This blog isn't empty, but posting has obviously slowed down a bit recently.
Reason being, as much as I love the current coffee-stained layout, I feel that it would be more visually appealing and would be easier to read with a new one. This month has been fairly busy, so it's likely the entire month will be a sort of hiatus dedicated to letting me implement a new layout and work on writing interesting posts.
Feedback on both posts and layout is, of course, very welcome.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Kato's First Haunted House
Let it be said up front that I don't do scary. I love surprises and roller coasters, but I'm a total wimp when it comes to traditionally-scary stuff like blood and scary movies. I'm so much of a wimp that I a) can't even look at someone else's paper cut and b)had to stop watching Ghost Rider in the first ten minutes.
But it happened the the first-ever haunted house on campus took place in the boy's dorm, and Lee-sister needed someone to go with because she had friends who were taking part. It took place in the boys' dorm, you had had to go into the suites of rooms, then back out again. At some points it might have been the intention that you were so scared you would run out. I'm not entirely sure.
*Silent creepy man points into first suite*
Me: Lee, I can't see. Can you see?
Lee: I think that's the point.
Girl in creepy makeup: *Silently walks right into me trying to stare me down
Me: Nice mascara.
Girl: *Looks askance*
Girl in next suite: SCREEEEEAAAAAAM
Lee and Me: Our ears are bleeding, if that was your goal.
Strobe light: FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER
Guide to next floor carrying lamp: *Walks quickly*
Me: There is a real fear that I will slip and kill myself because I cannot see the stairs anymore, Mr. Quickfeet. Do you want another exhibit, huh? Do you?
Fake blood on the closed-in maze walls that is not dry: We like your fancy coat!
Me: Crap.
Man with chainsaw: *chases*
Lee and Me: *walks*
Man with chainsaw: Man, they weren't even scared.
Chainsaw Man gave up after ten feet of rrrrrwwwwww-ing two inches from our backs, and his comment made everything worth it.
It was a well-put-together event, and I'm pretty sure that people who have normal brains reacted the way they were supposed to because I heard a lot of screaming and giggling and at least once group just screamed and ran down the hallway without even getting to the parts where they actually try to scare you.
And that's how I learned that Kayt > haunted houses.
But it happened the the first-ever haunted house on campus took place in the boy's dorm, and Lee-sister needed someone to go with because she had friends who were taking part. It took place in the boys' dorm, you had had to go into the suites of rooms, then back out again. At some points it might have been the intention that you were so scared you would run out. I'm not entirely sure.
*Silent creepy man points into first suite*
Me: Lee, I can't see. Can you see?
Lee: I think that's the point.
Girl in creepy makeup: *Silently walks right into me trying to stare me down
Me: Nice mascara.
Girl: *Looks askance*
Girl in next suite: SCREEEEEAAAAAAM
Lee and Me: Our ears are bleeding, if that was your goal.
Strobe light: FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER FLICKER
Guide to next floor carrying lamp: *Walks quickly*
Me: There is a real fear that I will slip and kill myself because I cannot see the stairs anymore, Mr. Quickfeet. Do you want another exhibit, huh? Do you?
Fake blood on the closed-in maze walls that is not dry: We like your fancy coat!
Me: Crap.
Man with chainsaw: *chases*
Lee and Me: *walks*
Man with chainsaw: Man, they weren't even scared.
Chainsaw Man gave up after ten feet of rrrrrwwwwww-ing two inches from our backs, and his comment made everything worth it.
It was a well-put-together event, and I'm pretty sure that people who have normal brains reacted the way they were supposed to because I heard a lot of screaming and giggling and at least once group just screamed and ran down the hallway without even getting to the parts where they actually try to scare you.
And that's how I learned that Kayt > haunted houses.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
How I Almost Blew Up My Car, But Not Really
Technically, I didn't have a "first car," in the sense that the Roadrunner belonged to my parents and was mainly designated the "college car"--i.e., for use by the children in college. On the other hand, I was the only kid in college, and watching my sister drive it when I was home on breaks was an exercise in self-restraint because my precious is in the hands of another.
The Roadrunner, so named because of its pathetically wimpy "meep meep"-sounding horn, was a 2002 Toyota Corolla. Prior to its acquisition, I was of the strong opinion that I would prefer to drive a minivan (which I learned to drive in) for the rest of my life. That went out the window when I discovered the tighter turn radius made a three-point turn into no more than two points.
