Walking Kateastrophe

**Updated to add: I am hosting! Woohoo!

Leave your link if you’re playing!

——————-
Well hello! It’s been a while since I played along and I’m very sorry about that. BUT, I’m back! Yipee!

I’m not sure who is hosting this week (it might even be me, if I can get my stupid blog to stupid work my stupid Mr. Linky) but I have a ten hour rehearsal today, so I’m writing this very early so I can get it published and fulfill my obligations to all of you holding your breath for the rest of this horrifically long story!

Not sure what the heck Soap Opera Sunday is? You can find all the exciting rules here. Brillig, my real life BFF and co-host and I would LOVE to have you play along. It’s our opinion that EVERYONE’S life has a little bit of soap opera in it, and we LOVE reading the stories! We even created an anonymous soapy blog for those of you who have stories you want to publish but maybe not where they can be easily read by your husband, child, girlfriend, cat, etc. We also welcome you to link old posts that you think fit the soapy bill! Anything goes, really! If you think it’s soapy, chances are we will as well!

If you’ve already written your SOS story and can’t find who is hosting (like me!) go ahead and leave me a comment and when I get things sorted out tonight after practice, I’ll make sure you get linked up!

The last time I wrote about the Richard saga, we left off in sort of an ambiguous place in my relationship. I was in love with Richard, he was a jerk (oh wait. That was like the whole time. Ha!). It’s somewhere in the middle of our relationship. This week, I thought I’d share some of the horrible first/second dates that occured during the Richard era and caused me to think he wasn’t so bad after all . . .

——————————

Everyone in my life was trying to set me up with someone. They all hated Richard and they all wanted me to move on already. Heck, half the time I hated Richard and wanted to move on to. I’d go on just about any date anyone set me up on in an attempt to fall in love with someone else. Enter Dominic.

My aunt was having an awning built in her backyard and one of the members of the small crew building it was a cute younger guy named Dominic. She spent some time talking to him about himself and then introduced the subject of me. She asked him if he’d want to take me out on a date and he said he’d love to. At that point I got the phone call.

“Katie, it’s Jen. A guy named Dominic is going to call you today or tomorrow. I am setting you guys up. You have to say yes! He’s cute and quiet and buff. You’ll love him.”

“Um, ok. Whatever” Feel the excitement oozing from my voice. She had set me up once before with a guy who was actually really great, it just hadn’t worked out in the end, so I trusted her judgement. I just knew I’d spend the night comparing him to the amazing version of Richard that occupied my mind.

He did call the next day, and he seemed very nice. He was sweet and polite. We set up our date for that Friday. He showed up at my door with flowers (awww) and was, in fact, very cute. I believe he was half Colombian (if memory serves correctly) and he was very exotic looking, nicely dressed, and had a GREAT body. I started to get a little bit excited about our date.

I don’t remember what we did, honestly. I remember him being very soft spoken, and that the conversation wasn’t THAT exciting, but he was nice enough. We ended up back at my house watching a movie. There was a little bit of hand holding, but nothing big, and he lightly kissed me on the cheek when he left and told me he’d call me later.

The next day, Richard had a big soccer tournament up in Salt Lake that I had promised I’d attend. I spent most of the day up there, hanging out with the other soccer players’ girlfriends (at least according to THEM I was Richard’s girlfriend. And I deserved to be! I was at every single friggin’ game!) and then afterward we went to dinner. It was one of the better days I’d had with Richard in a while, so I left his house happy.

When I got to my car, I looked down at my phone and I’d missed SEVEN CALLS from Dominic. He’d left me all sorts of weird “call me now” messages. Um, no thanks, weirdo.

Sunday, the unending phone calls continued. I finally answered from my car, late in the afternoon.

“Kate, thank goodness. I need you. I checked into a hotel room in Orem and you need to come here now. I am drunk, I’ve got a gun and I’m planning on killing myself.”

Uhhhhhh.

