Freeze No More

IMG_5732Everyone has their limits. As you know, I reached mine with winter about a month ago. Shortly after, from eating nothing but pasta and living off couch cushion change for weeks, I surpassed my limit with the “between job” lifestyle. Three sentences in, I am already pushing my limit for this blog post, because I’d rather be watching House of Cards. Seriously, am I the only person on earth who didn’t watch the second season in a single day? To be fair, there have been a few other things (and a few other shows) on my plate.
IMG_5561When I last Blobbed (I sometimes affectionately refer to this thing you’re reading as my Blob), I was sunning in the frozen tundra that is Martha’s Vineyard. That is, lying prostrate on a sofa and delighting my older brother with this year’s version of My Plans to Change My Life as he administered vodka cranberries into my system via central line. What in the summer is a bustling a tourist community is for all intents and purposes shut down this time of year, although we did hit up a bar on the first night complete with live island jams and some seriously drunk moms and dads. Since I majored in Drunk Senior Citizens in college they are a bit of my expertise, and I felt right at home, closing my eyes and vibing to the serious saxophone tunage. Truthfully, I was just wasted, and a weekend with a bunch of old irrelevant beach strangers was just what I’d needed after being trapped in my house for the whole month of January. That, and unlimited hot baths and sandwiches and sexting and episodes of Forensic Files. And that’s exactly what I got, plus six inches of snow, House Hunters on demand, solicited and unsolicited relationship advice, endless shit talk, and 10 hours of sleep a night. We even got a nice hike in there, which for Nate means literally running uphill through the woods. But hey, I had some calories to kill. Plus, winter in the vineyard might be the most beautifully spooky thing I’ve ever seen.
IMG_5522 IMG_5513 IMG_5540 IMG_5527 Venus went direct just in time for Mercury to slide into retrograde, so after I rode the megabus back to New York and successfully repressed the entire experience, I was prepared for things to be a little fucked up. And I was right. My computer was suddenly on the fritz, not holding a charge, shutting off in the middle of things. I was terrified and frantically backing things up when I could, certain that this was the end for my best friend. Meanwhile, servers were down all over the place. I couldn’t get burritos on Grubhub when I wanted them. The people at Chipotle were forgetting to add cheese. Okay, so most of my problems were Mexican food related, but I’m sure Susan Miller will tell you it was all fucking Mercury’s fault.

The day after I returned, I met up with Reid and a few others for a “night on the town,” which according my version of Winter Nightlife meant drinking at my apartment until 1, stumbling and grumbling over snow piles on the way to the bar where I’d nurse a cocktail for 2 hours and do a bunch of poppers, before hopping in a cab home that was clearly out of my budget. On this particular night, I calculated that I would need four 24 ounce Coronas to get the party started, so by the end I was a complete and total mess in the head a la 2011-2012 (without the assaults, arrests or afterhours). I was asleep by 3:30 and spent the rest of the next 24 hours shivering and shitting and feeling sorry for myself. Was nearly 100 ounces of beer, two double gin and tonics and a bottle of poppers suddenly TOO MUCH for me to handle? Had I gone soft in my old age? Or had I simply been putting up with hangovers of this magnitude for the last five-plus years of my life and could no longer choose to accept it? This is why I can really only fuck with Tito’s vodka. I don’t even think it gets you drunk I mean it’s basically Evian. 5 out of 5 doctor’s recommend it! Or was that judges and rehab? Gotcha.


In a spectacularly romantic gesture a few weeks prior, my significant other had bought me a plane ticket to come spend Valentine’s weekend with him before I started my new job. Because I hadn’t quite been sufficiently depressed and sex deprived enough in the frigid weeks since I’d last seen him, mother nature decided to bring another fuckface of a blizzard our way just before my departure. What would I do if this flight was cancelled? I missed him so much. And I thought about it and I’d tried but I just could not masturbate anymore. I called JetBlue to take proactive measures at switching to better flight times, asking all kinds of questions and begging for advice and using words like “tarmac.” Ultimately I decided to take a gamble and keep my original flight for the morning after the last day of snow, and somehow managed to depart and arrive on time. 

