10 Things I Know to be True: Part 1 of, well, 10

A few nights ago, I was pacing around my kitchen while waiting for some water to boil. I know that a "watched pot never boils", ha ha, no seriously it doesn't, but that has never stopped me from doing it anyway. It's hard to estimate how many minutes I've wasted on boiling water, but it's the way I do things and I'm far too old to go changing now. Right, so I was pacing around the kitchen and it dawned on me that this would be an opportune time to BLOG, a thing I used to do often. Then fairly often. And then every three weeks if I found myself in the mood. What, you think this is easy? When you have an audience as large as mine (seven people), there's a lot of pressure to perform. Anyway, I opened up a blank blog page and typed, "10 Things I Know to be True" in the title bar. Yes, I thought to myself, and now I impart wisdom. 

And then it took me three tries to get my water to boil.

I wish I were kidding, but the whole cooking thing really turned into a process. I'm definitely not going to tell you why I had to boil water three different times, just know that I did. Also, I don't have to explain myself to you people because I'm proud of who I am!!! So in this extensive, am-I-cooking-or-am-I-just-hanging-out period of time, I typed out the first ten things that came to mind when thinking of absolute truths in my life. But Katie, let's examine how you define "absolute" in relation to your idea of "truth." Well, I hadn't thought that much about the list. I still haven't thought that much about the list. I'm pretty sure that by the time I actually get to the post about the tenth truth, the list will have changed dozens of times. The point, really, is that I never published that post about the things I know to be true, and it's because of (you guessed it) the water in pots one, two, and three.

I'm back tonight and slightly more focused so I figure I should address one of the items on my list. It's about the Rat who took up residence here two months ago and, apparently, hasn't left yet.

#8: When things go seriously wrong in my apartment, I won't know what to do.

I am a very capable person. I'm good at figuring out unfamiliar situations and I'm a pretty quick learner. In fact, my room mate told me just a few weeks ago that I have the face of someone not to be messed with, and that's probably why dudes don't continue to call after me after I give them initial Bitch Face. Great! I thought. Everybody's falling for it. Because guess what? I'm faking all of it and I'm faking it so you stop hitting on me, and so you don't feel afraid to be in this neighborhood, and so you trust that this will turn out okay. But when I'm by myself, I don't need to convince anybody of anything so that's when I freak the shit out over our struggling toilet. That's the connection to this item, by the way: the toilet and all other parts of our bathroom that were wheezing their last breaths of life. My room mate was out of town for a week so I just assumed that all of the things that could overflow were, in fact, going to overflow. And I wouldn't know what to do. From a renter's perspective, I believe the correct response is "Call your landlord." But that's not how my brain works. I wanted a logistical and immediate solution for the thing that hasn't happened yet. After thinking about it for way too long, I had nothing that remotely resembled a plan so I decided to just call it a night and go get a banana split. That's the other reason I didn't finish that blog post. I was eating a banana split.

I went to bed that night, because that's when people go to bed, and at around 6:30 the next morning I heard a noise that I immediately knew belonged to a rat. More specifically, Apartment Rat. Oh, right, the bathroom problems don't really come into play again. What's that rule? Put a gun in the first act, better shoot someone with it in the second? Well, I broke that rule because this story is about Apartment Rat, the other seriously wrong thing happening in the apartment that I don't know how to handle. So this noise wakes me up at 6:30, right? And I immediately knew that little bastard was back. I actually had a moment in which I figured out what I was going to say to him when I confronted him. I sat up in bed and put on my glasses and started a mental first draft of my Speech to Apartment Rat. Look, I just think it's really rude that you think you can just come in here whenever you want--and then I reminded myself it's a fucking rat. I instead barricaded my door as to not allow Apartment Rat access to my chambers. This is the exact same course of action I took two months ago when I was drunk at 5 am and building a rat blockade. I think that speaks volumes about the strength of my survivor instinct.

