An assortment of goodies.

It's interesting what information you can glean about a person by rummaging through (or just observing) the contents of their pockets, purse, car, etc. Allow me to compare and contrast the three people (including myself) with whom I spent the day.

Joey Stych role: best friend
pockets: iPhone, wallet, sometimes keys
analysis: The basics. Nothing exciting in his wallet - simply money, id, credit card, receipts. nothing on his key chain save for the single car key. The iPhone is slightly more revealing. it is simply packed with apps - those used for functionality (the standard texting, camera, internet), convenience (facebook, directions, movie times), and entertainment (doodle jump, oregon trail, and that horrible dog whistle with which he tortures Sammy). In this one simple gadget, Joey happily surrenders himself to the world of Apple.
purse/bag: not applicable
car: empty cans of diet coke, auxiliary cord
analysis: Typical. Again, nothing exciting (especially because he shares the car with his sister). However, what is present is extremely classic slash archetypal of Joey. Never anything except Diet Coke in their fridge, the car is full of it. And the one true love of Joey's life adapted for his time in the car - the iPhone cord.

George Haworth role: british and usually drunk potential love interest
pockets: iPhone, wallet, keys
analysis: There seems to be a trend within the men who occupy my time. iPhones. George's approach to the iPhone is slightly different. Only one extra app adorns his mobile device. Specifically, one in which tanks blow each other up. He refuses to add anything else, holding to his cynicism and hatred for the world at large. Also, he never has cash. Ever. Which sucks because he owes me $10.
purse/bag: not applicable
car: air freshener, cd binder thing
analysis: In George's circumstances, the car itself is far more important than its contents. Some sort of snazzy BMW, George devotes his entire life to this car. He enrolled himself in photography classes at the Minnetonka Center for Art simply in order to take better photos of his car. Really. Anyway, I digress. A green turtle air freshener hangs from George's rear view mirror. He claims that it doesn't really work anymore. My thoughts are that it represents his ever-elusive soft spot - the evidence that he does, in fact, have something resembling a heart or soul. The music is the other key accessory here. George listens to music in phases. The last two times I've been in his car, it's gone from hardcore techno to a 90s alternative bender. Strange boy.

Me role: self-loathing college student constantly trapped in existential crises and suburbia
pockets: oddly shaped phone, chapstick
analysis: This hasn't changed since the beginning of high school. Cell phone in my left front pocket, chapstick in my right. Although I've gone through a few different phones and a few different chapstick flavors, my pockets stand firm in their purpose. Hoo-ah.
purse/bag: wallet, car keys, camera, iPod, anything else you can possibly imagine
analysis: Jackpot. I'm the fuckin modern day Mary Poppins (but meaner). I could take this space to list the entire contents of my purse. Which would be really dumb. If you know me well (and chances are you do because you're aware of the existence of this blog), you've probably seen my purse and its constant state of chaos. No more description necessary.
car: plastic animals, music nobody has ever heard of, toys, stolen yard signs, sports equipment, kite, etc.
analysis: Possibly one of the most accurate reflections of my mind, fractured as it may be. Junk from every facet of my life litters my car. I'm sick of typing and I'm sleepy. Abrupt end. Now.

Mother = Source of my hiccups + Morning salvation

The other evening I was having a mini-existential crisis on the living room floor."Mom, I need to get out of Edina." "Where would you like to go, Katie?" "Anywhere. Not here. I need to not be in Edina. I need to leave the country." "Oh, Katie. That would be an adventure." "Maybe I'll do it. Maybe I'll leave the country. I could go back to Iceland, I guess. Or Barcelona. I want to go to Barcelona. Fuck, I'd go anywhere, who am I kidding." "Hmmm. We'll have to see what we can do." (me rolling around on the living room floor, flailing at random intervals and knocking newspapers off of coffee tables) "Mommmmm. Leave the country with me." "Katie, do you need attention?" "No I don't need attention. I need to leave the fucking country." "Katie, language." "Sorry, mom."

Later that night, brushing my teeth in the bathroom. "Katie, are you and _____ serious friends?" "Well, he's one of my best friends..." "Do you know what I'm asking you?" (me frothing with toothpaste) "Are you asking if we're dating? I'm not dating ____." "I'm asking if you're having [whispered] sex with him." "Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that, I am." "Oh dear, times have changed." "Thanks, mom."

