People my Partner wants to Punch in the Face. *A Fluff Piece.

On the whole, I like to think that people are pretty good. But sometimes the week of May 16th, 2015 happens, and you find yourself in close proximity with many many assholes. 

Persons 1 and 2: Edmund and Griselda. *probably not their real names

Last Sunday, my partner, Mags, and I went to see Book Of Mormon (hysterical and highly recommended by the way). I literally ran from my coffee shop to meet them outside the theatre and we found our seats. As these things never start on time, we had a good 15 minutes to chat and check out the programs. We were trying to figure out exactly how "limited" our "limited view" seats were when we overheard a strange conversation of flamboyant and theatrical tone behind us. It went something like this: 

Edmund: Darling, did you bring the chiffon? One simply MUST have chiffon when attending the theatre

Griselda: Oh my love, I left it at home, I thought YOU brought the chiffon, YOU were in charge of bringing the chiffon to the theatre

Ed: No no my love it was YOU with the chiffon, I was to arrange for the buttered chicken 

Griz: Ugh you've ruined everything now we have two buttered chickens and no chiffon! All is lost!

They had variations of this conversation starting from the beginning, changing a few words around, embellishing as they found appropriate. Mags and I leaned in to try to figure out what was happening. The couple was conversing at full volume, so it was easy to overhear. I whispered, "they  have to be rehearsing a scene." Because who the hell has this same meaningless conversation over and over with gratuitous inflection unless they are frantically trying to get their act together for a rehearsal later that evening. Mags, being a dancer, says, "That is completely and utterly ridiculous, who would do that?"

I can't tell you how many times I have recited entire monologues on a bus headed to an audition. This seemed perfectly plausible to me. 

Then it took a turn. Ed turned to Griz and said: "You know, lesbians really should control their acne." 

I know very few 20 somethings who actually got rid of their acne in their late teens. Mags got wide eyed and I quickly surveyed the scene looking for two acne ridden lesbians, perhaps outside of earshot of this weirdo couple behind us. Then I remembered that we were at a musical and therefore definitely the only two queers in attendance. They continued: 

Griz: You're absolutely right dahling, it is quite a problem

Ed: Do you think we ought to suggest treatment? 

Griz: That sounds like a splendid idea my love, what would you suggest?

Ed: Well, as we know, salicylic acid did wonders for my complexion, I wonder if they haven't tried that yet.

Again, they would start this conversation over and over, sometimes incorporating the chicken and chiffon bit. Having survived late elementary and middle school covered in zits, I was more enraptured in what was happening than I was offended their opinions of my personal hygiene. It was hands down the weirdest thing I've experienced in the theatre, and I've been to a whole lot of festivals so this is really saying something

Mags however, does not take shit from anyone. Including shit coming from the mouths of certifiable psychopaths. They turn to me and say, "What the fuck is happening, I'm going to say something!" I was like, "Whooooh babe hold on." Partially because this little part of me wanted to see how far they would take it. Also, you never know when Book of Mormon will be back in Chicago (said no one ever) and we would have to deal with confronting the assholes behind us.

After listening for another minute, Mags turns to me and says, "I want to punch him in the face, I'm going to say something." Fine, you gutsy amazing person, fine.

So Mags turns to the couple and is says, "I couldn't help but overhear you, do you just deliberately fuck with people?" 

They reply, "Oh no, this is just us. This is just how we are. We're going to have a wonderful buttered chicken dinner after this, you simply must try it." 

Literally where do you go from there? Pretty much nowhere. They continued rattling off acne treatments and we continued to gawk at how unbelievably awful they were being.

Persons Infinity and Beyond: Perpetrators of Jazz Hands Worldwide. 

This is not aimed at anyone in particular. Mags went to Art school. Mags does not like jazz hands. Mags does not like jazz hands regardless of their girlfriend's unadulterated love of Bob Fosse. Girlfriend loves them anyway.  

Persons 3-10 roughly: The Old Gents of Panera 

No less than a week after the whole sapphic acne debacle, Mags and I took a quick jaunt to the burbs. It was nearly 10 and neither of us had eaten so we stopped in a Panera to grab breakfast and coffee. Upon entering, an entire table of old men turned and stared at us. Not just a quick glance, they literally stopped mid meal, turned and gawked. I did the whole "I see you staring" thing and they just kept right on looking. 

I mean, I know. Mags is sexy as hell, but come on guys. Clearly out of your league. 

And rocking the flannel MUCH harder than you. 

Anyway,

The employee who took our orders kept sighing and was real short with us. In his defense, he was on register at a Panera full of assholes, I would hate my life too. But still good sir. We had a very simple order and I would have appreciated getting my black coffee and bagel without a side of side eye thank you very much. 

 

It was inescapable! Midway thorough my bagel a guy glanced at us, kept walking, stopped walking, and stared. WHO DOES DOUBLE TAKES ANYMORE? I just do not understand. 

Sure. The two of us together code as anything but heteronormative. I get that we look different. We don't fulfill the traditional expectations of "masculine" or "feminine" or "young couple." In Morton Grove IL, we look different. And I get that we were potentially the only queers who dared venture out of their car and into your Panera, but that doesn't mean it's okay to stare. Not everyone who lives in the burbs is exposed to diversity. But to the best of my knowledge, everyone is taught manners. We all know it's impolite to stare.

Sometimes I get caught up in the liberal bubble of the neighborhoods I choose to spend time in. I forget that when you leave for the more conservative places of the world if you are not white, middle class, passing for one of two binary genders, hetero and able-bodied, you get looks. I wont delve into the social issues beneath this blog post, but I feel the need to remind people to be polite. If you see someone who looks new and different, just don't be an asshole. If someone makes you uncomfortable because you don't understand their gender or sexuality or race or ability, don't stare. Their life is none of your business. 

And guys, we live in a world where google exists. If you don't understand something, use the googlemachine for something other than funny cat videos and your local news online. I'm not expecting much here. We all live here, lets not make each other feel uncomfortable when all we want to do is eat a damn bagel. 

Clearly I cannot write fluff. I hope this was entertaining, but mostly I hope you google the terms "genderqueer," "gender neutral pronouns" and "heteronormative" if you don't know what they mean. While your at it, search "white privilege." I'm white, Mags is white, this blog was not even kind of about race, but social justice is intersectional. So go learn stuff. 

Okay, we strayed from the path there, found a few similar paths, realized the paths were all connected in the first place, drew out an unnecessary metaphor. Anyway. I want you to google those terms please. And be nice to each other. And have a good day off tomorrow. 

Kaitlyn. 

     

Try as They May, I Cannot be Flirted With.

So I work in a cafe. A ladygay (based on her appearance and my advanced gaydar) walks in.

 She compliments my hair.

My response is "Thanks so much, I try really really hard."

To which she says "Really?! Well it looks really, really good."

Well adorable ladygay, thank you for continuing to speak words to me. I am sorry that I channel the spirit of a overcooked chicken nugget.

Mondays man.

Monday, Monday Monday.

-Tegan and Sara. Wonder humans.

The end.

Kait

Booty Spandex and Street Harassment

HI!

So for those of you who don't know (most of you probably) I've started doing stand up at pH comedy club. Because the people are funny and I'm funny and it's a free way to perform and see a show. It's also exposed me to what a homophobic, sexist, bro-fest comedy can be. So I've begun to think of this as a platform for my feminist/gay agenda. So expect preachy, but let me know if it gets unrelatable.

Also, this is raunchy and inappropriate. So no one forward this to grandma to prove that I am working in my field. Thanks.

Enjoy.

So BIG NEWS guys. This week I got my first pair of compression shorts. My bike seat and I have never felt closer. It's really taken our relationship to the next level.

It's also thrown me into the gauntlet of street harassment my straight looking friends receive on a daily basis. I was working out on the beloved lake shore trail I passed these two white dudes sitting on a bench. As I approached them one of the guys said "Hi" so I said "Hey, cool bike." Naturally his response was, "Look at dat ass, MMmmmmm sexy, I'd lick that, got enough to go around?"

Does that ever work? Has anyone ever been like "Fuck yeah, lets do this, whip it out and show me what we're workin' with." I'm going to start doing that. Because if you think you can make me uncomfortable by bringing attention to my sexy ass in my tight pants then you have another thing coming. I'm a dancer. I spend hours every day in a leotard and I know my ass looks good. Your shouting it at me validates nothing.

