The Secret Life Of Lauren

Back and Better Than Ever

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 19:28:00 +0000

Ok so it's been a while.

As I said in the last post I needed to take some time because I was working on a pretty big project. I opened a store. I can't go into much detail on here because I'm fairly certain that some of my customers wouldn't appreciate reading about me getting banged in the back seat of a car or all the times I made fun of retarded kids.

But it's a store. And it's mine. And I've never been happier in my life. It all happened so fast I feel like I blinked my eyes and here I was. When the idea came about I was wishing I was back in Denver with all my friends because I knew they would have busted ass to help me get this done. What I didn't realize was how many good friends I had made here. There are a few of them that probably put in over 60 hours each to get this place up and running. They packed my apartment,( because I moved above the store) moved my stuff, unpacked my stuff, (ok well some of it) most of it is still in boxes. They painted, and sawed shit, and priced shit, and cleaned shit, and re-cleaned shit when I messed up the things they cleaned. All for the reasonable hourly wage of $0.00 dollars! They did everything and there is no way I would be here without them. I guess there was a reason I stayed in this silly city after all.

I am excited because in a few weeks when things calm down I can go back to concentrating on my writing. I wrote a few posts back about a book I had started with a friend years ago that we recently picked back up. Well things are rolling right along (because she is amazing and doing all the work right now so I can play store) The photo shoots are done and they look amazing, and the layouts are in progress and in a matter of weeks we will be shopping for agents to pick us up.

After I took a "break" from teaching I was really lost as what to do with my life. I knew I couldn't be a waitress forever but I just could never figure out where I wanted to go. This was the answer, and owning a store might not be what I do for the rest of my life but for now it's a perfect fit!

I am excited, life is really, really good!

And Where have You Been Young Lady?

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 21:28:00 +0000

So I've been gone. Gone from here at least, and as it's looking I'm going to be gone a lot more. I can't say for sure that I wont update at all but I can say for sure that my life has changed drastically over the past few weeks and my spare writing time is something I am going to need to give up along with a serious facebook addiction.

No, I am not getting married and to the best of my knowledge I am not knocked up either. I have been working on a secret project for some time and have just gotten funded to go ahead with it. in other words, in a few months I will no longer be a waitress. DID YOU HEAR ME? I SAID I WILL NOT LONGER BE A FUCKING WAITRESS. So as you can tell I am excited beyond measure and at the same time scared beyond belief. As time comes closer I can give more details but I hate to jinx something that isn't 100% final. But for the mean time, I am busy, the kind of busy that makes you want to rip out your own hair but makes you feel so alive at the same time. It is beautiful.

Katie Lauren

It's At Times Like This I Couldn't Be More Proud

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 05:01:00 +0000

Once again today I glanced at my site tracker. The one that makes me feel like people are reading this even if most of you don't comment. The one that lets me see what people are typing into search engines to get to my site. Tonight I couldn't have laughed harder if I wanted to, because tonight I saw a statistic, a number, a person who typed a few words into Google that lead them to my site. My site was located sixth on the list on Google if you searched these words...

"wives who fart and shit if front of their husbands"

I am sure at this moment in time I couldn't feel more proud if I had won an Oscar

I Would Have Preferred A Case Of The Crabs... In you Know Where...

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 03:31:00 +0000

I just found out I spent over six years of my life pining for a guy who opened a mall kiosk selling Hermit crabs. Did you HEAR me, HERMIT CRABS!

Long time me no write shit you read

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Sat, 04 Apr 2009 07:48:00 +0000

It's been a while. Or a while longer than I usually go without writing. Unless you count those seven or more months in which I was internet dead. Or dead to the Internet.

Why I haven't been here:

1. Great friend coming in town to finish up a book we started forever ago. Trying to find a little log cabin to lock ourselves into. Finding log cabin with internet in Missouri proving to be hard work.
2. Taught my dogs how to swim. Had to use force...Kind of like a parent giving a child that little last push once they took off the training wheels; only this is more taking them to the middle of the lake pushing them over board and crossing fingers that either they pop back up or I die from laughing before I notice they don't surface.
3. Working, really, really hard because shit if I don't win "waitress of the universe" this year, or at least "waitress of the world" I swear I will find another career path, like perhaps trying my hand at "folder of the tee-shirts at the Gap." Mostly because I like jobs that challenge my brain.
4. Working on doing that other job I have that isn't as entertaining to make fun of as waiting tables.
5. Banging the Bitches and Slapping the ho's. (because if i don't mention that at least every third or fourth post I feel a little lost)
6. Reading things I wrote out loud at places where people generally laugh at me and seldom throw things.
7. Worrying about offending people/checking to see if I will offend people/worrying that I offended the people I was checking with to see if I offended other people.

