Why I no longer take my cat to the vet

Okay, so you need to know a few things about me. One: I am a highly emotional person (shocking, I know). So when I think stuff is hilarious, I will laugh with all my might. However, when things are sad I will be downright devastated.
This particular devastation happened last week. It was time for Gizmo’s yearly check-ups. The poor guy hates the vet. I pulled out his carrier and like a doomed POW, he just walked into the carrier with this defeated stride. I tried to make it up to him by plying him with treats in his carrier, which he did not indulge in. I tried being upbeat and talking the entire walk from my condo to the car. When we started driving, I tried to keep my upbeat attitude.

Then he mewed. This sad, baleful sorrowful sound that clearly said, “Mommy, why are you doing this to me? Don’t you love me?”
And I lost it.

We hadn’t even got the vet yet and I already had tears.
So we finally get in and go into the examination room. The first thing to do is get Gizmo out of the carrier which is done by tipping the carrier parallel with the table and shaking… kind of like when you’re trying to get ketchup out of the bottle.
When he’s finally out, shaking and making me feel like a villain, we place him on the scale to get weighed. This is when things turned dark.

I felt indignant.

Someone later told me that this was the equivalent of someone who is supposed to weigh 120 weighing closer to 150. I was not aware of this at the time and thought the vet was being unfair… but I also thought that this definitely confirmed my fears that I would make a TERRIBLE mother in the future.

I also thought his logic for getting Gizmo to eat less through the day was…odd.

By the time the actual shot came around, Gizmo had pressed his entire body against my chest, hiding under my hair and trying in vain to get me to protect him. I have never felt like more of a monster. So when the vet came back to the exam room with the needle, this is what he was greeted with.

With what could only be a disgusted shaking of the head and firm “no” he quickly gave Gizmo his shot and ushered us out into the foyer, glad he wouldn’t have to see me for another year at least.

When I told my husband of the day’s events, trying to choke back tears, I was greeted with a sigh, a bemused “only you, Katelyn” and:

He’s the best.

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Why reading is magical

The one thing that I could not live without in this world is reading. I love reading so much its pathetic. Sometimes my husband will walk into the living room with me engrossed in a book and it takes THREE times saying my name to garner my attention.

It’s because books are magical. That is a fact. Sometimes when I see someone starting a book I’ve read already, I get this feeling like, “wow I wish I was reading these all for the first time.” It started when I was very young. My dad would leave picture books for me to find as I sat like a lazy lump because I refused to crawl. I loved them.

I remember bringing out the giant antique dictionaries we had and telling my babysitter that I could read them super fast in my head. She didn’t believe me and insisted I read it out loud which I did –a little slow. Whatever- victory!

The only time that I recall reading ever getting me in trouble was when my cool older cousin *Mary (*names changed to protect the innocent) came to stay with us for the summer. I think I was nine or ten and she was entering 20’s. Needless to say, I obviously thought she was the coolest person EVER. I wanted her to hang out with me CONSTANTLY.

Surprisingly, a hip 20-year-old and a tomboyish 8-year-old have little in common. I remember begging her to take me with her and her cool friends to see “Village of the Damned” the one about those evil kids that control thoughts? Yeah, she said no. Shocking. I saw her leave, her long hair flowing behind her and remembered thinking, “Man, I wonder what it’s like being her.”

So one day with Mary in the shower, I figured I had my chance to see what she was all about. Years of learning about mysteries from my dad had taught me tricks about being sleuth-like. Unfortunately staying at the scene of the crime we apparently hadn’t been gone over yet.

Yep, I found her diary. And I was enthralled.

So enthralled that I didn’t hear her return from her shower.

I have never been so quick in my life, I threw the diary up in the air, muttered sorry as I streamed past an irate Mary and never looked back.

Now, as you are probably aware finding a great book brings me a certain level of joy. Going into Powell’s Book store in Portland, OR changed my life for the better. I remember being so excited at this massive new and used book store that I threw up in my mouth a little. Every once in a while I have a series or a specific book I want and Powell’s usually has them or a good substitute. You guys, they have a Horror: Short Fiction SECTION. Like, a giant bookshelf. So great.

This year is the 80’s/90’s series “The Year’s Best Horror Stories” edited by Karl Wagner. EVERY time I go into a book store I look for them. Having a new one of those in my hands is something akin to pure anticipatory joy. The best thing about books is that I have been able to find new and exciting books that usually live up to my expectations.