With that said, I hear you bench dudes of the lake shore trail. I too appreciate the sexy ladies. Suns out, guns out, buns out, I am in favor of all of this. But I have more tact than you. For example, when I see see an attractive lady out running or at a bar or at the library, instead of harassing her I covertly stare at her until she notices me. At which point I quickly look away and we never see each other again.

(I'm making a joke about lesbian flirting. It's cool, you can laugh)

 And I am still absolutely confident that I get laid more often then those guys on the bench.

The Mother Trucking Navy Pier Bike Detour.

So I have the Loveliest daily commute on the planet. Starting between 4 and 5 am, I hop on my bike and cruise downtown on the Lakeshore trail with the sunrise. Literally the only thing standing in the way of cycling nirvana is the bike detour at Navy Pier. While I can usually bypass 90% of the tourist crowd, I now have to plow through it at 2pm (peak Pier hours). The result is a gradual build up of aggression and fury that could blow at any given moment. So instead of screaming at trail patrons, I come up with ways to torture them until the are moderately to severely annoyed. Here is my list: 

If I get stuck behind one more family strung five abreast takin’ up the whole damn path, I will kick buckets of tiny pebble at them. 

If one more person feels the need to do a sunburst jazz hand motion to my face as I pass them after shouting “left,” I will eat a bean and egg sandwich and fart upwind of them.  

If one more butt-face in a bro tank sprints past me only to slow down in front of me because he can’t keep my pace for more than 100 yards, I will plague him with swarms of gnats every 20 feet until he has so many bugs up his nose and mouth that he will be snotting them out for weeks. 

If one more yippee dog on an extendable leash darts across my path, I will punt that little shart into the lake. 

If I see one more person playing on their phone LITERALLY WALKING INTO ME, I will take his phone, change the language to Russian and program it to only ring in Gregorian chants for the rest of it’s life. 

If I see one more Divvy Biker try to pass a pedestrian by cycling up their ass than shouting “MOVE” at the last second, I will switch out their deodorant for 3 day old congealed bacon grease. 

If I am behind one more Rent-A-Biker who doesn't think that she can get across the Pier Entrance Drive in 16 seconds and decides to wait it out for the next official walk signal, I will replace her Advil with laxatives.

What I’m saying is, we need a bike autobahn. Pass on the left.   

On The Eve of The English Paper

Literally this is my night.

Kait (to myself, just to be clear): Ok girl, you need to write your English paper. Like right now. Shit's due tomorrow.

Ok, lets get some tunes happening *Kate Nash pandora*

KILLING IT WOMAN KILLING IT. Literally I love with all 5 stars ALL OF THESE SONGS

*In my excitement, 1/2 an hour goes by

"Ok dude. Let's refocus."

....after i check facebook.

...and read 3 buzzfeed articles of Valentines

God I'm so single. I mean perpetually... I'm going to message my single friends to eat baked goods and get boozy together

Ok well that's done. I feel better about my life.

Except that I still haven't written my paper.

Ok. Here we go. Got a paragraph done. Boom. THIS SONG. TEGAN AND SARA ACTUALLY COME UP ON THIS STATION MY LIFE IS SO HAPPY. I want to go to karaoke

*another half hour mysteriously passes

So clearly I cannot focus with majestic lady singers in the airwaves. I just need to close out of that tab

*Cue Regina's "Sampson."

*Weeping*

ugh.

Let's post a facebook status about how I'm procrastinating.

Better yet, BLOG cause it kills more time.

And that's where I'm at.

I am Graduating College

And I am super ready to go. Also super terrified, but mostly feeling like my formal education expiration date has passed. Honestly, it's not because I'm sick of going to class or doing homework or seeing my friends every day. I really like all of those things and I fully intend on continuing to read psychology textbooks for fun. I mean, the DSM updates every 10 years or so. I'm set for life.

Funny related story before this goes into vulnerable future thoughts. I've always had this weird drive to be totally self sufficient. (*Disclaimer: I'm definitely not advocating that I have the responsibility or organization necessary for any of this, my procrastination and naivete is proof enough for that) I remember thinking how cool it would be to be like a robot that could just dig inside myself and do everything needed to sustain life without help. In retrospect, this explains a lot about my perpetual state of introverted. Huh.

Funny story though! At some point between the formation of my earliest memories and my 4th birthday, I decided that I would take control of when I ate and drank. I was only toddling that that point, so getting my own food wasn't exactly an option. But I worked with what I had and decided that I would drink half my bottle of milk, and then hide it from my parents so I could go back and finish it on my own schedule. Being like 2.3 feet tall, my options were limited. So I chose to hide my milk behind the toilet in our first floor bathroom. This went on for several weeks before my mom caught be drinking curdled milk behind the toilet. Nothing says "your child might develop a control related anxiety disorder in their mid teens" quite like catching your 3 year old daughter drinking curdled toilet milk.

That was a lot of personal right there. And there's more coming, so brace yourself.

Since my toddlerhood, I have developed more practical ways of demonstrating some form of independence, but I can't shake the feeling that at 22 I'm still not doing enough. In some societies people are functioning as adults at 16. Plenty of high school graduates start contributing full time at 18. I attribute my sense of guilt to Loyola's Jesuit trickery. I spent 4 years here recognizing how extraordinarily privileged I am and how much I need to help the world, and now I have to sit in classes waiting to have enough time to do it! This whole "set the world on fire" business is starting to make sense. Metaphorically, I'm not plotting arson. Spending some 25 hours a week sitting in a classroom is making me feel like I'm just treading water. Not to mention the 4ish hours every night I'm doing homework. I'm so sick of giving employers my useless availability. I'm supporting myself on a work study job (one that I actually really love and has given me skills and connections that will help me so much after college), but I feel like I owe society so much more than I'm actually putting into it. I am incredibly grateful for the education I've been lucky enough to receive, but when I look at campaigns like Girl Rising and Teach For America I feel guilty about being 22 and still spending the majority of my time sitting in a classroom.

Then there's theatre. I've pretty much signed my soul to Dionysus, with no regrets. I believe that theatre and the arts have a communal nature that, makes us think about other people's perspectives, is an incredibly cathartic emotional outlet, and can really make a positive change in the world. Problem being, "Art" rarely reaches the people who need it most. On a broad strokes level, art only reaches those who are wealthy enough to afford it and members of the community itself. Not that I don't love a good dose of "for artists by artists" industry nights, nor do I discredit their importance to the artistic community as a whole, but it scares me that I'm spending so much money on an education to go into a field that primarily entertains upper or upper middle class affluent cultural white folks. The lack of diversity that I observe among audience members of some really great theatre leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Save for the price of tickets, so much of it ties back to arts education. Every time my district ran out of money, they cut arts funding. Not bashing sports or other extra curriculars, but can we as a society please stop taking the arts away from people who really need them? The arts have made such a difference in my life and I want to expose everyone to that same positive experience.

That was an unexpected passionate little bunny trail. And I think that's pretty much the end of what I want to say about this.

Take home point: I probably don't have my shit together enough to actually be an adult but I'm past ready to try.

Thoughts? I can't be the only senior chomping at the bit to be done right?

I'm digging this pattern of "uncomfortably real blog" followed by "funny asshole stories from my life." So if this wasn't your cup of tea, the next one might be. Hopefully you at least enjoyed the self deprecating toilet milk story. Because in a narcissistic way, I think its hysterical.

Wooooof, as you were. Personally, I am going to edit and English paper and continue reading (literally) my entire developmental psychology book.

Kaitlyn

Fake it Till ya Make it.

I've allotted myself a 20 minute break from my Ethics paper to tell you a funny story. LEGGO.

So I sing in the choir at church sometimes. Last Sunday, I was doing that and at 5 minutes till the beginning of mass the cantor still hadn't showed up. So I was all like, "I've cantored before, I can totes fill in till she shows up."

So the choir director handed me an ipad (mistake #1) with that mass's music on it and I headed to the alter. As the lights were coming up to begin mass, the choir director messaged me on the iPad instructions for the psalm if I ended up getting that far. I figured I'd shoot him a quick reply to let him know I saw the message. However, when I clicked to reply to his message, it closed me out of the mass setting.

