Taco Bell Love Affair: The Final Chapter

Before I tell my final Taco Bell Tale, I would like everyone to think of a time when they did something really stupid. Have something in mind? K good. Keep it there. Now I want you to think of a time when you did something dangerous. Now combine the two. That’s exactly what this story is. It was stupid and dangerous...but you know what? I learned a lesson. So, Mom if you’re reading this, please don’t call and yell at me. No one assaulted me.

The morning that these events transpired started just like any other morning. I was in the middle of a wonderful dream where I lived in a Costco and the only people that were allowed to speak to me where the members of the Criminal Minds team.  They consulted me about crimes and I could solve them from atop my throne of bulk paper towels (because that is a completely normal thing to repeated fanaticize about) when my phone rang.  I was in no mood to answer as it was 10 a.m. and everyone who’s anyone knows not to call me before 2 p.m., so I just rolled over. My roommate launched the phone at my head saying, “Your caller ID says Josh Taco Bell, so it’s probably important.” I didn’t know what was worse: (A) that he was calling me (B) that he had my cell phone number (C) that my roommate had just told me someone from Taco Bell was calling me in such a normal voice, or of course (D) that she dubbed it important.

“What, Josh?” I answered being sassy, but his tiny little infantile short person voice on the other end was much more discouraged than usual. “Little Lady,” he said sullenly. “I’m moving to Cali. There’s nothing left for me here.” I was annoyed. “Oh my god. I’m going back to sleep. This is ridiculous. You’re not moving to Cali. It’s super expensive and there is absolutely no way that you wouldn’t spontaneously combust the second you crossed the Arkansas border. This state was made for people like you.” He hung up. I went back to sleep.

Five minutes later my phone was buzzing again.  This time it read “Nikki Other Taco Bell.” A little background: Nikki was Josh’s ex-girlfriend who worked at the Taco Bell a few streets over. We instantly hit it off. She even invited me to her illegitimate son’s birthday party. On that occasion I actually showed restraint and didn’t go, but I did buy him a present. “Baby, Josh is in real bad shape right now. He is drinkin’ Jack right out da bottle and keeps sayin’ dat he's movin’ to Cali. He’s askin’ for you Baby. Please come over.” I knew what I had to do. I had to go save my friend. I had to convince him to stay. I had to get him to start saying the full word “California.”

Nikki Other Taco Bell gave me vague directions and told me a man named Buck would meet me by the entrance to the trailer park to show me the way. I was blaring “Fighter” by Xtina the entire way. My blood was pumping. I was going to bring justice back to my home. It had not at all dawned on me that going to his house might not be such a good idea until I laid eyes on Buck. He was a tall, burly man with a Jaeger Meister t-shirt and a face scar. Teeth were something I wasn’t even sure he was born with and he had those sweatpants on that are fitted on the bottom.  Strangely the sweatpants weren’t saying “nerd” or “tired mom” they were saying something much more like “I murdered someone so I wear these because no one has the balls to say anything.” A bit shaken, I opened the passenger door and let him in the car. He pointed me toward the trailer and after we parked, he ushered me inside. It was worse than I thought. Josh was a shell of his former, tiny self. He was pretty drunk, pretty shirtless, and pretty irritating. “I can’t wait to see the ocean,” he said as he threw a pair of shorts out of the window of the trailer. “I can’t wait to meet all them ladies that will appreciate this,” he said motioning to his tighty whitey-clad body. “How do I become a citizen of Cali?” he mumbled as he threw more clothes out the window in an effort to pack for his relocation. I had had enough.  “Oh for the love of God, why can you not just call it California?” I knew that was the real issue here. Spoken abbreviations are always the real issue.  But it had become clear to me that Josh was having a midlife crisis.

After talking him into putting some clothes on and moving the thing that I was pretty sure was a dead cat that he had had stuffed, I sat him down to talk. We talked about everything. His break up, his self worth, his obvious fashion issues, his body odor, his irritating accent, we really covered all the bases until the truth came tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m not happy with my job. I’m not happy with my life.”