So little in my real life lives up to its expectations that a good book really changes my worldview.

I remember the first time ordering a brand new book though- through the Scholastic book program. (I think it was Scholastic but it may have been something similar) They brought flyers to our classes with photos of the book titles and a short description beside it.

I looked through them all a million times, but the one that I kept coming back to was “The Haunted Underwear” by Janet Bloss. And the summary was something like this:

When underwear start showing up all over the house in weird places, Kelly thinks it is the dumb tricks of her brother. But all she knows for sure it what she sees – is her brother to blame or is this a case of… Haunted Underwear?
You don’t need to be a genius to know I wanted this book.

You also have to know that money was not something we tossed around at my house. I didn’t have an allowance; I didn’t get money for good grades. I would ask my parents for something and was usually greeted with a, “Sorry, no.” and I would shrug my shoulders and have to be okay with it.

So when I brought home that Scholastic form home, I knew I needed to be aggressive.

And my parents shocked me.

It was happening. My parents said yes – My father was so big on my reading that he was willing to put out the cash to get me a brand new book. “You can never have enough good food or good books” he used to say. My belly and love for reading is a daily reminder that I live by this adage to this day.

My very own new book. And I knew exactly which book I wanted! The Haunted Underwear. My mom definitely tried to talk me out of it a few times and suggested books with fewer possessed undergarments but I could not be swayed. And so the order was placed and I waited until the blessed day it arrived, covered in clear wrap and waiting to be read.

It was the best book my grade 2 self ever read. And it showed me the magic of reading, of having a plot twist, of a mystery needing to be solved. I was in the second grade, and I remembered everything about that book when I described it to my husband last night. That’s saying something.

And books have the amazing ability to have a character that you connect with. For me it was Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye (a cliché I know) when I was 15 years old. But when I was twelve, I decided that I was tired of my humdrum life. I wanted adventure. This is partly to blame from books. I specifically wanted to sneak in and stay overnight in The Metropolitan Museum of Art like Claudia in From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

Also I was full of teen angst and thought my parents were lame. So I gathered my friends and hatched a plan.

A little while later I was in my room, considering what I would pack for my long trip when my dad knocked on my door. He held out a small book.

I remember thinking, “He knows.”

 

And looking into my dad’s non-angry, non-judgmental face and broke down and told him everything. He said he knew and that books sometimes reach children in ways that parents sometimes couldn’t. And so we talked forever about what was bothering me and why I wanted to run away. He told me about all the runaways he came into contact with since he was a cop. We talked about safety and how he knew how I felt but that he wanted to keep me safe as long as he could.
I didn’t even have to read the book, the lesson had been learned. I would always have someone to talk to that wouldn’t judge me but would try to show me different points of view. He always did that.

 

 

Reading is magical. Start early with your kids. If you like reading silly books – KEEP reading them! If you like YA fiction and you’re 50 – who CARES?! You’re reading! You are transporting yourself to another world and expanding your mind. There is nothing wrong with that.

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This blog entry is dedicated to my amazing Dad; Jim Szekeres.
The man who showed me the magic of reading.
Happy Early Father’s Day.
I miss you tons.
– PTL

When sleep evades me.

First of all: I decided to finally get a twitter. Because I actually found myself one day having a very funny insight into humankind that was less than 140 characters and I had nowhere to put it because I didn’t have twitter. And also because I don’t think anyone really checks facebook anymore.

https://twitter.com/OddbutNice1

You’ll notice –hey. Your handle isn’t Oddbutnice? Nope. Apparently I either signed up for it years ago and forgot or Odd but nice is just becoming a popular phrase. I can dig it. Anyway, that’s that. So I have to be OddbutNice1.

ONTO THE COMIC!

So, if you know anything about my life right now, you’d know that I am having a heck of a time sleeping. It continually evades me. Which is weird, because usually my relationship with sleep is usually very copacetic.

 

But I guess I get much like an overly attached girlfriend to my sleep and sleep decides it has to be a jerk.

So my usual nightly routine involves me slowly growing sleepy, usually when watching previously recorded Jeopardy episodes. I feel my eyelids grow heavy and then I crawl in between the crisp sheets of my bed, welcoming the warm darkness.

Except, it starts as a subtle restlessness. And then a hitting a brick wall and being even more awake than I was that entire day. Then the cycling thoughts that will NOT shut up.

Then i try to calm myself by thinking nice thoughts, but they usually get away from me too.