The Roadrunner was awesome. My school was an 11-hour drive from home, more than 1300 miles round-trip, and I could get nearly 40 mpg on the freeway for most of that. Gas milage, quickness, room for friends...it had only one downside: it ate oil faster than college students eat, well, anything. It didn't leak, but I was having to put in two quarts a month, at least, and made sure I did about a week or so before one of the breaks my freshman year.
Something that doesn't seem related, but really is: I can be very forgetful. For most things, I keep a planner and so life doesn't generally go awry, because the planner keeps track of definite things AND things that are only a possibility AND how to do everything associated with them.
So it's once again time to trek home. Over 600 miles, but I make it. The car is used for normal around-town trips, and it's several days later that I notice it's starting to smell funky. Dangerously funky, in a burned kind of way. I'm afraid that driving five miles from the craft store will be time enough for the engine to blow up and kill me.
Ready to duck and cover if this somehow sets off an explosion, I open the hood.
And discover the oil cap sitting on top of the engine while everything surrounding it is covered in a fine layer of black.
I've been driving around for two weeks without a cap on the oil.
Despite the fact that ten more minutes driving home will probably not do that much more harm, all things considered (re: 11-hour drive home), this calls for a minor freak out in the craft store parking lot the involves lots and lots of paper towels from the store's bathroom and calling my dad on the phone, because dads fix everything.
When I was reassured that so long as the car had enough oil (it did, though it ate it like a speed demon soon after) and I'd cleaned up what I could (there were not enough paper towels in the world), then the smell would linger but it was just the excess oil burning off and was harmless. Yes, harmless. Yes, that means no harm. It's safe to drive and will absolutely not blow up, Kayto, you are fine and stop being a wimp.
And that's when I started checking every gauge on my car obsessively forever after.
The moral of the story is obvious: even if your car is awesome, it will still find ways to mess with you because cars are like cats that way. They even start with the same two letters.
Also like some cats, the Roadrunner came to an untimely, crunchy end, but that's a different story.
The Roadrunner, so named because of its pathetically wimpy "meep meep"-sounding horn, was a 2002 Toyota Corolla. Prior to its acquisition, I was of the strong opinion that I would prefer to drive a minivan (which I learned to drive in) for the rest of my life. That went out the window when I discovered the tighter turn radius made a three-point turn into no more than two points.
The Roadrunner was awesome. My school was an 11-hour drive from home, more than 1300 miles round-trip, and I could get nearly 40 mpg on the freeway for most of that. Gas milage, quickness, room for friends...it had only one downside: it ate oil faster than college students eat, well, anything. It didn't leak, but I was having to put in two quarts a month, at least, and made sure I did about a week or so before one of the breaks my freshman year.
So it's once again time to trek home. Over 600 miles, but I make it. The car is used for normal around-town trips, and it's several days later that I notice it's starting to smell funky. Dangerously funky, in a burned kind of way. I'm afraid that driving five miles from the craft store will be time enough for the engine to blow up and kill me.
Ready to duck and cover if this somehow sets off an explosion, I open the hood.
And discover the oil cap sitting on top of the engine while everything surrounding it is covered in a fine layer of black.
I've been driving around for two weeks without a cap on the oil.
Despite the fact that ten more minutes driving home will probably not do that much more harm, all things considered (re: 11-hour drive home), this calls for a minor freak out in the craft store parking lot the involves lots and lots of paper towels from the store's bathroom and calling my dad on the phone, because dads fix everything.
When I was reassured that so long as the car had enough oil (it did, though it ate it like a speed demon soon after) and I'd cleaned up what I could (there were not enough paper towels in the world), then the smell would linger but it was just the excess oil burning off and was harmless. Yes, harmless. Yes, that means no harm. It's safe to drive and will absolutely not blow up, Kayto, you are fine and stop being a wimp.
And that's when I started checking every gauge on my car obsessively forever after.
The moral of the story is obvious: even if your car is awesome, it will still find ways to mess with you because cars are like cats that way. They even start with the same two letters.
Also like some cats, the Roadrunner came to an untimely, crunchy end, but that's a different story.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Is this the real life?
♫ Is this just fantasy? Too much homework to escape from realityyyy. ♪
And that's why, in a nutshell, I completely disappeared for a couple weeks. For the week and a half before my fall break, I had something due every day, and a couple things sprung on me at the last second (note to professors: assigning four essays two days before they're due is not going to garner you the best-written results, especially if it's midterm season. Just sayin').
