Goodbye 2007

Another year just flew by. Like a bottle of fine champagne, I savored every bit…but I can’t say I sipped it…nope, just drank it all down and loved every minute. That’s how fast a year can go...

So what are you doing for New Years? That’s always the question. Then there’s the pressure…to host a good party, find a good party, or better yet, crash a good party. For years now we haven’t planned ahead for New Years Eve…you see… it's all about the kids. What are the kid’s plans? Do their plans include 45 underage kids, our house, and our beer? So being the responsible parents that we claim to be, we have to keep an eye out for what could happen…back at the ranch. So we play the wait game.

The wait game is simple…kids vs parents. Who can wait the longest without making a plan? The only problem is the kids are the masters of this game. We really have no hope of winning. If you zig first…they will definitely zag. When we ask, “What’s the plan?” We get, “Chill…I’m working on one. Probably a party in someone’s basement.” Then we are left wondering… “hmm, is that code for…rager in our basement.

The only comforting thing about the wait game is …our friends are playing the same game with their kids. New Years Eve is today and 2008 is coming in a matter of hours. The kid’s plans are still fluid…kind of like beer flowing from a keg through a funnel…wait…that is exactly what we are afraid of…

Happy New Year to my wonderful family and friends. Have a gr8 2008. Peace OUT

Can I eat my cake too?

It is tough when your two favorite teams play each other….just ask PaulA. I knew it was going to be a football dilemma for him when the Patriots and the Giants played last night. Who is PaulA gonna root for? Making that decision is like trying to decide who you like more…Kid A or Kid B…you have to pick one. Okay, that may be a little extreme. Or for me, it would be like…do I want chocolate mousse or chocolate truffle with my chocolate ice cream? See, it is this kind of dilemma you face when you have to choose between your two favorites.

So for the big game, PaulA had to choose one over the other…and he chose the Patriots. His first inclination is to root for the Patriots especially with their record breaking season, but then they were playing the Giants…the New York Giants. Eli hasn’t exactly been playing that great so you can’t help rooting for the kid…hoping Eli can look like a real quarterback…like his big brother. It is hard not to root for the team that you have been pulling for week after week…cheering them on…yelling at the TV screen. I would hear PaulA pulling for those Giants as he roped me into sitting next to him on the couch for the past umpteen weeks…assume the Sunday sitting position…6 or more hours on the brown leather couch. By the end of Sunday night, our butts would have a brown leather burn.

So last night PaulA had a huge helping of cake and got to eat it too. The Patriots won and broke lots of records along with Tom Brady and that Moss character. Plus the Giants played a great game. They rose above bumbling boob status and actually looked like contenders with a quarterback that could make plays. No major injuries. And both teams look good going into the play-offs.

So I was wondering PaulA …do you have an extra fork for that cake? After all, it was me sitting next to you getting the leather burn for all those weeks…..

Edit Thyself

“Ruh-roh” (meant to be read out loud in your best Scooby voice.) I am in trouble now… a few friends heard that I am writing a blog. Now there will be no question about what a strange Kat I really am…the proof will be right there in blog black and white. Will knowing that I have some friends reading my blog effect how I write? Will I try to edit myself to sound like I’m a normal blogwriting housewife? Does a normal blogwriting housewife even exist or is that what they call…a foxymoron? Or is that an oxymoron?

Yep, my friends are probably thinking (sometimes I can read minds)…Kat has too much time on her hands. Shouldn’t she be doing something worthwhile? But then they realize…aha, a blog might just be perfect for her. After all, she has no skills….bless her heart.

So here I sit, hoping to write the next greatest blog…and I’m thinking…what should I write about? Will critical, over-thinking send me into blog bloc?? What would my friends find interesting? Let’s see…

Okay, probably not the story about the time when Col was little and went pee pee in a convenient soda bottle in the backseat of the van...oh, so embarrassing. (Did I say that out loud? Sorry Colinboy!) Oh, and probably not the story about the time when our Christmas tree fell off our van and PaulA had to fight the traffic to rescue it ….too dumb and oh so, boringly been there-done that. And definitely not the story about a homeless child who didn’t eat for 12 days and was fed by a She-wolf…too ridiculous and oh so, not true.

Nope, I have to be true to myself and not let the thought of my friends influence my blog. I have to let Kat be Kat and write …the ridiculously, foxymoronic, absurd…that just comes to mind…naturally.
Catch ya on the blogspot!

