Leave It In the 00's

See ya.
Sayounara.
Good bye, good riddance.
Don’t let the barn door hit ya in the ass……….
I wasn’t speaking to PaulA. I’m speaking about the end of the year…end of 2009…and end of a decade.

I look forward to 2010, because along with it; brings a fresh start. So I say “Out with the Old” (Please, not me) and “In with the New.”

There are some words, phrases, fads, or fashions that are so overplayed and overworked…they should be left in the last decade. Take “cougar”, “wardrobe malfunction”, “sex addict”, and “With that being said.”…definitely material that should be buried in the 00's.

But even worse is….the blending of two names to form a Super Couple. Branjolie…Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, Bennifer…Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, Tomcat…Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Although PaulAkat does has a nice ring to it.

So think about it. What would you want to leave in the 00’s?

I think I can speak for Tiger Woods (he’s not around to stop me.) Tiger’s “leave it in the 00’s” would probably be the word “transgression.” I’m sure he would be happy to leave the word, the phrase, AND scenario behind.

With that being said, I hear that sex addict, Tiger Wood’s, latest transgression is a cougar who experienced a wardrobe malfunction posing for Playboy…………..

Yea…let’s leave it in the 00’s.

Happy New Year’s Eve!

Man Up

I find it interesting that during this time of Tigergate, Tiger Wood’s agent, Mark Steinberg, is quoted as saying, “Let’s please give the kid a break.” I find it particularly interesting because today Tiger turns 34.

A kid? Age 34? Husband? Father of 2? When does a man become a man? I kid you not…Tiger is NOT a kid and shouldn’t be given excuses that you would give a child. That’s most of Tiger’s problem…the “excuses” Tiger’s inner circle makes for him.

I know I/we should have given it a rest by now…but this story is one that keeps on giving…because of the size of the gap between Tiger’s larger-than-life public persona and secret tawdry life he wanted to keep (out) PRIVATE.

Tiger and those around him may want to try to play the victim card, but that's just another excuse. He may feel like a victim…but Joe Public is Tiger’s victim…victim in believing that Tiger is who he portrayed himself to be…. a squeaky clean, straight-shooter, “family-first” man. We feel like he cheated on us along with his wife.

Maybe Tiger was robbed of his childhood...maybe Tiger didn’t have a “normal” adolescence...but with the indulgences and privileges Tiger has been granted, come obligations…and most importantly…obligations to his family.

You are 34 today, Tiger. No More Excuses. Man Up!

Ten Years Ago

I’m actually trying to figure out where the last decade went. I remember 1999…TEN YEARS AGO…when we were all worked up with what would happen when the clock struck midnight. Everyone was talking about it, reading about it, obsessing about it. Would Y2K be drama, disaster, or diddly? Would computers go screwy and not recognize the year 2000, but identify it as the year 1900, when grinding was done with a mortar and pestle and not with your hips? Shake ‘em Shakira.

I don’t know about you…but I squirreled away a blue plastic container in our basement and labeled it “EMERGENCY.” A just-in-case Y2K kit…with a couple of flashlights, several gallons of bottled water, and a few cans of spam. I think I even threw in some extra rolls of toilet paper for good measure. You can never have too many squares of TP.

My bro-in-law actually prompted me into preparing a Y2K survival container…he reads the sensationalized New York Post more often than I do. After a lot of talk of impending doom…I figured I better get my canned spam before everyone else beats me to it.

I heard some folks packed away items such as medical supplies, a generator, and cash. Cash-on-hand probably would have been a good idea, but I never even have cash-on-wallet (cat burglars need not enter Kat’s house.)

It would have been a great study in human behavior…an experiment in sociology (or is it anthropology?) to look at the different emergency supplies set aside for a possible Y2K disaster. I think it would have been very revealing to compare containers. “Okay, who had the Captain Crunch???”………….

We Three Kids

Yippeeee…the kids are home. Home for the Holidays. Being a mom who wears rose colored glasses, I have a vision…a rosy vision of all 5 of us…sitting around the Christmas tree…singing Christmas carols…holding hands. Okay, that’s Kat’s World….enter REAL WORLD….

It’s really more like…kids in and out…can I take the Ford Escape?…you had it last night….refrigerator in and out…late nights turned early mornings…fried egg sandwiches and lasagna at 3 am…dishes in the sink…TV blaring…computer screens glaring…every light blaring.

Back to Kat’s World. Ahhhhhhh…a peaceful night together…snow falling…and the distant voices of Christmas Carolers. Come on fam….let’s sing together “Silent Night.”

I remember when I could get the kids to sing holiday songs…but only if was “Grandma got run over by a Reindeer” or “We Three Kings”...the cigar version. "We Three Kings of Orient are, tried to smoke a rubber cigar, it was loaded, it exploded"....The loaded rubber cigar exploding trick. Kat’s World…shattered even then.

Now the kids are grown and singing their own version of “We Three Kings”……….

"We Three Kids"

We three kids of Kat n Paul Are
Hope to take the Ford Escape car
The tank is empty, Kat is testy
Living with Kat the Czar.

Goodbye Kat's World.

Merry Christmas

Christmas is here…
No more stress and strain…Got Strudel?

I hope you all are enjoying precious time with your families.

Tis the season of
rest,
relaxation,
recline,
repose,
recess,
resolve,
recreation,
respite ...........…and

REFRESHMENT!

Holiday Cards

One of most favorite things during the holiday season…is the cards. I live for the cards. I watch my mailbox, waiting for the mail truck to come around the corner. “Careful dude, you’re gonna fall out.”

Think about it, at what other time of the year do you receive so much personal mail…and not from the cable guy. But snail mail…hand delivered by a letter carrier? Old School style…not the bing, bang electronic inbox: “You’ve got mail.”

Getting cards out the door can be a monumental task and I appreciate the time involved around the process. It’s exceptionally tricky if you want to include a family photo……especially to include the family dog and get him to look straight into the camera and not be licking his privates. Then to address the envelope, stamp it, and lick the envelope. Yuck! Maybe the family dog could help in this department. “Oh Duncandog…come here puppy…I have a project for you”………

With today’s technology…there are some short cuts to the whole process…especially if you are computer savvy. Like using the computer to make cards with photos you’ve upload from your camera…printing envelope address labels and …printing cards with your name and message. You don’t have to bother signing, “Love, John Hancock.” As my friend aptly pointed out…it’s the “sign of the truly lazy.” Call me lazyKat…because that’s the route I took this year. “Love, lazyKat.”

And then there is the family newsletter shortcut…a printed update of what you’ve been up to. I love reading a newsletter…until I find out that they have a better life than I do. I have considered including one with our card, but I need some good stuff to write about. I need the WOW factor. I’m thinking it’s probably not a good idea to lie…seeing it’s Christmas and all. Right?

Although I am Old School when it comes to cards, I do appreciate receiving email holiday cards and photos. You have to be really organized to do this…and have email addresses for everyone. I have enough trouble keeping my tattered and torn address book up-to-date…crossing out addresses because people can’t just stay in one place.

I guess the advantage email cards have over Old School cards is that you don’t have to worry about who, or what, is actually licking the envelopes that you’ve received.

Bah Humbug

I don’t want to sound like Scrooge himself, but there are some things that bring the Ebenezer out of me. Before I sound-off…I have a digression (not transgression…don’t worry, this is not a blog about Tiger. Although I have been wondering if Tiger stopped at three women …would that be called a trigression? And 8 women…an octagression? And 13…a baker’s dozengression?) Back to the original digression….

Who calls their kid Ebenezer? So when he was born, his parents took a good look at him and decided that his was a face of an Ebenezer? It’s no wonder Eb grew up to be a grumpy grouch. Wouldn’t you be if you had to raise your hand in class and answer to that name?

Anyway…from digression and transgression…finally comes a progression.

The dealio that gets me all Scroogy is receiving holiday wishes from a leasing company. I received an email holiday greeting from our car Leasing Company which read: “We wish you a happy holiday and all the best as you steer into the New Year. It was signed “With Warm Wishes.”

Oh...how cute... using “steer” as a play on words. What they were really saying was: “Keep the check coming or we are gonna steer your life into….credit hell…with warm wishes.”

It’s interesting that I found the email in my spam folder. Even my computer was smart enough to recognize it as junk mail. Call me Scrooge, but I don’t care to be warm and fuzzy with my leasing company. Bah Humbug.

scroogekatOUT

Home Alone

Remember the adorable letters kids would send to Santa? They would start working on their Wish List after chewing their last bite of turkey on Thanksgiving. Scribbling down on paper the name of every toy that caught their eye…every toy they saw in the colorful flyers from the newspaper and TV commercials. And God knows on Saturday mornings, there’s a Santa’s load.

