FBI Ma'am

Our door bell rang. Through the glass window around our front door, I saw a man standing there. I had never seen him before, so I wasn’t gonna open the door. He spoke through the glass, “FBI ma’am. I’d like to have a word with you.” That happened. I can’t make this crap up.

No I haven’t done anything more unusual than the usual. (Wait, there were two times I wrote “John Hancock” as my signature on those store signature pads…but come on man…I was just messin' around.) Thank the Lord…it was something else. The FBI had questions about the people who used to live next door.

You might remember…we had sketchy neighbors that moved out in the middle of the night. Honest, we live in a nice neighborhood with decent people, but scam artists are everywhere. Take Bernie Madoff, the ultimate scam guy with a ponzi scheme…(not to be confused with Fonzi from Happy Days.) The Fonze would never do anything like that.

So the FBI man thought he could enter my house and talk to me. “Geez Agent Thompson, just because you have a badge, a car, a gun, and the phone number to the FBI headquarters (that I called)…I’m supposed to believe you. Like I’m still supposed to open my door and let you in. No way.”

I did eventually cooperate…but I did not let him in my house. I told him I would step outside the front door and answer his questions. I had to be cautious. Colinboy and Wishy were home and what if this guy was really some crazy person…wanting to attack my computer and erase all my blogs? Oh, and hurt my children. I would have a real problem with both.

So the Fed Agent had numerous questions…which I answered after he assured me that the sketchies weren’t dangerous….and not gonna come looking for me down a shady suburban white picket fenced manicured lawn lane. They were just your typical scammers. I assured Agent Thompson, “I could recognize the sketchies if I saw them again.”

I haven’t heard any more from the FBI (or the sketchies, thankfully) since that day. So I guess the coast is clear. I just hope I don’t ever have to identify them in a line up. How credible of a witness will I be…when I show up at headquarters with 4 pairs of eye glasses hanging off me?

96 Hour Nap

Recent Headline: Miracle Recovery Astounds Man’s Family. California man wakes up from coma after 96 hours - just before family decides to take him off life support.

They say 96 hours like it was an eternity. Heck, if you divide that by 24…you only get 4 days. Who gives up all hope for a loved one in 4 days? The family is ready to throw the towel in on his life after 96 hours? Do they have the grave digger on speed dial or what??

I might understand that if you’re in a coma for 4 months…your family’s hopes are dashed. And after 4 years your family’s hopes are crushed. But 4 days? It takes longer than 4 days to get over a bad cold. It makes me wonder what the family’s intentions were. Heck, he was 56…not 96…he still has a lot of life left in his life tank. Which brings me to two words…Life Insurance, Baby. Okay that was 3 words, but you know where I’m headed here.

Was the family looking at this as an opportunity to cash in or cash out? “Hey, It’s our lucky day…we can just pull the plug on pops here, instead of the other option of making it look like a random accident, or an incident with an intruder. All we have to do is cut the circuit. How easy is this!”

Having life insurance can be a slippery slope. Luckily for me, PaulA doesn’t have major amounts on my head. He might be better off with me alive than dead. I have to be worth something. I do make a mean meatloaf.

I know it’s a good thing to have life insurance…and very important, especially if you are young and want to make sure your family is provided for. That way Junior can continue to sit in the house and play video games all day. The downside is that your life can be reduced to a prime number.

If that was me and I woke up to my family with the plug in their hands…I would be pissed off. Especially after learning they were calling it over…after 96 hours. That’s like taking away someone’s food because they didn’t finish it in the amount of time you’d expect…Wait, that was the waitress at dinner last night. Our waitress might be related to them.

If I was this man (thank god I’m not) I would let my family know that my coma was a test and they all failed miserably. An "F" for "Fat chance of getting my life insurance." I would let them know that I had them all on ‘watch.’

Should I have the sudden mishap of being in a coma for 4 days…please give ole Kat some more time before pulling the plug...sometimes I like a good nap.

Wrap Your Head Around This

I now watch the TV show, “The Office.” Okay I know…I’m lame for just watching it now after 5 series. But I’m a huge “Grey’s Anatomy” fan and “The Office” competes for the same time slot. With a DVR…I can have my Grey’s and Office too.

Anyway, I wish I started watching sooner, ‘cause I think it is a riot. Sometimes I’m not sure if the show is about employees in an office or students in the first grade. I remember working in an office…a long time ago as a systems analyst for an Insurance company in Jacksonville. There were 8 men in the department and Kat…the token female. It was actually fine; they never shot plastic darts at me. Otherwise I might cry. We weren’t as juvenile as “The Office.”

