Monday, August 6, 2012

Well Played Karma, Well Played...

I enjoy a good dare.  Ask anyone who spends a lot of time with me and they'll tell you that I RARELY turn one down.  I'm also known as the trouble-maker, the loud one, the shit disturber, "crazy Katie" and yes, I've been known to poke the stick in the lion's cage a time or two.  It's like I get off on shocking people, always dancing on the line of inappropriateness.  You know what I don't get off on?  Karma.  I think she's a real bitch.

One time I innocently went to a Purdue/Notre Dame football game at Purdue and ended up with karma being on her period.  We were all having a good time tailgating and drinking when bad things happened to good people.  

This is an example of one of those times when the joke was on you me.

Oh.My.Gah. you guys look at that huge train thing driving around the parking lot!  

You mean the Boiler Maker?

Sure.  I'm gonna go ride it.

Well, you might not want to.

Dare Me?

Ha, ha, ha...Yep, I do.


Good luck.

For the next hour I rode around the ENTIRE Purdue Campus, with band members.  Mind you I was no longer young enough to be a college student (unless I was studying to be a doctor), had NOTHING in common with these people and I was dressed head to toe in Fighting Irish gear.  Worst part?  We made a stop at every other block to pick up another student in the band and it was the same routine every time:

Who's the girl in Notre Dame clothes?

Don't know, she got on in the parking lot.

Ha...idiot drunk fan probably.

Awkward smile & wave.

After exactly 63 minutes (yeah, I kept track) I was never so happy to see the Purdue football stadium.  

Note to self large trains that are mobile and not on a track are only cool when you are under the age of 7.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Excuse Me While I Take This Foot Out of My Mouth...

What is it about directions that make you not want to read them step-by-step?  I do this thing where I read a few steps and assume I know exactly what I need to do next and then subsequently skip steps and end up "what-the-fucking" the directions (because CLEARLY it isn't MY FAULT) when I have to back track because I missed a step or screwed something up.  The same thing happens with a really good book.  I want to know what happens next so bad that I skip all the details that over-explain the surroundings and when something major happens later and I'm not sure who the HELL Mrs. Robinson is I'm pissed at my Kindle for skipping pages.  I mean really people, *SPOILER ALERT* no one cares what exact color grey Christian Grey's eyes are in the Fifty Shades book...we want to know what he's going to smack Anna's ass with next.

Call it lack of patience or tell me I have no attention to detail but I have a bit of  So last night I was skimming Facebook and happened upon a photo that caught my eye.  It was a picture of 8 shots lined up in a semi-circle and they ranged in colors LIKE A was booze and it was glorious.  So I read (aka assumed I knew what it said) the caption and commented.  Check, check AND chiggity check check.  Go back, reread my comment, smile smugly at myself and then reread the caption.  Oh God.  OH. MY. GOD.  I'll allow the photos to speak for themselves.  But for those of you that are like me, I'll make a long story short and tell you I called someone a skank.  Nice Kate, real fucking nice.


Tell me about a time when you had to "open mouth, insert foot".

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Friends in Low Places

Do you believe in soul mates?  Some people do, some people don’t.  I do; and I believe in more than the kind you are probably thinking of.  Back in October of 2002 I met my “platonic soul mate”.  It was hate at first sight.  She was the "new girl" in our very small, close-knit office and she was abrasive and brutally honest and the first few days in the office she just sat there and stared at us all like a total creeper.  To this day she’ll claim she was told to watch everyone to learn the job flow.  Riiiight.   Luckily for me I learned to love her by that following February and now I can’t imagine my life without her.  Everything I hated about her is what I love most about her now.  She’s an idiot and makes me pee my pants laughing (clearly you are all aware that this isn’t a hard thing to accomplish) and she's my “same difference”.  Don’t worry, I’m not getting mushy on you…there’s a point to my story. 

