CatieOsborn.Com

College is all about meeting people and sharing new experiences. And this year, I got really lucky. Through a series of random and lucky events, I met my roommate Abby.
Abby is a…special person.  Tiny, incredibly talented and  a fiery Irish red-head, she is one of the craziest and most random people I’ve ever met. And that’s why I love her.
We’ve been on many adventures together–it just so happens that we share an obsession with Steak N Shake and Village Inn, so many a night we’ve traveled in the Catiemobile or the Abbymobile..(it actually has another name, but we’ve decided it’s not printable here) in search of shakes or pancakes.
I’ve heard tales of people with consistently perky roommates…this may be true of Abby, but one thing I’m grateful for is that we are both not morning people. Our morning routine consists of Abby’s evil cell phone alarm going off at least three times before I shoot her with a nerf gun to make her wake up. Eventually, we mosey on down to the cafeteria and stare at each other over our cereal until one of us sighs and attempts to move. And her newest habit of waking me up by yelling Dane Cook sketches at me is pretty effective…just don’t tell her I told you that.
Abby has also taught me about the glory that is ramen noodles , which are very important for a college student. Her taste in music has  also started to rub off on me. My Ipod is in danger of being maxed out with  random indie bands…but I was quite excited to learn that we both think emo kids are hilarious.
Abby is famous for her  persistent optimism…she even has a “wall of dreams”…a huge list of her life’s goals that she’s meticulously printed on index cards and coded to know if she’s completed yet.
She is currently braving the highest bunk in Cosgrove hall and has assisted in the “great fish rescue” of 2007. Nurbler and Alfred are living quite happily together on Abby’s desk. (Tar Tar Lord of the Underworld would probably eat them…so I let Abby take care of the goldfishes.)
And I’m sure some of you who know me are a little concerned with our living situation. But it’s okay…Abby’s messy too. Not as messy as me, but as our door says “it’s not that we’re messy, it’s just that we do theatre”. In fact, our room is sort of famous…if you need anything random, anything sewn, a rare movie or soundtrack, you hit up our room. We even entered our room in the school’s messiest room contest….we plan on dominating.
I’ve also found myself getting into what I call “Abby Habits”: for instance, her obsession with polka-dots and Dale Earnhardt Jr. lets me spot any product with either on them from over 50 feet away. And I’ve also developed a horrible case of music ADD thanks to Abby…I can’t listen to any song on my Ipod for more than about 45 seconds without having the sudden urge to change songs.
All in all, I have to say that Abby is one high quality roommate. She’s hilarious, crazy, and also just a really good friend. Last week she drove all the way home to get a DVD for me because I was in a bad mood and wanted to cheer me up. And she didn’t even get mad when I bought  a sofa for our room that didn’t exactly fit….

So the other day my brother and I went to go see X-Men III. It was pretty good, I guess, considering the accidental exclusion of a plot, but it got me thinking. A lot of people have been talking about the hidden political symbolism that is present in the  movie, and about how it raises questions about human rights, ethics, war, poverty and other serious issues. I don’t know about other people, but I know personally I was very moved… All I could think of when I left the theater was “Man! I wish I was a mutant!”
Think about it. How sweet would it be if you could fly, or throw giant fireballs or control minds? And not just the whole superhero aspect of things–it’s the everyday practicalities that I would enjoy! Long line at Starbucks?? No problem! Just levitate everyone out of the way, or make them all forget what they wanted.
Can’t get that grill to light? Blast it with your fireballs. It’d be great on the 4t of July, as well! Tired of your neighbors? Simply make their house fly far, far away! Tired of listening to your sibling’s awful music? “Accidentally” freeze all of their Cds! Having superpowers would make all our lives so much easier.
Not only that, but we could make the world a better place. Being able to pinpoint certain people would finally enable my plan for locking all the stupid people in underground cages to finally come to fruition.
I’m not going to put on any false pretenses–I’d be the worst super hero ever. I am much too lazy and self-motivated to try and do anything that great for humanity. I’d be the superhero who uses the powers of flight to pick up something from the drive-through at McDonalds or the mall during Christmas time, just to avoid parking. My sweet costume would consist of jeans and a musical t-shirt (probably Wicked, because the irony would make me chuckle.), and this is only a public service. No one needs to see me in neon spandex. No one.  I’d save small children and cats from trees, but only if there were cookies in it for me.
And forget any of that crime fighting stuff. I’d much rather sit back and watch the royalties from the Catie action figure roll on in. I’ve always wanted my face on a t-shirt, and now this would be the perfect opportunity. I might even get my own fan club. Sweet.
I’d probably hire on of my brother’s friends as my arch nemesis, just so I wouldn’t have to worry about every actually fighting him. I’d just offer him a Twinkie and things would be cool.
All in all, I think that being a super-hero would be a pretty sweet gig. Especially the whole mind control thing–think about it. For all you know, I could be controlling your mind right now, telling you to buy tickets for George M!, which will be presented by Quad City Music Guild on July 7,8,9, 13, 14, 15, 16, at 7:30 in the Prospect Park Auditorium,to (Call 762-6610 for tickets).
Mwahahahaha!