 

Until its 4 am and I have to get up to start a whole new day in two hours.

If this happened once in a blue moon, yes I would be pissed off. But I’d get over it. But unfortunately, these bouts of sleeplessness usually coming in a prolonged series.

The following always happens as the days go by.

 

#1. My face looks like it was walked on by an elephant carrying a dinosaur.

 

I wake up, having no rest, with giant circles under my bloodshot eyes, my hair looking frazzled, my skin having had no time to rejuvenate over the course of a full sleep looks sallow and droopy.  Bottom line:  I look like garbage.

 

#2.  As the sleeplessness continues, I make increasingly poor decisions as the days roll by.

I should note that at this point the days which now seem like one, endless, horrifying day.

 

#3.  Daily tasks like opening mail, typing on the computer and generally anything related to hand-eye coordination seem daunting and at times impossible. My self esteem takes a nose dive because combined with the melting face, poor clothing selections and inability to do anything correctly I assume that I should be locked up away somewhere lest small children  gaze upon me and scream.

At this time I tend to cry over really stupid things. A lot.

 

#4.  My head feels like its floating and my eyes have trouble focusing. I get through my day by forcing a smile on my face and avoiding interaction with people at all costs- I try bargaining with sleep. I become desperate.

#5. When my sleeplessness has reached an unhealthy level, I become afraid of everything. Like, I genuinely worry about people breaking into my house even though there has been no issues in the entire building since we moved here. Or I am convinced that if I don’t wipe up the water on the floor immediately following a shower,  I will trip in the hallway, bang my head and go into a coma.

It usually gets unbearably at night. My husband tries, but does not quite know how to wrangle crazy yet.  He attempts reason. Sleep has no reason.

 

 

 

At this point, I usually have a full on melt down. I cry and whine and don’t understand that I’m not sleeping because I’ve now worked myself up into a frenzy every time the sky gets dark. Its at this dark time that sleep suddenly finds he has pity for me. This usually comes after finding me hunched on the floor crying and carrying on.

 

Usually I cry myself into a sleeping coma where I sleep for up to 12 hours at a time.

And then my friends, the beauteous joy of sleep.

 

Why the Lunch Police ruined my life

I love lunch. Its actually my favorite meal of the day if I had to choose one. However when I was around eight, I had much better things to do during lunch hour than actually eat. You see, I was a very social creature, and I LOVED school. To be fair, I think I was a nerd; I just wasn’t aware of it.

So much that I didn’t want to waste a minute of it, sitting and eating. My friends and I were always coming up with new, usually inappropriate, things to do during our lunch hour. And usually it seemed there simply was not enough time to eat AND play. So I chose play. Every single time.

Unfortunately, I was not the brightest bulb long term. I just kept bringing my mostly uneaten lunch home day after day.  And my Mom kept seeing it, day after day.

And to my mom’s credit, she tried the old fashioned way of trying to get to me.

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However, it fell on deaf ears. Cool stuff happened at school and I was not going to miss out on it. Until one day, I think my Mom lost it.

Seeing that guilt wouldn’t work, my poor mother realized she would have to approach this from another perspective. And then my Mom got a horrible idea. An evil idea. My Mom got a horrible, evil, creative idea.

Yes. My mom told me about the Lunch Police. She told me that a group of people were dedicated to seeing who ate their lunch and reporting back to parents. As my father was a Police Officer – my imagination dreamed up something exactly like this:

If you’re wondering why I grew up to be a neurotic mess – its &*@! like this, people. So for days after, I freaked out. I was convinced these lunch police were around every corner watching me like a hawk. My lunches often went like this.

Then I suppose I got suspicious. I never saw these lunch police folk.

I hadn’t seen any. And they were throwing a wrench into my social life. So I threw caution to the wind and said, forget it. I did what I wanted.

Surely no one saw.

 

But someone did.

 

And so I disposed of the evidence. I played it off like nothing happened. I came home with an empty lunch box and went to do my thing but I was stopped upon my arrival at home.

 

That’s when the Lunch Police became real.

 So until the age of 11, I believed in them. Yep. I believed in the Lunch Police. Oh, I still complained about lunch every now and then, I threw away the odd apple. But there would be my mom, telling me the Lunch Police saw and giving me hard evidence.They were nice enough to inform my mom when I did eat my lunch. I think that’s what sealed it. 

It was frightening. My only solace came in the form of trading. If I wanted to trade something, I had to do it like I was in prison. Covertly, quietly and quickly. I was horrified that every minute was being monitored.