I really wasn’t sure how to answer. I’d never dealt with a suicidal person before, and I wasn’t even sure I believed him. It felt more like a cry for attention. PLUS, we’d had ONE DATE. I hardly knew the guy and now, I, one date Kate, was supposed to come to his rescue?

I tried talking to him for a while about why he was there and what he was doing . . . why he felt like he had to end his life. I really wasn’t sure WHAT I should do. Should I call the police? Should I call the hotel front desk? I told him I was considering these options and he totally freaked out and started yelling at me.

At this point I got mad. I didn’t believe him at all. I truly thought he was doing this for the attention and to make me feel bad for him. So I started yelling back. I told him how stupid he was being and that I wasn’t going to do anything for him. I hardly knew him, so why should I? A yelling match ensued, and I remember at one point I just screamed “FINE THEN. KILL YOURSELF. I DON’T CARE.”

A very mature, responsible thing to do, no?

He fired back with “You just told a suicidal man to go ahead and end his life. How are you going to feel if I really do it?”

At that point, I knew for sure he wasn’t planning on doing anything. He was just trying to manipulate me. I told him I wanted nothing to do with him ever again and hung up on him.

An hour later he called me back.

“I’m calm now.” he said. “I am not going to do anything. Will you come pick me up though?”

Um, hell no I won’t. “Call someone else Dominic. I don’t know you at all. It’s not a good idea for me to come get you.”

Another yelling match ensued. He wanted me to come to his hotel and talk to him. Just to talk. When that didn’t work, he used the suicide card again. Then the drunk card, saying he was going to go driving drunk and then I’d be responsible for his death AND whoever he ran into.

At this point, I’d had it. I told him I never wanted to speak to him ever again and that I wouldn’t pick up if he called me and I hung up.

So he tried another route. Later that night, he had a friend who’s name was Chris call me. Just to tell me he was OK. Chris and I started talking about how stupid he was being and Dominic’s plan backfired, especially when Chris asked me out on a date.

Thus ended Dominic . . . and begun my NEXT worst date and Reason #2. . . Chris.

Anyone besides me starting to see why Richard maybe didn’t seem SO awful at the time??

(Dominic was fine, by the way. We never talked again, but Chris let me know that everything would be fine. Apparently he’d tried this crap before with another girl. Classy. Thanks, Aunt Jen.)

Um, how did May get here so fast? I realize I’m almost ten days in, but it’s JUST hitting me that it’s MAY.

I swear I just got my hairs did . . . but no, all calculations lead to the end of December which was almost six months ago which means HOLY SPLIT ENDS AND ROOTS BATMAN! I am a huge, lazy, slob.

Being May also means SANDAL WEATHER (wait who am I kidding, I live in Arizona, it’s sort of always sandal weather, but you know what I mean! Summer shoes!) and this also means that I need to get a weekly pedicure so my feet don’t look like walking sandpaper death (didja get that?). I am lazy (as you can tell by the time between hair-dids) and cheap (see above paragraph as well) so attempting to get a pedicure that often just sounds painful in many, many ways.

You know what else the month of May means? Well in Phoenix it means it’s about to get hotter than hell. Me? Dreading that and wishing it would stay 82 forever and ever. I went to lunch in a friend’s convertible with the top down today and I was sweating like a pig. IT WAS SO HOT!!! It’s a new car and he was so delighted to have the top down and all I wanted to do was climb into the back and force the top up. It’s foreshadowing to how much I’ll be sweating this summer in the car with all the windows up and the AC blasting. Good times.

With May also comes good news, never fear. It means that in LESS than four weeks, all my girls are coming to town for our Annual Ladies Soiree. This year it’s being hosted in yours truly’s house and yours truly is very excited. Julia, who is the organizer/party planner extraordinaire, came out a while ago to scope out my digs and we have SO MUCH stuff planned to do.

