"My own little world is what I deserve, 'cause I am the only child there is. A king of it all. The belle of the ball. I promise I've always been like this. Forever the first. My bubble can't burst. It's almost like only I exist. Where's everything's mine if I can keep my mouth shut tight, tight, tight . . ." - Guster, Center of Attention
Where to start, where to start . . . I'm Katie. Actually, I'm Kathleen. Kathleen Erin Ett. I'm not sure why I'm Kathleen Erin Ett, exactly. I think my parents wanted me to be a boy. They had boy names picked out all over the place. Dad wanted me to be Woodrow Wilson; Mom said that she would have never let that happen. Mom, of course, wanted me to be named Kristopher Jonathan so that she could call me K.J., which actually seems like a horrible name to me, and apparently, Dad thought the same. I was also supposed to farm like my dad. There's this huge love of farming in my family that I'm not at all a part of. Dad gave up a chemistry degree and law school to come back home and become a farmer as his dad was and as his dad's dad was and as . . . Mom was a teacher. An English and humanities teacher, to be exact. That's the love that I share. I was born on October 9th, 1981 in lovely Columbus, Ohio, and I grew up participating in all of the spelling bees, all of the writing contests, making fun of people who can't spell or use punctuation correctly. It's a shame, because in my little town of 2000, everyone is white trash. And everyone knows that white trash can't spell. I, of course, would never consider myself white trash, though I'm clearly a country girl.
Now, however, I attend college in Columbus, and I've been told that I've adjusted to "big city life" rather well. I go to THE Ohio State University, you know. It's funny, because I always sort of knew that I would go there no matter what. I completed the first steps of applying to the University of Southern California as a high school senior, but this was about the time that my mom randomly came down with a massive brain tumor, and I figured that my moving to California was probably not a good idea. I love how I say "came down with a brain tumor" as if it's like a cold or the flu or something. I suppose I should mention that Mom died on April 2nd, 2000, leaving me motherless at eighteen. I've got a million stories about that; ask me if you care to hear my babbling. So, while hospitals should depress me like all get-out, I'm actually quite fond of them. That, coupled with the fact that I woke up during a side procedure of my apendectomy in 7th grade, gave me this desire to become an anesthesiologist. So, for nearly my entire first year of college, I was a biology major with an emphasis in pre-medicine. Then, toward the end of Spring quarter, I realised that although I had a desire to be a doctor, I have a burning passion for writing and editing and all things associated with the English language. So, I became a Biology/English major with an emphasis in pre-medicine. Then, at the beginning of my sophomore year, I realised that I was totally uninterested in ever taking another chemistry course again and really didn't want the rest of my life to have anything to do with chemistry, so I dropped my biology major, dropped the pre-med business, and discovered that I'm interested in law, just like my dad is. And to supplement that, I added a journalism/communications major (mostly because I like to say the word JCom. So, I was an English and communications major with an emphasis in pre-law for oh, about two weeks. Then, in the winter of 2002, I realised that I really wanted to learn to write poetry. So I took a poetry class and found that I actually had the ability to write in me all along. Plus, I've been doing creative nonfiction for years and years. So now I'm officially an English major with a creative writing emphasis. Yee-ha, brother.
I'm pretty much utterly self-obsessed, which has served me well in my 22 years. You have to understand that I'm adorably cute. I've got big, black curls and big, brown eyes, and a big, bright smile. I'm usually told that I look like Betty Boop, but well, I can't decide if that's a compliment or not. People generally absolutely love me or absolutely despise me; there's no middle ground. I tend to say what I want to say, but I don't intentionally say things to hurt people . . . unless I intentionally do want to hurt them, in which case, I do. Ahh, what sweet sense I make. I make snap judgements about people based on appearance or grammar or spelling skills and modify them as I get to know the person whom I'm judging. I'm also a former Christian, though, so while I may pretend to be all dirty, I'm actually an innocent, little lamb of God . . . once removed. Like every other former Christian before me, I spent years struggling with my faith in God, but I'm feeling pretty settled right where I am�all atheist-like. Or at least agnostic. I'm a vegetarian. Like it or not, I don't eat meat. Why? It started as a personal challenge, but once I did it, it seemed ridiculous to go back, so here I am, meat-free. I like peanut butter in my ice cream and chocolate in my milk and white cake more than dark and reading while on the toilet, but you'll learn about all of the that in another place, at another time.
