The Werewolf and the Veterinarian

(Part 1)

I’m a huge animal lover.  Dogs to be exact.  I can name almost any breed of dog, guess what a mutt is mixed with, and as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I browse the Pets section on Craigslist to look at puppies in my spare time.
It’s weird, I’m aware.
So, naturally, I’m a sucker for dog-lovers.  Pretty much any mention of a pup in someone’s dating profile gets them a swipe right.  I’m also a sucker for wit.

If you can talk shit better than me, it’s game over muchacho.


One swipe long-ago, I came across an engineer who we will call Jared.
Jared and I messaged back and forth, each of us one-upping each other with smart-ass comments, until we exchanged numbers.  We texted daily for a month, but our schedules never seemed to line up.

I was legitimately cyber-dating.


The day finally came to meet this person who I’d spent so much time talking to.
The plan was pizza, beers, and a movie.  I pulled up, parked, and was greeted by a tall, lanky man with a borderline unibrow.

Initial thought: “Okay—he’s a nerd.  I can work with that.”

After all, based on our lengthy month of texting all day every day, I was certain that this one was a keeper.

The first hour was painfully awkward.
I quickly realized that he was very much involved with the online gaming community, and probably spent more time talking to people behind a computer screen than he did in person.


But get a few beers in me, and I could carry a conversation with Charlie Chaplin.

I may have gone one or two past “a few.”
My little turtle finally came out of his shell, and conversation was flowing.
Until he said,
“I feel like with dating you need to put all of your cards out on the table and let the person know everything wrong with you right from the beginning.”


Oh boy.

Jared started off telling me about his childhood, and proceeded to tell me the following story of his life:
His mother was kidnapped and raped by a powerful Russian mafia member who was on the run.  He impregnated her, and she ran away from this dangerous man, who had deep, deep ties to cartels in Russia.
She put her baby up for adoption, and he was adopted by a Mexican family, who named him Juan Navarro.

So 6’4” blonde, blue-eyed Jared Hunter as I knew him, was really Juan Navarro…

He said he had always felt different growing up.  As if he had a sixth sense.  Then came his 12th birthday, a full moon.
He had agonizing pain, and was filled with rage.  Until he looked in the mirror…

He was a Werewolf.

When he looks in the mirror, he sees himself with claws, his body covered in fur.
He has primal desires to eat copious amounts of meat.
He has slammed his bushy tail in the door before, and it really hurts.  He can also speak to other canines.
Jared said when he came out as a werewolf to his parents, they wouldn’t accept it.  So he hot-wired a car, and drove away.
Until he came across a group of people in the middle of the woods.  He had found a pack of fellow werewolves. He spent the next year roaming the woods with “his pack.”
But then he decided he wanted to start going to community college.
He met a girl at school, whose dad was a recruiter for the FBI.  He was recruited to go to Afghanistan undercover and set up all of their computer systems.
He lived in this warehouse setting up high-tech computer systems for the military until he was told that the whole time, there were nuclear weapons in the warehouse, and he was never supposed to have been staying there.
Because of the radiation from the nuclear weapons, he only had 5 years left to live…

Meanwhile, I had slammed two more beers and two slices of pizza in order to avoid having to say anything, and to keep my jaw from physically hitting the floor.

All I could manage to get out of my mouth was,

“Thats a lot.”

I proceeded to turn on John Mulaney’s standup routine on Netflix.  Then I made out with the werewolf.
…Part 2 to be continued 


No Ragrets.

It’s pretty well-known that I’ve been through some ish in my 25 years of life.  And with this ish, undoubtedly comes some situations that, looking back, I could have gone without experiencing.  Most of these situations involve me doing something to absolutely humiliate myself.  You see, I’m not the most graceful, nor the most poised.  But that’s what makes me fun (or fun to laugh at) to begin with.  Get a few drinks in me, and I’ll do just about anything for a laugh.  But it’s the times where I wasn’t actually trying to be laughed at that still make me cringe a little.

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There was the time that I went to Patrick Willis’s mansion with my friend Bailey.  There were maybe six of us girls, and 20+ Niners hanging out at his gorgeous estate, overlooking the entire San Jose skyline.  I was absolutely star-struck and nervous, and immediately sought out the bar counter.  I made myself a less-than classy cosmopolitan—vodka with a splash of cran for color—and spotted a bar stool that I could post up on and keep it cool.  P-Willy was just chatting it up with Delanie Walker on the other side of the counter.  I went to take my seat, but unfortunately for me, I COMPLETELY missed the chair, fell straight on my ass, and brought down Patrick Willis’s designer barstool on top of me with a THUD.  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, looked at me, and then BUSTED THE FUCK UP with laughter.  Probably all wondering who the fuck brought Scarlett Takes a Tumble to the party…

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A couple months later, I ran into Delanie Walker at the bar.  He came up to me and said, “Hey, aren’t you that girl that fell off the stool?”

