Tuesday, May 28, 2013

The False Advertising Incident

I was, in the nicest terms possible, a challenging child to raise. I was sarcastic. A know-it-all. Argumentative. Obnoxious. Socially awkward. And I had anger issues because of the maternal abandonment. Not a fun combo for sure.  At least not for my grandmother.

In all honesty, it's probably a legitimate miracle I made it to adulthood. Lord knows she had reason to kill me on numerous occasions.

One such occasion revolves around me and an ace comb.

For those of you who do not know my grandma, she has short hair. She has had short hair as long as I've been alive. After washing her hair she always uses an ace comb to comb out her hair before she blow dries it. For those of you who don't know what an ace comb is, because I didn't know it was called that until a few days ago, it's one of those plain, black (mostly) plastic combs that has two different sides, one having really thin teeth and the other side having larger teeth.

Anyway, one day (I think it was my junior year of high school) I was in the bathroom looking for band-aids. I happened upon her comb, this one was navy blue, and printed on the side was the word UNBREAKABLE.

Immediately my attention was diverted from my quest for band-aids and all of my focus was now on the challenge before me. And yes, I use the word challenge because that is exactly what it was. How could a 7" plastic comb that, admittedly, was fairly pliable be unbreakable? I had to know.

First I started with the fine teeth and snapped a few off with almost no effort. Immediately I was disappointed. When something says that it is unbreakable it should at least put up some effort when one attempts to destroy it.

Next I moved onto the regular teeth. They also snapped off with almost no effort. Unbreakable my ass! This was rapidly turning into one of the least satisfying victories ever!

Finally I decided maybe it had not been referring to the teeth, per se, but the actual comb. So, gripping each side with a thumb and forefinger I applied a light pressure until it was bent almost completely in half and then exerted a minute amount more of pressure and...voila! That comb snapped right in half. An angry toddler could have broken that thing.

Disgusted, I threw the comb and its teeth into the trash, located a band-aid, and went back to the living room where I resumed watching television. It didn't take long for me to forget about the comb, and forgotten it would have remained if it hadn't been for one little thing. Nana.

That night, upon arriving home, she took a bath and washed her hair. Before blow drying her hair, as usual, she attempted to locate the now obliterated comb in the drawer that was its home, and, upon being unable to locate it, came into the living room where I was watching television.

The following conversation took place:

Nana: Katie, have you seen my comb?

Me: Huh? Oh...yeah, it's in the trash.

At that point she returns to the bathroom, since clearly I didn't indicate that the comb was no longer in working condition, and then returns moments later holding her ruined comb.

Nana: What happened to my comb?

Me: I broke it.

Nana: Why?

Me: Because it said UNBREAKABLE on the side. I took it as a challenge and, clearly, it wasn't much of one.

Nana: You what?

Me: You should sue them. That's false advertisement.

Because clearly it was.  If something advertises itself as UNBREAKABLE, but is, in fact, BREAKABLE...that is false advertisement. Is it not?

Nana's parting words were, "For the love of God!" And then she returned to the bathroom and nothing was mentioned about the comb again.

A few days later I was in the bathroom again looking for the nail clippers and there was a new ace comb in the drawer. Sadly, that one did not have UNBREAKABLE stamped on the side. Clearly she had gone to great lengths to find something I would not perceive as a challenge. Good call, Nana...good call!



I wonder how angry my uncle would be if we got a copy of his mugshot and used it for his birthday cake...

That's Right, I Googled It:


Stuck On Repeat:

Holding Onto You by Twenty One Pilots

Who Would Be The "Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner":

In a long pig themed Iron Chef battle - Hannibal Lecter or Jeffrey Dahmer?

Quote Zem On Zat:

Ms. Perky: People perceive you as somewhat...

Kat Stratford: Tempestuous?

Ms. Perky: 'Heinous bitch' is the term used most often.

Hasta La Bye Bye!

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Filter Failure? Not Likely...

