I'm juggling and my fears on fire

What? Did ya'll think Jem was the only person on the internet who can post a hot picture? And really, the hottest part of this one is me right smack in the middle of a Conchord sandwich!

So, anyway, now that my fantastic job has vanished - oh, and I mean that real literal because there's no one at Wolfram & Hart anymore, no sign or even names on the door - I've made the personal decision to be a Conchord groupie bodyguard. They're gonna' be right famous soon, and I wanna' make sure I'm 'round to claim the discoverin' rights. No, seriously, I found 'em on myspace, and now their career has taken flight - get it, flight cause they're.. nevermind.

Oh, and my belated New Year's Resolution is to become Bret's girlfriend. Yeah, I said it - Bret, not Jem. Why? Oh, because Jem still wears underoos!

[ This is the beginning of Kat finding a new path. I don’t really know where my girl is headed, so, for now, this is all I’ve got. This post reflects where Kat’s been and the beginning of her going somewhere else. Any mention of other characters is purely for past reference.]



How do you handle anger?



When you gonna grow up // Momma always said
Are you gonna walk around with a silly grin // And a bubble on your head
A spaceship landed by the mall

Spaceship – Angie Aparo

Kat didn’t realize she had been alone. She thought all along that there was someone watching out for her, but she realizes now that all those prayers didn’t even get past the ceiling. No, she’s just been talking to herself, it seems. She really doesn’t know what happened. She’s tried to figure it out by replaying weird moments over in her head, but nothing adds up. She knew it was too good to be true from the start – she knew it, and now she’s kicking herself for believing in anything. She’s trying not to be angry, but anger feels better than scared.

Everything she’s held dear is gone – except for her old life in Tennessee, but she’s too stubborn to go back. She fears stepping into her old life would be like slipping into that old pair of jeans that used to be so perfect, but now they don’t seem to fit. It’s a real fear. She’s just come back from Memphis, and it didn’t feel like home this time. But she doesn’t know where home is anymore because it’s empty here.

Empty, literally. It’s not a figurative metaphor or anything filled with fancy language that she doesn’t use. She’d taken a trip to that place that used to feel like home, full of stories about her fantastic life in LA. She left out the parts about vampires and demons because her Mama didn’t even talk about those sorts of things in fairytales – she always skipped the stories about magical creatures; she wouldn’t even allow talk of the Smurfs, and they’re a cartoon. But she told all kinds of stories about working two jobs, about some guy coming in for coffee and offering her a job at a law firm – not some cheap law firm that advertises with poor taste commercials and annoying slogans, but one that was widely recognized in elite circles, Wolfram and Hart. She told them about her plush apartment that the firm paid for, how glamorous her life had become. She exaggerated in parts, but deep down, she thought it might be true.

The office, however, is empty. She stepped inside without needing to swipe her badge at the door – it was open, no security system, no cameras, but hollow, as if it had never been anything more. She made her way to her desk, her heels clicked against the tile, creating an eerie sort of echo. There’s something here that lingers as she brushes her fingers against her desk – something lingers in this empty place, and it makes her think about that analogy of does a tree make a sound when it falls in the forest if no one’s around to hear it. Her desk and some other odd pieces of furniture are all that remain except for that unsettling feeling that’s swept over her.

She stayed for nearly an hour, wandering the empty halls, wondering if the rapture had occurred and she hadn’t been a nice enough girl to be taken. But then, the irony that a building of lawyers is empty reassures it that it was no rapture, unless hell was making a weird statement. Someone made a weird statement, anyway, and that’s when she started replaying odd moments. She had started to notice a lot of supernatural terminology when she’d review certain files on clients. She’d tried to ask Aidan about it, but he never answered. She thought about calling Angel or Fred, but she had gone against that because she really didn’t want to go back to the slayer hotel. She thought she’d found a way out of the slayer business – she thought she’d never have to slay anything, that she was perfectly safe and had slipped away from that life by means of some cosmic loophole. But the loophole has vanished.

Her apartment suddenly isn’t plush or glamorous. It feels cold and just as empty, even though her personal things are still here. She isn’t sure if she can stay. It was Aidan’s idea, this place – she tries to call him, only to get a message about how the number you have dialed is incorrect. She wonders how long it’ll be before this is empty too – but then, she can’t honestly recall ever meeting any neighbors or seeing anyone else around really. She has an overwhelming urge to pack – to see how much she can fit into her Jeep and take off before she’ll vanish too. But this feeling isn’t so different – it’s the realization that hurts, the realization that she’s been alone all this time, but it took some unknown event to bring it to the surface.

