Say Hello

10K years late with this one. Heard it for the first time last night... better late than never.

Don't be fooled with the giant Lana Del Rey image, this is HOV.


A Day in the Life

I’ll wake you up with my 4 alarms in the morning. You’ll hear the first one go off an hour before I even have to get up. Then 3 will follow in 15 minute increments. It’s fucking obnoxious, my only apology and bonus for you is that you get to wake up next to me. *Cheesy emoji here*

Hopefully we don’t have the same morning routine cause I will remain in bed until the moment you start stirring and then I will get up lightning quick to beat you to the bathroom. Don’t worry, I prefer taking showers at night. I don’t take that long in the am. I will blow up the bathroom though. I’m not even sorry, my digestive system goes to work. I can’t apologize for that shit. Literally. Febreeze is our friend.

I will steal your clothes. You’ll get frustrated cause you’ll look for something and I’ll tell you its dirty. Ohh. Your chambray button up? Yeah I wore that yesterday with leggings. I’ll be on thin ice for this one, constantly. I’ll steal your fitted hats / snapbacks on game days. You must learn to buy 2 of everything, or share. I’m ok with sharing.

I will send you emails / texts / links throughout the day of stupid shit. I’ll tell you that Taco Bell is adding a new biscuit taco to its breakfast menu. Why would I tell you that? Cause I read about it. Have I ever had Taco Bell for breakfast? No. Do I plan on it? I don’t foresee that in my future, but I’ll read about ridiculous things like that. I will also send you music, whether you actually like it or not. Most of the time I am pretty good. You’ll get annoyed cause half the shit I send off is still Trap and you’ll tell me its not always time to turnup. So I’ll send you Hall & Oates. Fine then, let’s pretend we’re easy-listening on a fucking yacht. That works too.

I’ll send you an email with random subject lines of something you would actually open, but once you click though all you will see is the word “PENIS” in giant red letters, large enough for you coworkers to read. Got you. They won’t believe you when you tell them I sent that. I have this innocent look about me, of course I would never do that. 

I’ll pack your ass baon, cause we should both save dough and calories. There will be a stupid drawing on a post it of some kind of vegetable telling you a joke. You collect these in a drawer in your desk. Sometimes I’ll be nice and I’ll tell you I love you or some shit like that. I’ll draw a picture of corn saying it, throwing up at the same damn time. Yeah. That’s more like me.

Sometimes I’ll send you a selfie of me with my 3pm coffee. I’ll complain about my projects and demanding clients and tell you about the unbelievable requests they have. You’ll tell me the day is almost done. I will only respond with the emoji that has a “wahhhhh” face. That one is my favorite. I feel like that 49% of the time. 

Then I’ll sext you. I’ll sext you so hard we both wake up out of our midday coma. 

If it's not Thursday, we’ll cook at home. If it's Thursday that's date night. If it's Friday we’re drinking. Sometimes we mix up the order of this and we’re drunk on a Tuesday. Ohh well, it happens. I say we can eat whatever it is you want until I reject your first 5 suggestions. I give you a sour face, after sour face, after sour face. You’ll have a good pick though, eventually.

I want to eat ice cream every day, but I don’t. 

We have sex. We have tons of sex, while Netflix or Hulu is playing in the background. Nah, maybe it's not tons of sex. I have to be realistic. Nah, fuck that. We have tons of sex.

We’ll crack jokes, KTFO and do it all again the next day—maybe more, maybe less.

That's a day in the life.

Body vs. Bed

I am still as choosey as ever. I can name all the men I have slept with and count them on my fingers. My numbers game is still low, but impressive to me, given the fact that I’ve only been in this game for “X” amount of time.

I’ve had adult sleep overs with almost all of these men. It was fine until I hooked up with the second to last man. For some strange reason he had questions about my sleeping habits in the morning. He paid way too much attention to me and since I wasn’t as interested it annoyed the shit out of me.

“Do you know you twitch? You also kinda lightly snore. Do you need a sleep mask to keep light out? Why do you sleep with your arm over your eyes?”

FUCK.

I was so irritated. I couldn’t stand the fact this dude wanted to figure me out in this intimate sense. From my perspective he had no right to ask such questions. I didn’t mind the sex, I enjoyed the sex. But only one man knows all of those things about me and I was in love with him for him to figure all of it out. This guy wasn’t worthy of acquiring that information, you learn that as we go along, not just because we spent the night together.

This may sound completely opposite to some of you, but I’d rather share my body than my bed. Both are extremely private, thus my low number, but sleep is golden… there is a certain temperature / pillow count / pillow softness / exposed skin vs. blanket ratio / side of the bed preference / etc. etc. etc. that someone can only learn over time with the privilege of having repeated intimacy.

