Musical Thoughts

I want to start out by saying that I am completely aware that this post is going to ruin me socially. I already know that I am going to lose a lot of Twitter followers, maybe a few Facebook friends, and maybe my chances at ever finding an independently wealthy professional snowboarder sitting all alone at a coffee shop reading dark poetry and dying to marry me. Yes, weirdly that's my idea of a perfect man. I just feel like if I say it out loud for the world to read that maybe it makes me less of freak.

Music just does something to me. I’m not talking like in a cool hipster way. "The lyrics walk into my soul, take the wheel, and awaken my senses to a beautiful universe of dreams" kind of way, I'm talking in a Ja Rule makes me have insanely vivid daydreams kind of way. I've never understood the effect that bad music has on me. It is as if the second I hear Flo Rida crooning through my car stereo system I'm transported to another world where there is no such thing as a bad hair day and everyone whispers, “Who is that fabulous dime piece?  “Look at her rocking those jeans!  Do you think God designed those specifically for her?" when I walk by. I guess to accurately explain this I’ll have to throw my self-respect aside and give you a song by song description.

"Money to Blow" by Birdman, Lil' Wayne and Drake- In this scenario I have three older sisters and my father is a billionaire. We are going out to eat.  For some reason our restaurant of choice is always Charleston's in this fantasy. I recognize if my father was a billionaire we could do a whole lot better than Charleston's, but just go with it. We all arrive in separate Bentley's. First struts in my oldest sister, she is greeted at the door with a glass of champagne and all the employees whisper about how intimidated they are by her. She's really bitchy and rude to everyone. The same thing happens with my next sister. She spits her Double Mint into the host's hand and states that no one had better touch her mink while she enjoys her meal. Then I roll in. The entire staff's faces change from a look of terror to a look of sheer delight. On the same tray that the champagne had been served, they brought me a shot of cheap tequila. As I tossed the shot to the back of my throat the entire staff looked at each other and said something to the effect of "Wow. Katherine is not only super down to earth for drinking cheap liquor when she is so rich, but she is also beautiful, charismatic and full of life. Gosh, she's just like Nicole Ritchie but better."

"Shoop" by Salt N' Peppa- I am wearing all fur. Except not fur pants. That’s super weird. Actually screw it, I'm making fur pants work. Anyway, wearing solid fur, walking really Victoria's Secret super modelish toward 747, a popular Norman bar. I'm smoking a cigarette in one of those holder things but it’s very Victoria Beckam and not so Cruela Deville.  There are paparazzi everywhere snapping pictures of me.  I know I have a job to do. I waltz into the bar. I don't get carded. I don't have to stand in line. They basically thank me for being there. I walk right up to a small crowd of girls hassling one of my friends. People are all whispering "Oh my god what's she going to do? What's she going to say? How will she regain justice?" I just look at them and say "OUT" and they scurry away as fast as possible. My friend and I embrace lovingly then still find a way to krump for the remainder of the song.

"Before He Cheats" by Carrie Underwood- It’s totally Coyote Ugly. I’m tending bar at a trashy yet lovable honky tonk. I have a bangin' bod but I still eat fried chicken and mashed potatoes every day. Wait, that’s not relevant? Anyway, somehow every single person I have ever been friends with, had a crush on, or have hated me is there on this one night. I'm serving drinks just doing my job when my boss suddenly quiets the room and says "Katherine, you can't hide your talents forever. It's time you sing." into the microphone. Somehow he has a microphone. I act all embarrassed at first but I get up on the bar and belt out the tune like I owned it and let’s just say I owned the room.

"Give It To Me Baby" by Rick James- The setting: A Joe's Crab Shack. Again, like every single person who I've ever looked at is there. (Yeah, I'm a huge attention whore. I think that's become disgustingly clear.) I walk in and I'm instantly greeted by the manager. He tells me that I can't be seated at an overly nautical-themed table until I dance. I act really embarrassed but I really want to eat and I know that this is the only way that will happen. Without missing a beat, they put me up on a table and I perform a perfectly choreographed dance to the 80's classic. It's both hilarious and impressive. I go home with close to 300 Facebook friend requests.

I know that right now you're probably thinking that this is really weird or that I'm "really into myself." Both those things are true but...I mean thats it. They're both true. Beer me.

Katherine  

A Lesson in Twitter

First things first, this post is not a rant. I also want to say that I’m going to be really annoyed if you call your best friend and tell her that you think I'm a bitch because you read this and realize that you fit into one of these categories. Look sweetheart, if that happens to be the horrendously unfortunate case for you, I’m doing you a favor by pointing it out. If one of the strong powerful black women on The Help pointed this out to you, you would be all tears and thankful hugs. So just stop being such baby and thank me.

That being said, there are some people that just completely suck on Twitter. Before you stop reading, I’m willing to admit I am a slave to social networking. I’m not going to pretend that I have a life. I don’t. I eat out alone often.  Anyway, I check Twitter more than I have actual human interactions, so I do have the authority to make these kinds of accusations about others. I’m also willing to admit that I’ve done some of these things but I’d rather just point fingers at all of you than at myself. So I ask you to look past my own flaws while I totally capitalize on yours.