It doesn’t take long to pack. The apartment was already furnished; the few pieces of furniture she owns are tucked away safely in a storage unit on the other side of town. Two suitcases and a backpack are all it takes to pack up her things. This place has never felt like hers; she never really tried to feather her nest because she knew, somehow, that it would never really belong to her. She doesn’t bother to lock the door when she goes – she leaves the key on the coffee table, in case someone comes looking for it. The elevator plays soft music, as if there’s someone to hear it – Kat isn’t listening.

She drives in circles for awhile – until she passes enough gas stations to know better; prices aren’t going down, and she’s unemployed, though she doesn’t like the sound of that as this wasn’t her fault. She ends up at the coffee shop where this mess started – where she saw the red-head who called her a slayer, where she met Angel the vampire, where she met a guy named Aidan who turned her world around. She’s come full-circle, going back to the start. She’s still a slayer. She’s still an undecided girl who lives by a hope and a prayer – though now, she’s not sure she believes in either. She sits inside the shop, at a small table nestled in a corner, sipping a latte, flipping through a magazine, and waiting for the next person to find her and flip her universe all over again.

If you made a New Year’s Resolution, do you honestly believe you’ll keep it?


New Year’s Resolutions are real funny things. Everybody makes one – well, a lot more than one really, if you polled everyone, but that would depend on people being honest which they generally are not, so, moving on – but by February, most of those bright and shiny resolutions are broken.

See, here’s where it gets amusing to me: magazines.

No, really, just go with me on this. Pick your poison – Cosmo, Glamour, Elle, other magazines that aren’t nearly as popular, even the teen ones, Seventeen, Teen People, Elle Girl, and whatever one’s are popular for men (wouldn’t know because I’m not one, clearly). Alright, have ya picked one? Great.

Now, for the purposes of my amusement, we’re gonna assume that ya own several of them. Oh, but let me take this opportunity to warn everyone about this really lame scam. You know when you’re shopping or whatever and you go to check out and the overworked, underpaid retail associate looks at ya with the bright, hopeful eyes of perhaps getting an extra dime of a raise and asks if you’d like to sign up to get three free magazines? And then, you say yes, because hey, we’ve all done the retail thing, and it blows. So, then? They’re all smiles and say that you gotta remember to cancel before the three months is up, but you’re all smiles too because hey, free magazines! Well, if you call the number to cancel? It totally doesn’t cancel. It like faux-cancels, and what’s up with that? It renews annually, which is also weird, but yeah, some freaky weird magazine company took money from me, and it was lame. Did I notice this when I was broke? No, of course not, because hey, that would’ve been smart! Nope. I noticed this once I got to my bitchin’ job at Wolfram & Hart; I signed on to the magic of online banking and noticed a weird transaction right after my big, fantastic paycheck. Anyway!

So, you’ve got magazines from let’s say October. And, just because it says October doesn’t mean it came out in October because they’re like a month ahead sometimes. But, that’s not entirely the point. You have your fall issues. They’re all gearing up for the holidays and that’s when the resolution point starts to get hammered in. Hell, forget hammer, it’s more like an electric screwdriver going to town on your brain – like one of those procedures people like McDreamy and McSteamy and whatever other McHotPants doctors are out there do. October-to-January, it’s like page after page of how to look better, how to dress better, how to lose ten pounds, how to get great abs, how to land a new man, how to keep the man ya have, etc.

Okay, so it’s January now, and you’ve got the February issue in the mail. Any mention of resolutions? That’s a big hell to no because they don’t mention them. They’re gone. It’s like, hey, thanks for reading and making a personal commitment to yourself that you never planned to keep, now let’s move on to getting your best haircut ever and learning fantastic new sex tips that no one’s ever tried but they sure sound like fun!

So, sure, I made a couple of resolutions, but once February gets here, who knows!

Let me first go ahead and apologize in advance if you see this post pop up a couple of times. I'm posting it in my character journals. I don't have too many, but for people like alan_shore & mr_colbert, they'll have to scroll a lot! :)

Well, I've been on hiatus, and I just haven't been able to post here yet. And, by here, I mean my muse journals. It's been a weird month. I was in a very bad car accident on December 11th. My car is completely totaled, and I've been recuperating. I'm very lucky in that I didn't break anything - I had some nasty bruises and walking has been a tad painful, but I'm about 99% better.

So? I'm in the process of getting everyone caught up. I'm planning to get topics written this week and come off hiatus. It's a work in progress. If I've missed anything really neat? Or, if there's something you need one of my characters for? Comment or shoot an email to senshi[dot]saturn[at]gmail[dot]com (or to my personal email, if you have it).

XOXO
Nic

cross-posted to: ilookgreat, most_amazing, lovely_damage, katie_lloyd & blurbinprogress

dontcallmekitty dontcallmekitty dontcallmekitty dontcallmekitty dontcallmekitty


New layout.

