Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Midnight at the Oasis

For months, I’ve been contemplating how I could fit the song “Midnight at the Oasis” by Maria Muldaur into a blog. That song is one of my all time favorites. Remember the words? I’m down with any song that’s about a sheik and camels.

So I know what you are thinking, “Kat, so far you really haven’t fit the song into your blog. How are you going to do that?” Easy! Last week Libyan Leader Gaddafi was here to attend the UN General Assembly…and when it turned midnight at the oasis, he was having a difficult time finding a place to send his camel to bed. See how easy that was?

No one wanted the dictator to pitch his tent on their property. Not in Central Park, Englewood, New Jersey, or Bedford, New York. I was very happy to hear how he was not welcomed.

I remember when Colonel Gaddafi kicked the Americans out of Libya in the early 70’s …off of Wheelus Air Force Base. If you're a regular reader, you probably know that my dad was in the Air Force and we lived on Wheelus Air Base in Tripoli, Libya, North Africa when I was in the 6th and 7th grade. It was an amazing experience. …the heat, the dust storms, the loud jets overhead, the Arabs beating the olive trees. As a girl scout on the base (Scouts Honor…I was one) we were always ducking from danger. We were told to wear our membership pins facing the inside of our sash so the 5-pointed star couldn’t be seen…just so they wouldn’t knock one of us poor girl scouts off.

So in the early 70’s Gaddafi insisted the U.S. close the base down. That was then, but this is now. Now it’s our turn to be a bad host. Even as a former girl scout…who used to know how to pitch a tent…I wouldn’t help that terrorist pitch a tent in my backyard either.

Midnight at the Oasis
Send your camel to bed.
Got Qaddafi looking for places, spaces,
To lay his ugly head.

Go along now, Justice is our friend
It’ll point out the way
Go along now, you do not have friends
You do not have friends

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Karaoke Risk

Last week in Stamford ,CT, a young woman was beat up in a karaoke bar by 6 women. Yikes! I’ve heard of getting the ole hook from bad singing, and maybe even a loud gong, but never beat up.

There are times when someone commandeers the microphone and can’t be removed. All they are capable is bad singing and for some reason they don’t know how bad they are, or they don’t care…or they are drunk…or they are drunk, so they don’t care. All combinations are possible. Anyway, I know when these people take the stage, I too feel like beating them up. But I never realized that was an option.

Most of the incident isn’t funny, but you have to admit….on some twisted Kat level it is. The 6 who did the beating probably weren’t music critics anyway, most likely they were just thug girls out on the town…looking to roll a few karaoke bars.

So have you ever exposed your voice in a karaoke bar? It does take a lot of nerve and alcohol…not just for the person singing, but also for the people listening. After a couple of g and t’s, or v and t’s, you really think Beyonce is in the house. You even get up and boogie….okay, I only did that once.

But I have sung karaoke twice. Once in a remote location in upstate New York between Skaneateles and Syracuse. There was 4 feet of snow on the ground, and the place had 15 pick-up trucks parked out front. My friend Tracy and I were so good…they wanted us back every time there was 4 feet of snow on the ground and 15 Ford F10s out front. Wait, that’s a compliment..

The other time I revealed my voice was in Cancun…because the ‘Cancun 10’ made me do it. You know Carrie Underwood’s song, “Before He Cheats?” Well, I did a great job of butchering that song….but with all the tequila and margaritas served…no one noticed how many notes I missed, how many keys I was in and out of. Or that there was a glitch in my pitch …as long as the drinks kept flowing…no complaints.

Now I’m finding out that singing karaoke is risky business. I guess it depends on what establishments you frequent. Next time I sing karaoke I plan on staying away from the rough crowd and singing it safe: Best for me to stick with karaoke with “Prudence at the Rusty Years Retirement Home.”

Monday, September 28, 2009


It is interesting to see how people react when they find out I have a blog. I get the usual questions… Why? How often? Is this contagious…Am I the H1N1Kat?

Typical scenario: I’m at a cocktail party…someone says, “Oh, do you know Kat writes a blog?” Then the conversation stops and heads turn in my direction. Then I answer the obligatory questions. Yes. I’ve been writing for 2 years now…actually September 13, 2007, if you really pretend to want to know. I write most days, except I take the weekends off to goof-off from the serious business of blogging. And I started writing a blog to avoid doing what I should be have doing that day. In a nutshell: Avoidance.

