North Carolina | THE FAB DISASTER

June 14, 2013
by Kat st. Kat Leave a comment

Flashback Friday: Return to the Teen Scene

I don’t really remember much from my most recent trip to North Carolina, which is a shame since it was probably the last I’ll make for quite some time. It might be irrelevant now, but sitting here listening to Blink 182 (shamelessly) I can’t help but get nostalgic for a time when I could ride around drunk in the passenger seat of other people’s cars with no plans or obligations but to pressure my suburban peers to smoke weed with me on my trampoline. I’m referring, of course, to about six weeks ago.

After resigning from my position as Professional Salon Receptionist I managed to snag a few days between jobs to go home to the Triangle. The idea was that I’d see each person I love for about five minutes and have a quick spa session before returning to New York to start my “new life,” all while maintaining a therapeutic yet dangerously high blood-alcohol level. I’d like to share my experiences with you using the photos I found saved on my phone from that week, since that’s the only way I can recall what happened in the first place.

Day 1: I spent the morning drinking vodka cranberries and tanning on the trampoline at my mom’s house in Cary until Greg drove 4o minutes from his parents’ house in Zebulon so we could smoke bowls and drive around. My friendship with Greg has been going strong for about ten years and we’ve spent most of them doing exactly this. Above is a photo of us on our way out to Chapel Hill to rescue some younger friends from the clutches of our alma mater. As you can see, Greg is sporting his classic UNC hat in forest camouflage and I am sporting my classic boob being out.

I guess it was something in the southern air or possibly the fact that I was WASTED at 4 pm but I really wanted to have a party that night. I made a huge deal about it on twitter and everything, which was sort of hilarious since it was the middle of the week and the only way I was going to get my friends out to Cary was to drive them myself. When most of them opted to stay in Chapel Hill, I googled “rude clip art” and sent these out via text:

Day 2: My relationship with my mother sort of amazing in that I can be whiny and annoying to her almost all of the time and she just finds it amusing. I’m like The Simple Life to her. Above is a picture of me standing in my mom’s backyard after I forced her to give me braided pigtails and she totally surprised me by giving me this tiara! But don’t get it twisted. I may be the princess, but my mom is the queen. There’s a reason she just had one lying around. Later, Greg picked me up because he had to go to Zebulon to do laundry or something and I had literally nothing else to do but ride around with him. I hadn’t been home for 48 hours and I was already bored. Why did I think having nothing to do would be a luxury? Here’s a picture of how high I had to get to make up for it.

If you didn’t know, Zebulon is a town in North Carolina made up entirely of fast food restaurants. We went to three of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day there was like a hurricane or a tornado warning or something stupid, so I wrapped myself in one of the Ritz Carlton robes my mom lives in and treated myself to that spa day I’d been looking forward to all week. If you thought I was exaggerating about my mom being a queen perhaps her taste in bathroom decor will convince you. I proceeded to send my future boyfriend as many elegant nudes as possible, use every bath and body product in sight and get so drunk in the tub that I sliced the shit out of my leg with a venus razor. I’m proud to say it looked pret-ty gnarly.

That night I was planning to attend one of the few events I used to look forward to back in NC, #NB4R. I was excited to see my boo Jermaine and of course hear what Luxe Posh was spinning these days, but the flash floods were putting a serious damper on my vibe. To lift my spirits I put my hair in my mom’s rollers and decorated my nails with some cheap stickers that just ended up falling off after I got Bojangles grease on them.

At the party we spent most of our time either in the bathroom or outside talking shit. Apparently I was acting like a Teen Bitch to everyone all night, which seems accurate I guess. A pretty bold choice for someone who was camped out on the floor of the men’s room all night, but I stand by it.

Anyway, it turns out airplanes aren’t time machines. Things have really changed in the last year and most of us have grown up and away from our old scene. This trip made it very clear that the North Carolina period of my life is dead and buried, or at least cryogenically frozen, and I’m totally okay with that. Still, it’s nice to get out of the city every once in a while and remember why I moved here in the first place. No shade on the old stomping grounds, but you gotta grow up sometime.

I’ll always miss Laguna Beach High School.

