New Sunglasses Make me Squirrely...

So today I obtained yet another pair of sunglasses, pictured above. The events preceding this glorious purchase were as follows: 1. Be awoken by a silly little boy named Travis who deemed it fit to be vertical by 10:15 after being up past 3am. Right. 2. Drag my ass out of bed resume the horizontal position on the couch and watch a few episodes of Californication, which is retarded, but manages to be entertaining. 3. Decide to go to breakfast. 4. Lay around more. 5. Finally go to breakfast. Now this is where things got much more interesting. Travis, for one reason or another, had a duck-hunting-call thing (sorry, I'm not familiar with the appropriate terminology here) which by itself doesn't seem all that interesting. But, and heres number 6. When you blow the duck-caller at bikers on university ave. or any pedestrian, car with a window down, or construction worker, the results prove quite entertaining. Especially when you're listening to gangsta rap. I have never seen such looks of confusion fall upon the sorry faces who got hosed by two douchebags in a car with a duck-caller. HA! I love my life...

Anyway, I ate my food (two enormous pancakes much larger than my head) and some delicious Italian sausage procured at the Key's Cafe in St. Paul and then I bought my rockin' shades. Brent will be Jealous. With a capital J. That's right.

Kitty Becomes a Seamstress... kinda

Here is dress number one. Found this awesome retro fabric at Unique Thrift store (quite possibly one of my favorite places on earth). Then I proceeded to attack it in a very renegade fashion until I got what I wanted. That's how I do things.

Dress number two. Also attacked in a renegade fashion. Yes, I still do things that way.

So anybody wanna commission me? I need money...

This sums things up nicely...

This was actually a couple days before the 4th, but still, it's a good explanation of what cannon falls minnesota and america's/mary's birthday is all about... Gin and tonics in the afternoon. Good times.

Freedom Day

It went something like this:
-oversleep
-help mother with party preparations
-intermittently stop for cigarette breaks and drink refills
-party gets goin'
-realize I'm a little drunker than I should be at 3pm
-leave with Michael and James for a cigarette run - see Johnny on his way to our house on our way to town
-Hannah saves him
-everyone thinks that Johnny is my other Asian friend Julien
-I make a lot of cliche Asian jokes
-the sun sets
-B.A.C.'s rise
-we roast the birthday girl
-hilarious set of awesome music: jazz interpretations of songs such as "jesse's girl", something by Bon Jovi, etc.
-danced so hard and so long that my legs are still sore today
-too drunk to note anything at this point

good times....

Jo Ann Fabrics: The Bane of My Existence

Jo-Ann's. A haven for fat, crafty, middle aged women. The place is frigidly cold, probably because every old-hag working there is going through menopause. There is no music, who needs that distraction while one is trying to count yards? However, what Jo-Ann's is not lacking in is depression and frustration. I swear to god every woman working there is bitter, jaded, and pissed at the world, and as a result, SLOW AS HELL. My theory is, they move at a snail's pace because the longer a customer has to wait, the more important they feel. Instead of being just a fabric cutter they are now in control of someone's schedule. They stand idly by watching the toes tap on the linoleum floor, eyes rolling from the wrist to the ceiling, impatient sighs escaping from shellacked lips, and incessant fidgeting. These actions fill them with the knowledge of their power. The power to make someone wait 30 GODDAMN MINUTES FOR 4 FUCKING YARDS OF WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS THEY NEED!

I shit you not I stood in a line of 3 PEOPLE, 3, for a half an hour. The woman in front of me only needed a foot of two different kinds of fabric, but (the inevitable but) there was this other bitch (the inevitable other bitch) who needed yards upon yards of linen. Apparently she was already being helped earlier, but had to leave the counter for one reason or another, and just happened to come back right before it was my turn. The sole fabric cutter, a portly, permed, post-menopausal lass, decided it would only be fair to cut her fabric first because she had been "waiting so long"... I watched as she cut six separate two yard segments, all the while chatting away, pausing, finding new spindles of linen because they kept running out, and tapping away on the bar-code scanner. Her loyal customer leaned against the counter occasionally fluffing her trashy femullet and inquiring about her niece's state of famine (which mind you, seemed to be quite the contrary) and if they should run over to "MAC"Donalds. By the time it was my turn I was ready to strangle both of the broads with the lengths of belt material I was about to buy.

Ahh, the joys of crafting.

Sorry, I needed to get that off my chest.