It has been a very long while since I last posted and I feel really bad about that.  Truly.  Okay, maybe not really bad.  So sue me.  I guess I just haven't really had anything to say.  Or maybe I've just been too lazy to type up what I've had to say.  Either way, it's been a while.  I really do enjoy this, even if no one reads it, so I'm going to make an effort to post something new at least once a week.  I figure with that goal I'll post about once a month and life will be good.

So - what's new you might be wondering.  Well.  I have a new job.  Actually the second one this year.  We're not going to talk about the hell that was my previous job.  I like the current job, love the new friends I've made, so everything is good on that front.

Had to move back home after 10 years of being on my own.  That sucked.

Not much else is new.  I know...I lead a thrilling life, right?
Don't answer that question.  It was rhetorical.  And if you don't know what rhetorical means you need to stop reading right now and leave.  Seriously.  GO!

Okay, back to what I came here to write about.

So, as some of you know, and most of you don't, I have a friend (and I use that term very loosely) named Mac.  That's not her real name, but that's what I call her because, well...I just do.

Mac is a special kind of a person.  And no, I don't mean "rides the short bus" kind of special.  To phrase it, bluntly, she puts the ho in whore.  And I'm not exaggerating...trust me.

I have known Mac for over 10 years.  I met her during my brief time up at UNR.  We only hung out once or twice, and she's mainly just an internet "friend" that I speak to when I'm online once every month or so.

She tends to overshare...a lot...so I try to limit said contact to 10 minutes or less.  It's like a really long chess match.

So earlier this week I ran to Walmart on my lunch break to get apples.  I went in the back to grab a soda and just as I'd put a ginormous Coke in my basket I hear someone yell my name.  I turn around and it's her.  My insides literally cringed.

Then I get a good look at what she's wearing.  Oh my goes through my head in George Takei's voice.  She has on a very thin white tank top and no bra, so yes, you can see her nipples.  She also has on a very thin pair of white linen capri's with a bright red thong under.  Seriously?  I would've taken a picture for the "People of Walmart" page if I could've done it without raising suspicion or giving her the wrong impression.

I'm standing there, looking wildly around, praying no one else I know is there at that moment and then I say hello to her.  She asks me the usual - you know, "How are you?  How's work?  What's new?" Blah, blah, blahhhhhhhh....

I try to be as vague as possible, not because I care if she knows, but because I'm on a time limit and she can talk for-ev-er!

She happens to look down at my feet while I'm answering one of her questions and she see my "SUPER, AWESOME, AMAZING" Vans that I got for my birthday and she says, "OH! Those are sooooooooo cute!"  And then she just walks over to me and pulls my pant* leg up so she can look at them. *Side note: I was wearing boot cut jeans so the shoes were mostly covered by my pants.

Now, this is important to know.  At least I think it is.  I hate wearing shoes.  HATE IT!  I would go barefoot everywhere if I could...except for public restrooms and locker rooms.  No bueno.  I also don't like socks.  I have issues with my feet being constrained in any form.  To make it bearable for me I wear the craziest socks I can find.  And that day was no exception.

I was wearing white, yellow, and green striped socks.  They're St. Patty's Day socks.  My Vans are blue and purple plaid.  Mac sees my socks, which, admittedly clash horribly with my shoes.  Do I care?  That would be a big, fat, NO!

She looks up at me, back down at my socks, then back up at me and says, "Um, hello, you can't wear stripes and plaid together," in a tone that denotes she thinks I'm an idiot.

Now, I have an averse reaction to people criticizing (the non-constructive variety, of course) what I'm wearing for a multitude of reasons, but I take special offense when said person is dressed like trailer trash.

And I can use the term trailer trash because I spent a good portion of my formative years living in a trailer in Golden Valley.  I would also like it noted that not everyone who lives in a trailer is trailer trash, but you know trailer trash when you see it.  It's a very distinct style.

So, without missing a beat words start pouring out of my mouth before I can run them through my filter, which doesn't happen often despite what everyone else thinks.  I usually run what I'm thinking through a filter before I say it and then I either keep it to myself, or I say "fuck it" and say what I'm thinking no matter who it might offend.