So like any proper 80 year old woman does, I panicked and hit every button. The priest was in the sacristy waving at me to start the mass and I just kept pointing at the tablet making a hopeless face. I finally got the thing to work, jumped up to the pulpit, read the invitation to mass, and began the opening song.

This is where it gets rough.

I made it through the refrain alright, but when I looked at the verses, I realized that they were written in this weird format that I couldn't quite follow.

So I made up the words.

Basically I took chunks from each random verse and sang them out of order with no regard to sentence structure or musical line.

It sounded something like this:
"In the valley of my soul Lord / forever and ever amen / to my heart"

or

"Jesus lead the people Israel to the / forever hallelujah sing his / sheep's and shepherds in my heart"

Steve would hold a chord when I had reached the end of a line, so there were these awkward gaps in singing. Then Steve would give up trying to figure out what I was doing and I took the opportunity to riff out a longer sequence of non sequitor verse chunks.

At one point I looked out and saw this group of students trying to follow what I was singing in the hymnals.

Mostly I acted like nothing was wrong and just continued to make up stuff until the song was over. At that point the cantor had arrived, so I chucked her the pad and headed back to the choir loft.

I had a blast. Looking forward to hijacking another formalized singing situation in the future.

As you were.

Peace out.

Bay Window

Quote of the Day: "We've reached wigvana" -The lovely Kari and I on the perfection of Olivia's wig.
Quote of the Day II: "Is it a problem that I'm more attracted to mac and cheese than I am to human beings?" -The Queer Council on gay dating.

I think I may have mentioned this previously, but I do all my writing (also eating, homeworking, movie watching, visiting, etc.) from the same chair at our table in front of this lovely bay window that overlooks the street. I like to open all the windows because the view is very "Romantic Manhattan." We've got a clear shot down an ally, phone lines connecting rows of brownstone apartments, tree limbs that dangle in front of the glass, property fences, chain link fences, street signs, and the occasional arrest or drunk college student. Sometimes all in one unlucky person. I like being in this room because it's like being in a submarine or Star Trek spaceship. The ultimate fly on the wall position. Which I love. At least until I realize that windows are windows and as much as I enjoy the view, anyone can see in. Literally the neighborhood can see me live out 50% of my home life. The other 50% is spent sleeping. Usually with the window open so really it's not an improvement.

One day this summer I had just biked home from work on a blazing hot day. I have very little tolerance for shifts in temperature. I am happy as a clam from upper 50s to mid 70s. Chicago gets this for like, a week and a half every year. Maybe. I come from a long line of sweaty ladies, so this whole physical activity in the sun in the heat in my Orthodox Jewish garb absolutely necessitates stripping down to a bra and shorts within seconds of entering my apartment. I made myself a bite to eat and sat in my spot to wind down and have dinner. I didn't realize until about a half hour in. Made direct eye contact with a woman walking her dog. To that, I was wearing a pink bra with a bow on it. Because when your chest measures smaller than it did in 5th grade, you buy your bras in the children's section of target. Pink is inevitable. And they all have bows. If you try to cut off the bows, sometimes the bra breaks in half. So you cut your losses. You can counter act this by making a point to not wear any pink on the outside of your body ever.

Tonight the bay window is looking pretty damn handsome. I've developed an obsessive love of candles and have some fancy holiday ones in clear display. To add ambiance, I plugged in my roommate's strings of colored lights. It looks like I'm on a date, with myself, in the red light district. I dig it. It's freezing so I've busted out my favorite waffle shirt. It was my brothers and it has a yellow anarchy symbol spray painted on the front. And it doesn't smell like sweaty dude. So that's nice. And anyone who might be stalkerishly watching me has seen me down two bottles of tea in the past hour. Because there's nothing wrong with being really hydrated.

And we have bloody hands on our window pane. The end.

This is how to not write your directors notebook. Because when you put your mind to it, (not when you're gushing about your favorite window) you're a much better writer than you are a director.

Good night friends,
Kait

Funny Brother Stories

Ello Chapsticks,

So yesterday marked my little brother Nick's 3 year deathiversary (for details, see my posts from late spring of this year). I'm not particularly good at timing sadness to strike me on a particular date, so I had a relatively painless week. Plus my friends have been checking in with me because they're lovely. But I have been thinking about him a lot the past couple weeks, and in celebration of his life I am going to tell you some laughable stories from our childhood.

And in honor of the season of pumpkin, they are all food themed! So enjoy that!

Our parents have been on a health kick since whole wheat bread was invented, so Nick and I grew up with a lot of stir fried veggies for dinner and granola bars for dessert. Mind you, now I would KILL for a meal that isn't eaten on my way to class or from a microwavable bag, but at the time I just wanted some Mac and Cheese. So when junk food was in the house, you had to act fast or suffer in whole wheat agony until the next holiday. One incident I remember in particular was when my dad brought home a carton of Malted Milk Balls. Nick and I waged a literal game of capture the flag complete with decoy messages, loud music to thwart any attempts at sneaking, and beating each other to ground to get a hold of them.

My dad went on this crazy fiber diet circa 2005, right around the time that protein bars and health shakes were getting popular. One day my mom found these delicious Fiber One bars at Sams Club and bought them in bulk. Now there hadn't been chocolate in the house in weeks and these things had chocolate chips in them. Neither of us paid much attention to the text proudly boasting that this one little chocolate bar contained 40% of your daily recommended fiber. We were so used to our parents buying boring food, we were just jazzed about the chocolate component. In a moment of weakness brought on by weeks of deprivation, Nick at five of them. In one sitting. Hours later he emerged from the bathroom looking pretty haggard. He never did it again.

I don't have a great transition into this little anecdote, but it's too memorable for me to not mention. Nick and I had a mutual love of white bread because all my parents bought was this dry Brownberry Whole Wheat bread. (Super delicious, but again, we were 10). So for every birthday and Christmas we would take our $5 a week allowance and buy each other a loaf of white bread. I considered leaving a loaf on his grave, but then I pictured it all moldy and rain soaked.

Speaking of Birthdays and Christmas, every Easter my family bakes these pound cakes in the shape of a bunny and a lamb. Because we're Polish as Perogies. Anyhow, the bunny was sufficiently cuter and since Nick was a baby and wined about it, he always got to decorate the bunny. When we were little we got to frost them, dye some coconut, and sprinkle it on there so your lamb or bunny had a nice pastel hue to it. I am a square, so my lamb was always baby blue with black jelly bean eyes and a kindhearted, holiday oriented, smile. When Nick was in middle school he made the bunny blood red with fangs and some sort of skin condition.

That same year he drew dicks and pagan symbols in white crayon on all our eater eggs before we dyed them. Mom was none too pleased.

One of my favorite Nick stories is how every time we went out to eat at a restaurant if there was a cute waitress, he would try to order alcohol. Now Nick is three years younger than me and he checked out before 17, so he was never anywhere near legal drinking age. Usually the waitress laughed it off he got a Coke, but this one time we were at Applebees I think and the waitress actually wrote down his order and started to walk off. I don't know how this girl thought he was serious because he ordered the Bond drink every time, "I'll have a martini, shaken. Not stirred." She finally decided that maybe this little asshat is in middle school and, much to his chagrin, didn't bring him the drink.

Here's to you kid. I miss you, and love you. Remember, you posted this picture to facebook. Not me. And let's be frank, you knew there was no way you were getting a classy memorial blog from me. You're welcome.



Well that's all for today. But expect more. Obviously not all food themed, but we did plenty of suburban kid shenanigans that I will definitely be writing about on here at some point. Enjoy the chilly weekend! Get some pumpkin stuff, bust out your scarves, do fall!

Kait

Bed Bugs

Also known as the worst creatures on this planet.

Actual hell on earth. 

I'm about to use all the four letter words. And delve too far into my personal life. Immaturity at it's finest. You've been warned.  

Last Monday night I was chilling in my bed reading a book for a few hours before bed. Noticed that I had an unusual number of little red bug bites on my one leg. Thought, "huh, that's weird, maybe you should check your sheets to see if there's a spider or something." Found a bed bug. Didn't realize it was a bed bug till I googled in the next morning and found a picture of that little fucker. World collapsed promptly. 