In regard to #7. Tonight I was at Board Game Night with my favorite gays. And I have to mention favorite gays because they are my favorites to play games with because they totally get it when I get out of control and yell/pout/scream and threaten Tom with sleeping on the couch if we lose because they do the same thing. And there were other friends there, and other friends girlfriend who I don't really know. So I asked Other Friend" about an upcoming reading I had to do. It's a fundraiser for some sort of medical condition which I cannot recall or spell but will figure out before I go. And at said place the audience is rumored to be mostly "older Jewish" folks. So I asked other friend what he felt about me reading my Jewish stories from my book. I went on to explain to those there who haven't read it that the stories aren't necessarily making fun of those who are Jewish but more making fun of myself for finding out I was a bit Jewish. I explained there were only a few coupon and big nose jokes. In all honesty I was seriously contemplating if these stories would be a huge hit, or a slap in the face, where I should in fact just throw away my coupons and hang myself. Then I remembered "Other Friends" girlfriend was in fact Jewish. Like a real Jewish person, not me who tried really hard to remember when passover was so I could ditch class in college and claim I had an excuse. So as it turns out, I offended the people who I was hoping would tell me if I would offend the others at the reading.

Meaning I am a jerk, and will skip the Jewish stories at the fundraiser and pray that these old Jewish folks find humor in me faking knocked up when I had been drinking all night, as opposed to admitting at a high school reunion of sorts that I just simply got fat. Unless of course you all vote for me to tell them about the time I found out my dad didn't have cancer and accused him of being gay in the same conversation. Hey! It was a mix up over some "plum flavored" wine.

The week that never stopped giving

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 04:26:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 01:59:00 +0000

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!

A Cry For Help Now On Amazon

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 00:58:00 +0000

It's been almost a year since I published my book. So almost a year later I have some news and some thoughts to share on the topic.

First, My Book Loud Mouth is now available on Amazon. When I published it came with distribution plan that came with the mandatory ISBN. This also gives me the ability to get it in local stores. Why a year later? A divorce, new job, new boyfriend, new house, new puppy, and new outlook on life kept me busy enough to procrastinate my end of the deal. So when I realized it had been almost a year and I should get my butt in gear with final edits and the distribution I got to work. And after the folks at Amazon fiddled around with it for a bit taking it out to lunch, and movies in such, getting to know it a bit and make sure there was no child pornography and military secrets inside they approved it and there I was on the big screen. (Like big computer screen, well depending on the size of your monitor.)

Second, I find now that I have mixed feelings about the book. My writing has grown immensely since I published it, and in some ways find reading the old material to be a bit painful or perhaps even a bit if an embarrassing show of my current works worth. I published the book not as a money making venture but as a way to grab everything I had package it up nicely and be able to hold in my had something I accomplished that was mine. Something I finished.

It's funny because often when I am introduced to people by friends or fellow writers they make the comment "Katie "SELF PUBLISHED" A book." I want to finish the conversation explaining that I also, that day, "Self Showered" "Self Wiped" and "Self Fed" because let's face it I'm not helpless. I've never tried to hide the fact that the book was self published, but at some point I find the humor in people feeling the NEED to attach "self published." I had every intent to self publish this book and never even considered going a different route. I am well aware of the fact anyone can self publish a book. You could type the word shit a million time get it all bound up with a nice cover featuring a cover of a stinky dump and call yourself published. A Writer I used to know would say, self publishing isn't for writers it's for entrepreneurs. I disagree I think it all depends on what the writer is looking to get out of the publishing experience.

So in the end I got what I wanted out of it. I got something that was mine, something with my name on it and my voice in it. Something I could hold in my hand. It might be funny to you, or as a few of my family members described it "Katie's cry for help." Either way I laughed when writing it, and people tend to laugh when they read it so mission accomplished even if I did "self publish"

Check Me Out!

The Things I Don't Post on Here... for Various Reasons

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 03:40:00 +0000

So many times throughout the day I think of things I could be writing about on here. I think of them at work, before work, when waking up, when going to sleep, when I am dreaming, and most funny when I am drinking. For the most part the ideas seem to run straight out of my head. A head that run’s 100,000 a minute, and regardless of the times they have put me on anxiety medicine or Adult ADD medicine they just keep racing by. However, when on the medicine the thoughts still race by and I also get to experience great things such as racing thoughts, and the idea that I could shit myself at any second. Or, racing thoughts, along with nightmares, shortness of breath, nausea or vomiting. The kind of vomiting that does not happen as a result of a bad gag reflex when brushing your teeth, but the kind that makes you pull your car over to heave anywhere but in your lap at 5:00 pm even before you make it to happy hour. Getting my brain to stop or even just slow down is next to impossible for me. So in an active effort not to shit myself, or go even crazier, I opted a few years ago not to take these prescribed medicines. The result; Lots of good ideas lost, lots of lost sleep, and lots of big ideas I never follow through with. Most of all I love it when I wake up from a night of drinking to find words scrawled all over everything in my purse and my body. On my hand it might read “Cousin/Ladder” on the match book I read “library mystery not book” and on the old target receipts I usually find thing like” Fuck you,” “stick it to them,” or “I love hippies because of the Clash= band not the purple and red pants.” Ideas which, at the time I knew were good. And not as in- hey I’m drunk it’s a good idea to kick over mail boxes while simultaneously calling every ex boyfriend I have ever had- but more in the way I can promise each and every one of you that I knew they were good ideas I just forgot them, or how to decipher my notes of them later. Note to reader: this is not all a result of drinking as I often cannot read my sober “to do” lists as they mention things such as: “Socks taken in” “Call Number” Figure this out” and “Dad”.