At this point I'm sure you're all wondering what it is that I said, so I'll share it with you because, well, if I didn't then I just wasted x amount of your time and that would just be mean.

Are you guys ready for it?  Okay...

"Yeah, because I'm going to take fashion advice from someone wearing a bright red thong under white pants and a white tank with no bra that's so thin I can see nipples.  Did they give you a day pass off of 4th street?"

Her jaw literally dropped.  Like in the cartoons.

Now, if this was a normal situation...or someone I had patience with and/or liked...the day pass portion of aforementioned comment would never have made it past the filter.  Unless I was drunk.  I don't use the filter when I'm inebriated.

Her response was, "You're not nice."

So I responded with what I always respond with when someone says that to me and I said, " Whoever told you I was nice, well, they lied to you."  And then I walked off.

Now, I'm sure those of you that know me, are laughing hysterically.  And I am beyond pleased I could make you laugh.  I'm also pretty sure that those of you who don't know me are thinking I'm a giant bitch.  I assure you that I'm not...for the most part.  There are just some things that I lose my temper over, and where Mac is concerned, I lose my temper a lot because she is one of those people you really want to get rid of, but nothing you say or do makes them stay away forever.

So if you have any ideas...any ideas at all on what I can do to make her go far, far away - please post them below.



Is Nicolas Cage really as crazy as he seems?  Or is he just that good of an actor?

That's Right, I Googled It:

Ninja Kangaroos

Stuck On Repeat:

Take A Walk by Passion Pit

Who Would Be The "Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner":

In a contest of inanity - Eric Idle or John Cleese?

Quote Zem On Zat:

Rod Kimble: I used to be legit.  I was too legit.  I was too legit to quit.  But now I'm not legit.  I'm unlegit.  And for that reason, I must quit.

Hasta La Bye Bye!

Thursday, January 6, 2011

The Screen Door Incident

You know...some days I wonder why I bother chewing through the leather straps.

Today was all planned out. I was going to run some errands, drop by and see some friends, and go to the movies with my grandma. Did that actually happen? NO! Here's why...

About two months ago I noticed there was an issue with my screen door that goes out onto my balcony. I rarely go out on my balcony, I've been out there maybe twenty to twenty-five times in the three and a half years I've lived in my apartment.

I figured it was just off its track and I would deal with it when it was light out and I could see what the problem was.

My friend Cheyenne was over a couple weeks after I noticed the problem, and having the nasty habit of smoking that she does, she used the balcony a few times. She noticed the problem as well and we decided to try and fix it. We took the screen door off and flipped it over and I noticed that the back wheel that slides along the track was stuck. I tried to pry it out and we put it back on and it didn't fix the problem. We decided to leave it alone since there was nothing we could do and the next morning I called the office and asked them to come and take a look at it.

Fast forward to today. After a night of hardly any sleep I get up early, get ready, leave to go to an interview, come back to change and get the stuff I need and am virtually walking out the door when maintenance shows up. I had completely forgotten about the busted screen and today was not the day for them to look at it. Despite having plans and places to go I figured they would look at it, see what I saw, replace the screen door, and be on their merry way. Why oh why did I listen to that little voice of reason that lives inside of me?!?!

I make a u-turn up the stairs and we all head back up to my apartment. They head straight for the balcony and go outside to look at the screen door. For the next thirty minutes they take turns opening the screen door from the inside and outside and then pull it off the track and futz with the stuck wheel before putting it back on the track and repeating aforementioned process.

I tell them that they should just replace the screen door but that apparently is logical and they do not seem to understand earth logic, so they tell me they need to go and get some tools and that they'll be right back.

I ask them to hurry because I have things to do and I am not comfortable leaving them alone in my apartment and they leave.

Forty-five minutes later they return with a screwdriver, that's it...a fraking screwdriver.

Now, I'm not known for my patience, but I try...really hard...and after a night of no sleep and them already wrecking the first part of my day I should be considered a saint for not losing my cool right then.

They go back out on the balcony and proceed to fuck with the little stuck wheel for the next forty-five minutes. They pop the wheel out, put it back on the track, and take turns opening and closing the door from the inside and outside.