:)


Carry on!

Kaleidoscope

Kat’s bored. It happens a lot lately. She’s gotten in a habit of making a to-do list, scribbling out in relatively legible scrawl things that she really ought to accomplish. Always, at the top of her list, is call Aidan. He sent her roses once, and she wanted to at least thank him but a senior partner isn’t exactly the easiest sort to contact. She tends to bite her lip thoughtfully at the Wolfram and Hart email system, typing out all sorts of things she wants to say, but deletes it because she just can’t. The reasons for that stare her down every day. She works at Wolfram and Hart – Hart, right there, on the door, the letterhead, everything, she can’t avoid him yet she never sees him. He’s become something of a ghost, and she really doesn’t know what to do about it. But, then, he’s the reason she works here, he’s the reason she has a beyond nice and rent free place to live, and he’s the reason she has very little to complain about these days… except that she’s bored.

There isn’t much to do at work. She types through letters quickly, though sometimes the subject matter leaves her curious. Most of the time it’s average, ordinary, legal documents – which, really aren’t so average or ordinary since she doesn’t understand the majority of what she’s typing. But, every now and then, there’s a term that catches her eye – a supernatural one. She’s started keeping a list at the back of her planner, mostly because she’s bored but partly because she’s curious. There’s that slayer in her that she’s struggling with, and supernatural terminology tends to make that ghost of a slayer rear her ugly head – ugly, because Kat doesn’t always agree with the slaying cause.

She surfs MySpace a lot more than she ought to. Her hours at the record shop have become fewer and fewer these days because it’s become a pretty pointless job. She’s not working because she needs the money – nope, her ticket into what she believes is Corporate America, courtesy of one Mr. Aidan Hart, has her more than financially stable. No, she works there for the random underground bands she used to discover in the dusty shelves, but she’s discovered that the internet is a much better resource. That’s how she found the most interesting band ever – Flight of the Conchords. They have this insane video of two guys dressed up in cardboard boxes pretending to be robots. They filmed the video on a camera phone. It’s more addictive than YouTube. She’s started emailing the band because she wants a CD, but the one with the monotone portions of the songs keeps telling her that they’re broke but that he can’t work because he’s waiting for a moment. He’s a weird one. So, she emails him – through her MySpace account, because she isn’t so sure if she should give out her official work email to the crazy, broke guy in a robot suit. She also thinks she really ought to update her own page sometime because right now it looks like kaleidoscope throw-up, but she doesn’t want to waste her precious internet time scouting for a layout.


To: Flight of the Conchords
From: Don't call me Kitty! I'm Kat, not a kitty!

Subject: Where’s my CD?!

I understand being broke. I really do. But, why can’t you just record some mp3s on your cell phone? I want a CD! I think you’re the best band ever! You’re insane and quirky, and if you had a CD, then you wouldn’t be broke! Seriously, this is what I think, and you should value my opinion because I am still technically a Record-Seller and thereby professional in the industry!

So, where’s my CD? I can’t very well play your music for anyone if I don’t at least have some downloadable mp3’s to put on my iPod or burn to a CD to play in the office! I have control over the music here! I could totally play Flight of the Conchords! We have a lot of professional legal types come in all the time. One of them could be an agent!

I want a CD. Or some mp3s. NOW.

Thanks!
Kat!


She draws a line through email band on myspace for a cd, again! on her to-do list. But, the scribbled top line of call Aidan is staring at her. She gets up and stretches for a minute, because she read online somewhere that if you work at a computer all day, then you should get up and stretch once every twenty minutes. She pretends to check the coffee, but she knows it’s not time to change it because she has it on a timer – a weird habit leftover from the barista days. She finally steps back over to her desk and opens up her work email.


To: Hart, Aidan
From: Thomas, Ekaterina
Subject: Roses



The thank you is belated. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been really busy with work too, which I’m sure you know since you’re a Senior Partner. I kept one of the other jobs too. I kind of missed it, but I’m letting my hours dwindle so much that I’m not completely sure I’m still on the payroll! It’s funny, kind of.

So, if you still wanted to go to dinner sometime, then that would be really great. I usually end up leaving here around six. You know where I live and where I work. Have I mentioned lately how very, very appreciative I am about that? Because, I am.

Emails aren’t really my forte. I tend to ramble, like now! So, I’m going to go then, because I’ve got some things to type and coffee to brew and lots of other really important secretarial stuff. But, I was wondering… am I really your favorite girl? It’s just that I haven’t actually seen you in forever. It seems like forever anyway. But, yeah, back to work and stuff!

