Wednesday, March 31, 2004


I am now officially employed. Goodbye life, hello sleep depravation.

I would have written all about the interview and everything else that led up to this but… well, I just didn’t. To sum it up, I got dressed up all oldladyish and kissed ass.

Imaginary person--“What for?”

Imaginary me-- “For a desk job at the Holiday Inn.”

If you could see me now, I’m shaking my head in that “why oh why?” kind of way. The pay isn’t good, the hours are long, but the other employees are nice and hug me. I’m scared. I don’t want a real job. My job at delta wasn’t really real. Everyone who worked there were like uncles and grandfathers to me or were my parents. I didn’t do real work. I clean and put things in alphabetical or numerical order. And I have a phobia about answering the phone at a business. Why, oh why did I apply for a job to answer phones? And I also have to wear an ugly blue shirt. Boo. But I get a sexy nametag. Yay. Friday’s shift ends at 11p.m. and Saturday’s shift starts at 7a.m. Boo. But I think I get money for working...yay.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

I am a fucking Moron. Little “f”, big “M”.

Guess when Kayt’s spring break was over? For a hint, check the tense. If you guessed Monday, you’re right! Last Monday! As in classes started yesterday and I’ve already missed the first day of physical anthro and real and recorded time. I am a fucking Moron. Since when is Spring break only a week? I thought it was supposed to be a month or something.

Can we all chant this together now?

“Kayt is a fucking Moron.”

But my lovely Mag and my genius Spark made my day so much better. The ever annoying virtual memory warning is gone and photoshop is working again.

Monday, March 29, 2004

Go Holy Cornucopia!

My Aunt Kris is a big wig in the business department for God. She works for the church up north and somehow got wind that I made a new site. Her e-mail to me--

“…I tried your web site: and could not locate it. Would you
please give me the correct url for your web site? Thank you darlin.”

Uh… “onholy”? Does she think that it’s a site about a holy cornucopia? Oh dear. I don’t think she’s ready to accept that fact that I’m not the church going angel she thought I was. Sending her my favorite book on the aquatic ape theory of evolution obviously wasn’t a strong enough hint. I wish I could see her face when she finds out it’s the “unholy fruit basket” and then sees the smuticons.

Sunday, March 28, 2004

Kaythryn Turvey?


My best friend Stacey came up from Virginia yesterday and surprised me by taking me to the Pfizer Fantasia Equine Affaire downtown. That is arguably the coolest damn show on earth. I wasn’t expecting much, just some white Lipizzan stallions hopping around and some local farmers clapping. Nope. The coliseum was packed tight, all the tickets sold weeks before hand and, you know what? Cowboys are fun.

While we waiting for the show to start music was playing to keep the crowd entertained. Apparently cowboys and cowgirls can’t just be entertained, they must party. People were standing and dancing on their chairs, moving out into the aisles and shaking their groove things, and the wave. Oh dear, the wave. I must be out of the loop because I remember the wave as four people standing up and screaming, then everyone else turning to stare at them like they’re freaks. Not with cowboys, because cowboys are fun. The wave started, round and round and round the coliseum, screaming, hooting, whistles, waves, men with canes waved them high in the air, women with babies held above their heads, and I bet I was up and down at least twenty times. All very bizarre.

Then the show started with the national anthem. As well as being fun, cowboys are excessively patriotic. Every hat in the house was pressed against a chest, hands were covering hearts, and heads were bowed…except Stacey and I. We laughed and got lots of dirty looks.

After the very solemn national anthem there was a little salute to the armed forced. Wow. The screams and cheers. My throat was sore and my hands stung already. Then came a horse dressed like a lion for Lion King, saddle horse rhythm riders, Icelandic horse congress, Ghost rider Bridleless Freestyle, blah, blah, tons more fun and laughs and me squealing, but the best was The Riding Instructor. Tommie Turvey with his paint horse Pokerjoe. That man is the most talented guy on earth. And the funniest. And I’m gonna marry him. First I have to meet him, then he’ll teach me how to ride, then I’ll marry him. I’ve got it all planned out.

In the coliseum, the lady sitting on my right was taping the whole event and, while I didn’t think of it during the show, I think I ruined the sound part of her tape. They won’t be hearing the music but instead they’ll hear me going, “Wow. Oh my god! Wow. Whoa. Wow. Whoooo! Wow. Yay!”

After the show we drove around Columbus looking for a nasty place to eat and finally found one we deemed suitable, next to Bob’s Bar, and they served pancakes. Yum.

