recipe for a perfect day:

10 year old boots
2 pairs of socks
1 pair of stirrup pants
1 pair of blue jeans
1 tank top
1 short sleeve shirt
1 long sleeve shirt
1 hooded sweater
1 pea coat
2 gloves
1 scarf
1 faux fur hat

We'll get back to that.
This week Lauren, Berly, and myself moved into the most perfect house in Atlanta. Beautiful historic streets, skeleton key locks, mail delivery by foot... I cannot think of one single downside.
Lots of people helped us. Lots of strapping young men and women.
Have I ever mentioned how stressful moving is?

We had a house warming/ happy birthday Lauren party last night.
Parties aren't really my thing, but it was quite enjoyable.
Someone went #2 in my toilet and didn't flush. I'm not complaining or anything. Conservation is key.

All of that accumulates to today: the most perfect day of a truly fantastic week. The day that I had set aside for hours and hours of homework.
I arose to a phone call around 11:30 (don't judge... I couldn't sleep last night), inviting me to come sledding in Piedmont Park. "Sledding? In Georgia?" I asked.
I hadn't looked outside yet. Our little city was blanketed in a thin, unfamiliar, and welcomed layer of snow.
If you've been living here for the past 16 years as I have, you know how uncommon this is.
In which case, do you remember the blizzard of '93? Glorious.


I was picked up by my friend Daniel, along with 3 adorable children from Vine City, and driven to the house he and his wife live in. Then we walked roughly a mile (maybe) to the park. We mostly ran in excitement.
Somewhere around 100 people were running up and sliding down this hill in garbage bags, laundry baskets, and cookie sheets.
It didn't even occur to me how ghetto we all are. It was that intoxicating.





The Trinity congregation was ever present. Big thumbs-up.

(+ many)

After a few runs down the hill, things progressed to a Trinity-wide snowball fight at the top. After being hit in both eyes (pictured below)

(um... ouch), a large group of adults surrounded us and waged war. For about an hour we plotted, advanced, and retreated. People that we would normally never stop to talk to became our amiable enemies.
A nicely dressed man walking in solitude under an umbrella, talking on his phone, was assaulted by a dozen of us (not me... I'm not cruel). In a split second he had tucked, rolled, and retaliated using his umbrella as a shield. That was the closest I've ever been to a laugh-cry. He was a champ.

A finely primped newscaster gentleman posed with some children on the hill. They shot a few takes of him pushing the kids on their boogy-boards down the makeshift slope. By that, I mean that they sailed for about a solid foot, and then face planted from the friction.
Then he was assaulted with snowballs. By Trinity. Naturally.



Fast forward to hot chocolate, pajamas, pizza, and nostalgia at Kyle/Blaine/Ian/Casey/Jon's house. Old friends and new neighbors.





In conclusion, we have God to thank. By sending one single inch of snow, He slowed down a hardened city and brought Atlanta together for a day.
And also, by providing Kyle with talent and a camera, this fine day was able to be documented.

surprise.

from...


to...


when it should look like...


It's a long story:
I read up about the toxicity of red dyes and decided to end the cycle of hair funk. After 4 years. Hardly anyone knows me as a non-red-head.
Against my better judgment, I went to my mom's hairdresser.
I should have turned and ran when she said, "You'll like him, katie. He has holes in his jeans!"

Well, dudebro didn't listen to one single word I said.
Without a word he sat me down and put these nasty blond highlights in my head. Let me clarify: bleach blond zebra stripes on top of a red base. The kind that scream "WHERE'S THE MALL!?"
After breaking down in tears in front of him, he slathered a higher concentrate of bleach all over my head. The suburban moms made passive aggressive remarks to me for questioning the brilliance of such a hip man.
After I asked him to leave my hair the same length, he started snipping away. "I'm just shaping things up," he said. "I'm giving you the illuuuuuuusion of long hair".


Now, it's not so bad...
But the point was to go to my natural hue.
I never wanted to do this again, but now I'm forced to start a whole new cycle.
There were plenty of things I could have done instead. In the long run, now I've probably poisoned my brain far more than I ever did before.
Not to mention that my hair is so brittle that I've been instructed to never touch it again.


This is why I don't do salons. They're so "artistic" that it kills their pride when someone knows what they want. If he had told me that he was going to make me look like a Bratz doll, I wouldn't have had to have my hair done twice in 5 hours.

I'm farther away from where I planned to be. But it's fine.
I'm just a little bummed about being in and of a world obsessed with illusion.



I'll say this: waking up this morning was SHOCKING!

provoked.

i got hit hard; i'm on the ground.
and if you swing again i'll duck.
and i wish you the best of luck.
you deserve yourself,
and i'll return from my trip to hell
as a headless horseman.

cause, oh, what a loss.
i went back to get my stuff
and it was tangled up and tough.
i stood there and stood you down,
and walked aimlessly around
with a flaming pumpkin head

oh, what a loss.
your soft hands replaced by claws.
you turn me into a stray dog,
from a mighty human man

oh, what a loss.
oh, what a loss.
i miss my closest friend.
and now i cling to rocks and wind.
it's a precious thing we lost.

-The Microphones.



