Six senses feeling, Five around a sense of self.

I was recently invited by a co-worker, Sarah, to join her bowling with a group of her close friends. I normally don't entertain that kind of invitation because I have a specific group of my own friends at work and that has been quite enough for me. However, since my cubicle moved I have gotten to know another small group of people and have branched out a little bit. I like Sarah and I haven't been "out" in awhile, so I thought it would be good for me. I had fun, but there was some awkwardness and a few slights that have been bothering the heck out of me.

Initially, I was picked with two of her male friends in the front seat of an SUV with Sarah & I in the back. It was quite obvious from the get go that these two guys were in a bro-mance. They had that rare guy-on-guy relationship which is impossible to understand or infiltrate. God help the women who eventually end up with those two, that's all I can say.

But I digress. We went to T.G.I. Friday's for dinner, met by one of Sarah's female friends. She was nice, a little quirky, but all over the place. She reminded me of a friend I had in high school {Katie- who I have seen a couple times after graduation and since then has completely snubbed me}. When we all sat down, I was in the aisle between Sarah and one of the guy friends.

The guy who sat next to me, not by my personal choice but by a sort of musical chair scenario, was not happy with the situation. He immediately positioned his chair as close to the wall and as far away from me as humanly possible. The person sitting on the other side of him was his love-buddy, who he was literally on top of. The friend continually told him to move over, but he would utter things like "I can't face the wall!".

I'm an observer so it was pretty easy to see what was going on.

It would have been less obvious if he had 'NO FAT CHICKS' printed on his Red Sox jersey. I always find it comical when men my age think that I am automatically going to want a ride on their love train. 

It's just like when homophobes meet an openly gay man- they get it in their heads that the gay man is just going to drop on all fours for them just because they have a hankering for the Y chromosome. It's like they think that just because I am overweight, that I don't have my own preference. There's no way a fat girl could possibly want to have common interests and an actual physical attraction to a man. 

It definitely didn't help that this dude was a meathead. Total JOE SIX PACK. I could read him like a book. He desires a skinny girl that his friends will bust his balls about- a trophy girlfriend. Someone well above what his own standards should rationally be. He wants someone who will go to baseball and football and hockey games with him, who will scream expletives at the players and slop beer all over her ample bosoms. He absolutely does NOT want an overweight English major who spends most of her free time reading literature and dabbling in the arts. He does NOT want a female who is marginally smarter than him, who has been around the bend with a man even smarter than her, and who will not stand for any bullshit.

I could look at him and see what he will be in ten short years. Balding with a larger waistline than mine, due to his extreme love of fatty foods and starchy beers.

He had made some side comment about a fat guy who did not want to hang out with them, and about his laziness to lose the weight. As a direct result of that comment {which was quickly silenced by the realization that a tubby girl was on board} I will get immense pleasure when I see run into him someplace down the road. Even then, he will likely have his same meathead views but slightly modified to fit his own situation. But funnier still was the reality of my feelings towards his "type". He could not have made a sillier attempt to say "NO WAY LADY" without realizing it was completely unnecessary. The moment he opened his yaw, I felt I would rather die a slow and painful death than date someone like him.

I mean, a cartoon like Family Guy may give some meatheads the idea that they can ask for standards in a woman that they shouldn't fulfill for themselves.

But don't make me feel like a lesser person because I'm not the girl of your deluded dreams.
And that's the end of my rant.


I haven't written in my blog in like, forever. It's mostly because I feel like nobody really reads it any more (sad face). It is also because I spend at least eight hours a day umbilically attached to computer, so my tolerance for sitting in front of one to voice my thoughts has been very low. I thought I would throw out some updates, in case anybody cares!

One awesome thing about my job is that they are paying for college! I had to find a major that I could start with online and that my job would deem customer service related. I squeezed by with 'English Language & Literature'. This satisfies my second love, next to art. Since the dusk of high school, I have become an obsessive reader. I love writing creatively, but I definitely need guidance. I honestly don't know what kind of secondary job it could lead to. I'm leaving all of my options open. There is a hope that I could work in publication- something independent but exciting. Who knows, right?

It is kind of insane that I haven't written in my blog because I loathe computers, but wish to take online classes 2-3 days a week. It was a difficult decision, but with my strange schedule and the easier entry, it made more sense to me.

I almost went through the grueling process of attending UNH because of it's close proximity and awesome academics. The truth is, I may still consider it. The only problem is that my job limits the amount of degrees it will pay for, so I'm trying to get the most bang for my buck. I will go through a semester online with SNHU, if I'm unhappy with it, I'll look into transferring the credits to UNH and start with something else. Another complication with that idea is that I am trying to get the Bachelors under my belt for the possibility of needing it in the next four years. I'm a little unsure that I will last even that long at my company. It's actually a little back up plan, fleeting as it may be.

Backup plans are ALWAYS necessary in my life.