May 17, 2013
by Kat st. Kat 2 Comments

Renaissance or Something

I fired my therapist. She deserved it. I had originally hired her to help me through some of the stresses of moving to a new city, spending most of my time by myself, deciding the next move in my career, coming to terms with the way my upbringing has affected my relationships, you know, the usual shit. Once a week I would show up and crack my knuckles, excited to plow through these issues and move on with my life. She’d greet me in the waiting room with a meek, insincere half-smile. “How are you?” I’d ask her casually, to which she’d always respond “I’m okay.” Then she’d sit in silence and bored disapproval while I frowned out the window at the Empire State Building and psychoanalyzed myself. Sometimes I’d pause and look her way, inviting participation. She’d lift her chin abruptly as if startled from sleep, raise her eyebrows and make some empty comment like “you should do something about that.” I always left feeling very annoyed and slightly sorry for her. Was I the only person who could manage to pick a therapist more depressed than I was?

You all know that since the beginning of August I have singlehandedly held down New York for Team Big Things, getting by on my own with the help of the internet and the 4 friends I’ve made since I moved here. Much of TBT will be moving to Brooklyn in as soon as two weeks, and I am overcome with relief. I don’t even think I will realize how much it sucked to be here without them until I finally have them back. It’s texts like these that prove I will one day be back to norm again.

For a while I played with the idea of meeting some people on the internet, which was a bust for the most part. A few months back I made a fun OkCupid profile as a joke. I often make joke profiles on social networks I think might be dumb out of curiosity. This would explain how I got stuck with “ButtButt” as a foursquare name, “Catdookie” on instagram, and “Slutz[underscore]Taco” on OkCupid. Turns out people don’t think you are joking when you call yourself a Slutz_Taco on a dating website. They truly think you will sleep with them even if they look like a sea monster made of turds and use pick up lines like these:

God bless these fools. Nevertheless, I could not shake my desire for new mans. And attention in general, really.

In a dramatic turn of events, it was the dumbness of the internet that eventually brought me together with a boothang. Snapchat, specifically. Have you ever snapchatted your phone number to someone in the middle of the night? If you haven’t, it is a great way to start a romantic rendezvous with your celebrity crush. I give it 5 out of 5 stars.

If you live in New York (and maybe even if you don’t, but I can’t say for sure), you’ve probably realized that A LOT of people have been getting sick with colds and haven’t been able to shake them for up to two fucking months. I’m not saying it’s a government conspiracy (CHEMTRAILS) but it has definitely affected me quite a bit and that has definitely sucked.

^Here is a picture of me with a 102 degree fever after I sleepwalked to the corner store and bought a shit ton of cereal.
I’ve been to the doctor 3 times in the last month and in the meantime I have been slacking on all my other appointments. My cats are due for a teeth cleaning (do other people do this?) and it’s been so long since I’ve gotten brazilian that I’m positive my Bikini Artist is going to laugh in my face the next time I hit the spa.

When I’m NOT texting my new boo and nursing an illness sometimes I go out to public locations and alter my mind. I’m not sure what actually happens at these functions besides taking selfies but what else am I trying to do really?

It should also be mentioned that I quit my job at the salon to start working on a TV show. Before I started this new “gig” I had the privilege of dipping down to North Carolina for a bit of fun, the photos of which I will unload later. It’s too much glamour and beauty and suburbia for this particular post.

WHILE I WAS GONE it brightened up substantially around the city and I have been loving it. Honestly if you would just follow me on instagram @catdookie I wouldn’t have to repost these here and it would be far more convenient for me overall.

Cute, right? Now that winter is officially over and life officially no longer sucks, I’ve rediscovered the fun of walking around the city aimlessly. Also I think Jadakiss lives in my neighborhood.

My new job is fabulous and great and everything you’d expect. I even made a new BEST FRIEND to add to the collection. It really helps to have a person around for moral support while you’re ruining your manicure and eating far too much craft services. I’m not sure how long this particular job will last because the end of the season is near, so I gotta get in as much free food as possible before then.
I actually think I may be physically addicted to terrible food at this point. My hours at work are so crazy that I don’t really have the time (or fucks) for grocery shopping, so GrubHub is essentially my livelihood. The other day I ate no less than four kinds of fried seafood out of a cardboard box, and last week I ordered Chinese THREE times, one of which was just after I had finished eating Chinese. I never regret it until I step out of bed the next morning into a pile of empty takeout boxes. Then I feel just a bit gross.

