Am I turning into my character?

Who out there in writing land has felt as though they turned into their characters or one of their characters?

I realize that a lot of what we write, we take from our own personal experiences.  I get it.

But my character has been creeping too much into my head lately…and too much into my life!  Yes, she was initially inspired by me…because that’s what I know.  After exaggerating her personality and thinking about her life and thought process and adding new idiosyncracies, I feel as though I am taking on her traits.  It is consuming me…which is either a great thing for writing or an awful thing for my brain.

Is this how method actors feel?  How do they become like someone else and then snap back into themselves when their movie/show/whatever is over?

I AM Abraham Lincoln, dammit.

Is method writing a thing?  It must be…everything is a thing, it seems.

The silver lining…is that I created this person.  I can make her into whatever I want.  So if I need to improve my disposition, I’ll just improve her disposition.  I’ll have her turn into the sweetest, funniest, friendliest mother fucker I can think of and change everything about the whole story.  Because I can.

Hell, maybe the prize patrol will show up at her door with a giant check and balloons!!!  Maybe then life will imitate art??  Right?




People like to say that they could’ve made this piece of art.  They could’ve.  But they didn’t.

People like to say they hate it because it’s minimal and takes very little talent to paint a whole canvas a solid primary color.

People like to be critical.

People like to think they know everything about art.

Guess who loved this piece?  This 6 year old lovely.  Yes.  Art doesn’t have to be complex and inventive to be great.  It can be whatever it wants.  People will still run through the museum to get to it after looking at sterile still lives and portraits.  This 6 year old ran because it’s familiar and comforting and she can relate to it even though she doesn’t know the deep seeded meaning behind it.  People will still stretch their arms out and say, ‘This one is my favorite!’ just like she did.

Word to your mother.



These birds…they’re pretty pissed I’m sitting in their front yard, enjoying the morning sun. 

They’re tweeting to all their bird friend followers:

If this bitch doesn’t get off my lawn, I’m shitting in her teeth.

I’m gonna peck the eyeballs out of her spying face.

Fml, the annoying neighbor lady is back to chat.

Purse curse


Curse this purse…or rather, this purse is cursed.

I think this is one of the only things that I have truly despised from Target. And I had high hopes for it…my cute little pink clutch. It fit all my things perfectly.

Well, after about a week, she zipped no more.  Sometimes if I zipped strategically and slow, with my face super close to it watching the links go in and out of the zipper head, it would zip…but then halfway up, split again. 

Then I’d try the encouraging, speedy, staccato back and forth zips….I think, maybe if I just zip it back and forth like I’m trying to start a fire, it’ll catch and amazingly zip for me. 

And it might.  But then I’d have to eventually unzip it again…for money or some other annoying reason and go through the same song and dance again.

What’s most impressive and also maddening is just how long a person, meaning me, will put up with such an annoying daily nuisance.

Months.  Yes, months.  At least 3…no more than 5.

I mean, they’re cupcakes in bread form…


I blame Starbucks and these dang loaves of chocolate and vanilla cake…

I blame them for warming them up and making them taste like fresh, warm, cupcakes…

I blame the rain…

I really thought I wanted to try to end my sugar binge today.  I thought I wanted to stop eating my feelings.

Turns out I don’t.  Not unless it’s sunny, I guess.

I blame leaving too early to drop the kids off at school…

I blame the short drive through line…

Hell, I even blame them for having a stupid drive through…

I blame my brain…

I blame those sweet, white, sparkly granules…

You win again, sugar.  Until next time (and I’m most certain you will probably win again next time because I have lost all my will power and all the muscle tone I thought I had).

Tangy zip!

I feel dull. 

I don’t seem to have that tangy zip that I want.  How do I get this zip?  I used to have it consistently.  Now it comes and goes. 

I’ve found that sugar makes me zippy.  Caffeine makes me zippy too.  Both of these, to me, are fun yet artificial zips…although I love them.  I do love them.  I don’t want to deprive myself something that I love. 

But where is the homeostasis?  Where is the plateau?  Where is the level headed consistency of zip that I once knew?  Where’s the tangy zip??

Perhaps I buried it away into a box with the notebooks of terribly dark and adolescent poetry I haven’t burned yet?

Or tucked it in the portfolios of awful watercolor paintings I attempted (I was never that great at watercolor…too impatient)?

Stuck in between every single piece of paper that lovely #1 ever put a crayon mark on when she was 2? 

