What Are You Doing?

What are you doing for New Years? This time of year…that’s the number one question. Unless you have planned something in advance…a trip to Times Square…a vacation….a rager party…you are probably in the same boat as everyone else.

That would be the boat to….nothing really. That pretty much sums up what most people have planned for New Year’s Eve. The funny thing is that everyone feels like they should have some great plan…or party to tell everyone about.

For some reason because it’s New Year’s…people feel like they have to do something really instead of nothing really. You can’t stay home in your pjs, drink beer, eat macho nachos and call it a New Year at 10:30 pm. (That would be called Sunday nights.) Nope. You have to put on your glitzy flashy sequins clothing, get together with people, clink glasses and stay up late. And it is required to yell the countdown at the top of your lungs…5-4-3-2-1…as the old year winds down. Most importantly you are required to kiss everyone in the room. Heck, if you don’t…you will have bad luck in 2009. So you are left with no choice. “Get over here I need to give you a big ole kiss because it’s a New Year.” So you end up with kissing people you don’t even know…and a monster cold three days later.

We’ve had some good house parties over the years. This I know. When one of your guests decides…riding the reindeer you have as a decoration by your front door is a good idea…you definitely know you had a good/crazy party.

It’s funny how looong the night can seem before midnight. "What we still have 3 more hours before the damn ball drops?" The night is moving in slow mo…but finally the hands strike midnight and the ball drops…your guest has mounted the reindeer…and now it’s suddenly 3 am. Where did the time go?

I always have mixed emotions watching the ball drop in Times Square on television. Happy, that I am not there with 20,000 drunk maniacs (that’s a lot of kissing) and sad, when I hear Auld Lang Syne. That song makes me want to cry…couldn’t they come up with something peppier?

So PaulA and I will probably be doing nothing really with a bottle of bubbly for New Years Eve. I do have one request this year….no choruses of Auld Lang Syne…and I could do without watching Dick Clark on the Rockin' Eve….that guy is doing nothing really for me…unless of course he decides to ride a reindeer.

Happy New Year!

The Perfect Gift

I hope Santa was good to everyone this Christmas and you got that special something on your list. I must have been a good girl…I got that something special from Santa PaulA. He definitely wins points for bestowing on me…the best gift a husband could present a wife.

Okay, it wasn’t the diamond watch. My gift doesn’t sparkle or twinkle…but I am waay past the glitz of bling. My special gift warms my heart and my ass….the original electric blanket. And it’s the deluxe model…dual controls….automatic shut-off. Yowzer. The person who said “diamonds are a girl’s best friend”…is probably a jeweler trying to make a buck. An electric blanket is THIS girl’s best friend...electronics and warmth all rolled into one. Who could ask for anything more? Besides it weighs a lot less than the hefty heat machine next to me. PaulA does emit a lot of body heat, but he doesn’t come with an automatic shut-off.

I finally understand Linus and why he always has his blanket…I would love to walk around with mine but I can’t find an extension cord long enough…plugging and re-plugging is a pain.

There is nothing like getting into a warm bed. No more cold sheet…frigid feet…frosty seat. (okay, it rhymes.) I cranked the blanket to 10...and I was in heat wave heaven. Lying there I began wondering….is this okay for me to be underneath a 12 watt charged blanket? What if the electric blanket is the precursor to the electric chair. Why doesn’t everyone own one? Maybe they know something I don’t. Maybe it’s like the microwave…after years of use we find out that the waves it emits are dangerous to our health and we will glow years past the day we are buried toes up. What if the electronics on my new blanket are faulty, and the wires overheat and burst into flames? Note to self: google keywords: electric blanket/mishaps/sudden fires.

I wonder if I’m devloping a tan while I sleep. Maybe after spending a few nights under the blanket, I will look like I’ve spent some time in Cancun...ole chica. Not only a good night’s sleep but an all-over tan. Note to self: market new get-rich idea…an electric tanning blanket.

I have to admit…lying in my bed under my electric blanket…I kinda felt like a toaster strudel…warm on the inside, crispy on the outside. ….but oh…so saweeeeett…..

The Original Yankee Swap

This holiday season I was involved in a couple of Yankee swaps…and I got to thinking...(I’m always thinking…even during the holidays.) What claim do Yankees have on the swap? Does anyone know why it is called the Yankee swap and not the rebel swap? What is it about the Yankee mentality that makes them want to swap…is it some character flaw?? Do rebels have swaps? Questions, questions, questions.

