Katie Schwartz

so, my day job is writing queer ass content. it's just such a gosh darn great use of my writing talent. fucking hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it. but a girl's gotta make a living, doesn't she?! today, I spoke to one o' them plastic surgery sites. the guy said, "we need implant, reduction and vaginal rejuvenation content. do you know anything about those topics? Specifically vaginal rejuvenation?" "enlighten me." I says tah him. he goes on, in painstaking detail about drooping pussies, lip lightening and sculpting, etc. etc." I squeezed my legs together. I was so freaked out! I'm not a hypochondriac. I fear death. There is a difference. I said, "how do I know if my down there is drooping? like what are the symptoms?" as he droned on, I dropped my pants, grabbed a compact and threw my legs in the air, TERRIFIED I HAD A DROOPING POOKIE. I became so stressed out, I said, "I have my vagina in front of me. Can I pleas...

I am so busy, I feel like Moses had an easier time parting the seas. also. today when I stopped at the market for coffee, ya know, to brew; even though I suck so hard at making coffee, I wanted cheese and crackers so desperately, I wanted to burst into tears. I mean it. My cravings are at a psychotic all time high. My fantasy plan was to buy gobs and gobs of that gorgeous extra sharp cheddar cheese and butter biscuits and stuff my face until I felt supreme guilt. And of course I would've promised myself that I'd start tomorrow. My innards burned, I wanted it that badly. But I didn't. fuck.

you can bathe with him, too. his preference is twenty-somethings . date jesus

This morning in the news: A female ex-postal worker opened fire at a mail processing plant, killing six people before committing suicide It was bad enough I saw a girl in leg warmers Sunday. Now this?! And the suicide, that is sooo hack. Get creative. If you really want to push the envelope, pull out all the stops, and show people just what you're made of!

funny, no?

a drug addict, I'd probably roll out with prescription drugs. It's the perfect fat free high! sadly, I'm a wuss. I love the smell of beer on a man's breath. what does all of this say about cratie mortz?!

when I said: I would stuff myself with pie until I was so neaseaus that I never wanted pie again. what I mean is that I would wait at least a month before going down, no-boundary-pie-lane. I WOULD never give up pie for good.

I WANT CHOCOLATE CREAM PIE!

I just want to make it clear that I'd space out the types of pies hourly. Chocolate cream pie would be hour one. I think next, for hour two, I'd eat apple. It's kind of one of those checklist pies more then a desire pie. Third hour, I'd eat the peach slices. Fourth hour, key lime all the way... But now I really want chocolate cream pie over all those fucking stupid pies. That's the one I really want. A WHOLE CHOCOLATE CREAM PIE!

If I could eat a whole pie right now, I would. But here's what I'd do. I'd have three slices of chocolate cream pie. Three slices of key lime pie. One slice of apple pie, HOT, and two slices of peach pie, HOT. Those three slices of apple and peach would be eaten with vanilla ice cream. ONLY THOSE SLICES. That's a total of eight slices of pie. I would stuff myself with pie until I was so neaseaus that I never wanted pie again. FUCK. I WANT PIE. I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate dieting. I hate it.

is Katie Schwartz. Is it difficult to pronounce?! I've been called: lady hortz katie schwanz hatie shorts cratie morts what mother is going to spend a hundred hours in labor and name their kid, cratie morts...

I HATE, and I mean HATE, Let’s play what-if-your-husband-loses-a-limb-goes-blind-develops-an-allergy-to-pussy, et al.” This is how I want to spend my evening? Pondering acceptable handicaps my fictitious husband may or may not get. Why do we women do this? I had dinner with a girlfriend last night and she kept wanting to play the handy game. It makes me crazy.

It's odd when people laugh at all of the, here’s-the-manual-for-what’s-funny, things, isn't it?