Luckily that's over now so I can continue to furnish you with videos made by people of questionable sanity because it's time for Friday Ephemera!
Sit through the entire thing. I promise it's worth it.
And then you have two variations of the same thing:
Personally, the second is my favorite, because nothing can beat the sight of "pikachu" riding the "pidgey" near the end.
It wasn't intentional, but these all ended up being about Pokemon, which admittedly has some epic (interpret as you will) fan videos. Are there any I've missed?
And that's why, in a nutshell, I completely disappeared for a couple weeks. For the week and a half before my fall break, I had something due every day, and a couple things sprung on me at the last second (note to professors: assigning four essays two days before they're due is not going to garner you the best-written results, especially if it's midterm season. Just sayin').
Luckily that's over now so I can continue to furnish you with videos made by people of questionable sanity because it's time for Friday Ephemera!
Sit through the entire thing. I promise it's worth it.
And then you have two variations of the same thing:
Personally, the second is my favorite, because nothing can beat the sight of "pikachu" riding the "pidgey" near the end.
It wasn't intentional, but these all ended up being about Pokemon, which admittedly has some epic (interpret as you will) fan videos. Are there any I've missed?
Monday, September 26, 2011
In the Latest News, Newspapers Have Issues
Newspapers. Apparently they're dying, but I love them--there's just something about being able to hold something physical to read and not have to deal with the computer acting up that I love.
At the start of last year, I had barely begun to drown in homework. I was in a journalism class, and we had to get a subscription. Sweet, a reason for me to have daily reading material! So on a Friday, I mosied on over to the newspaper's website and found the convenient "subscription link." Awesomely, the paper wants to give me a gift for subscribing (wooo, $10 gift card to Kroger! College students love food!), so I fill in all the info and that's that.
Except that I never get a paper. So on Monday, I check the website and again and call the number provided, only to be faced with:
"Hello, thank you for calling Louisiana Options in Long-Term Care..."
Thanks, newspaper people, but I'm not quite there yet. Maybe after I graduate college?
I also live in Tennessee, but that's a minor detail.
It takes forever to find a correctly-listed phone number somewhere online. When I finally get ahold of a customer service person who sounds so much like an automated voice that I mistake her for one (oops), I find out that I do not, in fact have a subscription. Actually, there's no record of me anywhere. We start working on fixing this, until I remember that being credit card-less means my father has to pay, so there's another call to make.
"Remember to tell them I live in G Dorm," I tell him. "G Dorm. I can't find a street address for it, so make sure they know the name."
Soon, I have email confirmation! I can only dream of the comics and event notices I'll get soon, and also maybe the news, too.
Tuesday: No paper.
Wednesday: find paper in mailbox, located in a completely different building and also not accessible to non-school employees.
Thursday: No paper.
Friday: Call customer service again and get the most friendly, perky man in the entire universe. He confirms my address, which is correct except for the fact that they having me living in the boy's dorm on the other side of campus. I have no idea how that happened--my father does, actually, know exactly what dorm I live in, since he's had things delivered before, so this is a newspaper error. They refund money for the days I didn't get the paper, so no harm done, right?
It's nearly 5pm when I call, so he lets me know that this info might not be processed and if I don't get papers over the weekend, to be sure to call him back on Monday, you hear?
Saturday: No paper.
Sunday: No paper
Monday: Call customer service and end up with a perfectly nice (but not Mr. Happy) lady. She confirms my address...and again, I am living in the boys dorm. Sinful! I try to explain that no, there is no street address for my dorm. It's just "G Dorm." No, you can't get to my door, the paper should be fine if delivered to the front porch. No, really, there is no street address.
Tuesday: Get a voicemail from the poor, confused carrier trying to figure out if my newest address is correct. Gleefully discover a long plastic bag with my name on it, and shoot off an email to the paper saying yes, address is now correct and did I mention how nice it was to get the paper for the first time in nearly a week?.
Not that I was counting, or anything.
Also, still waiting on that Kroger gift card.
At the start of last year, I had barely begun to drown in homework. I was in a journalism class, and we had to get a subscription. Sweet, a reason for me to have daily reading material! So on a Friday, I mosied on over to the newspaper's website and found the convenient "subscription link." Awesomely, the paper wants to give me a gift for subscribing (wooo, $10 gift card to Kroger! College students love food!), so I fill in all the info and that's that.