This is simply how my brain works. Smart enough to come up with things, too stupid to remember to make good notes. Too freaked out to take medicine that potentially makes me brown in my pants.

Regardless of the above issues I notice most recently that I leave out good stories. Stories I want to write about on here but don’t because

1. I forget them
2. I can’t decipher the notes
3. I am so excited to tell another story that I leave a good one out
And #4. most importantly I just don’t think it’s funny enough for you all

I used to write what ever I wanted on here. And now more of you read this. And more importantly, more of you that know me in the real world read this. And some of you read this, and don’t have any idea, I know you read this. So, sharing who “I” am becomes a different story. When ever anyone writes online for a time they develop a “personality.” Something the reader expects to read when they come to the site. And shit, I’m not saying a thousand people come here a day but I know for sure most of you expect some kind of laugh. So I tend to skip the stories that are not necessarily laughable.

So after the longest explanation ever I give you the lost dog story I briefly mentioned yesterday, in order to make room for the “Things On My Tard” story.

I said once before I would never mention my divorce again. Mostly because the whole scenario of the marriage was strange and also because I don’t really believe in airing out some one else’s dirty laundry online. The bottom line being, I was married to a very amazing person who happened to be the opposite of myself in ways in which it just could not possibly work.

One of those differences was apparent the first time I found a lost dog. We were living in a house here in St. Louis and had two dogs of our own. I was outside on the porch smoking, (because I smoke, and yes I should quit, but no I am not going to. Not yet.) I was home alone +2 dogs and I saw a dog wandering around outside. This was a dog that was obviously someone’s. It was groomed well, clean, and well behaved. I got the dog into my backyard. I was careful about doing so, because I am not totally stupid. Stray dog secure in my yard I called the husband. The husband that was responsible, and safe. So safe my family and friends called him “Safety Patrol” and mind you, to his face because my family is loud mouths, and my friends are bitches. He immediately told me how crazy I was and this dog could have rabies or be aggressive, or fleas, or maybe he mentioned herpes but I wasn’t listening at this point, because I didn’t care, all I knew was there was a lost scared dog and he needed his mommy, and more than he needed his mommy I knew somewhere out there his mommy needed him. I hung up with my husband after I suggested we keep him over night to see if anyone was looking for him. He politely declined my offer, mostly because we didn’t even know if this dog was packing heat and he might shoot us in our sleep. Or he could be a trained jewelry stealer and could quite possibly take not only my wedding ring off my finger but manage to coax some other dog into getting my dead grandmothers wedding ring out of the fire proof box that was locked and labeled “Shit you don’t want to steal/dirty socks” that was hidden in the closet under the box of coats, old bills, and porno’s of his my mother found while helping us move in.

This dog was not allowed in my house, and I am not going to say he was wrong because in reality “safety patrol” in his own way was protecting me and our two puppies. Mostly though, he was undermining my ability to make a decision. And more importantly he wanted me to let go someone’s baby.

I sat outside with the dog until a torrential downpour and then I realized, as I sat there watching her-or him (never checked) shake down to the bone that we perhaps had different ideas on life. That I lived for the moment. That even if this dog bit me on my face or mauled me until I was screaming uncle, (even though all my uncles lived in different states and were to far away to hear my calls of mercy,) that I couldn’t leave someone’s baby all alone because I was scared of a little dog herpes, fleas, or bites.

I put the dog on a leash and walked it for over and hour all over my neighborhood. Hoping that at some point it would recognize where it was and lead me to it’s home. When I was soaked, and cold and out of hope I returned home. I did the only thing I could do at that time. I put the dog in my car, against my husbands wishes, and drove it to the shelter. I begged them to call me if they didn’t find the owner, knowing that this wouldn’t work as it is against the policy of 99.9 percent of shelters. I left it there. And I drove home and cried. Cried because someone’s baby was going to spend a night without them, and that could have easily been MY baby. And I did it not because I wanted to, but I did it because of someone else’s fear.

Life is very different now. Yesterday I was at a coffee shop a few miles from my house with Tom. I was getting some work done and he was busy staring out the window because he can stare at things for hours in complete peace, where as I have to have the radio, TV, oven, computer with 40 websites open and a party of people playing twister in my living room before I can get any peace. After a while he left me there to go to the bank. On his way back he found a dog in the street and called me. What follows is proof that my life is different now.

Tom: I was driving and there was this dog in the road.

Me: Go Get Him!

Tom: I have him… he doesn’t have tags.