I'm summed up totally in the Rufus Wainwright lyric, "I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish, a little bit Tower of Pisa whenever I see ya . . . so please be kind if I'm a mess." Now, I'm not an heiress, and I'm not the least bit Irish, and I'm certainly no structure of any kind (leaning or otherwise), but I am, in fact, a mess. I'm not the sloppy heroin addict, slurred-speech drunk, red-eyed coffee connoisseur type of mess, though. I'm the impossible-to-understand type. I don't make any sense. Really. I'm full of passion and yet totally apathetic. I'm overly analytical and yet undeniably na�ve. I'm frustrated by the world and yet satisfied by my closet of thrift store pants. I'm jealous. I'm a hypocrite. I'm an elitist.
I'm shy. Strike that. I'm impossibly shy. You would never know this, though. There's this fabulous quote by Matt Bivins of the band Jump, Little Children that goes a little something like, I do believe that shy people don't ever get over their shyness completely. The either stay shy all of their lives or find ways of dealing with this shyness. They find the buttons to press that allow them to act like outgoing people, even though inside they may still be rather nervous and shy. This is the way I live my life. Many times people have thought me to be a superficial or shallow person, but the truth is I am often only able to talk to others or perform in front of others by creating an animated version of myself that has absolutely no problem being extroverted. And then there's also, It also helps shyness to admit being shy. Publicly. Once. And then move on to the best of your ability. It also helps that I'm an obnoxious person at heart; sometimes having strong opinions allows you to overcome shyness. This is me.
I tend to think in the future. I can't become a drunk now, because I don't want to be that haggard old woman who lives at the neighbourhood bar when I'm 45 years old. I can't get a tattoo, because I don't want to be that Stepford wife with the Chinese symbol for cheap and easy inked to my lower back. I'm the type who decides whether or not I could spend my life with a man upon first meeting him.
I'm extremely outgoing yet terribly antisocial. I love being the center of attention. I'll say whatever I want to whomever I want. I like meeting strangers in elevators, waiters in restaurants, and guests at the science museum where I work. However, I would much rather spend an evening with a single person whom I can really talk to rather than an entire group who will laugh at my shenanigans.
I seem to be entirely too self-assured. I can't figure out if I really am as confident as everyone apparently thinks I am, but Leigh, my arch nemesis, once said, "If anyone is missing a piece of their ego, Katie has it." But really, I am quite fond of myself, probably to a fault. You just try and resist me, though. Really.
I'm never satisfied. I question everything. I rate facewashes by how horrible they taste when they accidentally get in my mouth. I'm a worrier and a fighter and a stubborn fool. I'm Katie Ett, I suppose.
And for those who care considerably less:
Name: Kathleen Erin Ett
Also Known As: Baby Kakes (the original nickname, given by my dad), Rrram�n (given by Tracey), Conquistador (also given by Tracey), GOD (given by my high school pal Joel), Lucifer (also given by my high school pal Joel, oddly), Katie #1 (self-proclaimed in order to separate me from my other Katie friends), Etty (given by my roommate Rhonda during my freshman year at OSU to separate me from the other Katie roommate), Maneater (also given by my roommates during my freshman year at OSU for my tendency to chew my men and spit them out)
Rock Star Name, According to mp3.com: Lux Velveteen
Heavy Metal Name, According to mp3.com: Legz Bon Scouter
Date of Hatching: 9 October, 1981
Hometown: Ashville, Ohio
Favourite Band: Guster
Favourite Body Part: The back
Favourite Bone: The yummy, yummy clavicle
Reason for Existence: To pretend to be all elitist with my friends, making fun of you and your friends
Random Facts About Me That You, Super-Stalker You Strive to Be, Should Know:
If I had a gang, it would be called The Apple Corps. And corps, of course, would be pronounced core.
Now that's hardcore.