Until then, I’m totally swamped with new responsibilities at work, play practice, and fighting off some weird laryngitis/cold crap that snuck up on me this week. I’m not sure which is worse . . . the play or the cold. Work is good. I like work this week.

I PROMISE I will get to my Soap Opera this week. I know it’s been hanging out there for quite some time and I just need to get on with it already!

Hope you all have fan-freaking-tastic weekends! Mwwaaah.

Um, so my girl Rhonda had a birthday last week and due to my crazy travel schedule, insane work week and some other unforeseeable distractions, I didn’t get her birthday post completed on time. Let it be known that I suck. A lot. BUT, fix it I shall and here it is!!

Rhonda and I have been friends less time than the other girls I call my best friends. We met through a mutual friend during the summer of 2001 . . . and sort of became inseparable. We spent that entire summer eating at Los Hermanos, going waterskiing at Deer Creek, having barbeques and parties, tanning at Ye Old Apollo and other such shenanigans. By the end of the summer it was as if she had always been part of my life. And to this day I don’t know what I’d do without her.

In the years that I’ve known her, we’ve had more fun than I can even describe.

Roadtrips with junk food? Check.

Jack in the Box gooood

Peeing on the side of the road on a roadtrip? Check, check.

Look closely and you’ll see two puddles.

Cougar football games? Triple check.

Digging the guy to our right.

Many, many trips to the lake? Another check.

This picture so doesn’t represent it, but remember the time I pulled off my spray on tan with the wakeboard boot?

Viva la Mexico? What’s Spanish for check?

Subway surfing? Check(and fall down).

We also tried to hitch a ride on a train during this trip. Good times.

Stranded at the airport and a little bored? Cheeeeeeeeeeeck(yawn)

Rhonda’s got one of the hottest bodies around.

She’s the one in the middle. I mean we all have nice butts, let’s not get stupid. She just has the nice butt in the middle.

Ha cha cha!

Also, amazing fashion sense.

I mean HELLO hot pants. Sorry for the blur.

Rhonda holds a pretty significant place in my life because she manipulated the getting together of myself and the man who would eventually be my husband. She saw us through from the beginning to marriage and I’m forever and ever grateful to her.

She also facilitated my move to Phoenix, getting me my job and my first place here. As soon as she’d worked it all out and I was settled, she ditched me and moved back to Utah. I’m still sort of mad at her. But not really.

I have enough inside jokes with Rhonda to make up five or six posts, and alienate most of my readers. She IS joy. She is always smiling, always willing to be crazy, always willing to have a great time. We’ve been through MANY boyfriends, MANY hair colors, MANY different body weights and clothing sizes, two moves, several job changes (and periods of joblessNESS) and packed a lifetime of friendship into seven short years.

Rhondalicious, I really am sorry this post is so late. Part of it was my business, part of it was my slackerness, and a lot of it was not wanting to have to go through old pictures and realize how far away from me you are now, and how sad I am going to be so often when I realize I can’t convince you to drive an hour up to my house just to sit with me an laugh. I miss you like crazy already and I love you more than you’ll ever know.

And I leave you with Rhonata. OLE!

As an integral part of my quest to lose 15 more pounds, I just ate a Wendy’s maple buttermilk biscuit sandwich and mini hash browns.

Oh, wait.  What’s that you say?  That’s not part of losing weight? Crap.

Well, apparently the fact that I haven’t been skiing for six or seven years caught up with me yesterday because, OW.

Let’s just say that I’m glad it was all free because had I paid the $150 or so it would have cost me to go skiing yesterday I would have been pissed. I mean, it was still fun because it was skiing and it was beautiful weather and great snow for the end of April, but I had some issues.

Issue #1 is that I haven’t been skiing in a long time. I didn’t forget how or fall down (not even once!) or anything . . . I was just tentative and a little uptight, especially the first run.