We know northerners have the (un)earned reputation of being cold, unfriendly, pushy, rude, grumpy, fast-paced…I guess this is inline with what goes on at a Yankee swap…where gifts are opened and stealing is involved. We Yankees know stealing from each other is coming, so that makes it totally acceptable. It’s not like we’re stealing behind backs…Yankees are not that ruthless. So we grab, steal, take, bicker, name call … “Give me that…I want that….now.” Definitely not the rebel southern style…

The rebel swap would be a little different: “Ya’all are welcomed to come over, sit a spell, have a sweet tea…you can use my new handy dandy gadget anytime or maybe you want to borrow it…take as long as you need. What’s mine is yours.”

I think I just figured something BIG out…the reason the Yankees baseball team has been so good over the years. It’s because they are masters at the game of stealing and swapping. The original Yankee Swap. They recently swapped Cabrera for the Brewer’s Cameron. Heck, they stole pitcher A.J. Burnett from Toronto…but for 82.5 million…some would hardly call it a steal.

So if you’re playing the game…and your favorite player…or your favorite present…gets stolen. Remember, there's no crying in baseball or Yankee swaps. Whaa…whaa…whaa.

Merry Christmas

This is my version of the Auto-reply…aka automatic responder. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. That’s when you email someone and they’re out of the office goofing-off somewhere…and you get back from them an automated response….giving some real/lame excuse as to why they are out. And then they make some promise about getting back to you when they return.

Seeing it is Christmas Morning and I am home with my family…opening gifts under the tree and having a monster breakfast…I can’t blog today. My family would definitely pack my bags if I made any attempts. (Hey, where we going?)
The following is my Auto-reply message:

I am currently out of my blog chair for a couple of days. It may look like I am ignoring you…because I am…my family made me do it. I will resume the growing ass position soon and will get back to you with mindless blogs ...blog…blog…blog… Oh, and please feel free to leave comments. I don’t bite. Remember…Kat’s just scratch.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to YOU and YOURS.

Check It at the Door

Sometimes people request that you leave your shoes at the front door before entering their homes…not a problem. Back in the day during Christmas, our kids had a twist on that request. Could Santa leave the presents at the front door?...a problem.

They were scared out of their minds by this guy. I’m not sure what they were most afraid of. Was it his looks….the extra-long white natty beard, rosy wind-burned SLASH alcohol-flushed cheeks, the Jack Nicholson-ish twinkle in his eye, the Heavy Weight Champion of the World buckle, his big ass boots…not to mention his big ass. And an all red suit??? Red is definitely not the new black.

No. I actually think they were okay with his looks...they had seen their mother without make-up. It was that they just didn’t want this strange man entering our house. They wanted him to stop by…but check the gifts at the front door, please. Think about it…you’re 8 years old…and you’re lying in your bed on Christmas Eve. You know tonight is the night. It’s the night the stranger comes to visit. And you are supposed to sleep knowing that?

Most people think kids can’t get to sleep because they’re shaking with excitement…thinking about the toys Santa will bring. But in fact, they can’t get to sleep because they’re shaking with terror…thinking about the stranger. They’ve been taught not to talk to strangers…and then suddenly it’s okay for a stranger to enter the house….in the middle of the night….while the whole house sleeps? Some guy is in their house creeping around in the dark and they are left wondering, “Why is everyone okay with that? What about the stranger-danger talks…the ‘rents must have a few screws loose.”

But on Christmas morning…after they got a look at the truck load of toys the big guy dumped on them…the odd stranger was a good guy.

A couple of days later…I had cause for concern. I did notice they had an affinity for a large man in a bad suit donning a chapeau…at the video store. I decided I better have that talk again.

Re-gifting

Have you ever re-gifted or been the recipient of a re-gift (that you are aware of)? I have been on both sides of re-gifting…the re-gifter and the receiver of a re-gift.

A re-gifter should not be confused with an Indian giver. (Note to self: never use that expression…very offensive.) A person who gives a gift doesn’t ever expect to receive it back…although sometimes it finds its way back. I call that the “boomerang gift.”

Years ago, I sent a present for a child’s birthday…and low and behold…it came back…to one of my kids 3 months later. Not adequately disguised in different wrapping paper. The boomerang gift…the gift that keeps on giving.

