take off tomorrow for west vacation-- two and a half weeks, family, oregon coast and friends, in that order. this is my excited face.

to be leaving tricky (!) here makes it all the more of a relief. i've got books (munroe, gilbert) and music (ritter, tweedy) to keep me company, and the feeling i'll be returning with a clarity. for now, today, i'm glad and grateful.

and really, the only thing is that 'the temptation of adam' by josh ritter is on repeat in my place for the last few days. this i can't get over, and it just won't stop breaking my heart.


this is true, today. for c.

This room, and everything in it.
Li-Young Lee

Lie still now
while I prepare for my future,
certain hard days ahead,
when I'll need what I know so clearly this moment.

I am making use
of the one thing I learned
of all the things my father tried to teach me:
the art of memory.

I am letting this room
and everything in it
stand for my ideas about love
and its difficulties.

I'll let your love-cries,
those spacious notes
of a moment ago,
stand for distance.

Your scent,
that scent
of spice and a wound,
I'll let stand for mystery.

Your sunken belly
is the daily cup
of milk I drank
as a boy before morning prayer.

The sun on the face
of the wall
is God, the face
I can't see, my soul,

and so on, each thing
standing for a separate idea,
and those ideas forming the constellation
of my greater idea.
And one day, when I need
to tell myself something intelligent
about love,

I'll close my eyes
and recall this room and everything in it:
My body is estrangement.
This desire, perfection.
Your closed eyes my extinction.
Now I've forgotten my
idea. The book
on the windowsill, riffled by wind...
the even-numbered pages are
the past, the odd-
numbered pages, the future.
The sun is
God, your body is milk...

useless, useless...
your cries are song, my body's not me...
no good ... my idea
has evaporated...your hair is time, your thighs are song...
it had something to do
with death...it had something
to do with love.


today i went to the post office, and 60ish-drunk-dirty-wander-pants held the door for me. i should say he opened the door, but stood in the doorway, making it impossible for me to walk in. also, he rearranged his fingers, quite deliberately, so that the only finger holding the door was his middle finger.

he gave me the bird AS he held the door for me.

and then he did it again at the next door, this time following my eyes as i registered the birdie, and then gave a little smile. whack whack whack.

happy holidays. may every birdie you get also mean an open door.


my sister is half done growing a baby in her belly. i am so so ready, and thrilled, and ready ready ready to meet this little bambino. this is what i want to tell it today:

You Begin
Margaret Atwood

You begin this way:
this is your hand,
this is your eye,
that is a fish, blue and flat
on the paper, almost
the shape of an eye.
This is your mouth, this is an O
or a moon, whichever
you like. This is yellow.
Outside the window
is the rain, green
because it is summer, and beyond that
the trees and then the world,
which is round and has only
the colors of these nine crayons.
This is the world, which is fuller
and more difficult to learn than I have said.
You are right to smudge it that way
with the red and then
the orange: the world burns.
Once you have learned these words
you will learn that there are more
words than you can ever learn.
The word hand floats above your hand
like a small cloud over a lake.
The word hand anchors
your hand to this table,
your hand is a warm stone
I hold between two words.

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.
It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand.


was rereading old writings, and this is true now, as then.

They send me an herb garden as a thank you gift. She rubbed my shoulder in the car, and I took the wrong exit. I called him small; he thought me proud. I missed my father, and wished for fuller days.

I could leave here too. I could quit this circle, these older friends, their mistakes already made. I could leave the admitting of lonely, of wanting what they have. I could leave tonight, sit in a hotel in Chattanooga, post my resume on craigslist. I could leave.

I wait for the call, wait by not waiting. Make plans, go camping, get drunk, don’t check to see who has written. Surrounded by fresh babies and women swollen with ready and new, I repeat ‘everything in me is a bird’ and kiss new foreheads and fingers.

