McNabb Phone Home

With the Super Bowl being played this Sunday….I have to mention a few things I have noticed while watching football on television.

First of all, I don’t care for that robot that dances on the bottom of the TV screen. What is that? And why is that? Do the producers think it is cool or hip or what? I did a little poll…okay my poll consisted of 3 people…but it is unanimous...they don’t like it. That would be BillyA, Colinboy and Kat. Granted 2 out of 3 of us are fossils and not part of the hip generation, but Colinboy is 20 years old…and if a young guy thinks it is annoying…who is it really there for? Plus BillyA represents the guy’s Bud drinking segment. :) And I repesent the older than hills washed-up blogger segment.

The other thing I’ve noticed is the crazy celebrating that goes on after a big play. I understand why players might be excited about making a touchdown, catching a big throw, or sacking the quarterback...and can’t contain their happiness. But it also makes sense that the Refs give them a penalty for “Excessive Celebration”….otherwise games would start looking like “Dancing With The Stars.” But I wonder…is it really spontaneous? You just know some of these guys have had to work on their routine.

I watched a game one Sunday when a player caught a touchdown pass and then did a hip dance in the end zone. He was pretending to pull his hips side-to-side with an invisible string…and then he snipped the string...with invisible scissors. It looked really cool. He had to have spent a few hours in front of a mirror working on that routine. If his football career is ever blitzed…he has a promising career as a mime.

One Sunday, McNabb made a good play against the Giants with a minute left in the game, and was pushed out of bounds on the sidelines…where he picked up a phone on the bench. I’ve heard of “ET phone home”…but ‘hello’…what was that phone call business about? He says he was just…excited. I think he was just…phoning in his extra large everything but anchioves pizza so it would be piping hot ready for him at the end of the game.

Maybe I’ll take a page from McNabb’s play book and make a phone call during the Super Bowl…and phone home. I don’t really care who wins.

Slow Down

I wish I had more time to blog from Grandma's, but life is very hectic in the retirement community. (And I thought it was tough at Camp Linnyj's!) My day consists of: water aerobics at the pool, instructed through a tape over a loud speaker, shuffleboard, lunch at Nicolas's Restaurant or Wendy's, a walk around the park to get caught up on everyone's business, bingo, book reading, small dinner at home, Jeopardy, and then the Wheel of Vanna White Show. Before I know it the day is coming to an end and I'm exhausted!!

Currently, I am sitting at the recreation hall with a room that has a wireless internet connection. Someone here must have the low down on high tech. I can hear a huge crowd in the next room...Probably a meeting of sorts to plan the next day of fun. Anyway, they are adjurning....so I gotta split. They just might sign me up for something!!! See ya!

Greetings!

Greetings from Central Florida!!!

I'm actually sitting in an internet cafe in Wauchula, FL. You probably have never heard of Wauchula...it's even hard to find on a map. Anyway, I am visiting my parents and my Grandmother who is turning 94 and Ellie who is 91. Suddenly I don't feel as old as I did last week. This blog is an "oldie" ....but ironically as I post from the 'Java Internet Cafe"...it has to do with coffee.

The Starbucks Encounter......

Today I was in another town and had some time to kill so I found a Starbucks…which was easy. Isn’t there one on ever corner? I had my book, so why not park my butt in a warm trendy coffee shop? Only problem was, I felt like a fraud…like all the alarms were going off the minute I stepped in the door. You see, I’m a Dunkin Donuts regular and I just crossed over to the other side.

I wasn’t sure how to order the different coffee sizes, so I motioned with my fingers to indicate a small decaff. The barista handed me my coffee, “Here you are (Don’t say Maam.)…one tall decaff.” (Darn thing looks short to me.) So I took my small/tall coffee and looked around…nice couches, chairs by the fireplace, tables…(very posh). The only problem was everything was taken…except one table in the corner with a chair that faced the wall. Yep…that would be my table. After all, I am a coffee fraud so I deserve to face the wall.

So I sat down and cranked my neck around. Who’s here? Let’s see…some cappuccino moms with hot chocolate kids in tow. An espresso woman in for a quick jolt. A yuppie caramel frappuccino couple with a mocha syrup baby in a carrier… a skinny latte teenager and a Chi tea babe.

