Hitchcock Knows Best

As per usual, I'd like to begin today with a letter to September:

Dear September,

I am so glad this is the last day of you. You have done nothing but disappoint me and play mind games. Are you bipolar or something? You're hot then you're cold.

You're yes and you're no. I can't figure you out.

Maybe next year, if you change, we can reexamine our relationship. For now, you are dead to me.

xoxo,
Kaitlin



Why would I break up with September in such a public arena?

Because it's approximately 9000 degrees outside even though HEB started selling pumpkins already. And even though the weather is not getting in the mood for fall, fate and irony certainly are. More specifically, in the mood for Halloween.

When I was walking back from the gym, I started to get really uncomfortable as I heard the unmistakable screech of a flock of blackbirds hidden among the trees.

Now, internet, it may be too early in our relationship to divulge this tidbit, but I'm going to go there:

I'm afraid of birds. That's ornithophobia for all you academic types. Why yes, I did just google fear of birds to get that word! I haven't been formally diagnosed by a psychiatrist, although many would argue I should consult one. For several reasons, such as that I was late to the gym today because I had to step on every leaf in my path, on the offchance it would give that satisfying crunch...

Anyway, back to my ornithophobia. Because this is a rare (and stupid) condition, I will elaborate on my symptoms. No, really, I want to.

I am not afraid of small birds like little swallows and sparrows and whatnot. I'm not going to e their best friend, but I'm not afraid of them. The exception is the hummingbird, because I fear I will hear a rustling and in the next instant, a sharp, needle-like beak will peirce my eardrum and the hummingbird will suck my brains out like that sweet nectar.

I am nothing if not realistic.

I am comforted by the thought that I could probably thump a hummingbird away before it could lacerate my eardrum. Anyway, I'm really just afraid of big birds. Not to be confused with Big Bird. He's cool.

When I hear a bird chirp or call or squeal or screech I get goosebumps on the back of my neck. And then I start to be really afraid that the bird will attack me. I JUST KNOW that the evil bird will peck either my eardrum (again with the ears...) or the little nob at the base of your neck in the back. Like where your spine starts. It's irrational, it's terrible, it makes me walk crazier than when I step on every leaf.

So I was walking home and there was literally a FLOCK of birds in the trees on the side of the street I was on. I am not ashamed to say that I stepped in front of a car to get out of the war path.

Birds have flown into my head/face multiple times. This is not completely unfounded.

And no, I have not seen The Birds and I NEVER will. Why would I willingly submerge myself in my deepest fear without professional aid? The original Psycho scared me to death and Rear Window used to creep me out when I was younger. Hitchcock knows how to scare me WITHOUT my greatest fear.

So, yes, that is the only Hitchcock I will never see.

You like me! You really like me!

I'm afraid I have nothing interesting to talk about today.

"But Kaitlin", you ask, "how is that any different from any other post?"

Well, it's not. Except that I'm acknowledging it. And they say acknowledging you have a problem is the first step. I don't know what it's a step towards, but apparently I'm on a journey. I hope I packed clean underwear.

And that is a tangent that no one needed to experience.

I suppose I will just beguile you all with a list of my random thoughts. And by you all I mean me.

1. One of my best friends is coming to visit me (and other people) this weekend. I'm super excited. We are going to all the best (and by best I mean tastiest) places in Austin. One of the things we're doing is seeing Paranormal Activity. It's apparently the new Blair Witch Project and the scariest movie ever and blah blah blah. I am equal parts excited and terrified.

Scary movies and I have an awkward, sadistic relationship. The last scary movie I saw was Guillermo del Toro's The Orphanage and I watched it alone and it truly wasn't that scary. I clearly survived. The movie before that was The Strangers and it almost killed me. Like I went into dry heaves in the movie theatre.

Now, I am a STRONG believer in movie-watching ambiance. A scary movie in the theatre will ALWAYS be scarier than watching it in your dorm room. Or in sunlight. The people you watch horror films with are also very important. I hate watching with cynical people or with people who think you're lame if you get scared (unless it's a truly un-scary movie, like the remake of Psycho. You just don't touch Hitchcock, people ).

Anyway, The Strangers scarred me for life and if you don't think that movie is at least a little scary, then you need to watch it in the theatre with better people and A HUMAN SOUL. I saw it with my friend Rebekah and I made her sleep over with me for the next two nights. I am still afraid to look out windows at night and when I hear a knock on the door, my heart falls into my feet and my mouth goes dry. Even when I'm expecting the pizza man. AND I WILL NEVER, EVER STAY IN A PLACE WITH NO PEEPHOLE ON THE FRONT DOOR.

