from your stupid vocal cords (i.e. cords of vocalization). I could have you arrested for this, but I'm too kind and too obese to do anything about it.

3.) Your taste in music. Celine Dion. 'nuff said.

4.) Your guests. You have friends that you enjoy inviting into your room. This would be fine if all of you just sat in utter silence. But NO! You prefer to socialize and communicate with them verbally, making noise and disrupting my intense study sessions, television viewing, and dance parties with myself.

You seem like a great girl, despite your innumerable flaws.

Lovsies,
The girl who hears all that you do.

#1 Quidditch Player.

2010-02-19T21:19:00.011-06:00

When I was thirteen years old I joined a street gang. We called ourselves the mystical magicians, and we weren't so much a street gang as we were a group of honor-roll students with an unnatural love for Harry Potter.

Harry Potter changed my life. He made me believe that love conquers all and is so powerful that it can lead to having a permanent lightning bolt imprint on your forehead. Nothing tickles my fancy more than the thought of having a lightning bolt tattoo in plain sight for all to see.

Let me tell you what I especially enjoy about HP:

1.) The popularity of Harry Potter made it socially acceptable for me to slay dragons (dogs dressed as dragons) in public. Over the past decade, people have become so touchy when it comes to animal cruelty, but thankfully for me, Harry Potter put it in vogue once again.

2.) Harry Potter's success did wonders for my social life. I began getting a lot of attention at school, for instance, after my mom started buying me Harry Potter themed clothing. People finally noticed how cool I was after I wore my "#1 Quidditch Player" sweatshirt to eighth grade three times a week.

3.) I enjoy how J.K. Rowling allows her characters to perform magical feats while still not being caught up with 21st Century technologies. For instance, the wizarding world still uses the owl as their preferred mail-carrier. We muggles, however, have invented email and telephones, as owl usage has plummeted since The Great Owl Strike of 1963, in which owls refused to carry our mail until we increased the owl minimum wage.

Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Sweet, sweet, salty Harry Potter. And, in the words of Hermione Granger, "Watch me wallabies feed, mate. Watch me wallabies feed. They're a dangerous breed, mate. So watch me wallabies feed."

My Imaginary Childhood

2010-02-15T21:38:00.006-06:00

I haven't been able to write a post for the past few weeks, and for this, I apologize. You must understand that I was injured in a traumatic accident involving a car and have since been recovering. More specifically, I accidentally slammed the car door on all of my fingers and have not been able to type anything due to the pain...

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy learning more about me. After all, it is so infrequent that I discuss my personal life on this blog of mine. The time has come for me to tell all of you about my imaginary friend and my imaginary pair of shoes.

When I was younger I had an intense love for Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, or "The Olsen Twins" as some of you may refer to them as. Of course, I preferred Mary-Kate to Ashley, as she was left-handed and had slightly smaller eyes, which made me sad and thus like her more.

What I enjoyed most about these two lovely lady lumps was that they were twins. Twins were they. So, I decided that my imaginary friend would actually be my imaginary twin. What a horrible idea.

At first I enjoyed my twin's presence. I finally had someone to talk to that I actually liked, unlike my school friends and family members. But then, things took a drastic and surprising turn for me and Mary-Kate Olsen (yes...I named her after Mary-Kate Olsen).

One day after school, my friend Lauren came over. My twin thought it'd be funny to kill her. I objected. My twin did not care. Lauren died.

Not really. But anyway, what happened was I got tired of imagining things for my twin and me to do. It felt like too much work, and at the age of five, I was really getting ready to pretend to settle down, find an imaginary husband, and produce imaginary children like there was no tomorrow. So, I decided that Mary-Kate had to go. And go she did. All over my face. (I don't know what this means either)

Now, I still had a profound obsession with Mary-Kate and to a lesser extent Ashley. I especially enjoyed their shoes, which were pink boots that my mother would not buy me. So, I decided to imagine myself a pair of pink boots. And I'm still imagining them to this day...

The end. Goodnight. Sleep tight. Beware of potato blight.

My Friends Tigger and Pooh.

2010-02-02T21:55:00.018-06:00

My three best/only friends are named Katie, Danielle, and most importantly Lauren. I'd like to tell all of you about them, now, if that's okay with you...

I'll interpret your silence as tacit approval.

I'll begin with Katie, the smartest of the three:
Katie is by far the most convenient friend I've ever had. At a mere 3'5" Katie easily fits inside my backpack. Additionally, I can paperclip her to my belt-buckle, and parade her all over town. Katie's major aspiration in life is to start the world's first orphanage for adults whose parents died. She has a heart of gold, which is obviously bad for blood circulation. Poor girl.

