I just want to work out of a coffee shop for f#%ks sake!

Courtesy of Scott Feldstein

Ok, the crazy is back. Full force. And it's all because I really want to work on my laptop at a coffee shop while listening to moody, melodic folk singers. Is that seriously too much to ask?

I was already dreaming of this and then my mom went ahead and gave me a Starbuck's gift card and that's only fueling my desire. It's like she gave me a few free days of office rent. Yes, I count coffee costs as rent because you have to pay for a coffee in order to use the WiFi and a table. Okay, maybe you don't technically have to, but it's pretty cheap and trashy if you sit there all day, no coffee, with a laptop/fax/copier/scanner/printer set-up whilst screaming BUY, BUY, SELL, SELL on your...cell. Please note that the only thing I know about the stock market is that my Uncle Bob (everybody has one) works in trading and that my boyfriend once explained futures to me and despite that conversation and my 347,862 questions, he's still speaking to me.

To top it all off, I'm in the middle of reading The Four-Hour Work Week by Timothy Ferriss and it's like that time I walked by the homeless man in New York and caught myself walking slower and slower because I really liked what he was saying about enjoying life. I almost wanted to yell out in support, but I got a little closer and saw the crazy in his eyes, not my type of crazy, the scary other type where it's possible I'd be skinned and worn as a pretty Christmas jacket. No, but, I really like what this Timothy guy has to say. I suppose I'll finish reading before I go all gangbusters into my four-hour work week that as of right now would leave me in a precarious situation of being fired, broke and preaching on the streets about enjoying life. Wait a second...shit.

My larger carbon footprint has prevented me from toppling over...

I love the environment and stuff, but yes, I fully admit I'm a bit lost when it comes to figuring out what is best and most helpful for our Mother Earth short of walking everywhere barefoot, living in the dark when it's actually dark and eating only what I grow. I'm sure a hardcore environmentalist just read that and fainted. But anyway, I digress. Typical.

So, I know about these carbon footprint things and mine was probably pretty decent for a while. I was a big public transportation girl, but now I've been gifted an amazing gift. My nana's car, an 11-year-old Mecury. I am now driving to work and I must say, this shining beacon of a car has saved me from my latest near fall into the pit of insanity. I don't quite know what a pit of insanity truly is, but I spend a lot of time crawling out of it.

So now that I'm a driver again, I started to think about what a different feeling I have every morning. When I was taking public transportation, I walked around with my shoulders up to my ears, my eyes darting left and right. I had a constant stream of anxious thoughts of the possible delays at every turn and even yelled at a German tourist over his "unattended bags." It actually turned into quite a pleasant encounter, so stop judging. Now in the morning, I spend a good part of my time laughing at talk radio, or singing along with new hits, or old favorites (at the top of my lungs, naturally). I really think this morning singing has lowered my blood pressure and allowed me to ease into my day in a much happier way. A way that has allowed me to calm my impulsivity and save myself from drastic life-altering decisions that I am oh-so-inclined to make.

So a big thank you to the Universe/Karma/Mother Earth (and Nana) for sending me this gift. I know not everyone has the opportunity to pick their commute poison. My next car serenade goes out to you and I promise I'll recycle.

Letters to No One.

I am starting a new feature on my blog that will pop up from time to time called Letters to No One. You know that often repeated advice that if you are mad or upset with someone you should write them a letter to get your feelings out, seal it and put it away? Well, if you don't, it's a thing...trust me. So here, I will write my secret letter, but instead of sealing it, I'll hit publish and float my opinion out there in the world. Let's pretend these people might care. It'll be fun.

A Modern Day Romeo & Juliet
A pair of star-crossed lovers pimp their life

Dear Bristol Palin:
Oh, Bristol, Bristol, Bristol. I have some bad news. You have been punked...by Levi. First of all, let us discuss the fact that you didn't tell your own mother that you were getting engaged because you were scared. Even if your mother is THE pitbull with lipstick, if you are scared to tell her your news, you are not old enough to get married. I think you need to be confident in your adulthood and ability to make your own decisions before you get married. Is Mommy going to call the repair man and make sure your mortgage is paid on time? If this is acceptable to you, well then, we have an even bigger problem.

Okay, so this is beside the point. Here's the real issue and why I'm really concerned. Levi needs you to stay relevant. He was already falling off the radar and slipping into the background of America's pseudo-famous elite. He needed a big move. A drastic one. Perhaps a reunion and marriage with you would work? Now I'm sure that he came back to you crying and professing his love, but I have to tell you, I just don't believe it. I'm also sure he presented the US Weekly idea to you and cited "money for Tripp's future" as the ultimate reason to throw an exclusive reveal right in your mother's face. He wins on both fronts. He wins you from your parents and he wins a nice chunk of change and joint assets upon marriage.