What's Wrong with the World: the new WWW

While very bored and Facebook stalking, I came upon some youtube link someone had left on another someone's wall. It was some stupid audio of Rachel Ray that was all pieced together to make it sound... you know... dirty. Hee hee...

BUT that's not the end of it. On the related videos there was one called "Rachel Ray Farting". Once again, this is not the end. You may be thinking, "But Kitty, how could anything get more repulsive and/or retarded than that?" Well, I'll tell you. Upon clicking on the Rachel Ray farting video (I mean come on, you would've too. It's like watching someone vomit, you want to look away, but you just can't) I found a myriad other fart videos. One, aptly named "Girl Farting", was this girl in a matching cami booty short outfit sitting at a computer desk playing some fucking mystical war computer game with her diet coke and marlboro light 100's with in arms reach.

Now, this is where I started feeling really horrible for actually wasting valuable time (not to mention brain cells) on this doesn't-deserve-oxygen-farting-bitch. Excuse me. The 3+ minute video was entirely comprised of her narrating her video game and shifting into various fart-compatible positions and then proceeding to comment on the, and I quote, "rancid" smells in the room.

The kicker is.......

This video was viewed over 2,000,000 times. Wow.

I thought of a challenge!!!

So! Here it is: what do you believe to be your inner age and why?
You, you, you, and you better answer!

Here's my answer:

I am 4. And here's why:
1. I enjoy the simple things in life such as: ice cream cones, playing little pranks on people (like putting a ball of lint in their hair and not telling them), skipping down the side walk, sleeping, dancing funny dances (usually involves interpreting weird actions or just a lot of unnecessary ass shaking), and, above all else, laughing.

2. I have very immature humor (aka I think poop is funny).

3. I have entered (or realized) a stage of intense nihilism, which I believe is something children do. They have their fun, they don't know why, and frankly they don't care, because they're having fun.

4. When all else fails, I resort to violence. You can hardly call it violence though because I don't think I have enough strength to actually inflict pain on anyone, just like a small child beating on their little sister.

5. Any time that it rains and the sun comes out afterwards, I go searching for rainbows. Oh, and worms.

6. If I could, I would spend all day, every day at the beach, which is the exact same wish that I had as a youngin'.

7. I don't like having responsibility - I'd rather just watch t.v.... well that's a little bit of an exaggeration, but not much...

8. I love being dirty. It makes me feel as if I've accomplished something through hard work. Really though, I just don't like showering.

That little he-she on the right is still the person I am today... ah to be four. Good times. Forever.

My spirit animal?

Maybe... who knows. What I do know is that his name is Louellen. He enjoys blue slushies, cool ranch doritos, and sky diving. Oh, and he's single, so keep an eye out for him.

What Brings Ultimate Joy Into My Life is as Follows:

Yep. Martin Dosh. I have never had a less-than-amazing time at any of his shows. From the first one witnessed in Hymee's (sp?) Basement about 5 years ago with about 15-20 other people in the room, to last night at a semi-packed First Ave I am repeatedly brought to the brink of something or another - I think life. I told Martin once that his music makes me feel more than alive, and that is most definitely not an exaggeration.

The other groups were pretty fucking bad-ass too. Kill the Vultures and P.O.S. totally blew me away considering I have been considerably turned off to hip-hop lately for some reason. These guys are not your run of the mill hip-hop though. Check their myspace's and listen to some tunes, you won't be disappointed!

So, last night was once again an incredibly joyous experience. It ended with a lovely trip to Little Tijuana's to stuff my face with fajita and various cheeses and squeeze my girl Amy who looked sleepy and sunkissed. I must say it was a very good way to spend a Friday night.

Baby Jack!

This little guy just turned one! His name is Jack and he is just as bubbly, smiley, and adorable as his wonderful parents: Jessica and Chris. This photo was taken in the winter, so he's grown a lot since then, and he's just as cute as ever. And now he's walking! I wish I was Jack so that I could have parents like Jess and Chris - I would be doted upon, get the shit loved out of me, and get to do all sorts of fun stuff, like be in the presence of Jessica and Chris at all times.

At 9:00 tonight I'm driving up to New London with my buds Dylan and Travis to celebrate this wee one's birth - I will do so by drinking with his aunts and uncles. Best 1 year old party ever...

I LOVE THE BILBEN/DEANS!

The First Beach Trip...