I got up an hour later (so I could live my life), and I made sure to creep into the dining room and sneak up on any remaining rodents. I didn't actually expect to see anything, or at least I don't think I did. So imagine my surprise when I saw something. That asshole rat had accomplished the following:

• Apartment Rat got into our apartment in spite of the various booby-traps we had set up for him. We knew he'd be back (they always come back) so we have steel wool stuffed in various structural holes, duct tape over base board openings, and glue traps just waiting for a catch. The plan was not fail proof, it is true, but we thought that we had taken a decent amount of the proper precautions against rat home invasion. 
• Apartment Rat ate our food. You do not pay rent here, Rat. You do not pay bills, you do not pay my loans, and you do not buy the groceries. So you think you can just come in here at any hour of the night and eat our food? You thought we would be "cool" with it? Like, "Oh, no, these girls call me Apartment Rat! We're friends! They let me crash here!" No, man. You took it too far this time. And I think you know that.
• Apartment Rat proceeded to drag said food from the dining room into the kitchen. In the process of this migration, Rat just straight up spilled crumbs and food particles everywhere. Like. Everywhere. And then Rat, because he is hilarious, must have done a god damn rat jig atop all the food particles (it was rice cakes, by the way) and ground everything into the carpet. 
• Apartment Rat didn't stop at the carpet. Oh no. He climbed on top of my coat and scarf, the very clothing items I wear every day, and rat-danced all over them with his rice cake covered paws (claws? feet? talons?) before rolling around in rice cake and making rice cake dust angels. On my coat. Do I have proof of this? If you think the palpable feeling of rat betrayal is proof, then my answer is yes. 

So do you know what I did? Because something was going seriously wrong in the apartment and this is the part I was dreading: the part where I had to do something. I did the only thing my limited skills allowed me to do: I wrote a Bitch Face email to my landlord that, after addressing the rat problem, ended with something to the effect of, "OH. And my bathroom is struggling. Let's fix that." And sure enough, I got home today to a totally rat-trapped apartment and the promise from an exterminator that his serious of devices will most definitely work this time. He says that when it "works" it will be "loud" and we will "know." I also came back to a bathroom with full functioning everything AND they fixed the dryer! Right, our dryer didn't work either. I addressed that in the email by saying "our clothes are hot and soaking wet and frankly it's disgusting."

And now I await Apartment Rat's return. Your move, buddy.

This is who we believe to be the culprit. He likes the Cubs, pizza, and messing up my life. 

I realize now that I kind of refuted my own truth by the end of this entry, a trend I really wasn't planning on starting. Don't worry everybody--if there's a gas leak I'm running and, more than likely, going to get a banana split. Unlit pilot lights don't know how to react to sassy emails.

Also, you should know that when I got home from work yesterday, Rat had been back during the day, finding more rice cakes and having his way with those, too. He's getting too confident and there is truly nothing worse than an arrogant rat. RIGHT LADIES?!?!

I agree. It's bed time.

Stay Hungry

First of all, what the what is this:

What kind of sad, cat lady things have I been searching for Facebook to assume this is what I need? Or, creepier yet, does Facebook know what I look like and, again, assumes this is what I need? I can forgive but I won't forget.


But onward (and upward) to more pertinent things! There's a reason I haven't written in two weeks and it's better than my usual catalogue of reasons that boasts items such as "Had too much TV to watch" or "Not enough TV to watch so I better find some." Though I sounded pitiable and a little down-trodden in my last post, what you didn't know is I had applied to a job that day. Well, I had applied to a bunch of jobs that day and a bunch the day before and a bunch the day after. But on that particular day I applied to a job that I ended up getting hired for less than a week later. And let me tell you something: I am thrilled for myself. I think I'm allowed to say that, even if it makes me some kind of asshole. My new job is awesome, I'm good at it, and I get to actually tell people I'm a writer when they ask what I do. Seriously, I can say that and I will be telling the actual truth, not the "I'm a writer...I have like, 20 pretty dependable readers of my blog, so that's cool" truth. And the bonus on top of that bonus is that I got the job all by myself. It was a pure hire, people--no connections. At my final interview I was asked, "How did you find out about us?" And I said, "Uh, I Googled writing jobs in Chicago?" Which is true. And hilarious because that's a pretty terrible way of searching for anything and all of those horrible college tutorials I had to take about how to use the library were, apparently, kind of useful. Go figure. Anyway, so the lesson to be learned is this: Go to whatever college you want even if no one has heard of it, major in whatever you want even when people demand to know what you will do with that, graduate without a plan, move to a city you like (still sans plan), put up with a lot of bullshit from a lot of different people about everything I just mentioned and then get the coolest fucking job ever without anybody's help. And why is this acceptable? Why should you be allowed to do this after years of being forced to write out arbitrary life outlines for the sake of appeasing your parents, teachers, and college counselors? Why should you get to ignore this notion that your goals are far-fetched and ill conceived? Because you're a badass, that's why.