Last year she convinced me to run my first race ever and we ran a 10k together.  I became addicted to races and a few months later we ran the Warrior Dash next.  Clearly it was awesome and we had to celebrate the only way we know how—BOOZE.  We had the complimentary beer they give you and a few more and then went home.  We quickly showered and headed to Jewel to get, yep you guessed it, more booze.  We grabbed a cart and proceeded to shop for celebratory items like 2 cases of beer, snacks, tabloid mags and Father’s Day cards.  Yes, you heard that right, it was the day before Father’s Day and I like to always be ahead of the game so I headed for the card aisle.  Nic’s ADD kicked in so she took the cart and left me in the card aisle saying she would be looking at magazines.  After ensuring all Hallmark employees would remain employed for the next year I went to find Nic.  For anyone who knows her you will not be shocked to learn that I could hear her before I found her.  However; when I got to the aisle with magazines I didn’t find her, just our cart, ALONE.  I followed the sound of the “machine gun”, which is the nickname she was given for her laugh, and was led to the liquor department.  Nic had found a friend and was drinking tequila with her.  As she saw me approaching she started yelling and waving, “COME HERE, I found a friend, WE’RE HAVING A PARTY!”  Yes, she found a liquor rep who was giving out free samples of tequila.  It was like we found the Chuck E. Cheese for adults!!!  We had free samples in the form of ALCOHOL, HALLELUJA, GOD BLESS AMERICA!  Needless to say we hung out with our new friend (Lindsey) for a bit.  She taught us that you can make a margarita with just the tequila and a little Mr. & Mrs. T’s Sweet and Sour mix.  We made her workday a little bit better that day.  But more than that we learned a powerful lesson that day—people say you can save money by eating free samples at Costco or Sam’s Club, but we learned you can tie one on by finding a liquor rep at your local grocery store.  And then we had to call for a ride home…whoops.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Terms of Endearment

We all call each other by nicknames, terms of endearment and sometimes worse.  We rarely go by our given names and even if we do it is usually a shortened version of the name that's on our birth certificate.  Take a minute and think about it and I'll bet you can list at least 3 names you are called on a regular basis that are not the one your mother so fondly gave you at birth.  For example, my birth certificate says Katherine and the only time I can recall being called that was when I was pregnant and I said "fuck" and my grandmother slammed her hand on the table and yelled, "Katherine Elizabeth your baby is going to come out and the first word he/she is going to say is going to be fuck or fuck".  She was angry, I could tell by the use of my full name and the fact that she just dropped the F bomb, twice so I didn't bother telling her that her statement didn't make complete sense.  Everything has a time and a place.

Usually people call me Katie, Kate, Drisc or if you are one of the 3 little Driscoll's you call me mommy.  Then there is Teb, my hubalicious, and he has called me all sorts of things over the years.  When you've been with someone for more than half of your life you tend to shake things up a bit every so often.  You never know when a new name might come up.  I mean when I yelled, "Kevo" down the basement stairs about two years ago I never expected #2 to imitate me and yell "Tebo" which led to his current nickname.  Of course I shortened it to Teb which led him to calling me Tate.  However; even that name evolved though I'm not sure how.  The other day I was cleaning the pool while Teb and his brother-in-law were working on our deck and he yelled, "how's it going there Taint?".  My brother-in-law laughed and said, "did you just call your wife Tank?".  I.Was.Horrified.  NO he didn't call me Tank!  He calls me Taint.  I call him Teb and he calls me Taint.  Duh.  This is about the time when he just stood there staring at me with a dumb look on his face.  Then it occurred to me--I just yelled at him like Tank was the worst thing to be called and yet I respond to and let me husband call me "Taint".  However; if you keep it clean, it taint that bad is it?

What is the weirdest thing you've been called as a term of endearment?

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

9 Weeks Postpartum

After 9 long months of being pregnant with baby number 2 I received an amazing gift in the form of a wedding invite.  While most would think ugh I have to shove myself in some spanx and a LBD in 2 months I.was.elated.  Standing at the mailbox in my pink crocs, a messy side pony and a tshirt with baby puke on it a smile spread across my face and I thought a night out, YES!  