I’m not sure why I feel like a fraud at Starbucks or what they do to make me feel this way. Maybe because their coffee pourers are called baristas. I overheard a woman order a special coffee that had 8 adjectives, 6 adverbs and a couple of nouns. The barista got it right the first time. Heck, I could never work there…I just don’t have that much memory in my bank. Then the coffee expert made something that sounded like a 747 landing…and no one ducked for cover…except me.

Maybe because they play Starbucks CDs recorded at their own record label which are configured to make you linger and drink more coffee.

Maybe because coffee can cost…4 to 5 bucks. I admit, I felt like an alien that was dropped on to another planet…Planet DarkRoast. I tried to fit in – but I think they could tell….I am a fraud. I am not one of them. I’m a Dunkin Donuts regular. I’m not thinking of crossing over again too soon. I guess I’m just your average Joe who likes a cup of Joe…without all the fuss.

Think Fast

There are some people who can talk a mile a minute. It’s amazing. After a couple of minutes, my head starts spinning…I find it so hard to keep up with them. They have just talked two miles and I’m exhausted. I talk about an eighth of a mile a minute so in a conversation I’m way behind…left eating a fast talker’s dusty words.

So if you talk fast…does it mean you’re smarter than us slow-talkers and your mind is quicker? I like to think NOT. So in defense of slow-talkers of America, I believe fast-talkers don’t think before they speak. Their words just spill over…like Niagara Falls …nothing to damn them. Except the person who later hears them…

I don’t know if it is an age thing or what…but I also can’t think as fast as some…on my feet. As you can tell by this well-thought out blog…I am a better butt thinker. Things just come to me while I’m sitting down.

So to define: A butt thinker is someone who thinks best on their butt…versus someone who thinks fast on their feet. (I’m sure the term is in the dictionary… under ‘ridiculous.’) Feet talkers know exactly what to say to someone on the spot. They have the best comebacks when they need them…say just the right thing to look good…have just the right quip or joke. That would NOT be me. Ten minutes later I think of the best one-line ever…Hey get back here.

Although I am a better butt thinker, never confuse me with an ass talker. They are not related. A butt thinker is not in any way, shape or form…an ass talker. Some folks are really good at talking out of their asses and I happen to know a couple of these people…who will remain faceless.

After reading this blog…you are thinking… “Kat, what are you saying? You’re always talking out of your ass.”

Sistersledge On Bored

Sistersledge reads my blog! Sistersledge would be my younger sister. I bet you first thought I was talking about the infamous We Are Family Sister Sledge…disco group. But then you thought again…Naw.

Anyway, as I was saying, Sistersledge stays current with my blog…and I gotta love her to pieces for doing that. No, my love for her is not conditional on her continued blog reading…but I want to encourage her. “Keep reading…Sistersledge.”

But anyway, again…..Sistersledge reads my blog and tells me she likes it…or so she says. She does give me some critical criticism. Or is that constructive criticism? She says some blogs are better than others. Some blogs make her laugh…and then there are others where she starts off reading but then ends up skimming….reading every other word…then skipping entire sentences…thinking: “yea, yea, yea…whatever.”

She has even dared to be dreadfully honest with me… “Kat, some blogs are kinda boring.” Still …gotta love her, remember she’s my sister. So I was thinking I might have some peeps out there thinking the same thing. Thinking….BORING!!! They would be giving Sistersledge High Fives about now…. ‘Right on Sister…you said it for us. Let’s dance.’

To explain why some of my blogs are boring…you should know, it is because I feel the strong need to imitate life. Don’t they say “art imitates life.” Come on we all know…this blog is art. Sometimes life is just boring...consequently Ho-Hum blogs.

I don’t want to write a boring blog...but I am compelled to write my blog parallel with real life. Plus it's really exciting when a good blog pops up…out of the blue…and interrupts a run of painstakingly boring blogs.

Sorry folks…today isn’t the day.

Miracle on the Hudson River

What happened on the Hudson River in NYC is one of my greatest fears. I have a plain fear of flying…or really a plane fear of crashing.