Except that I never get a paper. So on Monday, I check the website and again and call the number provided, only to be faced with:
"Hello, thank you for calling Louisiana Options in Long-Term Care..."
Thanks, newspaper people, but I'm not quite there yet. Maybe after I graduate college?
I also live in Tennessee, but that's a minor detail.
It takes forever to find a correctly-listed phone number somewhere online. When I finally get ahold of a customer service person who sounds so much like an automated voice that I mistake her for one (oops), I find out that I do not, in fact have a subscription. Actually, there's no record of me anywhere. We start working on fixing this, until I remember that being credit card-less means my father has to pay, so there's another call to make.
"Remember to tell them I live in G Dorm," I tell him. "G Dorm. I can't find a street address for it, so make sure they know the name."
Soon, I have email confirmation! I can only dream of the comics and event notices I'll get soon, and also maybe the news, too.
Tuesday: No paper.
Wednesday: find paper in mailbox, located in a completely different building and also not accessible to non-school employees.
Thursday: No paper.
Friday: Call customer service again and get the most friendly, perky man in the entire universe. He confirms my address, which is correct except for the fact that they having me living in the boy's dorm on the other side of campus. I have no idea how that happened--my father does, actually, know exactly what dorm I live in, since he's had things delivered before, so this is a newspaper error. They refund money for the days I didn't get the paper, so no harm done, right?
It's nearly 5pm when I call, so he lets me know that this info might not be processed and if I don't get papers over the weekend, to be sure to call him back on Monday, you hear?
Please accept these cookies for being awesome, Mr. Happy Customer Service Man.
Saturday: No paper.
Sunday: No paper
Monday: Call customer service and end up with a perfectly nice (but not Mr. Happy) lady. She confirms my address...and again, I am living in the boys dorm. Sinful! I try to explain that no, there is no street address for my dorm. It's just "G Dorm." No, you can't get to my door, the paper should be fine if delivered to the front porch. No, really, there is no street address.
Tuesday: Get a voicemail from the poor, confused carrier trying to figure out if my newest address is correct. Gleefully discover a long plastic bag with my name on it, and shoot off an email to the paper saying yes, address is now correct and did I mention how nice it was to get the paper for the first time in nearly a week?.
Not that I was counting, or anything.
Also, still waiting on that Kroger gift card.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Friday Ephemera: Cute Has Never Been So Disturbing Edition
It's time for Friday Ephemera, which looks like it's a bi-weekly posting of things you didn't know were on the internet! Now, I'm a bit rushed lately because school's finally picking up, and I feel the need to make the rest of you as uncomfortable as I am (albeit in a slightly different way).
So first, head on over to Hello Kitty Hell, a blog run by a poor guy whose wife is obsessed with all things Hello Kitty, so he started a blog to chronicle every disturbing Hello Kitty-related item in existence. Some are merely ridiculous (Cheetos. Duct tape. Glasses. Braces.) and some go...farther (scarification. Sex toys. Gas masks. Cocaine pipes). Obviously, many aren't officially-endorsed Kitty products, but the fact remains that someone looked at a septic tank and said, "that would look a lot better with Hello Kitty on it." (Warning, nature of some of the products means it NSFW.)
A confession: I just pulled that site up because I feel bad only showing you a single thing on Friday Ephemera. This is what the entire post is about.
Watch it. Don't stop until the entire thing is done, because there's always something new to see that has no relation to anything! It starts out slow, with Lisa Frank backpacks and Kraft macaroni and cheese, then eases into the faceless large women dancing, and you know you've hit the jackpot when you get to the floating femur.
But don't stop there! Watch now, and we'll throw in FIVE free floating tanks and a computer-generated mustache just for you! Along with a myriad of other things we can't describe here for legal reasons. (All SFW, though. Does that make it worse, or better?)
NSFW: Not safe for work
SFW: Safe for work
So first, head on over to Hello Kitty Hell, a blog run by a poor guy whose wife is obsessed with all things Hello Kitty, so he started a blog to chronicle every disturbing Hello Kitty-related item in existence. Some are merely ridiculous (Cheetos. Duct tape. Glasses. Braces.) and some go...farther (scarification. Sex toys. Gas masks. Cocaine pipes). Obviously, many aren't officially-endorsed Kitty products, but the fact remains that someone looked at a septic tank and said, "that would look a lot better with Hello Kitty on it." (Warning, nature of some of the products means it NSFW.)
