happy v-day lovers.

My first boyfriend was named Jackson. We “dated” when I was three. We attended the same local swimming pool and I broke up with him when he squirted my friends with his water gun. I’ve always wondered if maybe I peaked too early. It would be insufficient to say that I wasn’t interested in anyone for the many years that followed because that certainly isn’t true. I recall a bad boy named Nathan in my earliest of elementary years who wore a little kid’s black leather jacket. He would pitch such a fit that he would get sent to the principal’s office more often than he was in class. He would refuse to leave his seat and therefore would be simply scooted down the hall, still glued to his chair. What a badass.

Then there was a boy named Josh. Around the pink linoleum tiles of my cafeteria, there I was- a crushing little third grader. He would do anything to get into trouble. We used to have silent lunches every now and again, when the up and ups thought we were all getting too excited for the next candy-related holiday. When silent lunch went down, the lights were turned off; we were to sit in alphabetical order with one seat in between ourselves and whoever was beside us. Somehow, Josh was assigned to sit right in front of me. The punishment was hated. Suddenly, a few minutes into it, Josh became our fearless leader as he silently plowed down two sandwiches, packed with so much egg salad between the two white slices of bread that it crammed down his throat even faster – the eggs acting as a slick lubricant, mashed with their mayonnaise and mustard fluff. He ate it so fast that in one swift second, he was ralphing.

He puked everywhere. There was total outrage, the cries of disgust, the horrifying realization that the egg salad looked exactly the same sitting on the black table, spilling over onto the pink linoleum as it had when he was eating it– it was mass hysteria. The lights were instantly flicked back on; my classmates were jumping out of their seats, swiping up their lunch materials. Josh was whisked away, in my mind he was handcuffed, but that totally didn’t happen. I hopped up too, but I stood in awe of the boy who ended silent lunch.

In elementary school, I had short, chin-length hair and bangs. My freckles were my calling card and I thought I was so funny, but I talked too much. I got marks for talking too much. I got ice-cream taken away for talking too much. You see, I would buy my lunch as usual and always pick up a tiny plastic container of strawberry ice-cream and a little wooden spoon. By the time lunch was over, I had talked too much and all I was interested in eating and all I had time for was my ice-cream. I had the best kindergarten teacher anyone could ask for. Although her teacher’s aide– I still believe – had it in for me. She caught onto me tossing out my green beans, corn niblets, and empty ice-cream carton and told my mom.

I found out the next day, as my little, slightly pudgy arms reached out for a strawberry ice-cream cup that I had been forbidden to eat ice-cream for the rest of the month. It was taken away.

I should have risen up. I should have returned to school the next day with a huge carton of strawberry ice-cream. I should have melted it down and put it in a water gun and squirted her. I should have refused to leave my seat as I sat eating it. I should have eaten so much that I puked sweet strawberry cream.

But I didn’t.

It’s a funny thing to reflect on being a little kid. I can relate to who I was then more than I can relate to who I have been recently. I hope my lot in life is to return to who I was before I took the ice-cream punishment. Back when I was transfixed by bad boys and wanted to do something stupid, yet totally daring.

A Letter to Me from Little KB:

Things could be worse. It is important to remember, Katie Beth, that things could always be worse. You could have no legs, you could have no heart, you could have no love, and you could have no start. You’re on the very brink of life. You want to see everything. You want to write something, anything, for anyone, any time. You want to pick who you love.

But what is holding you back? Nothing should, not at this point. Your brain is amazing. Your thoughts are great. The way you know you can love someone else has only been tapped into, just barely drizzled.

Sure there are people who will bring you down, people who will confuse you, betray you, and make you feel like you aren’t magnificent. Who cares?

You need to squirt people with water guns. You need to pitch a fit and refuse to leave your seat. You need to puke egg salad. You need to eat strawberry ice-cream.

Love always,

Little KB (hypothetically, of course)

I started this blog with a Valentine’s Day post. I’ve been through many things since I typed those words, but I believe the same things. I believe that love is two lesbians sharing a diet Mountain Dew in a Philosophy class. I believe that those two girls had to overcome a shit-ton of stupidity to get where they are now. I hope they’re doing well.

For a day solely dedicated to people we love, I am going to spend it with myself. I am going to quietly reflect on how much has happened since I started my little blog two years ago. I’m going to think about who I’ve always wanted to be. I’m going to remember who I was when I was little. And I’m going to listen to my heart. You should, too.

Oh, and by the way. Bon Iver won some Grammy-time. Called it.

Happy V-Day Lovers

Yours, mine, & ours,

katie beth

biding time.

Readers: how the hell are you? I hope your answer to that question is something of a positive. I really hope you're not having a bad day, but if you are, I sure do hope that the blog will brighten it, if only for a moment. Also, know that I am writing this post merely as a way to distract myself from what’s certain to follow. Coming up, you better get beyond pumped because I have the most incredible post saved on this here laptop about Saint Patty’s Day. It really is going to change your life. And it will be a change for the greener, the Irish, and the better. I feel safe in saying that you’re going to love it.