Before I board an aircraft, I look for the crew. I want to get a good look at the people who are responsible for my life up there in the friendly skies. Do they look like experienced, smart people? Wait, the co-pilot looks like he just graduated from high school. Are they walking steady? Which one is the pilot? Wait, didn’t I just see him in the bar. I’d recognize those sideburns anywhere.

My biggest problem flying is listening too closely to the plane…especially the sound of the engine. When the engine changes sounds…I wonder: Is it supposed to do that? When I hear a bump or a thump I immediately look for a flight attendant to see her reaction. Did her eyes just get bigger? Or I look to the seasoned business traveler. If he doesn’t move the newspaper he’s reading…I’m set. But most times I’m screaming…in my head… “What is that sound?”

Then I resort to prayer… “Dear Lord, I pray that the pilot is well-trained, experienced and not addicted to prescription drugs. That he hasn’t just had a monster fight with his wife…or that she hasn’t just called to ask for a divorce, the house and their life savings…and that his 2.5 kids aren’t irritating him. Dear God, give the pilot the ability to handle any crisis...snow, sleet, fog, electrical failures, birds.”

Some are saying the pilot, Chesley ‘Sully’ Sullenberger, is a hero and I couldn’t agree more. I want a pilot just like him on my next flight. I wonder if US Airways will let me look at his flight schedule. The other hero in this story is the Hudson River. If Sully was taking off from Kansas City and his plane had a double bird strike there…what then? IDK…maybe he’s good at cornfield landings too. They say Sully was the last person off the plane. Heck, Sully didn’t even practice FIFO…First in, First out. I guess accounting terms don’t apply to pilots.

The ending of the Miracle on the Hudson...does not get any better than it did. I’m not surprised that the next morning, movie producers were already scrambling for the rights to the story. I wonder who they would want to play the pilot. Tom Cruise…cuz he looks good in a uniform? Leonardo Di Caprio …cuz he once played a pilot? (Wait, he was a con artist pilot.) Con artist pilots…Now I am really scared.

One thing for sure…I could play the crazy lady in the back of the plane screaming her head off…with intermittent crying jags, flailing arms, head banging, and continuous prayers and Hail Mary’s. I would be perfect for that role. One request though…No dress rehearsals. PLEASE GOD…no dress rehearsals!!!!!

Big C Turns 23!

When I look outside after the first season’s snowfall and see fresh fallen snow blanketing our front lawn…I think of Chelsea. The yard looks like a winter wonderland…with fluffy snowflakes…no sand, no yellow. Even if you are someone who prefers warm weather…prefers San Diego over San Hartford…you probably enjoy seeing the first snowfall. (As long as there isn’t a shovel involved.)

When Chelsea was little, she would insist that our yard remained undisturbed after a snowfall…that every snowflake stayed in its place. If we were going to have a snowball fight or build a snowman…do it in the side or backyard, please. The sure way to tick her off was to walk across newly fallen snow. ‘Stay off the snow’ was her winter equivalent to someone else’s ‘Stay off the grass.’

Another thing she liked was smooth hair. When Big C was a little c in the 5th grade, she wanted a ponytail everyday and it was my job to do it….sans bumps. I would brush all her hair back and put it in a rubber band. She would take a good look in the mirror and say, “Nope, it has bumps.” So I would redo it…and pull it tighter…pulling her eyes to the side of her head. Then she would look again and say, “Nope. Redo.” So I would keep brushing and sweating…cuz the bus was coming and we were stuck at ‘redo the hair-do.’

But time passes quickly and years flash by…and big C turns 23!!! Now she’s grown and does her own hair. Plus she lives in the south now…so no snow issues there.

But if Big C ever needed me…for anything…I would be there. I’d smooth the bumps from her hair and guard the snow…any day…for Chelsea.

Happy Birthday, Chelsea!

Yes We Can, Barack Obama

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been checking my mailbox. Not for a million dollar check that is just gonna magically appear at my address…I’m not crazy. But I’ve been looking for my invitation to Barack Obama’s inauguration. Okay, call me crazy.

Now that I think about it…there’s probably a good reason I didn’t get that fancy invitation with the embossed seal. What did I ever do for Obama? It’s not like I helped with his campaign, gave him money, canvassed neighborhoods. Heck, I didn’t even vote for him.