Mannequin attack

Okay, I have reached a new low. While shopping, I attacked a mannequin. It just started so innocently…I am in the Gap at the Taj MaMall and I spy this little tank top on a mannequin that would be perfect with something I already bought (shhh… it’s a secret.) I look through the rack for “size S”…darn, no smalls. I am not giving up…

I decide to check the size on the half mannequin girl (her bottom half is probably in GAP pants) SaWeet, she’s wearing a “size S.” Hmmm…What to do? I have to get the tank top off her…right here and now, while no one is looking. Heck, mannequin girl won’t miss it…she’s not going anywhere. It won’t be that difficult.

In order to get to the tank top, I have to first pull off the sweatshirt she’s wearing. So I stand on my tippy toes reaching ‘cause they have mannequin girl high on a shelf…I pull the sweatshirt down one arm and then down the other arm…not so easy. Then I struggle to get the sweatshirt over her hands which are together in some ridiculous pose behind her. Okay, step one accomplished. No one noticed me maul mannequin girl. That was harder than I thought it would be….

Now for the tank top…this should be easier…wrong! I pull one strap down, then the other strap down, and manage to get it over those darn hands. Then it’s impossible to slide the tank top off the bottom ‘cause they have her attached to a big stand. Now I have to pull it back up her arms and over her head…and I can hardly reach the darn thing. So I look around (nope, no one is looking)…

I take Miss Mannequin down and put her on the floor. I start pulling and yanking on the tank top and then she falls over. I am in a full out wrestle with the mannequin. (She seems to be taking all this personally.) I can’t get the tank top over her head.

Bingo…new idea…I take another look around (gee, still nobody looking.) I decide that I have to take mannequin girl off the stand, so I can slip the tank top off from the bottom. With all my might on 1, 2, 3… I pull her body off the stand with both my hands and my feet. Yaaaaa…she’s free… now I am free…to take the tank top. Mission Accomplished.

Now the poor girl is exposed. I throw a sweatshirt at mannequin girl… “OMG, you’re indecent…cover yourself up!”

Taj MaMall Driven

I was driving down the road today on my way to the Taj MaMall, (yes, again…Okay, I still have crap to buy) listening to a little holiday music and getting in the spirit. Fa la la la laa….that kind of stuff. When all of a sudden, my car is blasted with ice chunks and snow. It seems the knucklehead in front of me, in a big ass Denali, didn’t properly clean off his car. As he whizzes down the road, all his crap is landing onto my windshield. Yikes…first I jump, ‘cause the ice hits hard and loud and then I react by jerking the steering wheel to avoid more chunks. So I speed up to get beside the Numbskull and I mouth to the driver…Read My Lips….Clean off your car! Blank stare comes back….duh…you gotta a problem lady? Then OMG, the exact same thing happens again, but this time with a big ass Cadillac Escalade…different driver….same crap. What is going on?

Whew…sigh of relief. Those big asses better not mess with me. So I continue on my way to the Taj MaMall…I crank up the holiday tunes… “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you”….Wait, what is that? The car in front of me swerves to miss a 10 foot ladder in the lane…then, (being an expert driver, that I pretend to be) I swerve and miss the ladder too.

What is going on? I feel like I am actually in one of those bad video games where things pop up to get you before you reach the end….hmmmm….that’s it…obstacles are being thrown in my path to deter me from getting to the Taj MaMall…but it is gonna take more than a ladder and some ice chunks to keep me from my Taj MaMall…bring it on.

Beeper Santa

I was at the Taj MaMall today (yes, again) and saw that familiar sight this time of year…Santa in center court. There he was in all his glory…red suit, boots, beard and cap… “Santa, you haven’t changed a bit. You’re still an old guy…and you still have that enormous beer belly.” Kids wait to sit on Santa’s lap and give him their laundry list of every toy they just have to have…until they have it! But something seems amiss…

Santa was there with little Johnny sitting on his lap…but…but… where was the huge line that would snake from Abercrombie to Sears and back around again? Are kids snubbing Santa ‘cause he didn’t come through last year…or do they visit a virtual Santa online and email their list…

Then I took a closer look and it all made sense…Santa’s elves were giving out beepers so you don’t have to stand in line with your little angels. Beepers! Oh, come on…now that just isn’t fair! I remember having to deal with fussing kids, kids running around, and the total chaos that went with the 2 hour wait in line…And just as we were inches from Santa’s lap hearing, “ I don’t want to see Santa now…can we go home?” “Oh honey, yes you do…Remember, you want to see Santa…you’ve asked to see him every minute since Thanksgiving and since we are here… you are going to talk to Santa, smile for the picture and love every single minute of it!”