Late hours do work well, though, with the fact that I like to stay up until 5 am playing with my hair (or having sex). Hannah got a job at a new salon where she gave me a brand new cut and color, and helped me style my fun new clip-in extensions.

If you live in the city you should definitely check out Foster Glorioso at 5 East 19th Street. It’s super gorgeous and beyond chill. Plus they have wine!

^Here we are on our way to the FIRST bachelorette party I’d ever been to. Our friend Lisa celebrated the end of her freedom and I spent all of my fucking money on male strippers! It was fun, but they should have been tipping MY ass…like, do you even see this weave? (Truly I’m kidding, these extensions were cheap as hell and take forever to put in, so mostly I’ve been rocking my new REAL hair a la Uma in Pulp Fiction on a good day. Still though.)

Yyyyeah, I’m still broke, I’m still crazy, and I still have a dead rat in my backyard (in case you were wondering). But I have a new job and new look so like, move over. ‘Cause this is a competition, and I am here 2 win.

December 31, 2012
by Kat st. Kat Leave a comment

holidays on xxx

A good friend of mine said recently that December is the Sunday of the year, which might explain why in the few weeks after Thanksgiving I’d been feeling a strange combination of lethargic and anxious. I’d taken on more hours at what I refer to as my “day job,” thus falling into and perfecting a routine that gave me a sense of not entirely false responsibility and sent me to bed at a decent hour. In fact I’m almost certain that my most exciting nights leading up to the holidays were: 1) watching Contagion while babysitting in Prospect Park, 2) my worldview imploding at my workplace Christmas party when I smoked weed with my boss, and 3) getting my credit card rejected while trying to order a gin and tonic at an Irish pub on Crosby street.

Routine gives me the creeps. I’m always a worried that if I get too used to my life as it is I’ll wake up ten years from now and still be making $300 a week. I need change, I thought. I need to make moves! In a notebook I keep next to my bed I’d scrawl manic to-do lists and grandiose long term goals before waking up the next day with just enough time for the bare necessities, running all of my errands between the hours of 9 pm and 9 am. Who the hell had I become?

But I found some comfort in my friend’s observation. For as long as I can remember, that Sunday night feeling has been synonymous with the onset of a stomach flu or a category 5 identity crisis. But I’ve tried to accept over the years that there isn’t much you can do to change your life on a Sunday night. Nothing is open, everyone is checked out and home with their families. The only thing you can do you is reward your accomplishments, assess your failures and prepare yourself for the coming week.

I decided that now was the time to be kind to myself. This meant, of course, that I would focus all of my attention on my holiday plans, putting great emphasis on the best idea I’ve had all year (next to moving to New York)–

Combining host forces with Sarah Sassafrass and Jeffrey Scott, the idea was to collide each of our most precious social pockets into one massive North Carolina Holiday Extravaganza. I arrived that Saturday at RDU airport at 11:10 AM, feeling quite sprightly in spite of my 50 hour work week and 5:30 AM train ride from my apartment to JFK. After meeting my father at the baggage claim I instructed him (as we agreed) to take me promptly to Starbucks, then to the spa for an eyebrow wax, and then to the nearest Moe’s for a taco salad. It was the perfect entree into the Triangle after such prolonged absence (although I may regret for weeks to come the fact that I did not consume one morsel of Bojangle’s while I was in town). Following lunch, daddy-o dropped me at the St. Kat K-Mart (AKA Party City) where I met Sass and Katy to buy tinsel, a disco ball, costume accessories and miles upon miles of garland. Of course no one place was fully stocked with all our needs–one employee even served me a big plate of attitude over some twinkly lights–so we had to hit up a Target and a Big Lots and a Taco Bell before going home to decorate.

