3P

Yesterday, July 28, 2007, my brother John turned 13 years old. He's the baby of the family, the youngest of five and we've always had such a special connection. I think it has something to do with the fact that we are the babies of both our genders and so we both feel like it is our right and responsibility to entertain not only each other but our entire family with our astounding wit and ferocious attraction to life.



From infancy, John has been my very special soul mate. I was a year younger than he is now when he was born, and I took on a very tender role with him and was very protective over his little life. He was always a happy baby and since I don't like sad crap, we got along pretty well. My favorite thing about John when he was a baby was that it seemed like I was the only one in the world who could put him to sleep. One of my fondest memories is of when we went to Colorado during the summer when John was just under a year old and I would take him off away from the family and I would sit with him in my arms at the foot of some great big mountain and I would hold him swaying and singing to him until he fell asleep.



But after John would fall asleep, I couldn't wait until he woke up again. He was always laughing and we could tell at a very early age that he would have a remarkable sense of humor. In his younger years, it became very apparant to our family that John was, believe it or not, perfect. In fact, he quickly earned the nickname "3P: The Practically Perfect Pruitt." It seemed like everything he tried he was good at. This started when we realized his talent for sports (enter enthusiastic dad as future coach of all John's sporting activities). Any time anyone asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, John would always say "a basketball player" or "a baseball player." And I'm pretty sure none of us have ever questioned his ability to make it as a professional athlete. Not because of his talent, but because of his sheer determination to excel in all he does.



That's what I love most about John. His attitude of excellence. As the youngest member of our family, he also happens to be the tidiest and wealthiest. I think we've all gone to John to borrow money at some point. And, uh, I'm not talking about 10 dollars here or there. I'm talking hundreds. The kid saves everything he keeps (well, he did...until he broke dad's window with a baseball...) I remember one summer when we all went to Washington D.C. and we were each given an allowance of about a hundred dollars. By the end of the trip, John had about $120. Everywhere we went, he didn't think about buying food...he would just charm his way into someone's french fries. And he didn't worry about buying things for himself. He would rather save...or sell the things he had. That's how he ended up with extra.



I love the bond that John and I share. We are both music fanatics. He's learning to play the guitar and he's very very good at it. We both love to laugh. It's our favorite thing. And, for some reason, the kid thinks I hung the moon. Every time I see him he doesn't stop telling me how beautiful I am or how much he loves me or how funny or cool I am. If I've had a bad day, all it takes is a look or comment from John and it reverses every negative thing. He has provided me with so much joy and happiness in my life and I'm honored that God chose ME to be a sister to such a fantastic and wonderful boy. Happy birthday, Bubba. I love you.

I acquired something today. Something extravagant and dainty and flowy and wow...



It was $300. Now, before you jump to any judgmental conclusions about what an unnecessary expense this was, I would just like to inform you that I didn't pay for it. And before you jump to the next judgmental conclusion that I'm a spoiled little brat with Daddy's credit card, I would just like to inform you that he didn't pay for it either. Neither was it purchased by any other member of my family. Or a friend. It was, however, bought for $300 for me on this day by a person who intended me to have it. So, let's play a little game I like to call 'who's blessing Katy with frivolous party frocks?'

First Guess: My Pimp

Granted, Dante DOES purchase most of my social ensembles. However, most of the stuff he picks out for me to wear costs him around twenty dollars and some change. Also, it's a standard requirement that any outfit obtained by Dante for me to wear must be of the leather textile family and must be one of three pre-approved shades of black. And besides, Dante and I aren't speaking right now on account of his failure to disclose to me my most recent client's wire hanger fetish. So, no. He did not buy me the dress.

Second Guess: Harvard University's Fertilization Clinic

Harvard has been trying to contact me for quite some time concerning their desire to purchase my unused eggs for fertilization research. Based upon my excellent intelligence, high cheekbones, strong calf muscles, and the ability to jump rope my own arms, Harvard has offered me $20,000 for the essence of my reproductivity. It seems that women of my caliber are pretty hard to come by these days and their persistent flattery has enticed me to at least consider their offer, but I have not proceeded with any further plans with them. So, no. They are not responsible for my new dress, either.

