March 3rd, 2009 by Kateastrophe

In an attempt to jump-start a weight loss challenge my roomie and I have going, I headed out to Bikram Yoga yesterday.

It had been a very long time since my body had taken part in any yoga class, let alone the Bikram variety, but I have always remember my days of body contortion fondly.  I loved the deep breathing and the whole spiritual oneness of it all, plus the flexibility and weight loss that comes along with it are never bad.

I apparently forgot that back in those days I was dancing at least two hours a day and working out like a professional trainer.  I was buff and flexible to start, and that it was like TEN years ago and I have aged TEN years.  And gained about thirty pounds.  Oui.

I started my day confidently and ready to go.  I was going to kick Bikram Yoga’s ass.  I finished up my work right on time and packed up my computer and went to change my clothes in the company bathroom.  It was there I discovered that I had forgotten my flip-flops.  This meant that I had the pleasure of strutting out of my place of work wearing very short yoga shorts, a red tank top and OLIVE GREEN POINTY TOED STILLETOS.  I kid you not.  I’m sure the IT guys have it on camera if you want proof.  I then had the pleasure of parking my car in a very busy strip mall area and walking across the parking lot and in front of all the stores in the same get-up.  Let me tell you, I was h-a-w-t.

I made my way into the studio, paid for my class and left my shiny green shoes in the lobby.  I grabbed my towel and my yoga mat and strutted into the yoga room where I was met with a blast of steamy, blistering hot air.  105 degrees and 40% humidity to be exact.  OHHOLYCRAP I had forgotten how hot that felt and how quickly one begins to sweat like a hog in that environment.

I looked around and everyone seemed to be enjoying the heat and most were lying on their backs in what appeared to be a meditative state.  I figured I’d try it, so I joined them.  Pretty soon a giant bead of sweat was making it’s way down the side of my face and it became impossible to stay still because MAN did it itch.  So I gave up on the whole “meditation” thing and sat up and waited for class to start whilst wiping sweat from most of my already drenched body.

Class finally started and let me just tell you what — 90 minutes feels like an eternity when you’re attempting to pull your body into inhumane positions AND sweating as though you’re locked in Hell’s closet.  Have you ever tried to grab on to your sweaty big toe with your sweaty hand and hang on while touching your sweaty nose to your sweaty knee?  First of all, it’s hard to hold on and you drop your sweaty foot a lot.  Then you try to wipe off your sweaty hands on your shorts, only to find that they are ALSO completely soaked in sweat and then you have to try to come up with something else which involves either the nasty carpet or your soaked towel, neither of which seem like a good idea.  I’m not going to lie, I looked like a COMPLETE IDIOT the whole time.  I dropped both legs at least twice and I actually slipped out of one pose and almost landed right on my face.  I severely kinked my neck looking over one shoulder AND, thanks to the mass quantities of water my body was losing, I got light-headed no less than five times and was forced to sit down before I passed the hell out.

FINALLY, the 90 minutes were up and I hobbled out of class, soaked from head to toe and extremely humbled and light headed but determined to make it out the door, past the waiting next class before crying in shame in my car.  Of course, any last shred of dignity was thrown right out the window when, naturally,  I completely tipped over right in the middle of the crowded lobby while trying to put on my damn green heels.

I’m going back tomorrow.  Who needs dignity anyway?

October 1st, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Word to my homies.  (Er, what?!)

We just got back from our annual vacation ala Murph at the Coral Pink Sand Dunes in Southern Utah where we spent four sand-in-the-crack  filled fun filled days.  I think my heart stopped beating at a very early point in the trip when I remembered that there was absolutely NO cell phone coverage or internet.  Verizon has GOT to put a tower out there.  Seriously.  (Also, it’s time for Kate to get a SmartPhone.  I’m accepting donations if they’re pink and rhyme with CrackBerry.  Mmmm crackberries.)

Wait, sorry.  I was talking about the vacation.  Where phones didn’t work.  Right.

