A Sometimes Funny, Sometimes Emotion-y Trip Through The Archives

It’s still sort of mind boggling to me that we are halfway through 2014 and this is only my second blog post.

While my time off was precisely what I needed in order to get my shit together, I genuinely missed blogging. Writing in general, really. (And you guys, duh.)

When I deactivated my blog, I stopped writing across the board, with the exception of professionally.

At first it was difficult not to come right onto my blog and share every feeling I was having with you guys. You’re my peeps, after all.

On one hand, this lack of outlet made me find new ways to handle emotions. Like, opening up more to family and friends, which is something that used to be unheard of to me. Also more healthy habits of self-introspection and positive self talk. (Self Love, FTW!)

On the other, it stunted a ton of feelings from ever coming to the surface because the process of composing a post is often where I realize I feel all the feelings about all the things. You know?

I never really intend to get super emotional in posts. 9 times out of 10, I sit down with the intention to write about something like…pancakes. But then, it evolves into a post about loads of feelings, what I’ve learned + a #twss joke. (Because Katie will be Katie no matter how shitty shit gets.)

I’ve spent a nice little portion of this past week going through all of my blog archives. Like. All of them. Mostly last year, thanks to which I’ve become painfully used to dealing with losses.


Romantic Relationships.

My Grandmom.

My dad moved away.

My sanity was probably next on the list, but somehow I kept that together. Sorta.

Reading last year’s blog posts was interesting for me. I found it kinda sad. Mostly enlightening.

I was amazed at how many of my posts, though always directed to you, Internet, were in fact me talking myself through my emotions and justifying to myself that was I was feeling was okay. The struggle was messy, crazy, confusing, scary, and real. But I hit my emotional rock bottom, and I’ve bounced back pretty damn well.

I’m resilient as a mo-fo, yo.

So. Yeah. I sat down with the intention of writing this post with a pure focus on some of my favorite old blog posts from years past and bringing them to the surface, circa 2009. True to form, this evolved into a post of feeeeeeeeeeeeeelings. Funny the way it is.

I’m all about balance, so how’s about I share those ridiculous stories with you anyway? Cool? Cool. Let’s do the time warp, or whatever.

Do you guys remember:

The Jackhammer Jesus Story: The Whole. Mortifying. Saga.
Part One: (When I accidentally buy my very religious grandmom a phallic sex toy)
Part Two: (When my dad breaks into my apartment and steals stuff. bad stuff.)
Part Three(Where Dad finds “hair gel”)
Part Four: (Where when you don’t think it can get worse, it does)

(Also, if you want up to date stories and conversations with my dad, you can check our rarely updated Tumblr, Coffee With Dad)

The Flashing of the Mailman in a Snow Storm Story

The ‘Admitting My Fear’ to my Kindergarten Class Story

The $245 Sex Toy Party Story (Totally Safe for Work, yo)


Naked. Alone. Happy. + A Christmas Thing That Made Me Cry.

I woke up this morning alone, happy, and naked in my own bed.  The sun was shining through my window and I didn’t hide under the blanket trying to will it back behind a cloud.  I huge stretched, squinted my face, scratched my head, and sat right up.  “Time for work”, I said out loud.

As I walked the 6 paces from my queen sized pillow top to my door, I passed by my mirror. I gazed over and saw myself in all of my glory. I chuckled, smiled, and proceeded to put on a robe to begin my commute from my room to my (shared) bathroom.

Maybe this morning seems like your every morning. It’s definitely not mine. Just the fact that I woke up alone + happy is enough to make me take a second look.

Did I have a late night caller who brought me to this morning of extreme bliss?

Did I drink an abundant amount of alcohol last night and wake up dodging a hang over?

Did I grow a 6 pack of rock hard abs and a body made for magazine covers overnight?

Nope. Nope. Hell Nope.

I woke up today feeling happy to be Katie Colihan. Happy to have the home that I do, the friends that I do,  the family that I do.

Things have been extremely complicated recently. That partly explains why I’ve been so absent. I’ve mentioned before that my life has taken an interesting turn, and I’m learning how to navigate a relationship   that is unlike any other I’ve ever had. My grandmother is now on morphine, completely immobile, and we’re not sure if it’s her last Christmas. I’m spending the first Christmas ever without my father, and my cousin. My emotions have been all over, but I’m learning how to rope them in, process them, and more importantly feel them.  Then, once they’ve been felt, letting them go if they serve me no purpose. Who needs to hold onto the remnants of yucky feelings?

I’ve been up and down on the scale – eating really well for a week, and then falling off the wagon and downing a cheesesteak. (I live in Philadelphia, COME ON!) I run for 3 days, and then I stop for 10. I have a love-hate relationship with my body and have for years.  I appreciate what I do have, but I’d sure like that 6 pack I’ mentioned.