I have broken these 140 character offenders up into groups. I did this because I like to envision myself as the leader of a hypothetical seminar where people from across the globe have come to allow me to belittle them into a better way of expressing themselves on the internet. It’s just a lot easier for me to hurt your feelings if you’re categorized. So sit down, grab a bottle of tequila, and take notes because I’m about to change your life.

The “Look How Sweet My Boyfriend Is” Barf Bait- By telling us that your boyfriend calls you beautiful every hour on the hour and calling yourself a #luckygirl, you’re not making us swoon. You’re making single girls everywhere consume four boxes of Franzia while watching Titanic and drunk dialing their mom.

The “Shout Out To My Girls” Party Girl- Scenario: Its Friday night. Its’ been a really long week. You’re ready to pound some brightly colored shots with your home girls. Who knows? Someone might kiss someone they don’t know. A top might come off. The possibilities are really endless.  I completely respect this but if you tweet about how happy you are to be with “yo main ladies” every 36 minutes, everyone is going to think you’re sitting in the corner booth alone listening to Kreyshawn on repeat. I know this because my friends and I have done this and woke up having lost close to 10 followers each and a lot of self respect.

The TMI Tweeter- We get it. You have corns. I’m not going to go into that much detail on this one just don’t tweet about your corns, it’s really weird. Same goes with cramps. Don’t tweet about your cramps, girlfriend.

The “Too Many Hash Tags” Train Wreck- This is everyone’s mom. Everyone’s mom who has a twitter has no idea how to properly utilize hash tags. Their tweets are usually like this “Shopping with my #BeautifulDaughter #SoFun #GladShesHome #NeedAXanex #DidISayThat? #YesIDid."  I’m going to be real with you.  I don’t really understand hash tags either but I stay away from them because of that. Also, if you use too many hash tags on Twitter you probably speak with hash tags in real life. In that case, you’re hopeless. I’m done trying to help you.

The Calorie Burner- If you ate four carrots and then spent six hours on the elliptical and then made the colossal mistake of telling me about it, I’m absolutely going to want to fight you. No, seriously. You tweet about that and I’m calling all my friends to talk about you behind your back. This is mainly because there is a 600% chance I have already had Wendy’s that day. You make me feel bad about my double cheeseburger, I tell everyone you made out with your 6^th grade gym teacher. That’s just the way the world works. 

If you realized that any of these were you then I’m sorry for being so harsh..... but.... you’re welcome! I just increased your like-ability by quite a bit. So now, my tragic little Tweeter, take these lessons into your own virtual world and use them wisely. And please, for the love of god, try not to #DropTheBall again.

Katherine 

My Meemaw is Cooler Than Your Meemaw

Meemaw, Grammy, Gigi, Nana, Mimi.  Chances are if you are a human person, you have had at least one of these at some point in your life.  Someone who gives you cookies and sugar free candy on your birthday, someone who collects small feline-themed knick knacks, someone who mails you 60-year-old origami instructional booklets because you once mentioned that origami was “kinda cool”, but most importantly, someone who loves you no matter what.  A grandmother.  Now I’ve met a few pretty cool grandmas in my day, but I can say with confidence that my grandma is waaay cooler, and here are a just few reasons why.

1. She still has her sharp sense of humor at age 94.  Just last month while I was visiting Grandma at the nursing home in Kansas, she came wheeling into the room strapped into a high-tech wheelchair.  As she started to stand up, a chirping alarm went off and she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Why won't they just let me escape?”   It takes a pretty funny woman to be able to joke about being trapped in a wheelchair with alarms attached to your pants.  I sure hope that if I make it to 94 I can laugh at myself like that.
2. She asks the questions that really make you think.  “Why do men have beards?” and “What’s up with dog lips?” are two that stick out in my mind.  She’s not afraid to say what’s really on her mind, even if it’s silly or strange, and that’s something that we can all learn from.
3. Marge Miller doesn’t just buy any old cheesy hallmark card for her family members.  She makes her cards herself.  Each unique card features an old picture of the receiver on the front along with a special, unique note inside.  So don’t ever expect to receive a card with a mustached bulldog riding a unicycle on the front.  Grandma Miller would never dream of doing something so ridiculous and classless.
4.  Along with the one-of-a-kind birthday cards, my grandma has sent me a crisp Benjamin Franklin for literally EVERY possible holiday.  Christmas?  Yes.  Easter?  Of course.  Presidents Day?  Definitely.  If anything even slightly momentous happens to me, or anyone else for that matter, she sends me a nice little monetary gift.  I’m pretty sure I got a check in the mail the last time there was a full moon.  And she does this for all of her grandkids too, because she is AWESOME.
5. No one is ever more excited to see me than my grandmother.  Seriously though, whenever I’m feeling like a big friendless loser, a visit to Grandma instantly makes me feel better about myself.  I feel just like a young Betty White on the red carpet whenever she asks me questions about my life.  That was a terrible comparison but you get the point.  She makes me feel like the coolest, prettiest, most interesting person in the world.  You should see what happens to my ego when she tells me that I need to start eating more or that I’m the smartest girl she knows.  I think everyone needs to keep a Meemaw nearby for a little self-confidence boost now and then.

Faith