I learned a few valuable lessons this weekend, which I shall glady share with you should you ever go on a four day vacation to the sand dunes.  (You’re welcome.)  Ahem:

1. Noise cancelling headphones and any sort of MP3 device that plays movies are totally worth the money.
2. Matching pink and black ATV gear is awesome and makes all the five year old girls at the campground jealous of you.  That’s always been a goal of mine.  Now I can check that off my list of things to do before I die.  Make young impressionable girls jealous of my awesomeness.  CHECK!
3.  Black ATV gear is HOT and makes you sweat like a pig.  But at least you look cool and the little girls are jealous.  (Seriously I felt SO bad-a!)
4. Don’t get over-confident on your sweet ride because if you do?  Several bad things might occur:
   • You might pop a wheelie at the top of a very steep ledged hill and slide right off the back of your sweet ride which will, in turn, stay upright on it’s two back wheels for many yards before settling down onto all four and travelling another 50 yards or so to rest at the bottom of a hill.  (My butt print is my gift to Southern Utah and the vision of me sliding off the back of my ATV is my gift Steve.  You’re very welcome, both of you.)
   • You might hit a very very large cow pie at full speed.  Said cow pie may explode all over sweet ride and sweet clothes.  You may have to clean it up.  It may take a very long time.  And stink.
5. Husbands scare easily when they see their wife rolling around on the ground with her ATV 100 yard away from her.  They come running at full speed to save the wife and might be just a little irritated when they find her laughing hysterically, unable to speak, merely pointing at her perfectly preserved ass print in the sand.
6. Never hurry when stepping out of the camper.  Sprained ankles SOUND fun but in reality?  They are not.
7. Do not attempt to get your sweet ride un-stuck from the sand from behind with your knee whilst wearing shorts.  There is a hot muffler there and burned skin smells bad and scars for life.  It also hurts like a mo-fo when the nerves start to grow back and the blister pops.
8. Try to bring two air mattresses for spousal sleeping arrangements.  Sharing one really sucks because when one moves, we all move.  When one moves (therefore we all move) ALL NIGHT LONG, we all don’t get no sleepy.
9. Bees like Diet Coke with Lime.  A LOT.  Like, enough to go on suicide missions just to get a tiny drop of that limey goodness.  I can’t really say I blame them.

I think the overall theme here is that I am a giant accident waiting to happen.  Or continually happening.  All the time.  Yeah.  That one.

 (Oh and I really need a CrackBerry.  Pale pearly pink, please!)

April 29th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Well, apparently the fact that I haven’t been skiing for six or seven years caught up with me yesterday because, OW.

Let’s just say that I’m glad it was all free because had I paid the $150 or so it would have cost me to go skiing yesterday I would have been pissed. I mean, it was still fun because it was skiing and it was beautiful weather and great snow for the end of April, but I had some issues.

Issue #1 is that I haven’t been skiing in a long time. I didn’t forget how or fall down (not even once!) or anything . . . I was just tentative and a little uptight, especially the first run.

Then, issue #2 was the boots. My first pair of ski boots made me loose all feeling below my knees within about ten minutes. I traded them in for bigger ones before going up the tram, and then noticed my toes were hitting into the front my first time down the mountain. Also, the right boot was so tight on my calf that it was cutting off circulation to my brain and when I loosened it, it didn’t improve. I thought it was because my form was SO BAD as I did the pie down the hill — which took and hour and a half just for the back side of the mountain where I wussed out and took the tram down for lunch.

After lunch we went back up and I discovered that my boots were the devil. It was the most painful hour of my life thus far. As I got more confident and increased my speed and improved my form (skiis can stay somewhat parallel? What?) my toes were smashing into the front of my boot, my right calf and right foot had no feeling left and (not related to bad boots) my left knee felt as though I had turned my entire leg around below the knee and was skiing that way.

Let it be known that I am an idiot pansy because after my second run, I gave up.

It should be noted that I did get three full hours of skiing in. It should also be noted that we only had time for one more run before the last shuttle left, and by the time I went down the mountain, traded in my ski boots and took the tram back up the mountain, I wouldn’t have had time to do another run.

Still, I totally quit. I am a sore, tired, wussy, skiing loser. And I am ashamed.

March 30th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

Ok I really did it but the posts for Hannah and Ad broke my blog because the picture file sizes were gigongous.  WHOOPS!

So um, it’s going to take me some time to fix and repost the pictures but I swear I’ll do it!  I SWEAR!