It was a taxing decision, but I didn’t support Obama with my vote last November. I do, however, support him now as our President. I wish the best for him as Leader of this great country, and hope like hell he can pull a rabbit out of his hat...fix our economy and keep our military from harm’s way.

As Americans we must unite:
Yes we can….Work together
Yes we can…Give him a chance
Yes we can…Generate new ideas
Yes we can…Give him support
Yes we can…Pray for him

I hear there are 10 official inaugural balls scheduled for tonight…a Young American’s ball, balls for Obama and Biden’s home states, many regional balls for the other states….and a first of it’s kind…a Neighborhood ball which will include Obama’s new neighbors…the Washington District residents and his grassroots followers. Heck, my neighborhood would have held a rip snortin’ ball if given the chance. Obama might want to reconsider hoods. The cool thing is…there will be a webcast to the nation of Michelle and Barack Obama’s first dance. I wonder what dance they’ll do…a waltz, tango, hustle, macarena, chicken dance, electric slide…so many choices.

I have a dream…it’s an inaugural invitation with my name on it…to witness this historic day…I can dream can’t I? (Yes I can.) Regardless…I’ll be there front row center…in my family room facing my television….to watch Barack Obama take the oath of office and become the first African-American to be elected as President of the United States of America.

Yes we can...each be a part of this historic day.

Creatures of the Night

I think I need to move to Arizona or Hawaii. Those states are smart enough not to follow daylight savings time. I hate how we have to set our clocks back in the fall…leaving us with fewer hours of daylight.

Before I know it…it’s 4 pm and it’s dark already. The day flies by as it is with my hectic schedule: The Today Show, Hoda and Kathie Lee, The View, a little Bonnie, 3- 4 soaps and bam…… 4 pm - Oprah. Where did the damn day go?

With Colinboy’s schedule…his daylight hours are even shorter. When you get your ass out of bed between 1 and 2 pm…and nightfall comes at 4 pm…(after some complicated math) he is only getting a couple of hours of daylight. He doesn’t seem to be concerned about this…maybe Midnight is the new Noon and I am just finding out.

I consider those who keep these weird hours to be ‘creatures of the night’….aka vampires, werewolves, and young people. Colinboy is 2 out of 3. Okay, he’s not a vampire…but he is a young person who could use a shave now and then. One thing for sure…these creatures are nocturnal so are very active during the night. And that is a whole different schedule than I keep. Colinboy and I pass each other on the stairs. I’m on my way up to bed… “Buenos Noches, Colinchico” and he’s on his way down... “Buenos Dias MommaGato...Yo quiero Taco Bell.”

Yea…Colinboy and I are related…but definitely birds of a different feather. I am definitely an early bird and Colinboy is definitely a night owl. Not only does Colinboy have a night owl time clock…he has a night owl’s wisdom. That bird is smart enough to know that when he stays up late…he can hoot all night and ole Kat will be fast asleep.

It’s 3 am…Early Bird Kat is fast asleep because she has a worm to get in the morning. And Early Bird Kat is just hoping Night Owl Colinchico isn’t looking for the worm in a bottle of tequila...while she’s taking a siesta.

Ultra Superior Memory

I watched a story on the Today Show about a man with a photographic memory…or better yet…a memory like an elephant. Elephants are known for their memory…which I still have yet to understand. But this guy is way more amazing than Dumbo. Give him a date in history and he can give you the day of the week and what happened on that day. That’s exactly what the Today Show did…and he was right each time.

The ‘experts’ have said his ability is called “Ultra Superior Memory.” That sounds like a made-up name if you ask me. The only thing I’ve ever heard of with a superior memory is the Sealy Posturepedic mattress with the amazing memory foam….that is one smart mattress.

While watching I thought, “I have to remember to google Ultra Superior Memory to see what this memory thing is all about"...so I repeated ‘ultra superior memory’ over and over to myself so I wouldn’t forget. I guess that was a good indication right there…I certainly don’t have Ultra Superior Memory syndrome.

The upside for the Ultra Superior Memory guy…is that he can remember everything. But the down side for the Ultra Superior Memory guy…is that he can remember everything. I don’t remember…did I just repeat myself? Sometimes, it is nice to just forget things. Do I need to remember the kid’s name and address in the 3rd grade who made fun of me and pushed me down on the playground. (Maybe I do…I’m bigger now.)