-Kat


She had planned to delete it, like usual. But, she holds her breath and clicks send, as if it was some kind of weird forbidden dare. She lets out the breath in a long sigh, hoping she didn’t sound as completely stupid as she thinks she did. She looks up at the clock and rolls her eyes; no clients for at least an hour. She goes back to her email on MySpace, determined to at least get a CD today to make her feel a little less stupid.

Spiteful


I don’t like slayin’ vampires. I don’t think it’s right, but who am I supposed to report that to? I can’t file a complaint and expect something to be done about it. All I can do is take a break from it, put the stake down for awhile, and see if anyone notices. But, someone’s gotta notice, right? Won’t another slayer or some higher up slayer type come lookin’ for me and make me do it? But then, what if no one notices at all? There’s enough of them runnin’ ‘round these days, you know.

Huh. I sound spiteful, and I don’t mean it, ya’ll. Well, not entirely. It’s just that I’m real confused. I used to know the difference between right and wrong, good and evil. But, lately, things have been pretty gray. It feels wrong to slay vampires. Now, if they’re out, killin’ and drinkin’ blood? Then, that’s one thing. But, if they’re mindin’ their own business and we go chasin’ them, that doesn’t seem right. Not all vampires are bad. Angel’s not bad. And, I’ve heard about some guy named Spike that ain’t bad either. We’re not supposed to stake them, so, who says there aren’t others we aren’t supposed to stake?

And, why do my powers have to be used against vampires and demons? What if could work with them? I’m not sayin’ let’s all just get along or anything as drastic and impossible as all that. But, what I am sayin’ is that maybe… maybe this isn’t my destiny. I used to know the difference between right and wrong, and now I don’t. Here’s what I do know: I have a great job at Wolfram & Hart; Aidan is a doll and got me the job and the condo. I’m pretty happy with those aspects of my life. But the killin’ vampires and demons part? I’m not liking so much. I just wonder if maybe there’s something else these powers could be used for, because honestly, I’d rather be doing all wrong than stuck in the middle of the gray area.

I don't like defining myself. I just am. - Britney Spears

I haven't quit working at the record shop - mostly because the employee discount is pretty nice. But, today I went digging through the bad 90's pop albums, like I do, and I decided to stop my boy band marathon week... I found something much better - well, worse actually, dependin' on how ya'll want to interpret it.

Hit me, baby, one more time...

I admit it, I miss the old Britney - the pre-boobjob, pre-sex, pre-marriage, pre-kids, pre-divorce, pre- ...hell, pre-everything insane - the head-shaving, tattoos, Paris Hilton BFFdom. Yeah, everything. I miss silly, bubble-gum Britney. I miss the version that thought Madonna was old but awesome - not the one who wears a red string and makes out with Madonna at the VMA's. And, we can't forget the Britney who wanted the world to know: Britney + Justin = <3!!!!! But, now she's twice-divorced, twice-impregnated, and neither situation hang a thing to do with Mr. Timberlake.

Oh, and have ya'll read the current issue of Allure? Britney's on the cover, and I'm admittedly needing my pop princess fix. She doesn't show for the interview. That isn't a big shocker. They have a whole article about how her no-show status reveals all kinds of inner truths a la Ms. Spears. Really? She was skipping the interview for a pedicure and a trip to the club, but, okay it was really a big question: can the world love Britney anyway?

Don't even get me started on this years VMA's. If I'd popped out two babies, then believe me, I'd be damn proud of that figure. Would I be proud enough to awkwardly dance on Mtv? That'd be a no. The rumor on the radio is that one of the heels on her shoe was broken, so that's why she couldn't dance worth anything. Well, that's fine and dandy, but explain the rest of it, because it was upsetting. I miss the lip-syncing wonder of old who made all sorts of inspirational-but-not quotes and was overpaid to just dance; that girl was a no-show at the VMA's, and in her place was a washed-up chick who's gone crazy for Cocoa Puffs and really ought to be at home taking care of those babies for a change.

I've been trying to get through the albums. I can only make it as far as Toxic before she turns pretty toxic herself. But, I stopped by the coffee shop the other night, and this crazy musical duo did a pretty rad acoustic version of Hit me, baby, one more time which made all kinds of nostalgic.

Humankind cannot stand very much reality. -T. S. Eliot


Oh, Kat needs a break. She glances along her shelf of DVD's, tapping her fingertips against the titles. Interview with a Vampire is a no. So is Queen of the Damned which she can't believe she owns, but it has a fantastic soundtrack. She skips over all three Xmen and Spiderman respectively; she's not in a superhero kind of mood these days. Life is doing that imitating art thing - or maybe it's the other way around? She doesn't honestly know anymore.

