We're getting a new dishwasher!

The full story: We were having some issues getting the thermostat to work, so my roommate called in the maintenance guy. He fixed the thermostat temporarily, and will replace it completely when he comes to replace the dishwasher. He said they're both just very old, and need to be updated (which we fully agreed with like springy little bobble heads). He also got the heat working; the pilot light just needed to be lit. So now we have heat... you know, now that winter is basically over...

And just for laughs, I think you guys should know that when the maintenance man investigated why our dishwasher, or The Beast, as we like to call it, was making that god awful noise when it ran, he retrieved a tupperware that looked like a dinosaur had gnawed on it, and a porcelain teacup handle out of the main component where the washer spins. I'm pretty sure at that point he thought he had fixed it because he smiled, and said, "Well, that might be the problem..." He closed the mouth of The Beast once more, set it to run, and sure enough, it continued to make that wretched scraping noise. The smile came clean off his face and landed on ours. "That's a problem," he said. "This'll need to be replaced." I could have hugged him.

Other than the sparkling clean dishes now shining into our future, life has been all buttercups and dandelions again. Winter quarter is officially in full swing. I cut my hours drastically at work after learning my lesson that working full-time on top of full-time school is a death wish, so I'm only working two days (averaging about 15 hours). I'm in two higher level graphic design courses and Speech and Public Speaking online. Yes, you read that correctly: online. I'd always planned on putting the stupid class off until senior year in hopes that I'd be so dazzled by the light at the end of the tunnel that it would lighten the pain of taking the wretched, horrible, no good, really bad class. But scheduling made things difficult, and one way or another, the universe forced me into taking it this quarter. I only have to give two public speeches. I think I can handle that.


Under eighty days until I'm living in France. I still can't believe that sentence is fact, and not fantasy.

At work today: I'm right in the middle of shelving a v-cart of about fifty new-release YA books, when an old lady comes up behind me.

Old Lady: Do you know where the Twilight books are?
Me: They're right behind you.
Old Lady: Have you read them?
Me: Yeah, I've read the whole series.
Old Lady: You're going to go to Hell.

And then she just turned around and walked away.

Currently, I'm pulling an all-nighter. Nothing new or unusual.

Drawing for Design is the bane of my design existence. I hate this class with every fiber of my being. With each passing project, the only thought going through my head at 4 am is if SCAD wasn't making me take this stupid shit, I could be sleeping. Healthy, normal, natural: sleeping, instead of drawing these stupid god damn perfect, even lines on god damn perfect, white paper. It doesn't help much that I go straight from class to work until midnight on zero hours of sleep.

I knew this year was going to be tough. I push myself to get the most hours at work, the hardest professors, the best grades (Dean's List for a third time would be stellar), and somewhere in the middle of all that, I go insane while I try and keep it all together.

But the end of tomorrow, that is what will make life worth living. Tomorrow night the bests get here and then bright and early Friday morning we all pile into our vehicles and drive up to Asheville, NC for a weekend of mountains, photoshoots, fancy estates, cookouts, and fall love. I've been counting down the days for three months.

Other than that, life has been as expected. Barnes has been typical Barnes, with customers as batshit as ever and employees revolting against the camera systems my manager now watches from home. Boys have been typical boys, prying their way in and leaving wreckage behind. Friends have been amazing, with movie nights, late night conversations, and pumpkin pie making. Classes have been exactly what I predicted for junior year, stressful and generally Hell on Earth. But this is it, my life, and though I seem to be living it on fast forward, I'm collecting a million good hearts and memories along the way.


p.s. I was recently featured on Explore on Flickr! I'm thrilled.

I am sick.

Not just a little bit sick, either.

Full blown (through my nose, har-dee-har-har), fever, mucus, sneezing, closed throat kind of sick. I'm the kind of sick where all you can do is lay in bed and think about how sick you are.

My life has apparently taken some swan dive toward the bottom of the misery pool. I think there is a lesson I'm supposed to be learning through all of this, but I'm too sick to figure it out currently. Let me explain the happenings, and then maybe one of you can figure it out for me.

I woke up yesterday to an one-oh-one fever and a sore throat. The first word out of my mouth– before I'd even pulled the covers off– was "No!" It was a long, stretched "no" that went on as long as possible, strangled like a dying dinosaur.

I got out of bed; all of my muscles felt like goo. I got dressed. I had to get dressed: I had to go to work. I drove to work while my muscles protested against working in general, pissed about the unhealthy body temperature. I shoved my foot against the accelerator with more vicious intent that usual while I sped off toward the one place I'd never not wanted to be more in my life.

I thought I could do it, to be honest. One eight hour shift at the register and then I could go home, crawl into bed, and imitate the lifeless. Just eight hours. I could totally do it.

Five minutes into the door, my boss pulled me aside to have a "chat." This is generally not a good sign. The managers at Barnes and Noble never find the time to pull you aside and chat about how well you're doing, so if you're chatting, you can pretty much guarantee it's because you've fucked up somehow.

"We got secret-shopped yesterday," my boss said.

"Oh," I said. "How did it go?"

"Not good."