Third Guess: Oprah

We all know that Oprah is a pretty generous lady. And I have a very strong feeling that if she were to have been in town today with a camera crew, her best friend Gail, and footage of me dropping out of school to take care of my 25 orphaned brothers and sisters, she probably would have bought me this dress. And maybe a few Sonic gift cards. But, friends, Oprah was indeed not in town today and I have a pretty good feeling that her random acts of kindness aren't so much random seeing as how they are scripted, scheduled, and syndicated all across America. So, really, if you think about it, Oprah's pretty selfish and, damnit, who does she think she is! Great...now I need a tissue. Oprah really does make people cry. Bitch.

So, yeah...none of these guesses were correct and, well, I'm sorry to say that I am absolutely not going to disclose how this dress came into my possession. I'll just let you wonder and come up with some clever possibilities on your own.

And, while you're pondering, think about this little critter and how cute and invisible she thinks she is in my dress hanger upper bag...

TV On DVD: The Greatest Invention Ever

My ridiculously overwhelming schedule has never really afforded me the time to watch my favorite television shows in their designated time slots. And, since I don't have TiVo (gasp!), I've resorted to watching all my favorite shows on DVD...for hours and hours at a time.

Unfortunately, this has posed quite a problem for me as a fully functioning member of society. You see, when I start in on a new series, my world seems to somehow evolve into the show I'm watching. Let me give you some examples...

Smallville. I've only just recently become a viewer of this show. For all you Smallville obsessed people, please don't get angry at me for only having viewed the first season. I'm still a fan, I'm just not as far along as you. And if you tell me anything that might ruin some excitement for me in seasons to come, I will literally hunt you down and throw fiery acid darts at your knees.

Okay, so, when I started watching Smallville, I noticed changes in my behavior toward society. It was pretty gradual at first. For example, I would just HAPPEN to notice a leaf shaped like the upper left bicep of Clark Kent's arm...or a rock shaped remarkably like the meteor that brought him to our planet. But, it was within a very short amount of time, that my life became CONSUMED with projecting Smallville into my own world. This last Sunday night, I had a conversation that went something like this:

Katy: You know, if something bad were to happen, I'm really worried that Clark Kent wouldn't be able to come and save us.

Concerned Friend: Why?

Katy: Well, you see those lights over there? They're glowing green. Clearly, there is kryptonite embedded in those lights. Clearly, we're doomed if the singers on stage decide to eat us all.

And the sad part is that I really sat there for a good, sweet forever contemplating all sorts of dark scenarios in which Clark Kent would have to battle the anguish of the crippling kryptonite to save our lives. And I'm not even gonna TELL you how often I get mistaken for Lana Lang's character. Seriously, you wouldn't believe me if I told you...

Oh precious Lord. Thank You for sending us this show. Quite possibly the most clever writing I've ever seen on a series. And, just like the other shows I watch on DVD, I got pretty consumed with evolving my world into one giant episode of Arrested Development. I even starting looking through phone books for charities whose main cause was fighting the practice of circumcision, but alas, H.O.O.P. (Hands Off Our Penises) is just a fictional organization.

And, at one point, I started driving toward the Oklahoma County Jail because I was just sure my dad would be there waiting for me in an orange jump suit, waiting to tell me what incriminating documents I should shred back at the office. Then, fortunately, I remembered that my dad is not a criminal, so I headed to work instead.

I think the most clear indication that I've watched too much of this show is my evident propensity to call everyone "Hermano" or walk up to someone and say "Hey, brother" while attempting to massage their shoulders. Mostly, I just get a lot of weird stares. Whatever.

Oh Jack. Sweet, beautiful, perfect Jack. My big, brave Jack. Out of all the shows in all the world, this one has changed my life the most. Not only am I now the type of American citizen who trusts no one and questions everyone, I am also very proud to go by the nickname of Chloe when I'm at home by myself. And, whenever I'm at work, I'll just say random things like "I need a level six clearance for the cartography images we've got posted back at headquarters! Almeda, I'm going dark! I may not make it out alive! Call Kim and make sure she gets out of the city! Damnit!" And, sometimes, when I type letters, I will include ransom notes down at the bottom for fun. Mostly, though, I just refer to everyone as Almeda, because Tony Almeda was my very own personal hero. He even saved me one time while I was trapped in a hotel after a terrorist had released deadly, poisonous gasses into the air vents. It was awful. I even lie awake sometimes at night and wonder what Jack Bauer is doing at that moment.

And, well, here's another image, because sometimes I live in this fantasy world too....