The Today Show recently had on an expert to discuss the Etiquette of Re-gifting…duh. I’ve heard of etiquette for weddings, telephone speaking, and even golf… but for re-gifting? The expert was the great, great grandchild of Emily Post. So because she’s distantly related, I guess that automatically makes her an expert on the subject. That means…a blogger extraordinaire should be following in my footsteps.

The so-called expert’s advice:
Do not re-gift something that is monogrammed…especially if the initials are not quite the same.
Do not re-gift something that has been opened.
Do not leave old cards or name tags attached to a re-gift.
Do not re-gift something that is old and dusty.

We need an expert for that advice? I’m surprised she didn’t add to the list:
Do not re-gift partially used gift cards…especially with odd amounts left…$37.09.
Never re-gift skinny leg jeans and leg warmers to your Aunt Millie in the nursing home.

I admit that I have re-gifted. It was a bottle of wine…but it wasn’t an unwanted gift that I was trying to pawn off. I was in a hurry, okay. Heck, it was for a hostess gift and it was probably a better bottle of wine than I would have bought. Honest Injun! (Again…totally not acceptable expression.)

If you’ve learned anything about re-gifting…please follow the “expert’s” no-brainer advice and don’t give a re-corked half bottle of wine, an opened box of chocolates with the chocolate caramel missing…or a solitaire leg warmer (unless it is for Captain Morgan)…the person receiving the gift just might figure it out.

Shoot…now I have to go shopping…I was one step away from re-gifting my dirty wok, cracked crystal bowl, and my maroon handmade monogrammed KAT leg warmer.

I Still Believe

Don’t cha love it when your child still believes in Santa?
Don’t cha want to bop the kid on the head who tells your child, “Joey, there’s no such thing.”

I don’t know about you…but I believe. I believe there is always some kid out there who wants to ruin the Santa spirit…probably because some other kid did that for him. Your child has talked excitedly all season about Santa and his 8 tiny reindeer. Then a week before Christmas, he looks at you and says, “Tommy says there’s no such thing as Santa…duh.”

You’re face drops…and you tell your son: “Well…duh…Tommy doesn’t know what he is talking about. Christmas is magic. ”

My kids were never told any different…and they didn’t question us…maybe because Tommy wasn’t in their class. Or maybe because they didn’t want it to stop. (Heck, so the ‘rents say there is a guy in a ratty ole suit who flies around the world in one night in a sleigh pulled by 8 reindeer…fits his fat ass down 8 trillion chimneys…or in some cases walks thru the front door. As long as the payday keeps coming…why say anything and ruin a good thing.) Besides I’m not so sure the three of them didn’t conference…and discuss it, “What do ya think? Katwoman as Santa??? Nah she couldn’t be Santa…she’s way too disorganized.”

And so in our house…we believe. Not only do we believe in the true meaning of Christmas…but we believe in the spirit of loving, giving, and sharing...St. Nick Style.

I still believe. Does this mean Santa will bring me a diamond watch for Christmas???

A Page from Kat's Manual

My cell phone rings…it’s Big C with a big question: “Mom, I’m driving to Atlanta and a warning light just popped up. It's an exclamation point within parenthesis (!) What does that mean?”

My composed response: “Honey…we are 1000 miles away from you…you’re the one with the car and the owner’s manual…get out your manual and look up the warning symbol. Then we will both know.”

After the call, I started thinking…hmm…maybe I should not have been so condoleza with her…I mean, condescending. I began to understand Big C’s cry for help. Here she is going 65+ mph and a warning symbol flashes in front of her. At that time…she isn’t sure if her car is about to blow up within the next 3 seconds, or her tires need blowing up within the next 3 days.

I don’t understand why auto manufacturers make cars that use symbols for warnings. If they can make the symbol, then why don’t they make a warning that actually tells you what’s wrong. That way you don’t have to stress-out, look for the manual, find the right page and then match the symbol with the problem.

So if you need oil…the warning light says: OIL. And if you have low tire pressure it says: AIR. What’s the deal with these clever symbols…that aren’t so clever? NASA can send men and women to infinity and beyond…you would think the automakers could invent a warning system…that made sense. They need to take a page from Kat’s manual.