So, being a college student has recently started leaving me strapped for cash. There’s the little things in life that one realizes that they need to pay for…such as food. So, over winter break I started a business. And what a fantastic business it is, too. Really! I’m now the proud manager of “Princess Parties By Catie. Seriously.
See, it finally occurred to me while working at my mom and dad’s office.  My good buddy Autumn, who works up at the front was discussing her daughter’s birthday party, and how it was themed for the Little Mermaid. I jokingly suggested that I should dress up like the Little Mermaid and show up. Then it clicked.
This was a viable career opportunity!
Not only do I get to work with little kids, which I love, I have a legitimate excuse to play dress up. Combine that with the fact that I got a sewing machine for my birthday and it is perfect. (Although I did get a few strange looks carrying my supply of costumes up to my dorm room….I guess a Dorothy jumper isn’t as in fashion as it used to be…).
At this point, I’ve started making costumes to have on hand when people call and book parties. I’ve  even started to make friends with the nice ladies at the fabric store. The best moment was when I explained why I needed the Civil-War recreation pattern for a Disney Princess costume. And that I had never really sewn before. Or ever used a pattern before…
And the girls on my floor are starting to get used to seeing me waltz up and down the hall dressed like Belle, or stopping them and asking them to check and see if my hemline is straight.  But the kicker came when I forced my friend Beth to be my “body double” and try on my newest costume so I could see it on someone. Let’s just say that Beth is not exactly the type to dress up like a princess….
So far, it’s been a pretty good deal. I’ve booked a few parties and business is getting bigger. This really is the perfect job for a theatre major: Costumes, make-up, acting, an extremely receptive audience of hyper 4 year-olds….and plus, I get to play dress up for about 5 hours.  And I’ve found that little kids don’t really care what you look like, it’s all in the attitude…which is sort of deep, when you think about it.
It’s been a learning experience, that’s for sure, but I am loving the work. It is awesome to walk into a room and be bombarded by 40 kids. It’s also tons of fun to make the shy kid in the corner come out of her shell, or making a little kid feel like a princess for the day.
Plus, now I have a legitimate reason to start watching Disney movies again.
Shameless plug: Check out www.freewebs.com/princesspartiesbycatie if you want more information.

For awhile now, I’ve been getting stopped in malls, restaurants, office buildings and airports with the question “When are you going to start writing again?”  Now, as nice as it is being a Q level celebrity in the Quad-City celebrisphere, it started to get really, really annoying.  And so I as I thought over the past year of my life, I realized…my regular readers have missed a lot.
And so, I am incredibly pleased to say: I’m back.
Actually, now that I think on it, I get asked a lot of questions on a daily basis that are frustrating to answer over and over. So let’s play catch-up, readers.
College: is fine. Ambrose is fantastic, yes, I like it here and no, I haven’t had any trouble with my roommate. In fact, we are best friends.  No, the food isn’t the best, but yes, I get enough to eat and no, I do not live on ramen noodles.  Yes, I am having fun in college. No, I will not elaborate. You do not want to know.
No, I do not have a boyfriend. And no, I do not want to meet your son/cousin/roommate. Yes, Mom, I know you want grandkids.  Yes, I had a boyfriend, and yes, it is a long, long story.
Yes, I have a job, I still work at the state’s attorney’s office part time. And yes, I still do understand that I could be replaced by a  high functioning Xerox machine. It might even do a better job. Xerox machines don’t take dance breaks.
Yes, I am still a theatre major and no, I do not have a fall back. Yes, I am okay with that. Yes, I know I am going to be poor and hungry, and yes, I’ve picked out a nice box to live in. Yes, I understand that to you, theatre is not a “real job”, and I find that deeply offensive and I will secretly judge you for that statement for the rest of your life. And no, I will not thank you in my acceptance speech.  Yes, I am doing theatre this summer, and yes, I am quite excited for it.
No, I don’t have many plans for the summer. This is because I am saving up money for the greatest adventure of my life, which will be discussed in future columns. Yes, that means you are going to have to keep reading….see what I did there?

