Halloween: The Miley Cyrus of Holidays

I love holidays. I adore them. I’m totally pro-holiday.

But if there’s one holiday that makes me a tad bit uncomfortable, it’s Halloween.final

Let me explain. Christmas as a child is magical. Christmas as an adult fills you with the nostalgia of childhood and the warmth of tradition. Christmas is an all ages event. Maybe when you’re 85 you can make it about spiking the eggnog and passing out to avoid listening to your grandchildren’s squeals, but for the most part, Christmas is for families, for friends; for everyone from all walks of life.

But I will never forget my grade 12 school (but not school-sanctioned) Halloween party. Though I love ’em to death, most of my friends went as “that kind” of sailor, or superhero, or cartoon character. What did I go as? Audrey Hepburn. Audrey Hepburn, who would be rolling in her grave had she in fact found herself in that same club full of drunken teenage slutty ninja turtles.

Because, as I learned, Halloween is the Miley Cyrus of holidays. It so drastically morphs from a holiday of trick-or-treating into a drunken party for half-naked adults. And, I mean, you don’t HAVE to go get your drink on at the club with the frighteningly spandex clad version of the cast of Spongebob Squarepants, but you certainly AREN’T going to get away with trick-or-treating past the age of 19.

No, no, I’m not saying that one year you just get kicked from getting candy at the door of your neighbour’s house to getting frisked at the door to a club.  But there’s a definite pressure about the holiday to do so. You either celebrate “grown-up” Halloween, or “kid” Halloween, and when you identify as neither child or adult, it’s kind of an awkward holiday. At 15 or 16 you’re shamed if you try to celebrate either version.

That being said, I love Halloween. Or at least, the homemade balance of Halloween that works for me. I’m all about cheesy movies and candy corn. I’m all for pumpkin carving and T.V. specials, and I’ll admit to appreciating a sloppy celebration here or there. I promise you I won’t try and go begging for candy, but I’d also like to highlight the dressing-up, instead of the stripping-down. And hey, according to crazy ladies preaching the dangers of such a “satanic” celebration, we’re all going to Hell no matter how we celebrate the damn thing.

Day 5: 10 Unusual Things I Am Horrifically Awful At

31 Days of Summer: Day 5, still alive.

Yesterday I bragged about 10 unusual things I’m surprisingly good at. Today, is a different story.

10 Things I Suck At:

1. Heels

I don’t understand. I can wear pointe shoes and jump and turn and hop on them for HOURS but put me in a pair of heels and I go full newborn calf mode. I need to be either fully on top of my toes, or allowed to have my heels on the ground. None of this toes on a platform, heels on a twiggy little stick teeter-totter stuff. Where am I supposed to put my weight? Like hell do I trust that twiggy little stick to hold me up, heels, like HELL.

2. Unlocking things

I get anxiety every time someone gives me a key and tells me to go unlock something. Because 9 times out of 10 I have to try at least 3 times before I am successful. Putting the key in backwards, using the wrong key, turning the wrong way, not getting the key fully in the lock…EVERYTHING THAT CAN GO WRONG WILL GO WRONG.

3. Wearing lipstick

“You have lipstick on your teeth.” Believe me, I know all the tricks. Believe me, it still get on my teeth.

4. Escalators

I am a klutz. There. I said it. And when moving architecture is involved, I don’t do well. I need at least 5 seconds after every escalator ride to get my land legs back. They really throw me off.

5. Not laughing at inappropriate times

Everything gets funnier the more serious it is. This stems from laughing at my own faults and mistakes. For example, I think it’s hilarious when I trip wearing heels or fail at escalators or get pooped on by birds.  I CAN’T HELP IT. Life is a comedic tragedy.

6. Understanding movie plots

This is mostly a problem with action or mystery movies, where everything is happening so fast, and everything is going so terribly downhill because of some problem that I really vaguely understand, and then…WAIT it can all be fixed by something something something and IT ALL BECOMES CLEAR to the protagonist that because of something there’s a loophole in the something and if he does something with the something at some time EVERYTHING WILL BE FIXED. I mean, as I mentioned yesterday, I’ll still enjoy the movie, but I’ll be left feeling pretty confused and brain dead.