You have to wonder about the competency of the automakers…especially with all the money they are asking for now. If Detroit’s Big 3 automakers were asking me for money to bail out their asses, I would flash them a warning. But my warning light would not be a clever symbol…a dollar sign with a diagnonal line through it. Nope. It would spell out…plain and simple…NO CASH.
Or better yet…GET REAL.

Let the Season Begin

Thanksgiving was late this year…so the holiday season was instantly upon us. I don’t know about you…but I find it hard to switch from one holiday to another…in a day. One moment you are saying “Thanks” and “pass the gravy, Pilgrim PaulA” and the next moment you are saying “Feliz Navidad” and “pass the fruitcake, Carlos.”

So after Turkey Day, I dutifully put away our fall decorations and dragged out the decorations for Christmas. But it just didn’t feel like Christmas. Even after we put everything up …it didn’t feel like Christmas. We had a temp of 22 degrees with a dusting of snow…and it still didn’t feel like Christmas. So I have to ask myself…Why does it not feel like Christmas?

I have an inkling why this is so. It is because our kids are grown!!! I think the holiday season is all about little kids anticipating the big day. Counting down the days until Santa comes…the “I just gotta have it” wish list…the trip to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap …the threat of being good or Santa will put coal in your stocking or even skip us. (OMG, I can’t believe I said that.)

With little kids, the Christmas season begins the day after Thanksgiving. Your kids wouldn’t have it any other way. You feel their wonder and excitement as the countdown begins…with them asking about Santa and his reindeer, watching Christmas specials on TV, reading Christmas books, singing holiday songs, buying Christmas outfits, making gingerbread houses…

Yep, my kids are big kids now…all grown up. And we won’t all be together until a few days before the holiday. It will feel like Christmas when all 5 of us are home together…sleeping under one roof…nestled all snug in our beds….…let the visions of sugar-plums begin.

That’s the moment the Christmas season officially begins…for me.

Larger Than Life

Some actors work their entire career hoping to be cast in a great role…hoping to sink their acting chops into a part that is larger than life; one with true meaning. And I’m not talking about Mama Mia here. We have someone in our family who has acted in such a role and achieved notoriety…at a young age. Exit stage left: Meryl Streep.

Enter stage right: Brianna….aka Sweet Wishy. Wishy took on such a role in a play and delivered it with such ease and candor. Her performance was revered by all who were lucky to have scene her seens.

Her larger than life role…Baby Jesus. When Big C and Colinboy were little they were involved in the Christmas pageant at church. Big C (who was actually just a little c then…about age 5) was the peasant girl/angel…now not exactly her preferred style of living and clothing. Colinboy…age 3 was a sheep herder…just a perfect role for the Colinboy. Anyway, one look at Wishy ….and the director was interested in her for the role of Baby Jesus.

Bri had all the attributes needed to play the role…a director’s dream. She could sit up without slumping forward…her temperament was calm and serene …she had the face of a cherub with the most beautiful peaches and cream complexion…and her best attribute for the role…she was a baby. Brianna was 6 months old.

I was the typical stage mom…of course. Doting on my child. Demanding special privileges. Front pew seats for my family and friends. Requesting special products in her dressing room. Extra Huggies and binkies. I know I was a little over the top with all the demands but…Come on folks…we are talking the Baby Jesus.

So as roles go…where do you go after playing the Baby Jesus? I guess that would be immediately down…to earth. Heck, the part of Moses in the Ten Commandments had already been done (Charleton Heston got all the good parts.)

Wishy did well to sink her acting chops into her role as Baby Jesus…especially with only having two teeth to work with.

The Twelve Days of Duncandog

I can’t believe we only have 9 days left until Christmas…I wish we had more like twelve. Instead of shopping (like I should be doing)…I have done a little song arrangement…that is, I've rearranged the words to the annoyingly popular Christmas favorite: The Twelve Days of Christmas. You know the tune!!

On the First Day of Christmas
My Duncandog gave to me
A large poop on my kitchen rug.

Okay, the song can get very tedious so I’ve decided to cut to the chase…and take you straight to the Twelfth Day of Christmas...I gotta get shopping.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas
My Duncandog gave to me:
12 nylons ripping
11 deer ticks carrying
10 years of living
9 leashes pulling
8 treats a begging
7 butts a sniffing
6 tails a wagging
5 EATEN SHOES
4 booming barks
3 face licks
2 burnt-out lawns
And a large poop on my kitchen rug

This new version may soon become another annoyingly popular Christmas favorite.

