July 31st, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Well folks, I’ve gone ahead and done it.  After four years and two months of married life, I’m officially no longer a Cotter. I’ve been meaning to do it forever.  I mean, I changed my Social Security information almost immediately after we were married.  It was the passport, drivers license, bank accounts, checks, credit cards and such that I never changed.  You know, the things you actually USE ON A REGULAR BASIS.

 See?  Kathryn Anne Cotter.  A little blonder than I’d like, but there she is in all her glory. Also, please notice the expiration date.  I think I’ll die before this thing expires.  But wouldn’t it have been fun to show the cops that picture when I’m 90??

At first I thought it was just because I was lazy.  I had a valid passport (albeit was a horrible picture.  I’ll show it to you sometime.  Kate+backpacking through Europe + thieving Italian Gypsies+4 AM after a full day swimming in the Mediterranean= UGLY BEYOND COMPARE) and changing it just seemed like too much work.  Plus, I don’t like being without a valid passport.  I mean, what if I have to flee the country suddenly?  What if I win a trip to Paris?  Ugly picture or not, that passport better be valid!  But I digress . . . my point was that I was lazy.  Then at the end of June my passport expired and it became inevitable.  If I was gong to do this thing, I’d better do this thing right now.

So I did this thing.

As I was making all the necessary steps to become the REAL Mrs. Murphy, I had a little bit of an internal meltdown.  It’s not that I don’t love my husband with all my soul.  It’s not that I don’t want to take his name.  It’s not that I don’t want our future children to have his name.  It’s that Kathryn Anne Cotter was my name!  At one point the lady at my bank said very matter-of-factly-like “So you’re no longer Kathryn Cotter.  You’re now Kathryn Murphy.”  Que the tears.  I actually cried over that statement!  It was yesterday’s low.

Matt came home last night and I threw my new drivers license at him and said “There!  Are you happy now???”  Like he’d begged me to do it or something.  Like this was aaallll his fault.  He looked at me, a little confused, and just sort of . . . backed away from the crazy woman.  His logic is that I’ve been preparing for this my whole life.  I, like all other little girls, would doodle my name next to the fling of the moment’s last name.  I knew this was coming.  AND, I’ve had four years of marriage to “prepare.”

My logic is that if someone came to Matt one day and said “Ok Matthew Murphy, now your name is Charles Applegangin” he’d be like “Uh, that’s not my name.  My name is Matt Murphy.”  And then the guy makes him fill out a bunch of forms, stand in line for hours (ok maybe half an hour but STILL at the Motor Vehicle Division that’s like ten years.  Let me just tell you that there are a lot of weirdos out there.  And having all of them in one room?  Even wierder.) take a new picture and have someone yell “Charles Applegangin?  Mr. Charles Applegangin?” when his new information is ready, and he just sits there stupidly because THAT’S NOT HIS NAME . . . until he realizes that is, in fact, his name, and he sheepishly makes his way to the counter to collect his new identity.  And then he sits and stares at it in the car for a few minutes thinking ” . . . weird.”

I mean really, his version makes no sense at all.  Four years to prepare my butt.

It’s not like my new last name sucks or anything.  I’ve dated worse.  Welch?  Weixler (ja, German, ja)??,  Batmale (pronounced bat-maul, but still)??? Leue (loo-ay.  Say it with Kate.  Kate Leue.  Hrbbbpp)????  I mean really, Murphy is the least of my worries.  Especially with my Irish ancestry and name.  And red hair.  It couldn’t be more appropriate.  Plus my new picture?  Sogreat.   I mean, not to brag?  But who gets a decent drivers license picture?  ME!  That’s who!  See?

Still, it’s very strange to see my picture next to that strange girl’s name.  My name.  My married name.  Kathryn Anne Murphy.  I love it.  I will embrace it.  It will be mine.

Even if I don’t though, I guess it’s cool because the expiration date stayed the same.  I mean, showing that picture to a cop when I’m 90 is going to get me out of MANY tickets.  Am I right or am I right??  Just tell me I’m right.

July 27th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Like most women, I formed my “body image” in my early teens. I decided what I liked and didn’t like about myself (like my boobs, hate my thighs) and began to form those opinions based on images that I saw. Now, the part that I’m not sure is so true for most people but is true for me is that I didn’t form these opinions based on supermodels or Hollywood starlets. Oh no, I formed it based on the girls next door.

I went to a public high school in a fairly affluent area of my hometown, which is actually known for it’s good looking girls. So, needless to say, I went to high school with some absolutely GORGEOUS people. Some absolutely gorgeous, absolutely SKINNY people who I have spent my life comparing myself to.