And another happy thing, it’s such an amazing day out today. It snowed two days ago but this afternoon I was walking around barefoot washing my car and laying in the garden. The crocus’ are blooming.

Saturday, March 27, 2004

And, for more of my spam.

It seems our friendly Nigerian e-mail scammers now have Asian copycats.

“I am Mr.Wang Qin, credit officer of Hang Seng Bank Ltd. I have an urgent and very confidential business proposition for you….This sum of US$28,000,000.00 is still sitting in my Bank and the interest is being rolled over with the principal sum at the end of each year…Consequently, my proposal is that I will like you as a foreigner to stand in as the next of kin to Mr. Pavel Kepak so that the fruits of this old man's labor will not get into the hands of some corrupt government officials.”

Yeah, ‘cause everyone wants tons of money to go into the hands of some 19 year old American girl instead of their own country. What really kills me is their grammar and punctuation. If you want me to believe that you’re really a credit officer, then capitalize your damn sentences.

Friday, March 26, 2004

Tonight, when it was dark and raining, I ran in heels. On four different occasions tonight. Me, running, without twisting my ankles, wearing heels. That’s a prerequisite for being a girl spy or a super hero, isn’t it? Wear wonder bra and run in heels.

I feel so empowered.

Bizarre rumors are sending me to hell.

I think the veterinary’s office ranks as the scariest, dirtiest, smelliest, mutant freak showiest place on earth, and not just for pets. Had to take my dog Zane there today. Esh. Now besides the occasional run-away and the sporadic trips to the park, mostly my dogs know to run out to the fenced in part of the yard when we open the back door… except when somebody’s got a leash. When there is a leash in sight all hell breaks loose. Zane cowers near the door, does a few twirls and looks up at you with a huge grin on his face. Lou jumps three feet high up in the air over and over again landing on top of the other two dogs. Abby walks over everyone and crams her nose in the crack of the door waiting for that instant when it opens. All the while I stand in the middle of this swirling jumble of dogs trying to think of a way to get just one of them out the door.

Plan: Leash Zane. Push his old self up to the door. Kick other dogs away. Push Zane out the open door while still kicking other two dogs away. Slam door behind myself. Take happy Zane to happy vet.

Reality: Leashed Zane. Pushed him towards the door and kicked the other two animals away. Opened door. Lou sprinted out and headed across the street. Abby ran out into the yard. Pushed Zane into the fenced in yard. Hauled Abby back into the house. Started running after evil beagle Lou. Two streets, one alley, a dozen houses, and a racing heartbeat later I had Lou by the neck. Am also running late.

Reality sucks.

After some shuffling I was able to get Zane into the Mazda.

Small stick shift car + big dog = fury figure half in passengers seat, half in drivers face and trying to eat chocolate granola bars out of the glove compartment.

I really should invest in one of those doggy seatbelts.

Minutes later and we arrive at the vets. Parking lot’s full and people are lining up on the street. The vet’s lobby is even worse. All the benches are taken, people are leaning up against the wall or sitting on the floor and there are lots of big, young, intimidating dogs. Zane is now hyperventilating and trying to hide between my legs. Nobody holds their animals close because they think they’re all nice sweet animals so cats and dogs just walk right up to poor old having-a-panic-attack- Zane and sniff at him. When one growls in his face Zane looks like he’s going to melt away.

It took about fifteen minutes but we were finally able to sign in. Instead of insanely waiting inside we went outside and sat in the parking lot on the back of the Mazda. Tick tock, tick tock, two hours later and we’re still waiting. We people watched and watched their pets too--dogs, roosters, goats, horses, cats, and a
baby pot bellied pig all went in and out or back and around. Finally, two and a half hours later, Dr. Carpenter (very nice lady, has perfect gray hair, but doesn’t look old) came out to get us.

I’ll skip all the icky poking and prodding and go straight for the diagnosis. Zane has cancer. Bahh. They need to get a chest X-ray to see if there are any tumors in his lungs before they can operate, but he's been around for a pretty long damn time, I'm not terribly sad yet.

100 most mispronounced words

I’m sorry, but I do say sherbert.

Bizarre rumor generator

And, oddly enough, this was the first thing that came up-

According to the New York Times, disgruntled God obligingly bet against the other Satanist chicken.

This one came a little later-
When Jesus was a little boy, the melon-headed lawmaker detestably rode with corrosive God.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

Ah, nothing like a drug bust to lull a girl off to sleep.

And nothing quite like those flashing police lights to help that pounding headache.