Being the second time around, a new mom (at least this new mom) was okay with her baby overnight with Grandma and Poppa at only 9 weeks old.  Mr. Driscfunctional pulled out all the stops and got a hotel room in the city.  Let's be honest--he didn't want to drive all the way home after the wedding and knew I would be a cheap date after not drinking for so long.  After checking into our room we started getting dressed up.  It was then that we realized Mr. Driscfunctional forgot a white T-shirt for under his dress shirt.  After a quick trip to the guest shop I convinced him to wear my wife beater because the shop was short on plain white T-shirts and we were short on time.  After he finished singing fat guy in a little tank, we left the room and went for a drink in the lobby bar.

As he set his beer down on the bar Mr. D realized his zipper was down.  He was all why didn't you tell me and I was all Drisc I was too busy watching your Tommy Boy dance to look at your junk!  After 5 failed attempts to zip his pants back up we made our second trip to the guest shop, this time for safety pins.  After we slid into the cab we knew we had 5 minutes to get the job done, so like any good wife would do I leaned over and put my head in his lap and began to pin his zipper closed.  The cab driver looked at us in disgust as we left to go into the church--judgmental bastard.  

After 2 drinks at the hotel, 2 drinks before the doors opened and another 2 during cocktail hour I was thoroughly enjoying myself.  Being that alcohol always makes me feel so much more graceful I deemed it appropriate to serve everyone at the table.  All of that ended when I plopped a large spoonful of pasta on Mr. Driscfunctional's plate that splattered red sauce all over his shirt and the table.  Whoopsies  After dinner I found my way back to the bar, I LOVE open bar.  Quite honestly, I'm not sure why people say you should "cover your plate" with your wedding gift I believe it would be more beneficial to the new Mr. & Mrs. if you covered your bar tab.  My favorite part of open bar is to get people to buy me drinks and/or offer to buy them drinks.  Hey, what's that?  You were just going to get another drink, oh please allow me...I'll get this one.  After playing that game a few times I found my way to the dance floor where I partook in a wicked dance off with an older gentlemen who I was quite certain was thoroughly proud of himself for "keeping up" with a 20-something.  I pulled a fast one and started whipping him around when cotton eye joe came on.  Take THAT grandpa!  I found out a few minutes later he was the bride's grade school principal and in his seventies.  It was fun watching that part of the wedding video weeks later.  One of my favorite parts of the evening was when people I hadn't seen since high school would tell me how great I looked and they couldn't believe I had a baby 9 weeks ago.  This became a drinking game and every time someone said it we did a shot.  Jameson never did sit well with me (don't tell my 100% Irish father) even less so when it comes in a tumbler.  This was a "fancy" establishment, no shot glasses.  I call that negligence, I mean now you are sending people away more inebriated that they really need to be.  At 11:30 the open bar closed (aka the wedding was over) and a bunch of us thought it would be a great idea to go to the bar across the street.  I lasted 3 sips into a beer and winked at Mr. D and said it was time to leave.  We said our goodbyes and left the bar.  As we crossed the very busy street I fell off the side of my shoe and dropped to one knee.  When all as fails I blame anyone but me so like a good wife I looked up at Mr. D and yelled why the fuck did you push me!?!  You know how in a movie all the attention goes to one individual and as people turn their heads to look at them you hear the sound of cars coming to a screeching halt?  Yeah, that's what happened when every single person on the street looked at Mr. D like they were going to beat the shit out of him for hurting this poor girl.  After looking around and saying "she's my wife, she's drunk and fell, I did not push her", he looked at me and told me through his teeth to get my ass in a cab.  He's bossy that one...

This next part of the night is when things get fuzzy.  Mr. D. tells me that he was woken up at about 2:30 in the morning to the sound of the bathtub water running.  He yelled, "Kate?"  Yeah?  "What are you doing?"  I'm puking!  "In the toilet?"  Nope.  "In the tub?"  No.  "Where?"  In my underwear.  Yes,  ladies and gentlemen I apparently sat down on the toilet with my underwear pulled down just below my knees and when the urge to vomit came I didn't turn around and face the toilet nor did I simply turn my head to the left and puke in the tub I simply threw up right into my underwear.  The next morning my underwear were in a plastic bag on the floor of the hotel, I felt like I had water on the brain and as I turned on the tv to check out of the hotel the porno we apparently rented the night before was on.