Next comes Danielle. No question about it: Danielle is female.
Unfortunately, Danielle is of average height, which makes it slightly harder for me to carry her around. Despite this, I've found it in my heart to still sometimes enjoy her company. Danielle and I are remarkably similar. Our hobbies include, but are not limited to: being best friends. Danielle enjoys buying calendars that have cats all over them. She also likes the movie "Kit Kittredge: An American Girl," and if you ask her to, she can quote any part of it.

Finally, I'd like to discuss Lauren. And I shall.
Lauren and I met on the Internet. We became friends when we both were highly involved participants on an online forum trying to reinstate Prohibition in America. However, upon viewing her Facebook profile and seeing that the story of Job was her favorite part of the Old Testament, I immediately upgraded her friendship status to that of "best." When I think of Lauren, one word instantly comes to mind: Easter. Lauren loves music, especially anything by the band Boyz II Men. Her favorite day of the week is Tuesday, and she uses two slices of whole wheat bread for all of her sandwiches (unless she has made egg salad, for which she prefers white bread).

Well, there you have it. Katie, Danielle, and Lauren: America's Sweethearts.
p.s. This post is dedicated to Lauren (and Katie and Danielle).

Tomorrow Is My Birthday

2010-01-25T09:04:00.004-06:00

Tomorrow is my 20th birthday. According to my calculations, this means I will have been alive for well over a hundred days.

In honor of the occasion, I would like to share with you some of the experiences I've had over the years:

1.) In fifth grade, my parents bought me a rabbit, which I named Harold Thumper Anastasia Marovitch (or "Harry-bottom," for his friends and relatives). I spent a good 6 years playing with the little fellow, before he decided to die. Needless to say, I was pissed.

2.) In seventh grade, I went to junior high school, as is customary in Western societies. I was put in all the "honors" classes (i.e. nerd classes), which naturally meant I was quite popular and had a ton of friends.

3.) Then came high school. Keeping up with my image, I joined all the cool-people clubs, such as newspaper, Student Helpers, and Students Against Destructive Decisions. As a hobby, I began cobbling my own shoes. I also took night classes in blacksmithing. I was valedictorian of my high school, which meant I had to give a speech at graduation, which you can view by clicking this ever-so-convenient link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=db7AxVnkHKw.

4.) Now, I am in college. Miserable, miserable, college. The only thing I have to look forward to is returning to my dorm room from class, sitting in the jacuzzi-style bathtub I had installed, and drowning my sorrows in a glass of Welch's Sparkling White Grape Juice, 100% Natural.

Hog Wild

2010-01-17T15:00:00.010-06:00

Yesterday I had my first, though hopefully not last, run-in with a prostitute. But, this post has absolutely nothing to do with that.

Hello, lads and ladettes (or is the term "ladies?" I can never remember!!! (I'm new to English)). In the past week, I received emails from four different people, asking me for my advice about some personal issue they were dealing with. Only one of the four had an issue important enough to merit my reply. The email conversation is listed below (that means you should keep reading).

mjy@hotmail.com
Hey! I can't meet with you for the project this Wednesday-I have class until 6. Can we do it Thursday instead? -Megan Yu

2mUchBoOtY@gmail.com
Unacceptable. Don't bother showing up to my birthday party on Saturday: I'm going to tell the waitress you're a terrorist. -Katie

Wait...that wasn't the correct email conversation. Here:

Dancer4Lyfe@hotmail.com
Hey, Katie
How's school going!? Anyway, I wanted to ask your help for something. I have a couple of loans for school, but they don't help me pay for books. I don't think I'm going to be able to stay in college if I don't get more help paying for it. How are you paying for all of your books? -Jess

2mUchBoOtY@gmail.com
Dear Jessica,
Wow. Your story really touched me. In inappropriate places. HAH! Kidding! LOL! But seriously, you're asking me to divulge personal information, and I'm not about to do that. It would ruin me. -Katie "Hog Wild" Marovitch

Excellent. Please, all of you, tell me your personal problems. Obviously, I can help. And, I may even write a post in your honor.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose

2010-01-11T09:22:00.005-06:00

Nearly 1 of you has been commenting my posts, requesting that I share my amazing exercise techniques with the rest of the world. Exercise is so important to a healthy lifestyle, and I'm pretty sure it's required by law. So, I have finally decided that it is high time I write a post detailing what, exactly, I do to keep my body firm, toned, slender, sweaty, and most importantly salty. Here are the major methods I use:

1. I take the elevator everywhere I go. While I wait for its arrival, I am given the perfect opportunity to do several squats and lunges. I usually only have time for one squat and two lunges before the elevator arrives to conveniently take me to the next floor so I don't have to walk up the stairs.