White Trash Bash 2007

Well, gang, it's that time of year again. On Saturday, July 14, 2007, Oklahoma City was blessed with its fourth annual celebration of all things white trash. Praise Hoseanna. Now, personally, I've never even heard of the first three times they did this thing, but apparantly it's pretty important...well, maybe just important to those named Jedediah or Lurlene. (two lovely, classy names, by the way)

Actually, my friends and I just went out there to hear a local band play (Ocean, check 'em out. They're great), so we were quite dismayed at the $20 cover charge. Well, I wasn't so much dismayed as completely perplexed because, well, when has anything that has to do with any form of trash ever cost more than a dollar fiddy at most? But, apparantly, it was an all you can drink/eat type deal, so MAYBE $20 is reasonable. I didn't have to worry about it for too long, though, because my elite connections got me in for free. Again, hallelujah.

The only way I can describe my reaction to what I saw when I rounded the corner is to say that I felt like Charlie looks when he walks into the chocolate factory for the first time. It was a mixture of awe and wonder and disbelievablity and 'I want an oompa loompa/jello shot now!!!.' The shnozberries tasted like shnozberries! It was wonderous to behold. There was an array of scantily clad men and women. The ladies donned the ever-popular cut-off shorts with the visible thong in the back. And one gentleman in particular donned his own pair of wildly trashy cut-off shorts with an attached blow-up doll tied suggestively around his never you mind. Everyone looked like they had been sprayed down with a water hose after makin mud pies at the crick. Beer was the only known hair product. (the only KNOWN hair product...). And, honestly, beer is quite healthy for the tresses, so no wonder we don't mind having it lovingly thrown on us by a 300 pound dude named Earl. And, Earl, you should probably just spit on our eyelids too...it's good for fighting wrinkles.

But the highlight of my night has to be the dreamboat wearing the high school jersey with the number 2 on the back. Oh, number 2...you melted my heart. I'm telling you all, I have never seen such eloquent air guitar playing since that fateful summer I took a 6 hour road trip with my dad during his Guns N Roses phase. Bless it. What I loved about Number 2 was his wild uninhibited desire to display his dancing talents. Either that or he was just REALLY trying to air out his crotch. And, sweet Lord love him, I just wanted to pluck him up and collect him to my motherly bosom when he started to grind up on the sign in front of the stage that clearly read "Fight Menengitis." I'm afraid that's not how we fight it, son.

I'm fortunate that Number 2 came up and talked to me afterward. I really got a chance to see his heart and how much he loves the music. We congratulated him on his dance moves and he walked away feeling pretty proud of himself. And if I can make a difference in one po white trash life, well, then Jesus can come on and take me home. I've clearly done my job.

Why I'm Five

I've never really had a strong desire to grow up. In fact, I often look at my youth with a profound sense of longing, wishing I could go back to the days when I didn't have to pay rent or electricity and when my biggest worry was whether or not I had a downward slope in my backyard for the slip n slide.

People have always told me I act just like a kid. I get excited about the dumbest stuff and today, when I opened my Happy Meal, I understood what they were saying.
First of all, who in the world doesn't get excited about a meal that has the word 'happy' in it? I know I sure do. So, I ordered my cheeseburger happy meal (sans onions) and my eyes wandered to the blessed area on the menu board where they display the featured happy meal toy. Gang, it was Hello Kitty. Now, there are few things in this world that I get excited about (lies) and Hello Kitty, well she's just right up there on my top ten list with glittery lip gloss and hot pink fingernail polish.

So, I pulled up, paid my money, received my meal of happiness and I'm sure you can guess what I did next. I opened up the bag and my eyes got real big and my mouth opened with excitement because there it was! Hello Kitty! I could have cared less about the food at that point and somewhere in the back of my head, I could hear a stern parental voice telling me that I wasn't allowed to play with my Hello Kitty until I had eaten at least half my hamburger and seven fries. I'm not even gonna tell you what I did when I found out there were Hello Kitty stickers inside my already fabulous Hello Kitty toy (let's just say there was grinning and clapping...)
So, I'm back at my grown up job now with Hello Kitty stickers placed in a very adult-like manner on the following surfaces: My keyboard, the doorknob to my door, my shirt, and the backs of each of my hands. And, I'm not gonna lie, there will probably be one on my face before the end of the day. Let's give it up to the Lord for Hello Kitty stickers.