She settles in on her over-stuffed couch for her afternoon viewing of The Little Mermaid because she decides Disney is the farthest thing from life lately and is thereby a safe bet for a couple hours of escapism. It was her favorite movie growing up. She remembers getting the Ariel toy in her Happy Meal - the one that would float in the bathtub! She played with it in the bubble bath until the paint started to chip and Mama decided it wasn't a child-safe toy. And, she wept. Oh, she wept, over her stupid, Ariel, Happy Meal toy. But she was taken to the Disney store by Daddy - the real one, the original, the birth one - and bought a huge plushie Sebastian.

She sings along with the movie, so amused and entertained by the colorful display of musical cartoon goodness, until the doorbell rings and brings her crashing back down to reality. She considers pretending she isn't home, but that never really works. She sighs and pauses the DVD - reality's temporary escape will just have to wait, like usual.

"Truth is stranger than fiction." - Mark Twain


Kat's mother was missing for nearly two weeks. At least, this was a fair assumption from across the country with no returned calls or emails. She came up with all kinds of scenarios in which assorted demons and vampires took her mother to spite her. Then, she decided,the cell phone must've just been stolen because vampires aren't that bright, generally. But, her step-dad didn't answer his phone either, so she started to go into overdrive with all the possible things that could've happened. Coma. Car accident. Russian mafia. Vampires. It was endless, really.

The truth, however, came in a small box that was sitting outside her door. She was convinced she'd find a severed finger and a ransom note, but instead, she found a few neatly wrapped smaller boxes and a postcard with her mother's loopy scrawled handwriting.

Apparently, she was in Moraco on her third honeymoon - her third, because, she's had two with all her ex-husbands and since number five was decidedly a keeper, he deserved a third one. However, Kat's mother had a terrible history of being forgetful and didn't realize, apparently, until day four of their week long trip that she'd bothered to mention to her darling daughter that she would be out of the country. Nice. She felt bad, apparently, and sent her apologies in the form of jewelry from the tax-free paradise.

Kat rolled her eyes as she stuck the postcard to the fridge with one of her handmade magnets - oh, she was getting crafty with less time but more money at work. She opened the smaller boxes in her bedroom and place her new, shiny things in her jewelry box - a now ironic gift from the second honeymoon. She wondered momentarily if Aiden would notice her ohh shiny things and made a note to wear them to the office.

She flopped down on her bed and flipped open her phone, pushing the speed dial for home. "Mama," she said with a loud, melodramatic sigh, "you're forgven since you sent me shiny, pretty things. But, seriously? You forgot to mention you were going to Moraco? When are you taking me on a trip? I've stuck around longer than any husband so far!"

Home


she wants to go home, but nobody's home
it's where she lies, broken inside



She isn't sure where home is anymore. She used to think it was with her Mama in Tennessee, but it didn't feel right after awhile. Mama got married to Mr. Right in a pretty, little church just outside Memphis, and then home became Mama's home, not Kat's, no matter how hard she tried to make the feeling go away.

California felt like home at first. The LA sun kissed her cheeks and the wind tousled her hair just like in the movies. But, soon it was just dusty to her. She knew the streets best when it was dark - at this rate, she thinks she could map out the graveyard's from memory. Her apartment was nice enough - just the right amount of space for her and Steve the Houseplant. But, then she found herself moving into the Hyperion at the request of Angel, which never felt right to her, no matter how nice Fred and Angel tried to be.

Oh, but then there was Aiden, straight out of some kind of fairytale. She would be starting her new job soon at Wolfram & Hart - a job she had little to no qualifications for given that her work experience consisted of the record store, the coffee shop, and summer camp back home. It was already seeming too good to be true, but as she was getting settled into her new apartment, she let the feelings of doubt drift away just a little. Her new place had a balcony, antique furniture, a huge bed, art that probably cost more than her soul, a collection of lamps that rivaled her own in Mama's house. It was perfect, decorated with her quirky charm, filled with things she could never afford with her two previous lame jobs, and had Steve the Houseplant comfortably seated on the balcony.

Her cell phone rang, and a grin spread across her features that just might rival that of the Cheshire cat himself. She leapt onto the bed with a slayer-worthy jump, and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. "Aiden!" she said, with a bit of a gasp thanks to her need to pounce onto the feathery bed. Breathless and happy, she smiled into the phone, "It's perfect. Beyond perfect."

Romance

I don't really get romance. There are a lot of things in life that I can give great, quirky insight about. I even think I've got a handle on marriage since Mama's been down the aisle six times - I've been everything from her flowergirl to her maid of honor. But, as for romance? I must've missed out on that one somewhere along the way.