Me: Be careful… he could be mean (the silly things I learned from “Safety Patrol”)

Tom: No he’s really nice… he’s someone’s dog, someone is missing this guy

Me: Guy? Is the first thing you did was look for weiner? You are such a guy

Tom: Really… what do I do with him? I can’t leave him here

Me: Put him in the car and bring him to me

He did. He did because he loves my babies as much as I do. He did because he isn’t afraid of living, and doing what is right. He did because he knows what love is and what loss is.

Her name was Ginger. I found out when I drove her around looking for a vet to see if she was chipped. Her name was Ginger she was ten years old and walked over fifteen miles form where she lived to where we found her.

As I waited in the car for her owner to come get her I called Tom

Me: Her dad is on the way
Tom: I love you

Me: I love you also

And right before I hung up

Tom: Tell Ginger I love her

Me: You lover her? You don’t even know her…

Tom: Tell Ginger I love her

Then I think I called him dumb or something and hung up. But deep down it felt nice to be with someone who has compassion for all things.

New Website in the Works... Totally PC

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 23:18:00 +0000

I was searching through the site stats on my website today. This, was just after I returned a lost dog to his owner which is another story in itself, or perhaps eight stories in it self because I seem to have this strange knack for finding lost dogs.

So about the stats. I was looking through a list of search words or phrases that people searched for on Google/Yahoo/(Are there still people using ask.com?) My all time favorite being the phrase "Things on My Tard" Yes the keywords "Things on My Tard" lead straight to my website. Strange? Yes! Sad? Yes? Proud? a little: )

I am having a hard time keeping a straight face. The kind of mature adult in me knows there is nothing funny about making fun of retarded kids, but the eighth grader in me cannot resist the chuckle. I keep picturing that website stuffonmycat.com. I just picture a bunch of retarded kids balancing beer cans on their heads, crazy crowns, socks etc...

I am sick... and need help...and perhaps a good beat down.

"Things on My Tard"
Haha

Good thing I earned a few Karma points for the return of the lost dog, I might be able to keep at least one of my toes above the surface of hell!

A whole Lotta Nothing

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 04:35:00 +0000

Things I am up to:

Planning a large fundraiser with some of my favorite people-Because I have a knack for getting involved in things that do NOT make me money or further my career. Which is ok in a way, because I have super fun doing them.

Writing like a crazy person-which is why I am straight out of funny so be for warned this is going to be a boring update

Planning a Summer trip with Tom and a good friend to Hilton Head-It has been far to long since these toes have touched the sand.

Begging my manager at work to trade our stupid host to the Crackle Barrel for an order of biscuits and gravy-I don't even like biscuits and gravy

Spending too much time on facebook

Loving the shit out of these two!

Lazy

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 04:41:00 +0000

And yet another facebook conversation for your enjoyment

10:12pmKatie-dude my boyfriend has a headache and wont go get me chocolate
asshole huh?

10:15pmStephanie- totally
my boyfriend has a job and is out of town
total asshole

10:16pmKatie-we should get new boyfriends... not like NEW but like second boyfriends
so when these are busy we have people to get us stuff

10:16pmStephanie-yeah - I tell "Frank" that all the time and he just doen't think its funny
no sense of humor

10:16pmKatie-that's ridiculous
I bet your second boyfriend would think it's funny
maybe my second boyfriend will be made of chocolate doughnuts...

Katie Lauren

Excuse me miss, are you our waiter?

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 06:34:00 +0000

Life is so much more productive when one decides to give up the sauce. I have picked up a few unfinished projects that have been begging to be resurrected for the past few years. One of which is a book written by myself and a friend years ago. After pulling it out and rereading it I came to the conclusion that I am damn funny and she is even funnier. She also is way better at grammar and doesn’t use words like funnier. The book is begging to be published, which is leading me down the long road of finding an agent. The problem with this, being my patience is equal to that of a three year old sitting through a formal Catholic Mass. The idea of throwing our shit out there and waiting weeks and weeks and even more weeks for what will inevitably be a string of rejections is enough to send me into a full blown panic attack. I am just simply not a waiter. Which, is in fact funny to think about as I type this because my profession is called Waiting. Which, actually is even funnier as I write this because there is really no “waiting” involved at all in serving tables, unless you count me waiting for you to get your ass up and out of the restaurant.
We have also begun the planning of a large fundraising event involving many of my favorite local comedians and performers. Mostly, because I have a huge knack for involving myself in work that does not pay the bills. It will be a cold day in hell when I figure out how to keep doing what I love and actually make enough money doing it that I can dump a pitcher of Ice Tea on an unsuspecting subject while simultaneously shoving a hamburger up some jerks ass, therefore making myself a retired server FOREVER!

I am working on the idea that I perhaps, need to set some goals that perhaps, do not have instant gratification. Or at least get used to the idea that sometimes in grown up life you actually have to WAIT for what you want.

Perhaps I could start with leaning how to grasp the proper use of a comma. Because, let’s face it unless it follows the words however or although or is found breaking up a list of items I really have no idea what I’m doing.

