Saturday, April 25, 2009


This morning I woke up to Old Jews Telling Jokes in my box, courtesy of my girl, FranIAm. OJTJ is so funny, I think I want to marry the website.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


Good morning!

If you've been following my tweets, @katieschwartz, you know that my pal VeronicaWords, is working like a dawg to, well, save dawgs.

From VW: "Here’s the scoop from @VeronicaWords: vote 4 us! Fill in Pike County Humane Society Milford PA & Search. then select us. Animal verification, that’s it!".

It's a great shelter and you can vote every day, so please do. They're in desperate need of the fundage. Off you go to vote for canine hope.

My dad joined Twitter, @jsbrooklyn. I'm plotzing. @TanyaEspanya, doll that she is, friended my pops. As far as dark humor is concerned, you'll quickly learn the apple does not in fact fall far from the tree, not at all. Friend him, ga'head. I think he knows how to follow back, if not my brother, @nicktony will show him, I'm sure.

I'm obsessing about the song, Caribbean Queen, for reasons I can't explain, and the mispronunciation of the word, "Caribbean". It is not pronounced "Caara-beee-aun", which is, in my opinion, enunciation murder. Worsening the issue, lest we forget it was a huge hit. How? Why? What happened? Where was I during this songbacle?

Have you seen infomercials for the Bullet Express? In the middle of the night, when I can't sleep, I am a food product infomercial whore. Anyway, the infomercial has the creepiest crew, force feeding insert-grandma-here, a food bulletized beverage. What's worse, is her insert-son-here, staring at her wantonly while she's drinking. Watch!

Another one is the Cricut Expression, a scrapbookey spin-off tchoch that's fun for the whole family. Admittedly, this one bugs the shit out of me.

What happened to Ron Poppeil, you know, the infomercial daddy who coined the phrase "But, wait, there's more"?

Here's one I love -- Really, it's the dame I love, never the products, always the sales peeps and their handy-dandy-ever-so-shocked-side-kicks, the Turbo Cooker.

Saturday, April 18, 2009


In response to the Red Envelope Project, I have launched the Silver Envelope Project. I posted about my disdain and contempt for the REP, you might have read it here, Abortion, The Breakfast of Champions.

My objective for the Silver Envelope Project is for legions of women who are pro-choice, to join me in posting written letters, video letters and photo/collage letters to the Silver Envelope Project blog, to virally syndicate our message as aggressively as they are.

I hope you'll review and send me lots of letters and get involved!

Thursday, April 16, 2009


As we've discussed a blog is one part confessional, right? Right.

Today, I was reminded of the ultimate shamevent, I was with my ma and we were at the Farmer's Market buying produce, minding our own business when I happened upon my ex.

He didn't see me -- I saw him -- which was MORE than enough to make me run -- like a virgin towards the starting quarterback. I flew through the market. My ma, is, of course, fast on her feet and didn't need me to explain anything, she just followed. PS: That's love.

So terrified he would see me, I made my way into the back of the market and dove into a dumpster. Yes, I know that's disgusting. Whatevs, a girl does what a girl has to do.

A few minutes later, I could hear my mother laughing her ass off while leaning against the dumpster, so I peeked my head out of the top. Through tears, she said to me, "What the fuck is wrong with you, child?" I whispered, "I saw my ex, he was buying avocados. Remember he used to call them avo's? I hated that."

She looks to her left, sees him, whispers, "Duck", and slams the cover of the dumpster shut. She hid behind the dumpster.

Do you believe the shame?

Ten minutes later, she came out from behind the dumpster and made sure all was clear before helping me out of the can.

Oy vey, the lengths I will go to, to avoid this ex... don't ask.


Nice ad, huh? Circa 19-we-call-fat-laaaydies-chubbies. Of course we've "evolved" past this. Presently, we just quickly look away from said chubbette for fear of catching fat, which makes perfect sense, it was in the NY Times.

If you've been following my tweets, you know that I am completely OCD about my kitchen window neighbor's shower habits. They shower 4-5 times a day. I keep wondering; if there are only two of them, what could they possibly be doing that requires such excessive showering. Are they rolling in mud? Peeing on themselves? Working out 24/7? Smoking meat? Then I wonder, wait, maybe people have increased their daily showering, maybe that's the norm, maybe it's the thing to do, and I'm just a skanky dirty whore for showering once a day.

I'm in a weird mood.
I have insomnia.

Oh, before I forget, thank you sooo much for the birthday wishes. My birthday was February 7th. Like the latetard that I am, I didn't get around to posting my GIFTIES until, oh the shame of it, April 5th. Do you believe?! I know, I'm such a cuntarell. Oy, forgive me gift givers.

On the 16th, which I believe is now, a certain someone from a certain Compound is coming to Los Angeles with his fangorialicious daughter, I can't wait to see them. We met at the Pilcrow Lit Fest last year in Chicago.

I'm trying to get my sister to consider doing an authentic expression for Three Dames With A Clue .