So life just got a little easier when it comes to visiting St. Nick, you can grab the beeper, do some shopping, take your kids to the restroom for the tenth time in an hour, and even take a nap in the lounge area. But for some reason it just doesn’t seem right. I just feel like moms (and dads) are missing out…that their fun has been taken away…you know…the fun of misbehaving children, kids crying, threats to your kids…

The photo with Santa will definitely be different…now photos will be taken of children with happy faces, wearing hair bows that haven’t been ripped out, holiday outfits still intact…and no missing shoes or binkys. Now that just doesn’t seem fair to these parents…they are missing out on an important memory. But more importantly, why didn’t we think of that???

Power Shop

Shopping this time of year should be considered exercise. I went shopping today and I think I got a pretty good work out. It is so darn crowded that the only place to park is about a 2 mile walk from the mall. “Hey people, it’s only Macys…Are they giving stuff away in there?”

To get to the Taj Ma…Mall, you have to climb a couple snow banks, hop a few slush puddles, and sprint…it is so blasted cold, you definitely aren’t walking. Then when you actually get inside, it is hundreds of crazy people running into each other, bumping off one another… “Excuse me, pardon me, get out of my way”…

If you are actually finding stuff to get people on your list…you end up with a few packages. And after awhile, they add up and can get pretty darn heavy. You’ve got the coffee maker for Nana, the bathroom scale for Auntie Betty, the lump of coal for PaulA. So your dilemma is …Do you trek back to the car, over the puddles and snow banks and get rid of your packages? Or do you schlep the bags around? Okay, you probably do the latter…and carry everything around with you like a darn pack mule, which actually counts towards exercise. You start to feel the strain in your arms…What did Jane Fonda say back in the 80s?: Feel the burn, Baby. Your arm muscles are really burning now.

The ultimate work-out routine during the power shop is…if you have to actually fight someone. That last size XXXL waffled yarn long-sleeved shirt is just perfect for Uncle Stevo. The “enemy shopper” grabs one end of the shirt while you’ve got the other. So you smile and politely say, “Excuse me ma’am, but I had this item first.” Then she says, “I’m afraid not.” And then you step it up a notch… “I’m afraid so Biotch…so get your hands off!”…Okay, now you arm wrestle over it until you have to slam her to the floor and put her in a head lock.

I think I got a good workout with my power shop today…I know my credit card did.

Electric Love

We received a love letter from our electric company. They compared our usage for the past 6 months with the same period last year, and we had conserved energy! They are giving us the maximum (20 %) off some base rate of something….anyway, that is the most love you could hope to receive from a utility company.

So I got to thinking…turning a few things down, off, or out really does help! PaulA used to come home from work at night and wonder when the party started…every light in the house was on. I decided everyone looks better in low lighting…so why not turn a few off! I have “seen the light” and I am now a reformed Power hog.

I have appointed myself Power Gestapo and surveyed the situation. These are my findings:

Kat never turns the computer off …it is on 24/7. If you have me on your buddy list…it looks like I have actually become the computer because I am always on and connected to the internet, even when I’m at the mall….I mean cleaning house. So that sucker is getting shut down…when I sleep.

Christmas lights…I almost complained how it seemed like PaulA was taking a few shortcuts with the lights outside, but since I am a reformed Power hog, I realize “less is more.”…huh? In the fall we cut down two trees (they were overgrown, for all you tree huggers) and replaced them with smaller bushes. Now we only need a baby strand of lights instead of the usual tangled 45 …saved there.

Neighbors…different story…they go nutso with Christmas lights. They’ve got the entire roof outlined so Santa won’t forget them. I’m sure they have more lights than last year. I bet I would be really popular if I stopped by and said, “Excuse me…but ….you have TOO MANY LIGHTS…you have surpassed your quota for the season!” Isn’t that my job as self-appointed Power Gestapo?

Hmm…just noticed a glaring misuse of power …PaulA’s electric toothbrush…now, that’s got to go……

If we keep it up, the power company might send us another love letter.

Every Kiss Begins With Kay

I’ve read that the bathroom scale is the worst gift a man could give a woman…duh, do you really need to be told this? “Man, you are hurting if this is anywhere on your radar.” The second-to-worst gift….is an appliance (unless of course the guy can be stuffed into it.) If gift giving were up to Kay Jewelers, the perfect gift would be diamonds. After all, every kiss begins with Kay.