September 25th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Yeah you see it. The Kateastrophe counter is reset without the previous story even being told. And you’ll notice a pattern to the title.

WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND BEER????? I DON’T EVEN DRINK BEER! I HATE BEER!!

Ahem.

The story.

SO, some background. At our show last week we had a fully stocked hospitality suite which included candy, snacks, soda and two six packs of beer. All of which were hardly touched due to our slightly slow show. SO, at the end of the show we decided that I would drive the leftover treats back to Phoenix so that we could all enjoy them and not let them go to waste. So I loaded up my trunk with anything that wouldn’t melt and drove home. When I got home I took most of the stuff out of the “main cabin” of my car and forgot about the stuff in the trunk. Read: The twelve bottles of beer were in the trunk and a bottle of wine in the back seat.

So, yesterday, Matt says to me “your car smells like you got all boozed up and passed out in here. Do you think the beer leaked?”

“Nah” I responded. “There was an open bottle of wine in the car that I just took out this morning”

**note to self . . . OPEN BOTTLES OF BOOZE IN CAR . . . NOT GOOD! I am very new at this whole alcohol in the car thing**

So we left it at that.

This morning, I got in the car and it smelled like and entire frat house had gotten blitzed, passed out and then threw up in my car.

Beer . . . definitely spilled. Definitely. Definitely spilled.

So, I open the trunk and sure enough, four bottles of bud light had spilled through my entire trunk WITHOUT being opened or having a crack in the glass. Miracle? I think so. It’s a stupid beerfest miracle.

I gathered the four miraculously spilled bottles of disgusting smelling Bud Light and put them in their little cardboard home. Then I grabbed the six pack of Fat Tire in it’s little cardboard home and headed towards the garage to put them in there for the day until I could decide what to do with them.

I hadn’t taken TWO STEPS when CRASH! SHATTER! SPLASH.

“S**T”

The bottom of the holder had given out due to it’s wet nature (thanks to the STUPID BUD LIGHT) and the ENTIRE SIX PACK had shattered at my feet. All over my favorite jeans and brand new shoes. All over my car. All over my garage and driveway.

I would have kicked and screamed but there were tiny pieces of glass that had somehow found their way inside my shoe and I had to delicately prance into the house to rid myself of the glass shards, rinse out my pants and try to salvage the beautiful red leather of my shoes.

I realized I couldn’t just leave it like that, seeing as how we’re trying to sell our house and a beer spattered garage isn’t exactly going to go over well with potential buyers. So after trying to clean myself up I had to proceed to cleaning the garage and driveway up. I had to use a broom and a shovel to gather the bits of glass and then get the hose to clean the entire mess up. Picture me, all dressed up and ready for work, in heels, SHOVELING BROKEN GLASS.

It was one of my finest moments and, needless to say, I was very late for work and I arrived smelling like a lush.

July 13th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

So, I don’t really like to use my blog to brag about myself or talk about how awesome my life is, blah blah blah. Don’t get me wrong, my life is great, but I happen to think the humor and humanness of a good life is found in the mishaps and the insecurities and other such things. I don’t ever want to be that person who sends the Holiday letter full of bragging about how amazing they are and how brilliant their children are and how much better the whole family is than the rest of the world. It’s just not my bag.

BUT

Today I was pulled into my boss’ office to talk about my yearly review.

I had a pretty good year. I was finally promoted from my executive admin position and into marketing last August and received my first raise since starting at the company two years before. I accomplished some cool things and love my new boss and feel like I have great chemistry with my team. We work well together and we sell the crap out of our technology. So I figured I would get a standard 5-7% cost of living raise and a good review.

Oh how wrong I was. (And here comes the part I am cringing about and hoping I don’t sound like a pompous a**)

I got a rave review, a promotion and a huge - no, unbelievably huge raise. I almost died. I literally almost fell out of my chair.

This news came absolutely out of the blue. I have been walking on clouds all day. Naturally, the promotion and raise come with added responsibility and the guarantee of working more hours and being much more accountable for certain aspects of the sales and marketing team, but OH MY GOSH.

So, in all honesty, my waning participation in the blog world will probably continue. I still plan to be involved and to comment, it just might be less frequently and with less fervor and enthusiasm. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you all. I swear.

