New glasses for me. Freaking finally. only months of glaring at the TV frustrated because when a girl can't discern food network from bravo there is a huge problem. When i am expecting Clinton Kelly, don't give me Giada BigFace.
I went to Hour Eyes. Long boring story involving my face being shoved into various machines with no explanation, a lovely eyedoctor whose last name made me giggle a little bit, and then the waiting for the waiting in the waiting room and then some waiting and then OH MAYBE MONDAY YOU CAN HAVE THEM.
So monday rolls around and after 25 minutes someone approached me in the "i'm clearly waiting for you to hand me my glasses to make sure they don't look off" corral that they had me in by the glasses lab. give me a break.
NEVER GO TO HOUR EYES ON 17th and K, NW. waste of your time, friends. the employees don't know what they're doing, and could care less about Ms. Squinty McSquintsalot and her headaches from being in love with the internets.
oh but they are MAUVE!!!!!!!! matches the blog, see? stylistic choice.
see that? right there? REALLY wanted to end it in (bitches) but i refrained. grown ups with mauve glasses do no such thing.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Quote of the Week
The DaveKlein is a weblebrity!
He overheard some very interesting things while on the metro, near Eastern Market. If you know the daveklein, you shouldn't be surprised that it was before the jump, kiddies.
Quote of the week for la vie en Kat?
He overheard some very interesting things while on the metro, near Eastern Market. If you know the daveklein, you shouldn't be surprised that it was before the jump, kiddies.
Quote of the week for la vie en Kat?
I was sitting on our friend, the Poang Chair, and let out a particularly un-ladylike belch. roommie then calls out from across the living room:
"wrong end!"
in reference to my constant plight with, ahem... *plumbing problems*
Thursday, January 26, 2006
F-em
Kat's Breakup Mix for M. (Vol. 1: Oh my friend's ex-boyfriend, someday i swear that perhaps your 5th appendage might actually function and that you don't blame someone else for it because it's really not attractive and YOU ARE LOSING YOUR HAIR, SO TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE.)
Fiona Apple- Extraordinary Machine
R.E.M- Try Not To Breathe
Johnny Cash- Hurt
Coldplay- God Put a Smile Upon Your Face
Damien Rice- Cheers Darling
India Arie- Strength, Courage & Wisdom
Ben Folds Five- Don't Change Your Plans
Justin Timberlake- Cry Me a River
Basement Jaxx- Good Luck
Britney Spears- My Prerogative
Poe- Angry Johnny
Beth Orton- Thinking About Tomorrow
PJ Harvey- Big Exit
Peter Gabriel- Solsbury Hill
Rufus Wainwright- Beautiful Child
Stephen Trask & John Cameron- Wicked Little Town
When the going gets tough, the tough ply friends with bagels to come visit.
NYC, here i come!
Fiona Apple- Extraordinary Machine
R.E.M- Try Not To Breathe
Johnny Cash- Hurt
Coldplay- God Put a Smile Upon Your Face
Damien Rice- Cheers Darling
India Arie- Strength, Courage & Wisdom
Ben Folds Five- Don't Change Your Plans
Justin Timberlake- Cry Me a River
Basement Jaxx- Good Luck
Britney Spears- My Prerogative
Poe- Angry Johnny
Beth Orton- Thinking About Tomorrow
PJ Harvey- Big Exit
Peter Gabriel- Solsbury Hill
Rufus Wainwright- Beautiful Child
Stephen Trask & John Cameron- Wicked Little Town
When the going gets tough, the tough ply friends with bagels to come visit.
NYC, here i come!
Monday, January 23, 2006
Kelly Ripa, some tight booties, and me.
and on this, most depressing day, I have in fact learned the most DEPRESSING thing EVER.
At the gym this evening as I was walking uphill at a rapid pace in the back row of the treadmills (to have precisely 6 rows of tighter booties than mine for inspiration) I was working out just in time for a VH1 guilty pleasure of mine, The Fabulous Life Of (insert whomever). Usually this show doesn't even outrage me anymore, because I read blogs. I see magazines. I know that people who can afford a Prada dress (which is a life goal of mine) can afford a hundred Prada dresses, and pay a nice lady to cook them meals with no calories and march them all around Hollywood to keep them skinny. I am nonplussed by britney spears' fortune equaling 400 Corvettes with personalized "federline" rims on them and having a choice of 7 driveways to park them in while those respective houses fill up with diapers, bling, and cheeto bags. I get it. whatevs.
until today.
