I remember Halloween as a kid. It was the best…FREE candy. My parents let my brother, sisters and I eat whatever we wanted on Halloween night. There was no limit. It was up to us ….if we wanted to gorge ourselves on candy bars, and puke our brains out. I don’t even remember them checking our candy, for razor blades…or rat poison.
Halloween is actually fun for all ages. Nothing like a reason to go “out of character” for a few hours. You have a legit excuse for acting or looking like an ass. In some cases that is “in character.”
Speaking of butts…I’ll never forget the guy who came dressed to a Halloween party with the largest one ever. It just cracked me up. His backside was stuffed so large that he kept butting into people. Making him the butt of all jokes.
When it came to Halloween night, PaulA and I had our assignments. He took the kids trick-or-treating and I stayed home…waiting for the door bell to ring……….
Ding Dong….
Ahhh…the timid child dressed as a mouse…who meekly mumbles… “Trick or Treat.” The little mouse is standing there wide-eyed with fear and confusion…not exactly sure what the hell is going on...just looking for some cheese.
Ding Dong...
It’s the neighbor kid from across the street who expects you to immediately recognize him in costume…
“Hi Mrs. Kat…It’s Me…It’s Timmy.”
“Oh, Timmy is that you? I didn’t recognize you. Last time I saw you, you didn’t have blood dripping down your face and an axe planted in your head.”
Ding Dong…
5 Big kids from out of town. At least one of them is shaving. They’re standing there…looking at me like… “What do you want from us lady…Do we have to beg?” I give them extra candy, just so they won’t egg our house. I prefer my eggs over-easy…not over-house.
On Halloween night, I prefer seeing the little mice trick-or-treaters…before they grow up to be big rats…egging houses, papering trees, and smashing pumpkins. And before they’re the butt of every joke.
Happy Halloween
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Myers Briggs Non-Test
Have you ever taken the Myers Briggs assessment…the so-called personality test? It’s designed to measure psychological preferences. After answering a series of questions…you are given a combination of 4 letters which stand for different traits…like “I” for introvert, “E” for Extrovert, “N” for iNtuition, “J” for judging, “T” for thinking…there are 8 all together. (Sorry, for all the boring background info…that’s my personality disorder.)
“They” say it’s not a test...and that there are no right or wrong answers. I’m not so sure about that. I have taken the non-test and there are definitely some answers that just seem WRONG. Case in point.
Sample Personality Question.....
If you’re at a party, would you:
a. enjoy meeting new people.
b. despise meeting new people.
c. despise meeting all people and prefer facing the wall.
If you’re going for a sales job…maybe you should think about choosing “a”.
If only the people who employed Bernie Madoff, Michael Vick, and ESPN Steve Phillips had given them the Myers Briggs test. It would have saved many people a lot of grief.
Sample Personality Question for Bernie Madoff.....
If you were given a large sum of money to invest for clients, would you……..
a. “prudently” invest their money in conservative markets.
b. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then buy your wife a fur coat.
c. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then steal every penny you can get your grimy hands on.
Sample Personality Question for Michael Vick…..
If you owned a dog, would you:
a. take him on a walk to the park.
b. take him on a walk to the park to watch a dog fight.
c. take him on a walk to the park to watch him fight other dogs in a dog fight.
Sample Personality Question for ESPN Steve Phillips…..
If you had a young intern working for you, would you:
a. Expose her to the business and then go home to your wife.
b. Expose yourself to her and then go home to your wife.
c. Expose yourself to her and never go home to your wife.
The test might have helped to reveal their personalities.
I particularly wouldn’t want to take a personality test geared towards Bloggers. I might be labeled: “WWDR” …or in layman’s terms…Wringing Wet Dish Rag…not to be confused with the personality label- “VDDR”… Vapid Dry Dish Rag.
Unfortunately, my personality is just not as absorbent at mopping up spills.
“They” say it’s not a test...and that there are no right or wrong answers. I’m not so sure about that. I have taken the non-test and there are definitely some answers that just seem WRONG. Case in point.
Sample Personality Question.....
If you’re at a party, would you:
a. enjoy meeting new people.
b. despise meeting new people.
c. despise meeting all people and prefer facing the wall.
If you’re going for a sales job…maybe you should think about choosing “a”.
If only the people who employed Bernie Madoff, Michael Vick, and ESPN Steve Phillips had given them the Myers Briggs test. It would have saved many people a lot of grief.
Sample Personality Question for Bernie Madoff.....