 Little did my mother know that her lies would come crashing down around her.

 So what you should know is that I cannot draw bikes in ms paint. I just can’t. What you should also know is that when I was eleven years old I was obsessed with bike riding. I loved my bike. I also abided by the laws of the road and wore a helmet. But because I was me, it was huge and neon green. I was a spectacle.

 I was told I was not allowed to ride as far as the bowling alley in town. It was too far; traffic too fast. Sometimes I listened to this. But sometimes the wind dictated the day and I would find myself cycling down there at full speed.

 On this particular day, Mrs. R – owner of the Subway NEXT to the bowling alley waved to me.

I felt it courteous to wave back as I continued on my sojourn. I was not prepared for what awaited me on my return.

 

 

It had finally crystallized. How could the Lunch Police be monitoring my bike ride? Simple. Mrs. R phoned and told her. How was my Mom finding out when I didn’t eat? My teachers were ratting on me every day my Mom came to pick me up from school!

My mother seemed to mull this over. Maybe she was worried her daughter would live her life believing in the Lunch Police if she didn’t admit. Maybe she was sick of the charade with me. Maybe, just maybe, she regretted telling me about the lunch police.

And because I was a horrible sell-out that loved being in on something that the adults were, this was my immediate response:

And thus, the Lunch Police saga came to an end. Why, you ask? Because if I am anything, I am horrible at keeping secrets.

Little life nugget of truth

This blog was inspired by a recent OBN facebook entry asking readers to suggest a topic for me to dump all over.

The chosen topic? People who chat in bathroom stalls when the other person is peeing. This is a cause very close to my heart so I was eager to talk about it.

This is me in a public bathroom stall at the mall and the following story is true.

This is an annoying person entering the bathroom and choosing from an array of empty stalls – the one CLOSEST to the nearest living person. Why did she do it? I have no idea. Maybe she wasn’t hugged enough as a child. Perhaps she feared ghosts in the stalls. I cannot answer why a rational person would want to do that.

This woman then goes on to commit the worse faux pas of all time: Talking to a stranger (me) about NOTHING of purpose. Not – “Hey, there’s a fire in the mall – we should head out!” while she is voiding her bowels. Gross.

Because I am terminally polite in situations when my pants are around my ankles, I reluctantly gave in and chatted until I was able to flush, wash my hands and run from my tin prison.

Which brings me to the fact that I need to use this blog as a public service announcement to important issues.  A platform for what’s REALLY important. Hence- the following.

Please remember this the next time you think someone wants to hear about the weather while they’re trying to whiz.

Why I suck at having pets

Let me tell you a story. A story of a beautiful princess called Katelyn. All she EVER wanted to do in the world was make it a better place. And what better way, Katelyn thought, than taking care of all the lost, lonely and sad creatures of the earth? But know what? Katelyn was wrong. She was dead wrong. And here is the story of why I will never be able to independently own a pet.

In the twelfth grade, I went to the petstore as I did every week, just for fun. It was on this fateful perusal however that my eyes fell on the loneliest creature I had ever seen.

A bearded dragon – with half his tail missing. Now, a logical person goes: “Hey, this guy is missing half a tail and looks pissed. Something tells me he’s a hard ass.” but a Katelyn person goes, “Awwwwwwwwwww…..what a sad, bedraggled creature! No one to love it! BUT I WILL!”

And so I phoned my father in Kamloops and BEGGED him to buy this lizard for me. I asked if it could be my graduation present. And of course my dad suffering from divorced-parent-guilt folded immediately.Little did he know he would rue the day.

And so my father came down and bought him for me. He bought the terrarium and the crickets (which, not surprisingly I could not feed him out of fear of actually touching them.) and the heat lamp and we set up a nice little desert climate for my favorite pal.But, little did I know that my lizard – now named the ever creative: “Larry” was carrying a big chip on his shoulder.

So one day when I invited some girlfriends over to meet my latest addition, I didn’t count on him immediately hating me. I thought he would find it in his reptilian heart to love the large, loud creature that had saved him from his previous imprisonment.

Turns out I was wrong.

For as I was showing him off, pointing to him in the terrarium, Larry decided that he was going to show who was boss once and for all.

He bit me. HARD. The little bastard bit me so hard I started bleeding everywhere.

When the screaming had subsided and my friends had left, I contemplated my fate with this lizard. He needed to love me. I needed to make him love me. Oh, I tried. For about six months I tried everything to get that little jerk to love me. But he never did. Everytime I came near him his little beard puffed up and he tried to bite me.