So obviously that's big news. Jobs, yay! But there was this other thing that happened to me (also last week) that was so incredibly great that I am compelled to share it with you.


Note: The following story really is a deviation from my personal comfort zone. Really cool things happen to me all the time. Really cool things happen to a lot of people all the time, in fact. But the following really cool thing is worth sharing.


I met Dave Eggers. And yes, you're right, A LOT of people met Dave Eggers that day. It was a publicized signing, that's how these things work. What's kind of funny is the part where I haven't actually read all of his books. In fact, I've read less of his books than more of his books. There are also writers who have definitely had a bigger personal impact on me than Dave Eggers. Last spring I wrote a heart-wrenching email to one of these writers, and I received an automated response back from her publicist, telling me she couldn't communicate with fans but if I wanted to book her for my next event, I could follow the link below. I tried to see this same speaker at a conference that same spring and then she canceled last minute. The woman has broken my heart a strange amount of times, the more I think about it. And then there's Scott Russell Sanders who I emailed a few weeks ago and within 24 hours he responded with the sweetest message ever. I digress. I'm supposed to tell you about meeting Dave Eggers.

Right, so Dave. I first read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius...I don't know. Three years ago? Four? It was not new when I read it, though, which I always forget about. It came out in 2000. Anyway, I really liked the book but more than that I really liked the format of the book. He tried a lot of new ways of writing, which I thought was so so so awesome. And what was even MORE awesome is some of the forms did not work and he knew that and he called himself out on it. I love format and I love experimenting with it, so he was employing techniques I just hadn't seen before. The content was good but the form? Man, I fell in love with it. I started doing a lot of research on the guy and that's when I got really interested in 826. I had been reading McSweeney's for a little while, per my friend Abbie's recommendation. Before I started college I basically just got interested in everything Abbie was interested in because I thought Abbie was the coolest and I assumed this would help me in college. (It did.) (A lot.) The point is that I wanted to do all of the Dave things, too. And thank God I did because then I met him.


Ugh, that was the point of this story, wasn't it? Meeting him? Anyway. My room mate and I arrived at the book store around the time the signing began and we were already in group H. The groups started at A, so we had a bit of a wait. For two hours I sat in an aisle and read a George Saunders collection. Then group H was called and we made our way to the front of the bookstore. Dave was sitting at a table with two chairs and it appeared that all of the commoners were afforded the opportunity to sit down with him and talk about anything they wanted. I thought that was so cool!!! Until I was at the front of the line and I realized I had no idea what I was going to say to him. The girl in front of me in line had sat down and started chatting immediately, asking questions about publishing and something else that was very specific. She came prepared. I overheard another Fan-Dave conversation in which a woman was more or less just telling him what his new book is about, which I thought was kind of funny. Then it was my turn and I still had nothing. I mean, less than nothing. So much nothing that when I tried to sit down, my coat and scarf got caught on the table and in an attempt to squirm out of this, I ended up pushing the chair away from my body with my ass, and I kept trying to sit but the chair kept moving. So there was easily 30 seconds in which I forgot how to sit down, which studies have shown is the best way to make a first impression. Once I was physically and finally in the chair, I still didn't have anything to talk about, which was disconcerting at that point. I brought two books with me for him to sign and, since I wasn't saying anything, he made a grab for the books. What I hadn't told him is that one was for me and one was for my buddy, Scott. That's when I shouted at Dave Eggers:


"WAIT! Are you gonna, like, write, like, to? Uh? Somebody? Like their name?"


Dave Eggers: Yeah, if that's okay. Now do you spell that with an -ie at the end...?