Big C would phonetically spell out her List…bik, brbe, ktshn. Colinboy would draw pictures of Santa and his sleigh. And ask: “Mom, how do you spell Fisher Price motorized car?” I’d help him with the spelling: N-O-W-A-Y. I’d ask Wishy, what she wanted…she would pull her fingers out of her mouth and in her baby doll voice say, “I want Home Alone.” She was actually referring to the movie…not her own personal space…at 2 and a half.

I’m sure Santa still has those Letters banging around the North Pole somewhere…but she can’t always remember where she stashes everything…a bad case of santaheimer’s.

So I got to thinking…if I could make my own Wish List and send it to the North Pole…What would I ask Santa to bring me? Baubles? Bangles? Bucks? Naw….

I think my letter would read:

Dear Santa,
I’ve been pretty good this year…although there was that one time I slammed the paddle ball at an 86 year old woman…but it was at her feet. But let’s move on. Santa, this year I am asking for some faithful blog readers. The kind that will log onto my blog daily…and not think I have a few screws loose. That’s all, Santa…thanks.

Hmmm…I got to thinking about what Tiger Woods’s letter would read:

Dear Santa:
I know I haven’t been a good Tiger this year…more of a Cheetah…but I am asking for a SECOND CHANCE. My life is in shambles…everyone is leaving me…my wife, my kids, my sponsors, my fans. I look around and find I’m Home Alone……..

This is just a suggestion….Maybe Kevin could join Tiger….that way they could be Home Alone together.

Bringing Cheer and Good Tidings

Hey, it’s great when you can get a customer service person laughing…especially during the holiday season…the season of stress, strain, and strudel…sorry, that just naturally follows. And now that I think about it…apple strudel naturally follows…a holiday dinner.

Here’s my customer service scenario: I was online ordering a few gifts, each with personalized messages. I decided I should go back and make sure that I matched the right message with the right person. Heck, I don’t want to send...“Yo Yo…Have A Chill Christmas"...to Aunt Millie.

So after I clicked back to check for mistakes, the computer cleared all my billing information…which I then had to painstakingly re-enter. After I completed the 'check-out' page and hit ENTER…the screen flashed “Hey, Stupid…you forgot to put in a zip code.” As I was doing that…the screen went BLACK. Ahhh…I wasn’t sure if my order went through, or I just launched a missile strike overseas.

So I called the company’s Customer Service Department to make sure there were no mix-ups.

A Customer Service person answered: “Hi, this is Jack, your customer service person. How can I help you?”
Kat: “Hey Jack. This is Kat. I gotta problem over here.”
And then I proceeded to give him the long boring details I just gave you.
Then Jack said, “You used Internet Explorer, right? Well, it clears the cookies.”
So I said, “Hey Jack, the only cookies I know about are the ones that I put in my stomach.”

Jack couldn’t stop laughing. I guess I was killing him…with my ignorance…or maybe he was still drunk on punch and his cookies from his company holiday luncheon.

I was happy to bring Cheer and Good Tidings to Jack during this time of stress, strain, and strudel…but “Jack, when you ever stop laughing…can you help me out over here.”

Before Cookies

During the holidays there is just so much food to be had…to be eaten…to be applied to the thigh and butt area. I now understand where Santa gets his girth.

Think about St. Nick…he’s constantly around food. There’s at least 1,000 calories waiting for him at the bottom of every chimney. Millions of kids have left him cookies and milk and he’s expected to consume it all.

For Santa…It’s Ground Hog’s Christmas Day all over again. Another Christmas…another trip around the world. When he gets to the Schneider’s of Schenectady, he’ll find the usual Snickerdoodles….to the Patterson’s of Peoria…it’s Peanut Butter Blossoms and to the George’s in Georgetown…it’s Gingerbread Men. The Brady’s of Bradford are always good for a snort of Brandy. Hopefully Santa doesn’t indulge too much at the Brady’s…it can lead to hazardous sleigh driving.

Rumor has it that back in Santa’s younger years, he was svelte and ripped. He was known in the North Pole as Santa the Playboy…but that was before Mrs. Claus bagged him. After too many years and too many cookies…everything slid to his equator. Granted, in the North Pole it’s hard to get outside and exercise. There also isn’t much time for workouts, when you’re stuck in the workshop building toys for sweet and sour children. That’s his excuse. I’m working on mine.

I wonder if Santa has ever thought about switching holidays…maybe with the Easter Bunny. The bunny hop is actually very good exercise…much better than the slacker move of putting his finger to the side of nose trick and magically sliding down the chimney.

I found this picture of Santa back in his younger years…back when he had a six-pack…and not the six he was dropping off for PaulA. Back then he had dark hair, no beard, and liked to walk around without a shirt. Young Santa sure had it…and liked to flaunt it.

The years and the cookies have caught up with him. But that’s what makes him jolly Old St. Nick. Before cookies....we all used to look like Svelte Santa.

Yes, Virginia

I sure miss having little kids at home believing in Santa. The excitement, the anticipation, the sugar-high. Sweet little ones in footy pajamas…going to bed with visions of sugar plums, tiny reindeer, and a bearded stranger…in their heads.

Question: Why is there always a BIG kid that likes to ruin the charade for your little Johnny? I’m guessing that same kid had his own Santa fantasy ripped prematurely from him, so he wants to return the favor to someone else. Merry Jingle Balls Christmas.

We never told our kids any differently about St. Nick…and they never questioned Santa’s existence or non-existence…maybe because Jingle Balls Brian wasn’t in their class to spill the Santa bag…. or maybe because our kids didn’t want to leave anything to chance…especially when the gig was so good.

(Okay, so the ‘rents say there’s a big guy in a ratty ole suit who flies around the world in a sleigh pulled by 8 tiny reindeer…and he shimmys down 8 trillion chimneys in one night. As long as the payday keeps coming…why open our mouths and ruin a good thing?)

I’m not so sure that our three didn’t get together and conference, “What do ya think? Katwoman as Santa??? Nah, she couldn’t be Santa…she’s way too disorganized. Although…she is filling out those red velvet pants.”

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

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

The New Lipstick on the Collar

Watching or reading any more about Tiger Woods…is like looking at a train wreck…actually staring at one. We've looked way too long.

Granted, the jokes and play on words…are endless and pretty funny…but I think we need to call a moratorium on it all. Heck, Nancy Grace is referring to Tiger’s transgressions by number…I think we are up to Lucky woman number 13. Then there is also a reference by their profession…cocktail waitress, lingerie model, porn star, pancake waitress. I refer to them by Bimbo. But like I said…I am not going to add more fuel to the Tiger flame…it appears he has enough flames.

But wait…one more thing. I think it's interesting that Tiger is paying off only one of the 13 women he has been involved with. People are speculating that’s probably because she has the most damaging evidence of their affair…like texts saying that he loves her, or he wants to leave his wife for her. And he’s willing to pay up to 5 million bucks. She has to have more on him than words of LOVE. I’m thinking it’s probably something weird….compromising pictures with a Tiger…maybe Tiger in a golf skirt. But that is how my mind works. Like I said, I am not going to add more fuel to the Tiger flames.

What is MOST interesting about all of this is…the texting trail left behind. The text message is actually better than a Hansel and Gretel trail of bread crumbs. Today’s texting is the new “lipstick on the collar.” Back in the old days, the wife would be sorting laundry and come upon a lipstick stain on her husband’s collar. (I never understood how the man never noticed ruby red lipstick on his collar.) Now we have text messages as evidence of sordid affairs.

And we even have the invention of a new word…"sexting" (texts about sex). So I was thinking… if you are lusting in texts…is that "lexting?" Or you talk about cheating in texts…is that "chexting?'

I’m sure Tiger wishes he was born back in the day when lipstick stains were evidence for infidelity. Heck, his wife never would have caught him. It’s not like Elin washes Tiger’s golf shirts…on the old washboard.

Ps…Hey, just heard there’s a Woman Number 14 now. The woman is 48 years old…Tiger and a Cougar.

Rest assured…there has never been a Tiger and a Kat.

Hold It!

Who hasn’t had a decorated Christmas tree fall over? I’m sure a lot of people out there have had their tree fall over…at least once. A Christmas tree disaster is a horrifying event.

To enter the room and find your tree horizontal on the floor is devastating and overwhelming. You feel paralyzed…kinda like entering a crime scene…and seeing the chalk outline of a dead body. I know this because it has happened to us…2 and a half times. (the tree silly, not a dead body.)

So you were wondering (humor me here)…How is it possible for a tree to fall half a time? Glad you asked. Well…I caught the tree in the act of falling. I had just finished decorating one of our trees (with my prized ornaments...my "gold" tree)…and it started falling toward me. I quickly stuck my hand through the branches and grabbed the trunk of the 12 foot tall and 5 foot wide tree. And screamed for help.

But help never came. The kids were MIA and PaulA was in the basement running on the treadmill …watching a Patriots game…with the volume on 50.