2. Doctors and the media keep telling us we need to eat food in order to live. I can assure you, this is all propaganda. Food=fat. You don't want to be fat, do you? So, no more food, Blogman Such-and-so.

3. You can probably tell by my profile picture that my muscles usually bulge out of my clothing, forcing thousands of people to declare bankruptcy. How did I get this way? At the age of 9, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. Ever since then, I have been hugely muscular and have had the ability to shoot spiderwebs from my wrists. Additionally, I take an enormous amount of steroids. I may or may not have turned into a man.

That's about all I do. Works like a charm.

Tears for Fears. And Bears.

2010-01-04T22:43:00.001-06:00

The most bizarre thing happened today. I was feeling unbelievably stressed out over having to return to college from Winter Break. Suddenly, water droplets began falling from my eyes. I didn't know why, though. As the water droplets continued to fall, I started sniffling and making an odd, depressed sort of moaning noise. By this point, I was thoroughly confused, as this had never happened before. I began panicking, and the water droplets increasingly fell from my eyes.

It was only after I did a search on Google that I realized what had happened to me. I had cried. For the first time in my life. Literally. I didn't even cry after I was forcefully taken from my mother's womb after spending 12 glorious months lounging there (Yes, 12 months. I decided to stay an extra three after peeking out and realizing that life outside the womb was simply not good for someone with my sensitivities).

Alas, Katie Marovitch has tear-ducts. I thought it was only a myth.

New Year's Resolution

2009-12-23T16:07:00.004-06:00

Ah, New Year's Day is almost here, my glorious readers, and you know what that means! It is time for a New Year's resolution. Most of you are probably having an extraordinarily difficult time deciding on said resolution. So, I would like to share some past resolutions I made over the years that seemed to work quite well for me. Perhaps you will find one that fits your lifestyle as well.

1.) Last year, my resolution was to point at things with my pelvis. People, I can assure you, this has worked marvelously for me. While the rest of you were pointing with your index fingers, I was having the time of my life pointing with my pelvis.

2.) Two years ago, I gave up walking without a limp. Life is too short to walk normally. Live it up. Limp a little.

3.) Three years ago, I decided I no longer needed eyebrows. This improved my looks tremendously. I went from drab to fab with two quick shaves with a razor. Men now find me irresistible. Perhaps.

4.) Finally, four years ago, my resolution was to make people think I'm from England. Let's face it, everything sounds more intelligent when you say it with a British accent.

These are only some of my more successful resolutions. If this post has not satiated your resolution desires, please do not hesitate to ask for personalized advice direct from me to you.

Fear: Not a Very Good Holiday Gift

2009-12-21T20:33:00.007-06:00

I realized recently that I have an enormous and uncontrollable number of fears that are eating away at my happiness and causing severe indigestion. My top three fears are:

#1)That I will die in my single dorm room and no one will find me until the school-year is over and it is time for my room to be cleaned. When the cleaners open my door, they will find me completely dead (rather than half-dead, which wouldn't really be that bad) with a horrific wide-eyed look upon my ridiculously dead face.

#2)That when I'm watching a movie in the movie theater, someone will come up behind me and slit my throat with a knife. (I guard against this by wearing a neck-brace to any and all movies I attend.)

#3)That when I walk to class someday, I won't be wearing any pants. This is a very real fear that developed after I inadvertently went pant-less after changing for gym class once during 8th grade.

Some would consider these fears to be silly, and you might even say they are downright goofy. But, they are not silly to me, my cheeky monkeys(shout-out to my readers in Britain!). Tell me about some of your fears.

Avec l'amour,
Moi

Me 'n Tiger

2009-12-16T10:06:00.005-06:00

Hello, everyone. Everyone, hello. The following post will shock you so hard and so good that you may not want to continue reading it if you have a heart condition or a weak bladder.

My fellow bloggerinos, I have a secret that I want, nay, must share with all of you. It's been weighing down on me for a year now, causing severe back pain. Unfortunately, my loverbottoms, I too had a romantic love affair with Tiger Woods (GAH!). I think this makes me woman number 18 or so. Let me tell all of you my story. You'll never look at me (er, my profile picture) the same.