I am not amused at this point. Who the hell leaves for forty-five minutes and comes back with just a screwdriver?!?!?! SERIOUSLY!!!

It's at this point I start muttering audibly to myself about what fucking idiots they are that what they're doing is the definition of insanity, and aloud I comment on them replacing the damn door again.

That's when they decide to ask me what *I've* done to the door. I inform them, with my "I'm speaking very slowly and calmly so I don't kill you right now" voice, that I have done nothing to the door because I don't go out on the balcony.

For good measure they decide to try and pry the wheel out again, which they do, and guess what happens? That's right...it sticks...AGAIN!

Now here's when they seem to realize that their screwdriver idea is a failure and they inform me that they need a different tool and that they'll be right back. Yeah fucking right...

Half an hour passes before their return and they don't have a new screen door with them. No, this time they've brought a different screwdriver. :::facepalm::: Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?

Now...now I'm mad. So I do what any sane, rational, intelligent person would do. I stabbed them to death with a butcher knife. Just kidding. I called the office.

The ever so helpful office lackey (read condescending bitch) informs me that there are certain "tricks" to fixing a screen door and that the maintenance guys have to try everything before they can justify replacing it. I CALL BULLSHIT!!!

I hang up the phone and resign myself to the fact that my day is screwed while the maintenance morons repeat the process of using a screwdriver to pop the wheel out, put the door back on the track, and then open and close the door repeatedly for an hour before deciding that a screwdriver is not the answer.

The leave...again...this time for an hour...and come back with...wait for it...

Wait for it...

PLIERS! :::insert audible string of profanity here:::

Now, I can do one of three things. I can take the high road and tell them that I need to leave and that they'll have to come back another day...two months from now. I can fly into a homicidal rage and stab them to death with one of the screwdrivers. Or I can take the immature road and employ psychological warfare against them.

I took the immature road. Cue Carl Douglas because it's Kung Fu Fighting time.

I'm not sure if they were getting frustrated at this point or if the psychological warfare was beginning to work because they gave up after fifteen minutes with the pliers. This time they left for twenty minutes and returned with an entire bag of tools. Wouldn't that have made sense to begin with?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

It was then that I decided I had to get drastic. I went into my room, hopped onto my computer, and I downloaded the worst, most annoying, most aggravating, most obnoxious music I could think of. POLKA!

Once that was done I loaded it onto my iPod, turned off Carl Douglas, and cranked the polka tunes. Alas, after eighty minutes of it my ears were starting to bleed and it didn't seem to bother the maintenance morons so I gave up and turned it off.

At this point it's 4:30 in the afternoon and all I've managed to accomplish today is making my ears bleed. Go me!

Seeing as the office closes at 5:00 I asked the maintenance morons if they were close to being finished or if they had finally admitted defeat (I'm pretty sure at this juncture in time that they've jacked up the screen door more than it already was) and would be bringing me a new screen door and they inform me that if they can't get it solved tonight they'll come back tomorrow.

Now I've reached that point where if I had a screwdriver near me I probably would have picked it up and plunged it into the closest maintenance moron's neck, but luckily for me there wasn't one in reach.

I inform them that they've already ruined one day of my life with their idiocy and that they will not ruin another. Either they fix it before they go or Monday they bring me a new screen door.

At 6:00 they realized they are not the skilled handygods they thought themselves to be and left, with their bag of tools and their proverbial tails between their legs.

I better get a new screen door on Monday or there will be blood. I'm just sayin'...



My apartment could double as an ice box right now.

That's Right, I Googled It:

How to play the bloody murder game.

Stuck On Repeat:

Kung Fu Fighting by Carl Douglas

Who Would Be The "Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner":

In a timed battle to destroy as much of NYC as possible - Stay Puft Marshmallow Man or Mr. Kool-Aid?

Quote Zem On Zat:

Jerry: People, please refrain from being stupid. You're wasting my bullets.

Hasta La Bye Bye!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Introducing Bijou...The Wonder Shark!

