Come on baby, make it hurt so good! Sometimes [running] don’t feel like it should.

Please excuse the cheesy title remix, but that song is on a CD in my truck…and I ran today*! It was my first time running in about a month (I’m aware it’s only been three weeks since my wee little incident, but I didn’t feel like running the week before that). While I was couch-ridden, I never wanted to run more in my life simply because I couldn’t. The human mind is a crazy thing. And today I was motivated. I am able to fully bend my knee, and I’ve been moving across town for the last four days fairly capably, so I figured no better time than the present. Slight problem: it was about 90 degrees. Between my lack of exercise/movement for the last month and the heat of the day, I only made it a mile. But still, I ran! Woot! I consider that one small step for Running Kate, and one giant leap for Healing Kate.    

*I ran & started writing this blog entry on Saturday, which is not today, but I didn’t publish this until now and I was too lazy to change the word “today” as well as any tenses. However, I am never too lazy to add an asterisk.  

In other accomplishment news, I’m almost entirely moved into my new house. This new house is only about two miles away from the old house, but it’s in a completely different town and zip code. I lived in the old place for three years during college and it was the best place ever. That might sound like an exaggeration, but I really believe it. It was close to campus, plenty spacious for college living, had uber affordable rent, was in a college-y neighborhood, we only had to call Handyman Glen on a few occasions, and, most importantly, that place housed countless memories from my college career. I tallied it up the other day and realized I’ve lived with eight different girls in that house. EIGHT. That’s craziness. Pretty much every female I really, truly befriended during college ended up in that house at some point in time. Anywho, all this rambling is to say I’m going to deeply miss that place. It treated me well during my college years. I can’t wait to grow up and eventually drag my own kids back to Monmouth and tell them all the famous stories of my 547 Catron St. townhouse. Ahhh, reminiscing in the future. 

I Jumped Off A Cliff

And it wasn’t even a metaphorical cliff, well, I could squeeze some metaphors out of the experience if I really tried.

Anywho, on to the story: last Saturday marked two weeks since my longboarding accident. On Saturday I was feeling pretty good about my healing wounds. It had been a week since I could walk normally with weight on both legs and I was down to minimal bandaging. Saturday night my roommate Robin asked me if I wanted to go boating with her friends’ family the next day after church. I was hesitant because I knew I couldn’t do anything with my crippled knees and a slightly tweaked left hand, and I also didn’t want to be “that girl” that held everyone back. After some coaxing, Robin convinced me it’d be fine and before I knew it Sunday afternoon rolled around and I was in a Safeway bathroom out in the tiny town of Sweet Home changing into my bathing suit gearing up for an unknown adventure. I had my swim gear on, a towel in hand, and sunscreen lathered on my pasty white flesh, but I was still under the impression that I could get by with just sunbathing on the shore with only my toes dangling in the water. Before I had much of a chance to ponder getting my toes wet, we pulled up next to a bridge that ran over the Santiam River. One of the two guys in the car asked if we were going to jump off the bridge. I thought that guy was nuts for even toying with the idea. The other guy, and leader of the current adventure, said it was technically illegal, so we were going to jump off the rocks/cliff face next to the bridge instead. WHAT. At this point I realized I wasn’t traveling with your average river loungers, but rather I’d gotten tangled up with some thrill seekers. And the worst part was the guy wasn’t even kidding.

We parked the car, ditched our belongings, and approached a rock edge that looked down over the heavy flowing Santiam River. As the five of us stood gathered on what can only be described as a cliff in my mind, the tiny people floating & boating below looked up at us like “are those idiots really going to jump?” We became the spectacle of the river to the small handful of a crowd below. I so desperately wanted to be part of that crowd rather than my own elevated one. Somewhere during that thought process of taking in the ant-like people below, the first guy of our group leapt off the rock. We watched him sail into the water, swim to the other side, and emerge to say, “it’s a little colder than I thought,” as he held his shivering body. After that, the other guy/leader of the crazy pack took a running start to cannonball into the icy waters. Just us three girls were left on the cliff, but before I knew it my roommate Robin—despite claiming she could never take the leap and would have to find another way down the steep grade of the river walls—ran off the rock and plummeted into the river like a champ. I looked at the other girl left atop the cliff, then over the edge of a cliff higher than any high dive I’ve ever been on, then down at my bum knees, and said I didn’t think I could do it. There was no way I could go from two weeks of being couch-ridden and taking such ginger care of my knees to all of a sudden leaping off a cliff and swimming against the currents of a freezing river. But then it occurred to me that this was a real, true life experience. I can only use my knees as an excuse for so long before the scars fade and then I’m just a healthy wimp. So I went for it. I screamed from the moment my legs started running all the way down to the second before I plunked into the river. But you know what? It felt incredible. Even as I was screaming bloody murder (and flailing my legs uncontrollably, as I was later told by all others in my party) I thought I’d never felt so free. I fell for about five solid minutes, or so it seemed, and as I sunk into the depths of the biting water I beamed with joy. When I reemerged on the surface I wanted to belt at the top of my lungs “I’M ALIVE!” but I resisted because I thought the audience surrounding me might think I’d been in actual life-threatening danger at some point. As I backstroked my way to the shallow shore I realized I’d been bending my knee to swim—something I hadn’t done since my longboarding fall. When I got out of the water, my right knee was dripping blood because all the bending had caused the thin layer of skin masking as a scab to split open. But I didn’t care. I’d jumped off a cliff. Score. And I’d bent my knee. Double score.