It all happened last winter. I was strolling down the red light district of New York City (Why was I there? I was...lost. Yes, that's right, lost, I tell you!). Unexpectedly, I happened upon Mr. Tiger "My Goal in Life is to Sleep With Every Woman In the World, Starting With the Ones Most Likely to Give Me STDs" Woods (that really is his middle name. Ironic? Most def). He was getting out of his car, about to enter a strip club. No one was around him. We were completely alone.

Now, I'd always been a fan of Tiger Woods. In fact, he's the one who inspired me to take up field hockey. Thus, I got quite excited when I spotted him...alone and so delightfully vulnerable. So, naturally, I took the bat I just happened to be carrying at the time and hit him hard on the head. Hard enough to knock him out, but not so hard that I would kill him. I carried his body all the way back to my hotel room. Lucky for me, the people of New York are unobservant and no one noticed me lugging around a knocked-out Tiger Woods.

When we got to my hotel room, the deed was done. Yes. The very deed. The deed to end all other deeds.

In other words, I set up Monopoly, he woke up, we played a quick game, and he left. He was the car; I was the shoe.

Oh, the shame I feel is unbearable. I'm so sorry everyone. I've disgraced the blogging world. Someone should arrest me. But not really-I have children to raise, and I can't do that from jail.

That last line was a lie, and I want to apologize for that as well. Oh God! I'm a terrible person!

Finals? More like Lame-als! HAH!

2009-12-01T20:48:00.005-06:00

Finals are fast approaching. So, I want to offer you, the college youthlettes, some suggestions for getting tip-top-toppy-toe grades. I employ all of these techniques, and I may or may not be a genius (I am not).

1.) Bathroom breaks are time-consuming and only stupid people take them when finals are in the air. So, stop. You need as much time as possible for studying. Now, you may be scratching your head at this point, thinking "But Katie, I have an overactive bladder. How can I relieve myself if I am not allowed to go to the washroom while studying?!" Excellent question, and I have a one-word response for you, Urinating Eugene: diapers (or, as the French say...diapers). Literally. They're so convenient, I guarantee you'll never switch back to what normal human beings do when the "urge to relieve" commences.

2.) Cause the people in your class to do worse than you. Most college classes grade on a curve. You need to ensure everyone else does worse than you so that you get your A. How can you do this? I don't really know, and I'm sorry.

3.) Bribing teachers is one way to ensure an A. Now, your teacher may or may not be able to be bribed. There is a simple test you can employ to see if he or she will respond to bribing. You simply take a $20 bill and rub it all over their face. Yes, that's right. You rub money on them. Not too hard, but not too soft either. If the teacher seems happy that you are rubbing dirty money on them, most likely they are capable of being bribed.

That's all. There are no other ways to ensure good grades.

Thank you, and good night.

Don't Read This Post

2009-11-25T11:15:00.000-06:00

This is going to be a more controversial post. So, I'm warning you, if you can't handle the heat, stay out of the fire, drink lots of water, and stay inside where it's air-conditioned.

The health care debates are drawing a lot of media attention these days. So, being a good citizen with a lot of time on her hands,I've decided it is only appropriate for me to take a stand on one of the more important issues concerning this controversial controversy's controversy.

I would like to talk to all of you about the rumor that has been going around about "death panels." If you are not sure what this is, please refer to this article http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/14/health/policy/14panel.html. But, basically, the rumor is that Obama's health care plan would include government "death panels," which would decide whether or not a particular patient should live or die.

I know what you're all thinking but are afraid to say. So, I'll say it for you. WHAT A GREAT IDEA!

I know this is obviously not actually a part of Obama's plan for health care reform. But, why not!? Ideas as good as this come around once, maybe twice, a millennium.

In fact, I say we extend the idea further. Why not wipe out huge groups of useless people, rather than just decide whether or not the sick among us die. I would personally like to be on these so-called "panels of death." I'd take special care to make sure the more useless members of our society would be the first to go. For instance, people who walk really slowly when I'm hurrying to go somewhere, who cough a lot and don't cover their mouths, who tuck their sweatshirts into their pants, who like the taste of malted milkshakes, and who cry at stupid movies will all be chosen to "kick the bucket."

Excellent. Really excellent. Tell me what you think.

Holiday Gifting with Katie Marovitch

2009-11-25T10:36:00.000-06:00

The holidays are among us. We all know what that means: present buying for people that are impossible to buy for. Fear not, wee pygmy whatsits!

It just so happens that I am Katie Marovitch (yes, it's true-I really am!), gift-giver extraordinaire. Most of you have probably already seen my 10-page spread in GiftGiver Magazine For Men, but in case you haven't, here is an abridged version. I've decided to help all of you out by offering some suggestions for gifts you can buy for the people in your life.