The Company Holiday Party

They say (not sure who “they” is)...but they say that with the slowed economy, companies have planned fewer holiday parties or have scaled down their festivities. They’ve moved them to less expensive places (like the Legionnaires’ Hall instead of the Legion Hall) or they don’t include spouses (yea baby…no ball and chain))…or worse yet…CASH BAR (Oh no!)

Frankly or Shirley (your choice) I wouldn’t think anyone would mind missing their company party a year or two. First, you have to decide what to wear…chic or chicly shabby…and then most importantly, you have to promise yourself and your spouse that you’ll be on your best behavior.

Maybe some of you like the company party and are gonna miss it. After all, FREE FOOD AND FREE BOOZE. But it was always clear to me…the company holiday party was just an opportunity to get yourself in trouble…and fired the next day anyway.

So you’re at the party….and you drink too much. Now you’re making eyes at a pretty woman…you find out she’s your boss's wife…whoops. You drink too much… you stumble and step on your boss’s wife’s foot and she is limping…whoops. You drink too much…then start making lewd jokes and comments about T’s and A’s (and we’re not talking the alphabet)…to the boss’s wife…whoops. The music is so intoxicating (yea…the music)…you start grinding on the dance floor…with the boss’s wife…quadruple whoops.

Now you're in BIG trouble. So where do you go from here? OUTTA HERE BUB…you’re off the payroll.

Do you see how the lowest economy in the past 30 years…has just saved your job? It’s actually a good thing that your company’s holiday party was cancelled. You might actually be gainfully employed for another year…before you put your boss’s wife’s limp foot in your filthy mouth…after a grinding session.

Relatively Humorous

They say humor is relative and that makes sense to me…I have some very humorous relatives. But what is funny to one person is NOT always funny to someone else. That is why I would never want to be a stand-up comedian. Come to think of it…even comedy from a sit-down position is hard…especially on a wooden chair. The easiest comedian by far is the blogging comedian. You can post something you think is funny…and then never have to hear whether it bombed…flat lined…or DOA’d. I am far from being a comedian…but I do enjoy hearing a good joke.

Some people just have a way with telling a joke. They stand up, flail their arms, use different accents and sound effects, and deliver the punch line…the whole room cracks up. I don’t have that kinda stuff. My lines never deliver and my lines certainly don’t punch. Forget standing up….I prefer not to draw that much attention. If I even manage to remember the joke…I have to start over a couple of times. Then I’ll get half -way through and realize I have already told the punch line….

You should hear Pia tell a joke. I have…the same jumper cable joke…for years. Sometimes jokesters come in teams…Paco y Juanita…regular Sonny and Cher (and you should hear them sing.) PattyO has the best voices and BA has the sarcastic voice. Then there is linnyj…what a crack up. No, she doesn’t do crack…she’s just funny.

I think PaulA is funny...that’s why I am still around after all these years…laughing my way to the bank. Ba dum bum. Okay, that was my attempt at humor. See what I’m talking about? Not funny. My dad likes to say… “You’re funny…funny looking.” Now you know where I don’t get it.

Jokes are great…but what I really like is slap-stick humor and this I did inherit from my dad. Any falling down, tripping , stubbing, dropping….especially on the big toe…is a riot. That’s why Peter Sellers was our FAV. But I would never, ever laugh when someone near me falls down and hurts themselves…that would be Bri. Sweet Wishy always laughs when I hurt myself….consequently, Wishy gets many laughs from her clutzy mother.

Wait, I guess that makes me a comedian, after all!

'Tis the Season

You know it’s the Christmas season when…
You receive a 5 lb fruitcake aka door stopper from Aunt Millie...Fed Ex
The blinking and chasing Christmas lights are giving you vertigo.
You hear “Grandma got run over by a reindeer” on the radio.
Every third television commercial is a Chia commercial.

One of the best things about the Chia…is the song for the commercial. That jingle is so catchy that you catch yourself singing it all day long. Okay, maybe that’s just me. Ch-ch-ch-chia.

The Chia itself is as clever as the song. Over the past 20 years the Chia has come in different figurines…animals, cartoon characters and heads. Now what could be more fun than watching Homer Simpson or Elmer Fudd sprout a full head of Chia hair? Sort of a Homer on Rogaine.

