The week that never stopped giving

For starters, my boobs are growing at an alarming pace. I realize that sounds much like a line from your favorite local mommy blogger, but the fact is I am not a mommy, nor an expectant mommy and not even sure if I qualify as a blogger. Nonetheless my boobies/bags/knockers are getting out of control over here. I don't get it. I personally, am losing weight as a whole. But the bags seem to be their own entity. Perhaps I shall consider myself the latest of the late bloomers. I can't just say "late" because really getting an average size of bags by age 18 is impressive but weeks away from 29?
My mother always said she never got hers until college. So, sure as shit after my first day enrolled in college I raced home to find that my barely "A" chest was still a barely "A" chest. So I waited years and years until I gave up waiting and decided to just go ahead and get fat instead. But NOW, NOW losing weight and gaining boobs is just too much. And really lets be honest here (you know since you are reading about me talking about my bags and all) when the big-boobied girls in school complained about hating big boobs, they really weren't just being bitchy after all. In my opinion they sucked... big time. And all this time I kept hating those bitches, putting them in the catagory of girls who call themselves fat in the company of those who are fatter, or those with two legs that challenge one legged persons to a race, or a ski competition, or to see who can tie BOTH shoes faster.

Bottom line big bags suck! Or at least to me they do. Tom swears our difference of opinion on this subject will be the demise of our relationship.

So other than bigger bags... what's new in my world you wonder?

Life is life, work is work. I took up bike riding which sucks being a chubby girl and all, but I'm working on it. I ride with people much more in shape than I am (although I must admit I'm doing okay for a pack-a-day smoker who hates to sweat). Other than a small outburst today when riding up a large hill where I shouted and cried at my riding companions, "Someone get a bitch a doughnut!" I think I might just enjoy it a tiny tiny bit.

I've started to really love my life and the diversity in it. Two nights ago I went to a poetry reading. (Okay, I know, SUCK big time) It was at an AWESOME local new book store in my town. Which is amazing that someone had the balls and faith to open a local book store in this day and age where we are outsourcing everything from tech support to blow jobs. The best part is she has some damn good taste in books. I think I girl crushed on her the second I saw a section titled "Misbehaved." Not Mystery, not History and not Self Help but "Misbehaved," and coincidentally the majority of my favorite books/authors were in it. It's not like your big chain book store which I cannot go in anymore because I am tired of trying to read something that is on a "best sellers list." This woman took one look at ONE book in my hand and had the power to determine everything else I would love. And so far she was dead on! And to think she even convinced me (a tiny bit jew) to purchase over sixty dollars worth of books in what was meant to be "a quick stop!" I kind of want to make out with her, but not like for real make out. More like, "Shit, you like books I like, and know more about books I like than I know about books I like... wanna book make out?" Thats like real making out only no touching or kissing or anything, just some serious book sharing... maybe over vodka...

So, the point, you ask. Diversity in my life.... as of late...


I ride places in this city I didn't know existed. I realize this city is much prettier that I ever knew. And I spend nights at poetry readings in book stores. Talking with artist friends who want to form a commune. One where artists could live together and be appreciated. But, don't get worried it's still me... we are going to name it "The Naked Hot Dog Lady." And we're not so concerned with growing our own shit to sustain us as we are making sure we just laugh a fucking lot!

And the next night was with work friends, at a bar listening to Reggae music and watching hippies (for lack of a better word) dance in light up houla hoops. And thanking god that I not only have a great shower but actually know how to turn it on. Oh and the fact Tom even occasionally lets me use soap.

And then in the same night seeing my old best friend from Colorado (who lives here now) and her teacher friends on Spring break. People living the dream I pretended I wanted to live. And I contemplated how hard they work, and how hard they play. And for a second I wondered what was swimming-swirling-jumping-dancing in their heads, and then I stopped... and thought

and I wondered... what did they feel about THEIR bags today?

Katie Lauren

That One Day That One Dog Ruined My Plans to Get My St. Patrick's Day Drink On

Do to some seriously lack of drinking lately I was super excited to go to my friend Stephanie's house for St. Patrick's day, or Mardi Gras Part two, as Steph made me cook breakfast again claming that if she had to feed everyone they were going to be eating breakfast bars. To say steph isn't a cook is an understatement which I learned when I asked her for garlic salt and she looked at me with such a lost look in her eyes that I thought for a second her brain had completely shut off and she might be gone forever. She did however make her self useful by cutting five laves of french bread for french toast. Cutting them mind you with knives she just opened fresh from the package because apparently this was the first time in seven months of living there she found herself needing to cut anything. Oh and I guess that part about opening her house for us on this scared day was pretty useful as well.
One thing I have learned about St. Louis is that they love their parades, and more so parades that involve large amounts of drinking going on. Stephanie lives in a part of the city named Dogtown and they have the huge St. Patty's celebration. Some people say the town is named dog town because of the Irish settlers who ate dogs. I am certain this is not true and I even looked up the actual reason of the towns name a bit ago but obviously it wasn't as memorable as picturing my ancient irish ancestors in St. Louis eating dogs.
With breakfast cooked and a few mimosas downed I was well on my way to pants pissing passed out drunk when this little guy ran right off the street and into Toms arms.