Then I get the follow-up question: Is it a diary? I respond, "Nope." If you’ve read my blog, you know I write about past memories and experiences, but I also write about other topics such as Governor Sanford. So unless I was Sanford's Latin Lover from Argentina having clandestine rendezvous…it’s not a diary. Her diary on the subject of Marshall Sanford is probably way more interesting than my blog. More like a Harlequin novel. Dear Diary…Marshy and I met under the sheets again…..

Jennifer, the interested person, says, “Email me your blog address. I want to read it.” And I rub my hands together contemplating the possibility of a new reader…fresh meat.

So I email Jen the address. And I never hear a word from dear Jen. At the next cocktail party…hehehe…..Jen is there and I get the feeling she’s pulling the “Do I know you routine?” I try to catch her eye to see if she is avoiding me, but there is no eye contact. I even spill a margarita on myself…nothing.

At the Stop and Shop, I swear I see the Jenemy turn and move quickly in the other direction…down the health food aisle. I just know she’s looking for a get-away route. The health food aisle? Who’s she trying to kid? She usually has a crispy crème stuffed in her mouth.

So I have figured it out. She thinks my blog is crap, or I’m crazy, or worse yet……..
my crazy crap is contagious.

Friday, September 25, 2009


Why can we send a man to the moon (and back), send documents through a telephone wire, and invent a pizza with the pepperoni baked in the crust…and not have figured out how to make a one-size-fits-all charger? I ask you why this is. And, Why is this?

Each device I own has its own recharger, so I end up with countless cords. It’s impossible to keep them straight…and untangled. If you go anywhere for an extended period of time you have to remember to bring all your cordage with you. Or you’re left with a dead cell phone, dead Blackberry, dead laptop…and there’s nothing worse than a DOA device.

PaulA, aka Willy Loman, was recently traveling on business and saw that someone had left the hotel room before him with their charger stuck in the wall. You know that person had to be in agony over his loss. I hope he was a fast talker on whatever phone minutes he had left…before the battery died or he died…whichever came first.

Let’s face it. It doesn’t have to be this way. You know there is some geek out there, who’s got it all figured out, and designed the one-size-fits-all charger. But they have him tied up with electrical cords and locked in a cell on some remote island. The universal recharger is the last thing they want out.

Without a universal recharger, the companies have us at their electrical disposal. This is recharger robbery. If we lose it or leave home without it, the first thing we must do is buy another one. You think we could borrow one way…no fit. You think we could use the other 25 chargers we have in a junk drawer…no way…no fit.

Your recharger…don’t leave home without it! When we head out somewhere…it’s imperative to go through a mental checklist. Cell phone - check, Blackberry - check, recharger – check, the baby - check.

If you get to where you’re going and don’t have the baby…bummer. But at least you have your recharger…you can always call the baby.

We need to find that geek…untie him and set him free…so he can set us free from recharger dependence.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

I'm Sorry...So Sorry

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call the President of the United States a liar. It just slipped out. ‘You lie!’ Whoops. Sorry again. Please forgive me.”….Congressman Joe Wilson

“I‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to lay 12 F-bombs in a tirade on the poor unassuming line judge at the U.S. Open…especially on national TV. What I meant to say was 'I’m gonna take this ‘fetching’ ball and show it to your ‘friendly’ face.' Please forgive me.”…Serena Williams

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to jump up from my seat and onto the stage at the MTV Video Music Awards, grab the microphone from Taylor Swift, who just won a Best Female Video Award…and rant on about how good Beyonce is in front of a worldwide audience. What I meant to do was give Taylor Swift a big hug and tell her what a talented young woman she is. Please forgive me.” …Kanye West

What’s going on these days? Why are people so rude to each other? It’s interesting that shortly after a public faux pas…there comes a public apology. You just know that Serena, Kanye, and Joe Wilson have been told by their publicists that they have to apologize …it is required…especially if they want to keep their career and the million dollar deals, perks, and benies. Mea Culpas all around.

So Serena is now…using a different ‘f’ word: ‘Forgive’.

So Kanye is now …singing a different tune. Actually the old Brenda Lee song: “I’m sorry…so sorry…that I was such a fool.”

