First, I’ve migrated all of links from All The Way From Oy To Vey. If I’ve missed anyone, TELL ME, I promise you it was an oversight. You know how fucktarded I can be. Don’t be shy. I want all of you with me. Would you please redirect your links right here? I know it’s a pain in the ass. I super appreciate it.

Dear Thyroid Dish… So exciting. This week we announced the launch of our first Dear Thyroid Annual Anthology. Beginning in 2010 and every year thereafter, our “Best of Letters” from within each category we accept letters from, will be available in print. Other big news, Mary Shomon Passionate Thyroid Patient Advocate and  Best-Selling Author of numerous Thyroid books, Founder of Thyroid Info, Unbiased News and Support, and one hell of a glandalicious dame is interviewing Dear Thyroid on

Three Dames With A Clue announced our June show, which kicks fuckin’ ass “Women’s Expression of Sex and Sexuality“. The shit that’s going down at this shindig is going to be fierce.

This week, the shame, I got three pics of a naked peenyboy in my inbox meant for, of course, another Katiegirl surprised?! . Anyhoodle, the email was clearly an exchange he’d been having with another Katiegirl. I email him back and tell him I wasn’t the “Katie” this email was meant for. He decides to e-stalk me back. Wanna know what he said?

You sound very interesting!!  Maybe I can get some pics from u?!!  I also have more where those came from.  I am actually communicating with a couple of women on Ashley, a place to have affairs.  Interested?  Wouldn’t that be funny if an incorrect email led to something great?  Well probably not.  Besides, your probably no where near Columbus, Ohio.

Why yes, nothing screams hot, must have you, like married cheating cock. Dipshit.

Our Joe is fast becoming a famous author. He’s writing for Chicago Now, his column is called Arresting Tales.

Our Utah Savage is going through a rather horrific situation and needs all the love and support we have to give. While you’re clicking through cyberspace, send some love and good wishes to a dame near and dear to my heart. She blogs Telling Secrets.

Image courtesy of Artyfax

The Semitard Who Went Pro in Creeptardaree

It’s no secret that I’m Jewish. Anyone who reads my Jewchives from All The Way From Oy to Vey or my new site/blog right here, knows that I’m a proud Heebalicious Heebareena. Certainly, it’s not written on my face. Though I’ve been told that I look Jewish on many occasions, whatever that means. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, I can spot 90% of my people within a one mile radius. Still. Some of us really don’t look Jewish, but we remain the Jewiest of Jews.

Recently, I had an opportunity to visit a place I hadn’t been to since I was a kid, a Schwartz landmark, if you will. After walking the grounds (patch a’ grass), the new owner, gem that he is, came outside to greet us. We met him at the bottom of his stoop.

To say that I was rattled by his appearance would be an epic lie. I could get past the faded, trying-to-be-blue Dickie’s and the grey, green flannel shirt, as well as the baseball cap worn so high, it was flirting with his forehead. I even overlooked his tooth. Yes, tooth, not teeth, one single solitary tooth and the ginormous mole on his forehead with two protruding grey hairs. What I absolutely could not get past was the dire situation manifesting between his legs, which I am convinced wanted to come out for show-and-tell: Elephantitis penis (EllyPeen). Or, perhaps it was Elephantitis ball sack (EllyB-Sack-Relidhj). I really don’t know and didn’t think I should ask. Though, as you continue reading, you’ll probably think what I’m thinking right now, “Bitch, after the way he behaved, ya shoulda fuckin asked.”

EllyB-Sack-Relidhj who hadn’t seen the light of day or spoken with humans outside of his four walls in at least 30-years, explained that he bought the SL (Schwartz Landmark) from a couple a’ Jews. “Lot’s of them Jew people were here before we arrived.” I wanted to scream, “Hey, fucknard, I hate to break it to you, but you happen to be standing in front of two a’ them, Jewesses, to be clear. Lil fuckin’ FYI for ya. Oh, and PS: instead of Jewhatin’, you might want to tend to that creepy fuckin Ellypeen protruding from your never-been-washed Dickie’s, OVERWHELMING and TRAUMATIZING my lady balls for life, I assure you.”

Of course the writing on the wall screamed Don’t go into the house, don’t, don’t, don’t do it. History’s pull outweighed our intuition. And so we entered. Inching our way into the foyer, memories flooding back for one. Sport nausea for both. Fab. After decades some things remained intact, exactly as they were remembered, those elements were resplendent.

As we ventured into another room, out popped the semitard who truly went pro in creeptardaree (SWWPIC). And I’m not kidding. Imagine a 5×5, 40-year-old man stuffed like a sausage casing into a white tank top designed for women. His only pair of Lee jeans, streaked with food stains, urine droplets and oil smudges, as well as, acne, backne and arm acne. And thank God, I will remain forever in the dark about his other body part acnefestations. Oh, and he had two teeth — that makes three between them. I have every confidence they jointly chewed and faught over who got the swallow.

In a high pitched, I-never-talk-to-people-unless-I-force-them-to-so-I-can-kill-them-with-my-screwdrivers-hammers-and-wrenches-in-the-basement, hiding under at least 30 dead women, buried underneath concrete, he eerily repeated, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, while folding his thick, unwashed clammy hand into mine.