I know seriously three lost dogs in three weeks. This has to be some kind of joke. So after giving this dog a stern talking to about how she was really putting a damper on my booze fest we picked her up put her in the car and drove to the pound to see if she was chipped. The pound was less than a mile away but between the parade traffic and dodging drunks in the street it took us almost an hour to get there. Don't worry though we passed the time by yelling every dog name at her we could think of to see what kind of response we would get out of her. We settled on Gumby, because Gumby was green and this was St. Patrick's day oh and I was wearing some cheap ass beaded necklace with big plastic Gumby's on it.

Gumby was not chipped, as I would have guess because we couldn't get that lucky twice in a week. The lady at the pound suggested we leave her there and I suggested she was nuts. Mostly because after seven days the dogs become available for adoption or in most cases available for doggy sleepy meds... the kind where the dog doesn't ever wake up. Also it is against the policy to call us if the owner comes to retrieve the dog. Seven days seems like long enough for the owner to find the dog, unless of corse as I explain to counter lady that thing happens that happened the last time I brought them a dog. The dog was put in the system as a girl collie mix. Which was great and all until owner knocked on my door a few days later (tipped off by a neighbor that said I had his dog) and explained that his dog was not in fact a collie, but a husky and was 100% percent not girl. (that means it was a boy for those of you reading that are not good with math) the guy had been calling the pound for days and not surprisingly not getting anywhere. When I explained this to bitchy counter lady she explained it was the owners job to be a little more proactive. Which I agree and all but I was like "well isn't it also your job to look down below and you know...ummm do a weiner check before you just go deciding that it was a girl and all." And she was like "No." So Gumby and Tom and I left.

Stephanie agreed to keep Gumby for an hour so we could go get some food and figure out how the hell we were going to smash Gumby into our one bedroom apartment with our two other dogs. And how we would deal with it when Henry (the dog) decided to sexualy molest her because Henry is a pervert so it would be inevitable.

And then Steph called and let us know Gumby's owner ran into someone who said we had her and came and got her. And another puppy was saved, and another drinking day was lost, which is ok because I am sure it is just a matter of weeks until this town has another parade to celebrate another foreign holiday! And that time I will wear my I Hate Stray Dogs shirt, and hope they all can read and go find someone else to get them safely home!

The Only Person I Know Who Carries More Guilt Than I Do

Tom called this afternoon to tell me some girl hit his car. It wasn't anything bad but it was clearly her fault which she refused to recognize. They exchanged phone numbers and moments later she called him. After turning around and going back through the intersection she realized it was, in fact, her fault. So what does she offer to do?
1. Contact her insurance?
2. Pay for the damages/settle it out of insurance?
3. Take him out for ice cream?

Yep 3. And what does Tom do?

1. Get her insurance information?
2. Ask her for money for the damages? (Which I wouldn't either for something so minor)
3. Go eat ice cream with her and her friend.

Yep 3.

Now none of this is something I have a problem with except for the fact of how thee story was told to me.

Young girl-Hits Car-Ice cream date-

Lucky for me I am the furthest thing from the jealous type but I found this situation extremely rare/weird/funny.

So I ask how he came to the conclusion that he should have ice cream with her and he says "She felt really really bad." "So then I felt really really bad." "And I couldn't let come complete stranger out there think I was mad at her"

I guess I should be happy she didn't invite him to her bed, because shit we all know you have to do what you have to do so complete strangers don't think you are mad at them.

Katie Lauren

When mornings in My House Go Bad

I woke up this morning when Tom was leaving for school. Yes internet, I date a school boy and I am just totally ok with this. So as he was leaving for school I reminded him to pick out something totally "gay-ish" to wear. Why you ask? Tom is taking an Oral Communications corse which I think is just the long name for Waste of Time and Money 101. Last week when playing some stupid get to know you game the idea was presented to the class that Tom was perhaps gay. And Tom being...well... Tom didn't really bother to say otherwise. So here is the conversation that took place at 7:00 am in my house

Me: You better wear some tights pants or something you don't want to disappoint them

Tom: What everyone who wears tight pants is gay?

Me: No Tom, but perhaps maybe it was your sweet Reba shirt you wore last week that tipped them off

Tom: So, what everyone who likes Reba is gay?

Me: No Tom not everyone who likes Reba is gay. But Twenty something boys who wear airbrushed Reba shirts from the 80's are.

Tom: How's the weather back there in 1950?



**** Disclaimer The picture of the Reba shirt posted is not in fact the Reba shirt Tom owns and insists on wearing. The Reba shirt Tom owns and insists on wearing is in fact WORSE if you can even believe it.

Katie Lauren