7. Giving directions

I feel like I get an abnormal amount of people coming up to me and asking for directions. I cringe every time I realize it’s about to happen because in most cases, even if said stranger is looking for directions to MY OWN STREET I’ll be completely useless. These conversations usually end with: “I think if you go that way…I THINK…er..you might want to ask someone else.” Or: “I didn’t even know that existed.” Or: “Actually, I’m lost right now too. I was going to ask you for directions.”

8. Lying to strangers

When sketchy people sit down next to me on busses or strike up conversations on the street, I am AWFUL about lying about details that I should keep to myself. Oh, you want my name? Phone number? Address? Credit card number and credit score? Sure, sure. Not a problem. I gave someone a fake phone number ONCE and didn’t get caught and it was the proudest moment of my life.

9. Getting from point A to point B efficiently

Hiking up a mountain: Why go straight up when you could take a detour around a tree and trip over this rock here, and then climb up this ridge and back down it, and stray off the trail a little bit over to this grassy section, then pass through those poison ivy bushes…

Walking across parking lots: I’ll go around this van here, and then walk through this little gardeny section, before crossing  the street right when this car is backing out , and then squeeze through a really tight space between two vehicles…repeat.

Getting to any specific section in Walmart: The sign says to go straight and then turn left, but maybe if I cut through these clothing racks, and then try and fit between these spinning jewlery displays, and then zig-zag up and down the cleaning product aisles…

10. Finding, pairing, and wearing matching socks

But…they both have stripes.

It’s gotten to the point where when I do laundry I will be satisfied to pair a light blue knee sock with a navy ankle sock because…well, they’re both in the blue family. Or say I only have this rainbow toe sock and Rudolph patterned fuzzy sock left over…well…HEY THEY COULD BE A PAIR; THEY’RE BOTH SOCKS!

Fail Friday #1: The Great…Pumpkin?

If you haven’t been on Pinterest yet, YOU ARE MISSING OUT. Everything that is cool and good and right in the world can be found there.

But basically…the food section. Am I right?

Anyways, last Halloween my dance company hosted a Halloween fundraiser with a haunted house, games and prizes, dancing, and a cake walk.

I was browsing Pinterest for fun ideas for said cake walk, and saw this:

pumpkin win

I thought: How clever! How fun! How simple! I can do that!

And um…this was the result.

pumpkin fail

Pinterest: 1 Kat: 0

I remember my mom coming into the kitchen just as a chunk of the cake detached and splatted onto the floor in all it’s orange icingy glory.

“Well,” she began, trying to contain her laughter, “you could always put some gummy worms in it and turn it into a ‘rotten pumpkin’ kind of thing?”

And that’s when I knew I had failed.

Needless to say, I spared my cake from being the last picked at the cake walk and learned that dear Pinterest can be VERY MISLEADING. (Though this leads to hilarious moments. Some. Fuxking. Hilarious. Moments.)

Can you spot 5 differences between these two photos?

Can you spot 5 differences between these two photos?

Oh friends, there is nothing funnier than failure.

The Monday Cheer-Up #1: Sail Cat

So. The unthinkable has happened. It is Monday. Seven days have passed and it’s back like a boomerang.

But to that I say…

Having a bad Monday?

Now you’re not.

This video is apparently old news, but when I saw it for the first time last week (and then the second time, followed by the third time…etc.) I DIED. If laughter is the best medicine, this video is my drug dealer. I haven’t laughed so hard in…maybe a year…maybe my entire life.

The best part is, I have the kind of laughter that is absolutely debilitating. Complete loss of control of any and all muscle function. Collapse to the floor.

I also have what’s known as “laughter aftershock”, where anytime I think about the video; be it in class, on a bus, lying awake at night, or riding a camel on Mars, I lose it all over again.