I wonder what Ultra Superior Memory man would say about October 3, 1981. I would hope that PaulA would say: it was the day PaulA and Kat tied the knot in Burlington, Vermont. I just hope that PaulA is like our friend with Ultra Superior Memory, or even Dumbo…and remembers our anniversary this October.

I might not have Ultra Superior Memory, but this Kat has a long memory when it comes to birthdays, anniversaries, and days her husband didn’t take out the trash.

P.S. I could never write a blog about memory without forgetting my Auntie Anne (my mother's wonderful, funny, and loving sister.) My Auntie Anne had Alzheimer’s. The initial thought of realizing you are losing your memory is sad, but then once it’s gone…it is no longer sad for you, but for the family and friends who love you. One thing I know for sure…she will never be forgotten. Auntie Anne will always be remembered…so many people loved her.

Your John Hancock

Don’t you find it difficult to clearly write your signature on one of those electronic signature pads where you swipe your credit card? My signature ends up looking like a 2 year-old’s scribble. Even when I take my time and carefully write “Kat was here”…it looks like “Kats ears.” Besides, do they even look at what you’ve written?

Apparently not. I know this because I did a little test. I was using my credit card at Target and had to sign the signature pad. So instead of my usual scribble…I carefully wrote “John Hancock.” After all, isn’t that what they’re looking for? My autograph? My John Hancock?

So I waited a couple of seconds to see what the cashier person would say or do. Nothing. No reaction. Maybe that wasn’t her job. Maybe it was the job of the store cop to jump out from behind the men’s pants carousel and tackle me. But nothing happened. No one appeared to question my John Hancock. Geez…They apparently don’t care, or maybe they thought I resembled John Hancock. Similar hairstyle.

Okay, I admit it, I tried this shenanigan another time. (Is there no end to my madness?) I wrote ‘John Hancock’ on the signature pad at Kohls. And I actually saw my John Hancock appear on the register screen right in front of the cashier person…easily readable…handwriting almost as good as my twin...Johnny.

I think I better stop doing this….the FBI might be back at our house (teaser for an upcoming blog)….looking for John Hancock. Then I will be forced to explain: "Special Agent 86, there is someone in town with the name of John Hancock…trying to steal my identity."

May I Help You?

Do you wear something your spouse makes jokes about? PaulA hasn’t said anything derogatory about what I wear (he knows what's good for him)...although he has mentioned a few unpleasantries about a certain flannel nightgown. But recently, PaulA makes comments every time I wear my brown velour warm-up suit.

The suit is a zip-up hoodie and sweat pants. They are like work-out sweats…but plush. I don’t exercise in them…I wouldn’t want the velour to get all sweaty. I basically wear them to hang-out and not work-out, because they’re so warm, cuddly and have an elastic band…the best invention ever...by far.

The first time I wore my warm-up suit, PaulA rubbed my brown velour arms and said, “What’s this?” So I explained velour to him… “duh PaulA, don’t cha know anything about fabric?” He replied, “It reminds me of an 80’s leisure suit…and the UPS.” I said, “Wait a minute…these sweats have to be cool, even Chelsea owns velour sweats. You keep talking like this…and I’ll send you packing.”

Then I remembered that I found Big C’s black velour pants outside her bedroom door…where she throws her cast-offs for the vultures in the house. Maybe PaulA knows something about fashion and fabric. (How is that possible?) Maybe I shouldn’t wear the brown hoodie and pants together. Forget it, I still plan on wearing them…no matter what jokes he makes.

I do notice one thing. For some reason when I wear them…I just feel so helpful. "What can brown do for you?”

Chicken Dog Wants Respect

“Day after Day…same ole meal. What’s a dog gotta do to get some good food around here? I guess pick through the garbage. It’s not my fault Stupid Kat left the trash bag in the garage without hiding it in the trash can. Heck, the bag was at my level and that makes it fair game. And it was game of sorts…chicken. Well…What was left of the rotisserie chicken those stingy fools were eating last night. They could have shared. Geez…every time I turn around they are eating another meal. They need to start looking in mirrors.