My life will be filled with worse things: a long hospital stay, my mother will die too quick, the long and public humiliation, a not-worth-it affair. I will weather them with pride, and friends will call me brave. These slow, lonely days however, just may be my quiet end.


the last of the best friends from home got married in portland this weekend, and the event was all grey sky and vintage dresses. the vows brought me to tears, especially the last line that said "whenever i think of you, i will feel a twinge of surprised delight that i found you"

jana, the 10 year old cousin, and the wedding officiant and i busted serious moves on the dance floor, surrounded by floaty champagne filled friends and family. i had the same old coming home hangover feeling...that the weekend was something dreamt, that i can't quite remember all the details, that things here have harder edges and louder sounds.


i'm headed to portland to witness the last of the high school best friends wedding. it makes me officially The Single Friend, but i'm bored with being worried or sad or embarrassed about that.

i'm instead embracing all The Single Friend duties, including, but not limited to:
- look smoking at the wedding.
- make phallic looking appetizers for the bachlorette party.
- drink dirty martinis.
- buy the bride really expensive, really hot lingerie.
- kiss up on single boys at the wedding.

i'm 100% confident that i can perform my duties well. i'll let you know.


(oh yes)
i went on some more blind dates. one (in fact) i found interesting and smart, though admittedly mildly douche-y. we drank wine, and he spoke quip-y and fast, and i spoke slow and silly and we laughed and ha ha! a person my age who is together and ambitious and kind! whhhhhha?

oh yes, and then we met to go dancing, and he made out with every girl on the dance floor except me, and i remembered "first impression was douche-a-roo. guess you know more than you think you do. "


work has been all WHEE-OOO-WHEE-OOO CRAZY WORK SIREN, and the big (capital E!) Event was yesterday and it went well, and people loved it, and my! job! was! done!

but i still woke up at 4 am last night, worried about what's ahead. is this perpetual? vacation next week, and whew.


my sister is pregnant. exploding anticipation, love, and all of the warm fizzie fuzzies. baby baby sissy love.


holy hell. look what i bought (!).


oh jeez everything here in atlanta is screaming HEAT ADVISORY and IT'S TOO SMOGGY TO BREATHE and HOTTEST DAY OF THE WHOLE HISTORY OF THE WORLD and yes, when i go outside i think Aww fuck, my legs are tingling, but mostly i'm just sitting inside, ac at 69 degrees, so happy happy for this forced vacation.


it's not silly, or funny, but i was struck today about why i keep coming back to exercising. it really has little to do with how i look, because apparently i'm just supposed to weigh this much, and no matter what i do, how little i eat, how much i drink, how fat i feel, it's the same. It's been this way for a good year now, and while most days i think 'hooray curvy strong body!' i also sometimes think 'sweet jesus i will never be a small girl' and it sort of gets me blue. but that blue-ness, that's not why i exercise.

i haven't posted it here, but i've got some ick-ick neurological thing, and the docs are saying it could get worse, and worse looks like a wheelchair, and maybe a blind cane. it used to make me mad, and now it just makes me think. some days i exercise because i can, and i maybe won't be able to tomorrow, but most days that's not why i exercise.

i did my first triathlon in may, and it was the most satisfying experience i've ever had. no creative experience, or moment in a relationship, or journey has made me feel so capable. i trained alone, and competed alone, and beat even my secret goal, the one that was 10 minutes less than what i told everyone my goal was. i got to swim in a big cold lake, and bike up big hills, and run beside big trees. and i totally didn't suck. i didn't win, but i didn't even come close to sucking.

i exercise because it brings me back to myself. i can't think petty thoughts when i'm trying catch my breath. i can't miss anyone when i feel like i'm about to hurl. i can't worry about what i'll say on the phone when i'm watching the stopwatch. back in the water, back on the bike, back on the trail. i'm better there.


So I tried to go on a blind date on Saturday.

This is less extraordinary than it would be for most women—my new years resolution last year was to go on a blind date a week. I didn’t quite make it to 52 (I sort of dated some of the blind date boys for a few weeks here and there) but wasn’t that far behind either. Nonetheless, I’m not exactly a novice when it comes to blind dates.

That said, never, never have I been stood up on a blind date. That is, never until Saturday had I been stood up on a blind date.

I showed up at the pre-arranged time looking sassy but professional, fun but also a little business. We had agreed to meet at a tiny little bar by my house, a little dive-y and dark, and always full of drunk men.

Walking in, I didn’t see anyone that even vaguely matched the picture he had sent on. I scoped for a minute (remember, tiny bar) and then sat down at the bar and ordered a greyhound. As soon as I did, the bartender asked if I was Kathrine or something, and I said, yeah, sorta, and he asked if I was meeting someone, and I said, I think so, and he said, Umm, no he called and asked me to give you his number. He’s not coming.