In case you don't know much about bedbugs, allow me to scare the piss out of you. They are everywhere all the time. You're exposed to them everyday, especially if you live in a city. Then sometimes you just happen to track in a baby or an egg somewhere on your clothes. It feeds on you for a while then burrows into your mattress, bed frame, pillows, wood floors, and carpet to spawn and ruin your life. They are nocturnal, so you're safe during the day. But once the sun goes down, they smell your body sleeping, find you, and eat you. 

Oh, and most people don't even know they have um, cause they're nocturnal. 

To get rid of them, you have to call an exterminator. To prep for said exterminator, you wash every piece of fabric in your house (clothes, sheets, pillows, coats, curtains, bags, etc), double bag um in garbage bags, and finally pile all your shit into the middle of your living room to clear the perimeter of every room.

Quite seriously a living nightmare. And Sam and I were in tech for Yonkers that week. Fan-fucking-tastic timing. 

However, there is a silver lining to everything. In retrospect, I recount Highlights of The Great Bedbug "Infestation" of 2013. 

1. When I first called my building supervisor to tell him I had bedbugs, he asked who slept over to give them to me. Upon telling him that no one has been over, he asked where I've been sleeping. Answer: In my own bed. So thanks Dwayne for reminding me that I'm not getting laid, I'm in tech, AND I HAVE BEDBUGS. Ew, sorry that was too personal for the internet. But it's too good a saying to not share. You're welcome. 

2. Emily and I not realizing that we had to bag our laundry so we hung it all over the infested house. Aaaaaand repeat. 

3. Emily and I sharing the futon for two nights. She's an excellent bed buddy. 

4. Our family picture of our infested stuffed animals. They got hell'a fluffy in the dryer. It was adorable. 

5. Sam and I tag teamed our laundry together at a laundromat six blocks away from our apartment. We carried it there in like 4 trips total. We looked like homeless vagabonds wandering through the allies of Chicago. 

6. On said laundry trip, I wore basketball shorts, a sports T, and sandals. I named my outfit: "Gay Aunt Barbra goes to the beach." 

7. Sam stress drank half a gallon of lemon aid. Jack was added later. 

8. My neurotic tendencies flourished. I was convinced I had thousands of them in my hair, on ALL my clothes, in my shoes, probably burrowed into my skin ready to attack and spread to everyone at any moment. This made it kind of hard to do laundry and actually believe that I'd cleaned it. I would compare this to my high school logic of why huffing Lysol (never happened, no worries) to prevent getting a cold would probably work really well and be totally healthy. 

9. Getting an average of 3 hours of sleep a night for a week. I was so tired today that my eyes couldn't focus enough to spot a pirouette. But the one night I got 7 hours of sleep I was literally euphoric. 

10. My outfits for the past few days have involved only 2 shirts that I just keep washing. And my gayest sandals. Hot. 

Which brings us to today. 3 Days bug free. I unpacked my laundry and am keeping it in the living room for a few days. But at least I know where my clothes are. Literally the best feeling in the world.

Also HUGE THANK YOU to Gillian McGhee for being our bedbug point woman/expert/moral support. I sent her countless frantic texts (some in the middle of the night) which she promptly responded to and cried to her on the phone for like half an hour. Life saver. 

Hope you were able to get some enjoyment from the week of hell my roommates and I just went through. Before I sign off I have to at least mention Lost in Yonkers. Cause that's happening this weekend. It's hysterical. Everyone go see it. That's all. 

Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite. 

Kaitlyn 

Musical Theatre Gents I'd go Straight For.

Allo.

You know that day after you've been sick for a few days where you feel invincible? That was yesterday for me. This past weekend has been spent in a fevery daze complete with headaches, blazing tonsils, and acid reflux to rival a night of tequila. The latter was brought on by an incredibly stupid decision on my part to take about 30 times the normal dose of vitamin C on an empty stomach. In case you were wondering, it turns your innards to flames. Actual flames. Like self-induced vomiting on the lake shore trail in clear view of Navy Pier, flames. It was a rough night.

But now I feel awesome.

That has nothing to do with my actual blog. I just needed an intro. So I dumped some unwarranted personal medical information on you. Anytime.

So today at work, I was whistling "Why Should I Wake Up" from Cabaret (a welcome change from "Tomorrow Belongs to Me," which is a touch problematic when you work at a Jewish school). Anyway, it reminded me of a conversation I had with my dear roommate Sam about our favorite musical theatre songs. We watched her favorite, "Younger Than Springtime," sung by a shirtless Matthew Morrison.

So. Hot.

Now, to clarify, I'm supa gay. But there's something about musical theatre gents singing love songs that makes me completely heterosexual for approximately three and a half minutes. Perhaps its that I'm usually 99% sure that the guy on stage is gay, so there's no actual threat of me having to see a guy with his pants off. We could totally just sing at each other, drink some wine, and then dance off into the curtain call and our respective partners.

Anyway, these guys deserve some recognition. Or at least the songs. No offence gentlemen, but you're interchangeable at this point. As long as you've got a deep voice and a strong vibrato, we're good to go. So come at me benevolent sexism, woo me with your hegemonic masculinity.

1. "Some Enchanted Evening" from Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific. Performed by: Brian Stokes Mitchel.

Holy bass Batman. I think my stomach just fell onto the floor. In a good way.

2. "Love to Me" from Adam Guettel's Light in the Piazza. Performed by: Matthew Morrison. 

If you're not swooning right now, I don't know what to tell you. But seriously Matt, I appreciate you. For kicks (and for Sam) I'm gonna throw this gem up there as well.

Look at his pecks. Just. Ugh. Sam and I have probably given this video half it's views. You're welcome youtuber.

3. Why Should I Wake Up? from Kander and Ebb's, "Cabaret." Performed by: Nic Rouleau

Ok, so I couldn't find the OCR but you get the idea right? Yeah. I wouldn't want to wake up either. Not ever.

4. "On The Street Where You Live" from Lerner and Lowe's My Fair Lady. Performed by: Bill Shirley 

So damn classy. If I can't get a dude to stand outside my window, I'm taking matters into my own hands. Don't think I won't abuse my job at the costume shop to obtain this ensemble. I've done worse things in public. Singing in the middle of the night is pretty run of the mill for me.


And there you have it. The magical spell that gay men singing show tunes cast over me, now shared via youtube videos. But no joke, when I was first coming out this phenomenon was rather confusing. Then I saw Catherine Zeta Jones in Chicago. Conflicts: resolved.

By the way, I've had several conversations with several of my gay friends who cite Jones' performance in Chicago as one of their earliest crushes. There's something to that. just sayin'.

Have a good night =]

Kait

Biking. The Kaitlyn Dessoffy Story.

Allo.

As if my previous posts haven't made this abundantly clear, I have developed an emotional connection to my bike akin to that of a couple celebrating 50 years of marriage. Never mind that I have referred to myself as "emotionally stunted," and "totally comfortable with being totally uncomfortable in all situations ever." I have a bike that I love. And who probably would love me back if ze had a functioning nervous system.

Yes, I did just address my bike with a gender neutral pronoun.

Now I have fancied myself a cyclist since fetus-hood, and my love of biking has only increased with age. When I was a youngin, my family went on annual trips to Kelly's Island to bike the whole thing all day and drink wine. I didn't drink wine, cause I was 5. Throughout middle and high school I would bike to school, the pool, work, BW. And one summer my friend and I biked the metroparks like twice a week at what felt like 20mph. He was in much better shape than I. But I liked hanging out with him, so I developed quads of steel and kept up.

This summer took my already unnatural love of biking to terrifying new levels. Specifically, May 8th. The day my CTA pass expired. That very day I was working at the Court Theatre on the south side of Chicago. Biked it. Took me 2 hours. While this was a tad ambitious, I loved it. What a better morning commute than a brisk buzz down the Lake Shore Trail? Since then, I have begun biking everywhere. Literally everywhere all the time. I arrive sweaty, exhausted, happy as a clam, and depending on the time of day, covered in dead bugs. (You know those swarms of gnats you walk through? Try it at 15mph.)

Really I just want to nerd out about biking. So enjoy the easy to follow titles and geek out with me.

Embarrassing Places I've Biked To This Summer:

1. Dates. Sometimes downtown. Sometimes when it's 90 degrees outside. I like to give people a realistic first impression.