On the show, they do things like take naps under the conference table, have duels, and use office-speak. You know office-speak…when they talk in ridiculous phrases. Once I overheard a pinstriper use more office-speak in a conversation than should ever be allowed. His mouth should have been stapled once he hit the limit. His conversation went like this:

“Harry, I’d like to speak to you for a moment offline. I want to stir the pot a little and pick your brain. We need to think outside the box. I hope you can wrap your head around the idea. I know it’s a hard subject to wrap your head around. I’ve tried to wrap my head around it too. I guess I was just trying to think outside the box. (Okay, maybe I threw in a few redundancies…for effect. I like to be redundant. Just ask my kids.)

It’s a good thing I don’t work in an office anymore. If I heard such talk, I would commit office penacide…which we all is know is…poking someone’s eyes out with a company pen. But maybe I need to wise-up …after all, I haven’t worked in an office in a long time. (Come on Kat, what do you know about office stuff.) Maybe office-speak is protocol now.

But, please tell me…How are you supposed to get any work done…let alone stir a pot…when someone has just picked your brain and wrapped your head outside a box? Wouldn’t you have a monster headache?

Going Ape

I’m sure you’ve heard about the woman in Stamford, CT whose pet orangutan, Travis, went crazy…or to put it in mammalian context….went ape shit. It seems dear Travis had been a good ape all is life…and a TV star in Old Navy and Coke commercials. He even liked drinking wine out of long stemmed glasses and surfing the internet. WOW, Travis could be related to me. He was living La Vida Human.

But the other day Travis lost it and mauled a woman who was visiting. His owner and neighbors were shocked…they never thought a mild manner ape like Travis could do such a thing. Hey, I don’t understand the perplexity here. It was only a matter of time before Travis revolted and kicked the human life style.

“They” tried to come up with rational reasons as to why Travis would attack. Maybe he didn’t recognize the woman visitor’s new hairstyle (sometimes my hairstyles are unrecognizable). Maybe it was his lyme disease giving him mood swings (not the typical swinging he was used to). Or maybe it was a reaction to the xanax he was given. ( xanax??) But let’s remember the ape was an ape…a freaking animal. Let’s be real. I’m not quite sure why people are surprised when a wild animal acts like a wild animal. They are not civilized humans …even though at times they might act more civilized than some humans.

I do feel sorry for the woman who was mauled by the 200 pound ape. I am not making light of how horrifying an experience this was for this woman. But I also feel sorry for the ape. Did he ask to live in a house of humans and live a droll human existence…when he could have been back home swinging around and eat bananas all day?

Think about it this way: You’re a human and one day an orangutan enters your house and throws a leash around your neck and drags you into the rainforest to live with all the other orangutans. They think you are cute and put you in shows at the all the orangutan get-togethers. They teach you how to swing from branch to branch through the forest, build nests in trees, eat tree bark, figs and insects. Then one day…you’ve had enough monkey business…you’ve reached your limit…you’ve eaten your last insect…so you go human whack-job crazy.

You stop thinking orangutan and start thinking human. That last insect you ate two hours ago had a strange effect on you and made you take a closer look at the absurdity of your existence. So you grab the knife you found on the forest floor and cut yourself down from the treetops. If confronted by an orangutan, you are prepared to use it to get the hell out of there.

All you really want is to sit in a recliner with an HDTV in front of you, watch the Bruins on ESPN, and drink a Budweiser. Is that so much to ask?

Let’s realize…Humans just want to be humans…and Apes just want to be apes. And girls just want to have fun. It is nature’s way.

Tick Tock

They say time flies…and for the most part I would agree with that. But then there are times when time just stands still. You can check your watch and swear the thing is broken. There are no ticks…let alone tocks occurring. Mickey’s ears are not moving.

The times that seem never ending are a lesson in endurance. A red light at a 5-way intersection. Root canal. A thunderstorm during an outdoor concert. A chewing-out session from your parents. Any movie with English subtitles. Confession. And the real reason for this blog. The Academy Awards.

Waiting for an award to be presented at the Academy Awards (that anyone cares about) takes forever and two days. The best part of the show is the beginning when the host does some song and dance routine. Then they quickly throw a bone…or an Oscar…and present the award for Best Supporting Actress. I know they do this to suck you in…because the next three hours stand still. They present awards for shorts, longs, documentaries, art direction, make-up, set design, light, screen play, adapted screen plays, visual effects, sound mixing, editing, original score, tributes, foreign film…and more. OMG stop the madness. I’m getting old over here.

I guess most people watch The Academy Awards to see what the beautiful people are wearing. The actors and actresses try to make a fashion statement: “Tonight I’m wearing a strapless champagne-color beaded Marchesa gown, Prada high-rise heels, and chunky bling by Tiffanys.” I have my own fashion statement: Tonight I’m wearing an off-the-rack flannel 3-button nightgown from Kohl’s, fuzzy bunny slippers by Target and JC Penney robe.