My house is right on the corner of main street and town, near the school; so if you’re gonna get pulled over in Kayt-land, it’s gonna be in front of my house. On top of that my room’s three windows (covered in a transparent white curtain at night) face main street, and the other faces town street. Then, the genius that I am positioned the head of my bed between three of the windows so when you do get pulled over in front of my house the police lights flash through my curtains, through my eyelids, and directly to my brain to pinch at my sensitive throbbing head veins. Ew and ow.

But, it’s like a live episode of Cops.

Less than an hour ago Jake and I sat on the second story steps and stared out through the cover of the stained glass windows to watch the arrest. Jake had mum’s lap top and was chatting on aol with the kid across the street, who was also sitting by his window watching.

We small town folks are so easily entertained.

It was a red car that two cops pulled over. A thin man was inside, looking like a cross between the Marlboro man and anorexic Santa. The cops pulled him out, hands on their nightsticks, checked his eyes over and over, and made him walk a straight line.

Oh boy.

Ten steps never looked so difficult. I think his feet managed to walk a straight line but the top half of his body was wobbling dangerously. Then there was a whole bunch of talking (Jake and I filled in our own dialogue), and then they handcuffed him. We all cheered.

And for the climax of his arrest, they searched his car. Smoking Santa was such an idiot. Handful after handful we watched the cops pull out small plastic packets of drugs and pile them on top of the car. Handcuffed Santa man just sat in the back of one of the police cruisers and freaked out with all manner of yelling. Well… I couldn’t hear him, but unless he was just red faced and mouthing dirty words with large puffs of air, he was yelling. When the cops rove off with him, Jake and I left our watch post. I glanced out the window a few minutes ago on my way downstairs-- they’ve managed to make the red car disappear. I’m pretty impressed. I don’t know if someone used his keys and drove it somewhere or if they towed it, but whatever it was, it was fast. Way to go, cops, and thanks for the show, just get a damn dimmer on those lights please.

Monday, March 22, 2004

I’d like to be the first to introduce you to… The Unholy Fruit Basket! /drumroll

There’re still a few kinks to be worked out but all in all, kinks are sexy.

Friday, March 19, 2004

And the spam just keeps rolling in.

"Re: Past Due Payment, account Abbynormalartist - biopsy mockingbird steeplebush ..."

What the hell is a biopsy mockingbird steeplebush? I checked it out, it was a credit card advertisement. Boo.

Boob biting and large rubbers for all

Blah. I’m at work. I’m not working, but I’m here. I got to see Chloe, she tried to eat my ravioli (and by the way, ravioli, not as cool tasting as it was when I was a kid). She’s looking so much better lately, almost normal, with exception to the chipped tooth. Still a little off, but close to being back to her wacky self. I got a pretty picture of the evil bird (wrapped in a towel because that‘s the only way we can hold the bastard), and one of the ever cute (but with very sharp teeth and a tendency to bite boobs) puppy.


Max and my left hand.

Max and my mothers shoulder.

Oh dear. Violence in the workplace. We’ve got a rubber band war starting.

Oh oh, and McCoy is in court. Tisk, tisk. You're in trouble.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

I made a snow penis!

The snow today was far from packing snow, but I was on a mission. I kinda ran out of steam before I could make it a 9ft tall penis, but for today, I can live with only a 4ft tall one. When I started doing the detail work my mom pinched my ear. I don’t think she liked the fact that I put the penis in front near the street. Instead of beating down the tiny un-detailed penis with a shovel I gave it a few badly executed karate kicks until it crumbled.

The snow penis.

And that bump on the upper left might be an indication that my penis is a sickly penis.

And me, in my ever sexy man snow clothes, cornered by my camera toting mother. No, I’m not a dork. Heh, really.

To my Mag and all Angel watchers out there… I’m only caught up to season three in Angel but I just saw one of those Angel recap thingies for a rerun ep from season four and… what the hell?! This stuff just keeps getting crazier. I'm downloading season four right now but it’s just not fast enough.

Fun new spam!

"Abbynormalartist, wach ladies getting deflorated... "

I almost clicked on it just to see what the hell ladies looked like getting "deflorated".

Monday, March 15, 2004

Today’s post is brought to you by the fact that I just really don’t want to do my English final. So instead, a story about my bathroom spider.