So I might allow you to sleep with me—you just can’t sleep with me.

Two years

Exactly two years ago we went to a Giants game.

We left early. We never did that, it was always down to the last out. Even when it was extra-innings, it didn’t matter. Even if we were down an obscene amount, if it wasn’t the bottom of the 9th we weren’t prepared to leave.

The first omen was that it was the coldest fucking day at the park. When you have traumatizing days, you remember shit vividly. AT&T is always cold, but it was unbearable that day. I have an IG post to prove it. You said you didn’t feel well, so we left in the 6th inning. That was the second omen.

You broke down somewhere as soon as we hit the Sunset, stupid N Judah, it took forever to get home. I kept asking you what was wrong. I already knew what was wrong. I still had to ask.

We fought hard that night. At one point you called Abby to ask her to come up to SF from the South Bay cause you needed her. She got there as fast as she could and you couldn’t recall asking her to drive up, you were in such a daze. I told you it was time for me to move out. There was no other solution or experiment than to take some time away from each other. It turns out we had no solution.

I left in the morning with the heaviest broken heart. I left the city I loved and you.

Exactly two years ago. 

Sometimes you have to look back to see how far you’ve come, and damn… I've come far.

This Happens Too

Occasionally I get submissions where I'm applauded for being real, strong as fuck, entertaining, relatable, etc. etc. etc.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, you're far too kind.

But just so my head doesn't inflate to the level of a hot air balloon let me share reasons why I am still very much a regular human being.

  • I still want to sock Ex-Mr in the face sometimes. I feel strongest about this when a low-life of a man tries to hit on me and I think: "Mother fucker, this is what you left me to deal with." Also notable, when he talks about WTF he can cook these days. Asshole. You couldn’t even make it home for dinner at an ideal time, now you’re telling me you know how to cook “pan-seared salmon with avocado remoulade.” I could sock him in the face, twice. 
  • I want to eat chicken ranch pizza almost everyday. Honest to God, I want to do this. If they have fresh garlic knots—I want that shit too. I fucking fight this urge on a daily basis. The other day I went into the pizzeria and stared at the pizza for 5 seconds and then left. Why? Cause I just ran 3 miles, I wasn’t about to negate that effort. I’m just sayin’, I always want pizza.
  • Some days I text 5 separate people to tell me I won't be alone forever. "Tell me right now that some dude is gonna come into my life and be handsome and thoughtful and provide excellent D. TELL ME RIGHT NOW THIS DUDE EXISTS!!!" Sometimes they text back that this dude doesn’t exist in NY and my ass should book a one way ticket asap. I text back that they’re all liars and I want evidence. Once in a while I’m not a believer, it happens.
  • I happily accept attention from unavailable men. You would think that with my history that I would avoid unavailable men in general, but I don’t. The attention is just too good. I get suspect texts past 11pm while they are obviously out drinking, I respond but I never initiate. I receive all compliments thrown at me graciously. I don’t know why they do it, but I don’t question it either. I feast on this. I’m realistic though, I don’t win in the end anyway. They all go home to someone. I don’t, so I’m the loser in all these scenarios. #brainwins
  • Every so often I lock myself in my room on the weekends only to emerge when retrieving my Seamless orders and use the bathroom. I will Seamless meals twice in a day. This is what I call “hermit-status.” This is much more common during periods of bad weather. I don’t waste sunny days unless I’m internally storming. That happens too.

Lock screen Level

The dude I work with to my left has a photo of him & his wife as his lock screen. The dude on my right has emoji’s included in his fiancé’s contact name. I can tell cause his phone lights up constantly during the day. I swear I’m not that nosy, I just catch these details.

I want to be someone’s lock screen. I want emoji’s in my contact name.

I don’t think I’ve ever used a photo as my lock screen until recently and it was because Abby made me, I ended up switching it out as soon as she left (HAH. Sorry, boo. I still love you.). For one thing I’m super pretentious and a designer so my lock screen is usually some beautifully designed piece of digital art. And NO ONE has emoji’s next to their name in my phone. NO BODY.

I’m not compelled to do either, I’m not at that point in my life, there’s not even anyone around trying to make it to that level with me. That stuff is kinda corny.

Ugh. I guess I want corny in my life. Lock screen level corny.

Where the heart is

I used to be able to openly state my intentions to move back to SF to all my East Coast friends. I no longer have the luxury of mentioning any of these plans without heavy interrogation or firm opposition. It’s endearing, it really fucking is, but at this point we’re avoiding the inevitable.