Katie Lauren

Vodka

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 18:09:00 +0000

Dear Vodka,

None of this is going to be easy for me to say, and I am sure, as well, it will not be easy for you to hear. I am sure you have noticed I have not been around for a multiple days now. I would imagine, knowing how your mind works, that you think this has something to do with Mardi Gras. Vodka, it doesn’t, in fact I was pleasantly surprised at how well you behaved yourself during that entire day.
See, it’s just without you I seem to get so much more done. I wake up before noon, I write, I read, and I don’t constantly have vomit crawling up my esophagus trying desperately to see the light of day. And, lets face it you are no cheap date. You are running me dry. Besides the idea of spending my money on a nice fat vacation lying on the beach in the sun over powers my desire to drink you, say stupid shit and fall on my face, you can call me stupid I know that seem irrational. I do realize that you go hand in hand with my job of waiting on folks, and more often than not servers count on you and your family (ie beer, wine, Tuacca and Jager) to get them through one last night, but I just cannot do it anymore.
Perhaps it would be best to say I have grown out of you. Or gotten too old for you. Or maybe more so, that you bore me. I hate the way you make my face look after I’ve spent sometime with you. And I hate waking up after a night with you and realizing that once again you erased my memory enough so that I can’t remember where the bruises on my leg came from, but not enough to be well aware that I said stupid shit.
I know this isn’t coming as a surprise to you as we have spent less and less time together in the past year or so. And trust me it’s not like we can’t still be friends. I mean I don’t mind seeing you from time to time, but the serious relationship just isn’t working for me anymore. Let’s say we get together on holidays and special occasions?

I will never forget you. I will never forget the time you gave me the courage to get up on stage and read the first time, or the time you gave Tom the courage to put the moves on me (the older woman) in a very childish way. I think back to the first time I stole you from my friend’s parents liquor cabinet, or how after a long day of teaching children, you managed to make everything funny. You are a talented friend Mr. Vodka, a talented friend.

I realize that leaving you means we will have a few things to split up. You may keep the friends that I only saw when you were around. Truthfully I believe you were the only thing we ever had in common anyway. I will keep the pictures from when we were together because shit, some of those are funny. You can have the hangovers. I do however get Tom, because with or without you that guy keeps me laughing and makes me goofy, and he’s a lot cheaper than you.

In simpler terms you were getting in my way of world domination.

Love,
Katie

My New Waste Of Time

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 02:07:00 +0000

Today when I was reading one of the hundreds of blogs I read, I came across this new waste of time. You can either enter your own words or enter a website address and it takes the text from your rss feed and makes you nice little word "clouds" as they call them. Here is mine from entering my website address.

Go on... you know you want to waste your time!

Waiting

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 06:16:00 +0000

Because it is late and I don’t have the energy to write one of the million things I have been meaning to write I will leave you with a Facebook IM conversation between my friend ~~Marcus~~ Geraldo and myself tonight. I work with ~~Marcus~~ Geraldo at the ~~sweatshop~~ restaurant and tonight, at work we had a pleasant exchange of ~~compliments~~ insults.

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo is also a stand up comedian you can find him here www.Marcusisfunny.com

*Names have been scratched out to protect the innocent

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-hey sorry for calling you grumpy or moody or whatever I said tonight

Katie-haha i dont care I thought it was funny (MANAGER) thought we were really fighting. I think we always talk to each other like that

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-yeah, but it was kinda mean

Katie- you were super grumpy tonight... and i can be super moody and grumpy there
I need to go get a real job I'm too old and have been doing this shit too long

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-I feel that way too. This comedy shit better take off soon. I'm tired of working like a rube

Katie-I even wonder if for the time I should just go be a manager somewhere
I would feel like such a loser if I did that
but it has benefits and not less bullshit, but different bullshit

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-yeah, but would it be worth the money?

Katie- for benefits yeah, for me to have decent health insurance it’s like 300 a month

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-wow, mine's way cheaper than that. You have a third arm or some shit?
don't tell me if it's personal

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-I don't like you enough to care

Katie- no just a past of shit, nothing super major but they still freak out about anything

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-and the HIV? say it... "and the HIV"

Katie- yeah that and herpes

Katie- and you would not even imagine how much crabs raise insurance these days

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo-that's your fault for getting the over the counter shampoo...

Katie- that was shampoo?

Katie- I think I might just post this conversation on my website

~~Marcus~~ Geraldo- go for it. but can you change my name to Geraldo?

Boobies and Butts

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 04:19:00 +0000

As mentioned before St. Louis holds the second largest Mardi Gras next to New Orleans and it happens to be right in my little neck of the woods. So sure enough, despite warning of others that live around us we stocked up on beer and opened our doors to our friends. My good friend Ryan flew in from Colorado, because God knows my friends hate to miss a good party even more than I do. We cooked breakfast for over fifty people and then the boobies and bare butts were flying out of our windows. Not our boobies or bare butts because we like to pretend from time to time that we are too classy for such acts. I won't however claim that I do not associate with folks who are too classy to do such a thing.