I think we all know that I've never really been one for romance. My fanatical views on chastity and my relational incompetence send me running away from... let's call them pursuers... the moment that intentions turn the slightest shade of pink.
But somehow, about once a year, I commit myself to a truly complicated friendship.
I tend to become supremely attached to these boys. In return, these boys often grow to be rather fond of me in a supremely platonic way. Much like a baby sister. Or a tree.
Things never sour. They never disappoint, and I never change. However, things unfailingly come to a screeching halt when they discover that daylight's wasting, and there are pretty girls all around. I don't know if I'll ever get out of this cycle.

This song always provokes the same memories in me.


Now, I don't think I'm a bad looking lady. I certainly think that I have a pleasant personality.
So, when will you dudes wise up? Seriously.







Sometime soon I'll blog about what is actually consuming my thoughts.
Atlanta, how criminal you are.

Dear Trinity Vineyard musicians,

The Hymns album is so great.

Dear Cameron (because somehow you're always the first the read and respond to this blog),
'Tis So Sweet gets stuck in my head all the time. Maybe more than I'd like. Joke. I need more!

And in case a Reardon ever reads this... Jen... Go To Dark Gethsemane... you're such a beautiful lady.



Saturday afternoon Kyle and I (mostly Kyle) recorded the instruments for the Ingrid Michealson song "The Way I Am" for my little sister. She will be singing it in a beauty pageant at the end of this month. I can't wait to see it.
Does anyone want to go see her in the Miss Starr's Mill competition with me? I just know that you've been dying to get your glitter fix.

What a talented community.

Happy Christmas.

I became a Christian when I was 14 -almost 15- years old. Since then, I've had nice thoughts about how we should take care of the planet.


You know, pretending to be environmentally aware isn't nearly as fun as actually walking out the simple steps that everyone can take to care for our brothers and sisters across the globe. It seems so beyond us, but the reality that we can make such subtle differences in our environment has really been transforming me into an optimistic person.

I'm reading this book called, "Serve God, Save the Planet". You probably should, too.

Early this morning, between snooze buttons, I had a pleasant mini-dream.
I was married to someone that I respect.
We planted a tree in the backyard.
As unrealistic as it may have been, it was nice to finally have a dream that didn't end in violence.


Dear Klaus,
Even though you knocked over the Christmas tree, breaking about a dozen ornaments, you have been especially cute lately. Thanks for being nice to my friends. Your ears smell funny, but your fur is so soft that I could cry. I'm really glad that your tiny head is propped up on my arm, but I have to go to the bathroom... so stop being so adorable.
Love forever,
katie.

does this make me a bad person? spoiler alert... this may ruin The Bible for you.

I fell asleep at like 9:30, and woke back up around 2:30.
All of that to say, I have a bunch of energy and nothing to really do with it at this hour.
So... I'm watching Passion of the Christ... which I've been avoiding since its release. But here I am.


We haven't left the garden of Gethsemane yet, but I mean... I'm already... you know... eh?
This is my critique as a card-carrying Christian. Because I know you care.

First four things that come to mind. Here we go:
1. Who decided to put a bunch of musical theater majors in front of a camera? Tone it down on the drama, guys.
2. I'm quite positive that they filmed the slow-motion parts by actually acting in slow-motion.
3. Lucifer is the creeeeeeeepiest drag queen ever.
4. Who authorized the plucking of Mary Magdalene's eyebrows?

I just read on wikipedia that this movie has the highest grossing soundtrack in the history of all soundtracks.
I'm imagining that some people feel closer to God when they play it over the church loud speakers...?
Or when they tote their Passion of the Christ Bibles in their knitted Bible bags.
I'm actually really curious to find out if those Bibles have the actual scriptures written inside... or the scriptures according to Mel Gibson.

I don't know. Something about all of that is just unsettling to me.


Sarcasm aside:
Judas is doing pretty well as an actor. I feel his guilt. Chapped lips and all. You can actually see a giant cavity in the back of his mouth right before he takes the plunge. That's more like it.
And Pilate is off the chain. He is the only one who doesn't stop every 5 syllables to read the prompt screen.
I had to shrink the screen when the violence would start up. It's helpful to not romanticize Christ's experiences (especially with His death) the way that we so culturally do in America.

All in all, it wasn't a cinematic masterpiece for me.

However, I am thankful for the opportunity to reflect on my Lord.
I was able to experience a lot of truth in the last 2 hours.
I just wish it hadn't been coupled with straight teeth and italian contessas.



I think my eyeballs are going to explode.

you know...

I really like the feeling of being hungry. I have a comfortable life, and I don't take the opportunity to feel that sensation very often.

It reminds me of all the things I've read or heard about the way we Americans eat. If we're not full, we'll eat.
I mean, that's cool and all... but being hungry won't kill you. I mean... it can... but if you're like me, then it won't.

I haven't always felt this way. Growing up, at least 6 people very close to me suffered from "if-i-can't-see-my-rib-cage-boys-won't-validate-my-existence-disease".
Then I acquired a step-family and learned that there is also an "all-body-mass=fat-maybe-i-could-score-some-pity-action-disease".

So, I've always been a bit of an over-eater. Maybe just to prove that looking good is cool... but tasting good is better.

But a late-night grumbling tummy is a happy tummy.