If you were given a large sum of money to invest for clients, would you……..
a. “prudently” invest their money in conservative markets.
b. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then buy your wife a fur coat.
c. say you “prudently” invested their money in conservative markets, and then steal every penny you can get your grimy hands on.
Sample Personality Question for Michael Vick…..
If you owned a dog, would you:
a. take him on a walk to the park.
b. take him on a walk to the park to watch a dog fight.
c. take him on a walk to the park to watch him fight other dogs in a dog fight.
Sample Personality Question for ESPN Steve Phillips…..
If you had a young intern working for you, would you:
a. Expose her to the business and then go home to your wife.
b. Expose yourself to her and then go home to your wife.
c. Expose yourself to her and never go home to your wife.
The test might have helped to reveal their personalities.
I particularly wouldn’t want to take a personality test geared towards Bloggers. I might be labeled: “WWDR” …or in layman’s terms…Wringing Wet Dish Rag…not to be confused with the personality label- “VDDR”… Vapid Dry Dish Rag.
Unfortunately, my personality is just not as absorbent at mopping up spills.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
It's Five O'Clock Somewhere
"It's five o'clock somewhere." Who said that? Not me. That wasn’t Kat looking for libation at 5pm. I can wait until 5:15…unlike Linnyj. That’s Duncandog talking. Five o’clock is Duncandog’s chow time and he’s always ready with bells on.
So when the Big Hand strikes 5, I dish up a cup of dry dog food for the Duncandog. Whew…I wish making dinner was that difficult. Anyway, Duncandog chows his food in 90 seconds. He’s waited all day and woofs it down. ..like the dog he is. You would think he would take a full 2 minutes and enjoy it a little more. Savor those hard pellets of dry dog food.
The question is: Are you like Duncandog and woof your food down? I’ve eaten with folks who eat their food as fast as Duncandog. And we’re not even talking fast food.
Maybe you take a long time to finish …linger over your meal….and draw it out. I remember when I was first out of college…a single lady living with 3 roommates. One of my roommates would make herself a nice dinner and sit down at the table…with a place setting, and napkin. She would sit with the most erect posture...elbows off the table and napkin in her lap. Like Emily Post Reincarnated was watching her. Anyway, about half way through her meal she would stop…put down her utensils….light a cigarette and enjoy a smoke. Smack dab in the middle of her dinner.
The first time I saw her do this, I thought she was done eating. But after she smoked the entire cigarette, she ate everything on her plate. I’ve heard of having a cig after dinner…but not a cig with dinner. Hmmm…maybe a Newport enhances the flavor of a pork chop. Mentholated Pork Chop…try that recipe Martha Stewart.
“They” say it is important to eat slowly for a number of reasons…it’s better for your digestive system, blah, blah…and you can feel when you are full, blah blah. I guess my roomy found her own way of slowing down the eating process. Chew, chew, chew...Puff, puff, puff…Chew, chew, chew.
Different strokes for different folks……..
……….or in her case, different smokes for different blokes.
So when the Big Hand strikes 5, I dish up a cup of dry dog food for the Duncandog. Whew…I wish making dinner was that difficult. Anyway, Duncandog chows his food in 90 seconds. He’s waited all day and woofs it down. ..like the dog he is. You would think he would take a full 2 minutes and enjoy it a little more. Savor those hard pellets of dry dog food.
The question is: Are you like Duncandog and woof your food down? I’ve eaten with folks who eat their food as fast as Duncandog. And we’re not even talking fast food.
Maybe you take a long time to finish …linger over your meal….and draw it out. I remember when I was first out of college…a single lady living with 3 roommates. One of my roommates would make herself a nice dinner and sit down at the table…with a place setting, and napkin. She would sit with the most erect posture...elbows off the table and napkin in her lap. Like Emily Post Reincarnated was watching her. Anyway, about half way through her meal she would stop…put down her utensils….light a cigarette and enjoy a smoke. Smack dab in the middle of her dinner.
The first time I saw her do this, I thought she was done eating. But after she smoked the entire cigarette, she ate everything on her plate. I’ve heard of having a cig after dinner…but not a cig with dinner. Hmmm…maybe a Newport enhances the flavor of a pork chop. Mentholated Pork Chop…try that recipe Martha Stewart.
“They” say it is important to eat slowly for a number of reasons…it’s better for your digestive system, blah, blah…and you can feel when you are full, blah blah. I guess my roomy found her own way of slowing down the eating process. Chew, chew, chew...Puff, puff, puff…Chew, chew, chew.
Different strokes for different folks……..
……….or in her case, different smokes for different blokes.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Oh Henry!