At this point I forget my sweet, blind date, small bar voice and exclaim ‘Am I getting stood up on a blind date?!?!’

Well, every dude in the place promptly turned around and started asking questions. How we got set up. How dare he. Can I buy you a drink. What’s your name. Can I buy you a drink as well.

I ended up leaving the bar feeling far lovely than any single man could have made me feel. It was divine.


new york and seattle were tricky, in the way that made 7 days feel like 50. i got home to my sweet clean, cold, empty home, and immediately crawled in bed and passed out for 5 hours. i woke up a few times with coughing fits, one so bad that i came close to puking. i'm trying to pull back into myself, in every way.

but it was also fun, and there were pretty dresses, expensive cocktails, little sleeping, much live music so so so very much love and fondness for the women in my life.


i'm off to seattle and nyc. i've got blank postcards and colored pencils, and i'm going to mail moses and theo (my favorite nearly 4 and nearly 2 year olds) a note each day, chronicling my trip. i already have high hopes of today's picture: me riding an airplane. yes, like bronco style. maybe i'll be lassoing a cloud.
i'll probably have to draw me getting drunk for tomorrow's picture. they'll like that.


It’s been a quiet few days again—especially so today, as the power was out at the office, and even with grants due on Friday I had to come back home, and rest, and wait.

Things are about to get a little nutty, which is always one of my favorite anticipations. I’m heading to seattle for a wedding of a high school friend, and then out to New York City for a few days with friends.

Both events are a little trickier than they seem—the wedding is really a ‘renewal of vows’ for a friend who married a girl to keep her in the country. I don’t know how much of it is love, and how much is just pragmatic, and if she’s really the one for my him. That said, I’m looking forward to seeing old friends, and dancing, and all of that fun. I’ve got a sassy pink dress, and gold shoes, and Seattle is always a good time.

New York is tricky in another way—a good friend’s mom is approaching death, and my friend isn’t able to talk about it, so I’m going to just sit with her, and silently hope for a peaceful passage. All the rest and quiet of the past few days seem to be preparing me for this, getting me ready to send healing to others, instead of needing to hoard it for my own getting though, my own daily pressings.

So bring on the planes, and the cocktails and 3 am and familiar faces. Can’t wait.


bonnaroo was all dirt and sulpher and sun. it was also my two favorite red heads, and red beans and rice, and dancing. a shirtless sting, big dirty fountain and hot rum were also bonnaroo. it was a short drive home, long sleepless nights, and black nostrils.

elvis says 'thumbs up bonnaroo'


so there was those two months where i was SO busy and creating a huge amazing-race scavenger hunt for work, and spending every thursday discussing how badly ellen pompeo needs a sandwich with those two really smart favorite friends, and 'dear god i have to do the dishes again?', oh and then i did that TRIATHLON (!), and my friend had a baby, and my grandmother got sick, and i went to chattanooga, and my other friend had a horrible few weeks at work and needed to talk and cry every night, and i didn't have time to kiss on any boys, much less BLOG because lordy i was only sleeping 7 hours a night and that, my friends, IS NOT ENOUGH.

and then.
may 20th hit.

and here i am, on a fucking FRIDAY NIGHT, and i think i've had TWO CONVERSATIONS this whole day, because all of a sudden i'm little miss isolationist with nothing to do and no one to see, and such a squeaky clean house and FULLY READ library and all this time to cook and read and watch old weeds episodes and i really want to sit outside but that guy got SHOT a few days ago right in front of my house and eek!... living alone is scary, and being alone is lonely.

(each summer in college i worked in a little town in new mexico and didn't know anyone and would get up late and get "ready" to go to the store, and then would be disappointed when going to the store just became about buying mac and cheese and vogue and not about running into someone and having them say "what an adorable dress! wanna go dancing tonight?")

and this week atlanta feels like that-- all this lonely, and all this effort to not be lonely, to be busy, to create, to do.


yesterday i was doing some bike riding at the gym for an upcoming, tbd hoohah, and realized that the old (at LEAST 60+) dude next to me was riding faster than me. so all 24 years of me got pissed and pedeled away, sweating and swearing and vowing to not let an old fart be faster than moi. we raced away, with me pulling ahead, and then him, with JT singing in my ears, and serious pit stains on my shirt.