The rest of the day was spent taping black streamers into a web in the Lexington Drive hallway, covering every visible corner of every inanimate object with garland and taping an entire wall floor-to-ceiling in aluminum foil (for portrait backdrop purposes, of course). Around 7:30 we received a pleasant surprise when two girls from Red Bull rang the doorbell, said they saw our party on facebook and donated an absurd 48 free Red Bulls to the cause. I was sure it was a gift from the party gods as I was already on my last leg and I wasn’t even dressed yet.

Proving that you can lead a bitch to water but you can’t make her drink, I decided to have a sizable portion (the entire thing) of what someone called a “less than potent” weed brownie. Next thing I knew, my friends were already arriving and I was applying liquid eyeliner with rickety hands, one shoe on and my face nearly plastered to the mirror. Was I already losing it? I didn’t care. Somebody hand me my curling iron.

(the final version of my outfit that lasted about five minutes)

The rest was a whirlwind of fantastic fuckery. People I hadn’t seen in months, some in years, came out of the proverbial woodwork to dance in our tiny, iridescent living room. Winston Filet and Princess Hannah emerged from their influenza death beds to serve holiday disco realness. Haters became lovers, enemies became friends. Someone took a shot of formaldehyde from a jar of preserved goat brains (this was a half-horror party, after all) and vomited all over the carport. The police even stopped by for a bit around midnight and refused to dissipate despite my clear and audible instructions, leaving one cop standing disregarded at the entrance like the opening scene of Home Alone. We could not be stopped.

And then, I don’t know if it was the brownie or the natural exhaustion or the vodka I’d been mixing with champagne, but I was out. By 2 am (and that’s being generous), I had fallen asleep in Justin’s bed with my clothes still on, leaving the over-caffeinated partygoers under the supervision of my co-hosts.

I awoke the next morning in a beer-stained ball, forgetting for a minute whether I’d even made it to my own party. But as the southern sunlight glimmered off empty bottles of Andre and strangers still slept on the living room floor, I picked up Sarah’s camera and declared another a success. I couldn’t remember much at all, but it looked fabulous in the pictures.

August 9, 2012
by Kat st. Kat Leave a comment

HOODRATS IN SPACE

Alcoholics! Creeps! People who are just bored! It’s me, that weird hoe you know, and I’m back with a posse this time. I’ve been spending the last week or so moving FOR THE GRILLIONTH AND LAST TIME (literally ever. i will die in this fucking apartment), trying to be a hardworking responsible adult. I unearthed some treasures from my pre-teen days in the sorting process, got some sweet new digs and finally got my boycat MISTER KOSSY up to New York. But I don’t want to bore you with stories about my first time at Ikea or how I found out the hard way that expired body glitter is, like, really bad for your skin…at least not today.

Remember when I told you I went down to Ralz for 48 hours a month ago and had a ratchet ol’ time?! Well now I have the photos to prove to you just how perfect the experience really was. We drank lokos. We saw god. I straddled a Buick. You know, a part of me is genuinely surprised the state of North Carolina hasn’t already outlawed this kind of fabulous fuckery.

(Pics by Sarah Sassafrass, naturally)

July 24, 2012
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PHOTOS: good butts and goodbyes

The photos of my going away gathering in May have finally surfaced! The whole thing was a complete surprise to me and nearly everyone I love from NC was there. It’s also nice to have documentation of that month I had pink hair. Taken by Sarah Sassafrass.

May 25, 2012
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oh, sweet deuces

My personal assistant sucks. I leave for my new residence in Brooklyn in 2 days and she has barely even started packing up my shit. The sink is full of dishes, my inbox is full of unanswered emails, the litter box is overflowing with poop and tiny pieces of clay. How am I supposed to be ready to move by Sunday if I’m out being ratchet every night and she’s sitting on her ass watching Gossip Girl or whatever?

If my assistant were real, I would probably fire her ass.

Instead the responsibility is 100% on me to not be a failure and literally get my shit together, and I’ve fallen significantly behind. Something happens when it hits you that your entire life is about to change, including your relationships with everyone in it. For some, that something is a state of panic setting in, sending them into a packing and planning frenzy (think Jennifer Hudson’s character in the first Sex and the City movie but on PCP). I’m taking the more lackadaisical approach of half-packing one or two boxes a day, considering that an accomplishment and spending the rest of each evening on a mini-bender. Remember those last few weeks of summer before going away to college? This is just like that, only with much less of an excuse for acting like a 17-year-old.