With all of these confusing feelings, it was amazing to wake up feeling happy today. Nothing spectacular happened to trigger it.  No one said anything to me to make me feel this way. No heart-to-hearts, no successful client negotiations, no Christmas bonuses. Just me, just sleep, just naked.

And that was enough to make me happy.

So I’m running with it. Or, sitting at my desk with it.

And I have a special little bonus for you, my little love muffins. Someone shared this little Christmas narration with me yesterday, and I expected it to be obscene and talking about snow blowing and other inappropriateness. I was wrong.

This here little morsel of awesomeness is a little Christmas Story narrated by an older man and he talks about ice skating. And love. And loss. And communication. And memories. And music.  I think everyone takes something different from this, but what I took was the beauty and tragedy of love unspoken. It’s beautiful because whether you speak it or not, you still feel it, and if you’ve ever felt love for anyone, you know it’s unlike anything else. And still, the tragedy lies in that if you never say it, you never get to share that love, that beauty, with the other person. And love really is best when it’s a two person emotion, yeah?

That’s what I got, among many other things. Would love to hear what you get.

Warning: It’s 45 minutes. But you can easily just listen for a bit, and then tune in again later. Totally worth it.

You can listen right now, in fact. I’m done talking.


Florida is the Luckiest State Ever.

I have a hot date tomorrow morning with one of my favorite men ever. While I’m extremely excited to eat some delicious pancakes, because, uh, HAVE YOU MET ME & MY OBSESSION WITH PANCAKES? I’m also dreading this date with every ounce of my being. Tomorrow is the last time my dad and I will do Pancake Breakfast for a long, long time.

My father made the decision to relocate from suburban New Jersey to Florida. It was presented to me as just an idea on my birthday, he asked me how I’d feel if he were to go to Florida. “Bring me a souvenir”,  I said. He then looked at me with a bit of humor, and a bit of fear and said “No. To live.”

I honestly thought he was joking. Playing one of those “Hey, how would you feel if I got an earring / tattoo / new wife named Izabelle who works the corner?” games that he loves so much.

He explained the whole situation to me, and while it sounded ideal, I figured it would pass, blow over, and we’d live happily ever within 5 miles of each other, right?


Cut to last weekend. I get a phone call from my dad who tells me that he has a date for when he’s moving.

The 24th.

“Of what month?” I asked.

“Next week.” He said.

My heart stopped. Right in that moment, it stopped. I had to catch my breath. My chest hurt, my eyes were watering, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you sure?” I just kept asking. Hoping that he’d tell me he wasn’t sure. Telling me that he can’t imagine life without me in it. Telling me that leaving me here isn’t an option.

But those words didn’t come. He’s sure. This is what he wants to do. I can’t stand in his way. He knows what he wants. As much as it hurts me to my core, I have to let him go and be happy. He’s been going through years of tough times, and he deserves happiness. I just wish  happiness was where I was.

So, tomorrow we’ll go to breakfast. I’ll get Pancakes and Scrapple, he’ll get 2 eggs over hard with home fries with onions and scrapple. We’ll talk about life. He’ll ask about everyone and everything. We’ll go to Walmart and look at DVDs. He’ll drive me home. I’ll get out of the car and I’ll probably slip up and say “What are you doing this weekend? Want to do dinner?” and I’ll suddenly remember that he won’t be here. And I’ll cry. And he’ll cry because I’m crying and because I know that just as much as it hurts me to have him leave, he’s hurting to leave me too.

We might not see each other every single day, but when we do, it’s magical. We’re a Dad and a Daughter who love the other so much that it’s just obvious in our every move. The way he tells me to wipe my face, the way I read him the menu without making it obvious that I’m reading him the menu, the way we laugh uncontrollably at the silliest things.

My dad’s long time girlfriend got on the phone with me last week to give me his flight information and she said “Every time I ask your dad about you, he cries and says he’s so proud of you.”

…I’m proud of you too, Dad. I’m proud that you’re proud because you had a part in making this person that I am. I’ll miss you more every single day, but your happiness is my happiness, so I’ll dig deep and find a way to smile for you.

Goodbyes are hard.

A Snow Day Scenario

I have 36 inches of snow outside. I really just made that figure up, but it’s somewhat accurate. Since I’m living back home, I don’t have awesome landlords to shovel for me. Also since I’m living at home with my senior citizen father, he’s not going to shovel. Dude won’t shovel but he’ll move my bedroom around without telling me so that I end up falling on the floor when I stumble in the house at 3 AM after a night out with my gay friends.

But he won’t shovel snow because he’s “too tired.”

So, today, in an exhausted haze, I decided that I needed to shovel us out of the driveway. I didn’t grab a jacket because I had a fleece zip up on. (c/o Old Navy. Love you long time). Outside I went and started attacking the mountain sized piles of snow.