Hmmmhmmmm.

That was a long rambling way of saying that I may or may not survive this weekend.

2. I won an auction on eBay!!! I'd like to thank the academy... But I'd also like to point out how terrible I am in waiting for something to arrive in the mail. I will also be very upset if I die of fright before my beautiful purchase gets delivered.


3. My soul and body aches for Christmas so badly that I could cry just by thinking of the cheeriness and the chilliness and (woah, chilliness is a word...) a time in life when I don't have to worry about Michael Myers, paranormal activity, or strangers.

Because at Christmastime, there's no such thing as strangers!

Until they torture you to death and steal your eBay purchase. Then you can safely assume you didn't know them very well after all.

Why is Rachel Ray telling me a drunk story about her mother?

I am watching the Food Network (as per usual) and Rachel Ray's 30 Minute Meals was just on. She was making a Limoncello Tart and it looked AMAZING. However, halfway through she launches on this story about her first "group" date with her now-husband, where her mom got drunk off of Limoncello (who brings their mom on a date?) and now RR's husband calls RR's mom "Mamacello".

I'm sorry I just wasted a minute of your life. That was definitely the abridged version, too.

But hey, if you've come this far, you might as well waste a couple of more minutes in your life, because it's not like you have important things to do like study or support your family or end world hunger. All those things I don't do.

Anyway, The huge wound on my knee is healing alright. My hand wound, however is festering. I realized yesterday that it was infected due to my keen medical knowledge. And the fact that it hurt really bad, was red in the skin around the wound, oh yeah, and had yellow pus-like material oozing out when I removed the band-aid. (Bet you don't want that Limoncello Tart anymore, eh?)

So I headed to HEB for the quaint grocery selection of:
Ice Cream
Something for Dinner
Something to heal the raging infection coursing through my veins

Piece of cake. Or, you, know, Limoncello Tart.

Anwyay, I stood in the First Aide aisle in HEB, buying hydrogen peroxide, iodine, guaze strips, this weird waterproof medical tape, epsom salts (to soak my hand in. I had no idea it had laxative properties. I was extremely embarrassed at the register, as I imagined the cashier thought I had ALL kinds of issues.), and a first aide kit. Because I should really not have to buy band-aids when I'm already bleeding.

Plus, if I ever go camping like the kids on the front, I'll be totally prepared for complete isolation, starvation and frostbite!!! There's even a page in the little first aide booklet that talks about what to do if part of you gets accidentally amputated. My response would be to cry, faint, and beg God to take me home; but apparently you're supposed to seal the wayward limb in a waterproof bag and put it on ice, making sure it doesn't get wet or freeze. (Hey, you actually learned something by reading my blog today! 5 Gold Stars!)

...Gross.

I felt so grown up buying things like hydrogen peroxide (3% concentration, for first aide purposes. I'm not going blonde.) I have an injury, I identified it as infected, I bought the appropriate materials, and treated myself. I'm so independent!

I was hit with a big wave of nostalgia as I poured the hydrogen peroxide on my knee. (Man I wish I knew the chemical symbols of Hydrogen Peroxide so that I didn't have to keep typing the whole name. HPe0. Or something.) I distinctly remember the brown HPe0 bottle in my mom's linen closet, remember her treating me and helping me heal wounds with it. And here I am doing it myself.

I guess I'm not a little girl anymore.

Except that I bought batman bandaids and still watch Nickelodeon.

A Sincere Apology

Dear September,

I'm sorry if I've offended you.

If you feel like being November, you go ahead and be November.

If you feel like being April... Don't.

xoxo, Kaitlin

Now that that's taken care of, I'd like to share with you the concluding chapter of THE CURSE OF THE WORLD'S WORST UMBRELLA!!! (I know, you're only excited because I said this was the conclusion.)

Friday morning, after sleeping in and eating breakfast I decided that after my workout I would go sell back some of my old textbooks. So I packed up my huge biology book and two others I would never use again and set out for the gym. The books were really heavy and slowed my pace somewhat, but I was still making good time, despite the fact that my feet were hurting due to the fact that my crappy tennis shoes give me little to no arch support.

Anyways, I was walking along when a wayward wind or maybe the CURSE of my umbrella caused me to step off of the sidewalk. My will was strong, however, and I fought valiantly, therefore causing only half of my foot to fall on the grass. That caused the awkward ankle-wobble maneuver that toddlers and inexperienced girls walking in heels do often.