So, as most of you know, OJ Simpson decided it would be cool to write a book that set up a few hypothetical situations and then explain what he would have done IF these situations had actually happened. With that in mind, I would like to present my first ever “hypothetical column”, in which I am going to discuss some hypothetically crazy things that I may have done in college. But remember, these are only hypothetical.
If, hypothetically, I had come back to the dorm after fall break and spent the entire night riding down the halls on my roller skates out of sheer boredom,  I might have hypothetically learned that it hurts when you run into the wall.
If, hypothetically, we had transformed the hallway into a giant slip-n-slide, and I had been one of the perpetrators, it would have resulted in an awkward situation when we took it outside and they were having mass in the Chapel (which has large, plate glass windows. Facing our direction).
If, hypothetically I had spent an entire day listening to Christmas songs and making paper snow flakes, it would only have been pathetic when I had to look up how to make them on the internet.
If, hypothetically I had stayed up ‘till 4 AM for three nights in a row playing Guitar Hero 2 at Wal-Mart and then eating at Village Inn, I would have learned that eventually you run out of energy drinks and class is much less fun afterwards.
If, hypothetically I had spent an hour railing about the life size animatronic pony that they now carry at Wal-Mart, (which is ABSOLUTELY ridiculous–in my day, you told your mommy and daddy that you wanted a pony and they chuckled and patted you on the head. They didn’t go to Wal-Mart and buy you one. ) the hour might have ended in a trip to Wal-Mart just to see the pony.
If, hypothetically, I had stayed up until 3 AM the morning of a show because I couldn’t tear myself away from Twister at the cast sleepover, I would have learned that snow isn’t as much fun when it’s really late and you’re really tired.
If, hypothetically, I’d become completely addicted to Grey’s Anatomy because of my suitemates and roommate, I would now consider the question “McDreamy or McSteamy” a serious one.
If, hypothetically, I’d become so completely engrossed in the SAU theatre department that my life seriously revolved around it, I wouldn’t mind at all, because they are some of the nicest people on campus, and throw the best parties as well–or so I’ve been told.
If, hypothetically I spent more time playing Mario Kart than I did doing homework, I would have realized that I have a wicked case of Mario Kart-induced Tourette’s syndrome that I really need to have checked out.
I guess what it comes down to it that I’ve become, hypothetically, happier than I’ve even been. I’ve gotten so much out of just this first semester of college–I can’t wait to see what may or may not happen to me for the rest of my college career.

I’ve been at St. Ambrose for almost two months now, and things are going smashingly. I’ve met loads of fun new people, done crazy college things and become a whore. A dirty one, no less.
(Okay, so it’s in the musical, and I took that statement completely out of context. But it’s still fun to tell people I’m a whore. Especially my dad. )
And because of this role, I’ve learned several very important things. First, high heels are an acquired talent. It also hurts if you fall down whilst wearing said heels. It also is possible to dance somewhat like an ape in a corset and high heels; you just gotta have skills. And these skills are not something that come unnaturally…you gotta work on them for awhile.
So the show’s Threepenny Opera, and wouldn’t you know —it’s this weekend. (Note: shameless self-promotion follows). Call the Galvin Fine Arts Center  at (563) 333-6251 for tickets.
In addition to all of this fun stuff, I also got a job working at a haunted house.  Which, in my opinion, is about one of the most fun things ever. Where else can you scream at people for no legitimate reason and get away with it? And it’s not just the stress relief–not only do I get to put on some sweet make-up, I also have the best costume ever: A towel. That’s right. A towel. It’s a bloody towel, but a towel nonetheless.
See, the plan was that I was going to be the “scary locker-room/Psycho/Carrie” take-off. The only problem was that the room I was supposed to be in was a little….distracting due to the presence of certain other characters.  So I moved into another room, where the look turned into a sort of “The Grudge/The Ring” sort of look. Which is pretty sweet if you ask me.
But it is hard to keep a straight face when dorky teenage boys start making fun comments, or even better, when they scream like little girls and then try to play it off like nothing happened.  You’ve really not lived until you’ve seen a group of grown men clinging to each other trying to get away from the scary girl in the towel.
I’ve found that people scare differently, which makes ‘spooking’ more fun. Some people get really scared and scream at the slightest noise, and some won’t say anything. Others just cold-cock people in the face. (Okay, that was me. But it was an accident. Sort of. I said I was sorry.) Then you have your “too cool for school” types, who pretend like they aren’t scared at all., and just mosey on through the haunted hause giggling.  Those are the people I enjoy scaring most of all. Because the plan is to act all cool and the spooks will write you off as a lost cause. Not me. That’s who I go for. Because the trick is to make them think you’re done scaring them, and then move in for a second attack. Or a third.
And speaking of haunted houses…..the Silvis/East Moline Jaycee’s Haunted House is also this weekend! And every other weekend in October. It’s at the Quad City Downs, and  it opens Fridays at 7:00 PM.
Now to tell Mom what really happened to her favorite towel….