"Yes. WAIT NO. That one's for Scott! THAT BOOK IS FOR MY FRIEND SCOTT!"


Dave Eggers: Oh, cool. That's really nice of you.


"I GRADUATED IN MAY AND I HAD SCOTT'S BOOKS BUT WHEN I TRIED TO GIVE THEM BACK TO MY FRIEND SCOTT HE SAID NO YOU KEEP THEM SO I DID BUT NOW I'M HAVING YOU SIGN IT SO I CAN MAIL IT TO MY FRIEND SCOTT." (<-- I don't actually know if I shouted it, but it's safe to assume I did.)


And then Dave Eggers looked up from the book and he stared directly into my eyes, smiled said,


Katie, you're a really good friend. 


And then everything was fine after that. The book I wanted signed for myself is How We Are Hungry which is a short story collection that I absolutely love. Again, going back to form, that was a major influence on how I formatted my senior thesis project. It is still a fantastic collection to turn to when I just don't know how the hell I want to get a story across. If you haven't read it, that is really my primary DE recommendation, especially if you're a writer. So I handed him the book and said something about loving it and how it's written and a bunch of other stuff that was hopefully complimentary. And then I said these words:


"I really think that this collection has influenced my writing the most."


Then I paused. Big, noticeable pause. And I thought about what I had just said. And then I said this:


"I'm sorry. That's not true at all."


Now you're probably thinking I had blown it because logically, that's what happens next. But then I said:


"Raymond Carver has influenced me the most. But he's not here right now."


And Dave Eggers thought that was funny and laughed, because I had looked around the coffee shop before pointing out that he's not here right now. Physical cues, you guys. Don't under estimate. And we kind of shared a moment of respect for Raymond Carver and how he was just the greatest. Dave was still holding my book and he started flipping through the pages. He said:

I'm reading from this tonight, you know. I'm a little nervous because I haven't looked at it in six years. But I just thought I should read from it.

Then Dave Eggers took a moment, with my book, and just kind of thumbed through the pages. And I thought, this is so cool. I had just told the guy how much the book meant to me, he told me that he hadn't thought about it in six years but decided he would read from it, and then recollected a specific time in his life by flipping through the pages that I had flipped through so many times in an effort to become a better writer at a specific time in my life. That was kind of incredible. It seems small, and in terms of actual time it was, but that might be my favorite point of the conversation.


I sensed that I had already spent too much time at the table, so I made the game day decision to very quickly tell Dave some important facts about myself. I originally didn't want to do it but then I was like, eh, fuck it, why not. I said I had read AHBWOSG many years ago and it was at that time that I really introduced myself to 826 and McSweeney's. I made a promise to myself, however many years ago that was, that I would be an 826 volunteer and I would be published in McSweeney's. The punch line of this being, that I said to Dave:


"And I'm very proud to tell you that I achieved both of those things this past year."


I don't know what I thought Dave Eggers would say, but I didn't expect his jaw to drop and then for him to say this:


Oh my God. Congratulations! That is....that is awesome, wow, McSweeneys's! Did you work with Chris??


And what's funny is I DID work with Chris, Chris being the editor of McSweeney's online so then I got to say:


"Yeah! I worked with Chris!"


Then Dave was just this really unbelievably kind, mushy, congratulatory dude who was so pumped that someone somewhere was getting something out of all these extra-curriculars he had started.The time had come, however, for me to get up and let someone else have a turn but as I was standing to leave, DAVE EGGERS said to me:


I expect to see you again. 


It was the coolest. Just. Man. The coolest. Then I asked him for a picture with me and he looked at me, like we were friends, and said, Oh, we have got to shake hands for this! And if you've seen the picture of us on Facebook, we are indeed shaking hands, per Dave Eggers's request.


Then I bought a Subway sandwich with a gift card. It was the best Saturday ever.


In years past I've hated the month of February. It's just cold and awkwardly placed and I mean, you know, it's February. But damn, February 2013 is making me sing a different tune. As I bring this post to a close, all I can do is smile and think about how I get to go to my job tomorrow. Disgusting, but true.

Thanks, Dave. You too.