Welcome to Bad at Art!
Have any/all of the following things happened to you?
- You got fired
- You ate something truly disgusting
- Your friend turned out to be an evil, backstabbing bitch
- You got a parking ticket
- You cut your own hair
- You hate your job
- You did something so stupid you still cannot face yourself in the mirror
- You fell in cactus
- You farted in yoga
- You had really bad sex
- Someone called you fat
- Someone called you fat because you are fat
- You have the worst roommate(s) on the planet
- You are a lawyer
- No one told you that you couldn’t sing until you tried out for American Idol and were notified on national television
- There is an unflattering YouTube video of you in cyberspace
- You fucked up your Thanksgiving turkey
- You are planning a wedding
- You are between the ages of 5 and 105
- You are training for a marathon
- You work in customer service
- You have kids
- You are, in fact, bad at art
If you can relate to any/all of these things, congratulations! You might actually enjoy this blog!
My name is Kat and I realized, not too long ago, that dwelling in the sadness of life gets you absolutely nowhere. For the last 15 years I have been working through my problems on the page through bleak and droning monologues which, at the end, would only make me feel worse. In theory, journaling is so romantic with its pretty notebooks, innocent consciousness, and calligraphic perfection. However, for me it has always consisted of a series of violent scratchings that would occasionally puncture the page and waste even more paper.
Meet October 21, 2013:
I was having a really bad day. The kind of day where I was considering hiding in my bed until it was over because, clearly, as long as I was standing, anything and everything was going to go wrong. If there were ever a day for an accidental and embarrassing death, this would have been it.
Near the end of the day (which could have been my life), I was notified that there was shitty sewage water coming out of the laundry room floor at my place of work. The proverbial cherry on top of my, quite literally, crappy day. As Facilities Manager, there is no one else around to deal with such a problem. It turns out that only other people get to defer these sorts of problems. Those lucky people get to defer them to me.
On a side note – when I was ‘promoted’ to Facilities Manager at my job I later realized that it was all an evil trick and I was the only sucker to say yes to such a truly awful career proposal. If you are a manager of facilities – you know what I am talking about. Just a heads up, the word ‘gullible’ is written all over your ceiling.
This has all been a very long-winded answer as to why I started this blog in the first place.
I am tired of all the depressing drama. Life is funny. It’s really really fucking funny.