About 80 years ago our downstairs bathroom was a little pantry thing. It was just a tiny dent in the wall with a door over it that the cook would put canned goods in. Then, years later, for absurd reasons unknown, someone decided to pull out the shelves and put a toilet and a sink in there. I’m thinking that this happened during the depression when the Virtue family that lived here was starving. They didn’t have food, so why have a pantry? They were all skinny and starving, so it wasn’t much trouble to fit themselves into the tiny bathroom. Fast forward a few centuries, the people living in this house no longer weigh 90 lbs or less… it is now the trouble bathroom.

To get inside this bathroom is something of an obstacle. You open the door first, then turn to the side and shuffle a few steps. Once your hip hits the sink, ( it almost touches the door when closed) you have to bend your knees and shuffle. If you’ve managed to suck in and do the shuffle correctly you should find yourself on the toilet with your legs pinned neatly under the sink.

So that’s the 2x3 foot pantry/bathroom I’m sure you all wanted to hear about, now for my spider. A few months ago, I spotted a tiny spider hiding the wallpaper pattern of the bathroom. He was white with almost invisible clear legs and was just a little jumpy. I would have squished him right then and there but… well that’s just icky. I figured he’d move on to another part of the house and I’d forget about him. But no. In addition to being jumpy he was also quite voyeuristic. Every time I found myself in that tiny bathroom he was there… watching. I nick named him Tom Harrington (“Peeping Tom” … original eh?), greeted him with a little puff of air. He’d jump and I would know he was alive.

But, a few weeks ago I noticed he was missing. I don’t know if he just got sick of me puffing air at him and disrupting his web, or maybe he needed a change of scenery. A new wallpaper, a new bathroom. I may never know. (Cue dramatic soap opera-ish music. Fade to black, new scene.)

Eck, maybe he was murdered. I never considered that. Well, the point is, I am now lacking a bathroom spider. I’ll be interviewing applicants from the back corner of the basement tomorrow, but I don’t think it will be the same. No one will ever be able to replace Tom Harrington.

Military code name generator:

The Generator figured this would be a good codename for my naval battle in Russia:
Rolling Flash

Watch out Russia. Operation Rolling Flash is coming your way!

Okay, now I really need to do my English final.

Saturday, March 13, 2004

I have kryptonite sitting on my bed.

The other day, as I finished off my second piece of chocolate cheesecake for breakfast, I figured I should probably start eating real food, possibly even healthy food. So I did. Sounds smart, right? Somehow it’s not ‘cause as soon as I started eating “good” food, I got sick. Blah. I need some cookies and a jar of olives, maybe then my allergies will go away.

When I was a kid I used to go on bike rides a lot with my family. Mostly we just rode up behind the doctors office, or HPM to the railroad tracks. Then we’d walk the tracks, play baseball with sticks, and sit down and look through all the rocks and junk. I don’t know what’s special about the tracks, but the stuff there was awesome. All kinds of fossils and crystals and bugs and rusted iron train parts and terracotta bits from an old pottery shop that exploded years ago. With our pockets and bike baskets full we’d ride home and clean up the things we’d found and come up with all kinds of wonderful explanations for what each thing was.

“These are bullets from a train robbery back a thousand years ago.”
“This is a fossil of dinosaur poop.”

We don’t go up there much anymore, but my dad still brings home fossils he finds at work. Yesterday he brought home this weird blue… thing. I put up some pictures here.

If you know what it is, tell me, because I can’t figure it out.

Friday, March 12, 2004

I like it, sweet and simple, but without the "sweet".

How Would YOU Take Over the World?

And my drained icon rocks. I’ll have to be drained more often so I can feel better by watching it’s face melt.

Monday, March 8, 2004

Check out my porno!

I'm so proud...

(Edit: I spelled "good" wrong the first time, but it's fixed now. Yes, yes, super blonde moment.)

It's too big to be used as a LJ icon, but I had to post it anyway.

Thursday, March 4, 2004

I've hooked another one! My friend from school, Geoff, is now a Firefly fan. He's seen the first three episodes and is hungry for more. Now that sounds good and all, but he doesn't like Kaylee. What the hell is up with that you might ask... well, I don't know. He must be sick or crazy or dirty or sick and crazy and dirty. Not sure.

And my mum just sent this to me. It's nothing we don't already know.

Blah, now I have to go to school in the rain.
I’m a tit? Why am I a tit?

Which Spike are you?

Snatched from our very own Pop.

Wednesday, March 3, 2004

My dad just got home and he brought me chocolate covered raisins. I heart chocolate covered raisins so much. I even did the dance, “ungh” thrust and all.

Also, all you Browncoats out there know the news. Green light for FF movie. Hallelujah! That made my morning.