In Chapel Hill I encountered the expected level of collective dismay when my crop of local bff’s all realized my time was spoken for by the boy who’d brought me there, and every moment that I was not [insert disgusting sex act here] I felt really bad about not being able to see them. That being said, I also had delicious meals, intimate moments, eye contact and body contact with the person I love, so I wasn’t exactly overcome with sadness. That Saturday, in accordance with my NormCore boyfriend’s plans, I got to see a side of Chapel Hill I’d never seen before, one that is familiar to almost all of its other students and alumn: Frat Life. I even saw a sport on TV. I won’t say they were the highlights of my weekend, but they certainly made me feel one with the people. I was like Frank Underwood at that Civil War reenactment. I wasn’t really about it, but I admired their conviction.
IMG_5913By Sunday the bae and I had to say our goodbyes. I was headed back to Brooklyn once again, this time to do actual “work” and make “money” so I could “live.” What a total drag. Before my flight my mother met us at the Starbucks in the lobby of the airport to say hello and goodbye to me and be introduced to my new partner for the first time. First we had the pleasure of telling her we met on fucking Twitter. Then she asked him how he was doing handling “all of this,” and pointed at me. “She can be kind of a lot.” I would have been upset had I not known her for 24 years and thus been absolutely certain she was complimenting me in her own way.

As I walked through security in mismatched socks covered in my boyfriend’s roommate’s dog’s hair, I dreaded going back to New York. I knew I’d miss my boyfriend, but was it more than that? I hadn’t wanted to be there for a while, but I didn’t know what I was running from either. Responsibility? Chasing the dream? Watching Forensic Files alone?

As I stepped into my snow-stained uggs at the end of the TSA line, I was not a sorority girl, not yet a woman. But I was glad that, at the very least, I had someone to eat burritos with on Skype.

Advertisements

January Rewind

winterprincess
Ok, so January kinda sucked. Everyone was hungover from the holidays until about two weeks in, the freelance tv job market was bone dry, and no one wanted to party through their seasonal affective blues. But people, we’ve got at least a month left of this shit, so let’s get it together.

I say that half-jokingly, of course, because I am just as guilty as any of being a stoner/homebody in the winter months…the following photo shows the highlight of one of my more exciting recent Saturdays, wherein I matched my snacks to to my 1980s ski jacket. The state of my face and hair in that photo should give you an idea of how much I haven’t given much of a shit about my appearance (or anything) for most of the past month. My priorities have been mostly TV shows and various deli foods.

IMG_4859As evident in my previous post, I have been fairly active on the internet in my hibernation, but it hasn’t all been bad. Sometimes I get so bored I make fun little art things. My boo had a birthday early in the month so I made a little twitter avi art for him as a gift. I’m thinking of doing others by commission. Summing up people’s essences with google image searching and crude photoshop can be a fun substitute for having a life.

IMG_4764With queer rights doing so well these days, soon I’ll be able to marry this dog!

Let’s see, what else did I do in January? Well, I basically had a month long bad hair day! I’m trying to grow my bangs out, as in, trying not to let impatience get the better of me and chop them into a caesar cut just to make my ‘do a little more interesting. For most of January, that is, the 2.5 weeks of it that I was employed, I was doing some freelance video editing. As you can imagine, the standard for beauty in that niche of the industry is pretty low. The following are the before and after pictures of my most recent trim [by Hannah] that I received after a long day at the office. I figure only about a year to go before I’m at my desired length! *laughs for an awkwardly long time while side-eying kitchen scissors*
hairWhen I say all I’ve cared about in 2014 is TV (that includes skype sex, right?) and food, I mean it 100%. I’ve eaten more red meat in the last 30 days than in the last 4 years of my life (life hack: most delis will let you add bacon to a meatball sub), and thanks to Reid’s Apple TV I’ve gotten caught up on such boobtube classics as Toddlers & Tiaras and American Horror Story: Asylum. I have a hard time watching that season of AHS while eating ground meat products, but I make do.

IMG_5034 IMG_5083Let’s see, what else…Oh yeah, there was that time I thought I had a violent stalker because someone left this butcher knife wrapped in a towel at the ledge of my apartment door 🙂

IMG_4962

I knew I recognized it from somewhere, but still, I PANICKED…someone could have broken into my house, stolen a knife, and left it outside to send the message “hey, I know how to get into your house, and I’m probably going to stab you later just FYI.” Didn’t seem that farfetched to me. Turns out it was just my old roommate’s dad returning it to us.