when the dude got off his bike 8 MILES later, it became clear that even if I had pulled ahead in the final stretch he really won, as the dude had a PROSTHETIC LEG. for serious.


things that i had forgotten about, but recently remembered:

- that one time in pittsburgh when the homeless lady chased me around the library with a knife
- how much i love guacamole
- that montel is the worst show on tv
- a daily bath is the bomb
- babies smell bad sometimes
- how often i madeout in the movies in high school
- mom+dad=awesome
- if i'm outside, i'm happy
- rilo kiley is a pretty good life soundtrack


no, but seriously, the only things more stressful than moving is waking up on the morning you are supposed to move to find that your car has been towed, with your cell phone sitting in it's cup holder.

i'm just saying.

it was THAT (see above) kind of morning, quite explicitly that kind of morning, and i'm still reeling a bit. i've got a to-do list a mile long, but at the end of it, i'll be moved in to a sweet new home, with my own parking spot that i'll never be towed from. sigh.


13 things that make it stupid obivous the world is ending, or at least gone entirely mad:

1. i've eaten salad 3 times this week
2. with wind chill, it was 5 degrees today. in HOTlanta.
3. britney. fucking. spears'. head.
4. grey's anatomy sucked hard this week.

5. i been running three of the last 6 days.
6. one of those times was today. in the awesomely un-balmy weather.
7. i haven't been on a date in two weeks. okay, 10 days, but still. cra.zay.
8. my last paycheck was double what i was expecting.
9. i'm currently wearing long underwear under another shirt. i'm bringing back the seventh grade look BIG TIME.
10. i listened to an interview on npr today and thought "who is this brilliant, articulate man?" it was ralph nadar.
11. i've woken up for the fifth night in a row in my closet, in a panic, sure that someone is going to see me naked.*
12. i think i have fallen in love with jumping jacks.
13. i think i have fallen out of love with beyonce.

*i live alone, and no one is gonna see me naked anytime soon. (see #7)


dear boys,

thanks for the drinks. thanks for making me feel hot and funny and interesting and charming. thanks for giving me an excuse to buy the red polka dot dresses, and thanks for complimenting me on how i look it in.
thanks for introducing me to the farmers market, to mjq, to ducati bikes, to front-row at turner field, to running, to tequila. thanks for re-introducing me to a charlie brown christmas. thanks for the apologies. thanks for calling two months later to say you missed me. thanks for not waiting to call. thanks for dancing with me without me having to ask. thanks for the free bed. thanks for the home cooked food, the hikes and the sweet voice mails. thanks for not letting me beat you at texas hold 'em. thanks for letting me beat you at pool. thanks for letting me take a few of you out for test runs, and then return you for a better model. thanks for letting me run a few of you into the ground. thanks for the ear kisses, forehead kisses, neck kisses and back of the knee kisses. thanks for letting me kiss you.

it's been a tricky few months, but i'm so glad you're here to keep me company, keep me humble and keep me laughing.

a warm and happy valentines day to all of you.


my dad is coming to help me move. my dad is the bomb. not only is he the bomb at dressing as the angel of the lord (see above), he's also the best moving man you've ever met. he'll be here for 48 hours. Without a doubt, while here he will accomplish the following:
taking apart the bookshelf from hell, buy me a 'happy new home' plant, re-assemble the bookshelf from hell, move all of my crap while simultaneously saying "no problem, this is easy easy easy, no problem", take me on the grocery shopping extravaganza 2007, do my laundry, give me cold hard cash, go out and get me mexican food when i'm sitting in the middle of my new home in tears because geez, that picture just looks WRONG there, and finally, snore. loudly.

best. dad. ever.


nine sweet pieces of advice to myself on February 7th, 2007.
(Inspired by schnozz)

1. keep making an effort to look really fucking good. wear high heels more. rock the classy cleavage and the short(ish) skirts. you'll get laid more, and feel skinnier. both are really good things.

2. get really good at your jobs. take the accounting class. take the pilates certification. get really good at both, and then ask for more money from both companies. you're really good at the people side of them, get just as good at the expertise, technical side. it is feasible for you to run either of the companies in the next three years if you get focused and competitive. do it now.

3. do not give up on the men. the only thing worse than a single woman is a sniveling, jaded single woman. plow on, slog through the shitty, silly blind dates, and the sad, distant more-right-for-you boys. with any luck, you'll look back on this phase of your life as the most carefree, simple, sweet time.