Did you know now they have Chia grass for cats? I didn’t know cats ate grass. But then, other than my name…I am not a cat person. At least this Kat is smart enough to know better than to eat grass…although I do enjoy some sprouts now and then in my sandwiches. Ch-ch-ch-chia.

I’m thinking of making this a Chia Christmas. Chias for everyone on my Christmas list…just don’t tell them. I want them to be surprised by the WONDER of Chia. Aaahhh Ch-ch-ch-chia. (Stop with the jingle already!)

After all this holiday talk…I have an incredible urge to eat fruitcake, listen to that charming holiday classic “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”, and admire my Homer Chia in the glow of my blinking Christmas tree lights.

This blog might deserve a hearty round of applause…but wait…what am I thinking? Applause will cause my clapper to turn my Christmas lights off and on…and could cause a circuit malfunction. Hold the applause.

'Tis the season…to be tacky.

Lame List

My friend Eva sent me an email with a link to 11 of the lamest blogs. Do ya think she’s trying to tell me something? Actually Eva was nice and said that my blog wasn’t on the Lame List. But I checked…just to make sure.

Nope…not on the List. The List mentioned Rosie O'Donnell's blog…and how she doesn’t use punctuation or capitals…an e.e. cummings style. (I use capitals and punctuation…but I better watch my dot…dot…dots.) Then there was Kim Kardashian’s blog who had sexy pictures and an abundant use of the exclamation point! (I can’t be accused of either of those!!!) And a dull blog by a guy who wrote descriptions about opening doors or tidying pencils. (Jury's out with that.)

But then I got to thinking…..hmmm…Damn. I want to be on the Lame List. At least if you’re on the List, then you’ve arrived. You actually have readership…a gaggle of people going gaga over your garbage.

So I guess I need to change things up around here. I thought being lame was easy…especially for me. Now I find I have to work at it. I’ll have to skip capital letters and punctuation, include sexy pictures, and write about dull stuff!! maybe sexykat should write a lame blog about lame blogs!!!!!!…

If I can’t be on the ‘A’ List or even the ‘B’ List…I would definitely settle for the ‘L’ List. After all, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.

Incentives

Take a walk through the Taj MaMall for the holidays…and you will see sales all over the Taj. 15, 20, 25…percent off. Retailers are trying to entice us to step into their shops and spend money. But with the economy as bad as it is, it’s getting harder to part with Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, and Grant. Heck…even Georgie Washington is a keeper. So now you have big purchasing decisions to make…you stand over the cool gadget that slices, dices and massages and think…hmmm…do I really need this?

Stores are trying all sorts of new gimmicks…new ideas and promotions to get people to come into their businesses and spend money. I guess you would call them incentives …

So I was thinking….hmmm…What a capital idea! I too would love to have more traffic…more blog readers. So maybe I need to think of a promotion…something to get people to read Kat’s blog. Maybe I just need to offer some incentives.

So here’s my idea: With every new blog reader you bring in…I’ll give you something. Okay…I just realized that’s hard to do…plus you’ve already gotten the new toaster from your banker.

New idea: I’ll mention you in a blog. I’ll tell people all about you…your personal stories. I will give you so much publicity that I’ll make you famous. Okay…maybe not a good idea. Maybe you’d prefer not to be mentioned …and not so exposed in a ridiculous blog.

Another light bulb moment: Here’s the best idea for an incentive yet….Okay, I won’t mention you in my blog. That will be my angle….I won’t embarrass you or ridicule you. So my incentive: Get your friends and family to read Kat’s blog and you will be spared all mockery, razzing and harrassing.

To some, my ideas might seem like threats…instead of incentives. Sometimes I get my threats and incentives confused.

Four My Eyes

I know I need glasses. You see…everyone I know…knows…I need glasses. And do I have glasses? You bet I do……14 pair of them. Just none that I would wear around town.

Okay, maybe I am little vain and in denial about being old and needing them. Although I know not just old people need glasses. But only old people need 4 different pairs to see 4 different distances. Long range vision, so I don’t run a stop light. Mid range vision, so people don’t think I’m snubbing them at the Stop and Shop. Arms length vision, so I don’t throw the car in “D” when I’m backing out of my garage. And close-up vision, so I don’t poke myself with the needle when I’m darning PaulA’s socks….

You should see the different pairs of glasses I have around this house. And I could see them too….if I was wearing glasses to find my glasses. Most times I live in a blur. Besides everyone and everything looks a little better when air-brushed…including myself when I look in the mirror.