So there I stood with my face planted in the tree, my arm getting scratched, and eyes being poked with needles…holding a tree that was getting heavier with every minute. And hearing the treadmill and the Patriots in the distance…knowing that any screaming was just a waste of breath.

That day PaulA decided to be treadmill Marathon Man. I had to keep switching arms to hold the tree up. This went on for countless minutes…until when PaulA finished…he heard my yelp. I swear, if I had to hold it any longer, there would have been a dead body.

But Christmas would go on…and rightly so.
Over my dead body…there would be a Christmas.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

What’s your favorite part of preparing for Christmas? Could it be bringing up all the boxes stored in the basement, decorating the house, finding a tree, decorating the tree, stringing lights outside, hanging garland and wreaths, sending cards, dealing with the Post Office, baking cookies, coming up with gift ideas, shopping for gifts, dealing with the crowds, paying the bills?

Who knew getting ready for Christmas could be so much fun?

My favorite worst job …is putting lights on the tree. Yep…lights out, it is definitely my favorite of the worst. Somehow I became the designated Lighting Designer…but that’s probably because PaulA has already tied the dang thang to the roof of the car, squeezed it through the back door, moved the furniture, put it in the stand, worked to get it straight. Then for me to tell him… “It’s crooked. Re-do.”

Who knew setting up the tree could be so much fun?

So now it’s my turn to join in on all the fun…wrestle with the tree lights. Untangle them from square knots. Test strands to make sure they’re working. Get the female and male parts to “hook-up.” Balance on a stool to reach the top. Get stabbed by bristly needles. Ahhhh…Wrestling, stringing, balancing and stabbing.

Who knew putting up tree lights could be so dangerous?

The worse though is coming downstairs the next morning to find that the tree took a nose-dive during the night. Branches spread eagle on the floor. Precious ornaments obliterated. And water, water, everywhere.

Who knew getting ready for Christmas could be so much fun?

SNOW Day

Yesterday I woke up to white fluffy stuff falling from the sky…luckily not falling from the scalp. The first snowfall of the season! It was 7 am and there was already 7 inches of snow on the ground…7 at 7. I decided to hit the hay for another hour…it’s not like I had to be up at the crack of dawn for an early morning flight to Baton Rouge or anything (Sorry PaulA).

The morning was gorgeous…a winter wonderland with all the makings of a snow globe. I’ve always liked the feeling of being snowed in. But this time it was different. Lest I remind you…I am an EMPTY-NESTER…no kids to hunker down with. It definitely felt different.

I remember when the kids, after finding out the snow gods were in their favor, ran around the house yelling “No School…It’s a SNOW DAY!” It was the only day they didn’t mind getting out of bed. They couldn’t wait to get outside to go sledding, build snowmen, and throw snowballs at each other’s heads.

After getting my 3 little stooges dressed and ready for the elements…bundled up with every article of winter clothing we owned, Curly would need it all taken off…with the predictable “I gotta go to the bathroom!” After a romp in the snow…there were rounds of hot chocolate…hold the whip cream. Followed by wet clothes and jackets, hats, scarves, and boots everywhere. Man, I loved those snow days. Not that I particularly like wet soggy clothes, but it was an excuse to not leave the house.

Even though the day felt differently, the weather was the same. It was a very typical winter day in New England…a snowstorm, followed by wintry mix (kinda like Chex Mix you eat in the winter), topped off with rain. Actually a storm with lightening and thunder. Yep…a summer-winter storm…or is that a winter-summer storm? Anyway, by 5 pm the first snowy day of the season was replaced by a monsoon…putting an end to any Currier and Ives fantasy.

A typical winter day in New England…has its way of bringing you back to reality.

According to Kay

I’ve read that the bathroom scale is the worst gift a man could give a woman. This seems obvious…especially during the holidays when yule logs, rum balls, and egg nogs are the foods of choice. Does this advice really need to be put in print? The second-to-worst gift….might be a heavy appliance (unless of course the guy can be stuffed into it, or you can jump inside and drive it out of the garage with the top down.)

If gift giving were up to Kay Jewelers, the perfect gift would be diamonds. After all, “Every Kiss Begins With Kay.”

In the Kay’s commercial, “he” surprises her with a Kay’s diamond. “She” goes ga-ga over it… reaches over, caresses his face, and plants a big kiss…smack on the kisser. (Snow is suddenly falling over their heads.) She now has a little twinkle in her eye, replacing any daggers she might have had for him earlier in the week. And that is because: Every Kiss Begins with Kay.

According to Kay…After a woman receives a Kay’s sparkling rock, “she” decides her boyfriend or husband is now worthy. Before he gave her the diamond…he was “okay” at best. And you know what that means…she just might be nice to him…the nooky factor has just increased.

Unfortunately men are led to believe that the only way to a woman’s kiss is to shower her 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 is that really fair? Now, come on. Men, please do not be fooled. Women welcome all rocks….emeralds, sapphires, rubies, pearls.......

A Minute and a Half

A minute and a half, 90 seconds, and then it’s over. That’s how long it takes me to sing the National Anthem, and I did that last night at a college basketball game ...live…A cappella. No instrumental accompaniment to drown me out. Yep, me, the microphone, and my fingers crossed.

Singing the National Anthem…A cappella…is probably the most vulnerable I could feel…unless I also experienced a wardrobe malfunction. After all, I’m not a professional, and there are thousands of people there…plus or minus those who saunter in late. Next time, could you please try to be on time?

So was I nervous? You bet your late ass I was. Even though I have done this for ten years…the anxious feelings still come. Actually I am the most nervous the day I have to sing. And driving to the event, I am very preoccupied and focused on the whole thing. Heck, if I got a call from one of my kids and they said… "Mom, I’m dropping out of college”, I’d say, “Oh, isn’t that nice.”

And PaulA is so sweet to me. When he drives me to the event, I can tell he is on his best behavior…trying to say and do all the right things, so I don’t go into Diva breakdown. He provides curbside service and wishes me good luck… “Shake it, don’t break it.” Or...“Break a leg.”

During the time before the game…I pace and wait. Practice a few notes. Wait and pace. Then when it’s game time…and my name is announced…I walk out to center court, take a deep breath, check for wardrobe malfunctions, stare at the flag….and for some reason….I am not nervous anymore. Maybe it isn’t nerves responsible for upping my amps…maybe it’s adrenaline. But that all goes away with..."Oh say can you sing."

I shift into auto sing and the words just come ...and luckily in the correct order, which is totally awesome because I might confuse a few people singing along with .. “And the rockets blasted in red air. The glare bursting in bombs.”

Every year I keep going back for more…A minute and a half….of adrenaline, being on the spot, and trying, oh so hard, not to embarrass my family.

Shout-out to Meredith… “Happy Pearl Harbor Day Birthday.”

Consumer Zombie

Do jingles stick with you? Do you sing the jingles of items as you put them in your grocery cart? Am I the only one from Planet Weirdo?

I love jingles…the little ditties that are designed to turn you into a walking consumer zombie. The jingles have a way of planting a subliminal message into your head…so you continually go home with a product that you’ve bought for years and years…and you’re not even sure you really like it anymore.

I admit…when I’m in the soup aisle…I start singing…Mmmm good. Campbells’ soup is Mmmm good. There are probably other brands out there that are tasty…but I’m sure they are not as mmmmm good.

When I need to restock my first aid cabinet, I find that I am stuck on Band-aid…and Band-aid is stuck on me.

In the Cereal aisle…I’m so coo coo for Cocoa Puffs, there is no room for the healthy cereals. And Trix are for kids…not for silly rabbits.

Most days when I’m grocery shopping, I wish I was an Oscar Mayer Weiner…that is what I truly want to be. And one thing is for certain…Choosy Mother’s choose Jif and nothing else. I’ve been know to Do a dollop of Daisy. And for sure….Everything’s better with Blue Bonnet on it.

Finally, the walking consumer zombie has left the grocery store building. I’m driving home….next thing I know I find myself in TJ Maxx…because you get the max from the minimum at TJ Maxx. And god knows I only want the max.

Next stop…home. Wait…I deserve a break today. A Big Mac is what I have a hankering for…and I’m lovin’ it.

These jingles are quite powerful and have a way of controlling actions (at least mine.) I see other products on the shelves…but the jingle takes over…and I succumb.

I’ve never been hypnotized, but it appears that from my consumer zombie tendencies, I would be the perfect person to go under the spell. "Take me to your maker." I would be willing to try hypnosis, but I would want to make sure the hypnotist didn’t make me do anything embarrassing or anything I would regret later. I’ve heard that sometimes they can get you in front of a crowd and make you say embarrassing things…or embarrassing sounds.

It would be very wrong to make this Kat…bark like a dog.

Beam me up now, Planet Weirdo.

The Case of the Missing Object

Why when something is missing…can’t be found….looked high and low…and it’s still missing…there's only one thing that could have happened to it. KAT THREW IT OUT. I ask you…Why is this the only solution?

