The joy of "Kath"

One of my favorite college experiences was living with my old friend Kate on Greek Row at Wazzu. I had found us a small apartment in the attic part of an old house - sounds scary, I know, but it had a ton of personality despite it being the size of a shoebox. Because it was in the top part of the house, the ceiling was A-framed and and didn't allow for much head room. Not a problem for Kate, being shorter than myself, but at 5'8" I was hitting my head all the time. I now realize how Kate must have really loved me to live there, given how random and small it was.

After a visit with my oldest sister down in Portland that fall, I brought back with me her copy of the first season of Sex and the City. I of course borrowed this (unbeknown to her) and didn't steal it - in case she's reading this. After watching every episode together as part of our bar pre-funk, Kate and I both became addicts. It was bad. Six years later I am still obsessed with that show, but that is a whole other post.

My boyfriend at the time (who now is my hubby) would head out the door for Air Force PT early in the morning and leave me still passed out on my mattress, which lay on the floor underneath one of these A-frame "nooks". It's amazing we didn't kill ourselves attempting to get out of bed. As he would leave the apartment, a strange sound would be coming from the living room...is that a theme song?...

There lay Kate, happy in her peaceful slumber, an empty bottle of wine clutched to her chest and the Sex and the City DVD main menu on repeat on the television. Not once did this happen, not twice, but enough times that my husband still comments about it every time I happen to have the show on. Sometimes I even see a small nostalgic tear roll down his pretty little face.

So Kate, if you're reading this, I've got a bottle of wine and the entire series on DVD if you happen to come up from Oregon. I promise that you can spoon my 60 pound malamute on the couch and keep the main menu on repeat, while drinking all my Two Buck Chuck. Then we can call our men and tell them "I am a woman....a WO-MAN!" and then dance all night to 80's music at Valhala.....hala!!!!