Katie Schwartz

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.