Let’s just take a random person…say PaulA. Say PaulA is missing a cord to something and can’t find it. The only solution…the ONLY thing that could have possibly happened to it is that…KAT THREW IT OUT. And not only did Kat throw away the cord…but apparently she threw away the box and the instructions with it. But that is just a "for instance"…..I’m speaking hypothetically...in generalizations.

Generally, there is always someone who gets the blame. And it is never the person who actually had contact with the object…who could have misplaced it, lost it, or thrown it away. It’s always someone else’s fault that the object is MIA. It’s always someone else who swoops in, grabs it…and quickly throws it in the trash.

Okay, I’m sure there are those folks out there who don’t like clutter so they deep six things quicker than most. Those are thrower-outer people. I am not. I repeat...I am not of the thrower-outer kind. I would like to go on record that I am of the mover-over kind. I move things around…upstairs to downstairs, counter to counter…closet to closet. Heck, PaulA still has some of his favorite shirts from the Happy Days.

Does that sound like a person who regularly throws things out? I rest my case…I had nothing to do with the MIA object…as I am a certifiable mover-over person. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Case Closed.

White House Interlopers

Have you ever crashed a party? Showed up somewhere…unannounced, uninvited, unrequested, and unwelcomed. If so…that is definitely uncalled for. Maybe back in High School crashing was copacetic.....

But as a full grown grown-up…it is something frowned on. Especially crashing the biggest party in the USA. I’m sure you’ve heard by now about the couple who crashed the State Dinner in Washington…the White House Interlopers…not to be confused with the Wild Hooved Antelopers.

The couple looked the part…and acted the part…. somebody who would be invited to the big dance. I guess the Secret Service and Social Secretary…were too busy…having a good time to notice that posers had entered…stage right.

The couple obviously studied the book “Dress for Success.” But just because you’re wealthy, well-dressed, and attractive…doesn’t mean you can’t have a few screws loose. The Interlopers joined in with Washington’s inner circle…had their picture taken with the President, Joe Biden, White House Chief of Staff Emanuel…Heck, even Katie Cutey Curic...and then posted it on Facebook. They definitely have a few screws loose…and some nuts and bolts.

Actually, the bottom line is publicity. Everyone wants their 15 minutes of fame….or is it 20 minutes now? Aspiring to be reality show celebrities on The Housewives of Washington DC. ..the Interlopers showed they would do anything to gain attention. Lower themselves to any level or higher themselves to any level… like Balloon Boy’s parents who also created publicity to get their own reality show.

These types of people crave attention. They are attention seekers and suitors. And it appears that any attention…either positive or negative…is okay with these folks. Kinda like when our kids were 2 years old…sometimes it was just worth the time-out.

That’s what the couple should get for the trouble they have caused….a Time-Out. Time-out of the spotlight….time out of the media…because so far they are getting the attention they crave.

That’s why the White House Interlopers shall remain nameless and faceless……in my blog.

Tiger Mulligan

The rumor mill is churning over Tiger Woods. Why do people need to know the details about Tiger’s incident with a fire hydrant, tree, SUV, and golf club? Isn’t it a personal matter…a match play, two-some…between Tiger and his wife?

Okay, it probably isn’t our business. Tiger’s business occurred on private property and the cops confirmed alcohol was not a factor. But we, Joe Public, want to make it our business. Probably because this incident humanizes TIGER…THE GOLFINATOR.

Let’s face it…His persona is robotic…one made of a tough armor exterior…with laser vision…focused solely on a golf ball. So it only makes sense that we want to know about Tiger, the human. Does Tiger have a chink in his armor? Inquiry minds want to know.

Let’s double face it…leaving the house at 2:30 in the morning after Thanksgiving isn’t par for the course. It’s more like 5 over par. Maybe Tiger was headed to the gym to work off his turkey dinner…when his seemingly perfect hand-eye coordination failed him and he crashed into a tree. And his wife, Elin, ran to his rescue, freeing him from his SUV…with a golf club.…

Or then again, maybe his wife heard about the other woman…and got tee’d off...so Tiger took off and she ran after him with a golf club …aiming for the Tiger Pin…with a full swing and an accurate approach shot ...that would leave the windows of his Cadillac broken. In matters of the heart…etiquette of any kind…gets tossed out the SUV window.

But regardless of the scenario…the big questions really are: Was her club of choice…a driver, a wood, a hybrid, or a 4-iron? How many strokes did it take her to break the windows? Was it an inside-out swing pattern that made contact?

Tiger should know that there is a hazard to having golf clubs around the house. It only makes sense that when Elin needed an object …it would be a club. So it also follows course, that if Kate Hudson was to go after A-Rod…she’d pick up a bat. For Emeril’s wife, it would be a frying pan. And I would have to chase PaulA around with an insurance policy and clobber him with a few Policy Exclusions.

I think in a couple of days this will all blow over. Tiger will play it safe and lay low in a bunker somewhere, while his publicist lays down some back spin. One thing for sure…Tiger will be begging his wife for a mulligan.

It appears Elin is one fierce competitor, so Tiger better play it safe on the back nine. Elin might not be able to play the game as well as Tiger…but it appears she knows how to even the net score.

Handicaps are the great equalizer in the game of golf…and the game of love.

Disclaimer: This blog is based on no real facts and is written on ground under repair. I took a few unjustified chip shots at Tiger and his wife and have presented it from a closed stance. I apologize for any bad lies and chunks resulting in large divots in the truth.

No Swining

Has the Swine Flu changed your behavior? Are you doing anything differently than you would normally do, because you’re afraid of contracting the Porky Pig flu? A Kat Public Health Announcement: “No Swining…get out there and lead your life.”

Here’s a couple of tips to navigate your way through the World of Germs…free of charge, of course.

Forget shaking hands. You don’t want to expose an open hand with the possibility of getting piggy germs and transferring them from your hands to your face. Instead, give them the ole Howie Mandell knuckle bump. Not bloody knuckles or anything…that’s even germier.

Follow a “no kissing policy” when saying hello and goodbye. Kissing, done properly, can be an opportunity for a major germ swap.

Follow my example. I like to keep a little distance when I walk among other humans. If I’m somewhere like Target…and someone behind me sneezes…I react quickly…like a deer with a target on his back….and I high-tail it out of there.

If I hear someone cough….I stay away from that area. I bring barricade tape with me and section the area off. “Do Not Enter.” So when I’m at the Stop and Shop, I don’t always get everything on my list. Duncandog only wants people food anyway. If other people want to cross the line and risk their life for a bag of dog food…then let them be the brave, unselfish dog owners.

I’m washing my hands a lot longer now. “They” say in order to be effective you should wash them for 20 seconds, which is how long it takes to sing “Happy Birthday” or “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Those songs do nothing for me. They just remind me of how old I am. Find your own song. I’m making mine “Funkytown.”

Mass on Sunday can be very awkward when you hear someone coughing or sniffling behind you…and you know the Sign of Peace is up next. In the pre-Swine days…I would throw caution to the gods and shake hands with the infected individual. I figured, heck I’m in church…spread the word…spread the germs. But to avoid today’s sickly swine people, I take longer shaking the hands of healthy people around me…so there’s no time left for the swines. Let us Pray.

I also bought a hand sanitizer which I keep in my purse…I just forget to use it. I would suggest you buy one…but use it.

These are all suggestions to protect yourself from a swine invasion. If you don’t care to follow my example and incorporate these steps into your daily life…then go full swine ahead. It’s a pig-eat-pig world out there.

“Won’t you take me to, Funkytown?”

“That’s All Folks.”

Left-Over Blog

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? The turkey? The stuffing? The cranberry? For me…it’s all of the above…eaten 6 hours later…the left-overs.

Normally, unlike PaulA, (I’m not saying PaulA is not normal) I will have nothing to do with left-overs. I just can’t sink my teeth into the idea of left-over anything. But when it comes to Thanksgiving left-overs…bring it on.

And seeing today is the day after Thanksgiving…I am posting a left-over blog from last year’s Thanksgiving. Which makes it quite stale. But hey, it's Black Friday…the Taj MaMall calls.

Cooking Wonders
Thanksgiving is over…and everyone wobbled home fat and happy…which is more than I can say for Mr. Tom Turkey. I wouldn’t consider myself a gourmet cook…but I can manage Thanksgiving…and I always find ways to entertain myself in the kitchen.

Peeling 10 lbs of potatoes can be very relaxing…and very revealing. The day before Thanksgiving I stood at the kitchen sink peeling away…deep in thought about the poor turkey who gave his life for a family of 21. Before I knew it, I realized my potato was taking shape. I was seeing a face just wanting to bust out of the spud. Now I know what Michelangelo felt like…seeing David emerge from the plaster.