I have gone out to a few good parties recently. There was F.R.A.T (FUCK RAGE ALWAYS TURNT) a few weekends ago at Steel Drums, which I don’t remember whatsoever aside from looking great and then chatrouletting/watching Mulan in my bed afterwards at 7 am with Reid (my only friend, apparently). Then there was Anna’s birthday party, which was supposed to be a karaoke party but was mostly just people screaming with poppers bottles up their noses.

IMG_5240That night I also did a little something special for my fans, reenacted on snapchat all the best scenes from my favorite web series of all time: Got 2b Real. If you haven’t seen Got 2b Real, you a loser baby. It’s ok, you just a loser! Patti, if you ever want to turn this into a live sketch show, I do a great Mariah/Christina/Fantasia Barrino. You can find me on snapchat at: katstkat.

Anyway, I’m off to get day drunk alone in Martha’s Vineyard. Cause that’s what you’re supposed to do on a snow day, right?

IMG_5231

(W)INTERNET INSANITY

Screen Shot 2013-12-16 at 3.41.28 AM
“Everything is going to be okay,” I’ve been saying on repeat. To myself, to other people, to stray cats, to no one in particular. Every year this happens, so it should come as no surprise. I have never ever been a winter person. I keep thinking it will change, that one of these Christmases will just be so spectacular that I am fully energized to take on the next year’s goals and resolutions with the gumption they deserve, all polar vortexes be damned. Despite the evident awesomeness that was my 2013 holiday season I can’t seem to resist the dark temptation to emotionally self indulge.

It happened a lot in college. When I wasn’t working on papers or in retail with no access to my phone, I would sit in my room bored out of my mind refreshing facebook over and over. There may not have been anything good on the internet, I thought, but I was going to waste my time with it anyway. And what would come of this? Not much, except longform analyses of every other person’s instagrams and tweets and profile pictures, and then my instagrams and tweets and profile pictures, and then their worth (calculated using an algorithm based on average likes, followers, and how much I happen to envy them), and then my self worth (which of course could never compete). The next thing I knew it’d be 3 in the morning, the skin on the inside of my bottom lip would be rough from gnawing nervously as I spiraled deeper and deeper into an identity crisis–a crisis based on identities with no inherent truth or validity, mere projections of aspiration and constructed self image–at a speed so seemingly beyond my control it would begin to snowball into a fully formed depression.

Will I ever be as popular as her?
Will I ever have someone like him?
Who am I really? URLy? IRLy?
What is my value as a human being? Physical, spiritual, virtual?
Will anyone ever appreciate me at the level I need?
Why do I need it? Am I weaker than other people?

And this was before I had a smartphone. Imagine my chagrin years later, while isolating myself from the cold, to find myself in the same vortex of self doubt.

Truthfully, social media statistics are just a glorified version of high school yearbook superlatives socially accepted by adults. I frequently make the argument that who we are on the internet is no less genuine than the identity we construct in the physical world. To draw an inequality is to place too much inherent value on “the identity” itself, something that while we each cling to it for survival in a modern society, while we were raised as millennials to believe that each and every one of us is special and unique and important in a way that has never before existed, while fashion and music and the food we eat feel like an outward expression of an internal truth, is merely a combination of options that have been decided for us from an incomprehensibly intricate social construction. How can the clothes that I wear and the words that I say and the people I consort with in the physical world be considered any more valuable than their virtual counterparts? The way that I look in person isn’t any more real than online (photoshop? makeup? plastic surgery? haircuts? the infinite ways I could choose to dress myself?). I have “known” people for years in strictly offline relationships that have never come close to the intimacy I have achieved with some online. The internet is as real as reality, people, which is to say, not at all.

There is quite a bit to be said for physical contact, though, isn’t there. Being able to touch the person you love and physically experience them is something technology has not quite been able to accurately simulate and a luxury I certainly long for every day in my long distance relationship. While I can place myself mentally miles away by digitally engaging 24/7 with people in another city (and I do), I cannot be satiated, cannot rest assured that I have not missed anything, cannot drift to sleep without a palpable loneliness and two burning retinas from staring at screens. What I do have that I don’t in “real life,” is the ability to stare at what I wish I had, who and where I wish I were, all day every day until I have ignored my physical life so successfully that I don’t even know how to go to the bathroom anymore without my phone much less carry on a conversation.