1.) There's nothing that says "I love you" like an exotic animal. So, this is precisely what I recommend for those of you looking to romanticize this holiday season. Dogs and cats: out. Gibbons and wallabies: in.

2.) As a young girl there was nothing I loved more than carving sculptures out of soap. I think it's safe to go ahead and assume all other little girls enjoy this as well. So, for young female cousins and sisters, I recommend a gift of soap and knives. Note: soap carving is easier when the knives are unusually sharp. The sharper the better.

3.) Unlike men, I was never a small boy. Therefore, I cannot offer any suggestions for this demographic.

4.)For older females and males I recommend more useful presents. For instance, things like rape whistles and anti-depressants might be nice.

5.) I never liked my parents very much. They seem content with the PennySaver magazine I wrap up for them every year. Do the same.

This should help you all out immensely. You're welcome.

Ah...November.

2009-11-21T18:07:00.000-06:00

College females see the movie New Moon for two different reasons, and therefore fit into two distinct categories. First, there is the group of females that actually enjoy the book the movie is based on, and hence see the movie in order to watch their literature fantasies unfold. On the other hand, the second group of New Moon watchers see it because they need a good laugh. Let's face it, no one in that movie can act, the writing is dreadful, and it clearly lacked good wardrobe stylists, as most of the males were sans clothing throughout the entire film (gasp!).

I fit into the second group.

Yesterday, for my friend's 20th birthday, I went and saw New Moon. I must say, the movie was as hilarious as it looked in the previews. However, I was slightly alarmed by something I saw that has been bothering me ever since:

It's Robert Pattinson's nipple-business. His nipply-bits frightened me so.

I'm not sure what it is about them, exactly. But they were quite alarming. As soon as I came home from the movie theater, I did a four-hour long Google search, looking for pictures of Mr. R. Pattinson with his shirt off. Not for pleasure purposes, though. This was strictly business. I needed to find out what was wrong with his nippledangles! However, in all the nudey...shirtless I mean...pictures of R.P, his nipplies looked completely normal! Not an abnormality in sight! But in the movie, they were lopsided and bizarre. They were so scary, I immediately gasped upon viewing them, and proclaimed, "Oy, his nipple-doodads are really quite alarming, wouldn't you say, mate?" to the girl next to me. She was clearly a member of the first group of college females (the New Moon lovers), as she punched me in the nose.

Back to "the mystery of the nipplewantons." Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he played a glittering-skinned vampire in the movie? Perhaps vampire males have lopsided and unusual nips? Highly probable.

I need all of you to help me solve this dilemma (what dilemma? the nipple dilemma!). Please, watch the movie and see what you think. But beware, beware the Ides Of March!!!

My Experience with Religious Education

2009-11-14T20:06:00.001-06:00

In fifth grade, my parents forced me to go to a religious education class. During one particular class, the fifth graders were supposed to put on a performance for all the other students and their parents, reading passages from a book entitled "The Holy Bible." At this point in my life, I actually enjoyed participating in things, so I chose a role where I would be reading a lot. I got to be the narrator.

Now is a good time to mention that earlier that week, my elementary school went on a field trip to a nearby health education center, where we had to listen for two and a half hours to an old woman telling us about "our changing bodies" and "the miracle of birth." So, I guess you could say that for the rest of the week I had private body parts on my mind a lot.

Back to my story.

So, I was fairly excited to be the narrator in front of so many people. All the teachers, religious leaders, and parents were going to be listening to me talk.

The event started smoothly. I read my lines like a smooth operator. I knew what was up, yo.

The line I was supposed to read next went something along the lines of "Jesus and all of his gentiles gathered together...."

It was such an easy line! I went to the microphone happily, sure I would not mess it up. And, I confidently declared, "Jesus and all of his GENITALIA gathered together..." Yes. I said genitalia. I had just mentioned the genitalia of Jesus. I had just talked about genitalia in front of small children, their parents, and all the religious leaders. oh.....misery.....

What made things a whole lot worse was that the adults and older children who knew what genitalia meant immediately began laughing. So hard. So painfully hard.

Then, what made things even more horrendously horrible was that my religious teacher immediately came to the stage where I stood, took the book from my hands, made me sit down, and wouldn't let me be in the rest of the performance. I was so utterly shocked, I just sat there in a catatonic state, wondering why God hated me.

Saddest day of my life.