The important awards aren’t presented until a few minutes before the show ends. “May I have the envelope, PLEASE!” I am so freaking tired of waiting for them to get to the punch line…the climax of the show…the Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director and Best Picture. I’m just afraid that I might nod off and miss what I have been waiting up for…actually, that wouldn’t be the first time. Heck, when it is midnight here…it is only 9:00 pm at the Kodak Theatre. My bunny slippers want to hop upstairs to bed when the beautiful people are just kicking up their Jimmy Choo’s.

Oh, I just remembered another thing that is way too long, very draggy and should be cut short…this blog. Tick Tock.

First Car

Everyone remembers their first car. Mine was a used and abused vintage red Volkswagen Beetle…a cute car in a beat-up sort of way. And not like the ones you see around today with the little vase and flower. It had a lot of duck tape and bonding…and my flower was a sticker: Flower Power.

I was in college and found it in the classified section of the newspaper. It was just the right price listed at 450 dollars. My mother went with me to oversee the transaction. I got there and surprisingly found out it was a stick shift. (Oh, so that’s what they mean by manual transmission.)

My new dilemma was how to get the car home. The man I bought it from gave me a dry run with a trip around the block. Then it was my turn. I drove that bucking bronco home with my mom riding shot gun...I can still see the panicked look on St. Alice’s face.

The car had a few charming idiosyncrasies. Like the little fuses kept blowing…so I had to constantly replace them...that is, if I wanted to listen to the radio, have headlights or windshield wipers. Then there was the little problem of keeping the passenger door shut. But after tying a rope around the door handle and then to me…problem was solved. As long as I didn’t fly out the door with it.

When I graduated from college I sold the car for 200 dollars…(I had to take off a few bucks for wear and tear.)…and bought a brand spanking new blue Datsun B210 complete with 48 car payments. 3 weeks later…I bought the exact same car again, after the original was totaled. Notice I didn’t say: I totaled it. It was parked outside a house during a party and someone else had the honors.

I remember PaulA’s first car…a tan Horizon company car. Cute little shit box. He had it for a year or so before he totaled it. Notice I said: He totaled it. At least my car was parked when it was totaled, the honors were all his.

Your first car, no matter how bad it looked, is something you fondly remember…it put you on the road to freedom.

Before and After

“They” say a President ages 2 years for every year in office. Heck, that’s a reason right there to not be president after I become an empty-nester. I’ve seen the comparison pictures of George W. Bush-before and after his two terms. Clinton-before and after his two terms. And Obama-before and after the election. I cry foul.

I think it is unfair to put those pictures side by side. Most people will age after 8 years. Unless, of course, you are Cher…after 8 years you look 10 years younger. Cut the Presidents some slack. I do admit, however, the presidency is a stressful job which can facilitate the aging process. But a lot of aging has to do with the luck of the draw…the strength of the jeans that carry your DNA.

Damn glad no one is putting up ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures of Kat. Kat before blogging and Kat after blogging.

‘Before’ picture: active and athletic looking, brown hair flowing, long legs toned and tanned…Sorry… I’m describing Cindy Crawford.

‘After' picture: ass spreadin’ out (so far and wide), blank aged facial expression, hair color: hairdresser’s secret. (If she divulges …she might be found face down in a bucket of hair dye.)

Okay this is off topic…but it just came to me. I hope the reason they call it hair dye doesn’t have anything to do with years of applications. In other words, I hope hair dye doesn’t make you die. Cause of death: Loreal Medium Brown No. 17. When I’ve called to schedule a dye-job…I never realized until now, what I was signing up for.

So Clinton was totally white after 8 years, but heck…wouldn’t ya think he was gonna turn white, regardless of whether he was a slimy disgusting womanizing president or just a slimy disgusting womanizing common man?

And just because Obama has some white hair mixed in…doesn’t mean the past 4 weeks of presidency has aged him. It probably has something to do with his parents. But I am sure that the “No Drama Obama” thing helps. “They” also say…surrounding yourself with a group of friends can help to decompress you...reduce stress...thus slow down the aging process.

“I’m available, Mr. President…I can be a friend. But please don’t confuse my ‘before’ picture with my ‘’after’ picture and think I can play basketball with you…you’ll have to get some other peeps for that.”

Say What???

There are some words when said, prove you are an old fart. No hiding the fact. The other day I said OUTLOUD, I got my glasses at the ‘dime’ store. Say What??? As soon as I said it…I wanted to retract it. Pull that word from the air and stuff it back in my mouth. I knew I sounded like I was 94 years old…something my Grandmother would say. Okay, we don’t have Five and Dime Stores anymore. Now we have Dollar Stores. And before we know it … it will be the Five and Ten Dollar Store.

Here’s another disclosure. When describing what Duncandog did a few weeks ago…I used the word “conniption.” Heck, you would have had a conniption fit too if your dog ate a whole rotisserie chicken carcass and used your kitchen rug as the back lawn. But you might not call it that.