My neighbors… I can take or leave them. Today, I wanted to leave them since they all shoveled EXACTLY on their property line, and didn’t even put a nick in mine. However, their pile of snow? On the property line, so I had to go ahead and shovel that crap out of the way or else I’d be fined something like a million dollars from my borough.

Fine. I dealt with it.

After about twenty minutes of shoveling, I got pretty hot. Moving your hands back and forth, over your shoulder, back and forth gets exhausting. (twss). So, I decided to take off my fleece. In one easy motion, I unzipped the fleece, took it off, and threw it over my shoulder. I continued shoveling. It only took one more fling of the shovel for me to realize that I was feeling a little colder than I’d like to.


…I’d love to go into more detail, but most of the following events are clouded by the fact that I was running inside and I fell into a pile of snow. The mailman was on his way to my house with the mail and rushed over to help me and I made myself a snow bra.

This is why I shouldn’t be allowed out of my house.

Any other crazy snow stories out there?

Please say yes,
please say yes,
please say yes.

Do Not Drink And Shop Online

This post originally appeared as a Guest Post at “That’s What Je Said” in April 2009. I’m simply forwarding it over to my blog for reference purposes. Word? Word!

Driving. Texting. Shopping.

These are normal actions that we all do daily. But, slap the word drunk in front of any of these words and you have a few phrases that have almost guaranteed negative results. You could end up in jail, having sex with you ex boyfriend who you broke up with because he had herpes, or worst of all, buying something ridiculous.

You’re thinking to yourself; “Shopping really doesn’t compare to Drunk Driving or Drunk Texting. What’s the big deal?”

Dear friends, I’m about to go Mother Goose on you, and tell you a wonderful story. Gather ’round now.

It’s worth mentioning that this wasn’t just any shopping. This was online shopping. This wasn’t shopping for anyone. It was for my Grandmother.

It was a cold and dark night. And by cold and dark, I mean I was drinking Guinness. I was having a wonderful time with some friends; catching up, laughing and having heart-to-heart talks. I opened up to them about my recent stay in Florida, and how it made me feel much closer to my Grandmother.

Since my Grandfather has taken ill, she really has been under a lot of stress, and in some ways, I do feel that my stay there helped a bit. All of my friends suggested that I send a little something down, just to remind her that though I’m miles away, she’s still on my mind.

Their suggestion stayed with me throughout the night, and as I traveled home, I decided that they were right, and I was going to send something nice down to her. When I got home, I didn’t waste any time drinking from the bottle pouring myself a glass of wine and beginning my search for the perfect gift.

I went through the traditional gift ideas; Flowers? Jewelry? Makeup? Gift Card?

Flowers would die. She has too much jewelry. She doesn’t wear much makeup. Gift cards are too impersonal. I was stuck. Then, it came to me.

She’s religious, she’s a die hard Catholic who watches the morning mass and says her rosary 3 times a day. I’ll get her rosary beads, or a statue or something! Fantastic!

Within minutes, I had Googled to a website that featured a handmade plaster statue of baby Jesus. I figured that my Grandmother could put it on her dashboard in the car, or maybe in her room on the nightstand. I went with white, though they did have a great selection of colors including purple, black and red. At an economical $35, it wasn’t too expensive, but I was confident that it was of quality material and wasn’t simply a hunk of sidewalk chalk.

I checked-out, and turned in for the night.

Fast Forward: 3 Weeks Later

I get a phone call from my landlady that I have a package. I asked her if it had a return address on it, and she told me it was from Divine Interventions. I knew then that it was my Grandmother’s gift. I wasn’t going to be back at my apartment for a few days, so I made a quick call to my father and asked him to go to my place, pick up the gift and reship it to my Grandmother. He was glad to do so.

When I finally made it back to my apartment, I came across my Divine Intervention Invoice that my father had made sure to leave me. I was breezing over it, and noticed the itemized billing section:

“1 BJ B-Plug”
“1 Jackhammer Jesus”

I don’t remember ordering a Jackhammer Jesus. I WAS intoxicated. Since it was for my Grandmother, I really didn’t intend on seeking a refund. I figured it was probably some sort of statue of Jesus building something. He WAS a Carpenter. But, wait, did they have Jackhammers back then?

While debating this, I saw the typo in the first product. “BJ”. Yikes! I started laughing. They made a big typo, and it was pretty inappropriate. I figured I should go to the website and tell them about it, especially since they’re religious folk. I typed the website into my browser. I stopped laughing.

I didn’t get my Grandmother a Statue of Baby Jesus.

I got my Grandmother a Baby Jesus Butt Plug. It was on its way to her house.

Lesson Learned: There are many-a things a wise man does not do while drinking. Driving, Texting, and Online Shopping.

Just in case you’re wondering, I was able to intercept the package and have it sent back to me. Come to find out, I also was accidentally given a Jackhammer Jesus, which is another sex toy.

…Wait. There’s more to this story. Read on to Part II.