So I kept whittling away…and then I saw it...Abraham Lincoln Potato Head. I knew I recognized that long face …longing to be freed. Another potato to whittle…next up… Bill Clinton.

After carving a series of presidential potato heads…I moved to making cranberry brie. The cranberry topping calls for small amounts of many different spices. As I was adding the spices…I wondered what dry mustard smelled like. Was dry mustard like its cousin…wet mustard? I’m still not sure what dry mustard smells like. But I do know…it burns the inside of your nose.

So if you wonder what I am doing in the kitchen the day before Thanksgiving…I am snorting spices and whittling presidential heads out of baking potatoes.

Who said cooking wasn’t entertaining?

Happy Thanksgiving

I think I’ll keep this blog short…especially because it’s Thanksgiving Day and in just a couple of hours I'm expecting 21 relatives. I didn’t poison anyone last year…so I believe they will all be returning.

Today is the perfect day for me to whip up something simple for my blog…a short-cut…like Redi-Whip. I actually love the way that instant whipped cream squirts out of the can. But don’t squirt it near Duncandog…any sound of gas escaping makes him run for the hills…if ya know what I mean. Anyway, I do make food from scratch…hey, it’s not like I’m schlepping Swanson’s Turkey TV Dinners for 21. They don’t call me Kat for nothin’.

So today I am a Kat of few words. I would like to offer you my Thanks for giving any acknowledgment to my blog….whether it be empathy, sympathy, telepathy, or Timothy. Today I am serving up…an enormous helping of gratitude for your time and patience…and if you stop by later…I’ll offer you a squirt of Redi-Whip. Nowhere near Duncandog, of course.

Enjoy a day…of fun, family, and FOOD. See ya on the couch.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!

License To EAT

Tomorrow is your day to gobble everything in sight. Consider it your license to eat. My license has just been renewed and unlike most years…I’m particularly happy with my license picture this year.

Name: fatKAT
Eyes: Brown
Body: Orange
Appetite: Enormous
DOB: Not Yesterday
Legally entitled: to eat everything in sight.
Expiration: November 26, 2009 at midnight.


So from dawn until midnight…I will have my way with the turkey and the turkey will have its way with me.

I will feed and fill…on fowl. Gorge, gobble, and gulp…the gravy. Scarf, stuff and swallow…the squash. Devour and down….the dressing. Pack and pig-out on potatoes and pie. Consume, congest and cram…the corn. Overeat and overindulge…on ostrich…I mean…the orange-cran relish. Wolf and wallow…in wax beans.

If anyone dares to question my ravenous appetite…I’ll just flash them my license and say, “Listen Buster….read it and eat.”

Oprah Announcement

Big BIG Announcement: Oprah is pulling the plug on herself...shutting down the Oprah Show. Don’t do it, Oprah. PLEASE NO! Oh wait, that’s not happening until 2011? So why the BIG announcement now? A lot can happen in two years. Heck, according to the Mayan calendar and the movie 2012…the world is coming to an end in just 3 years.

I have been an Oprah fan from the beginning of Oprah time, so I understand all the hoopla. People are worried that when Oprah packs up her couch…the world will come to an end. Nothing will be the same in the talk show world. We’ll be left to wallow in the crud from Jerry Springer, and all the other schmucks out there. But the question remains… is Oprah really retiring?

Or will she just move to her OWN network…The Oprah Winfrey Network?…(very clever acronym) If she’s like a lot of people in the spotlight who say they are gonna retire…it’s all bull crap…she’ll be back. Most times they are talking out their butts…or the sides of the mouth (my mother says that…not the butts part…that’s my bad manners.)

Yep…you can count the number of people who have given us that old retirement song and dance before. There are tons of athletes who have said they are gonna hang up their cleats, clubs, jockstraps, support bras, racquets, and bats. Then what do they do? They resurface at a later date. They lay low for a while and pretend they are retired…but actually are spending time getting buff and drinking healthy stuff…planning the biggest come back ever.

So I’m not getting all worked up that Oprah’s leaving. I think it’s just a way to generate buzz and publicity for her new network. She will have 2 years to talk about it. 2 years to promote it. 2 years to be a lame duck talk show host.

Wait, something is coming to me here…I’m emitting an Oprah light bulb moment. Maybe there is something to this retiring thing. I think I should retire...then maybe, just maybe, I might have people screaming…”We Want Kat, We Want Kat!”
In unison…all two of you…."We Want Kat.”

That’s it………..I RETIRE……………………………………………....until tomorrow

The Fourth Person

A Kat Milestone…Today is my 500th Blog! Blog On!

I know I make this blogging thing look damn easy. Day after day, week after week, crap after crap…such prolific material just oozing from my pores. There is some real work and mastery to doing this blogging thing. But I do have trouble with a few things….

One of the worstest things for me...is not the superlatives…it is the punctuation. You will see dot dot dot used…mainly because I prefer sentence fragments over complete sentences…plus that is exactly what is going on in my head. What you see…is what I think. And I’m never sure what proper punctuation to use…comma, semi-comma, colin, semi-colin.

Another very difficultest thing for me…is not the superlatives …is/was and has always been the tenses. I start in the present then switch to past…and then I’m not sure if I am in the moment or back to the future.

And don’t even go there with dangling participles. The dangling participle sounds so decadent… right there, dangling in front of me …so I just have to have it. I might have to dangle a participle in front of you to entice you to keep reading.

But the mostest difficult of all…is not the superlatives…it is the person. First person, third person…the same person. Whose on first…whose on third? I can be writing ‘I’ and mean ‘me’, and then I can be writing ‘Kat’ and mean ‘I’ …and then when I need to totally dissociate, I use the fourth person… ‘crazy Kat.’

The mostest easiest thing about blogging….besides the superlatives…is the material. I can shovel dangling participles, dots, worstest superlatives, and bad punctuation in my blogs…and it doesn’t matter. I just blame the fourth person…crazy Kat.

Audience Required

There are times when we need people watching us…an audience…in order to perform to our max ability. Whether it’s the fear of making a fool of ourselves or looking less than competent…there’s a fine line between motivation and humiliation which makes us perform above status quo.

At the gym, you will go the extra mile, the extra speed, or lift the extra pounds…because people are around. But if you were at home on your tread, in your basement…all alone…you don’t push as hard. You think…heck, I’ve run far enough. No one is looking….I’ll just stop here. Tomorrow I’ll go further. After all, a half a mile is…HALF of ONE mile. A workout performance without an audience…leads to a Kat who dogs it.

Of course, there are times when an audience is not so good. Like when you trip over something….or stumble for no apparent reason other than being klutzy. Sometimes the person who sees you understands this…and looks away. (Thank you, kind stranger.) A burp that slips out never needs an audience.

Yep, there are times when an audience is required…especially for a band. The band feeds off the crowd's energy, applause, and vibe …so they pull off a great performance. A performance without an audience…leads to missed notes, missed keys, and missed words.

And take this blog. This blogger needs an audience… because if no one is reading this blog...is it really a blog? I say no. It’s a damn diary.

“Dear Diary: Today I slept, I ate, I napped.” Blogging without an audience…leads to the truth…and who is interested in that? Holla.

Hair Do's and Don'ts

Men have it so much easier than women when it comes to hair. Even gray hair looks better on men…graying at the temples.…graying on top…graying at the hairline. Graying at the nostrils…not so attractive.

Women require so much apparati when it comes to hair maintenance. Curler, straightener, blower, blow torch. If you look at a woman over a period of years you would see her transition through various hairstyles...some do’s and some don’ts. Oprah is always showing clips from her past shows and is always singing a hair done wrong song.

Usually a hairstyle is tied to some famous person. Shirley Temple’s curls, Rita Hayworth’s cascading waves, Farrah Fawcett’s feather cut, Cher’s long straight middle part, Jennifer Aniston’s ‘The Rachel’, Audrey Hepburn’s pixie cut, Doris Day’s helmet, Dorothy Hamill’s wedge.

I’ve had many hair do’s …and some were definitely don’ts…the Shirley, the Hepburn, the Cher, the Farrah, the Jennifer. I have, however, been wearing the Kat do for a while…and that’s probably a don’t.

I’m thinking of men’s haircuts and what movie stars are associated with them. You’ve got the James Dean pompadour, the David Cassidy shag, the Uncle Jesse mullet, the Dick Tracy flat top. The PaulA…parted to the side.

A guy can go anywhere for or a haircut…a barber, a beautician, a butcher…with the simple request “take a little off the top and the sides.”

Us ladies fuss, fret, and fume over what salon we go to and bring a picture with us…. “Can you make me look like her? The hairstylist studies the pic and is always encouraging, “Sure. I can make you look like Charlize Theron….as long as you pay me upfront.”

Who Let the Birds OUT

Look overhead…it’s a bird, it’s a plane….nooo…it IS a bird.