A confession: I just pulled that site up because I feel bad only showing you a single thing on Friday Ephemera. This is what the entire post is about.
Watch it. Don't stop until the entire thing is done, because there's always something new to see that has no relation to anything! It starts out slow, with Lisa Frank backpacks and Kraft macaroni and cheese, then eases into the faceless large women dancing, and you know you've hit the jackpot when you get to the floating femur.
But don't stop there! Watch now, and we'll throw in FIVE free floating tanks and a computer-generated mustache just for you! Along with a myriad of other things we can't describe here for legal reasons. (All SFW, though. Does that make it worse, or better?)
NSFW: Not safe for work
SFW: Safe for work
Monday, September 19, 2011
What To Expect if We Ever Live Together
The verbal parts of today's post are taken verbatim from real events. This post is sponsored by my very patient roommate, Roomie the Crushinator, who did not write this but I'm pretty sure this is what she was thinking when this ocurred.
-----------------------
I'm sitting at at my computer trying to keep up with the rent from Cityville on Facebook and the crops demanding that I pick them right now. It's a good thing that I don't have class until noon tomorrow--or, technically, today, since it's nearly 1 am and I'm not even tired.
Our room is divided with our desks back-to-back, so I can't see Kayt, but she's been fairly quiet for the last hour. Apparently there's a big test tomorrow and she just now started studying after running around like a chicken with her head cut off squawking about all the other things she has due tomorrow, which apparently she forgot about until right now. Not that I'm surprised.
Marvo the Magician is demanding facilities in my town when I hear signs of life again.
"What do you think Jesus' DNA was like?"
A pause, presumeably to allow me to answer, goes unfilled because I'm still wondering where this came from.
"Like, was it all Mary's DNA with...a Y chromosome or something? Is that even possible?"
...Nope, still bemused.
"Or, I guess since that implies sperm and egg and sex and stuff, did he not share DNA with anyone?"
I venture that in my mind, he probably looked like a male version of Mary. Maybe.
"And what about Adam and Eve?"
I don't know, I tell her. It's 1 am and she has a test she should be studying for. From what I recall of her gripes, it has to do more with a bunch of dead Latin people than with biblical characters.
"Fine," she mutters, leaving me to wonder if she's really the same age I am.
...
"Hey, C?"
Maybe she's just thinking about our choir class tomorrow...
Nope.
"If different Christian denominations were embodied and there was a big photo of them all--like a family reunion photograph or something--what do you think it'd be like? Like, Nazarenes and Methodists and some Baptists would be all hugging each other and cheesin' it up for the camera, and pentacostal and charismatic churches would be partying in the middle, and Eastern Orthodoxy would be peeking in the windows..."
Kayt's image collection seems quite appropriate right now.
-----------------------
I'm sitting at at my computer trying to keep up with the rent from Cityville on Facebook and the crops demanding that I pick them right now. It's a good thing that I don't have class until noon tomorrow--or, technically, today, since it's nearly 1 am and I'm not even tired.
Our room is divided with our desks back-to-back, so I can't see Kayt, but she's been fairly quiet for the last hour. Apparently there's a big test tomorrow and she just now started studying after running around like a chicken with her head cut off squawking about all the other things she has due tomorrow, which apparently she forgot about until right now. Not that I'm surprised.
Marvo the Magician is demanding facilities in my town when I hear signs of life again.
"What do you think Jesus' DNA was like?"
A pause, presumeably to allow me to answer, goes unfilled because I'm still wondering where this came from.
"Like, was it all Mary's DNA with...a Y chromosome or something? Is that even possible?"
...Nope, still bemused.
"Or, I guess since that implies sperm and egg and sex and stuff, did he not share DNA with anyone?"
I venture that in my mind, he probably looked like a male version of Mary. Maybe.
"And what about Adam and Eve?"
I don't know, I tell her. It's 1 am and she has a test she should be studying for. From what I recall of her gripes, it has to do more with a bunch of dead Latin people than with biblical characters.
"Fine," she mutters, leaving me to wonder if she's really the same age I am.
...
"Hey, C?"
Maybe she's just thinking about our choir class tomorrow...
Nope.
"If different Christian denominations were embodied and there was a big photo of them all--like a family reunion photograph or something--what do you think it'd be like? Like, Nazarenes and Methodists and some Baptists would be all hugging each other and cheesin' it up for the camera, and pentacostal and charismatic churches would be partying in the middle, and Eastern Orthodoxy would be peeking in the windows..."
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