4. go see dreamgirls. at the drive-in. with amy and elise.

5. move more, drink less. just cause you have a 'sweet in comparison to lots of peeps' body doesn't mean you shouldn't have 'SUPER RIDICULOUSLY sweet in comparison to lots of peeps' body. you are in your twenties. look hot NOW, before babies and full time computer jobs ruin your ass and gravity ruins your boobs.

6. start packing up boxes. now.

7. remember that one time that you talked to the therapist over christmas break and felt so much better and like you had a clear plan, you just had to do these two tasks? and you were going to take care of them in january because, sheeeeesh, THEN at least some life business would be cleared up and wouldn't that feel so GOOD?...
well, take care of those things. now. this week. being scared to deal isn't an excuse not to deal.

8. keep talking to ogy and hedu and manna. they knew you when you were fat and ugly and uninspired. they like you a lot.

9. remain vigilant about talking about what you like about your situation. you used to be good at this, and 2007 seems to stalled those efforts. they are a self fulfilling prophecy. get back to it. talk about the jobs and the dating and the new home and the sweet city and the new babies and the lovely friends and the general awesomeness of it. keep voicing it, and it will keep being true.


inspired by her: i thought, this is my life, this will have to do.

last night i swam, thought about how i'm not really a swimmer, certainly not like the swimmer next to me, hell, i don't even have a swim cap or goggles, good god i am not a swimmer why am i swimming.
the ladies showed up early for class, so i floated around and talked to them sitting on the side of the pool, and one of them brought up again how i should consider midwifery, and how she would love to hire me, and i think she thinks i wouldn't lose my mind out of sheer 'holy shit-ness' if i delivered an actual living baby. the class started, and we giggled like usual, and laughed at how there are babies in all of them, but they are all such different moms already. one has shoes to match every outfit, and one hasn't bought a single thing. they are both going to be good moms, but last night we just laughed at how that is possible.
i then made my weekly amy/ken rounds to drink wine and watch greys and talk during the commercials. we talked about my boy of the month (s), and her little sons, and how boys are boys, 3-30. she had dinner ready for me again, and told me stories about her meeting ken and falling in love and we poured white wine into our red wine glasses to make rose. she listened to my s fears, and as i walked out of the door she had me laughing loud at my own silliness, and inablity to deal.
i went on a late night blind date after that-- he was all muscles and long pauses and stares and wanted me to have another drink, or maybe go somewhere else, and i was all 'maybe this could work, but only for a night' but refused the drink, and the offer of a new location, and came home to a text from him that i answered with an 'i don't think we should see each other again' email.
i'm still unsure about s, and he's spending the weekend with boys, and with mourning, and i today i want to ask him to just call my in three months when things have settled, and he has settled so we can see then. new things are hard.

this morning i taught class, and then sat in the nicu with a new mom and her freshy twins and freshy worry. i missed my mom.

yesyes-- i thought, this is my life, this will have to do.


due to a new life plan (i'm calling it the 'food/move plan', due to it's focus on food and, well, moving) i have become a bit more aware of ye olde alcohol this week. the food/move plan is awesome for many reasons, but mostly because i only have to implement any given change for ONE WEEK, and then the next week i get to do something else. because really, i can avoid sugar-covered-fried-balls-of-yum for one week, but day eight? that's when it all goes to shit.

anyways, this weeks food part of the food/move plan involves cutting down a wee bit on the booze-a-roo. remember, this is only for ONE WEEK. next week=me.sauced.24.7. last night i had a little dinner hoohah to show off my new cooking prowess, and a few bottles of wine were consumed. (not by me. i had a glass. if this was next week {or really, last week} i would have answered yes to the few bottles question). this is where i show you my willpower face. WILLPOWER (grimace grimace)

the move part of the food/move plan this week is infinity easier than cutting down on the sauce. this week, it's swimming! really! i've already gone twice, and i've already remembered how much i heart heart swimming. mostly because no one can talk to me underwater, and because i don't wear goggles so i get to make a super tough squinty face when i come up for air. it's rad.
now, having a move part in the food/move plan might seem like a bit of overkill, given that i teach exercise classes a week. that's more exercise than god.
however, teaching exercise doesn't quite=normal exercise. certainly my muscles get the workout, but my brain doesn't get to check out. that's what i'm missing, and why there is a move component in the food/move plan. i want to get to that sweaty, forget about the rest of my life place. especially if i get to make a squinty face in the process.