So Duncandog was in “hot water” with me…which is just another outdated phrase that shows my age. Over the years the kids have learned that expressions used with the word “water” are not good… “You’re in deep water!”, “You’re barely keeping your head above water”, “That excuse doesn’t hold water”, “Don’t throw the baby out with the water.” (Nice imagery.)

They do like some of my expressions: “Over time, he went to pot.” No kids, he wasn’t smoking the stuff…the guy looked like crap. I hope that never happens to you and you go to pot. It’s not as good as you might think.

I have many old time expressions that I have inherited from my folks….Wait, I mean my parents. Who says “folks” anymore??? Not the kids…they say ‘rents. Only old folks say “folks.”

It could be worse…I could really be showing my age:
“O pity me, let me not perish. Darest I say, I dost write another silly blog for thou.”

That is something my folk’s folk’s folk's folk probably said…without the blog part, of course.

Great Minds Think Alike

Not only do couples start to look alike after being together for so long…but they think alike. One Christmas PaulA and I randomly got each other Bose CD players…same color. Last Christmas we got each other Mercedes coupes….okay I lied on that one, but last Valentines Day we chose the exact same cards...for Sweet Wish and each other.

This Valentines Day we actually bought…different cards for each other. At a Valentines dinner that night, PaulA made a disclosure (or confession) to our table of friends… “Kat doesn’t know this but when she was taking Duncan to the groomer this morning, I ran to Brooks and bought her Valentines Day card. (Oh PaulA…say it ain’t so…you got my card last minute!)

Very Interesting. After dropping Duncan off at the groomer in the morning, I ran into the CVS to get a Valentines Day card …for PaulA. (That morning I realized I didn’t have a card for him. I had looked earlier, but decided to keep looking…seeing I had so much time.) Whoops…I never purchased one.

There I was at the CVS on Valentines Day morning…Kat and 3 desperate men looking for cards for their wives. I was so embarrassed. One man said to me … “I gotta tell you…you’re the first woman I’ve seen buying a card on Valentines Day.” I was shamed into leaving CVS, so I went across the street to Brooks. Apparently I just missed PaulA leaving with my card.

After PaulA finished making his disclosure at the table…I made mine: “PaulA doesn’t know this but I was at Brooks this morning getting his card………” Great minds think like.

Seeing we think so much alike, maybe next year we’ll telepathically, do the same thing for Valentines Day…and buy each other diamond watches.

Computer Talk

Do you mind talking to a computer? I despise it…to put it hatefully. When I call a business, I want to talk to a real person. The so-called options they give…don’t always apply. If they only had the option: Press 5 for…complaints about business who won’t let you talk to a person….I might feel better.

When I can’t get around the computer…it yanks me off…so I start experimenting with my language. Voice recognition taken to a higher (or is that lower) level. Sometimes I say “@$!*&” just to see if that registers with anything. I guess computers are not programmed to recognize swear words. Hey, if I was a computer programmer…I would have a little fun with that when no one was looking over my shoulder.

The other day I called information for a phone number, but for some reason got to laughing. Probably because my mouth was full of food. The computer apologized that it couldn’t understand me…which made me laugh harder. I was in one of those stupid laughing jags that is very fourth grade…but heck, fourth grade was so much fun.

Then I decided to act my age and not Duncandog’s age…and speak clearly to the computer (after all, they do threaten that the call is being recorded.) So I asked for the number for “Jones” and the computer responded: “I’m sorry did you say Heizenhowerstanski?” I yelled into the phone: "Hello, you !%$^!”!@ computer person…Do Jones and Heizenhowerstanki sound similar?"

Sometimes there is just no getting around it…you have to go through 10 different options with a computer before getting an actual person. Many times I just hang up because I have started to pull my hair out…and then I remember I hate wearing hats.

Maybe I should have options for my own voicemail.

“This is Kat…in order to serve you better please choose one of the following options. Please listen carefully to all of the options before choosing.

Press 1…to tell Kat you love her blog.
Press 2…to get kat’s blog address.
Press 3…to give to the katOUT Fund.
Press 4…to join the katOUT Fan Club.
Press 5… to tell Kat you love her blog.
Thank you and goodbye………katOUT”

Happy Valentines Day-Happy Birthday

Goodbye S. Farcus. Who you ask is S. Farcus? That would be Colinboy’s other persona…the one he introduces when he encounters the bar bouncer. Today is not only Valentines day, but Colin’s 21st birthday….so Kiss off…young Farcus!

This Valentines Day couldn’t be sweeter for Colin…turning 21 and becoming legit in all 50 states including Puerto Rico. Saweeeeet!!! I think I can predict where Colinboy will be celebrating his birthday tonight. My crystal ball says: “Colinboy at bar in Boston.” (My crystal ball speaks in broken English.)