2. Rehearsal in the rain. Specifically tonight. Nothing screams "professional actress" like showing up soaked to the skin and having your sports bra soak through the sweat-shirt you thankfully thought to bring.

3. Bars. Biking TO the bar is not the problem.

4. My fingerprinting for my summer job. Only because I didn't realize they were located in the swankiest building downtown. I trudged in wearing shorts that can best be described as "swampy" and a real grody t-shirt. We've had a humid summer. And I have very little shame.


Though this kind of sounds nightmareish, I absolutely love biking everywhere. It's so much faster than CTA, it's great exercise, and it's free. And it's bad ass.

So bad ass that it has elevated my aggression levels dramatically. I think it's a cyclist thing, but I do whatever the hell I want. When you're biking somewhere, your job to get yourself there as fast as humanly possible. Bikes are faster than pedestrians and smaller than cars. In my mind, this gives me clearance to zip around traffic as I please. As long as I get my butt there in one piece, I'm good to go. Stopping at every stop sign and actually waiting at the light, HA. No. Yep, I'm that guy. A rolling lawsuit with no regard for vehicle laws or personal safety.

That must be frustrating for you and your air conditioned car. But you know what else is frustrating, literally everything and anything that stands in the way of my high speed tour de force.

Things that Piss me off about Biking Chicago:

1. Cars that Don't Signal. If I am about to go through an intersection and you decide to casually turn right without signaling, ya run me into a curb. Not only do you kill my momentum, but you might kill my body as well.

2. Cars that Hesitate. Yo, I know where I'm going. And if you are at an intersection, I will resentfully stop for you. And if you hesitate in taking your right of way, I will stare you down. If this causes you to hesitate further, I will cut you off.

3. CTA Busses. You know exactly what I'm talking about here. You pass the bus while it's at a stop. Then it passes you and stops 30 yards ahead of you. You pass the buss again. It passes you again. You try to lose it by buzzing through a red light but that mother trucker catches up with you. Or you go so fast that you catch up to the next one. And you thought having a car wiz by ya was bad? Try a bus whose main goal is to bottleneck you into a corner of bus, curb, and little old lady waiting with her fare. It's awful.

4. Ohio Street Beach. Yo downtown "exercisers," why must you walk 6 abreast on the downtown section of the Lake Shore Trail? It's an exercise trail! It's not a sidewalk, it's not a place for you to make out, it's NOT a place you should ever let go of your child's hand ever. It's a personal hell that I have to bike through (usually at something like 5mph). Make everyone's day a little easier, stay to the right, TAKE OUT YOUR HEADPHONES, and treat that thing like a highway.

5. Cars parked in the bike lane. One day I will just ram into your f*cking car. Mark my words.

6. Delivery trucks parked in the bike lane. This might do more damage to me than it does to the truck and I am absolutely sure that it will be worth it.

7. Construction IN THE BIKE LANE. Can we not just clear the bike lane? Because by the time I swerve around my 9th obstruction, I am filled with actual rage.

But this video makes it all ok. Mostly because I almost peed with laughter. Just skip to 1 minute. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzE-IMaegzQ

8. Potholes. My bike doesn't have suspension. And my lady bits are not pleased with the road conditions. Here's lookin' at you Magnolia and Sheridan.

9. Car Doors. If you're not watching when you exit your vehicle, you will not only get run over by a bike, but you will send said cyclist flying through the air. It's a lose lose.

10. The Lack of Parking. I know no one can park cars in Chicago. But when you have no bike racks, I will tie my bike to a tree or a sign or a fence. And I will not pay whatever ticket you slap on my bike. Because ya know what's great about having a bike? No identifying information.


Other Chicago Bikers, do you feel me? Yeah. Yeah ya do.

But on a serious note, bikers, do your part here. My little manifesto is exaggerated. For the love of all things good in this world, don't listen to your ipod, bike in the street, have control of your bike before blowing through an intersection, and wear a helmet. Mine looks like a bright yellow pith helmet. What I'm saying here is that under no circumstance will you look worse than me :) Be Safe. 

Uhmm I'm going to wrap this puppy up by highlighting 2 cycling events that I want everyone to know about.

1. Critical Mass. Thousands of bikers take over Chicago streets. 1st Friday of every month. And I always miss it. But I went once and it was my favorite ride ever.

2. Chicago World Naked Bike Ride. Critical Mass, naked. I was going to go this year but no one would go with me! While I totally understand the hesitation, let it be known that I am looking for a group of committed people who want to bike Chicago in very little clothing. Because this is not an opportunity one can just let pass by.

Well, short of writing a bike haiku, I'm pretty much done here.

On second thought, I really want to write a bike haiku:

My dear Diamondback,
Giver of ecstatic joy,
You make my heart smile.

Ok. This needs to stop. I have a pretty high threshold for embarrassment, but the haiku might have crossed a line. Enjoy your week friends. Go ride a bike.

Kait.

The Moment I Chose to Be Gay

Hi All.

So this whole gay rights thing. What? DOMA and prop8? I mean, all those homos choose to be gay just to get attention right?

Oops! You got us!

Here's all the reasons I chose to be gay:

1) I wasn't having much luck finding a dude to date. I mean they only make up 50% of the population. So instead I thought to myself, lets go for the 1% of women who identify as lesbians. Challenge accepted.

2) As a socially anxious, introverted person, the lesbian dating pool is perfect for me. Culturally, in heterosexual pairings the men do all the initiating. Not here! I have to learn how to make moves! How great! I'm super good at it to... it's not even the most uncomfortable thing I've ever put myself and another human through. Definitely not.

3) Having kids the natural way is too simple. And inexpensive. I would much rather throw down thousands of dollars to have sperm shot up my lady bits than just take a romp in the sack.

4) Did I mention paperwork? Adoption social services? Love that shit.

5) Did you know that 90% of what girls talk about is boys? (85% of what boys talk about is girls in case anyone was wondering) Well I love having little to nothing to contribute to 90% of conversations. It's nice just to sit alone with my thoughts.

6) Did you realize how many religions absolutely hate the homosexuals? It's nuts! Well trust me, it pleases me so much to anger and terrify billions of otherwise friendly, peace loving church goers. I feel so special when they scream slurs at me through their megaphones. Truly touching.

7) If you know me at all, you know how much I love to tell everyone my private business. I also love being the center of attention and dropping potentially huge news bombs on people. You know the perfect way to grab the attention of a room? Tell um your gay. It's so great.

8) It's really exhilarating knowing that I held jobs in states where I could actually be fired for being gay. Feels like a high stakes spy movie.

9) I'm really non-conformist. So I chopped off all my hair and started wearing more flannel. Now I fit the stereotypes of every other gay lady on the planet. Mission accomplished.

10) Hundreds of gay teens get kicked out of their parents houses when they come out. They are rejected by their families, friends, sometimes whole communities. Can you think of a better way to just start over! Literally being homeless for a few months. That sounds great. Unfortunately, my parents and most of my friends were totally supportive. What a drag.


Well, there you have it. Convinced? If you want to give it a try, just fake it till ya make it. Never mind that you're not in love and don't have feelings for the people you're with and are basically going into their private squares with no motivation. That's not unfair to them at all. And think of all the attention you'll garner. Definitely worth it.

Kait


*DISCLAIMER*
I hate disclaimers because they stomp all over the sarcasm that is absolutely oozing from this post. But I want to be very very clear. You know how you didn't choose to be straight? No one chooses to be gay. Also, I realize that this might present a grim view of the gay community. Or maybe it looks like I am having a hell of a time dealing with it. It's a joke guys. I'm actually super happy in LGBTQA culture. And while I still feel like a fish out of water when it comes to dating, I have had nothing but good experiences, understanding women, and super fun dates. Winning.

Intro to Homosexuality

Alright then.

So every time I log onto my computer, I have these little pings of guilt for not writing any pride blogs. I see that I am one day closer to the end of pride month and my blog has yet to reflect the insane amount of gay stuff I have done in the past few weeks.