Hey everyTURTLEone

2009-11-11T15:49:00.001-06:00

Midterms have completely exhausted me this week. So much so, that I've gone a bit crazy. For instance, about 40 minutes ago, I came home from my economics class, realizing that I couldn't remember anything the professor said. So, I took out my notebook and was shocked to discover that I'd taken six pages of notes on turtles. I even included drawings and diagrams of turtle mating habits, some of them being quite elaborate. Turtles are nice to learn about, true, but something tells me my economics professor didn't spend the last hour and a half lecturing on the common turtle.

In any event, turtles are the most worthless beings on the planet. What absolute cowards. Turtles should try to face their problems head on. Hiding inside their stupid disease-carrying shells is not going to solve anything.

Bleep Bleep Blop Bleep Noises

2009-11-04T20:48:00.000-06:00

Dorms are notoriously loud and thus difficult to get work done in. If it's not the fire alarm going off due to some nincompoop's failure to properly use the microwave, oven, or toilet, then it's a raucous party going on in the room next to you that you have not been invited to and are extremely bitter about.

The dorm I'm living in now has paper thin walls. Literally. It's loose-leaf paper that they've taped together. They say it builds character. I say it builds...shmaracter. But seriously, you can hear everything that everyone else does (even the love-making noises!). Because I'm a busybody, I find it quite interesting hearing what my neighbors do.

Recently, I've been paying attention to some of the more annoying noises that my fellow college students make. For instance, when walking down the hallway, I frequently hear people humming. Humming is annoying because it is how happy people brag about being happy to the miserable people. One word: rude.

Another common noise is singing. I love walking down the hallway and hearing people singing in their rooms. They clearly believe no one can hear them. I hear everything. And I also see dead people. Wait, did I say I "love walking down the hallway and hearing people singing?" Because I meant "hate." Yes. You see, people that sing are notoriously people that just generally are useless to society. It's logic, people. I used Newton's 5th Law, of course.
Singing+ People=Useless to Society

The noise that is the most irritating is, of course, the clap. The clap is a useful technique to show your appreciation for a performer after he or she has performed. That is the only time it is acceptable. You may be thinking "Wow, Katie seems to know a whole heck of a lot about clapping." And it's true-I know just about everything there is to know about the clap. I invented it. Yes, your eyes haven't deceived you. I invented the clap.

But anyway, college students like to use the clap inappropriately, and I find this disrespectful. For instance, no one should be allowed to clap while laughing. By laughing you are showing you found something funny. Clapping is therefore unnecessary.

Abrupt ending

Stop lying to your children.

2009-10-29T08:29:00.000-05:00

You know what's depressing about being in college? Realizing that you will never amount to anything. You will never be able to do most of the things you had your heart set on doing as a child. And good God, if that doesn't suck the happiness from deep within the bowels of my soul where happiness and goodwill are stored, I don't know what does! For instance, I always wanted to be a song and dance man. But, alas, my dream will never become a reality, as I can neither sing very well nor dance (I'm in a wheelchair) (not really) (but maybe) (you'll never know).

I blame our parents. How dare they tell us to have dreams and set goals for ourselves when we were children. They had to have known that their precious darlings would not be able to fulfill the majority of their aims. Why didn't they just tell us that from the beginning? Honesty, after all, is rumored to be the best policy.

So, if something goes horribly wrong and I end up having to be a mother, I vow to never give my children any sort of hope. If my future hypothetical, pray God he never exists, son Jr. wants to be a professional football player, I'll simply tell him "No. You suck at sports. Read a book. You're going to be an English teacher someday." And, if my equally unwanted future hypothetical daughter tells me she wants to be a brain surgeon, I'll simply say "Aim a little lower, my sweet, sweet darling child whatsit, you're eight and can't even count yet."

Huzzah! I really am a kind, caring, gentle soul. Now spread my good cheer, bloggarinos.

Halloween: A History

2009-10-27T14:17:00.000-05:00

Halloween is fast approaching. Rumor has it, it's scheduled for October 31st this year. (That's this Saturday for those of you poor fellows lacking calendars.) So, I believe it's very apt for me to write a post dedicated to Halloween, and perhaps give all of you chums and chumettes a history lesson in the process. Gather around me, now, my children. (You are all my metaphorical children, and I'm asking you to metaphorically gather around me. You don't actually have to do it.)

The world's first Halloween occurred in 1776, smack dab in the middle of the Revolutionary War in America. Wonderful people like Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and Scrooge McDuck saw that morale was low amongst the American soldiers. They were not winning many battles, the British had way cooler outfits, and many of them were sick with H1N1. At the same time, food was scarce. There had been an enormous hurricane that destroyed most of their agricultural products. T.J., P.H., and Scrooge McD. knew that they had to uplift the spirits of their soldiers, to win the war! But how!?