Are you adventuresome when it comes to eating different foods? I prefer to be adventurous in other ways…maybe a hike into the Grand Canyon…or a walk through Central Park at dusk, but not with my food. That’s sacred territory.
When I was a lot younger, I was pretty finicky so I stuck mainly to processed foods. Fritos, Devil Dogs, and Oscar Mayer Bologna were the base of my food pyramid. Over the years I branched out to include some nutrition. Today I am not as finicky, but I can’t eat, or even look at some of the things PaulA can eat…especially a food that beats me in a staring contest.
For lunch the other day, PaulA ordered the Wild Boar. Talk about adventuresome, I think the last time I saw a wild boar was on "Survivor"…running free through the jungle. Maybe I would consider sampling a tame boar…one that wasn’t so crazy. Nothing scares me more than a wild boar. Question to self: How do bores get to be so wild?
Back many moons ago, the original moon…our honeymoon…I didn’t eat anything the week we were in Antigua. Nothing I ate tasted like I was used to…not the dairy, meat…even fruits and vegetables tasted differently. I also wouldn’t eat fish or seafood…although I could and would eat shrimp. But I never saw shrimp on the menu.
Oh, but in the gift shop…I found Oh Henry! You know the chocolate bar with nuts…the original protein bar. I was so thankful for my savory savior, OH Henry!
So every couple of days I stocked up on Oh Henry! bars. The bars had the same taste I was used to back in the States…maybe a little staler, but they got me through our honeymoon.
The killer was on the last moon of our honeymoon…I decided to ask the waiter what the prawn dish was on the menu. And he replied “shrimp.” Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….
So there we were on our romantic honeymoon….Three’s company…
Adventuresome Paul, Finicky Kat…and Oh, Henry!
When I was a lot younger, I was pretty finicky so I stuck mainly to processed foods. Fritos, Devil Dogs, and Oscar Mayer Bologna were the base of my food pyramid. Over the years I branched out to include some nutrition. Today I am not as finicky, but I can’t eat, or even look at some of the things PaulA can eat…especially a food that beats me in a staring contest.
For lunch the other day, PaulA ordered the Wild Boar. Talk about adventuresome, I think the last time I saw a wild boar was on "Survivor"…running free through the jungle. Maybe I would consider sampling a tame boar…one that wasn’t so crazy. Nothing scares me more than a wild boar. Question to self: How do bores get to be so wild?
Back many moons ago, the original moon…our honeymoon…I didn’t eat anything the week we were in Antigua. Nothing I ate tasted like I was used to…not the dairy, meat…even fruits and vegetables tasted differently. I also wouldn’t eat fish or seafood…although I could and would eat shrimp. But I never saw shrimp on the menu.
Oh, but in the gift shop…I found Oh Henry! You know the chocolate bar with nuts…the original protein bar. I was so thankful for my savory savior, OH Henry!
So every couple of days I stocked up on Oh Henry! bars. The bars had the same taste I was used to back in the States…maybe a little staler, but they got me through our honeymoon.
The killer was on the last moon of our honeymoon…I decided to ask the waiter what the prawn dish was on the menu. And he replied “shrimp.” Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….
So there we were on our romantic honeymoon….Three’s company…
Adventuresome Paul, Finicky Kat…and Oh, Henry!
Monday, October 26, 2009
A Nobel Peace Prize Proposal
Did you hear the collective gasp from Oslo? There was an audible gasp in the room when the announcement was made that President Barack Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. Wow…amazing. And he didn’t even have to sit on the floor and smoke a peace pipe.
Many people (especially the Republicans) are saying that this award was premature. That Obama hasn’t really done anything to deserve it. Hey, I have to agree with that. It seems like the Committee is diluting the award by giving it to him for actions and promises for the future. To me it felt like a bartender giving me a shot of 50% proof vodka…when I was expecting full strength.
So now is Obama under pressure to fulfill promises and policy he can’t follow through with? Maybe circumstances will have changed and he is unable to perform them, or he shouldn’t. Will winning the award change his policy? Stay tuned.
Obama is the recipient of a very coveted award won by individuals such as Mother Teresa, Desmond TuTu, Linus Pauling, and Martin Luther King, Jr. I’d like to get my name on that list.
Maybe I could earn the Nobel Peace Prize. But I’m not going to smoke the peace pipe...I would do it the Obama way and talk about my intentions. Let’s see. Here’s what I propose to do....
I propose to get the Hatfields and the McCoys from fighting each other. I mean…I propose to get the Palestinians and Israelis, who have been fighting each other for all of eternity…to let bygones, be bygones…and smoke the peace pipe.