This morning I was being a slug before work. After reading the paper I was still in my pajamas and I had 20 minutes to get ready and make a lunch before I had to leave. "Mom, I'm unmotivated to eat breakfast." (mom halfheartedly) "Get up, Katie! Get up! Get up!" "Nooooo. Drag me to breakfast." (mom grabs my ankles and begins trying to drag me off of the couch) "Yeah! Thanks, mom!" After breakfast I was still unmotivated to get dressed and ready. "Mom, I don't want to get dressed." "I'll race you! Ready? Go!" Needless to say, we both tore off to our rooms to get dressed. Also needless to say, I won.

"Squares just make me so much happier than rectangles!"

I've had my current mobile phone since January 1, 2009. Today I opened up the "Notepad" sector and glanced through what I have stored there. It's a series of reminders, to-do lists, quotes, words I want to remember, etc. A few key notes in chronological order:

-Dr. Hydell and Mr. Forb

-Do you have a bandaid? I scraped my knee falling for you.

-Olomana Peak (Chelseas say do it)

-LB security guard: Ele'u

-That weird eyeball fruit: lychee

-REI membership #881722

-How many times have Johnny Depp and Tim Burton worked together?

-Buy a massively giant button-up cardigan.

-google dada performance

-I think that possibly maybe I'm falling for you

-With beauty all around me, I walk.

-Text jaclyn - the house I'm staying in smells exactly like her old house on tracy

-He has a lot of problems. He just sucks at being a human

-find Emily. Is she still alive?

-Write about that Patrick person from the plane

I'll try to post more often; I forget that people read this sometimes. 

Poetry at baseball games...a rare commodity

My leg are a familiar sight.
I like the veins in the top of my feet.
Tendons crawl as my toes wiggle around.
The tan line from my slippers
flip flops, I guess.
Chipped polish; I can't ever keep it looking nice.
There's that spot on my ankle that the razor
always misses.
My eyes graze over my shins,
the two huge scars
and the ones in between, filling the gaps between purplish gashes.
I made up stories for those scars,
adventures that didn't happen.
Maybe I wish they did.
For those who don't buy my tales
I take out my pen.
The scars become monsters with fangs
and angry eyes.
My knees bring on nostalgia
of summers
filled with rollerblading and climbing trees.
Bug bites
in the little indent just next to my kneecap.
Hardest place to scratch.
My thighs
scabbed and bumpy.
I just itch sometimes;
I can't help it.

My freckles.
My freckles I like.

Happy Galactic Day one and all

It was actually yesterday.

God I'm bitter

Today I suddenly found myself festering in bitter memories. Maybe this was brought on by my canceled plans. Probably. Because under normal circumstances, the thunderstorms alone would make me absolutely thrilled.

Anyway, Elsa Bross. My creative writing teacher from eighth and ninth grade. Eighth grade went well. Ninth grade did not. I won't go into details, but we had an issue. A big one. One that sent me to the principal and got me in moderate trouble. I fucking hate this woman with every fiber of my being. I had two loves at that point in my life. One was writing and she fucking stole it from me.

Because of this woman I did not write during my high school career. At all. I didn't even do writing homework. Fuck her.

I googled her name and found her on Facebook. She has two kids now, lives in Montevideo. Fuck I just want to punch her. Four years later and I still want to cause her bodily harm.

My nail beds are a mess.

I haven't posted in over a week. I really have nothing to say, I just feel obligated to put something here.

Current state of things:
Sitting on Joey's couch. He just tried to strangle me and is now harassing his dog Sammy who he just shoved in my face. Joey is currently on a massive sugar high because we consumed very large amounts of cotton candy at Kyle's grad party. We also just composed a monster movie theme song type thing. On a Saturday night. Too cool. Work is normal, things are normal.

I think Joey's going to ditch out on our camping trip. Which sucks. But if he doesn't go it means that I'll take my brother. Which doesn't suck. I figure that as soon as he graduates, he won't be around much. I should take advantage of sibling bonding while I still can.