Lucille Ross (the twin sister of far more important and better looking Betsy, flag lady extraordinaire) owned a gigantic candy shop. Oh the candy she made! Snickers, butterfingers, pickle-berry delights! Mmmm. Anyway, it just so happened that after a particularly awful battle of the war, Jefferson, Henry, and McDuck went into her candy shop, looking for a telephone to use to call George Washington. When they saw the candy Lucille had, they were shocked. Lucille had so many delicious looking candies! They immediately knew how they could fix the army's morale-by having them eat lots of candy!!!! Candy makes everyone happy!

So, the next day (October 31st, 1776), all the men of the army were told to line up outside of Ross's candy shop, to receive their morale-boosting candy. The local schoolchildren saw what was happening, and also wanted candy. So, they dressed up like the soldiers and waited in line as well.

Every year after that, it became the tradition to dress up like soldiers and go to Ross's candy shop. However, after a couple of years, Ross was sent to prison for killing a man. In her honor, the townspeople kept up the tradition. After the war, people stopped dressing like soldiers, and instead dressed as other things, like witches, wizards, and bananas.

And there you have it, the impeccably accurate history of Halloween!

Failure at interviewing. I'll never be a journalist.

2009-10-19T19:38:00.000-05:00

Do you know what this college blog is severely lacking? Things about college. So, I decided I'd post the interview I conducted with a real college student, my friend Anne*

*Name has been changed to protect the identity of my friend Megan Yu.

Here is the interview!!!!!

Katie: Let's do this interview so I can put it on my blog.

Anne: Don't use my real name on it, so people don't know who I am.

K: Will do. What is your favorite part of college? What is your least favorite part of college?

A: Um...I like...living on my own and being able to do the stuff I want to. I don't like...I don't know. I guess all the busyness: homework, tests, activities, and stuff.

K: Great response...I hope you received the sarcasmic waves I just sent you.

A: Well, I don't know! What am I supposed to say?!

K: Something interesting that people will want to read about. Whatever. This interview is over. I'm not giving you any of the cookies my mom made me.

FIN

So there it is everyone! A college interview! (Hopefully a better one will be posted soon, provided that I find someone with more charisma to interview.)

This blog is rapidly taking off.

2009-10-07T18:01:00.000-05:00

Ah excellent. This is the good life, people. I've just checked, and this blog currently has 50 views and 8 followers. This beats my previous high record of having 49 views and 7 followers. To celebrate, at 8:00 pm tonight, everyone shout "HOORAY!" and for extra good cheer, do a dance of some sort.

Speaking of dancing, I think I'm the only person to have ever purchased the "Cha Cha Slide" CD. If you don't know what the Cha Cha Slide is, just picture the Electric Slide with somewhat more sexual dance steps. I literally bought the CD for purposes of practicing it in my room so that when I went to dances at school I would know how to do it properly. This is especially sad, because the entire song involves the musician telling you exactly what dance step to do and when (i.e. no practice needed, baby). I've just shared one of the darker moments of my life with all of you. Learn from my mistakes!

I put my mask on, and I feel amazing.

2009-10-06T08:33:00.000-05:00

I know I've said it before, but I'm going to say it again. Diseases are spreading rapidly across America, and we're all about to die. Not even we, the college generation, are safe this time.

Doctors keep coming up with ways we can prevent illnesses this fall and winter. One suggestion I'm sure all of you are aware of is that you can wear a surgical mask to help keep out possible airborne Germans...er, I mean germs. But let's be honest. Only losers wear those masks. They're so stupid, gross, and lacking in any real theatrical talent, that you'd think they were Robin Williams and Sarah Jessica Parker's love child.

Nonetheless, if the masks can help us avoid getting sick, maybe they're worth wearing. So, I have taken it upon myself to come up with ways to enhance the look of the common surgical mask. By using my techniques, you can protect yourself against disease while not looking like a total loser in the process. These ideas are actually quite brilliant, and I've impressed myself, yet again.

1. In addition to wearing your surgical mask, wear an eye-patch. People will be confused as to whether you are a pirate or a person avoiding serious illness.

2. Wear your surgical mask slanted on the side. This will give you instant street credibility. The technique mimics countless gang members and general hooligans who wear their baseball hats tilted on the side. If they look cool doing that, I'm sure you'll look just as cool (if not cooler) tipping your surgical mask in the same manner.

3. Draw a mouth and nose on your surgical mask. If they are drawn well enough, people will think they are looking at your actual mouth and actual nose. It's like you don't even have a mask on!