These were the girls I’d grown up with. The girls I went to church with, who I’d gone to dance class with. I had known them forever. Somehow I had grown up to be a bit round and soft and they had grown up to be svelte goddesses of beauty and slenderness. I’m not going to lie. It was frustrating. They were my friends but I was jealous of their tans and their skinniness and their boyfriends and all of it.

It’s been eleven (ELEVEN??) years since I graduated from high school and I’ve spent a considerable amount of that time not liking a lot of things about my body. Even when I was thirty pounds lighter, RIPPED from dancing four to five hours a day and then heading to the gym after school, I hated my legs. Even when I was sickly-skinny from a depressing break-up which caused me to drop ten pounds in just a few weeks, I still hated my butt. Why? Probably lots of reasons. But one of them was because every time I ran into one of those girls from high school, they were still skinnier than me.

I learned something this weekend that made me realize what a waste of my time and energy all of that was. Pretty much every.single.girl. I can remember comparing myself to back in those days had an eating disorder. I apparently went to Anorexia/Bulimia High School where girls didn’t eat but once a week and then when they did that, they’d throw it all up. Not only would they do it, but they’d do it ALL TOGETHER. Like a barf party! Even now, eleven years later, most of them are still dealing with the medical repercussions of starving themselves. Many of them are probably still not eating because many of them never got help. And I’m so, so sad for them.

And I’m embarrassed that I formed my self-image based on a lie.

I looked at myself with new eyes this weekend. Sure I have some cellulite and areas with more chub than is ideal. Sure I have things about myself that I still don’t like, but guess what? I’m healthy. I exercise regularly and I have a healthy heart, healthy kidneys, healthy bones. I have skin that glows and healthy, shiny hair. I have curves and muscles. I have all the things that prove that I am medically and mentally healthy. I like food. I like that I get hungry and that I can eat. I like to cook. I like to entertain and see people enjoy the things I’ve made. I have fun eating with friends.

It makes me sad to know that these girls are still dealing with these issues. I cannot fathom what it’s like not to enjoy a steaming plate of pasta or my Mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup. I can’t imagine what it was like to feel that kind of pressure from your friends.

Today I woke up a new sort of person. I’m more grateful than ever for my amazing friends. I’m more grateful than ever for my functioning body.

Now I just need to figure out a way to teach my future daughter how to get there before she’s almost thirty . . .

July 20th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

I’m not sure if any of you have heard, but Phoenix is HOT right now. I usually brush off the 116 degree temperatures by giving the standard “but it’s a DRY heat! It feels totally different!” Cut to the past two weeks where humidity decided to rear its ugly head and I’m DYING HERE. It’s been so unbelievably hot and humid and miserable. I’ve been sweaty and miserable and can hardly stand to be touched because THE HEAT OF YOUR HAND MAKES ME BOIL AND DIE! If I had my way I’d spend most of the summer naked in front of an open freezer.

I never anticipated moving to Phoenix and, quite honestly, it is the last place on earth I would have chosen. I hate being hot. I am of the opinion that one can always bundle up to stay warm, but there are only so many layers you can take off when you are hot. The other issue you run into is that the A/C is set to frigid in all the buildings so you freeze inside and then boil outside. I literally have to wear a jacket in my office but outside it’s a balmy eight million degrees. It’s a strange sensation to walk from the polar ice caps straight into the seventh circle of hell.

Working out is a whole other problem. I hate being hot mostly because I hate sweating. I think there is nothing more disgusting than feeling hot, salty water drip down your body. Working out in Phoenix takes the normal sweat levels and turns them up about fifty notches. I work out at least once a day now and I literally sweat buckets. I go through at least two bottles of water per workout and I end up looking like a drowned rat. It’s pretty.

Also fun is the shower. I have no idea WHY but the water? Is ALWAYS HOT. I cannot find a good temperature to shower in during the summer. It’s always too hot in the shower, then the bathroom is all steamy, which is MISERABLE and then you have to blow dry the hair, which adds head to the hot, humid, sticky room. I am a big ball of sweat before I even leave the bathroom after a shower.

All in all, right now I hate Phoenix. I just keep having to tell myself “75 in December, 75 in December, 75 in December.”

July 11th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Ah the evolution of technology.

I remember finally convincing my Mom that I NEEDED a pager.  I needed it so SHE could keep track of me and get a hold of me and get me to come home. 

Yeah right.  I really needed it so my friends could page me when something fun was going on or text me secret messages like “143″ and “43770″ and other such SUPER IMPORTANT THINGS.  I mean, hello!  In high school we really had such important things to say.

My pager was awesome.  It was see-through purple plastic and, as we all did, I kept it tucked into the front pocket of my jeans, clip on the outside.  It vibrated.  

Then we eventually evolved to cell phones.  My life long best friend Sheila and I got our first cell phone together when we were sophomores in college because we were working for CollegeClub.com and needed it for work.  Uh, yeah, that job lasted like a whole five minutes.  Eventually the cell phone was willed to me when B (as she was better known to me) got engaged and moved on to bigger, better things.  (Hi, Andrew!!)