Surprisingly upon awakening the next morning I found not even a single can of beer to be thrown away; my friends are just that good. Other than having to scrape about ten inches of black shoe/snow/slush/beer/what ever else film off my floor and relocate a missing toilet seat there was nothing left but my perfect little apartment.

Which actually do not fit at all into what I was expecting. Mostly I expected the worst, not that I think badly of my friends, but packing 100,000 thousand people into a tiny town that might be about a square mile big never seems like a good idea to be involved in. Oh, and a little because my brother and I used to make a game out of stealing the little rod that holds in people's toilet paper at parties in college. I was sure Karma was going to hit. That and the fact I used to make fun of retarded kids never helps much in the karma department either.

Other than kicking out a few random people; three guys who informed us we should lock our door, and one girl whom my friend insisted to me, just needed to use the bathroom and I was not to worry because she "seemed really nice," Things went amazingly well. I liked the "seem's really nice." Because, you know, people who are going to steal your shit and barf in your bath tub are always assholes first.

I will leave you with a few pictures from the event, leaving out of course most of the people that were here, as most of them are teachers and I am sure would prefer the internet not be plastered with pictures of them playing drinking games, dancing, or putting lighters in their butts. You can see our street before, a float at the parade, and a ton of boys staring at my upstairs neighbors window as they had many more bags being flashed up their than we did.

I miss my friend Ryan already, and I can assure you that if any of you have a friend Ryan he is not nearly as cool, good looking, funny or tolerant as mine friend Ryan is. And no you can't have him because I want him all to myself. So just continue living your own lives with your own friend Ryan's knowing they will never be as good as mine.

Stage Mom

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 20:10:00 +0000

I am long overdue for an update. The past few weeks have been busy as shit. I live in a neighborhood in St. Louis which holds the second to largest Mardi Gras next to, of course, New Orleans. The crazy started a few weeks ago with a pet parade, and yes I must admit I joined in with thousands of other folks in dressing up my dogs in embarrassing outfits and parading them through dog poop filled streets mimosa’s in hand.

Deciding what Henry would be was easy as he insisted in his doggy ways that he refused to attend unless he was dressed as none other than his hero, Andrew Dice Clay. I swear people I didn’t ask for this dog to be this way, but isn’t part of being a parent allowing your dogs to express themselves in anyway they see fit?

Pedro was harder to pick a costume for. After weeks of discussion, as if there wasn’t a war going on or economic crisis in the world, we made the important decision that Pedro would attend as an old lady’s dog. Covered in flowers, feathers, beads, and what ever crap we could find in the craft store. In other words Pedro went as a giant Gay.

My friend Emily and I ventured into the suburbs (a land in which I never go) and hunted for a child’s sized pleather jacket, and anything and everything purple, green and yellow.

Tom told me I would make a great pageant mom and I ran around frivolously, freaking out about how my dogs MUST win. That there was no way there could be a better looking set of dogs in this entire town. Already making us excuse of why they didn’t win in the instance they didn’t. You know because the judges didn’t see them, or the judging was rigged, or the judges were jealous. Or we were disqualified because Henry had a pack of cigarettes taped to his arm and that has to be taboo.

After hours of crafting it occurred to me we were totally wasting out time. No way, no hell, were these dogs going to keep these costumes on. I think the pageant mom in me even threatened to staple the costumes right to their little bodies if they refused to participate in the madness of dogs in clothes.

I couldn’t have been more shocked than I was the time they ate razor blades and pooped them out.

Lo and behold –

Henry Dice Clay, and Pedro The Giant Gay

And in case you were wondering the dogs did not win. It was not because they were not seen, or the judging was rigged and I don’t think it was because anyone was jealous or because of the pack of Marlboro Reds stuck on my dog, but simply because we didn’t make it to the judging circle… Momma was out of Mimosa and we all know where priorities lie in this family!

Because I Even Get On My Own Nerves...Sometimes

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 07:34:00 +0000

Because it has been a week or so… Life is crazy busy here at the Katie/Tom house. Busy, in good things… good work, good school, good ol’ time wasting. Mardi Gras is next week and I have friends coming in so it’s been busy getting stuff ready for that. Also I saw some terrible comedy shows, did a few open mic’s, ran into a few people I didn’t like, and realized I need to learn to say “NO.” Is it a woman thing? I wonder, the art of not being able to say “No”, ever? Want me to design you a restaurant menu, ok, a website, ok, go to your birthday party even though I have other things to do? Ok!

I personally am tired of Ok’s and ready for more No’s!
I did however say YES to the digital camera Tom bought, and I promise picture tomorrow of the Mardi Gras dog parade in which my buddies went as
1. Andrew Dice Clay- complete with a pack of Marlboro REDS
2. Gay- covered in old lady fake flowers, feathers, butterflies, and a fabulously handmade tutu.

Until then, Internet… “drum roll” as I let you into “my life with a digital camera” – some chicken chotchkie (is that how I spell it?) trying to commit suicide in my toilet. Just another amazing reason we HAD to have a digital camera!