So, as an apology, I give you a mini-Kateastrophe.

I have this shirt that I love. It’s this gorgeous dark chocolate brown V-neck that is so soft and comfortable. I get excited every time I wash it because I get to wear it again. However, it has a little bit of a “bleeding” problem. I have ruined a few tank tops and a bra with it.

So, on Wednesday I had my appointment with the trainer at the gym. I had worn my brown shirt that day. I changed my clothes and went to the mirror to put my hair up in a ponytail and gasped. The shirt had finally crossed the line. It had dyed my armpits an orangy-brown color. I had about four minutes before I had to go warm up so I grabbed a few paper towels and got them wet and put a little bit of soap on them and started to rub at my armpits furiously. This is of course the exact moment that an old lady decided to walk up next to me and she just . . . stared. I tried to ignore her for a minute, but it was getting annoying, so I finally turned to her and said “my shirt dyed my armpits orange! I can’t just go out there and lift weights with orange armpits!!”

“Ooooooh” she replied. “I just thought you were just a weirdo clean freak.”

Thanks lady. Thanks a lot.

June 25th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Yes, I have reset the Kateastrophe counter. I was JUST this week thinking “wow, maybe my curse is over! I haven’t had a Kateastrophe in a record amount of days!”

Que karma, kicking my butt.

My husband and I had decided about two weeks ago that, due to hell-like temperatures and a wee bit of cabin fever, and no house projects to complete (HALLELUJAH!) we WERE. GOING. OUT. OF. TOWN. THIS. WEEKEND. We just didn’t know where. For a very long time. And the EVENT PLANNER in me was FREAKING OUT. But I digress . . . to the point, and the point is, that on Thursday evening we finally decided to go to Vegas for the weekend. We hopped on some hotel site that sounds like sliceline.com and bid ourselves into a great deal at a four-star hotel near Lake Las Vegas (so pretty! So worth going there if the craziness of the strip drives you, well . . . crazy. There wasn’t even a CASINO in our hotel! Ah the relief!) and then we bought ourselves tickets to Blue Man Group, which I have been dying to see for a very, very long time. So that was the weekend plans and we were very excited.

Now, I had considered giving you a lengthy description of each of our activities, alluding to possible Kateastrophes around every corner, but alas, I am very sleepy and really need to go to bed, so I’m cutting right to the chase.

We hung out in Vegas all day, ate lots of food, saw lots of shops, ate more food and then FINALLY it was ten o’clock and we could FINALLY see Blue Man Group. Now, having purchased our tickets late, we were on the middle of the very last row of the lower level of the theatre (note to anyone, these were actually GREAT seats and not what I expected.). I was fairly tired of being on my feet and very excited to sit down and relax for the few minutes before the show started. Alas, as is my fate, this was not to be . . . of course being in the middle of the row I had to climb over a bunch of people to get to my seat. I was alone as Matt was visiting the facilities. I had several shopping bags because OOOH SALES at Banana and Express! And of course my heavy purse. I climb over the laps of several elderly people sitting on the edge and finally find our seats. Now, being the good wife I am, I see that, at least for the moment there are people on one side of our seats and no one on the other, and because my husband is shy and doesn’t like to sit next to strangers, I take the seat next to the people.

So I get all my shopping bags situated under my seat and then finally, sink into my seat, so happy.

Que the guy next to me setting down his big-arse beer in the cup holder and not double checking that it’s secure. And que his big-arse beer dumping into my lap.

Did I mention that I was wearing my mostest favorite dry-clean only jeans? Oh and my brand new mostest favorite silk tunic shirt? Also dry-clean only? And my Kate Spade shoes that I got for an amazing steal of $40 and I could never replace if I tried for a million years? Well, that’s what I was wearing.

Oh, and did I mention that I HATE BEER? I hate, hate, hate it. Being Mormon, I don’t drink beer of course, but even if I wasn’t and I could, I WOULDN’T. I hate the smell of the stuff. I cannot imagine drinking something that smells so much like rotten BUTT.

And now? I am COVERED IN BEER. It spilled onto the bottom of my tunic shirt. Into the space between my legs and down onto the seat, which means it spread around my butt. It was all over my legs and all over my left arm and it had also dripped onto my shoes and therefore INTO MY SHOES. I swear it must have been the biggest beer in history and it must have also been the smelliest.