It was about this time that my sickly brain started putting the puzzle pieces together. Not good. "Not good" as in Katie, you fucked up royally. "Not good" as in we should probably fire you but you're fairly attractive and kind to the old people so we won't fire you today.

"You were shopped," my boss explained. "You didn't push the membership."

"What?"

I didn't push the membership? I always push the membership. I push the membership so much that I annoy myself. I should be elected President of Membership Pushing. I am an official Membership Pusher. I am so good at Membership Pushing, in fact, that asking unsuspecting customers if they have a membership has become second nature. "That's a nice blouse you're wearing" is now automatically followed by, "and think of how many others you could buy with what you'd save if you bought a membership at Barnes and Noble."

Ok, ok. That's a slight exaggeration. I never say the word blouse out loud. But I would, if I thought it would better push the membership.

As it turns out, my boss was exaggerating slightly (I asked about the membership, but the woman declined and I didn't berate her for it), but I didn't find this out until after the mental breakdown. After our "chat," I really tried to keep it together. I tried to ignore the fact that I couldn't walk faster than a crippled person because my muscles were seething. I tried to ignore the fact that it was really rotten luck that I'd been put at customer service that day. I tried to ignore the fact that none of the customers would ask me for help because my eyes were constantly on the verge of brimming over with unshed tears. I did try– but it wasn't enough.

When I got my break, I snatched my keys from the breakroom and made it into my car just before the first wave of OhMyGodWhyIsThisHappeningToMe? hit me. Then came the sobbing, more mucus (as if I weren't already producing enough or something), and the desperate phone call to my mother.

What I've decided, sitting in bed today, is that all the detox this week has a reason: something's coming in my life– something big– and I have to clear out every last bit of negative before I'm ready for whatever that is. My body is choosing to purge said negative in the two most efficient ways: crying and sickness, but if it works, it works, and that's all that matters.


p.s. SMeyer needs to grow up. Seriously. She's embarrassing herself.

loud purrs and a beating heart; you're my favorite

Lots of art inspiration flowing in these last few days; not quite sure what I'm going to do with it all yet. I've worked thirty-three hours this week; I am exhausted. Only twenty days until schools starts; here's hoping that new schedule/availability works out accordingly with my life. Do you ever sit and think about everything that will never happen to you?

p.s. Layout is now complete with cute background.

"One day, you will die.

You will stop and the world will carry on. Lovers will love. Others will shop, laugh and cry. Sometimes alone. Sometimes together. The radio will keep playing.

But you will be gone.

Only the love you gave, the souls you touched and the people you changed, will remain.

They will carry on for you. They will pick up where you left off.

There is nothing to be sad about here."

At work today, I helped at least sixty people. It was mechanical: "how can I help you?" and nothing more. It wasn't until someone paused to say "thank you" that I stopped being a robot, hesitated on my feet, and said "you're welcome." I smiled, and she smiled, and just for that second, my entire day started over.

There should be more people in the world like her. Appreciation is truly a learned gift.

Being on vacation has given me time to do exactly what a Kades does best: think.

The future has really been stressing me out this month; the drive to be successful has settled like a strand of thorns somewhere just underneath my shoulder-blades. I don't want to screw this thing called my life up. And I know if I walk into it confidently, start this year off the right way, and really give everything my full one hundred and ten percent, I'll be fine. Better than fine, probably. But I worry about stretching myself too thin. I think I might be trying to accomplish too much too fast---like I'm speeding my life up faster than it should be going---but I'm terrified of being left behind. I want (need) those internships. I want to get my feet wet in this career and make sure I'm really in this for the long run. And more than anything, I want to make sure I'm at the top of the competition. I don't even have to be winning---but I better as hell be at the top. There's no reason not to be, because I've got this. I've so, so, so got this.

I need to make sure I spend more time putting effort into my portfolio and less time putting effort into my night-soon-to-be-day job. When I send out the applications for these internships (and future job opportunities), I want my portfolio to say everything about me. I want my typography to speak for itself, my feminine charms to be hidden in the photography, my creative juices to leak out of my hand made elements. I want that portfolio to be a superstar. It's going to be a lot of work. A lot of work.

Going into this summer, I had pretty low hopes. I thought it was going to suck ass. But it didn't defeat me (at least, it hasn't yet). Living alone? I've thoroughly enjoyed it. Working the entire summer? Paid off the rest of my trip, a few gifts to myself, and a good start for my Lacoste fund---not to mention some great memories with some great people. Not getting a trip? If I want to do something, I'm gonna do it, no matter who tries to stand in my way; Maine, I cannot wait to meet you. Missing my friends? Only means more love-notes and can't-wait-to-see-you's which can never be bad, truthfully.

My chest is sunburned, my hair's too short and my bangs too choppy, my skin smells like chlorine, and there are still little grains of sand stuck to the inside of my knees, but I can't complain---I love it. Everything works out, little by little. And my life? It's going to work out... little by little, just the way I like it.