I don’t like it here so much. I try. But, I'm homesick a lot. I don’t fit in, not that I want too, or try too. I have accepted that this is where I am for now, not forever, just for now. Living across the street from my sister is GREAT. It’s our little slice o’ Brooklyn. Coffee on the stoop and all. I used to write on stoops. It was one of my favorite things to do. And run the Hudson. I started in Chelsea, ran through Stuyvesant Square and ended at Central Park West, where I would get a cup of vendor coffee every morning. I was so happy. I’m not the enlightened type either. Enlightenment is all the rage in Los Angeles. Everyone’s doing it, and being of service. Not sure what that means. Sounds hookeree-for-the-poor. It sure is a popular catch phrase. Along with, I’m in my truth. I don’t get that at all, but I hear it all the time. It’s so staring-at-myself-in-the-mirror-while-cutting, isn’t it?

my sister is getting married in 7 weeks. my parents are severly divorced. there's a dress... a good one. I gotta stop eating. anxiety. It's a killer, ain't it?! valium. Yes, I think I'll roll out with that. although, is that really the best situation to take valium for the first time? I wrote something for my sister that I have to read. I have the worst stage fright. Talking in front of people freaks me out. God knows how I read my essays in front of people. Oh, that's right, I vomit first. I'm not a drinker. I'm the only jew in the family who doesn't really drink. I need a new keyboard. My keys are sticking. I hate this laptop. my best friend, Katie is going to be there, but my other best friend, Izzy isn't. he has a prior engagement that he can't get out of. I have a funny, great family. still. My parents are severly divorced. But so fun to hang out with. my three brothers are coming too. great guys. Ben is selling ad space on his forehead to a...

I found a spider the size of my face in my apartment three days ago. The bug made me feel fat, dirty, cheap and poor. He was gargantuan. I put a garbage can over it in the hopes of suffocating it. I felt like such a killer, but I had to make a decision. It was either me or the bug. Were my actions premeditated? Unfortunately there was no time to ponder and reflect. A few hours later, with a bag in one hand and a handful of paper towels in the other, I was ready to remove the can and find out if my plan worked. It did. He was lying on his back in the fetal position. I felt guilty, which quickly dissolved into nausea, and fear because now I had to remove the evidence. After several failed attempts with my roll of paper towels and garbage bags, I decided to sweep the bug into a dust pan. But as I went to do that, the idea of bug carcass on my broom flipped me out big time. I had to go back to my paper towel plan. I thought if I grabbed a leg using 50 paper towels then I wouldn’t feel the ...

looks like a cabbage patch kid. agreed?

smoking, I had this insatiable desire to compulsively lift things, not steal, just lift. There is a difference you know.

I wonder why people say anal and retentive together as a phrase. Does it come from an ass reflex that I’m unaware of? I wonder who came up with the phrase and the origin.

never sneeze in front of a fan.

Well, it's true. Cat's out of the bag. I have my first non-food related addiction. My crackberry. When I first got it, I was too much of a wuss to use it. I was scurred. It seemed so overwhelming. But one day, I picked up the manual and started reading about it. I even took a 3D-creepy-geek-tour. The minute I plugged that sweet berry into my USB drive to charge, we bonded. I couldn't stop spinning the wheel, clicking, spinning, clicking and spinning. Before I knew it, I was aggregating three email addresses, multi-tasking with tasks and calling everyone in the free world, including Cingular for support. My vulva lips fell out when I was automatically redirected to crackberry support. I called six more times JUST TO MAKE SURE it really existed and wasn't a dream. My crackberry is always there. She rarely lets me down, unless I have no emails for long periods of time. But I realized that I could just aggregate more email addresses to hit the spot. I jones for it when it...

My lil’ post about homeschooling caused such agida. You would think I told Christians to abort their babies, neo-Nazis to marry black-Jew Koreans and gay people to convert to heterosexual-ism. The research was accurate and the opinion was and remains my own. You can find facts and statistics from expert sources to support or denounce any cause. What struck me was the intensity of hate and rage directed at me from Doc and Doc’s readers. Did I say, “live your life my way?” No. I disagreed and that got me, Idiot of the day on Doc’s Blog. For affect, she also called me a stupid moron and a coward, a waste of tax dollars. What does she do for an encore, skin me alive and burn me at the stake. She also made the assumption that I was a public school graduate. I attended public and private schools and I am a proponent of both. I mentioned that in my homeschool post. Doc also assailed Carrie. She made Idiot of the day, too, for her articulate and smart piece against homeschooling . What I could...