The ankle-wobble was fine. I caught myself and pulled myself upright with dexterity that was frankly quite ninja-esque. What I didn't count on was the 90 lbs of books in my backpack that would take me down with them as they gained momentum. In a flash I was on the ground, half of me in the soft grass, the other half splayed on the cobblestone sidewalk (OF DOOM).

I looked down and noticed that there was a chunk of my hand missing that was roughly the size of one of our miniature cobblestones as well as a tiny chunk of my thumb that had been scraped away. Both began to bleed. I then noticed that my knee was stinging really bad, but by that point I had been sitting in the grass, staring at my hands for about 10 seconds, watched the whole time by a nearby construction worker.

So I got up and continued walking to the gym, bleeding more and more. When I got there, I showed my injuries to my trainer, H, and she was prepared with bandaids. She took me into the bathroom and cleaned me up (further solidifying the fact that I was 5) and we went on with our workout.

Problem solved... Not. My knee? Is ugly. It's so bad, There is a bruise roughly the size of a softball and in the middle of that softball is another missing chunk of my body that is lying somewhere on the cobblestone sidewalk. I took pictures of my injuries, but when I showed my best friend my injuries via video-chat, he practically cried at how gross and hideous they are. Therefore I will not be posting pictures, but have them on-hand incase Christian Hill calls me and tells me I can sue the school.

Saturday dawned a much happier (if hotter) day, and with I slight limp I set out for today's adventures. In a nutshell (or in a blog), today could be summarized as: Went shopping with Rebekah. Ate lunch with Rebekah. Went shopping with Kathryn, Ate dinner with Kathryn.

But of course other things happened, which I will elaboratie upon later. Right now I'm going to limp to bed, slather on some neosporin and try not to let the covers touch the raw, sensitive skin of my chunked knee.

I Have Guacamole in my Hair (And other classy situations!)

I have been on a mexican food kick recently and today was no exception. I skipped a class (for shame!) to write a paper that was due and instead of maximizing the 1 and 1/2 hours I had to write, I got on facebook and read blogs and messed around until I had 45 minutes left to write 2 pages.

And then I made nachos. And then I had about 30 minutes to write my paper and eat a steaming plate of nachos. I tried to do both at once... in my bed. This resulted in the most crumb-covered sheets you've ever seen and me getting guacamole in my hair (which I found in class...) and sour cream on my shirt. I am nothing if not a classy, dignified lady with perfect time management skills.

And I forgot to mention last night/this morning one of the most annoying things about THE WORST UMBRELLA IN THE WORLD (Oh, yes, there's more. Just when you thought I'd never bore you again, I bring it back into the spotlight. This is the gift that keeps on giving, my friends). When the umbrella becomes annoyed with staying in the traditional right-side-out position, it catches every single bit of wind and tries to turn inside out. I am diligent in fighting this umbrella urge and 14/15 times I prevent it from turning inside out. But in the prevention, the umbrealla SNAPS back into position, thusly flicking water at my face. Every. Time.

I hate that umbrella. And that my hair smells like Los Cucos.

Dear September, You are not November. Xoxo Kaitlin

Because I am considered the "kid genius" of the meteorology profession by my most esteemed colleagues (my toes and my A/C), I've decided to give you my professional opinion concerning the weather.

This is Texas' version of California's June Gloom. I've dubbed it the September Doldrums. (My thesis concerning the matter should be published... never.) It feels like November outside but without the cheeriness of the holidays that is so interconnected with cold weather for me. I'm not sure how to feel about this. On one hand I'm happy I no longer have to subject the people on campus to the sight of me in shorts, sweating with my 50 lb backpack walking approximately 50 of our 40 acre campus... barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways (okay, I'll retire that expression now). But on the other hand, it's been raining and cold for approximately all of a week (That is a mathematical statistic. The source is in my thesis) but without the cheeriness and encouragement that the holiday season instills in me.

This puts me in such marvelous situations as trying to find my cool-weather work-out clothes which have magically shrunk so that they are the world's most awkward high-waters, forcing me to roll them into the world's most awkward capris. Then I had to throw on a shirt that didn't match, my pink and gray tennis shoes and my WB sweatshirt (which is the most comfortable sweatshirt ever and roughly the color of prison clothes) and Hey! I'm good to go! And so sexy. Add THE WORST UMBRELLA IN THE UNIVERSE and you've got yourself a prime catch. Remember, gentlemen, I'm single!

