tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14072856432989353792024-03-05T09:07:30.477-08:00Look, Here's The Thingmollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-71367035880440972632013-06-24T15:18:00.001-07:002013-06-24T15:18:58.787-07:00The Starbucks Reaper and; Kimye LogicYesterday morning I was reminded just how much I loathe Starbucks bathrooms. Nay: the toilet paper holder in Starbucks bathrooms. I don't know if it's a corporation-wide conspiracy or what. But the shear volume at which toilet paper is dispensed in a Starbucks bathroom is so LOUD, so RATTLY, so PERVASIVE, it simply must be a ploy to dissuade customers from using more than their fair share. mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-17824056575328738972013-06-21T16:36:00.001-07:002013-06-21T16:36:39.579-07:00The Great Gatspiration I took myself on an artist date the other day. If you're not familiar with the term, it's what we call avoiding actual work to sit at the movies all night and eat skittles from a vending machine. Except that I sort of killed it by inviting Nichola because duh Leo crying; thereby voiding the concept of dating oneself via cultural immersion and subsequently gaining inspiration. But whatever, she mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-22725600325641211882013-06-20T20:47:00.001-07:002013-06-20T20:52:24.119-07:00Techniques In Bathing Avoidance or; Assessing Your NSPW (Necessary Showers Per Week):1. Enlist a friend. If you have not bathed within the last 24 hours, evaluate your level of Stench (1 through 10).
2. If, by the enlisted party's summation you rank weak-iffy (1-3), throw on some deodorant. You are now set to enjoy your day!
3. If you rank iffy-stank (3-7), find your cleanest washcloth and best-smelling shampoo. Lather those pits with Essences of the Herbal sort (or whatever elsemollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-77824293097190844032013-06-19T17:02:00.001-07:002013-06-19T17:02:05.841-07:00Chicken ShitYou know how, in the infancy of every new romance -- save maybe Ryan Gosling's -- you and your precarious partner spend your first date unwinding each other's lives via a series of questions meant to extract the vital moments of your respective lives into some sort of roadmap, so that at the end you might have a glimpse at the chance your paths could successfully cross? And, though you'd like to mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-52994889359727593522013-06-17T21:24:00.001-07:002013-06-17T21:24:53.398-07:00A Burning Sort Of ItchI'm not that funny in real life. Most of my conversational humor is accidental, stemming from a shrillness of tone, a pension for self-deprecation and a general lack of coordination. I have also discovered of late -- due in no small part to Buddy Holly's insistence -- severe shortcomings in the Comeback department (reference: "no, you're a -----!" brand of humor). So you can understand my mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-28818519061386150662013-05-01T19:11:00.001-07:002013-05-01T19:11:32.551-07:00Metaphor SchoolClouds. Like the condensation on a glass of water in the heat of summer, they sweat their fat droplets on the sides of our glass when their weight becomes too much to bear. Like the cup on whose sides we draw misty circles, the sphere we call home holds us in place also-like the container holding our favorite beverage. But then why, in our haste to label its contents as a single entity--water, mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-54486754424144369912013-03-13T20:39:00.001-07:002013-03-13T20:39:28.930-07:00Mechanical SoftSo my downstairs neighbor texts me:
"Hey Molly you hungry? Just made dinner and we've got some leftovers."
To which I respond:
"Haha" (<--where did the nervous text-laughter come from? Somebody punch me.) "No I'm good thanks, I just had some frozen pizza."
This is one of the many reasons why I love my neighbors. Along with their adorable daughters that give mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-70639746602049036972013-02-26T15:11:00.001-08:002013-02-26T15:11:37.067-08:00My Fingernails May Not Survive This Last night a battle of epic proportions waged. In one corner, a craving for homemade chocolate chip cookies so great it could be described as criminal; brought on by end-of-Winter, brink-of-Spring anxiety that only creature comforts in the form of calorie-dense sugar bombs could calm. In the other, a lack of baking goods (thrown away in a fit of moth fright) and a fierce desire to Not Leave The mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-56420490906879721812013-02-22T16:28:00.001-08:002013-02-22T16:28:19.989-08:00[Not So] Feminist RantA friend and I were having a texual-based conversation last night. It went like this:
Remember how I told you I really need to get my period? CASE IN POINT.