And one night, after he had broken out of his terrarium and bit my ankle, something became quite apparent. He hated me and he was going to kill me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but some day.

And so I did what any rational, sane person would do.

That’s right. I pawned him off on my brother, expecting Matt to grow weary as well. Except he didn’t. How do I know? Because he and the damn lizards became BEST FRIENDS! The stupid thing sleeps on his pillow at night!

Lesson learned. I should not own lizards.

And the winner is…

So a couple of weeks ago I said that anyone who commented on that specific blog post about why they were “Odd, but Nice” would be entered into a draw for some OBN swag. Well, I finally got off my lazy ass and decided…

In case you’re wondering how I decide on a winner, I do it completely impartially. Truly. Let me show you the process.

So Brett – congrats! Please e-mail me at missoddbutnice@gmail.com so I can get your address and mail you some awesome Odd but Nice stuff! And if you’re awesome and send me a photo of you over the moon with your winnings, you could be featured!

Thank you to everyone who commented and continues to support this blog – its such a great way to relieve stress and share my humor all over the globe! This marks my 120th post!!! And over 23,000 hits! Thanks so much for the continued belief that I am marginally funny guys! 🙂

Happy Mother’s Day!

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.

A day to celebrate Mother’s, mother’s in law, stepmothers, friends who are mother’s, grandmothers who are mothers, aunts who are mothers… Okay, you get the idea. Mother’s come in all shapes and sizes and races and creeds and ages and relations. But most of all, Mother’s are those people who celebrate and love you for all you are and all you want to be.

But this blog entry focuses on one special Mother – MINE! My mother is not only one of the funniest people alive, she is also the most supportive, the most loving and the unique mother out there. Below highlights just a few of the things she does that makes her dear to me because if I had to make a cartoon for every way she is awesome – I would never be done.

Reasons why I love my Mother (in no particular order)

Her sick sense of humor.

I know this seems an odd thing to love about a parent, but I do.  She once at all the insides of the oreo’s and then put them back together just so she could cackle when we went to eat one. It sounds awful, but it was hilarious. And who could forget Halloween growing up?

That she is ridiculously supportive of my blog

My Mom put money towards my t-shirt making machine for this blog (sorry Mom! ) she also gives out my business card to anyone she can and best of all- manages to promote my blog internationally – like when she’s on vacation in Mexico.

That she always tries to build me up

My mother is the parent who is always trying to support and encourage her children. Sometimes it pays off and sometimes she let’s me go out of the house dressed like an idiot.

That she still creates fun Christmas/Easter scavenger hunts and games.

Even though I have two brothers and the youngest of us is 21, my  Mother still is coming up with original ways to make the holiday’s fun for us – in a childish way. I love it. Plus, I ALWAYS WIN AT EVERYTHING. Lesson learned brothers.

 That she is always there for me when I’m feeling down…. with rationality.

Sometimes I can be very self indulgent in my sorrow. Sometimes to the point when I am having major pity parties for myself. My Mom manages to be loving, but realistic.

But most of all, I love my Mom for just being her. For never apologizing for being herself. And for being a constant loving support to everyone she touches. She is an amazing individual and I feel so blessed that she is my Mother.

So go out and share some love with your Mother or Mother-figure! Happy Mother’s Day!

The day I met Lou Ferrigno

I wanted to earn a little extra coin for May long weekend coming up this month and so I was looking for some extra work.  My friend gave me a head’s up for a little organic food expo that was going on.  Truthfully, I eat like a 16^th century pirate – lots of junk, very little vegetables. Scurvy is a constant worry.  So me at an organic food expo try to sell health foods was pretty much the funniest thing that any of my friends had ever heard.

This expo was being held at a city convention center – and at the same time this boring organic expo was going on – FAN EXPO was going on at the same time! Which is pretty much like a baby Comicon! THERE WERE PEOPLE IN AWESOME COSTUMES EVERYWHERE. If there’s anything you need to know about me, it’s the following:

I had heard on the radio that minor celebrities were going to be at this Fan Expo – like Adam West and Lou Ferrigno. Needless to say, I was hoping to glimpse him as I went to my shift. I did not. My friends working with me knew of my desire and promised to help me out.  And so I went onto my job of hocking various health foods and trying to be excited about it.