So Joe Wilson is now...a reformed politician. He knows its political suicide to call the President a liar (unless you’re President George Bush.)

Serena, Kanye, and Joe, are all sorry saps now. Do we believe them? Do we believe they wish they could take it all back? You bet we do. We especially believe they will say anything to get back into our good grace……

They have been reformed. Anything for the Almighty – the All and Mighty Dollar.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

I'm A Believer

OMG! Duncandog can see once again. He has seen the light.

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been wondering about Duncandog. He’s been running into walls and can’t get down the stairs without a few missteps…he misses a stair and ends up crashing to the bottom. OUCH! My first inclination was that he was into the booze again. Since his last stint in rehab he’s been good about staying off the sauce, but I’ve noticed he’s been spending a lot more time behind the back shed.

Then I thought maybe it was his old age showing. Heck, he is 11, which makes him as old as my Dad. Well, my Dad is 77…same thing. Maybe he needs doggie spectacles or Lasik. The eyes are always the first to go…then the knees…then the liver.

But it occurred to me…maybe it could be all the hair covering his face and eyes. So I pulled my own hair in front of my face like Cousin It…and understood why he was acting blind as dear cuz. I immediately scheduled him a visit to the groomer.

And now Duncan sees. He has seen the light…the light of day. Duncandog has been healed through a hair intervention. Wow. What a difference a good haircut makes. It makes life clearer and puts everything into perspective. Amen.

I’m glad I brought him in for a serious hair intervention to help him put his dark world behind and have him step back into the light. Now he will no longer stray and find himself running into the unmanageable walls of life. He will walk confidently in the light on a straightforward path. He will experience a true vision and clearly see the whites of people’s eyes. Duncan’s eyes, the window of his soul, will be seen in return.

Nothing like a successful hair intervention to set you straight. It sure has made a believer out of Duncandog. And made a believer out of me. Amen.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Destroyed Denim

I bought a jean skirt the other day and noticed on the receipt that it was listed as a destroyed denim skirt. And to think I paid real money for it...and not the funny money I ususally use that I print in my basement.

I’ve been noticing a progression in the fashion of the worn look. From brand spanking new…to pre-washed, then faded, then distressed, and now destroyed. What’s left in this vicious cycle of destruction?

If you happened to see any of the clothing during Fashion Week…you would have noticed the slashes and strategic peek-a-boos in the new fashion lines. I’m sure there is a real art to where those slashes and peeks are placed. The holey/peek-a-boo designer makes the big bucks. And they should! Put a tear in some random place that makes no sense…not good. Put a peek in a bad place……..definitely a boo.

Actors and “famous” people are trying to down play how much money they spend during this economic downtime by “disguising” their purchases in unmarked brown bags and buying clothes that are worn looking...tattered tights and jeans with holes. Hey, like we’re falling for those old tricks. I wasn’t born yesterday…or even a bunch of yesterdays before that. But I do know some things like…the cost of sheets go by thread count…and the cost of jeans go by hole count.

Ahhh…the holey jean…not exactly blessed by the Pope. Yep, I once bought jeans that were SO holey. HOW holey were they?…you ask. Let’s just say, they were so holey, I didn’t have to go to church for a couple of Sundays. Ba dum bum.

I don’t mind the worn look in clothing. Hey, I can look as damaged as the next person…just don’t make me dirty looking. ‘Sexy dirty’ is one thing…vavoom…but ‘dirty-bum-on-the-street clothing dirty’…is a cut from a different cloth.

I’m thinking of starting my own line of destroyed jeans…calling it "Obliteration." Nothing like a good Kat scratch to destroy a fabric. That will be $250 bucks please.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Left Behind...No More

Last year I wrote the following blog about Sweet Wish…the one “left behind.” With Bri's brother and sister off at college she was the one left home to take care of Mom and Dad…to take their teeth out and tuck them in at night. The good thing about Bri going to college is she’s no longer left behind. That girl’s got places to be…classes to go to, new friends to make, parties to attend, beers to drink….whoa there…better none of that, Wishy.

I should have been the Octomom…instead of Katomom. I’d still have 5 more kids to go………….

When you are the youngest… the baby of the family…eventually you find yourself at home without siblings. One day you take a look around and say “Hey, where did everybody go?” Being the oldest, I did not experience this, but as a mother whose youngest is now at home without her big brother and big sister…I am seeing things through Wishy’s eyes.