At least I was memorable…

Then, there was the time I decided to add my new coworker on Snapchat.  We were at that freshly “let’s be new friends” stage, and had just exchanged phone numbers.  One random weeknight I went over to my girlfriend’s house for a wine night after work.  It was just going to be she and I, so of course I needed to bring two bottles of wine.  Well, there’s this thing that happens to me when I drink.

I turn into Beyoncé.

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At least I think I do… It’s like a running joke in my group text when they see my Snapchat stories after a night out—”Katie, you were really feeling yourself last night, weren’t you?”

So anyways, a few hours and two bottles of wine later and I’m back at my apartment feeling like I just wrapped up a photoshoot for People Magazine’s Sexiest Woman of the Year edition.  So, I start snapping some selfies.  And I take an extra sultry one with my hair all in my face, pouty lips making a kissy face, and my cleavage on fleek and extra-out there.  I decide to be a little flirty, and send it to this guy I had been seeing.  We had just become friends on Snapchat.  But there’s a problem.  You see, I broke my screen a while back, and didn’t go to the Apple store to get it fixed.  I took it to some Asian phone repair spot, and it looked great and crack-free.  Fast-forward to now, and I can barely text because the screen is so glitchy.  So, I tap on my new boo’s name on Snapchat to send the picture, and IT FUCKING SENDS TO MY COWORKER who’s name happens to be right next to his in my newly added contacts!!!!

So, hey, new coworker friend Emily, hope you enjoyed my sexy selfie.


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And last but certainly not least was a moment that I was completely serious in doing at the time, and now, looking back 5 years later, I realize how absolutely ridiculously hideous and hilarious it is.  I was “dating” Lil Uno from The Pack at the time, (you remember—”Got my Vans on but they look like sneakers”) so that should tell you a bit about what stage in life I was in.

I worked at Bebe, every girl’s favorite store for slutty Vegas dresses, and I had a client come in who was a makeup artist for music videos.  I would not consider myself to be photogenic, but she asked me if I wanted to be in the video for a Kafani song featuring Gucci Mane, “She Ready Now.”

(Click play for quick a reminder:)

Obviously my ratchet ass said yes.  So, a week later, I show up to this random club in Pleasanton at 9 AM with my freshly purchased Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie, nervous as all hell.  The girls start arriving, little by little, and I realized just how out of place I was.  I’m a curvy girl, yes.  But these girls?  They look like they just came out of a twerk video with the Ying Yang Twins.

So, I nervously wait my turn to get my makeup done.  Hours pass.  Still, no Gucci Mane.  Then, Kafani gets a call and storms off—Gucci isn’t coming.  Someone pulled out a gun on him at the club he was at the night before in Oakland, and he flew back to Atlanta.

Well, shit.  I’m all the way in good ol’ Pleasanton, sitting in lingerie, and I’m not even going to get to be in a Gucci Mane video.  There’s some hustle and bustle, and they decide the show must go on—we’ll film a video for a different song.

I finally get my turn in the makeup artist’s chair, and she decides she “likes my big eyelids” and wants to bedazzle them entirely in rhinestones.  One. By. One.  She meticulously picked up each individual gem, and glued them onto my eyelids.  By the time she was done with my makeup, they were already filming the last scene of the video.  So, I rushed into the scene, and just felt so damn ridiculous, half-naked, my eyelids weighed down so heavy with fucking gems all over them to where I can barely keep my eyes open—all I could do was laugh.

And that, my friends, is how I became a video vixen.

But this story gets better.  The video ended up being released on WorldStarHipHop, and I am in it for a total of :01 second(s).

Screengrab Exhibit A :  (I’m the one laughing on the left) 

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What’s even better than the hideous fact that I did this?  Let me show you.

People love to comment on WorldStar, and as I was watching the video and dying, I came across this little comment:

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“Guest,” my friend…It’s five years later and I’m still asking myself the same damn question.


At least I can say that I have stories to tell, even if they’re embarrassing as all hell.  You have to be able to laugh at yourself and live without regrets.

So, without further ado, and to sum up this post, I present to you all:  “Baller Roll.”