It's like Tommy Boy meets The Hangover -- the 9 weeks postpartum edition.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Hotel Ice Buckets

Life offers you many lessons.  Sometimes you end up getting a two-for-one special.  Its called a gift...take it and say "thank you".  Today I'm giving you a two-for-one special.  I'm giving you two life lessons in one post.  You're welcome.  I'm going to tell you to Never, I repeat, NEVER, use an ice bucket at a hotel.  I don't care if you have to make 50 trips with a red solo cup to get ice, you will thank me later.  Until then* let me talk to you about the first lesson:  "mocking is catching".  Yeah, I heard my mother tell me millions of times, laugh at someone or something today and it will happen to you later.  "Katherine Elizabeth, mocking is catching and you will regret laughing now when karma gets you later."  Ummm, hey ma, I'm 11, really; you shit your pants and yet I'm the bad guy?  How does this work? So I won't go into the gory details because they'll kill me, but; in a two week span my mother had an "incident" at work and ended up going home "sick" and throwing away her undies.  My cousin, whom will remain unnamed b/c I'm not a fan of torture or death, laughed and ended up getting karma in the form of a giant turd in his/her undies a week later.  My mother may or may not have put the "surprise" in a plastic baggie for my aunt.  I'm not messed up b/c of life ya'll, I was RAISED to be dysfunctional.  *Then, fast forward 17 years for lesson number two.  I'm spending an entire kid-free weekend with my hubby, Mr. Driscfuntional and four of our closest friends from Seattle.  Our friends, composed of two amazing couples, come to Chicago at least once per year and we try to spend at least one weekend with them.  This particular time we are in Chicago staying in a hotel to booze and see a Cubs game in classic July heat.  Friday evening I may or may not have been over served, read tequila and double fisting beers on an empty stomach.  At one point I believe I had a beer bottle balancing on my head like I was a circus trick.  Needless to say a quick cab ride back to the hotel led to me puking my guts out.  At this point in time I've pushed two human beings out of my vagina and that causes damage soooo, every time I gag into the toilet I pee a little *.  *Aka, piss myself.  Mr. Driscfunctional checks on me, I tell him I'm fine and change into pajamas and pass the hell out.  At 8 a.m. I am woken by the heartbeat my brain has decided to have and two idiots playing cash cab.  My turn for a shower leads to me puking my guts out in between my legs as I sit on the toilet puking from the other end.  An hour later I feel like a human being again and am sitting cross-legged putting on my makeup.  As I'm applying the last stroke of mascara I feel a rumble and think a fart is a brewing...yes, Mr. Driscfunctional doesn't say I put the capital K in classy for nothing, so I lift my leg like all "classy broads" would and let er' go.  However, this time, it feels different.  It's warm and gooey.  As our 4 guests and my husband laugh at my noise I say uh oh.   Mr. Driscfunctional says, "what do you mean uh oh?"  As I begin to stand up I ask him,  do you remember how I've ALWAYS said I've never shit my pants and have no idea how anyone does?  "Yes, OH GOD, you didn't!" Mr. Driscfuntional says.   I say well I just did  and stand up to reveal what looked like a disgusting, half-melted Hershey Kiss on the floor of the hotel.  My best friend from Seattle (also hung over) begins to gag and the one couple run from the room in a mass panic.  My best-friend's hubby grabs the ice bucket and covers my "nugget" and runs from the room apologizing.  The room is vacated faster than the last day of school when the bell rings.  I jump in the shower for the second time of the day and Mr. Driscfunctional peeks in the bathroom to ask what jeans I want him to get for me since I've officially ruined my only pair of shorts I brought.  Real funny asshole!  I only brought two pairs of jeans and the one pair I pissed in last night when I puked, so get me the only clean ones I have.    I have a way with words and can make anyone feel like they are the one's who did something wrong when in all honesty its me.  So Mr. Driscfunctional brought me my only other pair of clean jeans and kindly left me alone to get dressed and mentally prep myself for the 90-something day in the Cubs bleachers, which I handled like a champ I might add.  A champ who shit her pants, but a champ none-the-less.  With this said I leave you with this my friend, never laugh at anyone for something you would want to do yourself, because apparently, mocking is catching and never, I repeat NEVER use the ice bucket at the hotel.