Bri loves having older siblings…but I know she wishes she had someone behind her…following in her footsteps. With Big C and Col away, Bri is the lucky recipient of all our attention…which can be a pain when you are 17. Sometimes all the attention…the spot light or magnifying glass, is a little too much when you just want to chill. When it’s just the 3 of us at the dinner table…Bri has no one else to take questions….so she can just sit there and eat her mashed potatoes in peace.

Now and again, Chels and Col come home and bail her out. Colinboy is always ready to hang-out with her late at night and play video games and Rock Band. And Chelsea is there for the girly stuff. Once before Chels headed back to college she said to me, “Bri and I have to run some errands.” When they returned, Chelsea lectured me, “Mom…Bri needed a manicure and didn't have any high heels…until now.” Then Chels pulled three pairs of heels from her shopping bag: black, red and animal print…nothing but the essentials.

Sometimes being the one left behind …the baby of the family…isn’t so bad when you have siblings like Big C and Colinboy to look after you…and to check-up on mom…to make sure she is doing her job. Lucky Wishy!

Thursday, September 17, 2009


I’ve noticed that Duncandog is talking more these days. Normally he’s a very quiet dog…but he seems to have discovered his chops.

Usually if I don’t see Duncan patiently waiting by the door to go outside, he’ll just let out a short, quiet bark. And then when he gets tired of waiting on the slow service around our joint…he’ll get a little louder. “Hip hop, Kat…Get your ass over here and let me out.”

But what is killing me these days…is that Ducandog will just be lying around the house and let out a big bark…for NO apparent reason. The house is quiet and he appears to be resting and lounging……and then he gives a deep, powerful, emphatic, resounding, booming, wake-the-dead bark. And I’m talking loud. I am so startled by it that I almost spill my glass of wine. Wait, did I just say that out loud? I mean, almost spill my can of soda.

So I go over to see what he’s up to and he’s just lying there doing nothin’. “What’s the darn dealio Duncan? You’ve been feed, had water, and been outside to do your dooty. What the hell do you want from me now, Duncandog?” Being the understanding and sympathetic dog owner that I am, I’m trying to understand him…trying to understand the Duncanese language.

Actually, I think I’ve deciphered Duncanese. I think he’s telling me he wants attention. He wants someone to notice him…someone to talk to him.

You know that’s the problem with dogs today…they have no manners. Geez, doesn’t Duncandog knows it’s rude to bark for attention? He should take a page from Kat’s book…I usually just jump up and barking. Works every time.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

This is McWar

What does a burger…a chicken…and a smelly spice…have in common? A burger-curry chicken war, of course.

Have you heard about the spicy lawsuit - McDonalds vs McCurry? It seems the owner of a small curry restaurant in Malaysia operating under the name “McCurry” (serving Malaysian Chicken Curry) got McDonalds…McMad…over its use of “Mc.” So McDonalds Mcsued McCurry.

McDonalds wanted sole rights of the prefix “Mc” to protect its brand image, but the Federal Court ruled they didn’t have exclusive rights. The two Mcs have been battling each other in court for 8 years and McCurry won. The final stinger for McDonalds was they had to pay McCurry’s legal costs for the 8 year suit. That definitely had to sting. Nothing like the courts adding curry to injury. Or curry to the special sauce.

I’m sure there are a lot of people who like hearing about the “little man” Mcsticking it to the “big man.” I would agree that it does seem a little presumptuous for McDonalds to think it should be the owner of a prefix. What if your name is McMann? They would have rights to part of your name?

Think about the Apple people. iThis and iThat is everywhere…and not just for iPods and iPhones. It’s seen in a lot of advertising and products not related to Apple. You don’t see the Apple people getting iPissed-off over the use of “i.” iThink not.

I do agree, however, if you did a word association with people…most would think “i” was Apple…and “Mc” is McDonalds.

I don’t, however, think McDonalds should get McWorked up over everything. No one is gonna mistake a curry chicken for a happy meal…………

iMcKat…signing off

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


I admit that I missed it…I missed the boat. And I’m not usually that slow…except during the month of September…and the months of January, March, and June.