So, being that this guy had just dumped his beer in my lap, I glanced over to him, sort of looking for some sort of apology. OH NO. He thought I had been the one to knock it over, so he just glared at me. I quickly mumbled some sort of “I’m sorry” then tried to quickly gather up my plethora of bags (which did not go so quickly) and then try explain why, less than two minutes ago “yes, I know I just sat down but now I appear to have sprung a keg and I’m re-climbing over your lap with all of my bags IN MY NOW WET KATE SPADE HEELS with which I will kick you if you don’t MOVE!”

I finally made my way out of the theatre towards the bathroom where I ran into my husband, who could do nothing but laugh. Meanie. Then in the bathroom, I’m trying desperately to sop up the beer with wet paper towels without leaving white crap all over my outfit. Then there’s the dilemma of the beer in the shoes. I mean, I’m not a huge germophobe by any stretch of the imagination, but barefoot in a public bathroom? Sssssick. Barefoot in a public CASINO bathroom? NO FRICKIN‘ WAY. So I take one shoe off at a time and try to balance with all of my bags (because for some reason after watching some stupid germ special a while ago I cannot bring myself to set my purse on the floor in a public place, let alone, once again, a PUBLIC CASINO BATHROOM and there are lots of people in there and I think it’s rude to set it on the counter and take up the space.) so I’m hopping up and down whilst trying to rid myself of the yeastiness.

So to make a long story longer, I obviously couldn’t possibly get the beer out of my clothes, so I just tried to mop up the best I could and go back to the theatre and watch the whole show damp and smelling like butt. Luckily my sweet husband had taken the seat next to the beer guy, who, throughout the WHOLE SHOW, clutched his precious 1/4 cup of beer in the hand furthest from me. Good idea, pal.

June 9th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

I can’t believe I’m telling this story to the whole world. I really can’t. I mean, I tell it at parties to keep people laughing, but actually PUBLISHING it . . . that’s a different story. But here goes.

So, flashback to April, 2002. I have finally completed my requirements for my Fine Arts Degree in Music Dance Theatre from Brigham Young University. I’m finally a real adult and I’m proud of it.

Now, I must explain a little further how I found myself in the position I did. The MDT (Music Dance Theatre) program was very small and very . . . “elite” as we liked to call it. Only about 25 students per year were accepted, and within a given semester only about 6-8 graduated. We were given the “elite” privilege of performing a musical number at our department’s commencement ceremony and also at another department’s. This was great, but it caused us to have to attend TWO boring commencement ceremonies and also caused several “difficulties” as far as logistics and seating were concerned. We couldn’t file in with the rest of the college and sit in the normal order. We had to wait off stage for the beginning and our turn to sing, then we had to file around the back of the stage and were the first ones to receive our diplomas, and then we finally filed on to the very back row of the risers in the theater and sit. It should be noted that we were the only ones on the back row.

So, we did our thing, got our diploma’s and filed onto the back row to sit through the rest of the speeches and fluff that are common in any college graduation.

Keep in mind that because there were only about 6 of us graduating, we were all very close. We’d spent four years in the exact same classes, learning the same songs and scenes and whatever else we were required to do. We loved each other and had a blast together. Also keep in mind that, despite being at a predominantly LDS (aka Mormon) school, being in theatre meant that we had more than a couple of homosexual gentleman in our major.  Yes, at BYU.

So we sat down, diplomas in hand and entertained ourselves by . . . being musical theatre majors. We were notorious around the Fine Arts Department for being loud and obnoxious. We were shunned by dance majors for not being real dancers, by theatre majors for not being “real” actors, and of course by the vocal/opera majors for not being “real” singers. We were the red-headed step-children of the Fine Arts & Communications Department. So of course, my year worked hard to live up to the reputation. We were obnoxious and loud and were cracking jokes from the back row to entertain ourselves during the ever-so-boring speeches.

Finally, the end of the ceremony was near. The dean of the department was speaking and wrapping this thing up. He thanked our teachers for their hard work and dedication, he thanked us for being hard workers and then he thanked our parents for everything they had done to get all of us proud graduates to the point we were now at.