On the life front, I'm getting optimistic. I have a ton of vacation time this year (4 weeks!), so I'm planning a similar but better trip to last year's cheap Arizona getaway. We've been looking at flights to San Diego - we will hang there for a few days and then drive to Arizona. I really loved Arizona, but I felt a little ripped off by the limitations of the desert. I had planned on seeing the ocean because I was told Tuscon was in close enough proximity to California & Mexico. There was no specific plan to do so and it was reliant on the people lodging us, so it never happened. This year, we're planning California first, and we will share driving privileges as I will hopefully have my license by then (halfway there! passed the written!). Even if I don't, I can still help drive in Arizona- the lanes are ridiculously huge and a six year old could successfully navigate the highway.

I also have a three day vacation (wednesday through the weekend) scheduled for this coming week. I'm thinking about canceling it and pushing it back to the following week which has a payday and maybe squeezing in a very short getaway. The cheapest last minute deals are in Orlando, of which I would have to spend at least a day or two at Disney. So I would definitely need my paycheck. It depends on if the vacation schedule will allow me to do it, but I'm highly considering it. With this awful weather and my overworked buttocks, I really need some warm weather NOW. And some alone time.

Otherwise, my life consists of working and sleeping. Which is okay, for now.


When I visited New York City last weekend, I had some particular ideas of what I thought it would be like. With a place so huge, diverse and intense, it would be hard for any of my expectations to be completely correct.

First of all, I compared it too closely with Boston. I felt like it would be a larger scale, younger version of my beloved 'Beantown'. In some ways, it was all of those things, and so much more.

It would be an understatement to say that New York City smells interesting. It opened up my smelling sense in a way I never thought possible. I keep telling myself that it's akin to a non-smoker walking into a smoke filled room for the first time. The room has all types of smoke in it, too, like cigars, pot and maybe a clove cigarette or two. It would be very overwhelming.

New York, to me, smelled like poop. Everywhere, all the time. Poop, and other excrement-like smells. Maybe it's just my smog less New Hampshire nose. I can't describe it any other way. To me, there was so much to see, so much to experience, but it was all laden with... poo. All I repeated all day long was "Oh, ew, I'm downwind... of death! Sweet poopy death!" and "BOSTON does NOT smell like THIS."

It wasn't until I was mildly buzzed with alcohol and the night was thick, the day closing to an end, that my nose finally calmed down. I got home and I was exhausted, after doing bus-chair yoga half-sleep for 5 hours... stripped down and fell into bed... but couldn't sleep because I smelled the ickyness on my skin.

I am not saying that I didn't love that city. That would be a lie. It gave me a case of visual A.D.D. in the course of my day. There were so many people, so many attractions, that I never got bored for even a small moment. It felt like some crazy melting pot of ridiculously huge buildings, diverse population and a sort of 'I've got shit to do and I've got shit to do NOW' attitude. There was somebody trying to sell me something here, there and everywhere. A purse vendor LITERALLY chased me down the street. I was browsing, he began to barter with me, which I politely declined. As I was leaving, he followed me, so I ran - and he ran screaming after me. I cannot say that has ever happened to me in Boston... or anywhere on the planet, for that matter.

My favorite venture was into the futuristic technicolor Times Square, which felt like some neon dream I had years ago. Being so close to the election, we were inundated with political messages and memorabilia. I couldn't help but buy a cheap Obama T-shirt and pin. Almost bought a Mccain/Obama condom that said "EITHER WAY YOU'RE SCREWED!" In retrospect, I wish I had. But I'm trying to be optimistic.

There were bleachers in Times Square, and somebody had been filming, which I assume was some GMA thing that had ended shortly before our arrival. People were still sitting on the bleachers, as if waiting for some kind of urban pep rally, which was abstractly weird. The crowds threatened to separate me and my pals, which was always disconcerting. We had all day and were running out of stuff to actually do, since we were trying to conserve money.. but somehow we all felt like we had to move onto the NEXT THING. The crowd was pushing us to it, whatever it was. So from Times Square, we were pushed to Central Park.

I only saw about 1/100th of that behemoth of a park, but it was an autumn masterpiece. It felt like it wasn't actually a park, but an exhibit of all parks. It had moats, ponds, streams. Giant rocks to climb, fields to lay out on, random paths to follow, statues upon statues, etc, etc. There was some big race going on, which was followed by fireworks. We couldn't find an end to it, and when we eventually got out of it, I half expected Central Park to find a way to suck us back in, like some episode of the Twilight Zone [[YOU'LL NEVER ESCAPE!! YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST VI STING!!]]

Eventually we circled back to Rockefeller Center, where we were to end our journey. We had dinner at the awesomest restaurant/bar that I have EVER been to. It was a haunted house themed eatery where all of the waitstaff dressed in costume and heckled you. When we entered the restaurant, they closed the door behind us and in front of us, locking us in complete darkness. This guy started screaming and saying crazy indecipherable stuff. Then the door opened and we walked into the dark and gloomy atmosphere.

All the waiters had parts in this giant, three tiered play with animated statues which actually talked to you. Some of them were obviously prerecorded, like the Bugaboo Creek talking heads, and some had people talking into them. Heckling the diners. Trying to hook one girl up with some guy.