To name a few:
1) I have nearly all of Tegan and Sara's albums and have listened to them top to bottom. It's been my running soundtrack. Thus my runs have been extra angsty this month. Thank you Sara Augustinas for facilitating this.
2) Went to Pride Fest. Saw some great drag. Enjoyed myself immensely.
3) Priced out rainbow suspenders.
4) Watched the first 3 episodes of "The Fosters" and then read the recaps on afterellen.
5) Realized that I have rehearsal during the parade. Wept. Quickly formulated a plan to haul ass from Willmette to Boystown decked out in said suspenders in under an hour to catch the tail end of the parade. Or at least the after party.

So writing this blog kinda feels like I'm beating a dead horse. Not to mention, there are so many LGBTQIA (it's a mouthful, I know, but I'm gonna keep using it.) resources out there that basically share my perspective. Really I'm trying to debate how best to blog about this without repeating what you can read by simply googling "LGBTQIA."

So I'm going to take the personal angle on this first one. I say first because I want to write more about LGBTQIA specific issues, but I feel like I should get everyone on the same page first. I think the best way to do this is to tell some silly coming out stories. With a more serious wrap up. So if nothing more, skip the funny stuff and read my last paragraph. Cool? Cool.

Leggo.

Kaitlyn Stumbles Out of the Closet and Tells You all the Faux Pas that Followed. 

1. Come on Already. This is definitely my preferred method of alerting people that I'm into girls. The key to this one was to drop as many hints as you possible can without actually coming out and saying you're gay. For example, I made it a habit of selecting the gayest looking outfits, hairstyles, conversation topics, etc to bring to every family function. I have like a 6 for 7 stereotype ratio that must be filled. If a Christmas spent in combat boots, flannel, spiked hair, impractically short nails doesn't scream "RAINBOW" I don't know what does.

2. Kay Byeeeeeeeee. Another wimpy way to come out of the closet. Did this one with my parents. I was in town for a weekend. Told um Sunday night 4 hours before my bus left. They, of course, were totally fine with it. Nothing says, "I'm comfortable with my sexuality" like throwing it at someone and running five hours away :)

3. Party Foul. This is my second favorite story. I was at a party with some coworkers last summer, most of whom I was not out to. One particularly attractive gentleman was pretty drunk and started hitting on me. I had just closed a run of CATS and was in no mood to flirt so when asked if he could kiss me instead of saying, "Nope" or "don't feel like it" or "too tired" I went for "I'm gay." Shouted it nice and loud above the music. As luck would have it, mili-seconds before the words left my mouth the song ended and it got nice and quiet. Really this should not have been as embarrassing as it was for me, but the coincidence was just too much.

4. The Greatest Moment of My Life. This is my actual favorite story. Came out to one of my closest college friends literally seconds after she came out to me. I think time actually slowed down. We spent the next two hours discussing crushes, coming out stories, and how thrilled we were that we had someone else going through the same stuff.

5. YOU'RE WHAT? I hate this so much. And I'm sure I've done this to other people. And I apologize. But when someone comes out to you and you look at them like they've suddenly sprouted another head, it's really awkward.

6. 20 Questions. I get that gay stuff is sometimes unfamiliar to people. I was completely uninformed until I started doing some research a few years ago. So it's normal to have questions. It's not normal to ask personal questions. Questions are great when appropriate. I love answering questions about gender, orientation, community, sex stuff, whatever. But for the love of God don't ask me about my personal sexual experiences if you just met me. I mean, come on now. When is that ever appropriate. Literally never.


Ok here's The Takeaway. In my experience, the best people to come out to (also the best allies) are people who have gay friends. Close. Gay. Friends. (did you pick up the emphasis there?) Both men and women. It's 2013, you will not be publicly stoned for being a straight person in a gay establishment. You don't know everything about the gay community if you ate lunch last week with that lesbian in your office or you went shopping with your gay best friend (I'm sorry, I almost gagged on the stereotype but I'm trying to prove a point). If we're going to stop gay bullying, transphobia, marriage inequality, etc, everyone needs to get more informed. I know it's asking a lot, but acceptance and tolerance are not enough. Not enough to make actual change anyway. I think friendship is the way in here. Make some gay friends. *Note, not token gay friends, actual friends.

Pride is this weekend guys. Wink wink nudge nudge.

With that, Happy Pride! Wish me luck in my biking like 15 miles at  top speed to catch the parade! I hope you all celebrate too.

Kait

So I haven't started my summer job quite yet

And I'm bored out of my mind. If you haven't gathered from knowing me as a human outside of online, I'm really awful at relaxing and enjoying indeterminably long spans of time without scheduled activities. Like this one. 2 weeks at the most. Antsy.

So antsy that I nearly started to pen my ongoing love/appreciation letter to Sara Quin. Hopefully blogging will keep me from fangirl-ing out, at least for a few days. Not making any promises. Oh but sweet Jesus it feels like there is nothing to blog about! I like to focus my blogs on whatever specific topic is occupying most of my brain synapses, but right now I don't have a unified topic. That said, there's been plenty of interesting things happening in my neck of the woods, so I guess I can sum that up for ya.

I don't want this to bore you though, SO I have just now decided that it would be fun to write this in storybook form. With clever titles to guide you through the events of the past month. :)

Ch. The First: No Pants! 
So my job this summer, aside from whatever stitching jobs I can pick up (wink wink nudge nudge any Chicago theatre professionals who find themselves reading this) I'm going to be cleaning lockers and helping organize classrooms at an Orthodox Jewish school nearby.

Funny story. I went in for my interview with the tried and true "wear what you would wear on the job to the interview." For me, this was a nice t-shirt and my bright orange cords. However, as soon as I walked into the school, I knew something was up. I couldn't find the office and everyone I asked gave me a funny look up and down. Now, when you look at me, the words "orthodox" or "Jewish" don't really come to mind, but I didn't think I stuck out too bad. Then I figured it out. Everyone was in skirts that covered their knees. Literally all the women were in skirts. Even the staff. My choice of lower body coverage was not only a pair of pants, but a bright ass pair of pants. Might have stuck out a tad. They were very polite about explaining their dress code to me at the end of the interview though.

Not as Funny, Story #2. I own 1 skirt and it is super short. When I went thrifting to buy my "work skirt" as I have affectionately nicknamed it, I found so many adorable, cheap flannels. Took me 5 hours to find a skirt I deemed acceptable to wear out of a costume party. For the most part every skirt I tried on I was like, "well this doesn't look right." Probably because I haven't worn long skirts since a brief period in 6th grade when I though I would try to pull off the 1950s look.

More funny than the previous, Story #3. I did have one extended period of dress wearing. All I would wear from ages 4 to 5 were dresses. They provided SO much more leg mobility than jeans! I could climb trees, fences, probably buildings if given the opportunity, with the flexibility afforded to me by my dresses! Coincidentally my dresses phase coincided with my commando phase. I distinctly remember the preschool calling my mother...more than once. Needless to say, as soon as she introduced me to leggings there was no going back. Much to the chagrin of my mother, the dress phase was over.


Chapter Numero Dos: Ate it in front of Campus Police.
This summer has brought so many fun things to Chicago. Temperatures above zero is one of them. However, it has stripped me of one of my prized possessions: my upass. No free transit for this lady. My solution has been to bike everywhere. Literally everywhere. I biked to U of C on the south side. One time. Almost died.

Today I biked out to Wilmette to pick up my materials for Cabaret (plugplugplugplugpluglightoperaworks). Yesterday my dad helped me mount my new seat onto my bike, it's very nice and springy I might add. As I was riding, on a sidewalk for a few meters thank God, I noticed that the seat was a bit off center. Naturally I took my hand off the handlebar to smack the seat into adjustment. Unfortunately the springs in my seat reacted rather poorly. I lost control of the front handlebars, really fought for it, and then crash landed on cobblestone and flower bed. In front of campus police. To make matters worse, I was wearing my attention grabbing sunshine yellow bucket helmet. I probably looked like an uncoordinated escapee from some Chicagoland rock climbing expedition.

When I face plant, which is pretty frequently, I spring right back up and keep going (it's a dancer thing, you'll know it when you see it. It's pretty spectacular in performance) as if it didn't happen. This usually elicits a few weird looks from concerned passerby. Basically the same thing here. "My arm's not bleeding, I'm just biking, you saw nothing, I'm laughing at myself, EVERYTHING'S FINE!"

Anyway. Super embarrassing.