Then, issue #2 was the boots. My first pair of ski boots made me loose all feeling below my knees within about ten minutes. I traded them in for bigger ones before going up the tram, and then noticed my toes were hitting into the front my first time down the mountain. Also, the right boot was so tight on my calf that it was cutting off circulation to my brain and when I loosened it, it didn’t improve. I thought it was because my form was SO BAD as I did the pie down the hill — which took and hour and a half just for the back side of the mountain where I wussed out and took the tram down for lunch.

After lunch we went back up and I discovered that my boots were the devil. It was the most painful hour of my life thus far. As I got more confident and increased my speed and improved my form (skiis can stay somewhat parallel? What?) my toes were smashing into the front of my boot, my right calf and right foot had no feeling left and (not related to bad boots) my left knee felt as though I had turned my entire leg around below the knee and was skiing that way.

Let it be known that I am an idiot pansy because after my second run, I gave up.

It should be noted that I did get three full hours of skiing in. It should also be noted that we only had time for one more run before the last shuttle left, and by the time I went down the mountain, traded in my ski boots and took the tram back up the mountain, I wouldn’t have had time to do another run.

Still, I totally quit. I am a sore, tired, wussy, skiing loser. And I am ashamed.

Well hello there.

I am currently lounging in a fancy bathrobe next to my Mama, who is also in a fancy bathrobe, in a fancy hotel owned by Chain ala Marriott.  (Um, seriously, the SHEETS!?  Amazing.  Also, the Bath & Body Works concoctions in the bathroom?  Fughettaboutit.)

You’ll forgive me for not writing a Soap Opera Sunday today.   I had lots of best friends to see, cute babies to hold and giggle with, lots of crab legs to eat, and lots of hotel lounging to do.  And tomorrow there will be skiing.  I am both excited and frightened.  Mostly excited.

So, I might be missing for the next few days, but then again I might not.  I mean if I can blog from bed . . .

Um, hi.  I am super swamped and a little overwhelmed and um, a bad blogger.  Yeah that about sums it up.

The play I’m in is taking over my life.  And I wish I were happy about that.  Hate the play.  Hate my character.  Hate it all.  SO that’s awesome.  I have an eight hour rehearsal tomorrow that, as you can tell from the last sentence, I’m not exactly thrilled to attend.

There is a silver lining to my cloud though.  Tomorrow night I am flying to Utah to spend Sunday with friends and family and then, horror of horrors, I am being forced to go skiing on Monday (for work!!  I get to spend the day skiing and call it work!!) then spend the next two days at a user conference for one of our largest clients.  They just needed a body, and this body thought . . . I get to go home and spend time with my family, THEN go skiing, THEN meet the cool people at our clients office THEN spend Wednesday when the conference is over hanging out with friends in Salt Lake?  SOLD.  So I volunteered to be the body.  Lucky for them, the body they selected is one of the only people who knows how to assemble our booth.  So they killed many birds with one stone.  AND I GET TO GO HOME!  I wish I had more than just Sunday to see everyone I need to see, but still!  One whole day!  And I don’t have to pay for it!  Whoopee!

So um, I’m getting ready for the trip as well as spending all day at practice.  And attempting to find ski gloves, hats, pants and the like.  Because I, um, live in Phoenix and have no need for ski gear of any sort.  Bathing suits, yes.  Ski clothes, not so much.

With that stupid update, I’m off.  Friends in Utah, see you soon.  Friends in Phoenix . . . wait, I don’t have any of those.  Nevermind.

I’d have a tan all year ’round.  And no eczema.

I’d wear a size 4 pants.

I’d love exercising and be training for a marathon.

I would hate cheese.  And cream.  And chocolate.

I would be a beautiful dancer.

I would have beautiful, natural fingernails instead of the crooked growing mess I have on my hands.

My house would be sparkling clean all the time.

I would throw caution to the wind, quit my job and try out for American Idol or a Broadway musical.  (Maybe both.)

I would be less easily offended.

I’d say exactly what was on my mind to idiotic people.