Ok, we've all known for ages that MTV is a major failboat that sinks farther below the water every passing Tuesday. But, really, I was so hyped for the first scene and the interviews, and they totally blew it. I felt so bad for poor Stephenie Meyer who was basically put on display like a zoo animal to introduce the clip... ugh, she looked so uncomfortable. And it's sad, but I think the blaring pink logo pasted over half the screen pissed me off the most. The graphic designer in me was cringing in a corner, crying. Thank heavens for whoever converted it to HD mp4.



I do want to say this, though: the movie is still going to kick ass. That's not just the fangirl speaking. Give it a chance, kids.

As for my actual life, things are starting to pick up. Being done with school is glorious. Finals were brutal hell this quarter, and it's unsettling to know that they will only get worse as each year progresses. We're not freshman anymore (and now we're not sophomores anymore either--scary!), and there's no more playing around. It's serious now, "the real deal." We actually have to conquer hurdles like portfolios and internships and the ultimate resume. I can't lie, though--I'm so excited for my internship next summer (assuming I get it (which I totally will)). I can't wait to get my hands on actual work, to really jump in and decide whether it's the spot for me or not. It's good planning on my part in that if I don't enjoy it, I've still got another internship opportunity to find what I do like. But I can't imagine myself not enjoying it. I mean, publishing, guh, my brain goes all jumpy just fantasizing about it.

Friday night was the SCAD Alumni concert, which allowed us to see Natasha Bedingfield for free at Forsyth. Most SCAD kids were pissed--Natasha isn't really that big of a name, and even smaller at an art school where everything has to be indie or "cutting edge" (whatever that means; I don't even try to keep up) to be worthy of their ears, but I don't know, Lil and I were pretty psyched. It was nice just being at the park--we haven't had anytime to do that lately--hanging out with Kathleen on a blanket, people watching. And then afterwards Malia picked us up at the end of the park so we could all go see Sex and the City because I really wanted to go and Malia really wanted to go and it was a nice end-of-classes girls night out.

Work has been, well, work. Dealing with all the crazy 12-year-old fangirls at Barnes who came in to get the special edition of Eclipse yesterday night was hilarious. It makes me really want to work the midnight release of Breaking Dawn, but if things work out, I'll be packing for a trip to Maine with Shans instead (because birthdays this year are made of win). Outside of that, the only excitement is the crazy man who came and threatened us for money. Lillian (just before her drive home for the summer) filed a police report and we're getting our security system turned on because of it, what a mess. All I can think is, gee, what a great way to start my first day of living all by myself. Oh, City of Savannah, only you.

I am kind of like a planet knocked off its axis. I'm revolving around all these things, pulling all the wrong people into my orbit. And why? Why why why why, I ask? I know it's because I fucked a few things up, and fucked a few people over, and now it's coming back to me in the most annoying rush of angry water and high winds.

But, still. I redeemed my errors as best I could. I said "sorry" where I needed to, I re-established what I never should have cast away (thank you thank you thank you, you are my light, darling). I got past the bullshit with one of you, and finally dove in to what never should have been so difficult to begin with. We're going to be okay, you and me. And then there's those gorgeous, gorgeous bests that I have who are just... friendship with you guys is an everyday reward. It's so sappy, and so mushy, and my mainstream readers are going to vomit, but you really have shown me what true friendship entails, and it's so much more than what I knew before. I trust you, I trust you with my everything, and even when you're thousand of miles away, it's perfect. With you, it's just being, and god, it's rewarding.

And then there is my relationship status, which is like a ping pong ball that I am ready to grab and smash with a hammer. This mess is breeding an endless self-pity party that revolts my brain cells. You either like him or you don't, and then you move on to the next one, and repeat. It's not that difficult, really, but somehow, I complicate the most simple things to the nth degree. All I know is one of you--- you make the words come out of my mouth so smooth that I have to double check that it's still me talking. And that's really attractive, actually. (PLEASE UNIVERSE, LET ME HAVE THIS ONE. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE.) Maybe I'm simply attracted to words and quirks and eyelashes, but not people? Is that possible?

Finals suck. Is there any other way to explain that? No. Finals suck, finals suck, finals suck. They suck on top of their epic suckage. They are raped with their own fail. They fail in ultimate, epic proportions. I could go on for hours, but I think you all have the general gist, yeah?

The novel manuscript has hit 135 pages. And that's still without a single completed chapter. It's just scenes and scenes and scenes, piled on top of each other as orderly as possible. My goal is to have the first ten chapters done by August. That's a halfway point. I could be published by the time I turn twenty-two at this rate--which would be both fantastic and terrifying. Don't worry, Em, I'll give myself enough time, I promise.

Smaller, closing rants, in no particular order: the "soundtrack" to Barnes and Noble is so very annoying, and continually rapes my brain when I least expect it (damn you, B&N, damn you!); Leona Lewis is the worst guilty pleasure ever; I think a murderer tried to pick me up downtown on my way to the library today; Sirius has finally hit his "sleeping" phase; my surprise Birthday party for Lillian was successful, but I need to get the pictures from her camera still; we get to see Natasha Bedingfield for free this weekend; oh, did I mention that finals suck?; Bella's new missile-proof Mercedes is made of win; Shannon's Italy picture updates are thrilling; I can't wait for it to be Winter again; you'll never read this, but: I pick you; three more freaking days of this hell.