It’s just…THE BUILDUP. I was laughing within a second and it wasn’t even at the epic jump yet. As a dancer, I truly appreciate this flawless and accidental display of cat choreography. (Catreography?)

Alright then, hope that helps you SAIL through your Monday.

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” –Papa Shakes (Shakespeare)

Meet The Cats

Alright, maybe this is moving a bit too fast, but…it’s just…I really like you, and I want to share myself with you. I want you to meet the cats.

Don’t be intimidated. They don’t bite. (That’s a lie.)

Mistoffolees and Shyloh:shykat

When I was in grade 3, my mom let my sister and I adopt cats. Prior to the pair, we had one tabby named Bacall and a black cat named Bogie, but Bogie had already passed away, and Bacall was getting lonely.

Mistoffolees was “mine”, though we all know cats have no true owners, and Shyloh was my sister’s. Misto is named after Magical Mr. Mistoffolees, from the musical Cats, though she is a girl. It was really one of my better pet names, considering “Slippery Belle” the hamster, and “Mary-Kate” the boy mouse.

Anyways, Misto and Shyloh are now 10 year old tortie sister cats, and I love ’em to death. I even forgive them for making a meal out of “Oreo”, who was not a cookie, but in fact, another mouse. (RIP Oreo, I did love you too.)catcontest

I can’t count how many times I have come home and just buried my face in cat after a long and frustrating day. They don’t ask me what’s wrong, why I look so awful, or tell me to stop using them as kleenexes; instead they just lie there and purr even more. They can’t relate to my silly human life, and it’s nice to know that none of it concerns them and they’re really quite unaffected by all of it.

I don’t know. Cats are just great. They don’t take shit from anyone, and all’s forgiven as soon as you feed them dinner. They’re moody and weird but, hey, aren’t we all? THEY’RE FLUFFY. THEY LIKE YOU. AND THEY MAKE HAPPY NOISES THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY. This is why I don’t understand the “crazy” that comes with the “cat lady” title. In my opinion, you’d have to be crazy not to love them.

And to my original kitties, Bogie and Bacall, may you rest in peace. (Not like that’s not 99% of what you did whilst alive, anyways, but hey, whatever makes you happy in Cat Heaven)

X’s and Oh Dear’s: A Journey Through My Elementary School Love Life

This post is part of the “Blogging from A-Z April Challenge”! The “X” themed inspiration for today is “XO.” Enjoy this embarrasing look into the boy-crazed days of my youth (Kindergarten-grade 7):

I kept things pretty chill for Kindergarten, but by the time grade 1 struck, I was madly in love.

His name was George (no it wasn’t, but the first rule of elementary school crushes is to go to the grave without giving them away, so all names have been slightly changed.) Looking back, he was nothing special, and yet, he was the first.

Tall, (for a first grader), dark, and handsome, I like to think George was a strong, silent, troubled-artist type in the making. I don’t remember much more than that about him, just that the first time he talked to me was after I had gotten a nose-bleed from plugging my nose while hiding behind the garbage can in hide-and-seek at recess. I was sitting in class with the TA’s kleenexed finger shoved up my nose when he came over and asked what happened to me.

I was too shy to say anything, and, you know, I had someone’s finger in my nose, so the TA replied, “she fought a bear…and won.” I don’t think George was very impressed, but no matter, by the last day of class we were holding hands, sitting on top of our desks watching “Return to Oz”, and I was in Heaven. George switched schools after grade one and I never saw him again. Except that the world is a creepy, creepy place, and he somehow found me on Facebook. (All of the guys I mention in this post are my friends on Facebook and how I WISH I could insert pictures of them…but no, Kat, that’s terrifying and illegal.)

In grade two, I was left not only boy-less, but friendless due to the departure of my two besties. I remember begging the universe to send me a best friend and a boyfriend, and I kid you not, within a week we had two new Australian students. Catherine, my new best friend, and Damon, my new love interest. Thus began my lifelong love of Australians. (Seriously, they are all amazing.)