Yesterday Nathan and I ventured to Hidden Beach - the most glorious of beaches in Minneapolis. There are trees, forest, a mud pit, hippies playing bad music (upright bass, guitar, FLUTE - wooden flute, mind you...), screaming naked children, and a whole lot o' hipsters. Okay, so maybe the scene is a little silly, but the beach itself is great, and there are less screaming children than there are on Calhoun or Harriet, so I'm content. And there's less sand in my mouth. But I must say, they hippie crowd is quite entertaining. The true hippies stake their claims around the perimeter of the beach so that they can smoke their pot in peace without the bicycle cops getting on their case. Sometimes the hippies join forces on their "life-giving" music and that's when the bongo-beat gets so much more enlightening. Other times, the hippies roam about and pick up discarded cigarette butts or bitch about people putting improper items in the recycling bins. All in all, they're entertaining, even if they're annoying.

After braving the early-summer-kinda-cold water, Nathan and I settled into the sand to dry in the 8:00pm not-so-bright sun. I proceeded to pile random things on him: twigs, sand, bark, stones, other twigs, a cigarette butt (he drew the line there...) etc. I came upon a very thin, very straight stick which I was using to badger dear Natey-Poo about something or another. And then I realized - it was an incense stick. Fucking hippies...

And so this is summer...

Here I sit. Mid-afternoon. Summer days string together; I actually asked someone what day it was yesterday. Another thing about summer is that every night is saturday: aka every night can be a party if you want it to be.

This is what Nathan and I did on a "saturday" night:
(Nathan's, Kitty's)
Poem #1
God Kog
drifting drunkard
Falling forward
falter.
I don't know
how to...
kill vultures
reach god
drop life
live free
die quickly.
I squirm complacently.
While suckling my indecency,
Geared up junkies
lay in broken branches
dancing fancy dances
laying in lust
I think about your
mouth.
You lay on your stomach,
closed. My
hands clenched.
I fear death
I fear breath
Bust yearn for both
space lace
swallowing my brainstorms;
I walk away.
It will only be a moment.
Fearing failures
I jumped
the shifting ship
but fell prey to
the eight armed octagon
scuttled by and
made me quiver.
And that was the
day
I called my own.

Poem #2: Welcome, this is the Point.
I fell asleep frantically;
cutting through corn fields.
All was mud.
Bleak beguiled boys
stealing pulls of whiskey
stealing thoughts of...
leopard print...hats
fucking leaping lads
with withering hairlines
clutch at my ankles.
They beg for acceptance...
or pity. I'm not sure,
that's true for most things.
What's over there?
God
laying humorless
and hung
hungry for humor
inverted and content.
This screen glows blue,
giving most things.
I relent and withhold;
I reject and am sold
ink pools
eating fools

Village Wok Moment

I went outside for what I thought was going to be a relaxing cigarette break. The moment I stepped out the door I heard the distinct sound of retching. Great. There was your average college dude-bro wasted of off $2.00 pitchers at the bar Big 10 that's next to our restaurant. His friends were scattered around laughing. I try to avert my eyes, but vomiting is just one of those things that is repulsing and enthralling at the same time.

After awhile, he moved to a chair. We all thought he was done. Alas, he was not. He proceeded to puke on his shoes and the exclaim,

"I'm making it rain! It's my birthday, man, I'm supposed to puke!"

His friends laugh. After his last vomit bout, he yells,

"I wanna smoke some pot! Let's go home... or let's go drink more beer!"

I was down to the butt of my cigarette, they were walking back into the bar... what a delightful way to spend my few moments of respite...

Can I be a "Rock Star"?

As many of you know, I've had dreams of being in a band for quite some time now. A friend of mine recently asked me to audition to be the singer for his band. I was scared shitless. The opportunity I'd been waiting for was here and in turn, it terrified me.

So, of course, I avoided him until I couldn't anymore.

Yesterday, post serious badgering from the bassist in the band, I relented and went to go sing with the dudes. Now here's the deal: they have about 10 songs written (instrumentals) and I would be responsible for writing lyrics/vocal melody. That doesn't sound so bad right? Wrong. Because I would need to have this done in about, oh... 2 weeks. Maybe less. Crazy. They want to record and play at least 4 shows by mid August.

I show up at the "space" after stressing out all day. I'd only heard their songs once, I've never "jammed" before, I've never really sung rock music before, some of the guitar parts are really melodic so I have a hard time creating new melodies over that, it's super loud and my mic isn't loud enough... this list of problems for me goes on and on. As a result of those "problems" (which probably weren't problems for the guys and I was just freaking out) I felt like an ass after two and half hours of "la la la - ing". Fuck. Those were the most stressful two and a half hours of my life.