It was at that moment that Josh decided to take a job at Arby’s and I decided to transfer schools. If my Taco Bell family was breaking up it was obvious that I needed to make a new life for myself somewhere with a more emotionally sturdy fast food chain. We shook hands and said our teary goodbyes.

If you took anything away from my story, I hope it is that you can find friendship in the most unlikely places. Also, never judge a book by its cover. Just because someone doesn’t come from the same lifestyle as you doesn’t mean that they won’t be the answer to your prayers. But most importantly, I hope you learn to never go into some dude you just met at Taco Bell’s trailer. Seriously, have you seen those people? Do you know what could have happened to me in there?

Taco Bell Love Affair: Chapter 2

When we last met to discuss the epic saga that is my Taco Bell Family, I had just solidified my BFFness with Josh and our relationship was really soaring. Not that winning him over was that difficult of a task…..I mean, look at me. I'd like to be a non-douchelord here and say that wooing the rest of the staff was more trying but that would be a lie. We all hit it off pretty quickly. It was kind of like the story line on Will and Grace except nothing like that at all. We were just like the girls on The Facts of Life, except slightly different. Our bond completely mirrored the show Friends except…oh my god, okay I get it; it was kind of weird, but I loved it and it made me feel whole, so forget the analogies.  Anyway, I pretty much had the whole night staff in a go-to-Bed-Bath-and-Beyond-together-to-pick-out-towels situation, but there was only one thing missing. That thing was the approval of Ash, the one female employee. She was a lot more woman than I was used to. She was the kind that didn't really brush her teeth and hissed at me when I walked by. Some people are probably into stuff like that but it just eroded my confidence a bit. I spent much of my TB time trying to ignore her as I thought my elusiveness would gain her respect in some way. After a while, it became clear that playing hard to get was just not going to win Ash over, so I turned to Josh for advice. His solution was not too dissimilar to how I would imagine Aristotle and Steve Martin’s character on Father of the Bride would jointly solve a problem. He simply and profoundly said "Just start talking about crap. Maybe she likes crap you like. Probably not, you talk too much, but try."  So the next day I waltzed in to try it out.

Me: “Oh hey Ash! Did you know there's only 80 calories per serving of Ovaltine? That’s like stealing! Am I right?”

Ash: Hiss

Me: “Who in this room misses Mary-Kate and Ashley? Show of hands. Ash, put that hand up girl. You look like someone that effing loved So Little Time.”

Ash: Double hiss and some spitting

Me: (Now a bit deflated) “Ash, I see you have a wrist tattoo that says “Bill Buddy." I know there’s a story behind that.”

With those words, her face lit up. She shuffled me over to a far back table to elaborate on the origins of the tattoo. It turns out that Bill Buddy was her boyfriend that had just kicked her out of their shared apartment and moved in a girl that he met at a strip club in Farmington (next town over) called the Petting Zoo. This seemed to be a reoccurring theme throughout the TB community. Ash was devastated, but lucky for her; she was sitting in close proximity to the Relationship Master.  I was here to do my thing. I explained that the only mature and logical next step would be to summon the stripper to the T-Bell parking lot for a heated brawl. It was a good plan.  I would be her coach and we would fight clean. I would bring a sponge.  While they were bare knuckle boxing, Josh would knock out the windows in Bill Buddy’s truck with a T-Bell deep fat fryer basket. I was so proud of myself I couldn't stand it but Ash gently let me know that there were a few flaws in my plan.  Mainly, there was the distinct probability….let’s say 90%, that I could get stabbed in the process. Meanwhile, Lawrence, the guy who always ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches alone, but whom I had grown very fond of, was eavesdropping. After hearing how incredible at love I am, he stepped in for a piece of the pie I was serving. He pulled up a chair and settled in…

Lawrence: “Have I ever told you how I became a felon?”