Usually I think flipping the bird isn’t funny…especially if I’m on the receiving end. But for some reason when a mature person does it…it doesn’t seem as bad…maybe because it seems out of character.

I guess that’s why I liked the old TV show…The Golden Girls. I thought it was funny when crabby and crass Sophia, played by the late Estelle Getty, made rude comments. They came from out of the blue, when you least expected it. Last Sunday, that same shocking behavior was seen from an octogenarian……

Bud Adams, age 86, the owner of the Tennessee Titans, was seen flipping the bird to the owner of the Buffalo Bills, Ralph Wilson, age 91 …on the JUMBOTRON. Talk about getting caught. Initially Adams was just waving to the fans from his sky box …but when his team became victorious over the Bills…he apparently let more than one bird fly.

Videotape footage showed Bud Adams first flipping the bird with his right hand…then with his left hand. Then a series of flippings…right, left, right, left. And then to top it off…he flipped the bird with both hands…simultaneously.

I would have to say, the two handed bird flip…or double bird flipping…is a rare sighting…especially for the JUMBOTRON. It’s almost as extinct as another bird of a different feather...the American Eagle.

Adams probably should have shown his maturity and some self restraint…and kept his birds caged. I do think, however, once you’ve reached the ripe old age of great grandfather…it should be grandfathered into law that it’s okay to flip the bird…occasionally.

There are times, however, when decorum and self-restraint are called for…and flipping the bird is never acceptable…no matter what age you are. For example, when leaving the parking lot of the Catholic Church after mass…and everyone is in a blasted hurry to leave and cutting each other off……don’t let the birds out.

More or Less

PaulA and I have been empty-nesters for 3 months now. And I have adjusted to my empty nest…my new way of life…more or less.

I can fly the coup at a moment’s notice and take-off to parts unknown. My open schedule allows me to tag along with PaulA on some business trips. And most importantly, I don’t worry if the house will be still standing when we come back…

I can decide last minute “What’s for dinner?” I might make dinner-in, suggest dinner-out, take dinner out, or burn dinner and throw it out.

I don’t worry about where the kids are or what time the kids are getting in. For some reason, those thoughts go away…even when they are in a major city walking around …and god knows where they go and what time they are going. For some reason…the old saying, “Out of sight…out of mind” rings true. They could be walking down the street at 2am eating a slice of pizza and get punched in the head by a random thug. (Heads up, Colinboy)

And there is a lot less involved. Less shopping…less groceries, less laundry, less electric bill, less cleaning…less shampoo.

But with less…comes more.

More time to think about how quickly time has passed.

More time to go through photo albums and look at their precious faces as they smiled for the camera.

More days to miss the sounds of the house…the special hum…the music, the voices, the laughter.

More time to walk into their rooms and look at everything left in the exact same places…waiting.

More time to remember them interacting with each other, enjoying each other’s company, and sharing secrets.

More time to remember our talks…of school, of friends, of relationships, of fears and hopes and dreams.

More time to sit and ponder my new role.

More time to blog…about precious memories of precious years gone by.

More or less…I am doing fine.

Snuggie Cult

Do you own a Snuggie? If you don’t, I know you’ve seen one advertised on television…the new fangled blanket with arms…designed to keep you toasty warm while your hands are free to operate the remote, laptop or sandwich.

I don’t own a Snuggie…but I’ve started thinking that maybe I should get one…especially because I’m usually cold all winter long. But the truth is…I’m kinda afraid to get one. I might like it too much and start wearing it in public.

The other reason I’m afraid to get one is…they remind me of a straight jacket. Not that I’ve actually worn a straight jacket…or had real cause to, but there is something about them that reminds me of psychotic cult apparel.

So if I did own a Snuggie…there I’d be…wearing my straight jacket into the Stop and Shop. And the worse thing is that my butt would be exposed. Lock her up, folks. Notice how the Snuggie advertisements never show the rear view …that’s because body parts are hanging out.

I’m not really sure who invented the Snuggie…but I do have a feeling how the idea was hatched. I’m thinking…..After a hard night of partying, some guy put his bathrobe on backwards, then walked to the couch to chill for the rest of the day. That’s when the idea hit him hard…like the hangover he would have for the next 8 hours. Nothing like an alcohol induced idea. Eureka. The equivalent of an Oprah Light Bulb Moment.

The Snuggie is a good idea, but once you own one, you become a card carrying member of a cult…the Snuggie Cult of Exposed Butts.

Rappa-D

So I made THE mistake. I unknowingly made the mistake of giving Duncandog an alternate identity. I had no clue that my seemingly innocent actions were going to have the effect that they did…but it happened…and there’s no turning back……

I attached a keychain with a large letter “D” to Duncandog’s collar…and next thing I knew Duncandog morphed into Rappa-D. He no longer is answering to Duncandog…the 4-legged obedient…I’ll do whatever you say, Kat…as long as you feed me treats…dog. He now thinks he is worthy of Rappa status…

And with his new Rappa status… he wants the Rappa treatment. So now he’s looking for a better ride when he goes out on the town. He expects to ride shot-gun in a Mercedes-Benz …not be schlepped around in the Ford Escape…thrown in the back like a bag of groceries. He says the Ford is for pikers not the likes of Rappa-D.

Forget the water bowl…and the stale, stagnant water with grass and sand particles …Rappa-D is asking for Cristal and Remy Martin now. Yea, he wants to pop Cristal even on a Tuesday…and it’s not even hump night.

And forget the occasional bandana …Rappa D wants to wear Rocawear and Sean John. He says, if it’s good enough for Jay-Z and Sean Diddy Combs…it’s good enough for the likes of Rappa-D and that he can not command Rapa respect with a cutesy bandana around his neck.

He loves the bling, bling. He’s always asking me for a 24-carat diamond studded collar. Says he wants me to remove the peace sign collar he is currently wearing.

It’s isn’t easy being me these days, when all Rappa-D wants to do is go clubbin’ every night. It’s so hard to keep him down when he wants to get down. Duncandog was sweet, but Rappa-D says he’s “da shit.”

Here’s a rap that Rappa-D’s working on so he can take over for fellow Rapper Lil Wayne…when he goes to jail to serve a year’s sentence for possession of a weapon.

“Hey man, its me
It’s yo homie Rappa-D

I was born to be a rappa, chillin’, n freestylin’
You know I’m dappa, with this curly hair I stylin’

Shout out to BillyA
Fo dis is his b-day

Git out my way, dat’s off the hizzle
No stoppin' me now, Kat, dat fo shizzle

Can I git a ruff…ruff!”

The IMMUNITY Cereal

News Flash…Cocoa Krispies can NOT prevent you from getting the flu. It does NOT make you immune from communicable diseases. And it can NOT, in any way shape or form, help you to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Cocoa Krispies is actually a highly processed sugary, chocolaty kid’s (and Kat’s) cereal with not much more health benefit than a Klondike Bar. Dear God…Say it isn’t so.

Kellogg’s has been getting a lot of grief about printing the words “IMMUNITY” in large letters across the front of their new boxes. “They” say the consumer will become confused and will think it prevents kids from getting illnesses. They must think we have the IQ of the very box the cereal comes in.

It’s not like we believe every advertising slogan we’ve heard. Heck, by now we are IMMUNE to slogans and promises we’ve had to listen to through the years from politicians.

There should be truth in advertising, but Kellogg’s never claimed to curing or preventing anything. They did increase their vitamins from the daily recommended requirement of 10 percent to 25 percent. And vitamins do add to our immunity. But come on, we know the health correlation ends there…and not with the cure to Swine Flu, the common cold, and Athlete’s foot. We still know Cocoa Krispies is a junk cereal with a few vitamins sprinkled on top.

Let’s get the facts straight: A bowl of Cocoa Krispies can NOT cure illness…..but it can cure a chocolate craving…thereby providing IMMUNITY from death by triple chocolate mousse trifle.

Thank you Kellogg’s.

Big Chillin'

“Oh, What a night! Late October back in 2009…What a feeling, What a night.”

What happens when you get 4 couples…8 “old” friends since college...together to celebrate a BIG birthday…and it happens to be Halloween…which ironically is fitting for a birthday when black décor, skulls, and skeletons are called for? Well, I don’t want to scare you with the gory details of our Big Chill weekend…but let's just say…we did some “chillin’.”

After numerous years since college, you might be able to tell we are advancing in years…but definitely not by the way we look. (We look marrrrrrvelousssss…just ask Billy Crystal.) But by two things that got us very excited…it was the Tale of Two Seals. The seals on Flat Rock…….and Press and Seal.

For some reason people get very excited to see seals swimming in the ocean. Frankly I have had enough with the seals. What’s the big deal? What are they are good for? Absolutely nothing! Sing it again, Kat.

I have more respect for Press and Seal…swimming in my kitchen drawer. Press and Seal is really the best invention since Saran Wrap…it blows the plastic right off the other wrap.

