happy saturday. i hope you all are drinking coffee and watching harry potter from your DVR…just like me. just like some nerdy person i know.

today i'm jazzed to bring you the very first saturday of saturday confessional with September F A R M. so fun, right?

how it works: e-mail me letting me know you have an awesome, embarrassing, shameful story you would like to guest post on my blog. we'll get it scheduled for a saturday…and that's all there is to it.

the hope is that these posts will bring a smile and a giggle to September F A R M readers at the expense of the author. yes…we'll be laughing AT you…and i can't wait.

today we have katie from yellow mango life. if you haven't stumbled upon her blog yet…do so. girlfriend stole my heart from day one.

and if that doesn't entice you enough, maybe the fact that she works for a casino and gets to take clients on cruises will spark your interest. plus she has an adorable boy named cruz…and she's pretty. so there you have it.

go katie go -

Hi-ya September Farm lovelies. I'm Katie from over at Yellow Mango Life where I talk all about my little man Cruz, my main man Nick and, of course, myself. It's a mish mash of goodness (or at least I like to think so) as we navigate everything this life throws our way. I could tell you all about myself, but feel free to read it here. It saves me all that work typing it out.

When Karli posted her first confessional here, I knew I needed to be a part of it. Well, first I laughed. A lot. But then I knew I needed to email her to get me signed up. I just love knowing that there are others in this world who are not all perfect, with their perfect little life, in their perfect little houses, raising their kiddos...perfectly. And I am far from perfect.

Especially at this raising kids thing. I have had my fair share of mommy fails since having Cruz 2 1/2 short years ago. Like this one here. Seriously, Kate, let's let your child play with an hot curling iron. Good one.

But this post isn't about Cruz - I know, first time for everything - nope, this post is about me. So here goes.

After college I did my internship in NYC. I worked for the New York Knicks, lived on the upper West Side and mastered the subway. Well, sort of. More about that in a bit.
I thought I was all Sex & the City living in New York, checking out the celebs court side, hitting up some pretty bad ass parties, hanging with the players in Westchester on autograph day. Let's be honest, those are the things I told my friends and family when I called home.
When in reality, I was an awkward 21 year old. Trying to rock my Charlotte Russe clothes in a Devil Wears Prada industry, schlepping who knows what around in my knock off Kate Spade bag, living in what was basically a dorm room with single 65 year old cat ladies, maxing out my credit cards on rent, $10 beers & street vendor pizza - and really just not fitting in.
I mean, I remember this one time when I was prancing around the streets on my lunch break, thinking I looked pretty good in my discount pumps from Century 21 and got my heel stuck in a grate. And guess what? It broke off. I couldn't go home because I had a meeting to get back to, so I had to hobble step it back to the office through crowds of people and all through Madison Square Garden for the rest of the day.
Then there was another time I was in a really important meeting with my boss, his boss' boss and a bunch of MSG marketing folks...and it was taking forever. And I was tired because a bunch of us interns had hit up happy hour the night before. And by happy hour, I mean drinks from the time work ended until the wee hours of the morning. I must've been in some sort of daze because I started using my pen to lightly touch my pant leg - I don't know it was relaxing or something. Well, the meeting finally ended, I got up to shake hands with everyone in the room and looked down and realized the cap of my pen had been off and I had drawn all over the front of my khakis. Like all over. It was so noticeable and I know everyone saw it, but tried to pretend they didn't. Yet again I had to finish up my day at work, not only wearing khakis (ugh), but khakis covered in pen. And I had done it to myself.

Seriously, I can't even imagine what they thought of this ridiculous little farm girl from Nebraska.

But my greatest moment of stupidity had to be this one. My subway story.
Since I lived up north and most of the other interns lived in the neighboring boroughs, if I wanted to hang out, we generally ended up around midtown or farther downtown. One night, we got pretty toasted after a game and I realized I needed to get myself home before I passed out on the bar or made a fool of myself. I made my way to the subway and settled in for the ride to my 85th and West End place.

Well settle in I sure did, because when I woke up - yes, woke up, meaning I passed out on the subway in one of the biggest cities in the world - I was on 135th in Harlem. Me, the little farm girl born & raised in a town of 800, who moved to a college town of 25,000 and ended up in NYC having never been there before in my life, was asleep on the subway at around three in the morning and traveled 121 blocks before I realized it, purse cradled in my lap.

As soon as I got myself together, you would think I would've just walked over to the other side, took the southbound train and made it to my place safe and sound. But, nope. I couldn't find the downtown train for the life of me. Like I seriously looked around and couldn't find it. And ended up walking all the way back to my place.
Fortunately nothing happened.


I really dodged a bullet with that one. I mean, what would they have gotten but my ID, some cheap make-up and a credit card that I had probably already maxed out, but still. It could have been bad.

I waited until morning to call my mom and tell her all about. I thought she was going to hop on a plane and drag me out of that big, scary city right there and then, but I was able to talk her out of it. Saying something about learning my lesson, yada yada yada.

And I thought I had. I mean, it almost scared me sober.

That is, until a couple weeks later, I did it again. Yes, my name is Katie and I passed out, hard core, two separate times on the subway in Manhattan during the wee hours of the morning. And I lived to talk about it.

Morale of the story? Don't drink. It makes you stupid.
Come on, don't tell me this story doesn't make you feel smarter. Right? Well, it should.

And follow along for more shenanigans over at Yellow Mango Life or via the many social channels below...you'll be sorry if you don't. =)

{Oh, and please note the pictures used in this post are of me, but not me during my internship time. I think I officially destroyed each and every single one of those. Imagine bad roots (no way was I wasting money on Manhattan stylists!), cheap & even cheaper looking clothes (remember, champagne taste & no budget), pale as all get out and a bit chubbier (thanks to all that pizza) but these give you a good idea, right?}

A big thank you to Karli for letting me take over her bloggity blog for the day!