Whenever women rant about how horrifying it is to experience the monthly symptoms of pre-menstruation, I find that most men that make it past the word "menstruation" without running in the opposite mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-88878058492080398562013-02-21T17:14:00.001-08:002013-02-21T17:14:18.825-08:00Stir Crazy and RedditI was watching SVU last night after a several day hiatus. The episode ended in a horrific car crash involving Benson and Stabler's pregnant wife Kathy. Kathy is pinned in the passenger side and goes into labor as the fire fighters arrive to cut her out. The firemen crowd around the shattered vehicle, yelling about cutting off its roof and instructing Benson -- still in the car -- on how to mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-83536742495002126832013-02-19T16:37:00.001-08:002013-02-19T16:37:08.326-08:00Influx, OutfluxSam says to me yesterday:
"Why don't you try and write advice to people actually asking for it?"
Touche, madame.
This is not the Sam of Phoenix and Yosemite adventures. This is Sam of my writing group, the one of All Hail Ze Zygote and other inflammatory sketch comedy writing; of which I have yet to share but secretly read in throws of envy over her seemingly mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-29259048192110103822013-02-15T19:36:00.001-08:002013-02-15T19:36:30.178-08:00The Evolution of Glitter, Part 3
If I were technologically inclined, I would devote all of my time and energy to inventing a machine that would give me enough hours in a day to get all the shit done that needs getting done. But then again, if that were the case, I probably would be rich and famous already and without need of a "job." What is the retirement age, again? Oh yeah, FUCK US, Y-GENERATION!
In the mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-39048865603249382532013-02-12T19:13:00.001-08:002013-02-12T19:13:21.093-08:00Relationship 101 or; Valentine's Day is for BeginnersAs I sit here, rifling through Facebook and engaging in similar Internet debauchery; wondering how the hell I'm supposed to introduce the topic of love and relationships in an "advice" setting -- considering the chance that I may be way out of my league, overreaching, or generally "out of line" -- I somehow rifled my way to this image:
Unless you've sustained a lasting head injury mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-31089782982906146052013-02-10T21:37:00.001-08:002013-02-10T21:37:01.450-08:00All Hail Zee ZygoteBecause I don't feel like writing anything profound today, because my friends are funnier than your friends, and because I CAN:
My very talented, very raunchy, very twisted friend Sam wrote this sketch recently for her Second City class. I've had the pleasure of reading a few of her pieces in our writing group and to be honest, though I'm supposed to critique them each time, there isn't mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-6651765478988947262013-02-08T14:44:00.001-08:002013-02-08T14:44:49.496-08:00Playing With FireLast night, swaddled in the enveloping warmth of a tightly-wrapped blanket, perched on the topmost step, staring into the vast white beauty of a winter's night as the stars twinkled above and calm settled over the earth; I clicked my lighter and let the flame tease my fingertips. The flakes of tobacco began to glow in the flame as its heat accelerated upward through the tunnel of my cupped hands,mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-66253466559016736822013-02-07T19:47:00.001-08:002013-02-07T19:47:18.527-08:00The Evolution of Glitter, Part 3
Someone, please take me back to a time when I didn't know what Lost was. Or, a time when I didn't have Netflix and the ability to watch the entire series consecutively without ever having to leave the couch. By my calculations, I'll get back to standard productivity by Never.