4. Dress as a doctor while wearing it. People will think that in addition to attending college, you are a doctor.

5. When people have casts put on for broken bones, they always have people sign them. Why not copy this for the surgical mask? Have people "sign your mask." I guarantee it, this will become as popular as the Furby was 10 years ago.

Don your surgical masks, people. It's the only way you'll have a fighting chance against all the diseases that come this time of year. Start a trend while you're at it!

She didn't like me, so I cried.

2009-10-02T13:45:00.000-05:00

Today I had a complete stranger tell me she didn't like me. Apparently, my talk of the weather offended her greatly, and she felt the need to let it be known that the two of us were never going to be friends. I went home and cried. Though, not really. In reality, I assumed she was crazy and took a good 10 steps backwards, pretending my shoe needed a good tying and the only way I could do it was if I was nowhere near her.

This whole situation has really made me start thinking about life, in a wise woman of the forest sort of way. And, I've come to a really profound conclusion that I'd now like to share with all seven of you who will read this:

People suck. Everyone, that is, besides me.

You see, Crazy Girl's comment made me hate all of humanity (as well as all woodland creatures and several mythological beings). I started thinking, "Man, people are so disrespectful and rude these days (besides me). No one has manners anymore (besides me). She was so mean to me. People are always so mean (besides me)."

But really, haven’t I been rude, mean, and impolite to people before? Yes. In fact, while I was walking home after class, a homeless man asked me for money. Naturally, I punched him hard and stole his change cup. That’s not very nice at all (plus, his collection cup only held $3.79 in change, so it wasn’t even worth it!). So, in a way, I was just like Crazy Girl. Certainly, all of us have our Crazy Girl moments.

Take from this what you will. I'm being very philosophical today, and I want you to do the same. Tell me what you think.

H1N1: What Can I Do to Prevent It?

2009-09-27T08:17:00.001-05:00

I'm a sophomore student in college, and I just had my first classes last week. One of the first things I noticed upon returning to school was how terrified everyone was about catching H1N1. And rightfully so, I might add. H1N1 is a scary disease. After all, the name "H1N1" is Latin for "Everybody is going to die."

Since the scare began, I adopted some precautions to avoid getting the disease. I would now like to share these safety tips with all of you.

1.) Avoid human contact at all cost. Socializing and being near people are highly overrated. Your friends may pretend to like and care about you, but chances are they're just hoping swine flu hits you before it hits them. Avoiding human contact will ensure that you do not catch other people's diseases. Remember: everyone is dirty. You'll have time to socialize later in life, when you're nearly dead, all your loved ones have deserted you, and it won't matter if you get sick or not.

2.) Sit as far away from other people as you possibly can when you have to go to class. This may be hard to do where there are a lot of students in class and all the seats need to be used. Annoying nice people and pesky friends may also hinder your ability to carry out this tip. In order to deal with these problems, I've developed something I like to call "The Crazy Person Technique." All you have to do is start muttering strange things to yourself when someone comes near you. For instance, say something along the lines of "Hot dog with marshmallow. Fish dinner tonight. Meow. Woof. The sun, the sun, it burns." And then, you can start screaming and possibly itching yourself a lot. I guarantee, no one will sit by you, even when there are no other seats available. It works like a charm. I've used this technique often when friends have tried to talk to me.

3.) Soap isn't good enough. Shower with Purell. This may burn a little bit, but trust me, it's well worth it. One note of advice for those of you wearing contacts: Don't replace your contact cleaning solution with Purell. I haven't been able to see for a week now.

4.) Stop exercising. Don't ask questions, just do it.

So, there you go. Take these tips. Use them. Live by them. They'll keep you healthy and very, very alone. Any questions?

Some thoughts...

2009-09-25T20:29:00.000-05:00

There's nothing more humiliating then realizing you've locked yourself out of your dorm room when you don't have any clothes on and are having a really bad hair day. This has never happened to me, but I imagine it'd be really ridiculously humiliating.

What exactly am I doing here?

2009-09-25T13:30:00.000-05:00

Hello, everyone!

My name is Katie Marovitch, and I have created this blog to discuss college, or as I like to call it, "those years where your parents kick you out of the house so you can study really hard to hopefully land a decent job when you are forced against your will to enter the real world." Sounds exciting! But seriously, this blog is going to hit on some hard topics affecting college students all over the world today, like the swine flu (kill the piggies!), the health care debates (you lie!), and most serious of all, Spencer and Heidi Pratt (wait, what?). Er, that's all I have to say for now.

-Katie