But, I worry about his 5 year plan. I really do. Your engagement reveal, wedding, first year of marriage and perhaps a second child will keep him busy and in the spotlight for a good amount of time, but then when the spotlight begins to fade again, what will he do? Will a divorce tell-all be the next exclusive interview he'll give?

You're young, scared, a little bit lost and want to do your best. I can see that. Him though? I see the dollar signs and camera flashes he sees with every little move he plans out. I don't want you to be left even more confused and brokenhearted down the road. You're a young, precious flower and...okay I'll stop.

Unless of course you're in on this too. Then, more power to you.

Hugs,
Kate

So, Perfection is...Ugly?

Marilyn sure had it right when she said, "Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring."

Oh, who am I kidding? I still can't help but strive for the perfection part. I give myself some room for mistakes and refrain from sticking bamboo shoots under my fingernails when I skip a workout (every day for three weeks) or drink one too many at the bar (read: take those sucker restaurateurs for all their worth at happy hour), but typically I expect a lot of myself. So much so that it is often hard to keep up with my personal demands. Demand a lot equals deliver a lot...until I can only go so long until I crash and enter into the dreaded tub-of-cookie-dough-eating, less-than-enthusiastic, Do I have to shower again? sloth phase. It's quite a cycle.

Back in the day, I always tried my hardest and almost always met my expectations. I rarely ever failed as a young Kate and that screwed me big time for when I entered my 20's and started effin' things up left and right. Looking back, I also see I started risking more, hence more opportunities for failure, but at the time, it was beyond confusing to not get it right all the time. I developed my cycle of perfection madness back then and it always ended the same way: the inevitable health crash. I'd work to the brink of my ability, burn myself out, struggle to pull myself back to calm and once I was "safe," I'd get physically ill. Whether a sore throat, fever, migraine, or issues with "el estomago," I'd be a wreck. And when my health wasn't "perfect," it would stress me out even more. HELLO?! How did I not put this all together? Too busy charting out the path to world domination before the age of 25, I suppose. Thankfully I missed that deadline and am starting to mellow the f#@k out.

So where did this all come from? Recently, I read a great article, The Dark Side of Perfectionism Revealed, courtesy of a tweet from @stevepavlina, that made me take a deeper look into my perfection obsession. A look, that combined with other recent epiphanies, might just help me kick the habit away for good.  Bottom line: extreme perfectionism is just not good for your health. Cue the heavenly light and singing of angels. Setting such high goals on a continual basis leaves so many opportunities for life to get in the way of plans, as it so often does, and ruin your perfect record. Funny how in my attempt to get everything right, I just so happened to ignore such a basic, easy, simple, no-I'm-serious-you-didn't-get-that? truth.

There's no doubt I'll still strive for the best - it's part of what makes me, me. But something else that makes me, me is an ability to laugh at those perfectly imperfect moments.

And you know what? I love to laugh.

Unlocking my Identity.

No, seriously. I need to go to the DMV and all my goddamn "important papers" are locked in my big-girl responsible-adult safe to protect them from water, fire and thieves who are too lazy to run away with a 20 pound metal-ish, slightly awkward box. To which I say, F#CK you nature/life cycles/Mother Earth/karma/insert higher power here for making me deal with my current identity crisis in such a literal way.

I woke up this morning, after nearly an hour of searching last night, and first thing I did was grab a flashlight to look around my entire apartment for two small bronze keys on a ring. One, because it was way to early for actual bright light, and two, because I have looked every single possible spot at least twice and now needed to "check the corners." I don't know why I put that in quotes either.

As I walked around on my vision quest, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the timing. I'm at the height of my every seven to nine month cycle of extreme life questioning and yes, even, soul searching. Luckily for me, this time around it only involves my career and certain interpersonal relationships, or lack thereof, of the acquaintance/casual friend variety. Read: my inner Sally Field is screaming, "Do they like me? Does anybody really like me???" Thankfully this doesn't apply to my family, bf and close friends - they are very familiar with my brand of crazy and love me just the same. But, still, a girl, especially a TOUGH BIATCH, okay fine, big empathetic softy like me, has to wonder why my kindergarten friend-making skills are not up to par as of late.  All this going through my head. All because I lost a pair of keys.

I wish I could wrap this up by telling you I found the elusive Holy Grail and life truths revealed themselves, but I'm still keyless. With any luck, when I find those keys, a light will shine down, angels will sing and I'll find my way. Or maybe, I'll just be able to finally register my car and get my new license. And that would be pretty great too.