It was at this point that my favorite gay friend, Clark said to me “we should stand up and cheer for our parents.”

And, being the obnoxious MDT majors we were known to be, we stood up and whooped and hollered and cheered.

Then we sat down.

Only . . . when I sat down my chair . . . well . . . “scooched” backward.

Now, “federal regulations” require that any riser taller than about 3’ has to have “back support” to prevent individuals from falling off the risers. BYU had followed this rule to the absolute minimum. The “back support” was about the equivalent of a ruler held up by two ¼” dowels. So, when I “scooched” the back support “snapped.”

The back two legs of my chair were off the edge of the riser and I had no back support.

And.I.started.falling.

So, I did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do. I grabbed on to Clark to support me. Only, it didn’t work. Clark’s chair “scooched” and he started falling.

So Clark did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do and he grabbed on to Cindy, the girl next to him. Only THAT didn’t work. Now she had been a little smarter and saw the fall coming and held on to her chair for dear life. There was a loud “SSSCCREEEEAAACCCCCHHH” sound before she AND her chair started going over the edge.

Now, SOMEHOW, after losing my chair to the floor below, I managed to grab on to the underside of the riser and hold on, BUT, my graduation gown flew over my head and I was hanging, butt down, from the riser with my gown covering my face. My calves were the only thing not suspended in mid-air, and probably the only thing that saved me from falling all the way down.

Clark was not so lucky. He started flailing even more and somehow managed to grab on to the back curtain of the theater and SLIDE down it to the floor, hitting with a thud.

Cindy and her CHAIR pitched sideways over the edge and landed RIGHT.ON.TOP.OF.CLARK. Face down, provocative style. By itself, it’s funny. But knowing that Clark was very, very gay, made it even better.

Then, Cindy did what any logical, responsible college grad would.  She  got up and RAN off stage as fast as she could.

Clark sat up, wind knocked out of him and reached behind him and lifted up a rose. Somehow he had managed to land directly on a long stemmed rose and smashed it to death. As he held it up it just . . . wilted. I don’t know why that part is so funny to me but it totally is.  That’s where I completely lost it.

I eventually pulled myself back up onto the riser and was laughing hysterically. It was a silent laugh though, because there was a commencement ceremony still going on of course. So I was hunched over on my chair, shaking uncontrollably and had tears streaming down my face.

Our head professor had run from the front row back to see if we were ok. I’m sure she thought I was about to die. She kept asking me if I was OK and I just couldn’t stop laughing to tell her I was fine. Clark, still a little winded, said “I think she’s just laughing.” Now I was pointing to my nose, letting him know that he was “on the nose” with that one and that I was, in fact, dying of laughter and nothing else.

I didn’t hear this, but apparently the Dean had looked back wondering about the commotion and said “Well if they can’t hold on to their diplomas now, we might need them to come back and repeat college!” Very funny.

Later that night my family was laughing about what had happened and each person who had been in the audience was telling their reaction.

My Mom had started leaping over people, running to save me, sure I had hurt myself. She was in the middle of the back row, so she caused quite a commotion there.

My friend’s parents had just started laughing uncontrollably.

My Dad had shot straight up from his second row seat to see if he could see me and if there was blood.

My personal favorite as my brother Sean’s reaction. Keep in mind that I went to Brigham Young University and 98% of the attendees and their parents are tried and true Mormons. My brother, seeing my fall says OUT LOUD from the SECOND ROW of the HUGE THEATRE in a LOUD VOICE:

“My stupid sister just F***ING fell off the F***ING back row.”

I’m pretty sure the Honor Code Police are still looking for me to strip me of my diploma for that one.

So there you have it folks. The Kateastrophe of Kateastrophes.

Please, no autographs today.

June 1st, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Ok, this is embarrassing to admit, especially to the whole world, but today is a proud day for lil‘ old me. Why you ask? I’ll tell you why.

About nine years ago last month, I left for the adventure of a lifetime. I left my comfy home in Provo, Utah and set out for a summer in Europe. First, theatre study abroad in London, followed by a three week backpacking trek with six friends through “The Continent” followed by the remainder of the summer in London and the surrounding areas just hanging out and becoming cultured.