So as I was saying…it was there for the taking…practically had my name on it…regular lunch bag with “Duncan” written in red. After all, I am a dog. What do you expect from a four-legged fellow that eats dry dog food every day of his life with a chance to eat something that two-legged humans eat?

That was one tasty bird…nice hickory bourbon flavor. Well at least it was tasty going down. Maybe I should have been aware that you’re not supposed to eat the whole thing…bones and all…but I so rarely get chicken. How’s a dog supposed to know this.

Now I’m trying to figure out why Kat is so mad at me. She’s the numbskull that left it around…she practically killed me. And I was the one moaning all night on the hard wood floor…while her lazy ass slept in her bed with that heated electric blanket she got for Christmas…all I got was some plastic chew toy.

You think Kat would have at least worried about me and stayed up to make sure I was okay. Nope. One of those bones could have perforated my esophagus or my colon. (I’m actually watching those medical dramas Kat has on and not sleeping, so I know a lot of medical terms.)

Okay, I had a little trouble keeping the carcass down so I was forced to regurgitate the bones…a little reverse peristalsis...along with some loose bowels…and she has the audacity to be mad at me. I’d like to see her eat chicken and bones and digest it without having a little discomfort and regurgitation.

I am sick ….and tired of being ‘Duncandog my good dog’ and never causing any trouble. I don’t get any respect around here…or good food. So I am always forced to beg, borrow and steal. But I can also be bribed.

Maybe if I clucked, Kat would look at me in a new way.”

Credit for Over Indulgence

Good thing the period between Thanksgiving and New Years isn’t a day longer. For me…it was a period of total indulgence…when I threw caution to the wind, and cookies, fudge and eggnog to the thighs. I’m hoping indulgence is a virtue…but I’m thinking it probably isn’t…it’s waaay too much fun.

I had a little company with my indulgences. My good friend, C.C…otherwise known as Credit Card…was right there with me. Yep….C.C. and Kat…hand-in-hand…were out of control….

We went for it…hand over fist.
We extended our capacity.
We stretched…our limits.
We lived like we were on easy street.
We lived liked there was no tomorrow.
We stopped at no price.

So now….
We need to trim back.
We need to exercise caution.
We need to get lean and mean.

But…….
We have indebted ourselves
So that we now have low interest
In balancing and weight transfers.
Although on instant approval
And for no annual fee, we would gladly work-out.

Just a minute… I will be the only one working out. My pal, C. C. is not allowed to accompany me on work-outs. She will be staying at home in the bureau drawer wear she belongs. When C.C. gets a work-out…it only means trouble.

Ps. If I could give myself credit for writing such a clever blog…I would. But if you care to give me credit…C. C. and I will gladly take it.

Disconnected Blogger

What’s a blogger to do when you can’t get online? Earlier today I sat down at my computer and assumed the blogger position. Eyes straight ahead…transfixed on the screen and blinking cursor. Arms extended to keyboard…ass spreadin’ out…so far and wide. Keep Manhattan, butt….Anyway….

When I hit “enter”…I got a code on the screen…something about ‘unable to connect’…something or another about ‘DSL problem’…and something about ‘attempted AOL.’ I don’t know. It’s all Geek (I mean, Greek) to me. Even though I’m not that good at foreign languages...I got the message that I couldn’t connect to the outside world. OMG….Now what?

I didn’t want to disappoint the 2 or 3 people reading my blog. How do I connect with my peeps when I can’t connect? Woah…does this mean I will have to actually enter the outside world and talk to people…make a real life connection. Yikes!

I’ve always said that the one person who is the most helpful to me is the person who can fix my computer and connect me to the outside world. Even more than someone who would clean my house, or do my laundry…or even…and this is a big one…go grocery shopping for me. Nope. The computer expert wins Most Valuable.

So before I jumped to call Mr. Computer Expert to help me out…I thought I would try the one thing I know to do…disconnect and reconnect. This is technical stuff, so hang in there. I did a dis- and then a re- with all the cords between the computer and the wireless router. Then I turned the thing back on and the damn thing worked. Wow…am I good! Watch out Mr. Computer Expert. I’m gonna steal your job. But seeing all I can do at this point is perform the dis- and the re- ……..customers would probably tie me up with a computer cord, bonk me with the battery, and serve me to the Geeks.