I am constantly putting down glasses for a stronger or weaker pair so I have them scattered around the house. It was a little embarrassing when our friend Dug went around the house and collected my glasses into a pile. He had collected enough to outfit …an army of Woody Allens.

When my glasses aren’t in a pile…I’m walking around with them like a human display for the Vision Center. I’ll have two pair hanging from the collar of my shirt…one pair on the top of my head…one pair dangling from my mouth…and one pair over my eyes…wear they belong.

Unfortunately not all of my glasses are in the best of shape. Some have the ends chewed off…and others are mangled from my stepping on them…or the dog stepping on them…or the car rolling over them. Consequently they look crooked when I wear them…or my ears are uneven and need to be readjusted.

Someday I will have to get some good looking glasses. Maybe some Sarah Palin’s which as you can see…work for her. Not like my crooked ones that make me look half in the bag. A half in the bag Woody Allen is not so appealing.

It’s a good thing you can’t see me right now. I couldn’t find my glasses that are computer screen reading distance….so I doubled up on two pair of lower strength. Yep. I am wearing one pair over the other and it totally works like a charm. One thing is for sure…you can’t call me four eyes. I am way passed that.

PaulA is worried about me wearing two pairs of glasses at the same time…especially in the sun. He’s worried that with the extra magnification…I might catch myself on fire. Now that’s what I call a vision.

It's All About Me

I can’t believe no one has called me on this…on what is written in on the right-hand side of this page where it says “About Me.” That’s the section where I give a lame description about who I am and a little insight into the (crazy) type of person who would write a blog every day.

You see…my blog profile needs a little updating. Maybe you didn’t notice (care)…or maybe you did notice but didn’t want to be nit-picky…or picky–un…your choice. But my ‘About Me’ is outdated because I wrote that description over a year ago…actually on September 13, 2007 to be exact. And some things have changed.

First of all, my children are all a year + older. I have to admit, I didn’t want to change their ages. It’s hard to accept that they are those ages already and see it in print. And the second of all is…with each year they get older…I too am another year older. (You’re just figuring that out, Kat?)

Some things, however, have stayed the same…I’m still a mom at home...blogging away while my ass grows (that’s for you, Pia). So after one year of my life, actually almost 15 full months from when I first began …I find myself in the EXACT same place. That is, I’m still trying to find my inner-self. And this blog is waaay cheaper than one of those psychoanalysts.

So today, if you care to notice or notice to care…I have changed the “About Me” section of my page…but just a smidge…cuz some things never change.

What's on your iPod?

A cool question to ask someone is…"What’s on your iPod?" Unless of course they don’t own one…not so cool. But the music on someone’s iPod can tell a lot about them.

Back in the day…or excuse me…back in my day…it was all about your album collection. Granted it’s hard to walk around with 500 albums under your arms and go through your collection…much easier with 500 digital songs on your iPod.

I still have my old albums and my collection of 45s. I am particularly fond of my 45 collection and I have about 100 or so of them. (Actually some of them have “Jayne” written on them…I think I stole a few from my sista…just don’t tell her.) My 45s are safely tucked away in a box that I decorated…with peace signs and a label I made with one of those label makers: “Keep Out or I’ll sock it to ya.” Okay I was in high school and it was the 70s, so cut me some slack. My laptop case happens to say the same thing. Okay it is umpteen years later and I’m weird, so cut me some slack.

I’m sure if you’re an 80s fan you’ve got the Go-Go’s, Billy Idol, Wham, and Blondie on your iPod. And if your into the 90s stuff…R.E.M, Smash Mouth, Sugar Ray, Green Day. Classic rocker if…Pink Floyd, Who, Stones, Doors are there. And you are definitely your grandmother’s best friend if you have…Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, Paul Anka…Booyah grandma…(I have to get that in…every other blog.)

Yesterday I had my iPod on shuffle and Miley Cyrus came up. Who commandeered my iPod and loaded that? Big C…Wishy? Thirty minutes later of shuffling…I heard a brother boy band blasting from the speakers…Jonas Brothers. I wanted to scream …not for them (like every 10 year old girl.) How did that get there? I did not authorize a Miley and Jonas take-over.

A great band that I’ve been listening to is Dear Havanah. They have a new CD (album) release through Veggie Co. Records later this month. Check them out at: dearhavanah.com.