Me: “No. But please don't. I mean, really, please. I spent all my money this month at Taco Bell so I don't have enough money to get out of town, just in case you decided "She knows too much" and try to kill me or something.”

Lawrence: “What the hell are you talking about?”

Me: “Fine. Let me have it.”

Lawrence: “Well, I used to be married. She was hot, super hot. But she only made Hamburger Helper for supper. A man can’t survive only on Hamburger Helper.  Do you understand that? I mean, every once in a while, a little hamburger to go along with the helper, would have been nice.  So one day I slapped her around a little bit and she made it a big deal and all and called the pigs.”

Me: “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…well I….uhhhhhhh…”

Lawrence: “Look, I think you can help me…I want her back…She was so hot and I'm having a hard time with the rent now. Fine, okay, I’m living in my car. Wait, does your dorm have a futon? Maybe that would work.”

This was a tall order but I knew I could help him. So I dug out an old Charlie's Chicken gift card that may or may not have had any money on it and got this half eaten box of chocolates I keep in my car so I look like someone desires me just in case a guy ever rides in it. I gave him the items and sent him on his way because fried chicken and old chocolate can cure any relationship ill…even domestic abuse. Though this situation might seem weird to the average on looker, it is an instant that remains near and dear to my heart. It was this night that took my relationship with the Taco Bell employees to the next level and the night that I went home and threw out the futon at the dorm.  It also set the tone for the next sequence of events that launched me into fast food stardom.  (STAYED TUNED! There are more fast food adventures in Part 3)

Once the drive through line had picked up a bit that night and I knew I wouldn't be getting as much attention, it was time for me to go home. As Josh walked me out to my car he turned to me and said "Well you and Ash seem to be buddies. Maybe we could grab a beer or something sometime." I was flattered, so I sweetly turned to him and replied "Ew….oh my god, no. Are you kidding? Like real people might see us."

A Taco Bell Love Affair: Chapter 1

I think many people would whole-heartedly agree that it is a bit difficult to find that “core group of friends” in the first year of college. If you don’t agree with that statement you’re either A) lying to yourself or B) incredibly annoying. Sure, most everyone eventually finds their path, whether its through their fraternity, sorority or other campus clubs. But of course, I took a different road to life-long friendships. A road paved in Crunch Wrap Supremes and processed “Queso.” Everyone has their own unique relationship with the fortress of hope that is Taco Bell. For most it is a drunken caloric mistake they make on a Friday night.  For some it is the site of emotional eating and possibly even self hatred.  But for me it was the place that I called “home” my freshmen year of college. When I say “home” I don’t just mean a place where I ate often to avoid studying or maybe rid a nasty hangover. I actually mean that their employees became my family.

It all started one chilly fall night when I came in to curb my constant need for trans fats. I was sitting in my car with a few friends, when suddenly I saw a very short man with a terrifying mustache smoking a Black and Mild get pelted in the head by a newspaper. It was one of those things that found a way to be incredibly hilarious while still being incredibly heartbreaking. I rolled down my window to see if he was okay…   

           

Me: Excuse me, um sir? I couldn’t help but see you just get nailed in the face with that Wall Street Journal. You good?

Him: Oh yeah! That happens every night about this time. It’s just a funny game I play with that guy. 

Me: Oh, so you know him?

Him: Well, I mean not like personal or nothin. Just know what car he drives.

Me: Then its not really a game…its more like a hate crime. 

Him: Listen girly, are you gonna sit here and gab or are you gonna go get some food?

My friends and I got out of the car and followed him inside, where he proceeded to take our order, all the while trying to cover up the red mark the flying newspaper had left. Cooly, and without a hint of shame I placed my order……….

“I will have 3 cheesey gordita crunches, 4 crispy tacos, and some cinnamon twists. Oh, and what the hell, you only live once right? Throw in one of those crunch wraps.” 