I appreciate everything technology has afforded me, but maybe I should take a step back. In high school I deleted AIM off my computer because I was unable to focus on anything but the alert sound I had set for my crush, and it was the best choice I could have made for myself. I focused on schoolwork, I made art in my spare time. Then Facebook came along and ruined all of that AND gave me access to the personal information of every person that has ever dated anyone I’ve ever liked.

I compare myself to my friends a lot too. I asked Alex how he was getting so many facebook likes on his most recent blog post (you know, aside from the fact that it’s great) and he was like “Take a look, I have far more friends than you. They’re coming out of the woodwork! I never delete.” I do delete. Until recently I was a big fan of the delete. Why would I want to afford a person access to my life if it serves me no benefit? Ah, yes, the curse of self-promotion. Or another I’ve been experiencing lately, the curse of the NEED TO KNOW. You know the Need to Know curse. A girl you don’t like lurks your boyfriend…her face and her words make you uneasy and defensive…passive aggression rules all of your interactions. There’s no reason for you stay connected to this person other than to “keep tabs on them,” or, more accurately, to feel bad about yourself. It’s Media Masochism at its finest, and what’s more, it says a whole hell of a lot about your trust issues, your level of self esteem, and in my case, a lot about how, despite my attempts to progress, I still partake in the patriarchal construct of a necessity for competition between women.

I want to be stronger. I want to ascend to a level of comfort with all my identities and lack thereof, namely the still fetal relationship I have with myself that I go to bed with every night and wake up with every morning. I want to be comfortable alone, in this physical space right here and right now. I want to look forward and face the fucking snow even though I hate it so much and remember that there will be a Spring, there will be a Summer, and that a time will come where I rise to the level of success and popularity and appreciation that I think I deserve.

And most of all, I want to remember that it all means nothing unless I can truly love my Self. In all its forms.

Winter Bummerland

sadness nap

After I died from a sinus infection and came back to life just like Jesus herself, I decided to put my clean bill of health to use by moping. Every year around this time the whole world starts shitting themselves over ~*SNOW DAYS*~ most of which I spend wrapped in my snuggie complaining that it’s too cold and that people aren’t paying enough attention to me. Which is true. Winter totally blows my butthole and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.

Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t actually own a proper coat. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t really have that many friends in New York yet (cue “Home” by Michael Bublé and also me eating a whole cake). Or maybe it’s the different piles of frozen vomit I’ve been finding outside of my apartment every morning and–ahem–the massive dead rat on my back patio that is covered in snow. I just don’t really find it that cute.

The only things that have gotten me through these past few weeks have been

a) the yoga class I just started (I’m a mom!)
b) drunk dancing to Gloria Estefan on the M train, and
c) my new haircut

IMG_4656

I got bangs, and then of course Michelle Obama did too because she’s like obsessed with me or something. I’ve also become especially fond of these (second hand!) fur earmuffs I’ve been wearing every day.

So okay, I know I don’t even go here, but I just have a lot of feelings. And for whatever reason that’s only between the months of November and March. In the summer I’m always the first person to buy a round of DGAF for the crowd and start the party. I want that to be my winter look! I really do! But strong hoes also cry.

Strong hoes. Also cry.

When I’m not wallowing my social life basically consists of getting drunk way too early and making intimate winter gatherings as awkward as possible. Here I am around 11pm at Beth’s birthday potluck last weekend.

IMG_4759

Since I’m not going to move to LA tomorrow and I probably shouldn’t take any more of that Xanax that was prescribed for my cat, my plan is to stay so busy that I don’t have time to be a psychopath! Buying breakfast for the people I’ve drunkenly abused is getting expensive, so I should probably find a more productive outlet for my nervous energy.

Uh, I’ll let you know when I think of one.

Meanwhile, the Identity Crisis Diet has made my body 100% beach ready. So when I received the call to be +1 on a SECRET ISLAND VACATION this weekend with hands so frostbitten I could barely even answer the phone, I clearly said yes.

Miss Jesus works in mysterious ways, y’all.

Image

Bye Bitches. I’m Outie.