Not that Colinboy is a bar fly, bar rat, or bar cockroach (after all, we are talking the city of Boston)…but reaching the legal age of 21 is a milestone and a rite of passage. He now has the lawful right to high five the bar bouncer at the front door…flash his id…and order up a drink. “Bartender…give me a bottle of your finest Bud.” On a college kid’s wallet…he won’t be there long.

I was thinking now that Colinboy is 21, I should probably stop with the boy part I’ve attached to his name. But after 21 years…old habits are hard to break. I realize that when he approaches 30…it might be a little strange.

The problem for me is that it doesn’t seem that long ago that Colinboy was toddling around in his Ninja Turtle pajamas…carrying his sippy cup. Fast forward to Feb 14th, 2009. News flash Kat…Colinboy’s sippy cup contains beer.

Happy 21st Birthday Colin….Happy Valentines Day…Happy Legit Day.

Best In Show

Congrats to Stump who fetched “Best in Show” at the Westminster Dog Show. Good Dog Stump. He’s ten years old…a senior…but still has that something extra. He gives all seniors some hope.

I hear Stump was brought out of retirement for the contest. (Stump and Brett Favre…both looking for attention by threatening to retire.) Duncandog is also an old dog of 10 years…but the similarities between Dunks and Stumps probably ends there. Duncandog’s looks are so Bow Wow now that he would need an Extreme Makeover before he ever walked the Westminster carpet.

I was just thinking there should be a show called: Extreme Makeover-Going to the Dogs Edition. (People would beg for it…I just know it.) My little rump roast, Duncandog, is a scruffy looking dog right now and could use “the works.” He hasn’t gone to the groomer in 8 weeks and that is really too long for him…if you know what I mean. He is actually going this Saturday which will be extra sweet for me on Valentines Day…’cause he is smelling rank and file.

I really think Duncandog wants to get a make-over…that’s why he is purposely running into walls and doors. A Duncandog makeover: A tight clippers cut…short enough to look coiffed and reveal his curvaceous body…but long enough to still have his Portuguese curls. He’s got a natural permanent wave so he won’t have to spend time with curlers under a hot hairdryer. A nail clipping. Extra long nails only work in ancient Asian cultures. He could also benefit with a swish of Scope. He has a nice smile but no more puppy breath. An inside ear job would be a bonus too…No Westminster dog has hair growing out of his ears.

If Duncandog was ever in a dog show…he would have a leg up on his competition. I’m sure the judges would be captivated by the nice sway to his hips. He might be in need of a hip replacement in a couple of years…but right now it seems to be working for him.

I just was thinking I better get myself into the beauty parlor so Duncandog doesn’t start looking better than me. We both have the shaggy look going, but his grooming will definitely give him the edge. Doesn’t Duncandog know that a dog and his owner are supposed to look alike. I swear that dog is always trying to one up me.

Stay Tuned

Parents with young kids know that taking a road trip with them can be a very trying time…to put it mildly. I remember trips in the minivan to visit Nana and Papa in Vermont…enjoying the scenery as we drove merrily down the road. No outbursts, no fights, and no calls for food, drink, and bathroom. Okay we were gone all of 5 minutes.

But the infamous question was ALWAYS: “How long before we get there?” I would then feel the need to explain distance and relative speed. Their eyes would glaze over with a case of TMI. Don’t be so cerebral Kat. What do they know about time? Heck, the week before Santa comes is a freaking eternity for them. They just know at this minute they’re not having fun…and the last minute…they weren’t having fun either. How could I get across to them the length of time it takes to drive there...in kid terms?

Then it came to me…relate time to their favorite TV show…Full House. “Kids…It takes 8 shows of Full House, back-to-back, to get to Nana and Papa’s house.” A Full House marathon…they should understand that. Fifteen minutes later I heard: “How many shows left now, mom?”

Road trips got easier when we purchased a Video/TV and could pop in a VHS Disney tape to distract them. We’d strapped down the large unit to the console between the front seats to keep them occupied. We always hoped that it was securely tied…so if we had to stop short…it didn’t end up smashing their heads.

Kids and parents today have it made. When my sweet niece NatalieBoo comes to visit us from Vermont she is all settled in with a DVD player and earphones so Sistersledge and Daryl to-the-third power have it easy! Some cars have the DVD built it…taking out risk of injury from flying televisions to children seated in the back seat.

By the way…it took me half a show of Full House to write this blog. Big sister, D.J., caught little Michelle Tanner cheating in a game of Candy Land. Jesse and Danny are planning a surprise party for Joey, but Michelle spills the beans…..Stay tuned.

Next time I promise to give my blog more time…at least an entire length of a Full House Show. Maybe you’ll find out what punishment that brat Michelle receives for cheating and ruining surprises. And maybe this blog will be better.

Territorial Kat

Here I go on a rant…but I can’t help myself. And so close to Valentines’ Day …you would think that I would feel the Love. Maybe I should sugar-coat my rant, but I can’t…I’m not that sweet.