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FACTS ABOUT HOMESCHOOLING There are between 1.5-2.0 million home-schooled students Home education comprises roughly 3-4% of all school-aged children Home-schooling continues to grow approximately 10% per year Approximately 80% of parents are home-schooling with only a high school education Home-schoolers are more rural than average Approximately 90% of home-schoolers are non-minorities Approximately three-fourths of home-schoolers would identify themselves as Christians People home school because it minimizes negative socialization People home school because of their desire to transmit a particular set of values to their children Another fact to note is that socialization for home school kids is primarily with other home school kids. If the majority of home school kids are educated by parents with a high school diploma, how is that better then a public or private school education? Of equal concern is the fear that values differ from those taught at home. So what. Why the lack of trust ...

I swear this is my last canine post, cause I'm not one of those creepy dog owning chicks. Louie is just hilar... This picture is when Louie was 4 months old. We were driving through Jersey enroute to Philly to hang with one o' my girls for the weekend. We stopped for a scoop at an ice cream joint. A two toned Cadillac pulled up. Out saunters a couple in matching parachute sweat ensembles. Her with BIG HAIR and snappin' bubble gum. Him with a fabulous belly, the kind that makes a girl stop in her tracks and say, "yummy." She screams, "oh my gaahd. It's Elliot Gould." I love Elliot Gould, so I whip my head around. No sign of Elliot. She walks over to me and says, "it's Elliot Gould." I says tah her, "where?" She says, "on yah leash!" "Oh, can we please get a picture with him? Please?!" So, I obliged, of course and while I'm snapping the picture with Louie smiling in the center of two Joiseyites, she says,...

so, I took louie vincenzo to the park this afternoon and while I was tossing the rope across the patch of grass, my sweatshirt unzipped from the top to the bottom, all by itself. TALK ABOUT SHAME... All of a sudden, my over-blessed rack, in a lovely black bra, is whippin' in the wind and three Russian cabbies are staring at the hoochies. I WANTED TO DIE... louie races back with his rope and plants it at my feet, panting like a dawg and wanting me to toss it. hello, space, please! but I was too busy discreetly trying to unzip and re-zip my sweatshirt and screaming at the Ruskies to mind their own fuckin' business and stop acting like they never seen titskas before. What a freakin' fuck day. guess I'll never go back there again.

I am plagued with viscous insomnia. It sucks ASS. Big time. Last night, I was up all night. The sneezing and hellnine vomiting made it so much more glamorous. I'm such a lucky girl.

You say to a complete stranger, "I'm Anastasia Beaverhausen. The Romanov's control the weather so when they tried to assasinate me last winter we had more natural disasters then we've ever had."

It has to be said; we know it’s true. We’ve all seen it, Bo Duke’s dick lips and Daisy Duke’s nylon driven short, short lips. We’ve cocked our heads to the side and pondered the pervasive cavernous, could fill an east LA taco, lips. Meanwhile, Bo’s duly omnipresent split sack conveniently located betwixt his legs and the from behind seam riding higher than FCC censorship fines, up his, “how very bottom of you,” ass. I have been watching The Dukes of Hazzard of late. I think it’s a culmination of shock and awe really. The dialogue is fascinating. In every episode, with utter seriousness, Luke Duke declares, “I heard that, Bo.” Daisy Duke always wails, “Luke Duke, I’m surprised at you,” And of course Uncle Jesse on the CB in that old school dulcet southern twang, “Shepard to lost sheep, Shepard to lost sheep. Come in lost sheep.” Are the Duke boys’ ever truly lost sheep? Boss Hog never misses his nasally mark, “I will get them Dukes” and Roscoe is really on it when it comes to guttural d...

So last night, Laura called… Oh my God, I’m so exhausted. We were on the phone for like FOUR HOURS! She was crying and everything. George stopped going down on her when the war started. The last time this happened was after George got sober. Billy Graham told him he had to stop all deviant behavior, so naturally he stopped going down on her. But after a year, Laura went ape shit and called Barbara. Barb talked to George and explained that he had to go down on her at least once a month and that giving his wife a modicum of sexual satisfaction was not deviant, it was normal. George said that he was afraid if he went down on her, he’d end up going on a bender. Barb told him his father did a shot of Nyquil right before and three shots of extra strong Listerine right afterwards. Laura said George Jr. worships George Sr., so he followed his dad’s oral protocol. Laura hated it, but said he really knew how to eat pussy, so she dealt with it. Anyway… Just before the war started, Billy and Georg...