But I digress. Back to my umbrella issue, I literally have to fight it with every single gust of wind. I'm pretty sure if I even walk too quickly, it turns inside out. The very beating of a hummingbird's wings could upset this sissy umbrella. And if a raindrop hits exactly on the middle of the top, the raindrop falls through a hole that has appeared. That's convenient. Anyway, it's the only brolly I have (where did the others go??) so I'm stuck with it until I can make my way over to Target.

And I can't make my way over to Target because I have a ginormous sheet of glass in my car that I can't move by myself but no one is stepping up to the plate to help me move it so there it sits. I'm just paranoid it's going to shatter/kill someone/get me a ticket because it can't be safe driving with a giant sheet of glass unsecured in your back seat. Just guessing. So after one terrifying trip to HEB (speed bumps), there has been no more driving adventures for Kaitlin and Glassy.

And I once again digress...

Back to my umbrella. Which is really a boring story in and of itself, so I'm not sure how this transformed into a post about my umbrella. I must have depleted my vast tank of meteorology information. Which I could have used as I was walking back from Jester to my apartment. (Nice segue!) As I was fighting the evil spokes (?) of my umbrella, I swear, they took a life of their own and turned invisible or something because a guy straight up walked into my umbrella. With his face. It was tragic, but he avoided shish-kabobing his eye. Which was one of the best parts of my day.

So I made it safely the last couple blocks toward my apartment and then somewhere in the last block... the bottom of my umbrella fell off. The knob thing where you hold it and where the wrist strap is attached. I didn't notice it until I had passed it otherwise I would have picked it up. It just fell off and get this: it screws on. I DO NOT understand how this happened but I am starting to think that this umbrella is cursed and that by packing it in my backpack every day I might actually be bringing a pox on the university.

Or, you know, swine flu.

Why aren't there more songs concerning solfeggio?

So I just (and by just I mean 4 hours ago...) got back from day 1 of our Men&Women's Chorus "Retreat". I'm not sure why they chose to call it a "Retreat" when it's in the music school. On campus. I mean, sure it takes me 30 minutes to walk in the increasingly heavy rain, clutching ~42 cookies in one hand, the WORLD'S WORST UMBRELLA in the other, fighting ever little gust of wind... barefoot, in the snow, uphill both ways... but that's no reason to call it a "Retreat". I'm even less sure why they marketed the "Retreat" as a social between M&WC when the first thing we did was sing warm ups... without talking to each other. Then we arranged ourselves alphabetically according to first name... without talking, using only sign language. It really helped us build our sound as a choir.

Then we split up, men in one room, women in another and worked on our respective music selections. Then we had dinner "together," meaning the girls sat together and the boys sat together on the other side of the room. Then we split back up. Then we came back "together" for dessert. Then we left. I feel like I know each and every member of the choir SO well.

Alright, I'm being a bit cynical. Because something marvelous DID happen at dinner. I noticed that below the noise of ~100 singers talking and eating, there was a song from Wicked being played. I glanced around and saw a man on the piano and a girl quietly singing beside him. I kept my eye on the pair, unsure of whether or not I could join in. Then Popular started up and I made a bee-line to the group, where two other girls and a couple of guys were now gathered. We sang. I sang loudly because, ya'll, that's my JAM. More people came, some to watch (I love impromptu performances that prove I am, indeed, cooler than the rest of these people) some to sing along. Song after song, we grew. For Good, A Whole New World, Colors of the Wind, I Just Can't Wait to be King, Hakkuna Mattata... We covered all the basics. And by basics, I mean the most amazing songs EVER.

Eventually we were broken up by one of our directors (RUDE.) but we vowed to get to The Little Mermaid tomorrow morning. I can't wait. That was truly the most fun I've had in a long time and I am completely obsessed with choir again. OBSESSED. And I met some of the coolest girls! Siiiiiigh... that's not the first time something magical has happened around a piano.

Regarding the cookies, they were a huge success and I'm pretty sure they made me more friends than my effervescent charm and sparkling wit. Which is fine by me! And I remembered to take pictures when I was almost finished so I'll post the few I got tomorrow as well as a link to the recipe. They are SO GOOD. Definitely going in the repertoire of special goodies.

And now, dear friends (/empty, desolate Internet), I must to bed, for I have another 30-minute hike into the wilderness for leg two of our "Retreat" tomorrow, and I have to leave in 6 and 3/4 hours.