Oh, now, sure, I've dated on-and-off. It was hard with the busy schedule and the constantly moving thing, but I did it. But, my loser boyfriends don't really count for much in the grand scheme of things because I don't think I got to that place of being in love with any of them. I'm glad I wasn't the type of girl to pretend to be in love, because, well, I'd rather disappear than be faking it. But, then, maybe I'm not the kind of girl that gets the romantic stuff - no flowers, no candles, no walks on the beach at sunset, no kisses in the rain. Is that all there is to romance anyway?

You know, I hear all these really amazing songs at work - these great, heart-wrenching ballads - when I go through the old records. The way they croon about romance really moves you. Or, there's those moments in the movies, those amazing kisses that just absolutely take your breath away. I want to know what that's all about, what that's like. So, if you get the whole concept of romance thing and want to explain to me, or maybe even give me a demonstration? We should talk, like yesterday.

Kat re-tied the strings of her apron into a lazy bow while she stared at the book of espresso recipes, determined to find something to keep her awake. The last few weeks were running together, blending into a hazy blur. She had moved into the hotel, but she hadn't really had any time to stick around and socialize with her two jobs. She had tried to quit at the record store first, but they offered her more money to stay. Well, she certainly couldn't turn that down. So, she then attempted to quit the barista job, but her boss promised her benefits and who says no to benefits? Still, after a couple of nights chasing vampires, she was wondering why she couldn't just say no to someone.

"Three shots of espresso," she murmured to herself, since she had a bad habit of stating just what she was putting into a drink. Some of her customers found it cute and tended to tip her a little extra since they liked knowing what she was doing. It was a good job, at least. It was in the nicer part of town, high-priced thereby only special customers, the ones who felt they were too good for the Starbucks or some bookstore coffee shop. It was safe - no demons or vampires to meet her on the way out the door at night. Well, at least, that's what she assumed. "Milk, obviously. Caramel. White chocolate. And stir... really, stir, don't want that stuff to get all gooey at the bottom of the cup. And, ta da! Instant Waker-Upper. Okay, so maybe I shouldn't name the drinks...."

She looked up, thinking it was one of her colleagues being amused by her usual antics, but instead, it was a customer, and not one she remembered seeing before. "Oh! Sorry! Hi! I'm Kat!" she said with an awkward smile as she pushed a straw into her paper cup. "What can I get for you today?"

Suspense.



I work at a music store when I’m not out stakin’ things that go bump in the night. And, I decided to go through some of the old No Doubt albums, because you know, I miss old school Gwen. I get that she’s got her own thing goin’ on now, but do ya’ll really like it as much as when she was in No Doubt? And, I’m talkin’ pre-Rock-Steady, because Rock Steady was the setup for solo Gwen.

I was a big fan of Tragic Kingdom. Wasn’t Don’t Speak everyone’s breakup song? Ignore how old I was at the time, because that’s not my point. And, I was a huge supporter of the Return of Saturn album. That’s what I listened to today at the store. That was a beautiful record. Was it all great? Well, no. The singles were good; they marketed well. But, it also had some beautiful moments. Like that real slow song Suspension Without Suspense where you can just feel the pain of that situation on a broken record. I loved it. Because, I mean, you can just feel it when she talks about intentions without intent, suspension without suspense. It breaks my heart!

But now, Gwen is doing her thing. Did ya’ll see her on American Idol a couple of weeks ago? She was so pretty and grown-up and glamorous. But, I’m missin’ my pink-haired Gwen with the lyrics that had meaning. I mean, she’s yodelin' and dancin' around with the old spunk, but where’s the Gwen who had all this angsty poetry when she sang? 'Cause I miss her a lot.

She couldn't remember exactly when she talked to Angel last, but she knew it had been awhile. She had decided she needed some time to get her mind around everything, and he seemed okay with that. But, he said there were others like her and plenty who understood. He gave her an address to a hotel and told her to drop by, whenever she was ready. She wasn't sure what kind of invite that was, because the more she replayed it in her mind, the more it sounded like a cultist group or maybe an AA meeting.

But, as she stood outside looking in, she wasn't so sure if she was ready.

She ran a hand through her messy, brown hair and sighed. She rummaged through her purse until she found her chapstick, which she applied quickly out of pure, nervous habit. She tucked it back into her bag and took in a deep breath - inhale, exhale. She wasn't sure if she should knock or what, but she decided to take her chance and pushed the door open.

Dark and creepy? Nice. Where's the Kool-aid? she thought as she looked around. She shrugged and hoped she hadn't managed to find her way into the wrong hotel. That? Would suck. "Um? Mr. Angel?" she called, "You here? It's Kat... I would've called first, but I don't think I have your number."

Confession

Mom,

I need to confess something.

I came to LA, mostly for acting and sunshine and fun. But, something happened to me when I got here. I think this something happened to me a long time ago, but something changed. Um. Let me tell you the long version of the story.