Cut to the last week in June and what is now lovingly referred to as “the death train” from Pisa, Italy to Nice, France and being robbed by Gypsies on said death train as we slept off our horrid sunburns from our day in the Cinque Terra (I know, my life is so hard. But focus on the ROBBERY.) I woke up to find my camera, passport, Eurail pass, new watch, CONTACT LENSES . . . pretty much everything except (oddly) my wallet GONE. Cut to me by myself getting a new passport in Marsailles (Tourist Pointer: Marsailles is sort of boring, and pretty ugly, despite the romanticising of the city my mostest favorite book Count of Monte Cristo) and having three days of total melt down freak out. Cut again to massive spending to correct the problem followed by my stupid eighteen year old self wanting to GO. HOME. NOW. Mind you, I was broke as can be, savings drained, credit card maxed, all family favors called in. I would have spent the remainder of the summer wandering aimlessly through London like the homeless man who made his makeshift home on the corner of our Queen’s Gate school apartment building. So going home was sort of the best and only option.

Cut NOW to me going home and going back to college and deciding to buy a new car and making some pretty dumb financial decisions, despite the awesomeness of my parents who paid for my schooling, therefore I should have been DEBT FREE. Sigh. Alas, I was young and have I mentioned financially stupid? Little by little, I added to the debt that had started when I was stranded in Europe. It was like a little white lie . . . building slowly but surely. Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m glad it wasn’t worse than it was. I’ve heard stories of maxing out student loans and multiple credit cards. Mine was manageable, but still entirely too much.

The ONE advantage I had is that I knew I was in too deep, and I took advantage of the fact that the credit fools thought I was rich or something, because, as horribly in debt as I was, I had a fantastic credit score and a high credit limit and I never paid ONE PENNY of interest. Ever. I transferred my pile of debt from interest free credit card to interest free credit card for five years. FIVE YEARS. Oui.

And again I digress . . . here is the POINT. The POINT is that as of 9:45 this evening, I am officially debt free. The last penny has been paid.

I wish I could take all the glory that comes with this accomplishment . . . but I have to thank my Mother, who hounded me to pay it down, and most especially thank my husband for paying for EVERYTHING while we were dating so that I could get it down to a reasonable total before we got married, and then giving up last years tax refund to help. I’d also like to thank my health insurance company for screwing up last year and having to give me a hefty refund this week for my overpayment.

See? Told you I shouldn’t get all the credit. Haha. Credit . . . HA.

May 24th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Ahhh the memes just keep on comin’! (and i MISSPELLED my original title. I’m so embarrassed)

I am flattered that Gunfigher likes me enough to tag me . . . so here goes. Meme number four bazillion . . . titled “In the Spotlight”

When did you start blogging?
Well, I officially started blogging with this post(and oh my gosh that was almost YEAR AGO??? Where has the time gone?) but it wasn’t until the day I wrote this post that I actually discovered the world of blogging as I know it now. I was searching for a picture of a tiny BYU cougar and came across Daring Young Mom’s old Blogger blog and then, in turn, her current blog and I realized that there was MUCH more to blogging than I had originally thought. I had written some pretty random posts and was on my way to being the blogger I am now, but discovering Katherine’s blog and blog hopping from there showed me what was really out there.

What’s your favorite childhood memory?
Because I have some pretty freaking cool parents, my childhood is filled with amazing memories. But I think the memories that have stayed with me and that I think of most often, I wrote about in this post from my old blog. Every time I hear thunder, see lightening, or smell the rain, I re-live those memories.

Are you a spiritual person?
I am a very spiritual person. I was raised LDS (aka Mormon) by my LDS mother, but my father is Catholic (but not exactly a church going strict Catholic), so I had to decide at an early age if I wanted to take the spiritual route or the “sinner” route as I joke with my Dad (Oh please no one get offended by that. I’m totally kidding I really truly am. I am very lighthearted about religion I swear). I did, and I have no regrets. Having a strong belief in God has helped me more than I could ever say. Abiding by the seemingly “strict” rules of the LDS church has been somewhat challenging at times, but SO SO worth it. I am healthy, I am happy, I am confident in my eternal marriage and family, and I have faith that no one can shake. I feel blessed in so many aspects of my life, and all the credit goes to God.