Maybe it got sacrificed to the thrift shop with the piles of unnecessary shit that I seem to accumulate and purge on a regular basis?

I bet it’s lost somewhere in the Tupperware drawer.

No, I bet it’s been right in front of me the whole time…and all the while I’ve been searching, it’s been growing more and more annoyed that I can’t find it. 

Oh, there you are, tangy zip!

Just kidding. I didn’t really find it.  I just thought it would be funny if no one could figure out if I was  searching for something intangible or the tangy zip of Miracle Whip. 


I’m losing my hair…and my mind.

It’s snowing beautiful little flakes right now…and I’d really like to stay in this blanket I’m in and watch it all day, like a cat.  

I’m ready for colorful lights on trees and porches and windows.  I’m ready for festive. 

Instead of exercising right now, like I usually do this time of the morning, I’m watching the snow.

If I had personal days to use, I would use one today and order pizza and Chinese and I would find someone to deliver ice cream too. It must exist.

My dog is comparable to a heating blanket.

I’m looking forward to 2013 being over but I’m not looking forward to starting a new year.  So much pressure.

I would absolutely eat French toast and bacon if it were in front of me right now.

The fact that I quit drinking coffee months ago will now truly be tested with the cold and the darkness and the lack of motivation that winter always brings.

Snow is pretty.

My skin is itchy.

My husband could learn a lot about me if he read this blog that I write on from time to time…it’s called The Brain of Kate.

Teen Wolf is a funny movie.

I think I might sell all of my possessions and start over…or just put them all in the basement and pretend I sold them and still start over.

I wish the clothes I wanted to wear today were in the dryer right now so they would be toasty warm when I put them on.

I would be ok if someone stole a bunch of things from my house if they didn’t make a mess for me to clean up.

I’m fond of and afraid of change at the same time. 

I hate the phrase TGIF.

The brain’s favorite things

So I was at the grocery store, waiting in line, when I saw the ‘Oprah’s favorite things’ edition of her magazine.  I didn’t buy it. I didn’t even open it. I only thought about what MY favorite things are…and what recommendations I could make for holiday (ugh, to soon to talk about it) gifts….if I had a magazine.

Let’s start with the obvious…Pearl Jam. If I had to choose one album to get someone, it works be super tough. A live performance would be a must. But…if I had to choose one I would choose by favorite right now, which is Vitalogy.

Doc Marten boots. They’re simply the best.

Real Simple magazine.

Banana Flax bread from my local co-op. It’s so damn good.

And I love my Breville juicer. Love it. I’ve been fond of making smoothies lately, however it was the juicer that set me on a healthier journey.

Black v-neck t shirts from Wet Seal. Wet Seal?? Isn’t that for 15 year old girls?? Yes. Yes it is. But their shirts are the best I’ve found…and they’re like $7.

Seinfeld. All the seasons.

Wayne’s World. Party time. Excellent.

A big tub of coconut oil.

Peppermint Bark ice cream. Isn’t it interesting how I speak of this healthy journey and yet still include ice cream on the list? You better believe I’ll be indulging in at least 3 pints this holiday season. Maybe more like 7.

A warm car. Remote starter? It would be on my favorites list if I had one. I could only imagine.

A tempur-pedic bed. I don’t have one of these either…but I laid on one in the showroom. It is by far one of my favorites. Please give one to your loved ones this holiday season if you have an extra $5000 hanging around.

Maid service…by someone who won’t steal your expensive skin care line from your medicine cabinet. That whore. I’m not bitter.

I could go on and on and on…

Return to writing

Well, blog….I’ve neglected you yet again.  I’ve been thinking about you.  I’ve been thinking about all the things I could be telling you about. 

I’m working my way up to it, I suppose. 

Since we’ve started a new month and all, I thought I would tease the world with an annoyingly unimpressive blog post.

Tune in next week for more nostalgic blurbs about the 90’s, Eddie Vedder, my juicer, and other tidbits. 

Thanks in advance for reading!! 


My tricky dicky ‘smart phone’ tricked me into a system upgrade. 

No, I don’t want to optimize my applications.  I don’t need my angry birds to be angrier.  I don’t want my clock to get all fucked up.  I just want it to stay the same.  To plateau. 

The thing about this is the update icon pops up every single time I look at my phone.  I have to deny the update. 

I denied all day.  Finally it happened. 
My fucking fat finger pressed the update icon instead of the update later icon. 


Nothing seems very optimized to me.  Not such a smart phone as it is a little conniving backstabbing whore.