There are vampires. Like, you know Dracula and all them? They’re real. Well, maybe not Dracula, but it’s kind of like how it is in the movies. Big, scary, with fangs and sucking blood. Yeah. They’re real. And, they get killed by a very special person who has the power to kill ‘em. Now, it used to be that just one girl had that power, but there was a big fight with a lot of bad vampires. It was real bad. And this nice redhead girl, she changed the rules, with magic. And, then, every girl in the world who could have the power to kill vampires? Could. So, I met this guy. Angel. He’s a vampire. But he’s a nice one. And he told me the story – well, a much longer, complicated version of it – and apparently, I can kill vampires. Just, not him. And that’s cool with me.

But, I just wanted to tell you because I know sometimes you call at night, and I don’t answer. And you leave voicemails that sound so worried and I feel so bad. So I wanted to confess and tell you about my secret life of vampire slaying…

Love,
Kat

"If they give you ruled paper, write the other way". -Juan Ramon Jimenez

She bops along to the beat of her own tamborine - because percussion isn't her style, and she feels drums are overrated. She's more than quirky, but not quite to the level of certifiably insane. She's not far from it though. Not lately.

She's always been a little... off. Even before the vampires and other things that go bump in the night. Her socks never matched - hell, it was always a wonder when she managed to put outfits together that didn't look like some kind of got-dressed-in-the-dark and my-closet-threw-up-on-me monstrosity. She'd bounce around in her weird hippie-meets-punk-divorces-boho-ends-up-drunk style with her messenger bag that'd seen a few too many years filled with journals, each of a different theme and mood and feeling.

Sometimes she changed with the scenery. She was a different Kat in each city. The fun Kat. The spunky Kat. The athletic Kat. The artistic Kat. But, sometimes they all would roll into one weird piece of a girl. But, she left pieces of herself everywhere they lived - she drew on her walls, even made friends sign it, and though it would be covered in paint, it would still be there, forever. Or, she'd scrape and stratch until she removed a tile from the bathroom floor, only to hide notes beneath it for the next owners just to say hello if they should ever discover it.

She's strange. She knows. She works two jobs which fill most of her time. In the record store, she listens to cheesy pop albums and sings along loud and offkey, occasionally declaring throughout the day that she'll be the next American Idol. And at the coffee shop, she names drinks after herself and makes little designs in the frothed milk with caramel and chocolate syrup - she feels bad for people who don't like their drinks super sweet, but she has to make each drink and artistic experience otherwise they'll continue about on their dull, uneventful days. And when she's finally at home, she spends a great deal of time reading books aloud to her houseplant, Steve, because she heard on the radio that plants are healthier if spoken to. She chats with Steve sometimes, but mostly she reads to him.

She has a journal in her stack with ruled paper. She's never been a fan of lined paper. She writes in the direction opposite of the lines, because she can. That's how she lives, always walking down the road instead of on the safety of the sidewalk. She does her own thing, and she doesn't care. Because she's special. And because she wants to have an interesting story when she has her own Behind the Music special on VH1.

What did you dream about last night?

I had a weird dream last night. I think that’s pretty normal, considering that I work two jobs and kill vampires all day, every day – well, okay, technically all-night, every-night since vampires aren’t much for the daylight, but that’s alright. But, okay, I see a lot of weird things in the day. There’s all kinds of weird records in the store. And there’s some right loons that come in the coffee shop – green tea lattes are vile, my friends, vile! And, yeah, then there’s the assorted vampires, demons, and misc. evil that I have to beat down. Yeah. My day is a big, ol’ pile of weird. So, it only makes sense that my dreams would go that way too.

But this dream was a freaking trip. I’m running, cause something’s decided to chase me. I’m running and running until I get to a wall. Well, I do that slayer thing I do and kind of run up the wall and flip upside down. Yeah. It’s a neat trick. I ought to learn how to do it when I’m awake. But anyway, I flip over the thing, and it looks like a vampire. It’s bigger than me, snarling at me, yeah, totally something of Misc. Evil variety. So, I stake it, ‘cause that’s what I do.

Alright, so that part isn’t so much down with the weirdness. Unless, you’re not a slayer, then it’d be pretty weird. But, whatever. So, I stake it. And it doesn’t turn into dusty goodness. Nope. We’ve got leftovers which is totally nasty. And I haven’t seen the creatures face, so I figure it’s a good idea to have a little look. It’s got some kind of mask thing on, so I pull it back. And alright, it looks like me – only, blonde, which is weird, I mean, what the hell does that mean exactly. But, yeah. It’s me, face and all – just the blonde doesn’t match. And, once I’ve looked at it, me, whatever – it turns to dusty partials, vanishes, poof!