Do your moral values affect the way that you blog, and if yes, how?
Absolutely. I am not perfect in the “no swearing” rules . . . but I try very hard to keep the subject matter clean and rated PG. My religion and my moral beliefs are so intertwined in my life, there is no way they couldn’t affect my blogging. I live and breathe it, and while I have no desire to push my beliefs on anyone else, they are bound to be part of my stories and ongoing life experiences.

I also have a desire to be readable by all and offend as little as possible. I’m a little “rough around the edges” when compared to some of my same religion, but I hope to be a good example wherever I can and to be uplifting and fun at the same time. It is possible - and for me without alcohol! Plus, if you ever meet me in person, you’ll realize that it’s probably better I don’t ingest alcohol, as many people seem to think I live my life drunk. My boss recently said “the more drunk I get Kate, the more sense you make.” Touche!

What is the weirdest thing that ever happened to you?
My life is seriously so weird, it’s hard to pick the “weirdest.” I am constantly baffled by the weirdness of the world and how small it truly is. Plus, I am a weird, weird person. I constantly do weird things and have fun, weird friends. So there are a lot of things to choose from.

One of the weirdest . . . and funniest . . . and most embarrassing things that has ever happened to me, goes as follows:

Summer of my junior year in college, I was working on my “self image.” I was a theatre major and also participating in beauty pageants (another post for another time) and I needed to be skinny, hot and original looking. Oh and zit-less. So I was working out like a fiend, I’d dyed my hair dark red and I was on the dreaded Accutane. For those of you who don’t know, Accutane is the zit killer drug which basically works by COMPLETELY SUCKING ANY MOISTURE OUT OF YOUR BODY. You are walking around like a dried out corn husk. The doctors recommend dumping an entire bottle of lotion on your body daily, as well as snorting vaseline to prevent bloody noses. It’s SO FUN. So I was hot, skinny and all dried up. See? (OK other than the weird eyebrow. What the crap?)

I had started dating a guy I had met at my first pageant parade (again, another post for another time) and we had waited quite a while to start “the kissing” but once we started, we decided we really liked it, and we kept it going despite my dry nose issues, which were many and sort of disgusting.

I must also say that this was a guy like Jerry on Seinfeld. He’d dump a girl for looking at him funny, or for having a weird toenail. So, I was doomed from the beginning for sure, as I have many weird toenails and many funny looks. Add in the weird Accutane issues and I was done for before we started. I just didn’t KNOW it.

Cut to two weeks after the kissing started . . . and had kept going. We were at his house, which was, at the time, empty, because he was moving out of it to live with his parents (WAS I BLIND DEAF AND DUMB TO THE WARNING SIGNS OF A LAME BOYFRIEND???) and we were alone, in the dark . . . doing what two 20-something Mormon kids do when you’re ALONE and in the DARK. I’m embarrassed to admit this publicly, but it was a fairly . . . intense . . . make-out session that had been going on for quite some time. At some point, I noticed some . . . wetness, on my face. I didn’t think much of it, you know SPIT and all being involved, but it kept getting worse . . . and then I realized what had happened. The horrible, awful thing that had happened:

I
HAD
GOTTEN
A
MASSIVE
BLOODY
NOSE
ALL
OVER
MYSELF
AND
MY
BOYFRIEND

I pulled away and said “uh-oh.” We turned on a light and unveiled what appeared to be a BATTLE SCENE. We were both covered from the neck up. COVERED. I was MORTIFIED. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. Luckily he just started laughing. He went to the bathroom and cleaned up the best he could . . . and came back for some more of me and my hotness.

Five minutes later? Yeah. Another bloody nose.

Followed by the line my boyfriend uttered that I will mock him for behind his back for LIFE.

“Wow, my Mom does my laundry. How am I going to explain THIS?”

Needless to say we called it a night, and shortly after that? He called it a day with me and my hotness. Mama’s boy.

And that folks, is it. That is the completion of my Meme. I hope it also counts as the Kateastrophe of the week, because if my sharing my bloody nose story doesn’t count, then something is very very wrong.

Now I’m supposed to tag five people, but I seriously don’t have it in me now. If you want to play, you can go here to find the rules. Just make sure to let me know you’re playing along so that I can witness some of the fun.