But I can’t put it on here yet. I really thought about doing it because The Office was already celebrating over on NBC last night. Did you see it? Andy had on a kilt. It was great. Scottish, but great. but I just can’t post it yet. It’s best if I can hold out until March 17th. Gees, that feels like it’s going to be light-years away, but I hope we can both hold on. I mean really. It’s that good.

So, what can we talk about to keep our minds off of what promises to be the most amazing post yet?

*know that I sat here for a while and couldn’t come up with anything good*

Here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m going to give a quick update on the past posts. I can see how you may want to immediately leave the blog. I mean, that doesn’t sound like it’s going to be super-interesting, but I don’t have that option. I have to keep on typing because it’s necessary and because I can’t stop thinking about that post that’s going to be all about the Irish.

So, let’s start back at the beginning. Have you read all of the posts, thus far? I hope you’re nodding your head in a “yes” motion. That first post about Valentine’s Day “Valentine: Revisited” was, really, a stupid title. You can’t revisit something that you’ve never visited. So, that was a negative. Sorry about that.

Anyhow, Valentine’s Day 2010 ended up being really awesome. My dad had to go to Atlanta (that wasn’t awesome) and it was the first time that he hadn’t spent that holiday with my mom in something ridiculous, like, since he was sixteen. So, I decided that the rest of the family was going out and my dad thought that was a good idea.

I called up my grandparents, whom I call “the kids,” and we all, in fact, went out. Even my brother, who wouldn’t have had any trouble getting a girl to go out with him on that holiday. He usually has a legion of admirers, but if you’re one of those girls and you come after my brother with googly-eyes. Well, remember that post with the Power Rangers picture on it? I really will do what I said because he is one of my people, just like you (the person currently reading)

Anyway, it takes a lot for me to approve one of those lasses (sorry, I‘m still in Irish-mode), cause we’re tight. And if I’m going to give up my time hangin’ with my broski to some girl, she had better prove to be nothing short of what my expectations are.

Also, if you’re a guy, I’ll share with you the advice that I often give my brother: never trust a girl who has a tan year-round. (upon reading that back, it sounds slightly racist. That’s not how I meant it. I’m just talking tanning beds, here. Those make for sketchy people)

At any rate, we went out and it was fun. Except for this one guy who was sitting at a table and he had a date. Anyhow, she left before that sweet tea ever even hit the table. Yeah. She totally ditched him. It was so uncalled for. If you’re that girl, and you’re reading this, I have one message for you: well, I can’t put it in here, because it isn’t nice. I don’t want you to think that I’m a mean person.

Moving on. Okay, let’s make this short-and-sweet. The following is a follow-up on past posts. Of course, they’re in order:

*Yes, times is still hard. Although, I think the blog really must be catching on because I’ve noticed a slight 23% increase in the niceness of the common stranger.

*It’s not cold anymore, but I still want to meet up and build that campfire. I know where we can get some gravel. Also, my Les Miserables sweatshirt has been found. Tony the klepto-ghost is still on-the-loose. Send help and bring marshmallows.

*I still don’t like Taylor Swift at all. However, that picture of Kermit just keeps getting better and better. And I’m waiting for one of you to cover that song with my new lyrics. I have a feeling we’ll be famous together.

*I’m not going to Bonnaroo, but man, that line-up is still super-impressive. I’m thinking about putting up the tent or popping up the camper in the backyard and bumpin’ some of the tunes that those attending the actual festival will get to hear. Let me know if you want to make a reservation. It will be completely free if you bring an instrument and/or sleeping bag. And rightfully so.

*My i-pod shuffle was never found. My dad was nice enough to lend me his. It basically has the same stuff on it. I thought the other day about buying a Nano. I decided that I don’t need it. Instead, I bought a TMNT t-shirt. I think that was the smarter purchase.

*I don’t have the strength to talk about those poems.

*That “Johnson City Honda, Johnson City” commercial is still annoying and “that’s what she said” has never sounded better.

*I read the first ten pages of “Common Sense” by Glenn Beck. Then, I threw up. No, really, it wasn’t that bad, but I got a little freaked out. My dad wants to read it. He also records Glenn Beck’s show everyday at five. On Fox News. Again, send help, but this time, bring sanity.

*Again: those poems were a product of a moment of a bizarre place. But I kind of liked being there. I hope you did, too. I’m not going to disclose any more information on those things.

*WHOA. I have thought of so many songs that should have been on that Top 50 List, but I knew that was going to happen. Also, John Clayton Mayer and I are still pretty tight. Even if he does act like a jerk on the news-circuit because I’m a loyal fan. Really. I’m super-loyal.