Recently I was looking for Valentines Day cards in a Hallmark Store. Reading through the different cards…looking for that special card…cuz I care. I’m MOB…Minding My Own Business…and not bothering a sole…sort of like Switzerland…when a woman in a fur hat appears next to me to look at cards. The USSR has set its sights on the Swiss.

I am very aware of her presence because she has a dry hacking cough…which becomes very irritating. So I move a little to the left to get some personal space…and then she moves too. I read the cards in front of me…then move left again...she follows. I know I shouldn’t be territorial over the cards, but I had staked out my area…and the woman was invading…reaching across my space. She was moving her troops into my beloved Switzerland. She better be prepared for a battle, if she thinks she is gonna take over my side of the cards.

I swear she started coughing more and more because she thought it would get me to move. I was on to her battle tactics, so I refused to budge. I might catch pneumonia from her…but I was holding ground even though I had read everything in front of me…twice over.

So I waited her out…held territory and eventually she retreated. I had won the War of the Cards. I was free to relax and move again. I decided to celebrate with a few Toblerone triangles and a cup of Swiss Miss. But wait…she’s re-organizing her troops and striking back with a covert attack to the territory I just left. AAAhhhhhhhhh…

I hope my family likes my Valentines Day cards. I had to endure battle and germ warfare...just to send them the very BEST.

Heave-ho

I’ve been thinking about my recent resolutions for the New Year. Get in shape. Learn to play the accordion. Write better blogs. I should add one more…Hoe out my closet. Not to be confused with the other “ho.” I don’t have ho clothing…ho’s don’t wear tweed or plaid. Unless it has slits.

I need to get rid of things that I no longer wear. I have mentioned before that I have packKat tendencies, so I admit that I have things in my closet that have been hanging around for a few years. Most notably, big jackets with padded shoulders…definitely 80’s style…that make me look like a mini-me Steeler’s linebacker. Those jackets need to be given the ole heave-ho. Out-dated clothing is a sure way to know that it’s time to purge your closet. Another way to know is when your entire closet has collapsed on the floor. Dead give-away.

Surprisingly enough, I have come upon a way to clean out my closet AND a way to cut down on laundry. How Kat? How is this possible?

My plan is to pull something from my closet that I haven’t worn in a long time. If I really can’t stand it anymore…won’t be caught wearing it 6’ under…or 5’5”over…then I immediately give it the ole heave-ho.

But let’s say I’m just chillin’…assuming the blogging position…grocery shopping at the Stop and Shop…nothing special happening…like every day of my adventuresome life. Who is gonna care what I’m wearing? At the end of the day, I’ll just take the old stuff off and either…chuck it…or donate it. Genius Kat…no laundry in the basket…and one item closer to a cleaner closet. Sometimes I just amaze myself with my innovative ideas.

One request: If you see me in the Stop and Shop wearing either a mesh shirt, an oversized neck sweatshirt, Guess jeans, or jelly shoes…no snickering, please. Remember…I am not advocating the retro look. I’m in the process of Heave-ho.

I refuse, however, to heave-ho my black Madonna pointed bustier. That definitely stays.

Extra Lbs

I’m throwing in the towel…the sweat towel used during my workouts. (Okay, I don’t really have a sweat towel…I don’t workout that hard.) But figuratively speaking, I’m throwing in the towel.

The Today Show showed today (sorry…had to do that) a segment that has got me wondering: Why bother working-out anymore? The show featured ways to reduce the affects of aging: no sun…no smoking…and extra weight. “They” said you should be putting on weight as you get older, because the extra lbs make you look younger.

So now, it is a comforting thought to know, almost as comfort food is to eat…that sitting at my computer in the ass spreadin’ blogger position is actually beneficial to my looks. Does it mean…the more donuts I eat…the younger I’ll look? I haven’t figured out the donuts-to-age ratio, but I say one thing: Bring on the jellies. Who would have known...a jelly donut a day…keeps the wrinkles away?

Now I don’t have to feel guilty for blogging and missing workouts. I won’t have to tear myself from my computer to exercise and play paddle. My new strategy is to sit in my blog chair with an abundant supply of chocolates and chips beside me. Sweet and salt, the perfect combination…like pb and j …like bloggers and buffoons.

Just one question…How do you tell the extra lbs to stay away from your ass and go directly to your face?

I'm With The Band-Dear Havanah

Would you like to hear new music with a great sounding vibe? THE band to listen to right now is…Dear Havanah. A boston-based rock quintet (that’s 5 guys)…pop music with rock instrumentation and lyrics with universal appeal. On an interesting note….a high note…I’m related to the bass player. (Where else do ya think Colinboy got his musical talent…PaulA? That’s funny!) But relation or no relation, I would be listening to Dear Havanah. These guys are good. How good? Rockin’ damn good.