"I'm Pam Anderson, but Mensa"

You ever notice that in every lifer semicolon flick there's always a shimmy tomboy named, Jesse?! She's from the school of hard knocks. She's rough with a soft, predictible interior. Right? How annoying!

...you contract strep vagina from your girlfriend, and give her strep ass . Yes, that is what my friend, Edwina shared with me. Ah, the trials and tribulations of bumping beavers.

I am new to blogging. Question, what does a girl have to do to get comments around here? I have hit a lot of blogs with severely boring content, and they get comments. COME ON! Throw me a bone, even if it's hateful. I can take it. I sure as shit can dish it out, donchya know! Is it the excessive use of exclamation points? Don't blogs seem like self indulgent crap? To me they do. I feel so narcissistic with this Blog, you just don't know. And of course that sends me right into a guilt cul-de-sac that I couldn't possibly extricate myself from. I think I'm going to flog Katie now. No… I'll eat. I'll gorge my fat fuck self on fat-artery clogging foods. No... I'll exercise. No... So not in the mood. What a day. This day sucked ass and it's not even over yet. FOR THE Love OF Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhd!!

I guess I had, “will fuck for food,” scrolling across my forehead in bold fire engine red font. Or at least to Mr.-Suit-Daddy-of-Doom I did. And what an esteeming moment for Katie that was. Henry suffered from a severe case of assholicitis. He probably contracted it from his father, Henry Sr. when he was a child. While other kids were playing with their friends in the sandbox, Henry Sr. was teaching his son how to be the perfect prick, leading by example. My best friend, Katie Donnelly hooked me up with Henry because he was traveling to New York for business. She assured me that his work personality was charming and witty. Though I’m not a fan of the blind date, I figured how bad could it be? He lived Philly. We didn’t run in the same circles and our paths would never cross unless I schlepped to Katie’s office, which wasn’t happening anytime soon. While I prefer to be a veritable whore for one true love, if it’s been awhile, which it had, a fierce pounding was in order for this millenn...

so my neighbor borrowed my entire screwdriver collection, and like never returned them. Isn't that wrong? You can't just abscond with a woman's screwdrivers for crissakes. When am I going to take the time to buy more? She's foreign, so does she think borrow means keep? How very ethnocentric of me to say. So, I am a snatch on wheels. Still. I want my fucking screwdrivers back.

What's going to happen when I have my face-to-face with God? Is he going to ask me if I was a liar, a thief and a cheat? If lying tops his, “What not to do list”, I’m fucked! I’m queen of the yarn. What I hear and what you say will never find common ground, regardless of how many times you ask me to repeat it. A story just isn’t a story without a dash of embellishment and a pinch of Katie. As for cheating, I ask, “What really constitutes cheating?” Semantics. Nicely done, Schwartz. Like God never saw that one coming. I would never take credit for something I didn’t do. Though, I did cheat on a few tests in high school, but just the ones I couldn’t be asked to study for. I’ve never done anything spiteful, or hurtful. Oops, there I go lying again. There was that pesky divorce in 99’. But, hey, that doesn’t count. The relationship was so dead it was petrified and he couldn’t leave well enough alone. I think stealing is a gray area. Does one cappuccino and 20 packets of sugar in the ra...

He has had four heart attacks, quadruple bypass surgery, two artery-clearing angioplasties and an operation to implant a special pacemaker in his chest. at least we now know the boy has one. how refreshing!

katie worries when she pees that a snake will swim through the pipes, plunge inside her pussy, pierce her womb and kill her. katie is petrified of dying naked without shoes on. there's more.... when katie stops sneezing her fucking head off, she'll be back.

I was walking across the street this afternoon not paying attention because what’s the fun in that; when someone tripped me with a cane. Yeah. A cane. So I says, “HEY!” Turns out he was blind. Severely. To appease his guilt he asked me if I would have coffee with him. To appease my guilt, I agreed. There we sat at buckeys. Me and blind boy. Me challenging his blindness by unbuttoning my blouse a little more. Ducking and weaving; knowing I was soooo close to calling his blind bluff. Him complimenting my voice and intellect. Like that’s enough. Hmm... I thought. No mention of my mini-skirt, my 3 inch heels, my fabulous legs or long black tresses, and what about my ravenous brown eyes? What are they? Chopped liver! I’m sorry but I just can’t date someone who is incapable of appreciating when I take time out of my day to give a jhush and make myself fuckable.