Third Chapter: Moving Day. 
This blog is pretty special because it's the inaugural blog of our new apartment! Herein deemed....we don't have a name yet. BUT as of 1 hour ago we have a bathroom sink! Small victories. Basically we moved like 6 apartments down the street from where we live now. It was a relatively smooth move and we're settling in quite nicely.

So far, this nameless baby apartment has won my affection over the stomping ground (our previous pad) in so many ways. Here's the list:

1. No rodent feces
2. Hot water on our first night
3. It doesn't smell like cat piss
4. The floors don't slant
5. We have doors

In summary, we now have basic living conditions. But probably the best thing about this apartment is the string of excellent quotes from our building supervisor as he was trying to unclog our sink:

"Don't worry, you gotta do whatcha gotta do"
"Put that in the toilet"
"Why don't you finish your sentences and then shut the f*ck up" (to his phone)

And last, but not least: "Well it was hard going in and hard coming out"

Chapter 4: Friends.
Well, one friend. And her name is Nicole. She came to visit! And we tore it up, let me tell you. I dragged her all over Chicago (read, no upass) and we walked all over the place. Miles. To Hamburger Mary's and back totally inebriated. We peed illegally in a Subway (calm down, not the train. That's reserved for emergencies only) and crossed many streets away from the corner. Think about that the next time you call one of us square. We hunted down a bottle of root beer liquor and went to the aquarium. Super fun visit.

Chapter 5: I have been to 7-11 everyday this week
That's less of a story and more of a sad fact. I'm now on a friendly basis with the cashiers there.

Chapter 6: Recreational Reading
Just finished The Hunger Games. Loved it. Can't wait to bike my ass downtown to get the next one. I love just having time to read before bed. It's so great. Started "Good People" this morning. So far so good.

Chapter 7: Pride is in a few weeks...or all month long
Cleveland's pride was...meh... 10 dollars and looked kinda lame. Sorry Cleveland. You're cool in other ways. But I have high hopes for Chicago. If nothing else because I had a chat with an angry evangelical gentleman about how gay Halstead is.  Should make for a good festival. I'm considering buying a rainbow tie and suspenders...I could pull that off.


Well I think that's a good place to stop. Mostly because I'm meeting my dear friend Ian for dinner. And I'm pretty jazzed. And pretty hungry. I keep misspelling hungry as hungary. College. Am I right? I hope your summer's are going equally well.

Peace out home skillets.

Kaitlyn

AvocadNO

Aye,

Les be brief cause I gots a play to read.

In my never ending search for healthy eating habits, I stumbled upon the not so humble avocado. I have heard the buzz about this wonder food for the past few months. Good fat. Protein. Yummyness.

FALSE.

An entire avocado by the spoonful was like eating green lard. And I felt like green lard for hours afterward. I swore to myself I would never do it again. BUT, I'm gonna give it a chance. So without further adieu:

Stipulations under which I would eat an Avocado, whole. Again.

1. If tomorrow I wake up with Avocado induced super human energy.

2. If someone is holding a gun to my head.

3. If anyone on my "I'd tap that" list found avocado's sexy. Keep in mind, this list is comprised entirely of celebrities. Some of them are dead. Here's lookin at you Martha Graham.

4. If eating avocado's gave you the ability to fly.

5. If it was combined with onion, chopped tomato, garlic and a splash of lime juice. HOLD UP. That's guacamole. Dip of the Gods. 

6. If there was a full ride scholarship guaranteed to anyone who finished a whole avocado. 

7. If eating an Avocado meant not having to read "American Dream"

But alas. I need to actually read that play. 

The end.

g'night. Sleep well. 
Kaitlyn.

Diet Blooper Reel.

Hi Compadres.

It's been 2 months. Oops.

After mulling over some conversations I've had with friends recently, I found that we don't talk about "things ya just don't talk about" often enough. Cause a lot of people are in the same boat on touchy subjects. So I think I'm just gonna share my metaphorical boat with the interwebs. And here it is.

Today's topic of discussion: Food.

I've been around the dieting block quite a few times. I would consider myself pretty well versed in "how to not lose weight while intentionally changing your consumption patterns." So I've decided to provide, if nothing else, a brief, comical summary titled:

"WHY GOD WHY?! A brief, chronological, lighthearted look at Kaitlyn Dessoffy's diet plan(s)"

Plan 1: The Dance Diet

Summary: Dance 7 hours a week. Eat whatever you want.

Pros: Mon-Friday, lose 6 pounds.
Cons: Saturday-Sunday, find them. Self hatred ensues.


Plan 2: The "After Six" Diet

Summary: Rather than stopping eating at six pm, start eating around 6 pm. Usually resulting from a lack of planning, packing, and lunch hour. Struggle buss it through the day on a Nutrigrain bar and a handful of chex mix.

Pros: You save so much time not eating. Now you have time to sleep, funny how you're so exhausted all the time.
Cons: It doesn't work. Also you have zero energy. Don't do this.

Plan 3: The Soy Milk Diet

Summary: Circa 9th grade I discovered I was allergic to Soy Milk. Having a hard time stopping yourself from eating? You can't eat when you're working on keeping lunch down.

Pros: None. 'cept that this one was super short lived.
Cons: On top of the swollen throat and digestive tract fire storm, you're pretty disappointed in yourself. Also, this is a pretty ineffective way to get energy from food. Or lose any weight from a lack thereof.

Plan 4: Weight Watchers!

Summary: Sound familiar?! The WW diet gives you 29 "points" per day, with 42 extra points to use throughout the week. Fruits and Veggies are free. As are diet, non-calorie foods. Points are calculated using Carbs, Protein, Fiber, and Fat content values. Ex: Bread: 3 points. Chicken: 5 points. Cheese: 6 points. Yogurt: 7 points.

Pros: It works! And you're not starving yourself! And you have to eat fruits and vegetables!
Cons: Point Values are so fucking annoying to calculate. You thought calorie counting was hard? This is not even a value on the box. And it makes you look at food in a quantitative form. You can eat this diet on apples, lettuce, chocolate, and crackers. Eventually you find the right way to combine your allotted 29 points so you are still dieting, but you are also gaining weight. Also, your body adjusts to this within a few months. So you have to gradually eat less and less points to maintain your body weight. At 25 points a day, No bonus for working out, and no points plus, you start to panic a little. How much less can you eat?! This is your cue to take yourself off the diet. 

Plan 5: The CATS diet

Summary: See "Dancer diet" but add to that the looming threat of dancing 4 shows a week in a spandex leotard.

Pros: I was in the best shape of my life
Cons: The run only lasted 3 weeks. The diet lasted 3 months. No good. No good.

Plan 6: The Love Your Body Diet.

Summary: Accept the 6 pounds you gained last summer. You're not overweight.

Pros: You're in great shape mentally! And physically too come to think of it.
Cons: Who are we kidding here? That acceptance lasted 2 days. Literally 2 days. Then it took a journey that went a little something like, annoyance --> critical mirror looking --> scales and tape --> panic --> TREADMILL! And sadness. 

Plan 7: The back to basics

Summary: An honest attempt to eat well. Stipulations: 1. Mostly Vegetables 2. Get all the food groups in there 3. Eat only when you're hungry 4. Don't weigh yourself more than once a week 5. Don't freak out about how you look.

Pros: Days 1-3 you do a bang up job.
Cons: Day 4: You weigh yourself. No progress. --> Anger and self loathing. Convince yourself that you are too uptight for this silly "mindful eating" thing. Scour the internet for crash diets. Yeah, cause if you didn't have the will power to make THIS one work, eating only soup for a week is definitely a better option.


Plan 8: Calorie Counting

Summary: myfitnespal.com. 1270 per day. Ya get some extra if you work out.

This is pretty much what I'm up to now in terms of food. So far so good. It's definitely a little obsessive, but I'm pretty type A, so this is run of the mill. Counting calories is definitely a restrictive measure, but I find that any stress caused from counting calories is not nearly as bad as stress I feel when I'm not comfortable in my body. It's a work in progress.


Welp, that just about covers it. I hope you enjoyed my metaphorical boat. I'm thinking a lot of people have shared this metaphorical boat. So how about we make food discussions a little more open, yeah? Don't be embarrassed. I just regurgitated (sorry, couldn't pass it up) my questionable dieting methods from the past 7 years to a public forum. Ya can't do much worse than that.