Oh how great my little pink phone was.  I loved that my friends could get a hold of me whenever and I never missed out on anything good.  The bill was a little annoying but I was making $4.75 an hour at “The new location of Christensen Dodge Chrysler Jeep” and I could afford it.

Now, of course, we’re past actually speaking to one another and on to texting.

I remember when texting was introduced.  I didn’t jump on that bandwagon for a long time because HELLO, it cost EXTRA.  I’m still not a HUGE texter . . . I mean I text and all, but I don’t have four hour conversations via text message.  I try to keep it short and sweet.  Partly because I’d rather just talk on the phone but on the other hand . . . texting and I have a love/hate relationship, but it’s mostly hate.  Let me ’splain.  It’s my entire purpose for this ridiculous post.  Stay with me.  I think you’ll think it’s worth it.

I HATE.  HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE ohmygosh HATE IT when people text in movies.  I feel like grabbing their phones and chucking them as far away from their stupid little texting fingers as I can.  I mean really?  REALLY?  For two hours you can’t shut the damn thing off?  I have total movie ADD and if anything distracts me or, oh I don’t know GLOWS from anywhere in the dark, dark theatre, BAM my eyes move there and I’ve totally lost track of the movie.    I always somehow manage to sit next to the texters.  Last weekend I went to a movie with my girlfriend JoAnne and the two guys next to us texted the whole time and, at at least two points in the movie, they answered their phones.  SERIOUSLY?  I really think people should be kicked out of movies for that.  Sadly, I’m too afraid to miss something in the movie to get up and actually DO something about it.  But I think about it often and one of these days one of those guys will get booted because of me.  One day.

Just a side note, pertaining to my movie ADD, last week when I saw Transformers 2, the cute little six year old next to me had a Transformers t-shirt that lit up EVERY TIME HE TOOK A BREATH.  I don’t think I saw a second of the movie because I was so mesmerized by the red lights of death.  I’ve had similar problems with those light-up shoes.  Those things should be outlawed.  Along with light-up-when-you-breathe t-shirts.

Another reason I love/hate texting is because of how distracted people (including me) get.  I have walked into people, walls and poles.  (PS - I have stopped texting while walking.) Without fail, every time I go to the mall, some tween in her skin tight skinny jeans will come to a screeching halt right in front of me, in the middle of the hallway because ohmagoshigotatext!  I never have the required amount of time to stop and there is always a collision.  It’s like we need a texting lawbook.  “If you are texting in a crowded area or in the middle of a thoroughfare, you must slowly veer to the side of said thoroughfare and stop to complete your texting transaction.”  Or maybe I should put it into text speak for you.  “Muv ovr.  Ur n teh way.  4 rls”  I mean, someone could get hurt! 

Wait, what’s that you say?  It’s already happened?  Surely you jest!

Surely I do not.  A teenage girl in New York fell down a manhole into four inches of raw sewage because she was texting and didn’t see the wide open hole.  Check it out for yourself.  My favorite part?  (Besides the fact that she FELL INTO FOUR INCHES OF CRAP) is that her mother is mad at the city.  I tell you what, if my kid falls into a manhole full of crap because she’s NOT WATCHING WHERE SHE’S GOING, I’m going to OMGLMAOBBQROFLPIP.*  And then I’m going to take pictures for her scrapbook.

—————————————-

Translations for those of us who don’t speak “Text”

*Oh my gosh you’ve got to be kidding

**Yah, I’m not really even sure what this means.  Something about a barbecue rolling around on the floor peeing in my pants?

July 9th, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Hello, Mr. Bale.

TGIThursday! The weekend is almost here!

July 2nd, 2009 by Kateastrophe

Umwherehastheyeargone???

 Between recovering from my travels, figuring out some c-r-a-z-y work stuff, being back on the saddle with the trainer and hanging out with my recently returned Arizona bestie, I’m SWAMPED!

We don’t have any major plans for the 4th.  Hanging out by the pool, maybe a BBQ with some friends . . . mostly trying to stay cool in the super fun heat (and humidity?  Where the h did that come from?) that has recently plagued our valley. 

I have like fifteen unfinished posts and some others floating around in my head.  One of these days I’ll be back to my regular blogging self, but for now, it’s all sort of on hold.

 The end of the month brings birthdays, the annual girls trip in Vegas and some possible big changes with my job.  Fingers crossed the work stuff turns out well so that the other stuff isn’t affected.

With that I’m off to attempt to make my see-through skin have some semblance of color.  I’m looking forward to three days of eating and playing.

Happy 4th of July Weekend everyone!  Be safe and have fun!