So lucky for you and me…we are now connected…because I’m reconnected…and not disconnected. Ahhhhh. Wait a minute now…I can hear you thinking; “Kat, you’ve been disconnected for a long time.”

Ugh...

Ten days after Christmas I was back at the Taj MaMall to return purchases. Only returns. The last thing I was interested in…was buying more stuff. In one of George Carlin’s comedy routines he did a funny bit on stuff. “A house is a pile of stuff with a lid on it.” One thing for sure... I don’t need a bit of stuff.

So I entered the stores with my Kat blinders on. I headed right for the registers to put back PaulA’s hard earned money on my bulging credit card. (My credit card and I both over indulged this holiday season.) Even though I couldn’t see the sales around me (remember I have my blinders on), I know there were lots of sales going on…I could just sense it. Dogs have a heightened sense of smell…and Kat’s have a heightened sense of sales. That’s just one of those interesting facts. I kept with my original mission and only made my returns.

The one thing I did notice as I walked through the Taj MaMall was what people were wearing. If I see one more person wearing a North Face jacket and pair of Ugg boots…I’m gonna have a freak-out fit. And that just isn’t pretty. It is amazing how many people own one of those jackets or boots…or BOTH. (Walk through your local Taj MaMall...you'll see what I'm talkin' about here.) I’m not dissing these items. But, what makes that particular brand of jacket and boots the “it” items? Not sure how that works. I wonder if Mr. Ugg boot maker is laughing his heels off. You know he was just messing with us by calling it the Ugg boot…code for the Ugly boot.

So what items was I returning at the Taj? A couple of North Face jackets that I got for BigC and Wishy…wrong color, wrong size, wrong style…wrong, wrong, wrong. Now both girls say they don’t want them. Hey, works for me!!! Was it something I said?

As for the Ugg boots….they have theirs from last year. And as far as I’m concerned… the boots really aren’t that attractive. Those are just my thoughts and I think millions of Ugg wearers probably have something different to say. I only say, "Ugh……….."

Tread Lightly

I have a habit of moving things around so much that I forget where I put/hide them. When people are coming over (Quick, company’s coming!!!) and I want to get rid of the crap/stuff that is piled high on my kitchen desk...I look for places to hide things. I put things in drawers and closets, but the best hiding place I have in my house is in my dining room…behind the drapes. The drapes are long so they “puddle” on the floor. That’s a funny decorating term…but an accurate description. The puddle effect works great for me, because I can throw papers and junk in baskets and stack them behind the drapes. With the puddle thing going…you would never know. (I realize I just outed myself.) Okay, I’m sure you have some hiding place of your own where you stash your trash.

So between Thanksgiving and New Years….I used and overused my puddles. Now that it’s time to get things back out (The party’s over!!!)...I can’t find the stuff I’ve moved. Where are my bills? How do I tell Mr. Mastercard that I am late because I hid the bill? I really want to pay that ridiculously hideously LARGE bill…but it got lost in my puddle. For some reason, Mr. Mastercard wasn’t buying my puddle excuse.

But worst than misplacing the Mastercard bill (heck, no love lost…there will be another one next month)…I’ve misplaced the key to my treadmill. The little dohickey that turns the treadmill on and makes the tread go…so I can go. Go Kat Go. The last time I saw it was just before Thanksgiving when I moved the key from the treadmill so the little kids visiting us wouldn’t get hurt. (I know I frequently hurt myself when I tread.) Now I can’t find the darn key. So because my tread can’t go…my ass grows.

Funny thing is…now my friends want me to come over and lose their treadmill keys. Then they will have a legit reason…as to why their ass is growing. (jk)

Stay tuned to “As the ass grows…..”

The Royal Flush

There’s nothing like a trip to Home Depot….or Lowe’s. You say Burger King…I say McDonalds. (Poor Wendy…left out, again.) Anyway, the other day PaulA and I were in Home Depot and I was admiring all the home owner projects that you can accomplish. That is, if you knew what the heck you were doing…and didn’t have two thumbs. I mean, all on one hand. I’m not very handy with tools, but PaulA is very handy with his.