I thought it was a fairly modest order but apparently he felt different. “Well, you’re going to eat ALL of that?! My god girl, you’re gonna blow up like my Aunt Fern in that barn fire in ‘85. Are you even trying to get a boyfriend?”  he said with judgment in his eyes and disgust oozing from his lips. Most girls would of been mortified, but not me. I admired his gusto and sass, so I did the only logical thing, I asked him to eat with us. We were fast friends. His name was Josh and he was about four feet tall and he had a charmingly limited vocabulary. We talked about everything you’d typically talk to an employee of a fast food chain about. I explained my theory on girls that wear high heels before noon. He told me all about his recent breakup with his girlfriend of four years. It was about as messy as messy could get. She had cheated on him with one of his best friends and there’d been a very violent fight outside the trailer they shared with Josh’s mother. She had packed up their Pit Bull and what was left of Josh’s dignity and bounced, leaving him in a pathetic pool of pain. A few days after she had left him, he’d received a collect call from the county jail. It was the trifling beotch he used to call “his boo” and she had just been locked up for a DWI. Her new man candy was unable to pay the bond and knowing Josh’s giving nature, she turned to him. Naturally, he paid her out like a huge pansy. I was holding his tiny little hand across the table, when it dawned on me. I had been sent to Josh. I was like his fast food loving guardian angel and I was going to mend his broken heart. I knew I had to do something, so I grabbed his Cricket cellular mobile device and dialed that bitch up. I had a great speech planned but unfortunately our conversation went a lot like this:

Me: Um, hi. This is Katherine and you need to pay Josh back now before things get real bad for you and what were you doing driving under the influence? Its like you’ve never had a D.A.R.E. class or something. 

Bitch: *A lot of cuss words I can’t say because my mom reads this.*

Me: You’re going to stab me aren’t you?

Bitch: Yeah, probably.

I was naturally terrified. I slammed down the phone and looked up at him in panic.  My friends were doing that thing where they shake their heads really slowly and look at me like I had lost my mind. But all I saw was a twinkle of love in my new confidant’s eyes. Not like, wife me up and buy me an oversized Tweety Bird nightshirt kind of love, but true friendship. Josh and I’s bond only prospered after that. I started frequenting Taco Bell about 5 days a week and my thighs showed it. Through Josh, I formed a tight bond with all of the employees. We started doing this thing where I’d come in with a group of people(obviously just to show off, because nothing says “cool” like inappropriately close friendships with Taco Bell workers) and i’d give them a bit of a whistle. They’d all line up and I would do a roll call where I’d go down the line and sing all their names so my friends would be familiar with who they were dining with that evening. Josh, of course was always the first in line. Then there was Scott, a fifty year old T-Bell veteran with a heart of gold; Scott’s eighteen year old son; Ash, the one female employee who wasn’t my biggest fan; Lawrence, a felon who wants to be my Facebook friend; and Curtis who was exceptional at Movin’ it like Bernie. 

Unfortunately, the saga of Taco Bell is much too long, detailed and mind boggling to put in one post, so I am forced to make it into a three part series. But here is a little about whats to come:

Dusty brings his wife and new baby in to meet me, I am invited to the birthday party of the four year old son of Josh’s new girlfriend (who worked at the Taco Bell a few streets over), and Lawrence tells me how he became a felon, and lot’s more.  Really gripping stuff here guys!

A Water Filled Terror

I'm going to go ahead and make a statement that I am instantly going to regret making on the internet. I am very easily bullied into things. That being said, I am even more easily persuaded into doing things by my mother. Unfortunately, this instance perfectly demonstrates this issue. I had just walked in our house from a grueling summer away from home filled to the brim of self deprecating poolside jokes as the more physically gifted individuals walked by and a lot of alcohol induced pork nachos that I don’t regret at all. I had thrown my bag on the couch and was about to fire up an episode of The Real Housewives of Some Big City Nobody Cares About, when my mother erupted from the kitchen. She was wearing a flowered swim cap, a wetsuit and uttered the words that would become some of the most terrifying worlds I would ever hear…“I’ve signed us up for water aerobic classes.”