The tour didn’t end there.  Terrified, yet incapable of walking out, we peered into each room, until we hit a two-room pocket with no exit. The SWWPIC was inching so closely behind me, I could feel his unflossed, never been rinsed breath on my neck.

Everything came to a halt when the other gazed at the ceiling and saw a ravishing, simple fixture, from their childhood. Memories as important to me to see and hear as they were to the other. Ellypeen reminded us that them Jews put it in, not them. After snapping multiple pictures, it became evidently clear that we needed to make like a leather clad republican, snorting Crystal Meth, while fucking two she-male hookers before getting caught. Or, in this case, killed.

Traversing around them to extricate ourselves felt like we were playing the last game of the final 4. Worse, As they followed us out, Ellypeen said, “Them Jews left a Jew thing on the door. We smashed it with a hammer and burned the thing inside.” Seeing the front door before us, and seething from their audacious hatred, holding my tongue seemed moot. Stupidly, I said, “You are telling two JEWISH WOMEN that you destroyed a Mezuzah.” The Other looked at me with that what have you done, child, look.

Of course Ellypeen didn’t care. Of course he didn’t hear me. He was preoccupied, flaunting his EllyB-Sack-Relidhj and spewing ignorance and hate. The Other grabbed my arm and dragged me out, willingly and gratefully, I’ll have you know.

The house reeked of piss. I am convinced they dragged their cocks out for Daily Battle of the Urine Stream contests performed in each room, for variety sake, you know, to keep it fresh. And when they weren’t doing that, they were decpitating barbies, setting them aflame and jerking off in watermelons, gumming Hungry Mans and deuling for the final gulp.

Safely in the car, the freakshows followed us out. The driver, a yummalicious Dominican, got behind the wheel as we drove off and ranted like banshees. Though he was quite familiar with cursing, he’d never quite heard cursing like this. Fortunately had a great sense of humor.

In a weird way, I felt bad for the SWWPIC. He never really stood a chance. Raised in an insular, hateful world with no formal education, friends, or social skills, to speak of. What choices did he have?

As far as that day goes, it was one of the most surreal, beautiful, haunting days of my life that I will treasure forever.

The Vey B-Roll (links) will be addd throughout the week, lovers, don’t break up with me and don’t think I’m dissin’ ya’s, cause I ain’t.


I Love You, Now Listen

First of all, I will get all of my peeps link posted. I am linkdating with a lot of you. Give me a few days, at least until next week. Can we do that, please? Is that fair? Fabulous.

Okay, I have an announcement and I am hoping you will hear me, please. Dear Thyroid just received our first family of letters. I am asking you to hop on over and read them. Posting them brought me to tears, really. This family’s strength and love for each other will take your wig off. As you know, I have Graves’ disease, well, so does this incredibly brave woman, Rachel. Of course her letter amazed me. Similarly, to read her family’s letter to Rachel’s thyroid and see what was taken from them because of her disease – alls I can tell you is that I was in tears while I posted each. I implore you to read them.

Have I hocked enough? Okay, here are the links:

Dear Thyroid, I will be the last one standing, not you (Rachel’s letter)

Christopher’s letter to his wife Rachel’s thyroid

Susan’s letter to her daughter, Rachel’s thyroid



A Bragging Rights Shit

For three days, I have been bunged up like an overly stuffed red pepper. I think I have to attribute this to my hummus addiction, which I have now stopped OCDeating for fear that I’ll find my human ass in the hands of a veterinarian begging him to express my anal glands.

I can see it now, Schwartz on all fours atop a silver table while a cheek spreading tool is inserted, as a vet digs his made-for-canine claws into my rectum. Lovely.

My ass feels like a sausage casing ready to spontaneously combust. Similarly, my stomach is distended, out to the moon, really, only exacerbating my shituation.

I’m officially in ASS HELL.

Sure, I can blow a harmonious tune from the twin cheeks that would make Beethoven jealous, but I can’t seem to go the distance. I need an asstastic movement that will do my porcelain goddess proud and severely piss my cunting neighbors off.

What the fuck? I thought being vegan meant I’d be as regular as Sands through the Hour Glass. I thought garbanzo beans; beans being the operative word, would yield a rectalrific experience. Fuckin ell was I wrong.

If there is a rectal God, I have news:

Dear Rectal God:

Thank you for your time, I appreciate it. Real quick, I promise.

I know you’re busy with other asses, but I am begging you to move heaven and earth for my Jewass.

In reciprocity, because I’m an ardent fan of give and take relationships, I will give you a shout out on my blog, so everyone knows how assalicious you can be and that all it takes is a friendly request.

What do you think? Are you in?


Katie Schwartz

PS: To be clear, I’m the Jewish Katie Schwartz from New York living in Los Angeles, the writer. I knit, speaking of; I can knit you a hat. Would you like a hat? I’m also the vintage tchoch collector. You can’t miss me in a crowd. I temporarily skew Jew x 4, and have dark brown hair. I’m always in glasses. Am I ringing a bell?