I take that last one back.  I’d say exactly what was on my mind to everyone.

I would have unending patience.

I’d find a way to tell today to f-off, give it the finger and transport myself to tomorrow.  Because, you see, tomorrow is going to be a better day.  It’s going to be a beautiful, sunny, amazing day.  A day where I remember that as I have grown, I’ve become a pretty amazing girl.  Because I am the kind of girl who

Has great taste in shoes.

Was blessed with beautiful, thick, straight hair that looks good long.  And as much as I long for curls, I wouldn’t trade it.

Is learning to love exercise and am loving the way I’m feeling now that I’m doing it consistently.

Has a totally awesome job.

Lives in a beautiful, comfortable home.

Won’t ever have suntan wrinkle-leather skin.

Has Marilyn Monroe-esque curves, and is proud of them.

Learned how to cook and eat healthy and still like my food.

Still occasionally eats junk food and loves it.

Married an amazing man who will always take care of me and love me, not matter how many times I  am awful to him.

Has an amazing mother who taught me to take responsibility for my actions.

Has a brilliant father who always told me I could be whatever I wanted.  And I still believe him.

Has awe inspiring siblings.

Gets to call the most amazing, hilarious women in the world my best friends.

Has empathy and understanding for others.

Cares immensely.

Loves deeply.

Sometimes it helps to take a break from my crazy day and remember that no matter what kind of girl I wish I could be some days . . . no matter how badly I stumble in my quest to be a better person, I actually like who I have become as I’ve grown up.  There was a time where I was the kind of girl who couldn’t find anything about herself to like.  I’m glad she’s gone.  I like the girl who took her place.  She’s someone to be proud of.

What about you?  What qualities about yourself are you proud of?

Life is amazing and crappy all at the same time.

The weather in Arizona has been simply amazing.  Last year by about the middle of March it was eyelash singeing hot. This year?  It’s almost May and we are still in the high-seventies, mid-eighties most days.  The green that sprouted on the mountains (hahaha mountains.  More like mole hills) has died, but all the trees and flowers and cacti are in bloom and, for the first time in four years, I think Arizona is a beautiful place to live.

In the middle of all this beauty there is sadness.  I found out yesterday that the construction superintendent who built our home passed away suddenly last week of a massive heart attack.  He was 43.  He leaves behind a beautiful wife and twin boys who are only ten years old.  I didn’t know him very well, but my interactions with him always left me with a smile.  He was so sweet and caring.  He was the head superintendent and didn’t work on many homes.  We were always told how lucky we were that Chuck was our man.  “He’s the best!” Everyone would say.  He was the best.  My thoughts and prayers are with his family at this horrible time.

His passing was SO sudden and SO unexpected.  It has really made me stop and thank God for my health and the health of those I love.  It can all be over so fast.

While there might be much in this life to be sad about, I think there is much more to rejoice about.  Today, I am more grateful than ever for an amazing, kind, loving husband.  For a family who means more to me than I could ever say, who are there for me no matter what.  For friends who have enriched my life, who make me laugh until I cry and who I know would do anything for me in the blink of an eye. I have truly been blessed.  And I am truly grateful.

So after the vote, Soap Opera Sunday lives on! (For the record. no matter what the vote had ended up as, I would have at least finished this story for you guys! Cross my heart.) Brilly-pants is hosting this week (thank goodness because I can’t seem to figure out why my Mr. Linky isn’t working!) and the rules are here. Remember that we also have an Anonymous Soapy Site for those of you who have stories to tell but would prefer to remain . . . (dun dun dun) ANONYMOUS!

Now, my neverending saga continues . . . you can hit up the Soap Opera Sunday Category in my sidebar for other soapy tales and the first bazillion installments of this story!!

—————————————————-

I remember so many of the exact details of the beginning of my time with Richard, but it’s near the middle (about where we are now) that things get a little fuzzy.