Also, I just wanted to add that my roomate, being in complete understanding of my childlike mentality, made me pancakes last night that spelled "Katy." There was lots of grinning and clapping then, too.

Two Movies NOT to Watch Before Bed...and How I Blew My Own Mind

I love my Netflix membership. I do. It allows me to peruse through a vast array of motion pictures and order whatever my little heart desires. Last week I was in this whole "I'm weird and arty and mysterious and into things that don't make sense" mood, so I ordered movies online accordingly. I had just finished watching Babel for a second time (very good movie), so I was looking for things that would make me think...what I got were things that made me question my faith in all that is good and true in this world. (slight dramatization)

Movie # 1: Dirty Pretty Things. I got this flick because it has the wonderful star of Amelie, Miss Audrey Tautou, in it. And it said 'suspense thriller' so I thought it would be cool. It was not cool. It wasn't even in the same category as cool. The first disturbing image was a toilet that was clogged by a human heart. I should have turned it off after that, but I didn't. Basically, it was about this underground organ harvesting ring in London. Illegal immigrants go to this hotel and a weirdo with a knife cuts them up and pays them for their organs by making fake identities for them. In the end, the hacker dude ends up getting HIS organs cut out of him. Ah, sweet justice...and, here Katy, how bout some sweet dreams.

Movie # 2: Little Children. I actually liked this movie for its complexity, but I definitely should have watched it before 9pm. Kate Winslet stars in it and she was nominated for an academy award for her role as a timeless homewrecker. Such elegance. Such poise. It starts out with this mother (Kate) who is the typical bored, monotonous housewife with a little girl and friends she will never fit in with. Enter dashing stay-at-home dad who brings excitement and 'joy' into her life. They begin this affair that, ironically, doesn't end in tragedy, but rather it ends with them developing an intense respect and understanding of the lives they had forsaken for each other. But, the disturbing part of the movie was the child molester they decided to throw in to, I don't know, jack with our minds a little more? His story is actually really really haunting. He is shunned by the town and is forced to live with his mother who eventually dies from all the stress that is put on her son's situation. She leaves him a final note when she is on her death bed and the note says "Please be a good boy." So, the guy goes crazy and, um, castrates himself. Enjoy!

But, it was after watching these two movies that I was left alone to ponder the meaning of life. Psh. Whatever. I was clearly in no state to ponder anything except why in the world I would put myself through such visual torture. Luckily, Carrie came in at about 1am and we discussed deep and meaningful things like boys and how much we like going to second base. Heheheh. Just kiding. However, while we were talking, I was reminded of something in "Little Children." While Kate and her cheat partner were in the Rated R throes of passion, she asked him if his wife was pretty. His response was 'Yes. She's a knockout.' This, obviously, made Kate self-conscious and insecure. Sensing her feelings, the cheater boy said "Beauty is overrated." He said this to her to make her feel better, but if you think about what a lie that statement really is, there's no way it could ever make anyone feel better. Because, simply, beauty is beautiful. True beauty, anyway.

So, for the rest of the movie, Kate's mood/hapiness depended entirely on what this man thought of her. And it made me realize that this is the great tragedy of relationships. Laying on my back in my bed, looking up at the ceiling fan, and talking with my roomate, this is how I blew my mind:

There's a reason why the happiness we find in others doesn't last. It's because we don't last. Humans. Mankind. We are finite. So, there comes a time when our words, our actions, our thoughts, reach a limit. And when that limit is reached we approach emptiness because there is no renewal of things that are finite. Finite ends. It dies. We end. We die. But, when that hope, that security, that happiness, is transferred to the Lord, it always fulfills and continues to fulfill because the Lord is infinite. He never ends, so the love that he gives keeps on renewing itself. And it isn't a replication. It's new every single time. It's like a cup full of water that just keeps getting water poured into it. Every drop is new water and it overflows and overflows and overflows into forever. It's the most beautiful, satisfying thing. It's like music and how David was never capable of communicating to the Lord in prose. He always communitcated to the Lord in song. Because words aren't enough. We have to make music in order to taste even a little bit of how much the Lord loves us. Music is the closest thing we have to expressing that infinitessimal and unconditional love. So, you know, go make some music today. And when you're done making music, thank the good ole Lord that you didn't watch the movies I watched last night. Thanks and have a good day. Um, bye.