Does anyone know of any jewelry makers in the Los Angeles, Hollywood area looking for a venue to sell their jewels? I can't find anyone.


What kind of a schmuck do you have to be to dive into a polar bear enclosure at a zoo? How completely fucktardian are you?! I'm just grateful the PB's weren't injured.

Polar bear mauls woman at zoo, wouldn't you if some asshole came into your house?

Tuesday, April 14, 2009


Menses just commenced. It's 1:14 AM. I was asleep. That felt good. At 12:24, I popped up. I think I'm awake, maybe awakeish is more accurate.

I'm always surprised when those handy-soapy-foamy-bottles run out of soap. For some lame ass reason, it never occurs to me that they ever will. They feel so lifetime supply, even though the bottles aren't more than 8 inches tall. Similarly, when I flip on a light switch and the light flickers to its death, I think "Now what?" Duh, schmuckette, you change the fucking light bulb. Intellectually, I know this, yet for some odd reason, it never comes to mind.

In fact, a few years ago, my mother walked into my house and said, "Why aren't the lights working?" I said "I don't know, I flick the switch and they don't work." After a fit of uproarious laughter, she said, "Would it kill you to change the light bulb?” Hmmm. "No", I shamefully responded. I wonder why... it is that I have a block against certain tasks. I can be absentminded, but not about the big stuff, I don't think.

It's 4:30 AM. I started writing this post 3 hours ago. I ran to the store. One of the stock daddies had beautiful tattoos covering the length of his arms. I asked him, "Do your tattoos tell a story?" He winced, glaring at me as if I was from Fucktardville. Fuck me for thinking a labyrinth of gorgeous tattoos spun a yarn, what an assjockey I must be for not realizing that a man's arms covered in tatts could be so fucking random.

My stomach hurts something awful at the minee.

I walked away from my lappytoppy for 5-minutes and had a fabalicious idea that I completely forgot. Why? I didn’t write it down. These days if I don’t write things down, they are MIA like Stayin' Alive.

PS: I have been trying to get online to finish this post for almost an hour. Now, I’m irked.

My stomach hurts something awful at the minee.

I need to drink more H2o.

It's no longer 4 AM.

Saturday, April 11, 2009


Dwarfs just flashed in my brain for some bizarre reason. Oh, this post isn't dwarf driven. Wait, are we allowed to say dwarf or is that un-PC?

Speaking of dwarfs, abortion. No, silly, I'm not saying you should abort a dwarf baby if you find yourself knocked up with one, gosh no. I just couldn't find a decent segue into abortion after mentioning dwarfs.

Don't be offended, it's not like I said you should abort a Down Syndrome baby or a retarded baby, or are they one and the same? That I know is un-PC, to say retarded. In my defense, I don't actually come out and say "Retarded", I say "Rahtaardded". See the difference, it's subtle.

I am getting so fucking sidetracked right now.

I hope you're not offended. I haaate being offended, it's such a nauseatingish feeling. When I'm offended, I feel dirty from the inside out, overcome with a kind of helplessness and a boiling anger, akin to being felt up without my consent. Super unfestive. I'd say molested versus being felt up, but knowing as many vagina's as I do, I've come to learn that at some point in our lives we've had some kind of molestereeuation. It's a signature, a calling card, par the course of being a bird, I suppose.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway, while Evangelical-blog-hopping this week, I happened upon a few blogs who posted about The Red Envelope Project, also coined, "The LIFE Envelope Project". Have you heard? You can see where I'm going with this, right? The REP project is a wildly offensive endeavor spearheaded by the fundies, of course. Not our beautiful, liberal Christian/Catholic sisters and brothers. No, no, no, they would never do such a thing, only insane zealie's pioneer such egregious and offensive acts as this one.

Here's the dish in a nutshell, pulled right from the whackjob's mouth. I've bolded my favorite parts:

"The e-mail letter below turned into a couple different websites supporting the project with hundreds of thousands of visitors. There was a day setup for Red Envelopes to be sent and we have received word from the White House mailroom that over 2 million envelopes were delivered after the March 31st Red Envelope Day!

In an effort to keep the movement alive and going we have transferred the website into the LIFE Envelope Project to avoid a potential trademark problem. We are also looking to expand the project to send not just red envelopes but also baby blue (to represent an aborted baby boy), pink (to represent an aborted baby girl), and traditional white with red, pink, or blue writing (for ease of getting an envelope). It's now easier than ever to send the message on to our president, senators, representatives, and judges!

The Founding Story:

Below is a letter that has been circulating with a great idea. The message began in silent prayer from a faithful follower who was spending quiet time with God.

Dear Friends and Intercessors:

This afternoon I was praying about a number of things, and my mind began to wander. I was deeply distressed at the symbolic actions that President Obama took as he began his presidency. Namely, that he signed executive orders releasing funds to pay for abortions, permission to fund embryonic stem cell research, and federal funding for contraception. I have been involved in the pro-life movement for nearly 20 years, and it pained my heart to see a man and a political party committed to the shedding of innocent blood. This man, and this party lead our country, but they do not represent me or the 54% of Americans who believe that abortion is wrong and should no longer be legal.