In the commercial, he surprises her with a diamond. She goes ga-ga over it… she reaches over, caresses his face and plants a big kiss. She now has a twinkle in her eye, replacing previous daggers …and you know what that means….she might be nice to him…at least for a week.

After receiving the shiny rock, she decides her boyfriend or husband isn’t so bad after all. Before he gave her the diamond…he was “okay” at best… but now, all of a sudden, he is lovable and actually kissable. She is madly and deeply consumed with emotion and can not contain her irresistible urge to give him a juicy kiss…smack on the kisser. Before the diamond...he was lucky to get a peck on the cheek.

Unfortunately men are led to believe that the only way to a woman’s kiss is with diamonds. These poor guys are made to feel that if they don’t get the woman in their life a diamond…they are a dud...a low-down, lousy, cheap, son-of-a-scoundrel. Men are made to feel that diamonds are the only thing that will get their woman’s attention and adoration.

Now, come on…please do not be fooled. We welcome emeralds, sapphires, rubies, pearls...

The Family Holiday Photo

Holiday dilemma…what to send for a Christmas card? Before we had kids, we sent pretty Hallmark cards…because we care to send the very best.

Then we had bambinos...in our case, Helamonsters. We were so happy and proud of our little wonders that we sent photos of them with Santa…wearing their holiday outfits and their Santa-phobia faces. Over the years, we were receiving the same kind of kid photos. We started asking ourselves… “Who are these kids anyway?” We decided we liked pictures of the entire family. Enter…the dreaded family photo.

Not so easy …to capture 3 antsy kids and 2 stressed out parents in a Norman Rockwell photograph. We needed someone to do the honors… so we’d ask either Auntie Areyousure, Uncle Pleasenotme or Stranger Whyme. Using an old box camera we would take a whole roll of film, and hope to high hopes, that one of those pictures was okay… “Nice job, but didn’t you see that little Colinboy had his finger up his nose?”

Then the kids grew to be big kids, and the Christmas photo card took on another dimension…it had to pass the Chels-test. “You can’t send that out…What if my friends see I have a crazy brother!”

Holiday picture time 2007… It is hard to get 5 people in the same place…usually one is MIA or one is still in bed. But alas, Jupiter aligned with Mars…we were all present…just missing someone to take the picture…

Idea… “Hey, let’s use the handy dandy timer on the new digital camera.” So we place everyone in position…balance the camera on a ladder…Take a look…Nope, need more height…add books…adjust ladder…rebalance. Then PaulA pushes the timer and scrambles around to get with us in the picture. Checks it… darn, need a retake…the wind was blowing. Checks it…shoot, need a retake…eyes are closed. Checks it…shucks, need a retake…the dog is taking a pee…

Whew...we are done. We dismantle the ladder and each take-off in different directions. Later we realize Colinboy has a funny expression in every photo…and I’m not talking funny-haha…and the dog appears bored with the whole production as he stares at his latest paw pedicure.

So when you get our family holiday photo…and see all of us smiling (okay maybe not Colinboy) realize the blood, sweat, and tears that went in to that picture…. because we care to send the very best.

Eyes On The Road

Okay, I got caught …..dancing today. Well, that would be dancing in my car. Doesn’t every one dance while driving? You’ve got the radio on and a really good song comes on, so you turn the sound way up. Next thing you know, you start tapping the steering wheel to the beat, then moving your head up and down. Then you do some serious head bobbing like one of those bobble head dolls. Before you know it, you really get into it…you can’t stop yourself...you start wiggling in your seat…you move your shoulders, then your bod and “maneuver” as much as you can while driving a car. I have a friend, Coleen, who is very good at this….she’s almost a pro. She can seat dance to “Burning Down the House” by the Talking Heads... like it’s nobody’s business.

So today, I got caught….You know the feeling when someone is watching you…you slowly turn your head and look over and “shoot, they got me.” Yup, a little smirk from the driver in the next lane. “Come on, eyes forward, aren’t ya supposed to be watching the road here!!??”

The other thing I love to do is sing in my car. That is something you can totally get away with, especially these days. Bluetooth has totally saved me from embarrassment. Not that I have Bluetooth in my car, but I just pretend that I do. So I sing freely like I would in the shower… If someone looks over and sees me…I just pretend like I’m talking on the phone in my car…. Actually they could probably careless, but somehow I just feel better about it all.

The other day I saw a man “playing the drums” with both hands while he drove, holding imaginary sticks and rapping out the beat……Look around, it’s funny what you’ll see in the next car over…just don’t let them catch you looking!!!!!