That's why today's update on the Evolution of Glitter will spare us all the mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-38764006203862279552013-02-06T21:27:00.001-08:002013-02-06T21:27:26.972-08:00Fourth Boobs and The MiddleConsidering I stayed up until 2 AM two nights ago watching the entire second season of New Girl, it's safe to say that I thoroughly miss having roommates. Except when I remember the pink hair dye in my sink, mountains of unwashed dishes, creepy Skype-relationships and that none of them were awkwardly endearing men with janky plumbing skills. Also when I remember that time I lived with my mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-60008945803831930742013-02-03T20:29:00.001-08:002013-02-03T20:29:46.775-08:00First World ProblemsI want to write a memoir. A memoir of a 24-year old. A memoir with self-deprecating overtones interspersed with the self-righteous and a generally lackluster plot line. Someday, that memoir will divulge the secret wisdom of writing in bars and avoiding MRSA without ever buying band-aids.
And then I fell on the ice again (bringing the score of Molly vs. Sidewalk to 0-2) and Buddy Holly asked me mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-50309672210290369582013-02-02T15:46:00.001-08:002013-02-02T15:46:17.113-08:00The Evolution of Glitter, Part 2This is the second installment in my masochistic process of documenting a painting. I'm still not sure if we'll ever get to the point of completion, because at the moment I want to tear the canvas in half. But if you want to read part 1, check it out here.
This is the part I was dreading. It's like the time when a child stops being cute and hasn't yet become beautiful mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-70382990224329639722013-01-30T21:45:00.001-08:002013-01-30T21:45:35.530-08:00Psycho BabbleYesterday I called The Mother on three separate occasions, only to be unknowingly answered each time by her butt, Douchetooth, or any of the other technological advances we've devised to bi-pass the highly inconvenient human task of answering the phone by pushing a button. At any rate, each time one of these intervening factors connected my phone to her purse or whatever, I became an anonymous mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-78702139063141996012013-01-29T20:06:00.001-08:002013-01-29T20:06:21.933-08:00The Evolution of GlitterI had a Dr. Pepper today. For about 10 seconds I was 12 again, crinkling bags of Cheetos, drinking cans of the 23 flavors and eyeing a package of Skittles on standby. The afternoons I spent watching The Mother wrangle pre-teens into aprons and the concept of color theory were where I developed an affinity for vending machines and Einstein bagels. Also glitter, magic markers, and hitting my mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-36190662832113696422013-01-29T13:13:00.001-08:002013-01-29T13:13:35.925-08:00Conversations with SiriI didn't think English was my second language, but I guess Siri does. Way to make my mid-afternoon friend-love weird, Siri. THANKS A LOT.
Posted with Blogsymollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-63880295507403686422013-01-28T21:59:00.001-08:002013-01-28T21:59:55.394-08:00Google Hates MeAn excerpt, from a recent journal entry:
What I was so fucked over I'm wise enough not to investigate in the preceding pages. But I do know this is not the only time I've ended what should be a self-clarifying and illuminating journal entry in a series of expletives that serve more to emphasize my increased confusion rather than a sudden "aha!" moment at the end of a good think. Anmollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-88057784994236384652013-01-27T20:47:00.001-08:002013-01-27T20:47:38.125-08:00Martha Fucking StewartI love when I see this on pre-packaged foods. Because inside I'm like, in what world would I NOT eat half this package of chocolate chip cookie dough, on a Sunday night, in my sweatpants while watching you-know-what? NO WORLD THAT EVER EXISTED EVER.
Aside from shamefully purchasing pre-made cookie dough and maybe not cleaning my bathroom sink in like two months, it would appear thatmollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407285643298935379.post-73237654646244071912013-01-23T21:38:00.001-08:002013-01-23T21:46:37.187-08:00Greater Than Or Equal ToNow I remember why it's been three years since I've subjected myself to the heavy-metal, cerebral torture that is Life Drawing. Figure drawing is like the art equivalent of calculus: mentally taxing, mostly conceptual, and only enjoyable to those that don't understand basic social cues.
Plus when it comes to those that take the genre seriously, I kind of suck.
But this is what I've got for mollykatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01229434711691633164noreply@blogger.com0