In the meantime, I have completed some of the items on my Triangle Tribute list. Since I am single again (I think you’re all pretty sure how this works by now) I’ve been looking for ways to stay busy that are simultaneously fulfilling and unproductive. Mostly this means going to Raleigh a lot to Sass, Justin and Katy’s house. Nestled in the promised land just above the fast-food strip of Western Boulevard, I’ve been “pre-gaming” with them (do adults call it pre-gaming? can I even call it that if I’ve never drank and watched a game in my entire life?) and then hitting the town, as it were. I thought completing this list was going to bathe me in nostalgia and I’d find closure with my birthplace then spread my wings and fly and shit. Instead, it just reminded me that I’ve spent the last 8 years doing the same thing every weekend and I could really use a change. That being said, I respect the Triangle and the Triangle knows. It’s an unpretentious place, it has some decent stuff to offer, and the people who love it here really love it. Just as with my recent ex-boyfriend, the Triangle and I are parting ways amicably. But not without a fight.

It all started when Reid returned from London and we decided to celebrate with my very first and very last experience at Top of the Hill. After forgetting my ID, faking an accent and telling a trillion lies to the bouncer for no reason at all, I was allowed to enter “the club.” It was pretty unimpressive as I could have expected, but my level of intoxication overrode any inhibition I may have had and I spent a good two hours dancing on a chair to every Rihanna single ever. My neck was only sore for the next four days so I must have done something right.

I can’t remember if it was the next night or not because my days have started to run together, but I decided to hit up First Friday with my Ralz crew a few weekends ago. If you didn’t know, “hit up First Friday” means drink at home until at least 12:30 am and then try to find something to do downtown. After heading to Dirty Mega and standing outside refusing to pay for it because we missed Chocolate Rice, we relocated to Neptune’s, what at times feels like Raleigh’s only bar. I quickly realized, I don’t feel that bad leaving a town where the main attraction is waiting in line for 20 minutes to get into a bar where the guys are all wearing flip-flops. Sorry Raleigh, I love you, we’re just not compatible.

After I’d had a string of bad days last week, I decided to make myself feel better the only way I know how: impromptu bargain wig shopping. It worked smashingly! Mindy, Lauren and Derick joined Katy, Sass, Justin and I in a three-hour boy band sing sesh during which we each consumed a bottle of something. Then we each bought more bottles of something and brought them to the rose garden. There were two or three other groups of wayward mid-week partiers with whom we made friends and by whom we were almost murdered. That was fun. The next day I drowned all my sorrows in Cheerwine and pink hair dye to repair the damage.

In other news, I finished my last day at Whole Foods on Sunday and found someone beautiful and perfect enough to sublet my Carrboro room. I think I’ve decided which clothes I want to bring with me to NY (I can only bring 6 suitcases so I’m freaking out). Clearly I’m in a little bit of denial that this is the end, but I’m just gonna put on these shades I found under my dresser and look toward the future.

RALEIGH I’M LEAVING AND THIS IS THE HARDEST THING I’VE EVER HAD TO DO, BUT I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. Cause that’s the kind of bitch I am.

May 9, 2012
by Kat st. Kat 1 Comment

North Carolina, You’re Being a Real Fag

(The Vote4MarriageNC super gay victory cake)

In the early 90s my older brother came out to my mother as gay. My mom had been raised in the particularly unforgiving Church of Pentecostal Holiness–the one with the fire and brimstone and speaking in tongues–and by this time was decidedly liberal compared to her old Stokes County stomping grounds. By that I mean, she voted for Clinton (Lord forbid) and was the loudest soprano in her Southern Baptist church choir. At this time, though, she and my bro were still pretty sure being gay was wrong, and per my brother’s request spent a few months trying to “pray away” his desire to play doctor with the other altar boys. Despite their adorably earnest intentions, they eventually realized that not only was that pretty stupid and impossible, but it was also making my brother feel like shit all the time. Why force it, right? After throwing in the towel, the two of them said “fuck it” and went out to Legends together, still the most popular gay/drag club in NC.