All this crazy cliff jumping and knee bending made me realize I’m capable of more than I give myself credit for. There’s a chance I’ve been able to bend my knee all along, but I never would have known for sure unless I jumped off that cliff and had to swim. I shall apply this newfound knowledge to my unemployed life. I hereby declare to start putting myself out there more and to take a leap into the “real world” (hey, there’s that metaphor I said I’d squeeze in). 

Things I’ve Come to Realize

I’ve recently discovered a few things and I’d like to share them with you, if you’d listen (er, read).

Firstly, I calculated it and it turns out I’ve spent about $30 on bandaging supplies for my wounds from my wipeout. I would never pay $30 to go on a ten-minute longboard ride. That’s preposterous.

Secondly, I figured out why I haven’t been getting any jobs. Turns out I’ve been writing my name Kate Hitler Arnold. This works out well for any jobs requiring organization skills, but it doesn’t bode as well for all those childcare jobs I applied for. Silly mistake. 

Thirdly, I noticed my leg hair around my banged-up knees is disgustingly long. Solution? I had my roommate (and health major, might I add) give them a trim with scissors. I hope you’re thoroughly disgusted by this. I, however, will cherish it as a bonding moment forever and always.

Fourthly, on a less joking level, I realized it was about a year ago that I had a conversation with a friend of mine about what he was going to do after college. He said something along the lines of he didn’t know, but he hoped it would be meaningful and God’s will. I attempted to encourage him and said it’s not like God will have you do nothing. After that, I sort of adopted that as my doctrine when talking to my peers about what they were going to do in post-grad life. I threw around “it’s not like God will have you do nothing” so much that I think God is laughing at me now as I sit in my months of nothingness. Regardless, I believe He is using me even in my mundane days, whether it’s for self reflection and betterment or a greater good I cannot yet see, I believe The Big Man is up to something. 

I’m Starting to Lose Faith in the Internet

Both my intrigue and trust in the World Wide Web are on the decrease at the moment, and here is why:

1. I’ve gotten bored on the internet lately. I can only check my fbook, twitter, three email accounts, and numerous bookmarked blogs so many times before I start to realize I’m trying to live my life through my computer screen. Then I start to think about what a sad life I lead…then I find a wedding to stalk on FB and am content for another 15 minutes. Stalk, rinse (aka clear history), repeat. 

2. I got Google +, but I was too lazy to read the intro when I first signed on, so now I don’t know how to work it and I keep “+1-ing” things and commenting to my nonexistent circles. Seriously, they’re nonexistent. I click a button that I think will show me the equivalent of the Facebook newsfeed, but there’s nothing there even though I have at least 7 friends in two different circles. Also, I write posts, but when I go to find evidence of said posts there is nothing to be found. What the heck magical Google + vortex of social networking confusion.

3. Craigstlist burned me, and it burned me bad. Craigslist is pretty much my main source for job hunting right now. Between last week and today, I’ve lost track of how many jobs I’ve applied for. They’re mostly generic receptionist positions in Salem, which means I’ve been able to use my same cover letter, resume, references, and standard email for all of them. Today, that backfired. Not only has this rapid applying failed to get me an interview, today it put my Facebook account in jeopardy. Heaven forbid. I received an email that informed me one of the companies wanted to set up an interview with me next week. I got all excited thinking I’d finally gotten my first interview—a step in my mind meant I practically had my foot in the door. But then, as I read farther down, the email also said to check out the company’s Facebook page to get more corporate information. I thought I was being granted special access to something. In hindsight, I seem so naïve (even though this was just a few short hours ago, I’ve grown so much since then, how touching!). After clicking that link, logging into my Facebook, and being directed to some general realty page, I realized I may have made a mistake. After consulting my roommate, my parents, and my own gut one more time it really registered that I had made a mistake. I quickly changed my fbook password, took my hopes down several notches, and stepped back into cruel, unemployed reality. Even though Craigslist warns users of scams, I’m still really mad at Craigslist (mostly just myself, but it’s less painful to be mad at a website). I feel like Craigslist and I got into our first fight. I’m going to lay off that form of job hunting for a while.     