      

Okay, part of that was a lie. She was wearing her normal Chico’s outfit but the wetsuit would have been a lot funnier. Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking. “Water aerobics is easy. You’re young, Katherine. You’re in your prime. Everyone there is going to be like 80-years-olds. You can do this!” Well thank you guys for that. But unfortunately you are only half right. Yes, everyone is over the age of 75 but they are also a lot more physically fit than I am. Honestly, at first I was feeling pretty cocky when I shoved my body into that Speedo one piece, grabbed that noodle and plunged right into that uncomfortably lukewarm pool. The instructor came out and my cockiness only escalated. Her name was Evelyn and she looked very sweet. I kind of wanted to cuddle up with her and watch Designing Women, maybe talk about my feelings. But Evelyn was not sweet at all. She was what has once been called, a bad bitch. Homegirl was not even a little afraid to get her Reeboks wet and she kicked my ass up and down that YWCA swimming pool. Alarmingly, it wasn’t just Evelyn. It was every senior citizen in the tri-state area and even more alarmingly, my mother was their leader. It was like a water filled concentration camp but instead of a dry wasteland, it was a pain filled body of water set to the beat of “Build Me Up Buttercup.” I didn’t stand a chance. As I slowly drowned during “the rocking horse” I was forced to watch my mother giggle and laugh with her new friends as she showed them better techniques with their “water jog.” I was an outsider. It was like gym class all over again, except this time I couldn’t con my teacher into letting me sit on the stage and gossip with him while everyone else ran laps.

Finally, after an hour of horror it was over. I was out of breath. I was discouraged. I was probably bleeding somewhere. I got out of the death trap, took my pride and I ran to the locker room. I didn’t just run, I sprinted. You would have thought there was a Neiman Marcus semiannual sale in that locker room. I rolled into a little ball and prayed my mom wouldn’t find me. But of course after she got done speaking to her aquatic minions, she waltzed into the locker room like she was Michael Phelps or something. I wanted to push her off her hypothetical throne. I wanted her to feel the pain that I felt. I was thinking of the most hurtful thing I could say. I was ready. But as our eyes met, she beat me to the punch. “Sweetie maybe this just is a bit hard for you.” I guess she was right. Whatever, girlfriend. You may be good at high speed kicking across a lap pool but I challenge you to go against me at Toddlers and Tiaras trivia. I am sure you’re wondering if there is a moral to this story. If I am actually going anywhere with this. Well the answer is I’m not. I’m not actually going anywhere with this at all. I just wanted to tell this story so maybe my one chubby, unathletic, red-headed reader can go to bed tonight knowing she isn’t alone.

With that, I say hats off to you Mabel, Trudy, Evelyn, and Pearl. You ladies are more woman than I’ll ever be.

Katherine

How to Land a Guy in 10 Days

Lately, I have come to the conclusion that I am really good at getting guys. It’s almost as if the fairy godmother of cool decided to permanently live inside my body and party. I have felt for a while that I needed to share my gift with my reader (shout out to at-home-red-headed-girl, shout out to you.) I just didn’t want to seem cocky. But at this point I’m like screw it, the world needs to know and frankly, The Millionaire Matchmaker needs to hear this, too. I mean she is good, but she’s a little too traditional for my taste. I am more of a 2011 Love Expert. Anyway, I promise that if you listen to everything I say, you will have a guy begging to buy you a Qdoba burrito in an hour TOPS. 

First things first, you have to know where to find these male specimens. I mean anyone can meet a guy at a bar or at a party. But you, my precious pupil, aren’t like everyone else. I’ve put together a short list of places where you are sure to find love:

A Cash for Gold Center- Think about it…first he has gold, so he’s either a pirate or one of those guys that only wears wife beaters, basketball shorts, and gold chains and has a chest tattoo that says something suave like “I Believe I Can Fly.” Either of those options are totally hot. But now, he has CASH. So who’s going on a shopping spree to The Buckle?! You are!