If your favorite number is 9…then last Wednesday was your day. Your raisin in the sun. The pinnacle of your peak. The rain on your parade. Wait, scratch that last one. I hope you played the lottery or did something involving Lady Luck (nothing nasty please)…cuz if you were gonna come close to winning…the odds were definitely on your side that day.

It would be cool to be born on September 9, 2009. Just think about filling out forms with the birth date…9-9-09. Easy to write…easy to say…easy to remember. I suppose there are other cool birthdates this decade…1-1-01…...2-2-02…3-3-03...etc. etc. I’m not sure about the birth date 6-6-06. A kid born with that many 6’s is destined to be a little devil. He/she/or it might also have a hard time getting hired. Employers would think they were possessed.

If you’re a regular blog reader (and god will bestow good things on you because you are)…you would know that my favorite number is 11. So November 11, 2011…or 11-11-11…is the primo day for MOI. I wonder what day 11-11-11 is during the week. I guess if I was an idiot savant…and not just an idiot…I would know that already.

I’ve got to start working on an 11-11-11 special event….I’ve only got 2 years to plan. Maybe a house party, maybe a night at the craps table, maybe a night at the craps table and I win a house. Come on 11…come to Kat!!!

Monday, September 14, 2009


Back from Napa Valley. If you haven’t been to Napa at least once in your life…you’ve gotta put it on your bucket list. While in Napa you will notice everyone is happy, laid-back, and healthy. After a couple of buckets of cabernet or chardonnay…you too will have that glowing, happy, healthy, wine-kissed look.

Driving along Route 29 through the heart of Napa…I’m wondering about the other people on the road…those driving towards us in the other lane. Actually I’m wondering more about their BAC…Blood Alcohol Content. Let’s remember: Every 500 feet is a vineyard with FREE WINE TASTING…and WINE TASTING BEGINS AT 10 AM. Another bottle of Russian River Roulette.

When you are in Napa…there should be no reason for whining. The days are warm, the nights are cool…and the restaurants are cooler. But because I'm a whiner, I do have one complaint...the price of wine on every wine list seems abnormally high...especially considering you’re in the center of grape country. Think about're ordering a bottle of wine in the heart of Napa Valley. It’s not like you are ordering a Maine lobster in Death Valley.

Besides the tasting of the wine, drinking of the wine, and guzzling of the wine….you can learn of the wine. The vineyards will pour you as much wine information that is palatable for your taste. I prefer to drink the wine and leave the science of wine to the experts.

You will love your time in Napa. You eat, you drink….then you napa.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Remembering September 11th

Remembering……….September 11, 2001
Color of the sky
the warmth of the sun’s rays
the crisp air
Feeling unusually alive and connected with the world around me
Meeting in the middle school cafeteria
Sitting across from a friend
Getting word that a plane flew into the World Trade Center
Being confused
Wondering who was there
Wondering who was hurt
Trying to figure out what was happening
Driving home
Turning on the TV
Trying to comprehend what was happening
In a state of shock and disbelief
Being scared
Being nervous
Praying to God
Praying BillyA would be okay
Needing to talk to my husband
Needing my family home with me
Needing to hug the people I love
Incredibly sad
Incredibly sad

Never Forget

Today marks the eighth anniversary of the September 11th attacks and we remember all who lost their lives that day. We remember the 2,974 innocent men, women, and children who were going about their daily lives that beautiful September morning…to have it all suddenly taken away.

We remember the heroes that sacrificed their lives to save others. We honor the firefighters, the police, and emergency workers who worked to save lives. We extend our thoughts and prayers to the families and friends of those who were lost that day.

However you decide to commemorate September 11th is your choice. Whether it's through a special ceremony, moment of silence, prayer, or flag flown…it’s your choice. We are fortunate to live in this great country where we have the freedom of personal choice. We honor the men and women in the Armed Forces who work to defend and protect our freedoms.

September 11th…
Just remember….Never forget.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I Hate Flying

“Hey Dad, Betty and I are on the plane headed back to Cali for ni A. Gonna miss my Dunkin Donuts. Did you eat that jelly doughnut? I have 2 donuts with me. “

It’s amazing how some people don’t realize how LOUD they are when they are talking on their cell phone.

Here I am…seated by the window on AA Flight 205 with my seat belt on. Phone off. Seat and table in an upright position. Ready for take-off. I obey all the rules. For some reason the guy in seat 16 F likes to talk OUT LOUD about his donuts. Doesn’t he know you shouldn’t talk about his donuts in public? Didn’t his mom teach him nothin’? I hate flying.