So. Yeah. That’s my weird dream of the year. I think I’m going to cut back on the caffeine intake before bedtime, and I’m going to try to nap before staking things because wow, yeah. My psyche feels damaged. I blame Angel. Yep. It’s totally his fault.

There are some remedies worse than the disease. -Publilius Syrus



I know my mother, she always told me
The road would get cold
I never listened, always forgettin'
The way back home
-The Wreckers




We moved a lot. I mean, seriously? I’ve lived in a lot of big cities – well, fairly big anyway, because calling those big while I’m out here in LA is pretty silly. We moved around every time Mama left one husband and fell for another. Now, don’t get me wrong here. I love my Mama very much, even though a lot of people said real mean things about her for going through husbands like she did. But, sometimes things just have to happen the way they do, you know? Because, if things hadn’t happened just like that, she wouldn’t have met Tim, and he’s the love of her life. Damn. Mama’s got me straying off topic. That happens sometimes.

So, we moved a lot. And it was always cause of Mama and her man troubles. It was okay though. I liked moving around – that constant change of scenery was real good for my short attention span and all. But, when Mama finally met the man she was actually gonna keep? Well, I started thinking ‘bout my own big move. I don’t mean to say I wanted to leave her. It ain’t like that! But, once she finally found her main squeeze? I wanted to find my own purpose. I was there, helping her through the rough parts, loving her and all. But, halfway through high school, I started working on my own plan.

I waited a little awhile after I graduated. I saved up a little money, working for about a year or so. Then, I moved out on my own, to the big, bright and shiny city of Los Angeles. Since I was real little, we’ve moved every few years, and it just felt right to do my own thing. But, I wanted to just cure that moving sickness – not to be confused with motion sickness, cause I think that’s more literal. I wanted to do my own thing, not just cause Mama was getting a divorce and met some guy at some club somewhere two states away.

But, it hurt. I can’t tell you how many nights I’d stay up and cry. My little apartment was pretty sad – for awhile there it was just an air mattress, Steve the Cactus, some clothes in a little heap, a box of Poptarts, and me. And, it hurt even worse when I’d call home to Memphis, and I’d talk to Mama and get to crying again. I tried to stay busy though. I’d work at one job, then at the other. And, when I wasn’t at work, I would make myself read a book or take a walk or just do something. But it still hurt, because no matter what I’d do, I’d find a reason to remember being back home or being with Mama.

The apartment’s got furniture now. And, I’ve made some friends, and I’ve got a stack of bills that remind me every day that I can’t just pack up and go. I got a life of my own here now. I’ve got coffee to make, records to sell, and vampires to slay. I’m a busy girl. And, sometimes this life of mine really sucks, but at least at the end of a bad day, I can say it’s mine – not Mama’s or anybody else’s. I still wanna go home sometimes, and I miss the slower pace of things back home. But, I’m here now, and it’s where I wanna be.

Hey, ya’ll. Okay, seriously, don’t make fun of my accent. I’ve heard it all before, and it ain’t been funny yet! But anyway, my name is Kat. Alright, so that’s not my full name – it’s Ekaterina Oksana Thomas. I’m named after two figure skaters that my mom thought were real pretty when I was born. Whatever floats her boat, I guess. I wish she’d given it some more thought, but it’s okay. I’m cool with it.

Anyway. I’m from Memphis but I've lived in most of the southern states. Presently, I'm located in LA, seeking the glamorous lifestyle of the rich and famous! I tell Mama I’ve got loads of auditions; she thinks I’m a great little actress. And really, with all the lies I tell her on the phone, I guess I am a pretty good one. But, I don’t actually do the audition thing. Nah. I didn’t come out here with headshots and lists of agents and audition lines to stand in. Nope. I got a job in a nice little coffee shop where all the real ritzy people get their coffee. It’s part-time though. Totally sucks. You’d think rich people would tip, but they totally don’t. Bitches.

But, technically, I was discovered, just not by anyone of the sitcom-directing-variety yet! But apparently, I’m a special girl with some neat little tricks. Some guy named Angel told me so. Granted, I was doing back flips down the sidewalk like a crazy person, so yeah, special is a good word for it. But seriously? Some red-head girl that I haven’t actually met yet did some spell that gave a bunch of girls some powers – slayers, or something. Cool, huh? Yeah. I think so.

So yeah. That’s about it. Just, one more thing I should give ya’ll the heads up about: don’t ever call me kitty. I get it. I go by Kat, and it makes people think of a cat and then of kitties. I’m not a warm, fuzzy, kitten! I’m a girl, not a cat! Only my Mama can call me Kitty, and even that annoys the living hell outta me. So don’t do it, thanks!!