We grew up in Raleigh, the “but why don’t you have an accent” capital of the mostly rural North Carolina. At the time of my brother’s identity crisis, I was only four years old. Granted, at four my friend Cameron and I got matching Jonathan Taylor Thomas haircuts, preparing ourselves for what would become a lifetime of genderplay and tom-boy-foolery that would put my straight-laced brother to shame. But at the time I had no idea what was going on. Without me knowing, the whole country was definitely getting gayer. But in the embarrassingly backwards town of Burlington, NC where my brother worked during his time at Wake Forest, he was “found out” as a queer by his employer, which was considered sexual harassment, and he was fired.

So let’s talk about this amendment. Yesterday, NC voters approved the constitutional amendment to restrict marriage to “one man and one woman,” passing at a staggering 61 percent to 39. The state already bans gay marriage but the amendment just makes it “super impossible” or something, while also banning civil unions and domestic partnerships. All that good stuff is reserved for GOD’S CHOSEN PEOPLE (that is, the gay men who refuse to come out and instead marry ugly women and spend an awful lot of time camping with the Boy’s Youth Group).

But like, isn’t it 2012? Hasn’t anything changed in the last 20 years? I think people in Raleigh (and Asheville, and Charlotte, and Chapel Hill where I live now) take for granted that we live in these isolated mini-Portlands amongst a sea of gay hating, cousin-fuckers who masturbate to Leviticus every night. And before you say anything, let it be known that marrying your first cousin is, in fact, legal in North Carolina, as well as in Alaska, Alabama, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Maryland, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Tennessee, Vermont, Washington D.C. and your beloved Massachusetts. Fucking your cousin is the next big thing! Everyone is doing it! Kind of like how gay marriage is turning everyone into fags and encouraging lesbians to eat out their pets’ vaginas. In fact, I was only against the amendment because I wanted to marry my cat, but I guess we’ll just have to keep telling people we’re “roommates” until we get the rights we deserve.

At the earliest chance he got, my brother moved out of North Carolina. First to Chicago, then to Boston, and now he lives outside of Martha’s Vineyard. He’s not married, he doesn’t have kids. He’s never actively desired to recreate the gender-normative nuclear family (although he does have a boston terrier which he dresses in the finest Armani Exchange). Still, he wouldn’t mind having the option. Right now I see him about once a year, which is no one’s fault. But at a recent turning point in his life, he briefly considered moving back to be close to his family. That is, until the state pretty much rejected him. In fact, most of our family, including my mom’s five brothers, their wives and all their adult children, were part of the 61 percent that voted to take his rights. And it was because of Jesus (seriously, can somebody get this guy out of here?)

So what the fuck can we do? Is North Carolina just a microcosm for the entire U.S., where the masses of country mice who barely have dial-up are outnumbering us 2 to 1? Well, I don’t think so. Voter turnout was under 20 percent this time around, and while that’s pretty damn embarrassing, it means we’re not totally hopeless. If there’s one thing about idiots, it’s that they’re motivated. And conveniently for them, you can vote at your church. Not being totally ignorant is definitely not bliss, and yeah, sometimes all the fuckery in the world can get you down. But who knows what could have happened if a few more of the jaded and paranoid had dragged their asses to the polls. I’m leaving North Carolina next month for the bigger, brighter, more in-this-century New York City. But let it be known to North Carolina and the entire country: the Christians have long had their voices heard. In November, the stoners, the drunks and the cracked-out conspiracy theorists–the people with the real values–need to get off the couch and vote. Or the rest of the country is going to end up looking like Stokes County. And believe me. No one wants that.

April 25, 2012
by Kat st. Kat 2 Comments

Triangle Tribute Sesh

(Rose Garden circa 2006)

Do you ever feel like you spend so much time worrying and freaking out about bullshit that you miss all the fun? Lately I have been so consumed with moving to New York in FOUR WEEKS and trying to find an internship, a job, an apartment, my mind… that something very important completely slipped my mind: in four weeks I will be leaving the place where I’ve lived the last 22 years of my life–FOREVER. I shouldn’t be spending these days inside tethered to a computer and having panic attacks. There is only so much of this endeavor that I can control. I don’t want to wake up next month in Greenpoint and realize I never said goodbye to the place I grew up. So I came up with a plan.