There’s a man in my row sitting in the aisle seat…the middle seat is open between us. So I’m waiting. Waiting and wondering…what Tom, Dick or Harriet I’m gonna have to bump elbows and asses with.

I’m checking out each Frequent Flyer as they walk down the aisle looking for their seat…hoping the middle seat next to me remains open. 3 people getting closer. Oh no, a woman carrying a CRYING baby boy in p.j.s …footy ones (or is that feety ones?) Whew…crying baby and mom parked themselves 4 rows up on the right. So far the middle seat is still open. Who’s coming now? I hate flying.

The man in my row picked up the complimentary flight magazine and proceeded to sneeze into it. Note to self: never touch flight magazines…that’s where people do their sneezing. I hate flying.

My nose is burning from the stinking sandwich the man behind me has just unwrapped. Whoa dude…you gonna eat something that smells that bad? I hate flying.

Finally, the plane is moving for take-off. Yes. Cali for ni A …Here I come! As we approach the runway…ALL electrical power goes out. The plane comes to a sudden STOP. I hate flying.

Between all the donut talking, sneezing, crying, stinking…and malfunctioning….I’m looking for the nearest EXIT…to exit.

I hate flying.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Test Time

It’s that time of year…Back to School. Exams, quizzes, and tests. Oh, My! When you were a kid in school, did you prefer to take a multiple choice test or an essay test?

Most the time I preferred essay questions…especially when I didn’t know the answer. I’d scribble 55,000 words down…write anything I knew on the subject…even if it was only remotely related through a third cousin once removed. I’d throw it all out there on the paper……and hopefully some of it would stick. I was looking for partial credit.

Partial credit was the best. With partial credit, your answer wasn’t completely wrong…so you couldn’t end up with a BIG fat ZERO. The answer to an essay question wasn’t just black or white…there was a gray area. And I love gray areas (except in my hair.)

Multiple choice was probably the hardest type of testing for me. A, B, C, or D. Sometimes I could narrow the choices down to two and then have a 50/50 chance. But when they added “All of the above” and “None of the above”…It was “All over and above for me.” Ahhhhhhhhhhhh

In keeping with the Back to School theme…I thought I’d give you a little test. You may answer either the essay question OR the multiple choice question (your choice):

Essay question:

Please explain, in your own words, why Kat’s blog is worth reading. (Extra credit given for additional reasons.)


Multiple Choice question:

Kat’s blog is worth reading because:
A. Her blog material is bright, ingenious, and oh so witty.
B. Kat blogs about her hunky hubby, PaulA.
C. Kat’s blog material is relevant and timely.
D. All of the above.

Please note that: “None of the above”…is NOT an option.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Dog and Kat Chase

I realize that over the past few years, Duncandog has taken some verbal abuse from me in my blog. I love my dog, but let’s just say, I’m not a crazy dog owner. Dogs are cool…but they have their limitations. Let’s face it…they can’t hold a conversation and they can’t go to bars.

But now with my sweet Wishy away at college…Duncandog is my new best friend.

Bubble over Kat’s head…..

I hope Duncandog will forgive me for the things I’ve said about him. Geez, I hope dogs don’t hold grudges. Maybe Duncandog will play ball or games with me in the yard. A dog and Kat chase would be fun. I would let him be “it” first. I usually like to go first…but I would make an exception just to get on Duncandog’s good side. Anything to win him over.

Hey, Duncabunks, where ya going? Come back here buddy. Come see me. Oooohhh Duncandog!

Bubble over Duncandog’s head….

Did you just call me Buddy? You talking to me…You talking to me after 11 years? Put some of your specialty meat loaf in my dog bowl and then maybe we’ll talk, Kattttttttt.

I love seeing Kat grovel for my attention. I’m thinking of playing hard to get. I’m definitely not caving easily and becoming BFFs with her…after all her crap. No walks, no time, no fun. I’m not gonna be her entertainment now that the human she calls “Wishy” is gone…especially without some ole fashioned bribing. Maybe I can get some treats out of the deal. If the mood hits me and I decide to play the dog and Kat chase…I am definitely going to be “IT” first.…… question.