What the Fuck, Katie Schwartz

Change, though not always planned, doesn’t have to suck the ass of a geriatric patient with bleeding hemorrhoids. That being said — Schwartzy has a new joint. BREATHE. I’ve decided to consolidate. I’m not giving up All The Way From Oy To Vey, NEVAH. Thanks to Crionaberry, that’s where my blogventure began. The Vey is home to three years of my life with my near and dear online and offline friends. We’ve laughed, cried, and lived super out loud there, so it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

However, BREATHE, I will be blogging here now. Still breathing? Great. I need a central website, one place where I can blog and also update what’s going on in my writing life and with Dear Thyroid, which (knock wood), seems to be really moving its story forward (yahoo), etc. etc. etc. With the help of Bit Depth, if he can stand my ass painery, I’ll map my domain to WordPress properly.

So, why haven’t I blogged in close to a month? Fuck me and suck my ovaries, what a month this has been, seriously. Mostly good, mind you. Some if it overwhelming.

Let’s start with the fucktardaree that is my home life, shall we? I am officially living in Moushewitz. My kitchen wall is shared with psycho Cindy who now scratches the walls when she smells anything to her disliking coming from my apartment. To be clear, I collect and wear gorgeous perfumes — sorry, but it’s true. I do not burn incense. I have been known on occasion to light a scented candle, but not often. The building next door is a few feet away. Off my kitchen window, we have Saphareena and her mother, cunteralla. Convinced that I stare into her windows, which is impossible unless I have X-ray vision, considering she has thick curtains covering her windows, has resurrected two HUGE 3 ft long plywood barriers with slats in them. Why, yes, it does resemble the haunting vision of a train en route to Auschwitz. Between the scratching and that, I’m done. I can’t run fast enough. For the past two weeks, I’ve been house hunting. Last night, I found a great house for rent that I’m super crazy about. I’ll keep ya’s posted. I think I’m done with neighbors and need some space from people in a home setting. Rents have dropped like mad, yo! I hope to be outta here by mid-June, July 1st at the latest.

Up next, I’m down 45 pounds (still a sphere), and my thyroid has now been balanced for 3-months straight, yay. Love Endogirl, she’s tits to the tenth. I’m mentally and physically healthy, so there’s that. Things are going a-okay. I think I’m on the right track. If you click here and scroll down, you’ll get the gist of what’s doing.

Oh, before I forget, I will be adding all of the links on The Vey, to this blog. If I inadvertently leave anyone out, spill. I want every one of my peeps here with me. Kindly start linkdating with me here, please?

Helen Wheels of Just Ain’t Right fame, who also happens to be one hell of an amazing woman, I’m not kidding, helped me out of a canine sitch, which I am eternally grateful to her for. She also told me about movies at cemeteries that I’m now jonesing to attend.

I’m grossly inappropriately behind on my blog reading, I am so sorry. I will catch up.

The Three Dames With A Clue show was a smashing success. I’ll be posting about that tomorrow, I hope, with pictures and all. We’ll also be announcing June’s show. I also met Dusty from the Siren Chronicles, she’s tits.

Other things that have kept me busy, well, getting out of seclusion and back into my life…

I have missed you all terribly. Thanks for not breaking up with me. I’ve tweeted with a few of you, Frannygirl, Utah and Grainylish, and I’ve e-dished with Cormac, Jin, Zipgirl, Bubbsie.

A proper post about Lewch is forthcoming, along with an interview with my cousin, Dorian, the edgiest artist in San Francisco.

Sprawling Creativity at the Compound


When Bubbsie was here with Nora for the Fangoria Spookesmodel Competition, I had the privilege of noshing with them at Junior’s restaurant in Westwood.

I met Bubbsie, Nora and his youngest daughter at Pilcrow Lit Fest last year. We’d been e-buds and blog buds for about a year.

After meeting the majority of the Bubbsie clan, I fell in love with them. They’re the most creative, talented family. Bubbsie not only blogs Sprawling Ramshackle Compound, he’s also a published writer at Farmhouse Magazine and 6S, to name a few. Nora is a horror make-up artist with mad skills, lemme tell ya, this broad is the horror diva of doom. Out of respect for Bubbsie’s youngest daughter’s privacy, “H”, I won’t discuss her, except to say, that she’s equally extraordinary. Though I haven’t met Miz Bubs, I am dying to meet her. I know we’d be insta-bff’s. She makes jewelry! She gave Bubbsie the most gorgeous necklace and earrings, to give to me that I am still plotzing over. See? Stunning, right? I hope she sells her jewels. I would love to buy her jewelry.

Do you believe this family?!

Is There A Farm In Your House?

I am very proud to announce that the good folks at Farmhouse Magazine have made me a Contributing Editor to their wonderful magazine. Farmhouse is one of my favorite reads. They’ve generously published my work online and in their first forthcoming Anthology, The Best of Farmhouse, on sale November 10th. They were also the first to review Emotionally Pantsed. They’re the dandiest of dandyrific folks and a very talented group of writers and editors.

Speaking of November, don’t forget to vote… for Obama/Biden.