Fair morrow!

Who washed Washington's white woolen underwear when Washington's washer-woman went west?

Now that, my friends, is a pertinent question in today's political landscape. I was surprised President Obama didn't address this issue in his State of the Union address.

Okay, I lied. It's an old choir warm up I used to sing, dating back to ye olde junior high choir. The only thing squeakier than a junior high choir member is the one standing next to him. Why am I talking about choir at all?

This semester I am in the Women's Chorus at UT and I am 10000000% in love with it. We are singing the most beautiful songs... EVER. I've always had a penchant for treble choirs. I'm not sure why, but in my experience, the closer the harmonies, the more beautiful. The exception being "Ecco Mormorar L'onde" which the mixed choir sang my senior year of high school. That is arguably my favorite piece of choral music... ever.

Anyways, this is all an incredibly round-about way of saying that we're having a choir social/get together/retreat/meet and greet/smell each other's feet weekend. We women of the Women's chorus are to provide dessert and I just so happened to volunteer to bake cookies.

I've narrowed it down to three choices and am going to make two. I think I know the two I'm going to make, but I'm going to take all 3 recipes with me to the store tomorrow in case I run into an ingredient snafu. (P.S. The word "snafu" does NOT get used enough.) I will post pictures tomorrow as well as my reviews of the goods tomorrow. The recipes all come from the Patron Saint of Buttery Goodness: Ms. Paula Deen, ya'll!!!

I can't wait! It's been far too long since I've baked cookies.

I DECLARE BANKRUPTCYYYYY!!!!!

Alright, so I'm not bankrupt. And if I were and wished to declare it, yelling it wouldn't accomplish anything; something I learned from Michael Scott, Regional Manager of Dunder Mifflin: Scranton. (AKA The Office for anyone out there with a life.) I'm actually quite far from bankruptcy. Well, as far as the next college student, anyway. I'm just slowly (okay, one Target trip at a time) working my way through my savings and that makes me nervous. Mostly because then I won't have enough money to splurge on the Day After Thanksgiving sales racks... but I digress.

I have come to the conclusion that I should get a job. I have also come to the conclusion that I'm taking 13 hours of upper division coursework and have a @#$^-ton of reading to complete on any given day. And so I've been spending my time (instead of studying or interviewing for an actual job, of course) researching "Get Rich Quick" scams. And alas, they are almost all scams. And by almost all I mean every last one of them. EXCEPT for the Amazon Mechanical Turk program, where I can do simple, menial tasks and get paid $0.05 and up! Please, hold your applause. I'm not six years old. $0.05 is only half as exciting as it was when I was six. Although, let's be honest here, when I was six I thought a penny was the most valuable coin because it was the closest to gold and it was bigger than the dime...

*Tangent: Skip ahead if you don't care to read my thoughts on American coinage.
What the heck is up with our coins? One copper coin and three (minus specialty pieces like the fidycent piece or the silver dollar)sliver ones. Being over the age of six, I can understand that copper is less valuable than silver. And in a similar vein, I could understand if the copper coin was bigger than the closest valued silver coin, because you could (excuse the expression) get more bang for your buck with copper. BUT I cannot, will not, should not have to understand and accept why the second biggest coin in our money system is the nickel which is the second smallest in monetary value. Why waste the silver on a 5 cent piece? I don't understand! Simply switch the dime and the nickel sizes and my life would be that much more complete. WHO MADE THIS DECISION?!?????

End Tangent.*

Anyways, when all my "Work from Home and be a Pajama Kabajillionaire!" schemes proved to be just schemes, I turned my sights on good, honest work: Nannying. I registered with several Nanny agencies only to begin filling out my profile and get to a section that said "List your most recent 3 professional childcare experiences". This proved a problem since I've only done light babysitting and helped to raise my brother. And then I would get angry because #1) You couldn't have told me I'd need references IN THE BEGINNING and #2) How the heck am I supposed to break into the Nannying industry? and #3) Why, o why, am I trying to break into the Nannying industry?

And so here I sit, jobless, watching The Golden Girls which, quite honestly, is not a poor existence... for a ninety-year-old great-grandmother. So I've decided to put myself on a budget. Confessions of a Shopaholic-style. Except for my wardrobe has a lot more Target Brand and a lot less Fendi.

And there lies my new project: Healthy, happy living on a budget. And for day one, I went to Target and promptly bought a $30.00 dress...

Well, here's to tomorrow: May my mistakes not repeat themselves!