A Men’s Bathroom- A complete amateur might try and call this bold move “creepy” but they are probably still using that “don’t text him Quotes from The Notebook 20 minutes after your first date” rule. Let me paint you a picture. There you are in your favorite little black dress and 6 inch heels, leaning up against the urinal of a 7Eleven smoking a Camel Crush. Do you know what that image says to a man? It says “Wow, not only is that girl really proactive in taking control of her life, but she isn’t afraid of germs, and I love that.”

The Scene of A Car Accident- Everyone, at one point, has looked over at a stop light and seen someone really attractive in the Le Sabre next to them. Most would try to gain eye contact and give them a wink or something, but I think you need to be a little more forward than that. I’m thinking collision. It will give you something to talk about right off the bat and insurance will just pay for the rest. 

 

Now that you’ve landed the man of your dreams, I want to make sure and leave you with the proper hypothetical tools in your hypothetical toolbox so that you can continue to shine in your relationship. 

1.  Make absolutely no effort in your appearance. If your man doesn’t find you attractive after you haven’t showered for a week and smell weirdly similar to a Whataburger, then he obviously isn’t the one. 

2. When he says things like “Hey, I think I am going to go out with my friends tonight. Call ya tomorrow?” you must respond with “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?! YOU TOLD ME YOU’D WATCH ROSEANNE WITH MY FAMILY. DO YOU NOT EVEN LOVE ME ANYMORE? SHOULD I JUST UNBUILD THAT TREE HOUSE I MADE FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME YOUR PARENTS WOULDN’T LET YOU HAVE ONE AS A CHILD?” It’s important for him to know how much your relationship means to you and how not okay you are with him having social or emotional contact with any other human being including his mother. 

3. Plan lots of fun, yet clever dates. A few of my favorites are:

-Glamour Shots: There is no better way to grow closer emotionally than dressing up in themed costumes and provocatively posing.

-Visiting your Grandmother in the Nursing Home: Having your Nana throw spinach at him and call him “Janine” will be the perfect segway into talking about starting a family. He will be in his caretaking mode, so right in between rubbing her corns and rolling her wheelchair to dinner just look him straight in the eyes and say “I want our own little miniature version of this. Lets reproduce, babe.” and if he responds with “Um..I’ve only known you for two weeks and we are only 20 years old,” then you are definitely not on the same page.

-Reenacting Episodes of Criminal Minds: I’m not going to explain why this is fun and beneficial to a relationship. It just speaks for itself. 

4. If he doesn’t answer your texts, that’s fine. He’s playing hard to get. Real women don’t play games, so keep texting him. I don’t just mean like a few “hey, just call me when you get a chance” text messages. I’m talking full-fledged, fill-his-inbox-to-capacity texting. He’s going to love it. He’s going to see those messages and be like “marry me. now.” Do you know why? Because you took matters in your own hands and weren’t afraid to get what you want. 

5. Take every opportunity to cry. Crying gets you anything you could ever want. He wants to play Call of Duty but you want to watch A League of Their Own and make crepes? Cry. His brother is on leave from Afghanistan for three days but you scheduled a couples yoga retreat? Cry. He doesn’t want to learn how to french braid your hair? Cry. Another great thing crying provides is the opportunity for him to comfort you. If you’re always crying, then he’s always comforting you and you’re always hugging. See how this all works?

Seriously guys, thank me later.

Halloween Hierarchy

Dear American Children,

I know that you are aware of what time of year it is. The leaves are changing and the fall wind is blowing the excitement of Halloween through your hair. You dream of hopping into the costume that your mom made after a few boxes of wine last Friday night and instantly being transported into a world of magic and glee. Well I advise you, young ones, to hold onto that feeling as long as  you possibly can because as soon as you reach adolescence, the joy of Halloween is quickly made into a fortress of social scrutiny. Basically what I’m saying is that those fun little Halloween Express commercials are absolutely lying to you. The girl in the scary (with a dash of gothic sexiness) witch costume isn’t cool. She also isn’t happy. Do you know why? Because the guy dressed up as a hunky version of Bob The Builder isn’t buying her a “Jack O’ Lantern,” he’s buying it for the slutty cat. Yeah, that cat is going to find out if he can really “fix it” while witch girl is sitting on the sidelines next to the girl that was gutsy enough to actually dress up as a baked potato. All I’m saying is if you’re going to rebel against anything in those angsty teen years, I would pick the Disney Channel. Its a cruel world out there, filled with evil stares and whispers. Nothing like Halloweentown. Good luck. Be brave and whatever you do, show some cleavage. 