Meh, that's all I got. 

Kait

My Theoretical OKCupid. (And my back up plans)

Hi! Let's cut to the chase. 

Name: Kaitlyn Elizabeth Philomena Dessoffy (Because when else are you gonna bust out your confirmation name)

Occupation: Serial Killer. "Oh she's so funny and ironic...that's just the kind of thing a serial killer WOULD say... but she's so intriguing and mysterious...definitely a yes."

I would leave everything else blank.

Because (though I do LOVE talking about myself) I don't want to ruin the "getting to know you" part of that first date by actually filling out an online dating profile. And if  I don't have something to talk about I will sit in absolute silence. And it will be painful for everyone.

So barring my mysterious and legally questionable OkCupid doesn't work out, I've got back up plans.

Allow me to present: X number of ways to score a date without a computer.

1. Purchase a t-shirt that has "SINGLE" printed across it in bright red letters. Head to a coffee shop. Display. Hope for the best.

2. Write a blog complaining about how your single... Again, hope for the best.

3. Actually talk to people rather than ogling at them from afar. It only sounds creepy when you read it but you know you do it.


that's all i got.

and this blog has just jumped off the cliff of desperation. JOIN MEEEEEEEE.


hah, I'll let you know if I ever actually make that profile. Happy Second week of classes ya'll!

Kait

Weird things you do when you're absolutely terrified of germs.

I have 3 unfinished blog posts just waiting to be finished up and posted. So I apologize for the lack of reading material. It's coming soon. There will just be a shower of "Kaitlyn's on winter break" blogs. You'll see. Hopefully.

Sidebar, good luck on finals guys. Study hard. Sleep. Don't get sick.

Which leads me to my next point (see what I did there? clever. yes clever).

Let's take a small jaunt down memory lane shall we? Kaitlyn, in high school, terrified of germs. Kaitlyn, in college, no longer terrified of germs. Details aside, I can laugh about it now. As if I am not constantly laughing at myself, but you get the idea. 

So in case you missed it, might I present, my inner monologue circa 2005-2010.

1. If someone around you is sick, you will catch it, you will then get so sick that you cannot function as a human. The world will stop turning, and you're good as dead.

2.  Arrive at restaurant.
Excuse yourself to go use the restroom.
Wash your hands. Turn off sink, realize you just recontaminated your hands by touching sink.
Rewash hands, turn off sink with elbows, reach for door handle...
Rewash hands, turn off sink with elbows, reach for door handle with sleeve over hand, remember that guy at lunch that brushed up against your arm and probably contaminated your sleeve
Rewash hands, turn off sink with elbows, wait by door until someone else opens it to come in, dart past them. Walk with hands in fists to table. sit with hands folded tightly together, under the table.
Someone hands you their menu....ARE YOU KIDDING ME...there's no dodging it. You are polite.
Excuse yourself to go use the restroom.

3. Stomach Ulcers.

4. Worrying that your ulcers are the flu. Stomach ulcer's get worse.

5. Huffing Lysol makes every bit of logical sense to you. You literally cannot think of a reason not to huff Lysol. It would sanitize your lungs! As long as there are no germs in your body, you are healthy. You don't do it. (Phew.) You do however, Lysol your breakfast cereal that one time...maybe twice..anyway,

6. Sick people are lepers. If you come within 5 feet of them, hold your breath. Excommunication is incredibly rude, and you know it. Think of clever ways to dodge conversations. Cleaning your sock drawer is important business yo. 

7. Don't share drinks. If someone asks, tell them you're sick. If there's even a chance that someone has taken a sip out of your water bottle, its done.

8. Hoard your food. Sanitize the bags your keeping it in. Don't let people question why all you have eaten for the past week is carefully rationed cheerios.

9. Your hands start bleeding cause you washed um 30 times today. You remember Magic School Bus episode where they all get into the sick person's body through the cut on their knee. *Existential crisis.

10. Live in a constant state of panic and stress. Stress and panic lower your immune system. Get sick all the time. *Irony.

11. Realize you probably have a problem. Refuse to get help because that would require going to a doctors office. Do you know who goes to doctors offices? Sick people. Absolutely out of the question. 

11. Go to college. Share a really small room with someone who (inevitably) gets sick. Learn that the common cold is not comparable to having a stroke. Months later, you can breath a little. Life gets easier.


And there ya go. If any of this sounds familiar, I'm gonna help you out a little: http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/obsessive-compulsive-disorder-ocd/index.shtml

(basically I'm reppin the crap out of this website)

And for any of you who just judged real hard, here's this: http://www.mentalhealthvic.org.au/index.php?id=112

No live on enlightened one, live on.

Adios, 

Kaitlyn or Kait or Kaity. As people often ask which a prefer. And I have no preference. Boom.

Why I Hate Your Smartphone

Tragedy has struck the apartment.

Three of my (soon to be) four roommates have smart phones.

My grandpa like reflexes have always been keen to the dangers of new fangled doodads like the internet, calculators, texting, and online dating sites. Why can't we just grab our abacuses, head to the bar, and pick up dates the old fashioned way? By talking about your latest re-read of the Little House on the Prairie series and smoke signaling if you're up for a second date.

I recognize that giving up your smart phone may be a little harder than burning your abacus or doing away with the telegraph system, but the reward will far outweigh the price. Without further adieu (stop playing angry birds. Right now. You, yes You. I see you there. Put the phone down. Everything will be alright) Allow me to present: Why your Smart phone is the Work of the Devil. 

Point 1: Smart phones inhibit social skills. Social interactions with me are tangibly uncomfortable to begin with, if I had the crutch of unlimited knowledge/busy work at my finger tips, I would probably become a mole person. But in all seriousness, if I'm talking to you, you have my full attention. (Or at least my attempt at full attention, I have this tendency to zone out without realizing it. But that's a topic for another day.) Nothing makes me crazier than someone whipping out their phone and texting someone else while we are having a conversation. That person in your phone isn't in this room with us, ergo they're not in on our conversation. Also, as someone who occasionally texts while conversing (recovering texting addict), it's really hard to concentrate on what the other person is saying to you! Makes you feel real outa the loop. What's worse is when two people are talking while simultaneously playing on their smart phones. There conversations go a little something like this:

Azra: Yeah.... no it drives me crazy when that teacher does that chalk thing in that class.

Marco: I know, it's ... so annoying, right?!?!

Azra: So annoying. Yeah.

Marco: Yeah with the chalkboard ... I can't think of ... hold on a sec .... uhmm Do you wanna get lunch?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AZRA NO. NO YOU DO NOT WANT TO GET LUNCH. You should both go sit in your respective bubbles and chat with people who are not there about arbitrary things in 160 characters or less.

SUB POINT 1: When we are in a room full of people talking to a person whose not in the room, we are not really present in the room. I like human contact. Let's not let that die yeah? Cause I'll overcompensate by cuddling with all of you. All the time. And you'll be uncomfortable. 

Point 2: Hey, do you know the average life span of a Panda? Me neither, don't you DARE look it up on your phone. You don't need to know that right now. For the love of all things good and holy, wait till you get home. Then google it if you must. It drives me insane when we're in the middle of a conversation and you decide that you need to show me HOURS of information and videos on your TINY SCREEN to "enhance" our chat. I don't care. That's what documentaries and research papers are for. And I genuinely enjoy those.

Point 3: GPS. I have to admit that I have definitely been saved by friend's iPhone's whilst traversing Chicago. And I am only temporarily grateful. Knowing I can be saved by a travelers iPhone makes me not learn the area I'm in. Dangerous stuff. The iPhone does not have an "avoid ghetto" option. And I'm on foot. It's a crutch yo. Get a map...and while you're at it, grab one for me as well... If you think your sense of direction is bad now, wait till you get a smart phone. You will lose all organic ability to navigate. And that's sad.

Point 4: We don't need unlimited information at our fingertips. You don't need to know everything right now. Use your brain, think about it. Be patient.

If you have a remedial phone, keep it. Resist. Join me.

If your brain has already been taken over by your smart phone... It'll probably be like quitting hard drugs.

I'm here for moral support.

Quote of the day: "Apartment problem #483: I don't lock our bathroom door because our bathroom door doesn't close." Do with that what you will. And pee before you visit.

Kaitlyn