A few weeks ago, something strange happened to me. I joined a special club—one only a privileged few join. “The Retail Club”. That’s right…I got a job. After months on the unemployment circuit, I got tired of my lack of fundage and decided to get a job. I was hired as a “part-timer” at an extremely pink store in the mall, or as I like to call myself, a “lowly minion”.
This was my first major mistake: getting hired at an all-pink store. If you like pink, that’s great. Pink is actually a nice color in most circumstances…but when forced to stare at a pink wall for 5 hours, it gets old. Really fast.
To share with you how much I…enjoyed….working there, I think I’ll share a few things I learned since becoming employed.
If the clothes don’t fit, it is not my fault. Really. I understand that it can be hard to find clothes that fit and look good, but is there any reason to complain to me about it? This leads me to number 2:
We do not make the clothes. Funny enough, there is no magical sewing machine in the back that turns out clothes while you wait. I do not know why a zipper is pink, or a seam is yellow. Please do not ask. I enjoy the show “Project Runway”, but I am not the designer. And no, the hood of that sweatshirt does not come in a different color.
Sales. I like to shop. I like to find things for a low price. This means I like sales. Most people like sales. Most people understand that some things go on sale when others don’t. However, threatening me with a lawsuit because an item you want is not on sale is not a great way to make friends.
There are no magical fairies in the mall. Contrary to popular belief, the elves do not come at night to straighten the store. No gnomes come to sort the shoes, and no little gremlins straighten up the dresses when the lights go out. That’s my job. Which means every time someone throws a shirt under a rack or cleverly hangs something up inside out on the wrong rack, I have to pick it up and put it back. Which, while entertaining in the first 15 minutes, gets really old after the first 4 ½ hours.
The power of invisibility. A funny thing happens to you when you join “The Retail Club”—you gain the amazing powers of invisibility! It must be really weird for someone to see clothes they tried on magically floating across the store, or seeing the cash register ring up purchases by itself, but apparently it’s okay. I mean, it couldn’t be anything else, right? Why else would someone ignore your question or just brush right by you while pretending not to see the giant pile of clothes they just kicked over?
Cell Phones. I like cell phones. I own a cell phone. I even talk on it sometimes! But there are some people who are going to have to have surgery to have the cell phone detached from their ear. Then they complain about the poor service they received while shopping. (Hint: maybe if I could tell whether or not you’re referring to me when you order a large pizza after I ask if I can get you anything I would be able to help you more.)
I really did learn a lot during my 3 ½ weeks of employment (yes, I quit—but that’s a whole other column). Much of it was job related, but some of it was about human nature…and how truly evil the people who take fifty things into the dressing room at once are.

So first I thought I was going to write an article about my FABULOUS buddy Trisha, who’s been demanding an article for about 6 months, but no. Not any more. Nope. I’ve reached my breaking point, and I’m not going to take it any more.

The following is a public service announcement regarding the crime in Rock Island County.