May the Force Be With You,

Katherine

                                  

I have always been a firm believer in the non-slutty Halloween costume. I mean the way I look at it, any girl can slap on some garters and platforms and call themselves a “Bumble Bee” but I am an original. My creativity can’t be squandered by the typical desire to well, for lack of a better word, be desired. Frankly, I think that your costume says a lot about you as a person. This thought became even more evident this weekend as I hit the town to soak up the festivities. I was dressed head to toe as a sheep and was feeling pretty fly until I realized my cotton ball-covered homemade gem was less than well received. It was clear that every costume fit into its own little “clique.” It was exactly like the lunch room dynamic in the movie Mean Girls, you had your group and if you veered from it the structure of the social norm would be completely shifted, causing an animal-like uproar. The groups were assembled as such:

The Slutty Occupation Costume- Everyone knows these girls. The ones that buy those Legs Avenue brand cop, nurse, or construction worker costumes. It really doesn’t matter how many times you tell your friends that that costume is so “unoriginal” you still secretly wish you were them. You wish they’d invite you to sit with them at lunch, but you know what, Girl That Dressed Up Like Frodo, they never will. They will just continue to mean mug you from behind their Solo Cup of Andre champagne and use their syringe to squirt your boyfriend’s R&R whiskey into his mouth. Their occupation of choice may be blue collar, but the truth is they run this town. 

The Popstars- The slightly less popular but still highly respected Popstar costume has been done for many generations, but this year as I sat in the corner observing them in their natural habitat, I had a revelation. Our “pop” culture is super weird. Think about it: 10 years ago girls were putting pigtails in their hair, slipping into middrift sweaters and calling themselves Britney Spears. While slightly irritating, it wasn’t very peculiar. Now it’s all brightly colored wigs and stilettos in the shape of inanimate objects. None the less, the Rhianna, Katy Perry, and Ke$ha of the party seemed to be quite a hit with the frat boys who, not surprisingly, were almost all dress as Edward Cullen in a desperate attempt to woo the ladies. And yes, Ke$ha brushed her teeth with a bottle of Jack nearly 6 times on demand.

The Regular Animal Costume- This is where my dog costume-clad roommate and I fit in. We were shunned to sit at the poorly assembled card table with the other confused animals for the duration of the night. I felt exactly like Lindsay Lohan’s character on her first day of school, except instead of being greeted by Janice Ian and Damian, I was welcomed to the table by a pair of “cats.” It was pretty apparent that these girls had missed the stripper memo as well. I wouldn’t put us in the band geek category but let’s just say, we definitely were going to be spending our prom making a “stand against the man” at a local coffee shop. 

The Foreign Exchange Students Dressed as Babies (see picture)- This is definitely the bottom tier of the social scale. Though my category doesn’t provide me much street cred, I still wouldn’t launch myself this far into social suicide. I don’t know if I would even let them sit at my lunch table. I honestly didn’t even know a costume so horrifying could exist until I had to experience it first hand. I was just sitting there shedding cotton balls and minding my own business when up behind me popped Angel and Raphael the bouncing, blubbering and slightly terrifying Spanish exchange students. They were completely naked except for a strategically placed diaper and a pacifier hanging out of their mouths. They loved my handy work on the sheep outfit and insisted I take a picture with them and load it to “Ze Facebook.” As I posed, I looked on to see the popular girls whisper and point as my last hope at being cool trickled away. 