So what’s on your iPod? A sampling of mine is: U2, John Mayer, Dave Matthews, Prince, Carrie Underwood, Colbie Caillat, Dashboard Confessional, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals and Dear Havanah….MINUS a newly DELETED brother boy band and Disney girl.

Get Into This

Bri, Wishy, Sweet Wish, Sweet Wish of America….all the above…found out she is going to college. Okay, so we always knew she was going somewhere, but as you have heard me reiterate 100 times (enough already)….colleges give students an uneasy feeling about “getting in.” So instead of hearing the expected: “You’ve been declined. Back that ass up.” Wishy heard: “You’ve been accepted. Drop all your money in the bucket at the door.”

When kids and parents talk about college, you’ll hear them say: That school is so difficult to get into. What college did she get into? This whole “get into” thing is like there is a special secret combination.

When kids tell their friends “I got into XYZ College"...it sounds like they broke in. Like the doors were bolted shut, but they somehow found a way in. They crow bared the door …or turned themselves into Flat Stanley and slid under the door.

I prefer that kids come up with a new train of thought regarding "getting into." They need a new mantra: Repeat after me… “XYZ College is lucky to have me grace their campus for the next 4 years.”

So before I say “Bri got into college”…I stop myself and say: “Sweet Wishy was admitted to college.” Or even...welcomed, recognized and embraced. Okay, that might seem like a matter of semantics. But when you go to high school for 4 years…not miss a day, do all your homework, study hard for tests, write papers, get involved, play sports, cheer at games, volunteer…etc. etc. …you didn’t finagle your way in…you worked your way in. And that is waaaaaaaay more than semantics.

Go Wishy!

What Elephant?

I swear no one in this house ever sees anything …except me. Why is that? And I thought I was the blind one. Whenever Duncandog leaves some biological matter on the floor (he usually has a good reason), it is always the ELEPHANT in the room...no one ever notices…walks right by. “What? There’s something on the floor? Oh, that…I didn’t see that.” Of course you didn’t…How convenient! So the one who sees it…cleans it.

The clean up job is now all mine. I make sure to not wear my glasses…the ones that magnify objects 10 fold. I don't need a close-up. I get a good enough picture through my blur…I call vision.

I know Duncandog feels bad about presenting his business on my floor…at least he better feel bad. I try not to yell at him, but I do…“Get outside Duncan…you are such an animal!!” I’m sure Duncandog is thinking… “Hey Kat, If I had an opposable thumb like you …I would have gladly opened the door and retched outside.” (Duncandog has an extensive vocabulary.)

I have a plan for the next time there is an ELEPHANT in the room...I won’t wear my glasses and I’ll wait until someone else sees it. As long as I don’t step in it…I’m golden.

Wish Me Luck

Tonight I sing the National Anthem for the UCONN Men’s basketball game at Gampel Pavilion. I love singing on campus mainly because of the students. Students have so much school spirit and do funny things like paint their faces and bellies. Wait, I saw a man at the Packers game on TV with a painted beer belly…but that’s football and football just has a way of turning grown men into adolescents. Also I like that Gampel is smaller than the Hartford Civic Center where I have also sung for UCONN. Gampel just feels more intimate…only 10,000 fans.

Just knowing that I am going to be standing in front of 10,000 can get my adrenalin pumping…especially that second before I sing…after walking out to the middle of the court…and the whole place is silent…just waiting for you to sing. Sing already…and get the heck Outta Here!!!

I have a couple of things I do to get ready before I sing. First I write a lame blog about it. Then I make sure I know my first note. Do Re Me... Starting on a note a step or two higher…like a ti instead of a do….could be the...fa so la of me. I could end up hanging myself in front of 10,000 people.

Then of course I have good luck rituals. I know everyone has good luck rituals…getting out of bed a certain way…putting on your socks…left before the right. Actors say stuff like: “break a leg.” Tiger Woods wears red on Sunday. University of Alabama Coach Saban keeps a lucky penny in his pocket given to him by his daughter. Roll Tide.

Lucky for me…my good luck charm is that today is the First of the month….and I remembered to say “rabbit, rabbit, rabbit”……and I jumped on my right leg 11 times, walked around the house counter clockwise, ate breakfast with my left hand, and was extra nice to Duncandog……

Just in case.