Now that I've introduced myself I should introduce my lovable, annoying, adorable, obnoxious, darling, so fun to torment cat Bijou.

Bijou is a Maine Coon. She will be 11-years-old on February 13th of this year. I've had her for almost ten years and she is a handful...and that's putting it nicely.

Bij has a very unique personality in that she thinks she's a person and that may have to do with the fact that I talk to her like she's one. She loves to play with feathers, she has a penchant for chewing on plastic, she loves to talk on the phone to my grandma, and she has the oddest sleeping positions known to man.

Her name is French for jewel and I really should have changed her name to Diable instead because she's a little devil.

Now that I've introduced you to Bijou I would like to share with you her own not so secret shame. Pictures of her in her shark costume.

Now that you have witnessed her shame I feel I should explain. I love sharks...a lot. I got a giant three foot stuffed shark, which you can see in the bottom five photos, after my birthday in June. Bij loves Neptune (the stuffed shark). She sleeps with him, grooms him, and gets really angry if I touch him. I got the idea to dress her up like a shark so that their love affair wasn't as scandalous. And it was another way to torment her.

Now that I've dressed her up as a shark there are a lot of other things I'd like to dress her up as so I'm thinking of starting a feature called Bijou's Dress Up Corner. Her next costume is going to be either a bumble bee, a ladybug, or a ballerina. I'm leaning towards ballerina because I think Bijou would look simply divine (read hysterical) in a tutu. If you have an opinion on what you would like to see her in next please comment below.

So now you've met the Bij.



I'm making vodka infused gummi bears.

That's Right, I Googled It:

Letters from psychos.

Stuck On Repeat:

Percussion Gun by White Rabbits

Who Would Be The "Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner":

In a battle of wits - Harry Dunne or Lloyd Christmas?

Quote Zem On Zat:

Foster: Ain't so funny meow, is it?

Hasta La Bye Bye!

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Welcome To My Madness

My incidental life is my first attempt at blogging…so be kind…or I'll cut you. Kidding, just kidding. Maybe.

My name is Kate and I am 28 years-old. I was born and raised in northern Nevada where I currently live. I am a full-time college student, an expert in the ancient art of sarcasm, a collector of the inane, and entirely too smart for my own good.

I’ve contemplated starting a blog several times and I’m not really sure why I decided to start it now other than having a creative outlet to express my thoughts, feelings, and, in general, have a public forum to bitch about whatever is irking me at the moment.

In addition to the aforementioned public bitching forum I’ll also be using this blog for a variety of other reasons…everything from sharing “incidents” that, more often than not, are of a hilarious nature to movie reviews to anything that tickles my twisted fancy.

So what do you need to know about me? Well, there’s not really much to tell. I was raised by my grandmother from the age of six on, I am single, I have a cat that I love to torment (by dressing up in a shark costume and singing to – not at the same time), and I come from an extremely dysfunctional family.

I love music more than almost anything…my dysfunctional family only winning by a slight margin. I love my dysfunctional family…maybe because they’re dysfunctional. I love my friends like a prisoner loves a conjugal visit…that’s real love, people. I love horror movies…especially the bad ones. I love sharks…and dream of free swimming with a great white shark one day. And I love my cat Bijou…or maybe it’s the tormenting I love – I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

So that’s me…in a nutshell. Keep coming back to learn more and I’ll try not to disappoint. :)

Also, at the bottom of every blog you’ll find the same five features – “Randomness,” “That’s Right, I Googled It,” “Stuck On Repeat,” “Who Would Be The ‘Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner’,” and “Quote Zem On Zat”.




I want to learn how to hack an electronic road sign to make it read ZOMBIES AHEAD!

That’s Right, I Googled It:

Do dolphins sneeze?

Stuck On Repeat:

MoneyGrabber by Fitz & The Tantrums

Who Would Be The “Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner”:

In a fight to the death over the last bottle of booze on earth - my mom or yours?

Quote Zem On Zat:

Daggett: I know my situation is rather unique.

Norbert: The word is psychotic.

Hasta La Bye Bye!