Though I did eventually swallow my pride and load our picture to Ze Facebook, I took a valuable lesson away from this Halloween experience. You should never throw away your morality and dignity for a chance at popularity. Being yourself is the best you can offer anyone and that should always be enough. Except for on Halloween that is, so slap on your skankiest green dress and call yourself Kermit the Frog or no one is going to buy you a drink, sweetheart. 

Community College Girl Problems

As many people know, I am That Girl. You know the girl I’m talking about. The girl you creep on Facebook and turn to your friend and have a conversation similar to this:

You: “This is [insert name.] She went to [insert major university] but she just couldn’t handle it.”

Friend (I like to think of your friend as someone who is wearing a Hello Kitty crop top, pink skinny jeans and glitter eyeshadow. That’s the most irritating outfit I can think of.): “Oh my gosh. I knew a girl like that. She went to [major university] but I heard she just started eating Chapstick uncontrollably. Like, it was so weird. I met her roommate at a party once and she told me all about it. Like, she just wouldn’t stop eating Chapstick and now she is in a mental asylum. So sad. You know? She was so normal in high school.”

You: “Yeah thats pretty much completely what happened to this girl. But, instead of eating Chapstick, she just watched a lot of movies on her laptop and instead of an insane asylum…she’s at…oh my god I can’t say it…it’s just so sad…a…a…a community college.”

You and your Hello Kitty-tastic Friend Simultaneously: “So sad.”

I know this because I have had this conversation. No really, I have. Recently actually, because I’m a huge hypocrite. The only thing is that I love being “That Girl.” I feel like it makes me really edgy. Later in life, I’ll finally be able to give inspirational speeches to uppity private high schools about the great hole my life fell into and how I so valiantly brought myself to higher ground. A lot like the guy who fell in the canyon and had to eat his arm off to survive. The only thing is that I’m really bad at being edgy at my community college and these are the reasons why:

1. No one really wants to be my friend. My roommate says it’s because no one likes the question “So what are you in for?” But I really don’t think that’s it. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that no one wants to look at pictures on my iPhone of my dog doing various daily activities. I don’t understand why that is but apparently it’s not everyone’s personal preference. 

2. I refuse to park anywhere but the faculty lot. I mean this isn’t new. I did this at my previous institution of higher learning also but they don’t tow at community college. This has it’s pros and cons. Pro: my car doesn’t get to take a weekly ride on the big, flat truck. Con: I don’t get to have those fun “you’ve got to be kidding me, Katherine. Again?” conversations with the towing company. It used to just be an issue of laziness but since the parking spots at community college are pretty much all the same distance from the building, it’s now an issue of pretentiousness. And I am fine with that. 

3. I wont stop calling myself “The Carrie Bradshaw of Community College.” I have always identified with Carrie. I think we have a lot in common. She’s from the fabulous city of New York. I am from Oklahoma. It would be pointless to tell you what town because just by saying “Oklahoma” you are already uninterested. Carrie is constantly dripping in the most well known designers. I wear a lot of Nike shorts and Forever 21. She sips Cosmopolitans in the city’s most trendy locations. I try like hell to find any possible bar with beer pitchers under five dollars. Basically, we are the same person. I also don’t think it’s out of the boundaries of social norms to give yourself a title and introduce yourself as such:

“Hello. I, see you are also riding this elevator. You may have heard of me, I am the Carrie Bradshaw of Community College.”  Then flip your hair. 

4. I don’t smoke cigarettes…but I pretend. I have asthma. I have “inhaler after walking up a flight of stairs” asthma. I couldn’t smoke even if I wanted to. But since I’m really edgy now, I sit in my car with a burning cig until I smell so bad that you’d have to believe I’m authentic. I even say cool things like “Can I bum a Marlboro Heavy?” Even if that may or may not be a real thing.

I may suck at being edgy, but no one will know that in twenty years when I write my memoir about these trying times. They’ll just see me as a survivor, not an easily distracted former Catholic school girl who got bad grades. 

Katherine