And incase you didn’t have enough of me tonight, here is what I read at the open mic this evening… keep in mind as it was written ten minute before I left it isn’t edited yet. And if you need an explanation the beginning is about a writer friend that was there tonight so if you were there it would make sense.
You coming tonight? Lisa asks me. Not on the phone. Lisa and I don’t talk on the phone. Lisa and I talk on Facebook because Lisa and I spend to much time on Facebook. Sometimes talking, sometimes playing scrabble which she always whoops my ass because I am perhaps the only person alive who can manage to use the word “Jog” three times on one bored. I wish the points were scored on how many times you can use the same word on one board. Or how many three letter words you know, because I would have her whooped and she could take her seventy point words and shove them.
“I don’t think so” I respond. “I don’t have anything new to read and tons of shit to do.”
“Read one of the ones you didn’t read last time.” She suggests.
“Ok did I read the one about bartending I ask?” Yep she says.
“Did I read the one about being twenty eight-divorced- living in an apartment-drinking less- and having a twenty one year old boyfriend- but yet I’m still ok with being me?” I question. Then I interrupt myself. Well it isn’t really interrupting on Facebook, as it is more like typing faster than she can to answer myself before she does. “ Oh yeah I read that one. Or those twenty because basically that’s all I’ve written in like forty years.”
“You aren’t even forty” she reminds me.
“Ok well it feels like forty years and basically my writing is getting on my own nerves.” “Scratch that in general I am getting on my own nerves, in life, in general”

Nothing new has happened, nothing in a long time. Nothing writing worthy. Unless you all want me to bore you with my take on the latest TV shows since I realized a month ago its 2009 and maybe I should get cable TV, well a TV first and then Cable. So if you want to hear my obsession with John and Kate Plus eight you can go to my website and find writings of that at any time.

Other wise life is boring. Or maybe as my father would say I am finally “content”. Which is great an all except for the fact content women rarely make history or ummm content women rarely have stuff to write about.

I can’t write an entire essay about dressing my dog up as Andrew Dice Clay for the pet parade even though it was super great. I can’t write an entire essay about having beers with the people I work with after work because that’s boring. And there are only so many essays I can write about being a waitress because lets face it, most of you probably suck to wait on, and tip crappy, and the point is it gets old bitching about it because the only person who sucks more than you is me because I wake up everyday and chose to wait on you.

I am on my own nerves…Seriously. I need some excitement. Some writing material.

I proposed to Tom. Thinking shit why not at least it would give me something to write about. I even at one point suggested he start dating. I personally am pretty over dating but know it gives me huge amount of material and I figures shit, he’s young let him date. I could write an entire novel about letting my live in boyfriend date. I only got weary when he said yes to both the proposal and dating and I realized I don’t really like writing thaaaat much.
I even considered getting a tape worm. Did you know that… you can buy a tape worm online for weight lose purposes. I told my friend at work I was seriously considering this because A I would get skinny and B I would have something to write about. I decided against this writing material upon further research when I realized to get them out they have to be pulled out of your butt. No thanks.

I have convinced the very little English speaking busser at my work that Tom and I are in fact brother and sister and we just make out sometimes. When asked by a girl at work to explain a day in the life of Tom and Katie, I simply told her it involves a lot of laughing singing and running around trying to shove objects in each others bottoms. See I am even on my nerves with the fact I have just now written about two lies involving putting something up or taking something out of my butt.

I’ve gone as far as lying to people to try and excite my life. Recently at a friends birthday party. I announced to my entire staff at work that Tom and I were trying to conceive. This only being funny if you know me, or Tom, and would realize that in a matter of minute this baby would be dead, if it ever even made it to see the light outside of my Judy. Not because we are mean or anything, but because we have the combined responsibility of an eight year old with ADHD and a crack whore for a mother.

So really I have just wasted seven minutes of your time telling you as I told Lisa earlier I HAVE NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

“Finish with a love poem” she said
I have no rhythm and I can’t rhyme I tell her.

But because Lisa thinks she is the boss of me, I sometimes I let her win… I now will allow you all to take my poetry virginity.

I love my boyfriend
More than I love my rear end
It gives me no ideas in my brain
And is making my life quite plain
I have no rhythm, I cannot write.
So now you see I’ve wasted your time tonight.

Emails I Hate

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 19:50:00 +0000

These are the kind of emails I hate. In fact I think most sane people despise these emails. Anything that involves me "sending something back to you" "Sending something to other people" Or most important anything that threatens me if I don't. This particular email I found worth mentioning because does anyone really believe God would be so mean? To wreak havoc on the lives of those who do not forward this email? Is God bored? Is there no facebook in heaven?

Read at your own risk ladies because I have a feeling if you don't pass this on your Judy's will turn to stone, and that will make for a very unpleasant Valentines Day.

Look closely at this picture

The President of Argentina received this picture called it 'junk mail', 8 days later his son died. A man received this picture & immediately sent out copies..his surprise was winning the lottery. Alberto Martinez received this picture, gave it to his secretary to make copies but they forgot to distribute:

she lost her job & he lost his family. This picture is miraculous & sacred. Forward to 1O people.

