SETBACKS AND SCREWING AROUND

Which of these should we talk about first? I really want to dive in and get to the good slash mortifying stories of finally having sex again but I supposed I should get the less fun crap off my chest first. I try not to bog down the bloggersphere with woe-is-me/my-life-is-so-hard stories because this is supposed to be a fun blog! Somewhere to chronicle the exciting, mortifying and entertaining parts of my life.

Often this leads to less fun drama which is still, in my opinion, entertaining as a story.

But sometimes, like now, things happen that have no comedic value but need to be told as well because, lets face it, I like to talk about myself. And this shit is real life.

I'm moving to London. When I first realized a few months ago that I had to leave the city that's become home to my heart I was devastated. I cried like a lunatic in the middle of times square as I reconciled myself with the idea that I would be leaving my great job and coworkers, my best friends, my apartment and everything that I considered to be safe.

If you know me you know I don't handle change well. When I go to a restaurant I always order the same things because if I don't pick something that I know I'll like I have actual fits of anxiety. I hate moving, I hate blind dates, I hate being in a room of people I don't know. Hell I can't even walk home via a different route without an extremely good reason. I'm someone who needs routine.

So when I learned that my routine of 5 years was about to, not only change, but be obliterated I was petrified.

I spent so many nights having rambling breakdowns and panic attacks and keeping Lizz from her bed because I couldn't stop talking or else I might combust.

I'm fairly certain that I need some serious drugs for this kind of anxiety.

After about a month I pulled my shit together. I stopped crying in the bathroom at work, stopped playing with the idea that the government would magically rescind their decision and let me stay. I stopped bothering to check my many New York centered coupon sites. And I decided on a new plan.

Where I'm from there is not a lot of film or TV work. And since that's what I've spent 5 years and far too much money learning how to do, I don't plan on stopping. The good news was that both my sister and my best  friend from cradle to grave, Ella, were in London for school.

Guess what they have in London... Film and TV.

Jackpot.

Right?

Wrong.

My father decided that since Marie's apartment lease was about to be up and we were both going to need an apartment that we should move in together. Now since my father has graciously absorbed all of my relocation costs I figured I should go along with his plan despite the fact that Marie and I haven't harmoniously lived together for many years now.

Marie is incredibly smart and funny and there was a time when she was my number one choice when going out. We always had a good time and it was always fun. And clearly that was when we were younger and crazier and I know she had to grow up so we don't really do that anymore. Now her priorities line up more with what her boyfriend and her want to do and girl time is sort of pushed aside. Which is fine. I've always been able to entertain myself.

But the part I'm not so fine with is that she's managed to adopt my fathers volatile temper. We can be hanging out all day, no problem and then I'll say a joke or just a turn of phrase that doesn't sit well with her and it's suddenly World War 3.

And it's a definite double standard because the majority of Marie's humor is built around making fun of me or making me look stupid or demeaning me or picking on whichever of the numerous things that upset her about me she feels like. And if I get mad or stand up for myself then she gets mad because it's just a fucking joke and how could I take it so seriously, why do I ruin everything.

I love her and when we're having fun we are unstoppable but sometimes it just feels like everything I do is just ammunition for her to point out how much I suck.

Maybe we're both just too stressed to see how badly we treat each other but it definitely isn't making me any less anxious about what my life in London will be like. I fear that, like right now, I will end up spending the majority of my time locked in my bedroom waiting anxiously for the next fight. That I will no longer be the free outgoing soul I was in New York but just a shell of a person who makes herself smaller to placate others and avoid conflict.

I actually think this is a valid anxiety.

I know that somehow once we are all in London and find an apartment and get jobs and things settling into a routine I will feel more at ease and without this stress Marie and I will get back on track and life will mellow out again. It's just causing me a lot of anxiety right now and I'm not sure when I can get my prescription of Klonopin filled so I'm just hoping that my heart doesn't max out and burst anytime soon.

 I'm looking forward to the day I land in London because I will be like "OMG I IZ IN LONDONLAND BITCHEZ" And then there will be 2 weeks of stress and freaking out and I'm sure a million and one fights with Marie and then my Dad comes to visit which means another million fights.

But then I'm looking forward to the after.

The moment that I've figured out my routine and schedule and I have my bed set up and my boxes unpacked and I feel grounded. Then I have to believe that the fights will subside and that life will become something fun and interesting again.

And at that moment I will post a million photos of me doing stuff in London and I'll be "ZOMG I LOVE IT HERE."

Thats what I have to keep thinking about. The upside.
Just keep thinking about the upside.

Okay I've gone on for quite a bit about the setbacks so maybe I'll save the screwing around for the next post.

Love y'all

xxKK

WHILE THE KAT IS AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY...

So about 2 months ago I came home one fateful night and when I walked into my bedroom something small and dark dashed across the wall and under my bed.
Naturally I thought it was a roach because I fucking hate roaches and they always seem to find me.
So I bombed my house, sprayed a shit ton of baygon and nearly asphyxiated myself.

I also slept on my couch for the next three weeks. Partially to avoid complete asphyxiation and partly because I'm a big ass chicken who has a history of sleeping on my couch to avoid bedroom inhabitants and/or messes.

But then one morning I was sleeping on the couch and the motherfucking mouse ran across my floor.

So I went back to sleeping in my bedroom.

The next time I saw the mouse (at 2 am) I engaged in all out warfare for an hour and a half until I had it trapped in a tiny corner by the door. Opened the door and whoosh, swept it outside. I saw it scrabble around on the landing before hauling ass down the stairs.

Cut to two months later: I'm sitting on my couch, feeling pleased as punch, watching a little My So-Called Life and then I hear it.

Scrabble. Scrabble. Scratch. Scratch. Squeek.

I fuck you not.  There was a squeek.

And you'll never guess where it came from.

The motherfucking oven.

Yes. Mouse in the mother fucking oven.

So then I'm like wtf? And then I'm like Imma roast the motherfucker. And then, after a little google research, I realized how bad of an idea that was so I just started making noise to scare it.  On and off it scrabbled and scratched and squeeked.

I mean, I left traps, dropped poison, installed 5 of those little sonic things and still it scrabbled on.

Then... nothing. No noises for a few days. I finally started using my stovetop again.

And now I can't be sure if it's the 4:46 on the clock or an actual sighting but I'm pretty sure I just saw another furry run out in the corner of my eye.

Well I'm heading out of manhattan for some debauchery with Miranda Bellevue (she likes fun) and I'm hoping that while I'm way the mouses will decide this house is not for them and I will come home to a furry free residence.

I'm also hoping that while I'm away Miranda and my two new favorite boys, Sebastiano and Juliano, will keep my mind off the mice with copious amounts of alcohol, installation wrecking, trespassing, glitterati* and fetus cakes for breakfast.

If that sounds wrong just wait till I blog about what actually goes down this weekend :P crazy times. Last time was too R rated for even this humble blog.

Anyways, I'm off to get a power nap in before school.

xxKK

*glitterati - an amateur (i.e. with yo friends) photo shoot consisting of ridiculous faces, costumes and, obviously, glitter. Also a term for the trio of Miranda, Juiliano & Sebastiano.