As I was praying, I believe that God gave me an interesting idea. Out in the garage I have a box of red envelopes. Like the powerful image of the red LIFE tape, an empty red envelope will send a message to Barack Obama that there is moral outrage in this country over this issue. It will be quiet, but clear.

Here is what I would like you to do:

Get a red envelope. You can buy them at Kinkos, or at party supply stores. On the front, address it to:

We have reason to believe the return address is important, please include it.

President Barack Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
N.W.Washington , D.C. 20500

On the back, write the following message.

This envelope represents one child who died in abortion. It is empty because that life was unable to offer anything to the world. LIFE begins at conception.

Put it in the mail and send it. Then send this website to every one of your friends who you think would send one too. I wish we could send 50 million red envelopes, one for every child who died before having a a chance to live. Maybe it will change the heart of the president, our senators, and/or our representatives.

Warmly, Christ Otto

Let's Send 50 Million red envelopes (and Counting) for all of the children killed in the US by abortion!"

I, of course, was and remain deeply offended by this movement. In the spirit of free speech, I think those of us who unequivocally support a woman's right to choose abortion, and protect funding for abortion, education about birth control and stem cell research, should send an envelope to President Obama, too.

In a silver envelope, place a little plastic egg inside with a note that reads:

My name is Fertileena, I was aborted by a wonderful woman. If you haven't met her, you should. She's a vibrant, happy, healthy dame with a full and rich life. She got pregnant, it happens. Although, deciding to abort me wasn't an easy choice, we talked about it at length and we are sooo grateful that she had the choice to abort me. We're still friends and catch up from to time. Oh, don't worry, I won't bore you with the details. I just wanted to thank you for keeping abortion safe and legal. I wanted to be aborted as much as she wanted to abort me, it was very much a mutual decision. I LOVE my life and value my life as an aborted fetus.

Fertileena, aborted feteye

Any questions?

Sunday, April 05, 2009


FreakyJewelry sent me these gorgeous earrings for my birthday and I am wild about them. THANK YOU, FJ. I LOVE MY B-DAY PREZZIE.

I took a picture of these beauties. Unfortunately the blur factor was so high, it hardly did them justice, see:

FJ makes the coolest gem earrings, necklaces and quirky/dark jewels I've seen in ages. She's such a talent. You must check out her jewels and treat yourself to one of her pieces.

Darryle Pollack, the brains behind Cluttercast, formerly known as Click for Clutter, I've blogged about it plenty, you're up to speed, yes? Yes, sent me three FABULOUS scarves as a birthday gift!

They are the kitschiest of kitsch, and the colors are so vibrant and stunning. Love at first sight, I tell ya. I started tying these beautiful babies to my pocketbook like my grandmother used to do, ah the memories, such bliss. THANK YOU SO MUCH, DARRYLE, FOR MY SCARVES.

And, from Diva B. Coffey, I got an awesome gift card to tarjhay. I'd post the pic, but I used that baby faster than you can say spend, and this hilarsquared card:

Is this a KatieCard or what?!


Saturday, April 04, 2009


This week had a theme, a pretty straightforward one too: "Katie, Wilma Fingerdo", laced with syphilis, oozing herpes sores, attached to a gnome wearing a trollee-esq mask when you least expect it, EVERY FUCKING DAY?!

I met with optadaddy on Monday to discuss my lady balls. While I appreciate his enthusiasm for Graves' ophthalmology because really, if a doctor has a raging hard on for something that's ailing you, s/he's the DR you want. Right? Right.

I'm in the chair. Between us is the peeper machine that scopes your balls. While he's fondling mine with said machine, he's going on and on and on about his latest study with rabbits and rats and their peepers popping. Again, I appreciate his enthusiasm, but do I really need the deets?

I said, "My sister had a rabbit named Clovis", thinking this would ignite the, oh-I've-said-too-much-gene, and make him stop. On the contrary, he didn't. After the fondlefest, I said, "Ya know, DRB, I really don't want to break-up with you because you are the Graves' Optha daddy of doom. However, the image of sacrificed animals is nauseating, depressing and way more than I can handle. You've crossed a boundary."

Do you know what he said? "I'm authoring a paper for (I can't remember the name) medical journal all about it."

Seriously?! I have NOTHING to say and EVERYTHING to talk.

Everyone was so far up my ass this week, did I ask for a free colonoscopy? No, I did not. No matter what I said or did, it was wrong. A ginormy week of misunderstandings. Don't you love when people say, "I'm listening."? Really? You are? Than why the fuck can't you hear me?!


The upside is that my surname isn't Humpdick. I'm healthy and the week will be officially over tomorrow.

PS: Wilma Fingerdo is a dragalicious diva.


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