So while PaulA was looking for a thingamabob in the Thingamabob Isle…I found myself in the Plumbing Isle. Wow…Have you checked out the thrones lately? (A throne sounds so much more pleasing than toilet.) I was surprised how relatively inexpensive they were. (Considering the price per flush ratio.) So as I was perusing the thrones, I began picturing myself reigning over the land. Hmmmmm…a new throne for Queen Kat. If I did get a new throne…which one would I choose to sit upon. And then I saw it…the best throne in all the kingdom.

It had me at ‘FLUSH’…an American Standard…not to be confused with one of those European Unstandards. This Standard stood out above the other thrones because of its rating…“Rated Best Flush.” The sign on the throne is what impressed me the most:

Virtually clog free
Flushes a bucket of golf balls

The thing flushes a bucket of golf balls!!! What throne can claim that??? FIRST of all…you must be having a bad day at golf if you want to flush a bucket of your golf balls. I’ve heard of getting ticked and throwing your clubs…but flushing? Or…you have a major digestive problem that I can’t really help you with in a blog. And SECOND of all… Did the manufacturers really test their product to make sure it can flush a bucket of golf balls. Come on…maybe mini chocolate golf balls from the candy store…but Pro-V1 top of the line golf balls? That’s the ultimate hole in ONE.

So I grabbed PaulA and told him about the amazing throne that could flush a bucket of golf balls and he thought I was kidding. Me, kidding?? I was just so impressed by its golf ball claim….PLUS the throne comes with a 10 year warranty. Wow, that’s a lot of golf balls over ten years and really lowers the price per flush.

The Royal Flush…just perfect for Queen Kat…and just perfect for PaulA when he’s mad at his golf balls…cause they aren’t going where he wants them to.

The New Frontier

Remember reading about the new frontier in history books…the time when Americans headed West to find gold, discover their fortune, and make a new life? They were pioneers of the the wild, wild west. Go West, young man. One prominent pioneer…a coonskin cap Davy Crockett.

It has been hundreds of years since we’ve forged into new territory…although I would consider the Internet…a new frontier. And we are the pioneers of wild, wild cyberspace. Go Cyberspace, young man. One prominent pioneer…Big Wig Bill Gates.

Back in the day, pioneers headed out in their covered wagons to unchartered territory…to carve out land…set up a home…and build new towns. Even though it was the wild west, the frontier did have some order. They had a sheriff in town…and a deputy…to keep the crazies in line…to lock up the town drunk, or town bully.

Now in the day, cyberpioneers have headed out with their personal computers…to unchartered territory and set up Facebook, MySpace, YouTube, chat rooms, blogger sites and porn sites. Our wild cyberspace, however, has no sheriff or deputy. This new frontier is totally unpoliced…so anything goes…and everything does. So I’m just saying….maybe we need a sheriff in cyperspace…to lock up the cyperspace perves and bullies.

I must leave you now to ponder that great analogy while I head for unchartered territory…my laundry room. I have to coral the socks that are running wild in my dryer…before one turns up missing. There’s a new sheriff in town. I am, however, having a difficult time heading into this new frontier. For some reason…all I want to do is watch a western.

Happy New Year '09

A brand New Year brings resolutions. What are yours??? Here’s a list of things I resolve to do in 2009….from A – Z.

In 2009………

I won’t act so asinine
I will prepare my turkey with brine
I won’t kick my canine
I will continue to drink and dine
I will treasure and enshrine
I won’t stand behind an equine
I won’t get a fine
I will support the gline
I won’t ingest haline
I will remember to relax and incline
I will find a rhyme for jine
I will meet Kevin Klein
I won’t get out of line
I will dig in a mine
I will go to bed after nine
I will always express my opine
I will not ponder or pine
I will drink vodka and quinine
I will rotate and realign
I will train my swine
I won’t use rope, only twine
I will be your Valentine
I won’t blubber and whine
I will kick Xine
I won’t Yine
I will be a fine Zine

Now that I have put my resolutions for 2009 in print and made them public….I have put pressure on myself to come through. I admit, however, my first resolution on the list…will be the most difficult.