So my question is, how does a singer jam? Cause I sure as hell don't know how to do it.

The Bestest Mommy in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

So. In honor of such a wonderful woman on a day such as mother's day, I shall brag:
1. She is amazing.
2. She's really amazing.
3. She sings her ass off.
4. She is possibly one of the most insightful people I know.
5. She sacrificed her body in order to love my sister and me.
6. She always entertains me.
7. Everyone loves her because she's amazing, so therefore she has amazing friends too.
8. She can cook real good-like.
9. She's funny and very cute... eh hem.... I mean beautiful and tough. I don't think she likes being called cute. Sorry.
10. She always knows how to comfort me when I'm feeling blue...

I could keep going all night, so I'd better stop. BUT! These things must be voiced! Her good deeds/qualities will not go unnoticed, and they don't.

I LOVE YOU MOMMY! HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

New Reality Show.

It will be, let's find Kitty a boyfriend. Everyone will collect smart, funny, creative, NICE, caring, semi-sensitive, music-loving boys and then just pass them off to me.

After last night, my bitterness towards a relationship was only reaffirmed.

Maybe this is my problem: "We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love, " - Tom Robbins.

Wise wise man Tom Robbins. Oh, and sorry for being melancholy.

uh oh.

So. Apparently there's a mole in Cannon Falls. He is a mole with good intentions, but nonetheless, a mole. Said mole works for the Cannon Falls Beacon, our small town paper, and had an idea to print links to blogs written by Cannon Falls citizens past and present in the paper. This does not bode well for me considering my frequent use of "curse words". I know I'm a little crass, but I find true pleasure in these words. They apply the correct amount of emphasis that I require for my daily speech. I'm dramatic, what can I say. However, after this incident, I'm now wary as to who is viewing my blog: grandparents, small children, newspaper dudes, adults who aren't aware of my dirty mouth, etc.

Do I need to censor myself? Is it too much? AM I HURTING YOUR FEELINGS? ha ha... okay, see, there I go being dramatic again. But, do notice that there are no "curse words" in this here post.

I guess it's time for little ol' me to clean my act up. Or is it?

P.S. - Mike, if you're reading this now, I don't hate you. Don't worry. But, you have given me a reality check to the lack of privacy on the internet, so thanks.

Random Thoughts/Questions

1. I hate Andrea Dworkin
2. Anybody wanna go on a road trip to northern california this summer?
3. Anybody got a tiny vintage road bike they wanna give me? Eh?
4. I could enjoy a fresh squeezed carrot/apple/ginger juice right now... mmm...

and then here are some random pictures of my little buddies...

"Check this move out, guys! I'm like a little birdy!" - Patrick

"Yeah... a little thrusting... birdy..." - Me

The Village Wok...

Since last June, I have been working at the Village Wok. Some of you have eaten here or at least know about it - after all it's been around since the '70's. It has been/is an experience.

This was my interview:
"Can you work until 2am?"
"Yeah, totally"
"Alright, I'll call you tomorrow. You can start on Monday"
"Awesome"

Seriously. That was it.

My coworkers are pretty much always hilarious. There's Carlos, the Ecuadorian fry-cook who asks me to marry him at least 20-50 times every time we work together. There's Fran the buff-asian dude who's 45 but doesn't look a day over 28 and calls me a dumb bitch at least 20-50 times a shift, but then later buys a smoothie for us to share and sends me stupid "funny" fwd emails. There's Jose, the busboy (man) who speaks no English and I try desperately to understand him (when I don't and he laughs it makes me think he's saying something dirty, which he probably is). The list goes on and on... Needless to say, I come home with stories every night.
Such as:
There's a girl with huge tits at some table and I say to Jose in spanish, "You like those? The big ones?" He replies, "I like them all. And small ones, so I can fit them in my mouth." Wow. Okay then.
Or:
"Fran? What are you drinking?"
"It's your momma's pussy juice! I squeezed it last night..." He then proceeded to make a squeeky sound and a pinching motion.
And then:
Bang, the very tiny, very feisty cook, comes up to me and rubs my belly. "You have baby in there? Oh yeah, you need to eat! Eat lots of spicy food! Good for baby! When you due?"
"Bang! You're so mean! DO NOT call me fat!"
"Ha ha ha... when your baby due?! Ha ha ha!!!"
What a bitch...

I could keep going all day. Instead I'll save these tasty tid-bits.