THE CHALLENGE: complete every task on the list and document it
WHERE: the Triangle, baby
WHEN: between now and May 31st, 2012
WHO: me + whoever else will join me

1. Drink 40s at the Rose Garden
If you grew up in Raleigh, you know this is one of the safest and chillest places to drink illegally.

2. Dance on a chair at Neptunes
There is a 1 in 50 chance I will miss this. I don’t want to risk it.

3. Do a puzzle at Cup a Joe
Back in the early 2000s you could smoke inside of Cup a Joe. I was a very rebellious teenager without a license for most of those years and sometimes this was the most fun any of us could think of having.

4. Drink at Top of the Hill
I graduated from UNC and I have still NEVER done this. While I am not ashamed of that fact, I still think I should try it to, I don’t know, have a point of reference when I’m old.

5. Pop Champagne on the steps of the new 506 Church
506 Church street is the address of the house that Team Big Things/Fruity Rebels LLC and I lived in from August 2009-February 2010 when we all first became friends. On March 1 the house burned down. It was, to use an obnoxious but totally appropriate word in this case, epic. Brought us closer together than ever before, blah blah blah. Point is, I think some chicks on the UNC softball team or something live there now. Before I leave for good, I would really like to complete this one.

6. Swim in The Lake off of Estes
This is a private lake in a neighborhood off Estes where they have a tiny beach and tetherball and some canoes. We always look really out of place because we clearly don’t live there, but my alibi is always to say I’m “Ruth’s neice from Portland” if anyone ever says anything.

7. Drink rum and Cheerwine and go to Cook Out
They don’t have Cheerwine or Cook Out in Brooklyn I’m pretty sure so this one needs no explanation.

8. Spend the day thrifting at Father and Son
I have been like 439826 places in my day and never have I seen a vintage store this badass. I’m really going to miss all those weird manequins and polyester underthings.

9. Go to Pullen Park
*Sheds tear for childhood memz*

10. Go to the Ihop on Hillsborough in the middle of the night
*Sheds tear for high school and college memz and also bad service and incontinence* There is a chance I will go to the Waffle House on Hillsborough bc there are just as many memories and it is equally shitty but cheaper.

11. GO TO CRACKER BARREL
I realize they have these everywhere except New York City Proper. If I don’t get around to this one I have convinced my boyfriend to help me find the nearest one in Jersey or some shit.

12. Smoke on Bolin Creek Trail
Slash Windsor Trail and that trail behind McMasters. Chapel Hill has really amazing ~walking trails~ and many of them are well kept secrets.

13. Go to STIR
Let’s be honest, ~Jermaine Landon~ (twirl) and the Mix and Mingle events were the only thing that kept me sane during my time in Carrboro.

14. Go to FIRST FRIDAY and DIRTY MEGA without getting in a car accident
This one is a given.

15. Go to the flea market
I actually think you have to wake up really early for this and I work on the weekends so this will probably not happen but we’ll see.

16. Drive out to my favorite spot on Jordan Lake
Don’t quote me on this, but unless I find a place JUST as beautiful by the time I die, scatter my ashes on the bridge by the corner of Farrington rd and Martha’s Chapel

17. Smoke a cigarette at Longview
This was reallllllllllllly cool in high school

18. See a movie at the Varsity/the Rialto
LANDMARXX

19. Drink an LIT at the station
This one will be really easy.

20. Go the Big Chairs
If you drive the back roads through Carrboro, past Maple View farms and go almost all the way to interstate 40, there is a nursery that has a GIANT ROCKING CHAIR AND A GIANT ADIRONDACK next to the road. It makes absolutely no sense, it is awesome, and I love it.

21. Sit at Open Eye and talk shit
That’s what you’re supposed to do at Open Eye, right?

22. Visit Goldsworthy and Trillium
These are two places on UNC’s campus where people smoke weed outside. I cannot tell you where they are or I would have to kill you. I have never done drugs.