I hear you skeptics out there doubting my ability to complete this seemingly impossible task…you’re wondering how this could be done. Easy. I invite the leaders of Palestine and Israel to a sock-hop in Oslo…get the DJ to play the Electric Slide…and before you know it…there will be peace in the Middle East. Who can resist joining in on the Electric Slide? It’s electric. Boogie woogie, woogie.
Could someone please nominate me for next year’s Nobel Peace Prize?
Many people (especially the Republicans) are saying that this award was premature. That Obama hasn’t really done anything to deserve it. Hey, I have to agree with that. It seems like the Committee is diluting the award by giving it to him for actions and promises for the future. To me it felt like a bartender giving me a shot of 50% proof vodka…when I was expecting full strength.
So now is Obama under pressure to fulfill promises and policy he can’t follow through with? Maybe circumstances will have changed and he is unable to perform them, or he shouldn’t. Will winning the award change his policy? Stay tuned.
Obama is the recipient of a very coveted award won by individuals such as Mother Teresa, Desmond TuTu, Linus Pauling, and Martin Luther King, Jr. I’d like to get my name on that list.
Maybe I could earn the Nobel Peace Prize. But I’m not going to smoke the peace pipe...I would do it the Obama way and talk about my intentions. Let’s see. Here’s what I propose to do....
I propose to get the Hatfields and the McCoys from fighting each other. I mean…I propose to get the Palestinians and Israelis, who have been fighting each other for all of eternity…to let bygones, be bygones…and smoke the peace pipe.
I hear you skeptics out there doubting my ability to complete this seemingly impossible task…you’re wondering how this could be done. Easy. I invite the leaders of Palestine and Israel to a sock-hop in Oslo…get the DJ to play the Electric Slide…and before you know it…there will be peace in the Middle East. Who can resist joining in on the Electric Slide? It’s electric. Boogie woogie, woogie.
Could someone please nominate me for next year’s Nobel Peace Prize?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Alas, Technology
I love all the new technology. Although I’m not a part of the NOW generation, and more a part of the THEN generation, I’m not afraid to fiddle with it. But I’m no geek. Actually, I wish I was a geek. The word “geek” used to have negative connotations but not anymore…especially if it is followed by “squad.” But not so good if preceded by “weird.”
When I get a new device, I never read the manual that comes with it…and who does? Wait, my mom does…and that’s why she’s still unable to add ‘contacts’ into her phone. You wouldn’t want to take a page from Alice’s manual.
Anyway, I was thinking that I would have loved all the techy stuff that my kids have now, when I was a kid. How great to have grown up with a laptop, cell phone, blackberry, digital camera, iPod, videoCAM and flat screen HDTV. Writing papers, researching topics, communicating, and getting directions…is so much easier now. But alas…I have this blog… a place to post endless, mindless ramblings…instead of a shrink’s couch.
With an app for every part of our life…our lives have been enhanced. But sometimes… like other enhancements…they can get in the way. With all this technology we are expected to be more efficient, and cross things off the To-Do list quicker. But alas, THE old excuses don’t fly anymore…
“Teacher, my dog ate my paper.”
“Sorry I’m 3 hours late…I got lost.”
“Honey, I couldn’t call you…there wasn’t a phone.”
At one time those were bone fide excuses. Those days are over.
But alas, (not sure why I keep saying that?)…we have new excuses…to replace the old excuses…..
“Teacher, my computer crashed and ate my paper.”
“Sorry I’m 3 hours late…my GPS system sent me the wrong way.”
“Honey, I couldn’t call you…my phone died.”
Excuses, excuses, excuses…regardless of technology.
When I get a new device, I never read the manual that comes with it…and who does? Wait, my mom does…and that’s why she’s still unable to add ‘contacts’ into her phone. You wouldn’t want to take a page from Alice’s manual.
Anyway, I was thinking that I would have loved all the techy stuff that my kids have now, when I was a kid. How great to have grown up with a laptop, cell phone, blackberry, digital camera, iPod, videoCAM and flat screen HDTV. Writing papers, researching topics, communicating, and getting directions…is so much easier now. But alas…I have this blog… a place to post endless, mindless ramblings…instead of a shrink’s couch.
With an app for every part of our life…our lives have been enhanced. But sometimes… like other enhancements…they can get in the way. With all this technology we are expected to be more efficient, and cross things off the To-Do list quicker. But alas, THE old excuses don’t fly anymore…
“Teacher, my dog ate my paper.”
“Sorry I’m 3 hours late…I got lost.”
“Honey, I couldn’t call you…there wasn’t a phone.”