I moved into a new house with two great roommates and they, of course, immediately heard about Richard. He came to visit rarely and I was up in Salt Lake every chance I got visiting him. We spent most of our time together sitting on his couch watching TV. At first it was ESPN but as the War in Iraq got going, and my brother was part of it, we spent a lot of time watching the never ending war coverage. I think we were both hoping for a glance of Sean, just to make sure he was OK. We were both extremely worried about him. I thought it was sweet.

I took a second job working for a sports memoribila store. I needed more to do after my other job to keep myself busy while I waited for Richard to finish working out . . . or finish his basketball game . . . or finish his soccer game . . . or finish his date . . . or finish shaving his legs (no lie this happened) . . . and Richard needed discounts on authentic throw-back sports jerseys. It was the perfect job for that.

Richard started to rely on me for things he really should have done himself. I was more than happy to be relied upon. I thought that the more he relied on me, the more he’d realize he couldn’t live without me. Thanks to his never ending quest to play sports 24 hours a day, he started having major hip and groin problems that required the attention of an orthopedic surgeon. I found the doctor, made the appointment, took him to the appointment, filled out his paperwork . . . you get the picture. I spent house giving him back rubs and leg rubs in an attempt to ease the muscle cramps and pain. He’d fall asleep on the couch while I rubbed away and I’d just sit there for hours while he slept, wondering why I was doing what I was doing. Wondering why he didn’t tell me he loved me and let us move on in our relationship already. Wondering why I didn’t just run away as fast as I could. He’d be snoring away and I’d be crying. Eventually he’d wake up and tell me I should go home because he needed to be rested for his hard job working at his family’s fast food restaurant the next day. He was the drive-thru operator. Hard job, right?

Richard had no tact and what appeared to be no awareness of hurting me. I’d hear about other girls, other dates, other plans. He’d talk about needing a date to a certain activity and then not ask me to go. I’d get so mad and I’d yell at him for it and then he’d respond with his usual “Kate, we’re not together. You can’t get your feelings hurt over stuff like this. I’ve never lied to you. I’ve never led you to believe we’re something we’re not. You’re my bud and I love you but I’m not a girlfriend kind of guy right now.” Right now. My brain would hear that and think “maybe someday though, right? Well I want to be here when someday happens.” And I’d have to back down because technically he was right. He was being honest with me in that respect.

My friends were so mad at me during this period of time, and they had every right to be. They saw how awful Richard was to me and they hated him for it. They tried everything they could think of to convince me to get away from him. Even at the time, I knew. I knew he was bad for me, I knew I needed to get away, but I wasn’t ready. So I told them that. I always listened to what they had to say and I tried hard never to get angry or offended with them for sharing their opinions. I knew they were protective of me and just wanted me to be happy. My heart just wasn’t ready to let go. I eventually had to attempt not to talk about him anymore because it would cause such a ruckus among my girls. So, by my own doing, I was alone in my hurt, unable to express to almost anyone what I was feeling.

I continued to get a phone call from Richard every night before he went to bed. It was our tradition. Even if we hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, we talked every single day. I think those phone calls were what kept me in love with him. Late at night, with no one else around, he was the sweet guy I had met almost a year before. The guy I wanted to be with. But it only lasted during those conversations. In the daylight, he was a person I knew well, but didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want to spend my life with. I wanted to find a way for him to be that late night guy all the time. So far I was failing miserably.

I’d get the guts to tell myself I didn’t want to see him ever again. I’d ignore his phone calls for a few days. I’d sit in my office listening to songs with titles like “Letting Go” or “Moving On” and cry and cry, knowing it was never going to work. I’d renew my efforts to find a new boyfriend. It was like he could sense it because that’s when he’d “attack.” He’d show up at my door (something that NEVER happened) or plan the rare, actual DATE, and hug me tight and tell me how much he missed me and I’d melt into his arms and all my resolve to never see him again would disappear.

I was a glutton for punishment. I knew it . . . and I didn’t care.