This blog, however, is more than a recount or synopsis of a big chill weekend of laughing, reminiscing, singing, and dancing. This blog is about the beauty of friendship. Good friends are something to treasure. It’s pretty special that whenever you get together, no matter how long it has been, you just pick up from where you left off…and it feels good. It’s kinda like putting on your favorite snuggly sweatshirt …or even better than that… it’s like wearing your broken-in, soft, supple loafers……although I prefer to think of the women as Jimmy Choo heels and the guys as White Bucks….and not as pairs of chunky sensible shoes and holey loafers.

It was a Big Chillin’ weekend…time with OLD friends, telling OLD stories…making NEW memories.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays

Ho Ho Ho…Merry Christmas! Did I get your attention? December 25th might be 6 or so weeks away…but at the TajMaMall…it’s Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, and Happy Kawanzaa… all rolled into one jingle bell. The Taj has actually had its halls decked since October…and to think the Pilgrims haven’t even landed at Plymouth Rock.

As I walked through center court...what to my wondering eyes should appear? Santa…sitting in his chair, holding court in Center Court. Here come the judge…checking his list…checking it twice. Good Boy? Bad Boy? Good Kat? Bad Kat?

I took a good look at Santa and I am happy to report…he appears to be rested up for the holiday season. He doesn’t have that frenzied, harried, stressed… “I’m gonna pinch the next kid who pulls my beard and coughs in my face” look...that he usually has about December 19th. Santa still has his signature gut, stretching the buttons of his red suit. He looks like he hit the barbecue pretty hard during the off season… and he still has that rosy glow that you can only get from a summer of boat drinks. I wonder if Santa prefers gin or vodka.

Because it’s early in the season and turkeys are still free ranging, it was only natural that Santa wasn’t get much attention…unless you count the attention he was receiving from his blonde assistant. He might not have had any little visitors but he didn’t look lonely. I think he might have a little something going on with his helper….cuz she looked waaay to comfortable on his lap. I’m sure she was whispering what she wanted for Christmas when she had her lips to his ear. Yep, that’s what she was doing. “Oh Santa, I’ve been a VERY good girl.”

I don’t want to sound like Scrooge and be all Bah Humbug…but I don’t like to be thrown into the next holiday season when I’m still working on celebrating another. It disturbs me when the media and the TajMaMall jumps ahead with the holidays. I like to take my holidays as they come on the calendar and not play leap frog with them. So I prefer to enjoy my turkey and pumpkin pie before I have to think about everyone on my Christmas List. Note to self: Add yourself to the List…you’ve been a good Kat.

Heck, the way things go…before we even get the Christmas tree down…there are hearts and roses, plastered all over everything…totally skipping over George’s Birthday. I don’t know about you, but I need time to celebrate George Washington. I'm thinking...maybe I'll chop my Christmas tree down in George's honor.

So for now…let’s relax, gather together, and give Thanks…and THEN let’s join Santa and his personal assistant in center court.

Mad Men Influence

Do you watch Mad Men? It’s a great show that airs on Sunday nights on the AMC Channel. The Season 3 finale was last night, so if interested, I would suggest you watch each season in order on DVD…it will make so much more sense. Then you will understand why Donald Draper is the lying, cheating, scum-bag of a handsome husband that he is.

The show, set in the early 60’s, is about advertising executives on Madison Avenue…thus the Mad Men. The show is “true” to the time period…with spot-on sets, events of the time, social attitudes, behavior, and attire. The Mad Men live in a man’s world…where the women they work with are secretaries they ogle, speak down to, and slap on the butt. They smoke non-stop and drink in the office…and they most definitely don’t recycle…unless you are talking girls.

What is interesting is the effect the show is having on fashion. The last time I was in NYC, I walked by Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue and noticed the 50’s and 60’s clothing in all of its windows. I kept on walking…I’m already vintage…I don’t need vintage clothing to prove it.

The vintage influence is also seen for the Spring 2010 fashion line in women’s lingerie. We are talking high-waist briefs, garter belts, and full body suits with structured hard bra cups. (Men please try to bare with me with talk about our unmentionables.)

Fashion designers are always trying to reinvent the fashion wheel…so they are calling it “a totally modern, new kind of lingerie look.” I’m calling the vintage undergarments what they really are…Granny pants.

Now it appears the fashion designers want to go full circle with our mentionables…back to granny pants. I guess they got tired of thong underwear...aka floss.

We must draw a fashion line in the sand…somewhere…and JUSTSAY NO to cone bras, corsets, and granny pants. Although…I’m thinking Granny might be happier to go back to old school undergarments. I think she mostly prefers floss for her teeth.

Doggie DaVinci

On the TODAY Show, a few days ago before today…actually 2 days before yesterday…and 3 days before tomorrow…there was an entire segment about a 4-legged DaVinci. People have actually paid 1,700 dollars for one of the dog’s creations.

From what I saw, Doggie DaVinci could have “made” one of his creations right there on the floor, because crap is about what the originals looked like…and what they are really worth.

When Al Roker asked the dog to “paint” …he moved towards Al instead of the canvas. The trainer kept bringing the dog back to “paint” …and Doggie DaVinci looked at his trainer, like huh? Eventually the dog made a single brush mark and then looked for his treat. What a joke. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“They” call that painting? The Today Show was barking up the wrong easel with that story. Ruff Ruff. It’s not like Doggie DaVinci is an abstract expressionist and can decide that he needs a little splash of yellow here or a little aqua there. Dogs can see some spectrum of color…but he isn’t choosing between…red and orange…that would be the 2-legged trainer.

I’m not buying the “painting dog” bit…literally and figuratively. Just because the dog allows his trainer to stick a paint brush in his mouth that is already dipped in a chosen paint color…and coaxes him to brush the canvas…for a treat…he’s wonder dog? And people are actually willing to spend money for his original doggie do?

You may as well tie a paintbrush to a horse’s ass…I mean tail…and let him arbitrarily whip his tail around. Heck, I could close my eyes and dab paint on a canvas…or better yet, tie a brush to my tail…and call it “Original Art by a Kat.” I’d only charge a grand.

As The Crow Flies

The Yang Yankees won the World Series last night in their new stadium…making today the longest day in the Red Sox calendar year. What’s a Red Sox fan to do? Okay, I’ll suck it up and say it, “Congratulations to theYankees players, organization, and their fans.” (Enjoy it all now…JUST wait until next year.)

I have to admit…theYankees were the best team in baseball this year. And that wasn’t easy to say and it was even harder to write. Saying it is one thing…in one ear and out the other…but putting it in writing, puts it out there permanently in blogworld. As a Yankee fan…you (BA) may have had a crow to pick with me because of some statements I made in yesterday’ s blog …but at least you don’t have to eat crow today.

It’s very hard to eat crow…it doesn’t taste so great…or sit so well in the belly. There is nothing good about eating crow…it’s foul-tasting, fowl-smelling and very hard to swallow. I can’t think of any way to eat crow with dignity and not gag…unless…I add a little Emeril’s Creole Seasoning (BAM!), maybe it would taste like chicken.

As the crow flies…it is about 200 miles from the Bronx to Boston….and I’m sure there are audible sounds of many Red Sox fans in Boston gagging and puking as they try to get down a little crow today…(maybe a blender would help…a crow protein drink.)

Next time I would prefer to eat humble pie...(although I’m not sure what’s in it.) A humble pie has to be better than a big, thick, tough, fowl bird.

The Yang Yankees

Over the years I have gotten into watching Baseball. Initially I was teamless….I didn’t really care or root for any team in particular. Basically I was without a country. Kat without a country…a very sad state…but my state has since evolved into a very powerful country…Red Sox Nation.

After being married to PaulA umpteen years (my mom says “umpteen” …I think it means a lot)…I have become a tried and true Red Sox fan. Let’s go Red Sox. Let me hear the cheer.

And so it is only natural…that with the team you root for…comes the team you want to always see lose…regardless of who they are playing. You aren’t wishing ill will on the health and safety of their players…maybe just a couple of broken toes…and pinkies, but you want them to suck every time they play. It’s just part of being a true fan of a team…it’s the Ying and Yang of baseball.

So seeing the Red Sox are not in the World Series and the Yang Yankees are playing…it is only natural that I would want the Phillies to win tonight. Actually it would be best if the Phillies could beat the crap out of those Yangs and tie the series at 3-3.

Rivalries in baseball are actually very good for the game…not only do they get the juices flowing and blood pumping for the players…but also the fans. Otherwise, we would be sitting in front of our televisions drooling with boredom. Ho hum. What’s the point of even watching, unless you have someone to yell at, boo…and maybe throw an occasional loafer?

So there's no surprise where I’ll be tonight….butt to the brown couch…leather to leather…watching every move the Yang Yankees make… hoping it’s the wrong move, the wrong pitch, the wrong play……making everything right in Red Sox Nation.