The cool thing is …you don’t have to take Kat’s word for it…you can find out yourself. Visit their website: dearhavanah.com and check them out. There you can sample songs, view great pics, (you’ll see where Colinboy gets his good looks…okay, give that one to PaulA) and see the band’s schedule of upcoming gigs. Dear Havanah is also great LIVE. If you have a chance to see them…get your rear in gear.

If you can’t get to a concert…their music is available on iTunes. (and Amazon.com) Their new album “Chasing Butterflies” released by Veggie Co Records (awesome record label) is now available. Available 24/7…digital music stores never sleep.

So here is what you do. (If you are from the slow computer skills generation…pay attention here.) Go to iTunes.com and search….Dear Havanah. If you don’t have iTunes, just download it at iTunes.com (Hey, get your kids to help you. I wanna hold your hand…but I can’t….although I happen to like that catchy tune.) BTW…You don’t need to have an iPod for iTunes…you can just download the music to your computer….and listen to it there.

I guarantee that once you listen to Dear Havanah…on iTunes, through their website, or in person…you’ll be saying “I’m with the band.”

Dear Havanah Rocks!!!!

Cutting Back

With the tight economy, everyone is looking for ways to cut back and save money. Starbucks is thinking of saving money by not offering decaf coffee in the afternoon. That would be a big deal to me…if I drank coffee in the afternoon…and if I went to Starbucks.

Why doesn’t Starbucks just tell people they have decaffeinated coffee and give them caffeinated instead? They do that in restaurants all the time. I know this because whenever I'm out to dinner and get decaf...I find myself awake at 3 am counting the hairs on the back of PaulA’s head.

So what things do you do to cut back? Maybe lower the thermostat? That seems to be DuggM’s strategy….he must be a warm-blooded animal…cuz his freezer has ice…on the outside of the door. Maybe you’ve stopped going out to dinner? Or if you do go out…you go to Denny’s Big Boy every other Saturday night to cut back.

I wonder what Donald Trump does to cut back? Maybe buy his wife, Melania Spoiled Rich Girl Trump, fewer carats? I think Oprah could cut back by firing Bob Greene and work-out on her own. Heck, it doesn’t look like her personal trainer is helping her much. The Citibank bigwigs cut back expenses by not getting a new jet. The result of public pressure…certainly not peer pressure.

Believe it or not, I am looking for ways to cut back. I don’t think I’ve bought anything new to wear since Christmas and that was almost 6 weeks ago. I’m convulsing just thinking about it. I also bought a six of Bud the other day instead of Stella…savings $3.50. And a bottle of Gut Rock Blend instead of a smooth Napa cabernet…savings $16.01. Hmm…other than wardrobe and alcohol expenses…not sure where else I need to cut.

Some cut backs are just harder to take than others. I guess I could live without the peanuts in Cracker Jack, but if the company stops putting the toy surprise in their box of Cracker Jack…I’m gonna start a riot.

Phil

You know who I am really mad at right now? That would be Phil.
Not Dr. Phil…that Tall Texan egocentric shrink.
Not Phil Mickelson…that man boob professional golfer.
But…Punxsutawney Phil…that weather predicting rodent.

I hear he saw his shadow on Groundhog Day…and you know what that means. Six more weeks of cold, icy, snowy, stay in the house and live like a groundhog weather. It always seems like every year Phil emerges from his burrow and sees his shadow. No wonder in the movie “Groundhog Day” the weatherman finds himself living the same day over and over again. Year after year…that hog keeps damning us to another 6 weeks of winter. Hey Phil, cut us New Englanders a break here.

By the way, please tell me why a rodent from Pennsylavania gets a whole day. I hear Phil has had a day in his honor since 1841…Martin Luther King just got one in 1986. What’s the deal with that? At least our country made up for their short comings with making the whole month of February, Black History Month.

I was thinking (please, don’t do that, Kat)…Why doesn’t Kat have a day in her honor…Kat’s Day? Let’s see…what would be the perfect day? Feb. 14th? …Nope. Already taken by a cupid with a weapon. March 17th?…Some drunkin’ leprechaun’s got that one. April 1st? …Taken by some damn fool. Every fool has his day.

Alright…that leaves April 11th. Sorry Linnyj…I’m taking your day away. Besides haven’t you had enough birthdays already? They are starting to pile up.

So Punxsutawney Phil…you can keep your day. But I got April 11th and on that day…if I leave my blog chair and step outside and see my shadow…I am predicting 6 more weeks of mindless blogs. And by the way, I also got the whole month of April…Kat’s Crappy Blog Month.

The Law Breaker

I’m not sure about you…but the mere presence of a police car makes me nervous. I immediately tense up once I spy Smokey Bear behind me…even without his blue light going. Instantly I feel guilty…like I just did something to break the law. Kat the Law Breaker.