*Avatar still blows my mind. I still haven’t gotten over it. At all. I love talking about it. I hope you do, too. Also, Hurt Locker WAS NOT better. I know at least one person who thinks that it was, but he was just talkin’ crazy. I mean, he couldn’t have really meant it. Actually, I think he did, but I’m not going to hold it against him. And if you agree with that crazy logic, well I won’t hold it against it you either. But just know that I’m going to have my own awards show and Avatar is literally going to win EVERYTHING. Because that’s how it should be.

*Really, I will be there the second you need me. Cause we’re tight like that.

*Nelson is still doing well. I really did buy a TMNT t-shirt. Nelson’s never been more proud of me. Also, no update on J. Murray's car, Barack Obama, but Nelson and I sent him a fruit-basket, for just-in-cases.

Well, that catches you up on things. Hope all is well. Let’s make plans to meet back here on March 17th for that awesome post that is currently ready and waitin'. I've said it before, and I'll say it all night: you’re going to love it. Feel free to wear green between now and then. I know I will.

Seriously, as an update on things in my life that are really-really important, at least in the traditional sense, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but man, that day is quickly approaching. And know that I am somewhere having a panic attack. Also, as far as Kingsport, TN goes, what in the hell are they doing to those roads? I mean really. It's kind of a cry for help out there. "Grooved Pavement?" hell's bells, more like: "Good Luck Making It Out Alive."

Yours,
katie beth











...let's touch gloves again. you know, for old time's sake.

Valentine: Revisited

In my Philosophy class, I sit directly behind two lesbians who, everyday, share a diet mountain dew. Do you think that’s what this whole holiday is about? So, I’m not gay and I don’t think I’d like diet mountain dew, but I get the point and I hope you do, too. Let’s meet up and give each other flowers, cause that's what it’s all about. Right?

What if we’re wrong? Will anyone notice? Probably not. Valentine’s day is the perfect opportunity for a skeptic to hash out viral verbiage about card companies and Hershey’s getting their jollies, but it’s something that we all want, and that’s the most tragic part about this whole thing. We all just want to be noticed, to be liked, and, in the end, to be loved. It’s a real pity and a serious cry for help.

So, let’s talk about this whole Valentine’s day thing. I mean, let’s really talk about it. Feel free to chime in whenever you see fit. And if you feel like reading on, I already like you even more than when you clicked on this. I don’t know the history of Valentine’s day and I couldn’t tell you one damn thing about Saint Valentine and I don’t really care. I’m not going to get all ridiculous and look that stuff up because it seems pretty irrelevant to a modern day discussion of this red and pink holiday that forces us to reassess our lives in sad little ways.

You may think that you don’t care about Valentine’s day. You may totally avoid those aisles in the stores that are decked out in hearts. Don’t worry, it’s okay, I do it, too. I guess the most depressing thing about Valentine’s day is thinking to the point of almost knowing that you’re gonna have one. Just when that little crush of yours spirals into constant thoughts of a really cool person, a little thing called reality steps out of that obnoxiously realistic room and slaps the hell out of you. And let me tell you something, that shit hurts.

It doesn’t hurt in a normal way, though. It hurts by how much your cheeks start to blush cause you’re so damn embarrassed for ever thinking you even stood a chance. What idiots we all must be, thinking we could make this crapshoot of a day be anything more then, well, crap.

I don’t mean to dog this day. I’m sure that there are at least a few people out there who still feel optimistic about February 14th. Here’s the shocker: I’m one of them. I realize that I sound all dungeons and dragons about it, but I really hope that things turn around, even if it is just once. I don’t think Valentine’s day meant to bring us all down. That poor little guy was trying to lift us up; lift us up with a day solely dedicated to those people in our lives that make us do nothing else but think about them. And how do we repay Valentine’s day? We give each other cheap chocolates. Is that the best we can come up with?

You see, even if you do have a Valentine, you’re still setting yourself up for major disappointment because nobody gets it anymore, and I don’t really know if they ever did. As a direct result of never having a Valentine, I’ve had plenty of time to think about how it should really go down. And I gotta tell ya: I got nothin. I guess that’s the point. Whoever that person is that you think you’ve really got a little somethin goin with is supposed to get it. They’re supposed to get exactly what you’ve always been dreaming of, even if you never dreamed it.

Isn’t that just awful? We’re not mind readers, even though we might like to be.

Re: the person that I wish was my Valentine:
I wouldn’t know what to get you. And that’s the point. You don’t give a gift to someone on Valentine’s day to show them that you love them. Instead, you wake up on the morning of February 14th and your gift is already there. The gift is that you have someone to love.

Well, guys, that’s all I got. For Valentine’s day, I hope you remember this little writing and I hope you got it. Anyway, it’s been real. Thanks for reading. Head on back over to Facebook and let me know how you’re feelin about it, cause I’d really like to know. Sorry it got a little sentimental. I hope it didn’t put you off.

Yours,
katie beth