Today, I learned, on this particular episode, which just so happened to be The Fabulous Life Of Kelly Ripa, that she makes (ahem) as much money in one hour in her "Live! With Regis and Kelly" gig than I do PER YEAR. I'm sure, in TV-land, that's a mere pittance when you think that Linda Evangelista didn't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day in the late 90's. In the post-holidays/new year/restaurant week financial slump I am in, this was my ruin. For each working day of the 52 weeks in a year, Kelly Ripa gets to coquettishly berate Regis and look skinny. If I were that skinny, I could work ONE DAY A YEAR AND GET BY. And to think! She has other TV engagements, as well as pantene pro-v commercials and that short-lived stint doing commercials for that 7-up-that's-trying-not-to-be-soda-but-some-sort-of-health business.
JEEEBUS. This was the wrong place to let VH1 hit me where it hurt. I literally had to stop the treadmill and catch my breath while all the other uber-fabulous gayer-than-thou clientele at Results were wondering if that girl in the off the shoulder t-shirt CLEARLY IN THE BACK ROW WHERE SHE BELONGED suddenly realized that it wasn't 1984.
Maybe their egos were secretly curious if it was one of the 30 asses in in the 6 rows of wiggling that caused the state of profound shock. There are some tight asses at that gym. I look at them. sometimes, there's a sigh involved. usually, i let it go. Soon, I shall wiggle amongst them! Learn their language and decipher their rituals! live among them and report back about the plastics!
in other news, fibrous news, I have selected a pattern for the knitting Olympics of nerd fibrous fame. google it, I swear. It's nuts. From Midwestern stay-at-home-moms to the tattooed hipsters who work at the black cat, it's go time for preparation for the nerdiness. The pattern is from my trusty copy of Stitch 'n' Bitch, which i often flip through but never draw REAL inspiration from. Listen to me, like my dabbling in i-pod cozies is something that warrants INSPIRATION.
At the gym this evening as I was walking uphill at a rapid pace in the back row of the treadmills (to have precisely 6 rows of tighter booties than mine for inspiration) I was working out just in time for a VH1 guilty pleasure of mine, The Fabulous Life Of (insert whomever). Usually this show doesn't even outrage me anymore, because I read blogs. I see magazines. I know that people who can afford a Prada dress (which is a life goal of mine) can afford a hundred Prada dresses, and pay a nice lady to cook them meals with no calories and march them all around Hollywood to keep them skinny. I am nonplussed by britney spears' fortune equaling 400 Corvettes with personalized "federline" rims on them and having a choice of 7 driveways to park them in while those respective houses fill up with diapers, bling, and cheeto bags. I get it. whatevs.
until today.
Today, I learned, on this particular episode, which just so happened to be The Fabulous Life Of Kelly Ripa, that she makes (ahem) as much money in one hour in her "Live! With Regis and Kelly" gig than I do PER YEAR. I'm sure, in TV-land, that's a mere pittance when you think that Linda Evangelista didn't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day in the late 90's. In the post-holidays/new year/restaurant week financial slump I am in, this was my ruin. For each working day of the 52 weeks in a year, Kelly Ripa gets to coquettishly berate Regis and look skinny. If I were that skinny, I could work ONE DAY A YEAR AND GET BY. And to think! She has other TV engagements, as well as pantene pro-v commercials and that short-lived stint doing commercials for that 7-up-that's-trying-not-to-be-soda-but-some-sort-of-health business.
JEEEBUS. This was the wrong place to let VH1 hit me where it hurt. I literally had to stop the treadmill and catch my breath while all the other uber-fabulous gayer-than-thou clientele at Results were wondering if that girl in the off the shoulder t-shirt CLEARLY IN THE BACK ROW WHERE SHE BELONGED suddenly realized that it wasn't 1984.
Maybe their egos were secretly curious if it was one of the 30 asses in in the 6 rows of wiggling that caused the state of profound shock. There are some tight asses at that gym. I look at them. sometimes, there's a sigh involved. usually, i let it go. Soon, I shall wiggle amongst them! Learn their language and decipher their rituals! live among them and report back about the plastics!
in other news, fibrous news, I have selected a pattern for the knitting Olympics of nerd fibrous fame. google it, I swear. It's nuts. From Midwestern stay-at-home-moms to the tattooed hipsters who work at the black cat, it's go time for preparation for the nerdiness. The pattern is from my trusty copy of Stitch 'n' Bitch, which i often flip through but never draw REAL inspiration from. Listen to me, like my dabbling in i-pod cozies is something that warrants INSPIRATION.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Alley oop
and on the bandwagon, I arrive. Only about 6 years late, when all the cool kids wrote about their boring lives on the internet. NOW I CAN TOO.
the main kick-in-the-ass for this blog is to chronicle the SIMPLY FASCINATING challenge of joining the knitting Olympics. NO ONE CARES, but if it's on the internets, I cannot lie. WHEN is the internet EVER WRONG? I learned everything I ever needed to know from wiki-pedia.