After posting this blog, I’m going to take an all-things-internet break for a bit, go sit on my back porch (er, 4 foot slab of cement), and crack open a beer as well as a good old fashioned book. Ah, the olden days. 

I’m Such a Punk

I realized today that I’m an accidental punk. I have a hoop in my nose, my lip pierced, and a bloodied body from a longboarding accident. If that doesn’t scream punk, I don’t know what does. Oh, and I have two tattoos, not real ones (don’t worry, Mom), but rather two temporary ones. I decided to spruce up the gore of my 3-year-old-look-alike knees with two shiny fairy tatts. I like to think of them as my tiny guardian angels. Although, I’m already injured, so guardian fail.

With this injury, I experience a different kind of pain every day. Yesterday was bad. I tried bandaging my right knee with “non-stick” bandages a day earlier, wrapped it in gauze, and slept on it. The next day I went to undue what I thought was a very nicely done bandaging job and the so-called-non-stick bandage had become part of my wound. That’s right, the bandage went transformer status on me and morphed into my puss-filled knee. My roommates, Wendy & Alison, stood beside me as we debated that whole “rip it off like a band aide” theory. I went for it and howled bloody murder as a few tears escaped from my eyes. The wound, which had only oozed puss until this point, started dripping deep red blood. Yowzers. It’s safe to say I stopped using that “non-stick” stuff after that.

Those very same roommates who stood by me as I unveiled my bloody wound, have listened to me gripe about the pain for 6 days now, and have bought me ice cream & bandages, also went ahead and washed my truck today. Aren’t they the best? I’m surrounded by the most loving people even in my week of incessant complaining.


Also, I finished that book, the one that told me to get off the couch and make my day memorable. It was good. Although, I must admit I was slightly bitter during the last 50 pages or so since the very book that urged me to get off the couch also caused me to be couch-ridden for nearly a week. Now that's irony, my friends. After finishing the novel, I watched the newest episode of Jersey Shore. I figured I'd been prestigious enough in finishing that book, so I had to balance it out with a little crap TV.  

Job Hunting in the Wild

It’s been approx. 60 days since I’ve graduated and I’ve applied for 10 jobs. I’ve heard back from zero. Yes, that’s right, a big fatty zip have even desired to acknowledge my interest in their companies or existence as a human being. Let’s assess the situations and figure out where I’ve gone wrong:

First 4 jobs applied for: Western Oregon University entry-level positions.

Assessment: Now there’s a joke—“entry-level.” Entry, in my mind, would imply the lowest of low levels. But no, apparently entry-level means at least two years of experience in the field and/or many more years of education than I have. So those 4 are out due to my underqualification.

5^th job applied for: Barista at The Beanery in Salem.

Assessment: This is a job I secretly want more than I’m willing to let on. The big joke around the universities is that a BA in English equates to becoming a well-read barista. This application was my way of submitting to those stereotypes and living up to my snobby barista potential. Plus I uber love coffee. With this job, I walked into the establishment, shook hands with the manager, put on my best peppy smile, gave her my application & resume, and assured her that I will indeed be available full time and am not secretly a full time student. Despite a promising introduction, no word from her…yet. I shall fulfill my coffee serving dreams one day.

6^th job applied for: Another WOU job.

Assessment: Yeah, I already got rejected 4 times from WOU, but that didn’t stop me from pestering them with yet another general application and copy of my resume. This time it was a receptionist position at Western, which I’m totally qualified for. It required no prior experience and I’m a former student, so I figured I had a leg up. Wrong. The WOU website informed me they are now interviewing for that position. All I do all day is tap my iphone and check to see if I got a new message or call. But regardless, I guess I missed your call, WOU. It’s cool, it’s a small campus, I’ll just stalk the interviews in progress and weasel my shining face in there and charm their pants off. 

7^th & 8^th jobs applied for: OSU Federal Credit Union Teller.

Assessment: A woman from my church told me about a teller position that opened up at the OSU Credit Union in Corvallis where she works. Craigslist told me that was true. Craigslist also told me there was a teller position available at the Dallas branch (another nearby town) as well. I submitted online applications to both and so kindly got an automated response via email that my application had been received. Ok, I guess I lied earlier. That automated email was a form of acknowledgement. However, it wasn’t even personalized enough to fill in my name in the introduction of the email, which means a machine acknowledged me. Whooptie-doo. That’s more a win for technology than for human existence.    

9^th job applied for: Random receptionist position in Corvallis.