Damon and I would play this game every recess break with a few other kids where we pretended to be puppies. One day, puppy-Damon and puppy-Kat both got run over by a car and had to be sent to the corner of the schoolyard, (the “vet’s office”), to heal. We just lay there together, cuddling, and it was really weird, (puppy love, folks, literally) , so after recess I decided I didn’t like Damon anymore and quit “The Puppy Game.”

Unfortunately Damon didn’t take this too well, and called my house that night, leaving a voicemail saying, “Hi, it’s Damon. I was just wondering if Kat was still playing the puppy game?” My parents couldn’t make out anything other than “Kat”, because of his Australian accent, and I was mortified and told them I had no idea who it was or what he was saying.

I avoided Damon for the rest of grade 2, until he told everyone he had to go back to Australia and gave me a really cute Valentine’s day card, but by the time I wanted to get back together, he was gone. (Notice a recurring theme here?)

Tell me that doesn't melt your heart.

Tell me that doesn’t melt your heart.

In grade 3, it was the new student, Matthew, that caught my eye. He came in halfway through the year and liked my friend, Ali, because they happened to have the same last name. I was heartbroken. Also, it was weird, and felt mildly incestuous of them, so by the end of grade 3, Ali was no longer my friend, and I was on to bigger and better boys.


Yeah, grade 3 was a lonely year.

Such as Randall, the man of my dreams in grade 4. (I’m not going to lie to you, I’m still kind of in love with this kid; he was my first long-term secret soul mate, and yes, he’s a babe now.) This was bad timing on my part because Randall had been super into me in grade 3, but now that I was over Matthew, he was over me. My best friend Catherine (the Australian!) had a crush on Randall’s best friend, Jack, so WE COULD HAVE HAD THE CUTEST DOUBLE DATES, but it totally didn’t work out for either of us.

Randall was a sort of dweeby, skinny brunette, but he had the best smile in the world, and this laugh that make his face scrunch up in a funny way, like he was trying to hide that he was laughing. I remember the first time I noticed it, when he went up to hand in his math homework at the front of the class. I melted.

In grade 5 I continued to be in love with Randall, and it became one of those things where I was totally fine with telling everyone, EXCEPT for Randall, so I mean, obviously he knew. But we never talked about it, and in grade 6, I was over him (well, over him for the first time.)

Because in grade 6, things got steamy. KENTON: A new kid with flippy blonde hair, no upper lip, and a cute, slurred voice that made him sound constantly drunk. Grade 6 also saw the invention of MSN chat, so you can bet, every night I was alllll over that, getting WAY too excited whenever his name popped up online. I have vivid memories of listening to “Collide” by Howie Day, and sending excessive smiley face emoticons to Kenton.

At the beginning of grade 6, one of our teachers mentioned that we might have a dance at the end of the year, and that thought made us all crazy. It was all we talked about. A month into the school year, the first boy had already asked his crush to the dance, and the pressure was on. Of course, one of my friends spilled to Kenton that I was head-over-heels for him, and he asked her if I would say yes if he asked me, and so she came and asked me for him. I was terrified, and though I loved him, I liked to do so from afar, and couldn’t deal with ACTUALLY dating a boy, in grade 6 no less. So she told him no for me, and within 3 days he had asked out a different girl. Typical.

Anyways, the dance didn’t end up happening, because the teachers got really weirded-out about how intensely we were fretting over it, and in the end, all that pressure had been for naught.

In grade 7 I fell back in love with Randall, but he knew, and he made fun of me for it. We didn’t end up going to the same high school, but he did end up making out with my best friend at a party before the summer of grade 8. Not cool.

Thus ended myelementary school crush timeline, and I entered high school, never to see most of the above boys again. But I’m not going to lie, I can still truthfully say I have a soft spot for quiet boys, Australian boys, nerdy boys, boys with weird voices, and boys that don’t like me. So, maybe, even though I’ve long since gotten over the kids listed here, things don’t really change that much.


(Also…call me?)

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To The Weirdos,

This post is part of the “Blogging from A-Z April Challenge”! The “W” themed inspiration for today is “weirdo.” Enjoy!