Hello It's Me

You gotta love technology today. I can get in touch with my college kids 24/7…through IMs and emails on the computer…through texting and calling on the cell phone. That is, if they pick up. When I call them….NO answer. When they call me…I answer,“Hi Sweetie! How’s everything going?” Okay, I realize they see it says MOM on their caller id. Heck for all I know, they have a special ring tone attached to my number…probably plays the Wicked Witch music…you know, when she flies off on her bike with Toto…

You see, they know I am after them about something they don’t want to talk about….debit card purchases, cell phone bills, and their plan for the rest of their life….hehehe Chels

So when they get the picture that I mean business…. they text me…and say, “Sorry, in class” or “Can’t talk. In the library"…ooh, they are so clever. I text them back… “Too bad, I wanted to talk about your spring break”. Then I don’t pick up….ooh, I am so clever.

I once had a heated discussion with BigC on IM. It all started so innocently. As we got into the heavy stuff….the responses were flying back and forth at the speed of light. Boy can she type fast…but aha…I can keep up…I typed my way through college for spending money. Don’t mess with fastKAT. Then things escalated…and I have to say…it was BigC’s fault. You see, she started yelling at me… she changed to capital letters! My turn…I hit Caps Lock…back at ya, girlfriend.

The more intense our ims got, the harder and faster I pushed the keys down…and she was doing the same….we were having a full blown techno heated discussion. Back and forth we im’d…faster and harder. We then decided to call a truce…”OKAY FINE, BE THAT WAY”…. “FINE, YOU BE THAT WAY”…. “FINE”… “FINE’…“BYE”… “BYE.”

Whew, after that flurry, my fingers were killing me….it is tuff to have an argument on IM. Next time I’m gonna stick to the ole fashioned way… the phone…..that is, if they’ll answer a call from the Wicked Witch.

Maneuver This

It’s that time a year….for Holiday parties. When you get dressed up, (the blinking holiday tie that plays “Deck the Halls” and those flashy festive outfits), drink a little bubbly or a little eggnog, eat a lot of food, and then hit the dance floor….That is, if the mood hits you, or the eggnog kicks in…whichever comes first. So brush up on those dance steps because there’s some “maneuvering” to do…

We once met this “chick” from California who referred to dancing as “maneuvering”…now that makes so much sense. First of all, you maneuver to get a space on a crowded dance floor. Then you try to maneuver your body in a way that it resembles dancing, instead of vertical convulsions.

Last weekend PaulA and I went to a club holiday party. Otherwise known as a fancy party in the burbs around the holidays. They had a clever name to try to disguise it, but it had “party for old folks”…written all over it. So yes, that is why I was there!

It was actually a beautiful party, with great food, fun people and a band. The singer sounded like Frank Sinatra which put a new twist on “She’s a Brick House” …very hip. You should have seen us move…we got all our body parts moving, not always in-synch…but they were moving. There’s the lady on the dance floor who didn’t work out that morning, so she’s doing her routine while her husband shuffles his feet around. Then there’s the guy who is rockin’ it hard and sweating through his shirt. And the couple that swing each other so well that they clear the deck with every turn. My hubby and I could never win Dancing with the Stars. Heck, I can’t even get him to watch it. Maneuvering is fun though, I think we should maneuver whenever possible.

It was a relatively tame party….no table maneuvering…no lap maneuvering. No one would need to don a cap and sunglasses to enter Starbucks.

Rockin' Governor

Jon Bon Jovi for Governor. Honest, I’m not clever enough to make this stuff up. I heard he is thinking about running for Governor of New Jersey. Maybe when you are a rock star anything is possible…even rule the world…or maybe start with the state of New Jersey. People probably tell him he’s “all that” … all day. So he’s thinking, “Man, Jersey needs me.” Now why would Bon Jovi want to do this? Doesn’t he realize he’ll have to go to Newark and Hackensack? So if he can run for Gov., maybe there’s hope for me with my new life aspiration…I’m thinking of becoming spokesperson for Dyslexic Drummers. And Colinboy…Music School was definitely a wise choice…look at all the possibilities…rock star turn Governor.

You know people in N.J. might actually vote for him. They might want a cool rocker guy in office….one that looks good in jeans and leather. The rest of the country might even remember the state…for a change. Jersey usually gets an unfair rap when it comes to image so he could help them with that. Governor Bon Jovi’s P.R. slogan: “Visit New Jersey, we promise you a rockin’ good time.

Jon Bon Jovi just might have a chance for Governor of New Jersey. That is, if Bruce Springsteen doesn’t want the job. Brrruuuuuccccceeee……