This was a weekend guys. A weekend of selling foods I would never eat. Except they had organic potato chips that did not suck! They were actually pretty delicious. But, you have to know a weekend of standing for 8 hours at a time trying to be excited about coconut water is pretty tiring. And dull as hell.

All of a sudden during my lunch break, I heard my friends calling my name. I looked to them confused. They were calling my name but I couldn’t understand what they were trying to say. They kept pointing at something but I was bewildered.

All of a sudden I looked over from my friends and into the large figure that appeared before me just as I ran into it. And I was pissed – this giant guy didn’t even apologize for walking right into me! And so I looked up with my angriest face.

This is apparently what happens when I meet minor celebrities.

After my embarrassing screaming of his name in his face – (and his bodyguards laughing at me and going, “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen” to one another) I , shaking his hand, proceeded to accidentally put my head against his pectoral in embarrassment of the situation.

Understandably, Lou was mollified and tried to extract himself from me as soon as possible. He was already a few feet away from me when I suddenly found my voice again and proceeded to SCREAM the following at the top of my lungs.

And then, Lou did this:

Finger guns. Minor celebrity finger guns.  There’s something about someone famous using such an archaic and cheesy form of connection that it immediately makes me giggle like a schoolgirl at a Jonas Brother’s concert.

So, after all was said and done – I was still stoked about meeting him.

You should know that there are two school of reaction when it comes to Lou Ferrigno.

You either get over the top excitement.

Or confused apathy.

But in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Why I am odd but Nice Part 1

So, let me start out this posting with: I am SO sorry I’ve not been updating more often! I swear I am trying harder to keep on track with it! I am not abandoning this beautiful but awkward blog I have created. Sometimes the stories just don’t come as quick.

Secondly, can I just say I LOVE everyone who comments? I mean, I still love those of you who support and view the blog and don’t  comment, but I especially love those who take the time out to comment – especially new people who I don’t even know in real life!

Anyway – as you know, I always get sick. I blame this on the fact that I am going through slurpee withdrawal. That and I have the immune system of an 80 year old woman.  But I digress. As I was laying in bed last night with a fever of 102, I won’t lie… I think in my over dramatic state (that I never get into normally… *shifty eyes*) I thought I was going to die. Then I thought of all the stupid stuff I had yet to share on my blog and thought…no, this cannot be the end.

So after my Husband came home from work, forced me to eat soup and took care of me my fever came down to a respectable 99 and I decided to keep my deathbed promise and return to my blogging more regularly. Interesting to note: I also had THREE bottles of pop in my fridge. Random ones I never get, like Diet Pepsi. My husband didn’t buy them. And I didn’t remember purchasing them.  How then? Turns out in my fevered state  I wandered through Safeway like a wayward street urchin wearing the following outfit grabbing crap literally left right and center.

When I finally found my receipt days later my list comprised of the following:

*  THREE bottles of Pop that I don’t drink

*  Cough medicine (Yay! Go semi-coherent Katelyn!)

* A giant bag of potato chips (that I had to throw away because I don’t trust myself and chips)

* A GIANT box of cookies that I think I feverishly bought because I know my husband likes cookies?

*  Shampoo and Conditioner; a brand I never use

* Pop tarts

So I think a part of me was like: “Woah, I really need cough medicine” and the other part of me was like “Bitch, you’re gonna die – you better live it up while you can.”

I’m getting away from my point. My point was, as I was laying there in bed I was thinking of all the funny crap that makes me odd but nice. Hey, I know it’s self centered but guess what? It’s my blog. You can write your own blog about what makes you awesome. Go ahead. I’ll read it. I’m supportive.

Anyway, without further ado – here are some glimpses into what makes me me….  And if you don’t mind, I’d love to know what makes YOU odd but nice. If your comment is randomly picked, you will be getting a surprise in the mail!

What makes me Odd but Nice

The fact that I KNOW when my cat is staring at something out of the blue for a REALLY long time, he’s obviously communicating with the dead.

That when I took off my wedding dress on my wedding night, underneath was a HORRIBLE black skirt that I’d forgotten to change out of when we put my wedding dress on. Yep. I walked around in that ALL night.

That this is what happens EVERY SINGLE TIME I hear ‘The Cat’s in the Cradle’ on the radio.

That when I was working in a factory type setting, I would practice putting together pieces blind so that if there was a disaster, I would still be able to work.

I’ve seen the Odd, you’re thinking. But what makes me nice, do you ask?

How about having this question about a billion times with my brother Matt and not murdering him?