I came to NY for a specific purpose, to heal. I’ve never said that out loud. I’ve given bullshit excuses for every single “Why did you move to New York?” conversation I’ve had, because “I was going through a divorce, and I needed to distance myself” is way too heavy of an answer. I rarely share my past to those I meet because I don’t need it defining me. You would never know I’ve been through some shit, and I like it that way. Bottom line, I needed to fix myself and I needed to do it alone in NYC.

I’m all patched up now. I have a bionic heart.

During a late night commute home from a movie night in Astoria, Bridget brought up this particular subject. She asked me if I still planned on moving back home soon. I responded candidly, because I’m always real with her. She replied in kindness:

“I think that’s the right decision. I think that’s where your heart is.”

Jackpot. “…where your heart is.”

I am making half-assed decisions these days because I know my time here is ending as soon as snow falls (bet yo’ ass I’m not trying to stay for another winter, fuck that). I need to find a new job, but I’m hesitant to seek one out due to timing. I considered following Molly (the best room mate in the world) to a new living situation when she moved out, but I knew I would just leave her in the end. And nothing get's half-assed as much as my dating efforts...

I need to make some changes and it’s a good time for another (huge) transition. Make no mistake, I’m saddened at the thought of leaving NY, I've made amazing connections here. However, I already know it’s almost time for a new adventure. 

I’m all about my adventures.

The Search Continues

About 6 or 7 people asked me what happened to my unicorn after my “False Alarm” post. 

It caught me off guard. You all had this urgency to find out why I changed my mind. In all my conversations we were discussing other subjects and then bam… “What happened with that dude?” “No unicorn? Why?” 

It’s my fault. I jumped the gun when it came to my initial assessment and let’s face it—I’m fickle when it comes to men. I shouldn’t have shared that much. When have I ever shared that much about a first date? Never. 

But I was excited.

I enjoyed my hand being held a little too much. I liked the prospect of a handsome man kissing me hello / good morning / good night. I wanted to picture all of my simple lady fantasies with a real face. I sought potential in every thing we had in common. I am in love with the idea of love.

The vagina, brain and heart are continually battling it out when evaluating every man I come across. I won't say who put their foot down, but one did. When they all finally agree—that’s when I’ve found the unicorn. Until then, the search continues.

Living Single

INTRODUCING...

The Living Single sector of my blog. 

Rob always said I needed to start a blog solely on my interactions with men and the way they come at me. I've never documented it properly and I've been sleeping on this part of this site for daysssss. 

ENJOY FOLKS. First post is already up. ;-)

False Alarm

It turns out my supposed unicorn was just a handsome horse. I told you, I needed to conduct further research. It’s not his fault. I have unrealistic expectations, resulting in a search for an elusive and probably imaginary creature.

I have high hopes though.

The unicorn exists, we just haven’t been introduced yet.

Don't Take the D

So it's not what you think.

I got lost on the D train. Here's Kate anecdote no. 3,721.

I drank for 4 straight hours on my birthday. It started out with a bottomless mimosa brunch followed by one of our favorite day parties in the LES. I could've avoided the last hour of drinking but we made friends with the group next to us (also celebrating a birthday) and their boy wouldn't stop refilling our glasses.

By the time the party ended at 6 I was donzo and ready to go home. For the record this was my original plan (day drink and chill at home for the rest of the evening). I still had festivities arranged for the next day.

I split up from my company and took a side detour to buy shrimp wonton noodle soup cause somehow I remembered that I needed to consume long noodles (for that long life) on my birthday. I paid and waited for my food and proceeded to wait for a train at the Grand Street station. I was in luck and one came along in no time.

My drunk ass wasn't paying attention and I hopped on. It was the D train, I needed the B. After a few familiar stops I closed my eyes for one second. One second and I already knew I was lost.

"Fuck. Why am I at an outdoor stop?!? This isn't right."

Phone rings, it's Ex-Mr calling.

"Happy birthday!!!"
"Yoooooooooo. I'm super drunk right now AND I'm lost. I'm lost!"
*He laughs hard.* "Where the hell are you?!"
"I don't know. This is wrong, I'm at a 9th street stop and I'm outdoors."
"Call Uber. Call Lyft. Get a taxi."
"I cannnnnnnt. My Uber account is messed up cause I keep trying to change the credit card on the account."
*He's still laughing* "Wtf Kate, check where you are. Check Google Maps."
"That's a fantastic idea."
*checks google maps* "Ok ok. I know where I am. But I'm not walking distance from home cause I'd have to cross the huge cemetery AND Prospect Park. I have to go back to Barclays and transfer, that's what my ass was supposed to do in the first place."

I got home just fine and with daylight still out, albeit drunk as shit. Later Adam caught me passed the hell out on the couch at 9pm asking me if that was how I was spending my birthday.

I told him I was still drunk and that was exactly where I was supposed to be at that exact moment.

Cheers to 31. Don’t take the D (train).