things i am considering:

- forensic accounting
- how to be the type of person who can taste a blend of herbs and identify them. all. correctly.
- how to be a good friend
- midwifery
- time spent alone vs. time at work vs. time with friends. reevaluate for happiness.
- babies born too soon.
- weekly exercise/diet goals governed by chance.
- discover cards offer of 0% apr on transferred balances for the year.


thank god the sun is out today. it's crispcold, but i no longer feel like flushing myself down a toilet, or other such desperate measures. phew.
as someone who dates a lot (understatement) i've been reminded (againagain) of this whole 'baggage' idea. i remember thinking around 21 or so that i was reaching the place where every man i met would have some 'deal', or trippy ex girlfriend, or other such things on the "what you should know about me before we decide that we are more than fuckbuddies" list.
in the middle of one such conversation recently though, it became clear that as i get older the baggage gets heavier, and most certainly trickier to negotiate. now there are ex-fiances, or wives, jobs that don't include time for late night shenanigans, and death, and things that are hard to say aloud. tricky, tricky things, that i'm not nearly deft enough to navigate.

i got my first real simple magazine in the mail this week. i inhaled it in like 1 hour.
i got my first discover magazine in the mail this week as well, and have only made it through two (two page) articles. shit is dense, but just as good (at least) for the soul as r.s.' touchy-lovely hoohah. one of the articles was about this new strain of disease (condition?) due to the over prescription of antibiotics. kills people quick. and is super contagious. and something absurd like 20% of people who are hospitalized for two weeks or more due to another issue end up catching it in the hospital. (!!#$).

another reason to steer clear of el hospital. (silent h).


i got home from work tonight at 6:30 to find a note on my door, explaining that there will be someone coming to see my place at 9AM tomorrow.

AM people.

i'm aware that i have a more 'lax' schedule than some friends ( i'm also aware that i have a much more 'lax' income as well). 9am is the absolute earliest i get out of bed on any given day. usually, the alarm isn't set, and it's more like 10:30.
before you freak, understand that i work at night. usually, i teach til 9 o clock. oh, and all day saturdays. oh, and friday nights. and sunday nights too.

wednesdays are the super sweet, almost like a day off days.

tomorrow is wednesday.

i've yet to decide how i'm going to deal. get up at 8:55? sleep through the knock at my door and proceeding tour? get up at 7 and scrub the tub? hard to say.
certainly isn't going to be fun though, promise.


i love my home. i love the big ceilings, the pretty wood floors, the 45 natural gas lines that grid out the ceiling, the pool, the gym, the green bricks, the lack of closet doors and the way that people, when seeing it for the first time say "oh, it's so cool*."

so, naturally, i'm moving.

my lease goes up at the end of febraury, and in an effort stave-off the descension of the yearly antsies, i'm sorting clothes, throwing away old makeup, giving away chick lit, and moving.

damn antsies. making me give away jodi piccoult books** and lavender eyeshadow.

this is the first time i've tried this approach: to attach the boredom that hits around month 10 or 11 of a job/life/town. see, i really lovelove the job/life/town situation i'm rocking, but in all honesty, the antsies don't really care. if i ignore them they will start whispering about grad school, and far away friends, and more money for work, and all of a sudden i'll be applying to move to china to work with babies who don't have mommas. or arms. or something***.

so we'll see. i am feeling the same thrill of 'oh! new-ness! i'll probably make friends and have a cute couch and sit on my porch drinking martinis and be 10lbs thinner!'. i think THAT's actually the genesis of the antsies, so if i can feed them without giving up all the OTHER awesomeness of my life (see: job(s), friends, sweet friday nights) then i will have won.

antsies:14 (approximate amount of times i have made drastic life changes for no reason)
leenie: 1.

*"cool" is not something i usually aim for. but in this case, it's a pretty apt description, and is used with such frequency to describe my place that i've come to believe it.
** not really chick lit, but still. ::shudder::
**no offense china babies. you are cute even without arms, and i'm pretty sure there are 72 other 20-something women who feel the same tug as i to come and feed you lunch. cause, you know, that's difficult without arms.