Geez, what did I do now? I immediately go through my list of possible infractions. Did I run a red light? Nope. That light was a pale red…doesn’t count. Was I speeding? Nope. Every knucklehead drives 5mph over the limit. Did I rob a bank? Nope. Not this week. Could I be wanted in 5 counties? Wait, I do have an evil twin. I know… It's probably the firearms and explosives in my glove box.

So the first thing I do is slow down…even though I’m really a law abiding citizen. I take my foot off the gas pedal and coast. Then I try to display excellent driving skills…drive within the lines…not run a stop sign…not give the finger. But the harder I try to drive properly…the worse I get. I feel the pressure like when I was 16 and took my driver’s test. I start making wide turns, forget my blinker, and run over small children.

This feeling of impending doom, brought on by looming authority, must be how the kids who attended Catholic school felt during handwriting class when they were learning cursive. When the nun stood over their desks with the ruler….waiting to knuckle them when they made a cursive “m” with one too many humps. I hear nothing pisses them off more than a cursive “m” with an extra hump.

The feisty side of me…Rebellious Kat thinks…what if I throw this good driving stuff out the passenger window and put the pedal to the medal and pull a regular O.J. ...have the police come after me in a full-blown car chase. Heck…I’ll take even one for the Catholic kids...knock the nun on her butt and take off down the hall, through the front doors of the school………..Catch Me if you can!!

Sorry. That was just a silly rebellious Kat fantasy. You know this Kat is not that wild and crazy. Although upon occasion I do throw in an extra hump when I sign a note to the kids, “love, mom”…and when I handwrite the sentence: The commanding commando Communist commutes to the commissary as a common commitment with the community of Commandants. The humps just keep coming.

No commmments or commmmmentary, PLEASE!

Go Ask Alice

Are you a weather junkie…the type of person who requires a daily fix of the forecast? You’ve made it your job to study fronts as they develop out of the west and head across the plains. You keep weather records and study the Farmer’s Almanac…even though you don’t grow corn. Some people require detailed weather information so they purchase a weather station for their home. My friend Coleen is so in to weather that when she goes on a vacation…she spends it in front of the TV watching the Weather Channel. She really should have been a weather girl.

We have neighbors on the beach who have a weather station and I don’t understand why. They have a large flag in their yard….so as far as I’m concerned…that is all you need. Their flag is my own personal weather station. If I see the flag whipping around the pole…that means the wind is blowing hard. And if the flag is being blown from the northeast…a doozie storm is brewing. When the wind is blowing from the South...warm weather coming. If the flag is wet…then it is raining outside…duh. Who needs a home weather station when you have a flag?

Besides, you can always get the weather from the local weather people on television. The only problem with that is you have to listen to them crack stupid jokes with the other TV anchor people. Their type of humor is even worse than my blog. (Could it be?) and they really get under my weathered skin when they keep dangling the promise of a forecast after the commercial…just so we have to continue listening to their bad jokes.

Another annoying front is that the TV weather person has 'weather watchers' who email them the weather from their town. "John in Lexington says it is 19 degrees." I don’t know whether it is the crappy weather...or the crappy weather person that ticks me off more. It makes me want to blow a thermostat and storm out of the room.

I suppose I could forget watching the local TV people and just go online and get all the weather I want. Or better yet, I could ask my mom. She can feel rain coming in her bones days before it gets here. Who needs TV forecasters and home weather stations when you have Alice….Go ask Alice.

One Second

Have you heard Miller High Life is planning to run an ad during the Super Bowl that is one second long? That is not a typo…one SECOND. The astronomical cost of a Super Bowl ad might be the driving force behind deciding to only pay for a second of air time but what a genius idea. Heck, they’re already creating a buzz and getting free advertising…even before the ad airs. Give that ad man a raise.

So what will Miller High Life do with their one second? Maybe take a sip from a Miller High Life beer can while flashing the product name? You better not sneeze…’cause you’ll blink and miss it. And don’t even think of looking down to scoop into that taco dip. Even though they can’t say much in one second…it’s all about the subliminal messages anyway.

Remember the subliminal messages the Beatles were embedding in their music? Okay, you might be too young, but that was the buzz back in the day. The song “I’m So Tired” from The Beatles (The White Album) had the words “Paul is a dead man” embedded in it. If you played the song backwards gnidaer peek you would hear that message.

Subliminal messages are very powerful. Maybe that explains whenever I see a Dunkin Donuts I can’t help but go straight to the drive-thru window and order up…the new flatbread combo.

And that definitely explains the reason whenever I’m in the supermarket….why I find myself fighting the urge to yip, lick my chops, and roll over…when I see a box of Beggin’ Strips. Now I’ll have to fight the urge to bring home a six pack of Miller High Life…with my box of Cheerios.

I hate to tell you this…but I have hidden a subliminal message in this blog. From this day forward…it will be hard for you to resist the strong urge…to keep reading Kat’s blog.