Assessment: This craigslist gem was amongst the vaguest of vague entries. It was something along the lines of “mysterious company searching for qualified individual to guess what the job requirements are and fulfill them to unstated expectations.” Ok, it wasn’t that sketch or blunt. It was vague though. I still really want it.

10^th job applied for: Macy*s associate…er, sales rep? Something else standard sounding?

Assessment: I also found this posting on craigslist. Man, craigslist rules. Anywho, I went to the Macy*s site and began what appeared to be a simple online application. Yeah, it wasn’t. It included about seven different sections, one of which was a 12 part questionnaire. That questionnaire was long and repetitive. It was one of those strongly disagree, disagree, neutral, agree, strongly agree deals. It asked tons of questions about my character and morals and business values. Dude, I’m trying to sell perfume to people at best, not run the whole friggin’ company. An example of such griping questions: “The best business solutions are the ones that work.” I strongly disagreed with that just based on the other kinds of questions asked throughout the process. I think, according to the Macy*s questionnaire, the best business solutions are the ones that took a crap ton of heart, risked everyone’s jobs & safety, and didn’t stand a chance at success. Way to go, you crazy Macy*s sonsabeaches.

So there you have it, my 10 jobs I haven’t heard from and most likely won’t get. My future’s so bright I have to wear shades...well, that or I need to wear shades to conceal my unemployed tears. Wah, wah, wah. 

Yesterday, I fell on my longboard. Today, I started a blog.

Ok, first lie of the blog: technically I fell on Saturday and now it’s Tuesday, but I had the idea to start this blog on Sunday and thought that title sounded nice. Now on to the real story…

On Saturday August 6^th, I was lying on my couch, home alone, reading Donald Miller’s A Million Years in a Thousand Miles when I came across this line: “When we look back on our lives, what we will remember are the crazy things we did, the times we worked harder to make a day stand out.” After reading this line I was inspired…inspired to take an hour-long nap. But after that nap I was fully rested and truly inspired. I thought about turning on the TV and watching another season of How I Met Your Mother, Facebooking, and checking out the internets—but no, it was time to make the day memorable. I turned off the TV, got up from the couch, grabbed my longboard and headed to a hill across town I’d always wanted to carve down (don’t worry, I’m aware of how trendy/tool-ish I sound). I approached a hill before the hill I wanted to ride down and started pushing. At this point, I was feeling really good about myself. I’d gotten out of the house, was doing something I’d told myself I was going to do for a long time, and I was going to push the bounds of my longboarding skills. As I rounded the corner from the pre-hill to the hill I wanted I go down, I started to gain more speed than desired. I thought about stopping, or slowing myself with the brake of my Rainbow sandal, but then I was too high-and-mighty on my I-made-it-off-the-couch-mindset to halt the growing speed. Then I was faced with the hill. I hadn’t taken a look at it before going down it, I just went for it—big mistake. My speed only increased and my board became more and more wobbly. I attempted to carve from one side of the road to the other in order to regain control, but my board only grew ricketier with each swerve. I got scared. I imagined the board slipping out from under me, my tailbone being thrust to the ground, sprawling out my wrists in an attempt to brace myself, but shattering them instead. My imagination and fear got the best of me and I decided to bail. I leapt off the board thinking if I’d made the leap on my own accord--as opposed to gravity doing it--it would be more graceful and less painful. I was wrong. Gravity still won, that jerk. I rolled several time in a blur of road pavement and exposed legs. After the shock wore off, the adrenaline kicked in. I walked about a mile back home with my board under my arm, my head hung low, and the scrapes of my knees filling with blood.

Moral of the story and the point of this blog: I’m not the adventurous type. I wasn’t meant to make my days memorable by being daring on a longboard. I’m much more comfortable behind the safety of my Macbook screen, tap-tap-tapping away on the keys and producing writing. Bringing any of you readers up to speed on my current life situation, I graduated with a BA in English/Writing and a minor in linguistics and I’m 100% qualified to be unemployed. This blog is my way of coping with my recent entrance and grand welcome into what people call the “Real World”. I don’t want to fall on my longboard again, I don’t want to run a marathon, and I don’t want to be someone I’m not. I don’t want to do anything besides apply for jobs I’m not qualified for & ones I’m overqualified for while keeping up my writing skills by blogging on a regular basis. So I invite you all to follow my overly tame adventures in navigating the real world from the safety of my couch. 

Also, an update: it's 3 days after my wipeout and I'm in quite possibly the most pain I've ever been in. I can't bend my knees. The wounds are trying to scab and are causing a pins & needles sensation in the process. I walk like an old lady. And I'm pretty sure my left hand will need to be amputated in the future. That's what I get for leaving the couch.