So this knitting Olympics, brought you all the way from Canaidia by the fine Yarn Harlot. I am bored to tears of knitting rectangular lumpy things and small projects in the round. BORING. Only so many of ones body parts are that small and I've run out of children I know to knit for, and have moved onto friends' childrenly contacts- nieces, nephews etc. I'm taking up the challenge of trying to knit something harder than I would normally attack. I have from the opening to closing ceremonies (precisely 16 days) to knit a challenging project and suffer along with people who actually have skills that they can be on TV for.
I'm currently on the hunt for the perfect sweater pattern that will of course look like a million bucks. That means not looking like something an old lady would find at Kohls, and NOT be made of yarn that costs $10 a skein (that's knit-speak for BALL, all ye non-knitters. If you're reading this, you probably know me and know that BALLS! Is one of my favorite things to yell in crowded rooms.)
Like precisely half the women my age, I'm into knitting because that's exactly the kind of feminism + social graces that is softens all my awkward edges. Also, it fulfills my love of legwarmers, which I've suffered since I was old enough to twirl-- which I'm told, I did as a zygote.
like precisely half the women my age, I read dooce with such vigor that I could worship at her altar of constipated storytelling, and perhaps my ever growing blog-crack (especially local blog cracks [?] ) has inspired me to actually vomit upon the internets in such a cruel, inarticulate, self-indulgent manner.
in fact, this whole blog won't certainly be about knitting. It's a hobby that I've taken up simply because sitting still is difficult to overcome. I sat still for 6 years of Catholic School. I sat still for 18 years at mass every Sunday. I sit rather still at my job. I'm pretty good at it, thanks to a rather active imagination. But the problem is that once I get in my sitting-still groove, I can sit still for HOURS. Often in front of the TV. Sometimes at a desk. Occasionally on the floor. Knitting keeps my hands JUST carpal tunnel-y enough to stop and get UP ALREADY.
I'll be posting pictures of my progress, and posting non-fibrous things once I get bored of knitting this delicious sweater that WON'T look like a four-year-old made it. I swear.
the main kick-in-the-ass for this blog is to chronicle the SIMPLY FASCINATING challenge of joining the knitting Olympics. NO ONE CARES, but if it's on the internets, I cannot lie. WHEN is the internet EVER WRONG? I learned everything I ever needed to know from wiki-pedia.
So this knitting Olympics, brought you all the way from Canaidia by the fine Yarn Harlot. I am bored to tears of knitting rectangular lumpy things and small projects in the round. BORING. Only so many of ones body parts are that small and I've run out of children I know to knit for, and have moved onto friends' childrenly contacts- nieces, nephews etc. I'm taking up the challenge of trying to knit something harder than I would normally attack. I have from the opening to closing ceremonies (precisely 16 days) to knit a challenging project and suffer along with people who actually have skills that they can be on TV for.
I'm currently on the hunt for the perfect sweater pattern that will of course look like a million bucks. That means not looking like something an old lady would find at Kohls, and NOT be made of yarn that costs $10 a skein (that's knit-speak for BALL, all ye non-knitters. If you're reading this, you probably know me and know that BALLS! Is one of my favorite things to yell in crowded rooms.)
Like precisely half the women my age, I'm into knitting because that's exactly the kind of feminism + social graces that is softens all my awkward edges. Also, it fulfills my love of legwarmers, which I've suffered since I was old enough to twirl-- which I'm told, I did as a zygote.
like precisely half the women my age, I read dooce with such vigor that I could worship at her altar of constipated storytelling, and perhaps my ever growing blog-crack (especially local blog cracks [?] ) has inspired me to actually vomit upon the internets in such a cruel, inarticulate, self-indulgent manner.
in fact, this whole blog won't certainly be about knitting. It's a hobby that I've taken up simply because sitting still is difficult to overcome. I sat still for 6 years of Catholic School. I sat still for 18 years at mass every Sunday. I sit rather still at my job. I'm pretty good at it, thanks to a rather active imagination. But the problem is that once I get in my sitting-still groove, I can sit still for HOURS. Often in front of the TV. Sometimes at a desk. Occasionally on the floor. Knitting keeps my hands JUST carpal tunnel-y enough to stop and get UP ALREADY.
I'll be posting pictures of my progress, and posting non-fibrous things once I get bored of knitting this delicious sweater that WON'T look like a four-year-old made it. I swear.
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