23. Go Explorin’
I used to have a Ford Explorer. I turned the trunk into what we called the “Interior Illusions Lounge,” but it was just a bunch of beanbags and pillows and stuff. I used to drive stoners around and listen to 93.9 KISS FM. Now I drive a Civic, but I don’t think it would hurt to try and recreate this as best we can.

24. Break something at Brewer Lane
I have gotten into a lot of trouble for this in the past so maybe I will just like, play foursquare and drink boxed wine in the courtyard.

25. Get swiped into Lenoir
I hate UNCs campus more than anything on earth but I’m sure they will have that big breakfast thing before exams again and someone will have extra swipes. Once they had a lifesize Pillsbury Dough Boy. I was not sober. It was amazing.

26. Get HARE KRISHNA
FREE FOOD IS AMAZING SUPPORT WORLD RELIGIONS WHATEV

27. Have an outdoor meal at Duke Gardens
The word “picnic” is racist. Look it up.

28. Go to the Art Museum
This place is rad. I love it. The last time I went was for like 5 minutes and I didn’t have time to do anything but get in a fight with my (now ex) boyfriend. It sucked. Let’s do it over again and cross over that bridge that goes to the Beltline. I’ve never done that.

29. Crash a frat party
Someone help me do this I don’t know what a frat boy is and they will not talk to me I think

READY, BREAK

April 18, 2012
by Kat st. Kat Leave a comment

all WASHED OUT

Monday night was the Washed Out and Memoryhouse show at Cat’s Cradle. Even though the night took a bit of a dramatic turn towards the end (I don’t even know, y’all), I enjoyed being back at the Cradle for the first time in a hot minute. I wrote about the show for Red Thought Media here. Don’t be offended if it sounds like Chillwave for Dummies at some points. Their readers are mostly indie rawk enthusiasts and I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP. After the show I got drunk without realizing it and stopped by The Station to take pictures of myself in the bathroom and listen to a cool dude with dreads cover “Faith” by George Michael.

April 1, 2012
by Kat st. Kat Leave a comment

Baby’s First Blog

I was rummaging through my old Myspace blogs today because I was feeling (somehow) more self-indulgent than usual, and I found what looks like a pretty helpful guide for teens on how to avoid getting grounded. If any of my readers are still 16, I hope this helps you. Other words of advice: remember to clear your browser history, don’t spend all your money at Cook Out and if you ever get suspended you can always lie about it on your college applications.

Typos have been left intact for authenticity.

“this is about to be totally useless

it has almost been a year since my first little blog-myspace-adventure-type-venture and i’m feeling pretty psyched.

i thought that since the last entry i ever wrote was pretty STUPID, i would write another possibly less stupid one so you guys could stop thinking that i’m probably still that lame.

here’s the business. i have got absolutely nothing to do. thus my unexpected blogging. i’m in a sort of trouble so technically i can’t leave the house. this does not happen to me often. but just fyi i am not enjoying it and probably would not recommend getting in a sort of trouble yourself if you were mayhaps considering it. my advice is as follows:

1. Be Stealth- the whole reason i’m even here is because i am underly cautious to an embarassing degree.

2. Get Your Story Straight- there is absolutely nothing worse than hearing the words “oh but didnt you just say _________ was picking you up?” and then having to go “oh yeah that’s what i meant” and then face an awkward silence/stare combination. there’s nothing worse than that.

3. Don’t Have People Pick You Up- it’s just easier to get your fuckin license on time. this rule should probably just be “get your license on time” or “don’t be really stupid and set yourself back like a year and a half for absolutely no reason.” if you do that your life will be tragic.

4. Chill The Fuck Out- sometimes it’s better to not get defensive. if mom is like hinting at the fact that she’s got you…and is like no your staying home…then dont yell at her for being unreasonable. because then she’ll actually be mad and pull you out into the garage and give you a talk about lying to her like that right in front of everyone and did i really think she was that stupid, etc, etc.

i tried really hard to come up with 5 rules but i think the rule about not being stupid pretty much sums it up.

as sad as i seem, a part of me wonders if this isn’t really a blessing in disguise. because without restriction i wouldnt be at home with all this time to blog and stuff.

-kathryn”

THE FAB DISASTER

Just another hot mess trying to make it through the day

Category Archives: North Carolina