And Yet Another Amazing Friends Happens to Have a Birthday...

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 07:48:00 +0000

Dearest Karen/K-Fish/Mixologist Extraordinaire

Happy Birthday (One Day Late). As some of you know I have made a habit of writing happy birthday letters to my friends on here, somewhat because I want them to know how much I love them, and in a way because mostly I am super bad at telling people how I feel about them to their faces. And a tiny part because I am narcissistic and want them to know what their original “birthday” means to me, even if I met them some twenty five years after their entrance into the world.
So Karen, Happy F’in 26! To you Twenty Six might be different than it is to other people. Maybe because you were raised different than most people. For those sheltered in St. Louis it might be down right strange, or awkward. I can swear on my life you would have no idea how many times I have joked about “Ozark BBQ.” Because to you Karen, Ozark BBQ is my first Chili’s where I learned the super neato craft of waiting tables. Or being someone’s bitch for tips. It’s like being a hooker Karen, only I am certain that hookers get paid much more than we do. So I would be a liar to say I haven’t done your voice 18,000 times using the words “Ozark BBQ.” But the bottom line Karen is I know your “Ozark BBQ” is a part of your life none of us will ever understand and those times in your life are the times that made you who you are today.
That’s what makes you Karen; you aren’t an open book. In fact I find you to be one of the most intriguing people I have met here in St. Louis. You think you lay it all out, but in a way you are some sort of weird mystery to all of us. Not the kind of mystery Michael Fitzgerald reads that have strange titles, strange names all involving cupcakes or strudel and some kind of killer but, a real true mystery. You have to be one of the smartest people I have ever met, and yet Karen you know how to “shake it likes it’s hot” and be down right crazy. So sometimes you wake up and wonder “what the hell did I do last night?” And sometimes I have an answer for you, and sometimes I don’t. And sometimes what you did was excusable and sometimes it wasn’t. I for one am not a stranger to doing the inexcusable. And really, Karen, as they say “well behaved women rarely make history.” And I’m not saying that is an excuse for every time one of us fucks up or does something really stupid, and it is certainly no excuse to do bad things, but Karen, I think, for the cards you were dealt you are really doing ok. I think you love Mason more than any of us will ever understand, and I know you had kids young, and I know Karen you are smart enough to end up doing the right thing.
I think you will continue to come into your own and figure this life thing out. And I only hope that when you figure it out you will remember those of us that are still trying to figure it out.
I think you should be proud of last night. Most of us would be honored to find that we had twenty friends, in one town, willing to sit down and eat dinner with us. Mostly Karen, I think you should be proud that you will forever and always be the only "Karen Fisher". The only Karen Fisher I feel is worth knowing. The only Karen Fisher I feel proud to know. You are unique and funky. And I know there wasn’t a person in that room last night that you wouldn’t have gone to the ends of the earth for if they asked you too. You are a better person than most of us are. And the rest of things Karen, will work themselves out, or you will work them out ,because you have to be hands down the smartest Karen Fisher I will ever know.

I love you Karen, and, more importantly, so many other people do as well!

Katie Lauren

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

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 02:01:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 13:52:00 +0000

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

Toddlers, Tiaras and Barfing

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 06:49:00 +0000

Getting cable, although enjoyable and a super time waster, has also led us to many episodes of wanting to barf all over each other. I thought it was bad enough watching VH1 shows where the washed up, no name celebrities get "sober" on national television. Or the show where the lady leaves her child for a few weeks to date twin bisexuals on a reality show, but nothing and I mean nothing beats Toddlers and Tiaras. This is sick and actually made me cry for a bit tonight. I do realize that all people choose different ways to raise their children and for the most part passing judgement as a non mother isn't fair of me but this is sad and sick and weird.

Lists are a result of writers block

noreply@blogger.com (KatieLauren) — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 07:51:00 +0000

Because I had a particularly good day I am leaving you with a list of 25 things I love

1. Tom
2. Pedro (dog #1)
3. Henry aka Phone aka Mischief Maker aka Henry Dice Clay (Dog #2) but don't tell him because he already has a big enough head.
4. Pork Roll
5. My computer
6. Tom's Computer
7. Smoking (yuck I get it, but I do LOVE IT)
8. Hearing about how happy my best friend Steph is (because she deserves to be)
9. My best friend Steph
10. My other best friend Michelle
11. All of my friends
12. Reconnecting with old friends
13. The neighborhood I live in
14. The back of babies necks
15. Facebook(yeah I said it I love it)
16. Perez Hilton (I understand if you stop talking to me over this, but it is my dirty little obsession)
17. The fact that Steph totally understood I put Pork Roll above her on the list of things I love
18. The fact Steph agreed she would also put Pork Roll above me if this was her list
19. Positive people
20. Traveling
21. John & Kate Plus 8 (I can't get enough)
22. My brother
23. Change
24. Reading
25. Laughing

Hmmm easier than I thought. So Internet... what do you love?

Katie Lauren