Dear Weirdos of The World,

Keep doing what you’re doing; it’s freaky and I like it.

…Well, for the most part. Some of you are just absolutely terrifying.

Here are a few brief letters to my favorite and least favorite weirdos that I’ve had the pleasure/misfortune of noticing/interacting with.

Dear elderly woman who walks around downtown, whispering to a pet chicken you push around in a stroller,

It’s messed up. It’s also kind of cute.


I like it. I don’t get it, but I like it. We all need to love someone, and if that someone is a chicken, I’m still all for it. If it was of the Kentucky-fried variety, however, I would be concerned. But this makes me happy. There is genuine love in your eyes and it moves me a little bit, like a really messed up abstract art installation that I don’t understand but really, truly, appreciate.

Dear man who followed me on the subway and then chased me down the street with an orange screaming, “I love you! I don’t have flowers, but take the orange!”,




I don’t want your orange, I don’t want your love, and I REAAAALLLY don’t want you running after me.


No way in Hell I’m telling you my name.

Dear couple that approached me at the drugstore to ask if I was interested in egg donation,

So, the answer was NO, but I still can’t help but feel touched that you “want your child to look like me.” Actually, that’s very weird and creepy and your approach was probably not the best, but I do think you’re quite nice anyways, and I wish you two the best of luck.

Also, I’m insane, hopelessly klutzy, and my hair does some freaky stuff, so you dodged a bullet on that one.

Dear gentleman who apparently came into work at least once a week and was able to recite my last 30 nail polish colours IN ORDER,

What? I mean…WHAT? I mean, thanks…for noticing? I will say that I’d feel a bit guilty, though, if you forgot some actually important things because you used all your brain space to memorize what nail colours I’ve worn.

So I would just…you know, take it easy on that if you like.

I imagine this is what the inside of your brain looks like, and it’s concerning.

Dear Korean couple roommates from Toronto that I met on Craigslist,

The fact that the only time I understand you is when you’re grunting in the shower late at night, is kind of an issue. Not because your English is exceptionally rough, but because I need to use that shower in the morning.

Dear nun on the bus that tried to get me to become a sister,

If you were really able to get me to change the entire direction of my life AND become religious in the time it takes to drive two bus stops down the road, I wouldn’t think you would want me in the church anyways. Because I would have to be a complete nutcase.

(Like you.)

Dear homeless man who got me to role-play “Polar Express” on the subway on Christmas Eve,

A pretty accurate visual of what went down.

Yup, best day of my life. It’s like you read my mind. There’s nothing like a real life chorus of “Hot Chocolate” with (slightly less graceful) acrobatics on the most magical day of the year in the strangest place in the world.

P.S. Are you Santa Claus?


Dear man who chased me down the street yelling at me to tie my shoe,

For example, if this is you, you can stop running; I’m not going anywhere.

First of all, you guys have got to understand that chasing women down streets works in 0% of situations, unless you are an attractive male actor in a movie who just realized the love of his life is getting away from him. Which you are not. Also, whatever point you are trying to get across, does not get across, because YOU ARE CHASING ME DOWN THE STREET AND THAT’S TERRIFYING. Furthermore, I know my shoelace is untied, and I would love to stop and tie it, but unfortunately I’m trying to avoid being potentially murdered by you.



Dear taxi driver that wants me to choreograph a “Hip-hop/bollywood/jazz/ballet fusion solo that also incorporates breakdancing”,

If you let me add a little flamenco and give me my cab ride free, it’s a done deal.


And perhaps most importantly:

Dear Kat,

You’re writing a letter to yourself, so that in itself constitutes weirdness.

I must say I wish you were a bit more “weird in a cute way” than “weird in an old lady living under a bridge, collecting animal carcasses from along the highway, naming them, and pretending they are her children, type of way,” but hey, at least you’re not normal.

Much love, kitty.

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(Also…X tomorrow? There’s a whopping FOUR words in the dictionary that begin with X. Excellent. Or should I say…X-ellant?)