As true Red Sox fans the nation over, we have extended the boundaries of our Nation during the Series to embody the Phillies territory. Let’s Go Phillies! Beat the Yang Yankees!

The Time Fiddler

Spring Ahead. Fall Back. The pros and cons of Daylight Savings Time have always been debated…it depends on what side of the timeline you are on. Some people profess the energy savings…others proclaim the sanity costs. The battle continues here……

A good thing about Daylight Savings Time and moving your clock back an hour… sleeping until 9am and finding out it’s only 8am. (saweet)
A bad thing about daylight savings time and moving your clock back…getting to church an hour late and finding out you’re on time…(not-so-saweet)

Bad thing about Daylight savings time and moving your clock back an hour…it gets dark at 5 o’clock.
Good thing about Daylight savings time and moving your clock back an hour…it gets dark at 5 o’clock…making your cocktail seem more appropriate.

As with most everything there is a good side and a bad side…but there isn’t much good about Mondays. So with the switch to daylight savings I got to thinking…wouldn’t it be great if we could gain an extra hour each week. We could gain another hour by taking an hour from Monday and adding it to Sunday….making Mondays shorter. Then at the end of 6 months…we would restock Monday with 24 hours and start over. (As you can see…I’ve put a lot of thought into this.)

Instead of dreading Mondays…people would love them because Monday, Monday would be gradually getting shorter. There would be no more Monday Blues…and no Manic Monday…(and no other Monday songs that you can think of.)

I’ve come up with great ideas before…but this is my best yet. The simple way to beat Mondays without using a stick…fiddle with time. Why not? We do it every spring and fall.

The Fix-it Gene

I drove by men working on electrical poles the other day and got to thinking …Is their job stimulating? Do they get juiced, working from those buckets 70 feet in the air? How do they know what to do with those wires?

There are some folks, like my cousin Shannon, who are hard-wired when it comes to understanding currents, conductors, and circuits. His great, great grandfather (how great was he?) had the patent on the first electric motor…so obviously Shannon inherited the Fix-it gene. That explains why as a kid, he wired the door knob to shock you when you entered. He always got a charge out of that…and so did you.

I’m glad there are those, like Shannon, who know their AC from their DC. I think that’s my problem right there …I don’t know my ass-C from my elbow-D.

I have to say PaulA is a fix-it man. He’s very good about repairing things…the garbage disposal, garage door opener, dishwasher…plus he can put anything together. Very impressive fix-it skills coming from a man with a girl’s name.

When something isn’t working…I get frustrated and say to PaulA: “Fix-it…just fix-it.” Remember the “Fix-it” routine from Saturday Night Live Weekend Update with Amy Pouler and Seth Myers… when Oscar Rogers would repeat “Fix-it” over and over? Every time he would say “Fix-it…just Fix-it. It’s broke…now fix-it” I would laugh my ass-C off.

My mother has the Fix-it gene, but unfortunately never passed it on to me. Instead…I’m another Oscar Rogers. We have the gene that tells OTHER people to “Fix-it…just Fix-it. It’s broke…now fix-it. Fixxxxxxx-itttt. Fix-it.”

Whoops. There it goes again…I get a jolt every time…I’m currently laughing my ass-C off.

Tricks, Treats, and Eggs

I remember Halloween as a kid. It was the best…FREE candy. My parents let my brother, sisters and I eat whatever we wanted on Halloween night. There was no limit. It was up to us ….if we wanted to gorge ourselves on candy bars, and puke our brains out. I don’t even remember them checking our candy, for razor blades…or rat poison.

Halloween is actually fun for all ages. Nothing like a reason to go “out of character” for a few hours. You have a legit excuse for acting or looking like an ass. In some cases that is “in character.”

Speaking of butts…I’ll never forget the guy who came dressed to a Halloween party with the largest one ever. It just cracked me up. His backside was stuffed so large that he kept butting into people. Making him the butt of all jokes.

When it came to Halloween night, PaulA and I had our assignments. He took the kids trick-or-treating and I stayed home…waiting for the door bell to ring……….

Ding Dong….
Ahhh…the timid child dressed as a mouse…who meekly mumbles… “Trick or Treat.” The little mouse is standing there wide-eyed with fear and confusion…not exactly sure what the hell is going on...just looking for some cheese.

Ding Dong...
It’s the neighbor kid from across the street who expects you to immediately recognize him in costume…
“Hi Mrs. Kat…It’s Me…It’s Timmy.”
“Oh, Timmy is that you? I didn’t recognize you. Last time I saw you, you didn’t have blood dripping down your face and an axe planted in your head.”

Ding Dong…
5 Big kids from out of town. At least one of them is shaving. They’re standing there…looking at me like… “What do you want from us lady…Do we have to beg?” I give them extra candy, just so they won’t egg our house. I prefer my eggs over-easy…not over-house.

On Halloween night, I prefer seeing the little mice trick-or-treaters…before they grow up to be big rats…egging houses, papering trees, and smashing pumpkins. And before they’re the butt of every joke.

Happy Halloween

Myers Briggs Non-Test

Have you ever taken the Myers Briggs assessment…the so-called personality test? It’s designed to measure psychological preferences. After answering a series of questions…you are given a combination of 4 letters which stand for different traits…like “I” for introvert, “E” for Extrovert, “N” for iNtuition, “J” for judging, “T” for thinking…there are 8 all together. (Sorry, for all the boring background info…that’s my personality disorder.)

“They” say it’s not a test...and that there are no right or wrong answers. I’m not so sure about that. I have taken the non-test and there are definitely some answers that just seem WRONG. Case in point.

Sample Personality Question.....
If you’re at a party, would you:
a. enjoy meeting new people.
b. despise meeting new people.
c. despise meeting all people and prefer facing the wall.

If you’re going for a sales job…maybe you should think about choosing “a”.

If only the people who employed Bernie Madoff, Michael Vick, and ESPN Steve Phillips had given them the Myers Briggs test. It would have saved many people a lot of grief.

Sample Personality Question for Bernie Madoff.....
If you were given a large sum of money to invest for clients, would you……..
a. “prudently” invest their money in conservative markets.
b. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then buy your wife a fur coat.
c. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then steal every penny you can get your grimy hands on.

Sample Personality Question for Michael Vick…..
If you owned a dog, would you:
a. take him on a walk to the park.
b. take him on a walk to the park to watch a dog fight.
c. take him on a walk to the park to watch him fight other dogs in a dog fight.

Sample Personality Question for ESPN Steve Phillips…..
If you had a young intern working for you, would you:
a. Expose her to the business and then go home to your wife.
b. Expose yourself to her and then go home to your wife.
c. Expose yourself to her and never go home to your wife.

The test might have helped to reveal their personalities.

I particularly wouldn’t want to take a personality test geared towards Bloggers. I might be labeled: “WWDR” …or in layman’s terms…Wringing Wet Dish Rag…not to be confused with the personality label- “VDDR”… Vapid Dry Dish Rag.

Unfortunately, my personality is just not as absorbent at mopping up spills.

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

"It's five o'clock somewhere." Who said that? Not me. That wasn’t Kat looking for libation at 5pm. I can wait until 5:15…unlike Linnyj. That’s Duncandog talking. Five o’clock is Duncandog’s chow time and he’s always ready with bells on.

So when the Big Hand strikes 5, I dish up a cup of dry dog food for the Duncandog. Whew…I wish making dinner was that difficult. Anyway, Duncandog chows his food in 90 seconds. He’s waited all day and woofs it down. ..like the dog he is. You would think he would take a full 2 minutes and enjoy it a little more. Savor those hard pellets of dry dog food.

The question is: Are you like Duncandog and woof your food down? I’ve eaten with folks who eat their food as fast as Duncandog. And we’re not even talking fast food.

Maybe you take a long time to finish …linger over your meal….and draw it out. I remember when I was first out of college…a single lady living with 3 roommates. One of my roommates would make herself a nice dinner and sit down at the table…with a place setting, and napkin. She would sit with the most erect posture...elbows off the table and napkin in her lap. Like Emily Post Reincarnated was watching her. Anyway, about half way through her meal she would stop…put down her utensils….light a cigarette and enjoy a smoke. Smack dab in the middle of her dinner.

The first time I saw her do this, I thought she was done eating. But after she smoked the entire cigarette, she ate everything on her plate. I’ve heard of having a cig after dinner…but not a cig with dinner. Hmmm…maybe a Newport enhances the flavor of a pork chop. Mentholated Pork Chop…try that recipe Martha Stewart.

“They” say it is important to eat slowly for a number of reasons…it’s better for your digestive system, blah, blah…and you can feel when you are full, blah blah. I guess my roomy found her own way of slowing down the eating process. Chew, chew, chew...Puff, puff, puff…Chew, chew, chew.

Different strokes for different folks……..
……….or in her case, different smokes for different blokes.