Who’s the BIG Dog now, Kat?

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Spam.....Annoyingly Delicious

Have you ever wondered why spam is called spam? I was curious why junk mail…would have the same name as the mystery meat, so I did a little research. Lucky for you…I wonder about these things. They take top priority in my mind…consider me your own personal researcher. Kat…researcher of trivial, mundane and unimportant things.

If you already know the origin of the name “spam” …you are a spam expert. ANY and ALL spam experts can jump ahead to the next paragraph. If you are spam deficient…then keep reading. The story goes…the name came from a “spam skit” by Monty Python’s Flying Circus. In the sketch, a restaurant serves all of its food with spam. There’s spam with eggs, spam with bacon, etc. While the waitress lists all the food with spam to a customer…Vikings (Yes, Vikings) in the corner of the room start singing: “Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, lovely spam! Wonderful spam, spam, spam…..”

I guess Monty Python has a real thing about spam…a spamalicious fettish. Remember Spamalot? I happen to care about spam a lot so I’m trying to give it its due…its place in society…its place in this blog.

Spam is a unique food group with so much to offer. Think about it. It comes in a handy can with a top that is so easy to pop. What could be better than having ready-to-eat canned ham? Plus you don’t need to cook it….it’s already cooked…just pull it out of your purse…or your hobo bag…and you’re ready to eat. It has enough preservatives and sodium to keep it “fresh” for 10 to 20 years. It comes in different flavors like… hot and spicy, hickory smoked, and even a spam Lite, if you’re watching your weight. And it tastes like chicken…you can’t say that about electronic spam.

One final spam thought. If the world as we know it disappeared into oblivion…there will always be spam. Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam……………annoyingly delicious.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Dates in a Fishbowl

It appears that PaulA and I are similar to Barack and Michelle Obama. We both rule the world. I mean, we both have date nights. Well, not with each other…we don’t date the Obamas.

Throughout our marriage, PaulA and I have always gone out…just the two of us, even when the 3 bambinos were little bam bams. We scheduled a babysitter for EVERY Saturday night of our young bam bam’s lives. Our life saver was a high school girl named Jenna…the Camp Dancer. That was the affectionate name we gave her. And we also gave her…enough money to pay for college. Actually she earned it…who am I kidding.

Luckily for us, our dates are not in a fishbowl. I once saw a pic online of the Obamas on a stroll after dinner in Georgetown on one of their date nights. The Secret Service agents kept their distance, but had their faces pressed to the sides of the bowl. The caption on the photo said: “One of the rare times the couple has had some relatively private space outside the presidential residence.”

Hello, that’s considered private? A picture of the first couple holding hands splattered all over the internet? “Relatively” is the operable word.

With the Secret Service watching their dates… the Obamas must feel like a couple of teenagers dating…like when the girl’s dad is on the front porch in his underwear…nonchalantly cleaning his double-barreled shot gun. “Don’t mind me young’ins….go right ahead. I’ll just be really quiet over here…polishing my gun.”

We haven’t needed Jenna, the Camp dancer, in years…and years……

I wonder if Jenna has kids now. Heck, if she lived anywhere near me…I would jump at the chance to be the camp dancer for her kids. I might be a little rusty…but they say, camp dancing is like riding a bike…nothing a little oil couldn’t help to get the parts working again.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Flew the Coop

It’s been TWO days since Brianna dumped her parents. I mean, left for college. Some kids just don’t have trouble with that whole umbilical cord thing. I think she was born with scissors.

At 18 and college bound…Bri was ready to leave the nest… fly the coop...blow this popsicle joint. I always knew she would be ready. I saw early signs of her readiness………in the 8th grade.

Day One: voice message: “Bri, this is your MOM…I have questions. Did your roommie move in? Do you like her? Does she have two heads? Have you met any other people? Are they nice to you? Do you need me to come over and beat anyone up? What is your RA like? Is she cool? Does she have two heads? Did you get anything to eat? Do they have good food in the cafeteria? Is their food better than mine?”

Bri’s answer….a text message: “Things are going smoothly.”

Yep…our little bird…the little bird we kept under out wing…the little bird we prepared to one day leave the nest…is OUTTA HERE.

Day two: PaulA sent Bri this text message: “A crumb of information will feed your parents for a day.”

Love any bird crumbs.