Back row Buffalo

As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have man hands... and large rear end. It doesn't take a scientist to realize that I am not a small girl. I am about 5'9" or 5' 10", depending on the gas station I'm standing in when I measure myself against the door. I inherited my mother's childbearing hips and thighs [yeah for biology!]
I have been a big girl from a small age. I was never petite. I used to wish I could be one of those girls that was about 5'2" and weighted a buck oh 5. But I'm not. I like to think of myself as an Amazon woman... but not as scary


In high school, I was in the show choir. I can box step to a show tune with bright lights in my face with the best of them... or at least with the mediocre of them... Imagine the show Glee without the slushies, sexual tension, glitter, drama, and stereotypical characters [really? a quarterback who sings, plays an instrument, AND is good looking? soooo refreshing!]. In choir, I stood in the back row for all four years. If I had stood in the front row, those adorable little girls may age who wore size zeros through high school and were cold in 90 degree weather because they have not body fat would have been hidden by my amazon frame. So, I stood in the back with the other big girls. We lovingly called ourselves the back row buffalos. And then cried in the bathroom... 


It was spirit week my freshmen year. Pajama day was monday and it was my favorite day of the week. What's not great about getting to wear pajama pants, comfy sweatshirt and slippers all day long?! Add a pillow and snuggie and you would have the best day of school ever. So there I was freshmen year. I was wearing my Horton Hears a Who pants with a sweatshirt, feeling as comfortable as ever. I went to choir and we began rehearsing. I was in the back, as always, jazz-handing to 'Fever!'. We did a step turn and that's when it happened. I step turned on the bottom of my pants and felt my Dr. Suess bottoms slip to my thighs. I tried to quickly jump off the back of the risers so I could fix my pants and avoid an embarrassing moment.  


But, the risers were pressed against a wall. I jump turned into a wall of mirrors and ricocheted back down the risers. The back row buffalo went charging down into the rows of peppy oompa-loompas.  I fell in front of these petite high schoolers with my pants around my knees. National geographic would play this scene in slow motion, demonstrating the power of natural selection. And whatever hope I had of being a tall, cool, Amazon woman were washed away with the laughter of my peers. Nothing like my large rear end covered in unflattering underwear to end a potential career as a cool kid. But maybe I kissed that hope goodbye when I wore Dr. Suess pants...

awkward caressing

Human contact. It can break the ice, freak us out, make us happy, tell someone they are awesome [high-five!], and in general, human contact helps us communicate how we feel. People write songs about human contact, people crave human contact, people use it inappropriately at times. I am the latter. 

Freshmen year of college. If you think I'm awkward now, 3-4 years post college, you should have seen me freshmen year. Trying to make new friends, learning to live on my own, doing laundry by myself, learning that suggesting "Jersey Girl" for movie night is not well received, drinking wine through a Twizzler straw.... oh, just some of the mine fields I had to navigate through my freshmen year.

So, early in the semester, I was sitting in a meeting. I zoned out from whatever we were talking about and starting people watching around the room. I noticed the guy in front of me had really pretty hair. This isn't one of those, 'he was so handsome, I couldn't take my eyes off him....'. I just legitimately thought he had really pretty hair. It was about shoulder length, chestnut-auburn colored, and really shiny. Not 'hasn't showered in a month', but 'I use nice shampoo and probably conditioner'. Sitting in the meeting, I was just thinking about how soft his hair must be, wondering what shampoo he used, noticing that the lights made his hair sparkle a little. 

Gentle viewers, you may think that I'm being a bit creepy but two things: 1) yeah, I am a bit creepy and 2) this meeting was really boring and I tend to zone out a lot during meetings like this. So, cut me some slack and don't judge. 

Finally the meeting ending. I stood up at the same time as shiny hair boy in front of me. He semi turned around the grab his things and his hair look so bouncy and shiny...

And that's when it happened. My hand became a separate entity from my body, reached out in front of me and ran it's fingers through a strangers hair. Time stopped, he looked up, I stared at my hand and then at him.  

Side note: What the heck do you say when something that awkward happens? How do you respond? Are there any words that can help one recover?

No. But here's what I said:

"Hi, you have really nice hair... I'm Katie, nice to meet you?"

Is it? Is it nice to meet me? Probably not... 

Beer Pants

Beer. It's like liquid bread... or liquid gold. It makes pizza better, football games bearable, people more attractive, and bellies tubbier. Beer is the subject of my story.

The other night, I went to a college football game with some co-workers. We tailgated before the game and were having a really good time. Let me take a time-out on the field to explain that it was about 97 degrees outside. And you have never felt humidity like we have in the Ohio Valley. Seriously, walking outside is like jumping in a lake... a lake full of sweat and stickiness. Grossed out? You should be, the humidity up here is nasty.

Anyway, we were outside in the hot weather, generally having a good time. We then walked to the stadium, walked up the 8 flights of steps to our seats [not joking] and watched the game. The sun was beating on us and I was sweating like [to use the proper term] a 'mo-fo'.

During the game, my friend Dot laughed and spilt some of her beer in my lap. No biggie though. It just looked like I peed my pants. But, I figured it was so hot anyway and I already smelled disgusting because I was so hot that I didn't care. The beer would eventually dry and I would live. I went about the night, my team lost the game, but other than that, I had a really good time :)

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed and threw on some pants. Now, let me stop you right now before you start judging. How many people wear pants multiple times before they wash them. Show of hands.... that's right, EVERYBODY wears pants a few times before you wash them. It's a basic instinct we pick up in college when we realize that drying pants takes way more quarters, so wash them sparingly.

So, I put on some pants from the floor of my room and went to my internship. At my internship, I helped set up for a festival downtown and had to lug boxes from the parking garage to my booth. Again, the humidity of the Ohio Valley was intense and I was sweating.... again. I then went to my real job and worked at the computer.

Once I sat down for a bit, typing up some case notes, I realized that I smelled funny. I secretly did the 'pit check'.... nope, not my pits, I definitely put on deodorant and do not stank.

But I kept smelling it. It was like sweat and....

beer. It was sweaty pants with dried beer. I wore my nasty beer pants for an entire day in a professional setting. I was officially disgusting....

Moral of the story: Beer is not always your friend. Sure, it seems like you and beer will always have a good time, but then it stays around for too long. It hangs out on the crotch of your pants, making you feel  gross and sad. That's what beer will do to you, children.