There were several people they employed to walk around and smile creepy unbreakable smiles. Others would listen to conversation and jump in. For instance, I was talking to Rob about someone biting something, and this waiter walked up to me and yelled "BITE??! DO YOU BITE??!".. so I played along.. and so did he. He bit me. Which I have a picture of. It was crazy, but fun crazy.

The Jeckyl & Hyde bar was, hands down, my favorite experience of New York City. It was sort of like dinner theater, and somewhat affordable for NY standards. I went home a bit overwhelmed, but at least had been laughing on the way back to the bus. I would definitely go back there and bring more of my friends/family.

I think I will have to go back to NYC again, at some point, and feel it out again. Maybe in the summer next year. I know I would LOVE to bar-hop there. It's a gorgeous city at night.



I took in a cat, who I renamed from the awful "Pepper" tag, to Kyra. I removed her from my cousin's house, since he decided that he was going to kick her out because she was getting out of the house. Which is rediculous. She is a really well tempered cat and has intergrated into my house really well. But, oh, yeah, she was pregnant. She is no longer.

Officially, I have six cats. Two adults: Lula and Kyra. Then there is Lilly, Cortez [the killer], Granny and Julio. Except I just took them to the vet, and it turns out that Lilly is a boy and Cortez is a girl.

I could switch the names, but they're temporary, so who cares, right? Of course, they are all named after Dave Matthews related titles. So this makes me limited in my re-assigning of names. There are over a hundred titles, but there are a lot of numbers and non-namable songs.

I have thought about keeping one baby. Maybe Granny, but only because I would be insane to keep three long haired gray cats in my house. I figure that I'll have three, but as long as they all stay in different rooms it'll seem like I only have one. Yes, this is my logic.

The only permanent home right now is for a girl at work who apparently has been searching high and wide for a kitten. She's a single mom and has been looking for a kitten for herself and her son, mostly a "mouse-hunting cat" and companion. She seems really nice and was nervous that I wouldn't give her one in the end. This is so not the case. I can deal with THREE but not SIX. I advised that she will be accruing her portion of the vet fees [so far it is $20 a cat].

The only other [probable] taker is this woman who works at the veteranarian's office. I took out Julio and she put her hands up to her mouth hesitantly as her eyes became as wide as saucers. She told me that she had this cat named "Bubba" and he died eight years ago, since then she has been looking for a red-orange tabby boy and no cat has come close. Except for Julio.

I mean, she looked at this kitten like I looked at Dave Matthews when he was about a foot away from me. She works at the vets office and is obviously an animal lover. How can you say no to that?

So now I get to take care of them for 8-10 weeks. My house is going to be in nightmare shape, but at least I get the fun part. I get the fat little babies running around my house, and then I will send them to good homes. This will be the only litter I will ever have, though if I ever move to a bigger apartment [at some point I hope to] like a duplex or something, I would definitely consider rescuing other cats with litters. Just to one up my crazy cat lady status.

For now, I gots six cats.



The memory of my father slips away because I don’t want to remember him. If I remember him, if I remember everything about him, I will have to remember EVERYTHING. Not only will I recall his laugh, so similar to my own, but I must also see his last struggling breaths of air. The sound of his lungs working against him, against nature, betraying him.

The things that defined him, gave him importance, like the many games he played that required quiet and thought, hurt me. I think about the things that he clung to, the things that he obsessed over. I think about how useless they became in his final days. How they dropped away and became nothing, how you can’t fill a cemetery with the pieces on a chess board. How I can never know again that “One more minute!” during a golf tournament potentially means one more hour, or two, or three.

I don’t ever want to hear myself apologize to him for being a bad daughter, and I never ever want to hear him apologize for being a bad father. If I go back to this, I will have to be thirteen again, walking away from him in the last moments of his failure of a life.

My world went on. I cried enough, I grieved enough, and I went through the process. As the days passed, I left it behind me. Everything about him began to fade from my life to the point where discussing him became difficult. Naturally, I didn’t want to reflect on his life because I didn’t want to reflect on his death. Before the day Robert Theodore Katsikas disintegrated from the Earth, immortality was almost a certainty. Death was something that could happen to me, but it wasn’t something that would happen to me.

I am a master at pushing memories to the wayside. My childhood has become a scene in my life so alien that it is like I have become a different person. I am the interchangeable actor in a soap opera who takes the part of a main character. Only my name is important, not my heart. You can put any label on me that you would like, but I am not the little girl I once was. Perhaps I am not everything against what I hoped to be because what I wanted was simple. I’ve reached most of the goals that I set for myself early in life: freedom, change, independence.

But will I lie in my grave, wondering of things that might have been better than maybe?
Would I not like to be?


"I'd like to have put a flamethrower on it."

"They wouldnt let me do that. I'd like to have put a taser, but the police came and talked to me about that. I realized the best thing to do is go with water, it's alot less hassle.... in the courts."
[laughs meniacally]

Bum Hugger: "It's a reprehensible little machine and it's dehumizing."
Steven Colbert: "More importantly, it's Debumminizing."

Alas, meet the Bumbot. A robot built to scare away homeless people.