Seriously folks, it’s time to stop with the crime. For the couple of months or so, I’ve been employed as an intern at Rock Island Court House. This has been a pretty sweet gig, but the work is tedious. And just so everyone knows how it works, a short explanation;  when you commit a crime, you get a file. Then, the file is given to me.
And what do I do with this file? First, I pull it apart. Then I sort it. Then I scan it, then I stamp it, then I file it in the computer. And this is what I have to do for every time someone commits a crime. So I ask you as a personal favor to myself to please stop doing stupid things.
Now, I understand you can make a mistake. Or two. Or three. But when it gets to the point when I’ve never met you but I know your address and your birthday because I’ve filed you so many times, maybe it’s time to stop.
And another thing. Now, I encourage creativity. But there is a limit to where creativity should be employed . Especially when naming your children. Naming your child Tar-Tar Lord of the Underworld and all Outlying Gophers is great. But when he starts doing crazy stuff and winds up in jail–don’t complain. You had to see it coming. Naming your child with any name involving more than 5 silent letters or more than 4 consonants together is just unnecessary.  And eventually, that child is going to grow bitter and angry because he never found  a bike license plate, and then where are you gonna be?
I never thought being a summer intern would leave me so jaded. Seriously. It’s gotten to the point where someone assaulting his grandmother with a crossbow doesn’t even phase me. Getting shot over a lawn chair? Daily business.  Chasing down someone in a car because they stole your last Jolly Rancher? Ain’t no thang.
So here’s what I propose. Next time you go to  punch someone, steal their car or smoke something illegal, first ask yourself “WIWTHOAI?”–What impact will this have on a lowly intern? Stop and think about me slaving away somewhere, sorting your file, dying of thirst and hoping that someday, someone will figure out that the cops will find what you’re hiding in your pocket, they will check the trunk of your car, and you probably will get caught if you run down the street naked.

Until that day, I’ll be here. Wasting away with my amazing summer intern partner Emma…Sorting, filing, scanning. And stamping. Stamping…..stamping….stamping……

So, as most of you have figured (or been waiting to read about), I’m starting college next week. Which is a strange and unusual thing that they do not warn you about in high school. Sure, they beat your head in with the importance of writing skills and algebraic equations, but nowhere in that four year  time span do they EVER tell you about what happens when you get ready to go to college. Because the whole world goes crazy, and I for one was not ready for that. j

Now, first off, going to college means that you have to pay for stuff. With your own money. Which sucks. Really bad. But, in all fairness, my mom did teach me how to find a bargain well. Maybe too well. The six dollar vending machine that I purchased from Goodwill (yes it works, yes it’s a real vending machine and yes it’s full size) was a real surprise to my mom and dad. So were the three dollar snow board, the four dollar George Foreman, the 2 dollar wedding gown and the 27 pairs of shoes. Maybe I didn’t actually NEED any of this stuff, but hey–it was only like 5 bucks, right?

Then there’s the shop for dorm room portion of the summer, where suddenly every night for a week you find yourself running around town trying to find the best deals on tiny fridges, microwaves, lamps and rugs. Actually, pretty much anything tiny you’ll want to pick up right away. Oh. And a bottle or two of Fabreeze. Let me tell you about dorm rooms: I have smelled the future and it is ripe with possibility. Trust me. It’s quite interesting actually. Just touring the dorms leads one into a rousing game of “Guess the Stank”.

And there there’s your parents. Because they are going to try and play it really cool. Sure, you’re moving away. But it’s fine. Really! You’re going to come back and visit all the time, right? And we’re going to meet for coffee and hang out and talk about college, right? And you’re going to make sure and tell them if you’re having any trouble, right? Right??

See, going off to college creates this sort of crazy need for affirmation in your parents. Because they know that you know that they know that they are going to miss you like crazy, especially for those first few weeks. But it’s cool, because you know that they know that you know that you’re going to miss them like crazy too. But both parties play it all cool because once it’s out, there’s going to have to be some sort of crazy hug fest and that’s always awkward. And there might be a trip down memory lane involving embarrassing  childhood videos, and none of us want that, do we?

But as far as I can tell, I’ve lucked out. My roommate doesn’t worship satan (but listens to rap music which is pretty close, but I’m sure an earphone truce will soon be created), and my parents are still at that “pretend it’s only for a few weeks” phase. But I know that pretty soon that’s going out the window, along with having someone do my laundry for me, having someone there to yell at me to clean my room, and someone reminding me that I need to save my money instead of spending it on stupid crap.

But it’s okay because I’m only like 20 minutes away, right? So I’ll be able to come home whenever I want, right?

Right?