At one time those were bone fide excuses. Those days are over.
But alas, (not sure why I keep saying that?)…we have new excuses…to replace the old excuses…..
“Teacher, my computer crashed and ate my paper.”
“Sorry I’m 3 hours late…my GPS system sent me the wrong way.”
“Honey, I couldn’t call you…my phone died.”
Excuses, excuses, excuses…regardless of technology.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Right Way
It’s funny to watch a lefty. Everything they do looks awkward to someone who’s a righty. Mainly because we do everything right. Think about it…why else would we be called right?
But sometimes the lines get blurred…especially in politics. There are some us who are right-handed and right wing, and others who are left-handed and left wing…but there are also some right wing people who are lefties, and some left wing people who are righties. And also those…left or right of center. I’m so confused. I have nothing left to say on that subject.
They say lefties are intelligent and historically some of our more influential and successful people are left-handed. That would include Clinton, Ford, George H. W. Bush, Obama, Hendrix, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Babe Ruth. Add PaulA to that impressive list. But saying “lefties are intelligent”…is really a left-handed compliment.
I’m a righty who married a lefty so over our marriage…I have watched PaulA write with a left hook…and eat, cut, tie his shoes and put cards in envelopes the wrong way. (Hang in there…I know this blog is out of left field.)
Not only is PaulA a lefty, but so are his mom and 2 other brothers. Making 3 out of 7 siblings lefties and 4 out of 7 of them brush their teeth with CREST.
If I was left to my own devices…I would make lefties conform and do things the right way…but I also realize I should stop being so self-righteous, and accept that lefties have rights too.
Right-on!
Right-handed Kat has finally left the building.
But sometimes the lines get blurred…especially in politics. There are some us who are right-handed and right wing, and others who are left-handed and left wing…but there are also some right wing people who are lefties, and some left wing people who are righties. And also those…left or right of center. I’m so confused. I have nothing left to say on that subject.
They say lefties are intelligent and historically some of our more influential and successful people are left-handed. That would include Clinton, Ford, George H. W. Bush, Obama, Hendrix, Michelangelo, da Vinci, and Babe Ruth. Add PaulA to that impressive list. But saying “lefties are intelligent”…is really a left-handed compliment.
I’m a righty who married a lefty so over our marriage…I have watched PaulA write with a left hook…and eat, cut, tie his shoes and put cards in envelopes the wrong way. (Hang in there…I know this blog is out of left field.)
Not only is PaulA a lefty, but so are his mom and 2 other brothers. Making 3 out of 7 siblings lefties and 4 out of 7 of them brush their teeth with CREST.
If I was left to my own devices…I would make lefties conform and do things the right way…but I also realize I should stop being so self-righteous, and accept that lefties have rights too.
Right-on!
Right-handed Kat has finally left the building.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Educating Duncandog
Duncandog went back to college. What can I tell you…he loves academia. Or…maybe he just wants a framed degree on the wall of his dog house…or maybe yet, he thinks he looks snappy in a cap and gown.
But I’m thinking this academia ruse is an act…a dog and pony trick…minus the pony. I think I know what that dogger is up to…he trying to avoid working. He knows I’m getting tired of his free ride and that I’m going to make him get out in the real world. Put that puppy to work. And have him stop living off all the yummy gravy train.
I know he has seen the other side. He’s seen enough of the laid-back, care-free life the first time he went with Colinboy to college. He loved sleeping until noon, eating dog food off a paper plate, drinking out of the toilet, taking naps on the couch, and sleeping on Colinboy’s bed. He especially loved the party life…girls flocked to him like he was Ashton Kutcher with 4 legs. So under the pretense of education...he found a way back to college with Colinboy.
But Duncandog can’t fool a Kat. I had a feeling he didn’t want to join the ranks of all the other Portuguese Water dogs…when he pretended he couldn’t swim. If Duncan looked himself up in the Book of Dog Breeds…he would see he is listed under the Working Dog class…only problem is Duncandog is a sheep in dog’s clothing.
Next thing I know he’ll be wanting to get together to talk about things…have a family bow-wow…to try and convince me that he needs to go to back to school, follow a new path…and leave the Portguese Working Class behind.
Unless he is interested in Bartending school…I’m putting my foot down. We could use a good Bartender in the family.
But I’m thinking this academia ruse is an act…a dog and pony trick…minus the pony. I think I know what that dogger is up to…he trying to avoid working. He knows I’m getting tired of his free ride and that I’m going to make him get out in the real world. Put that puppy to work. And have him stop living off all the yummy gravy train.
I know he has seen the other side. He’s seen enough of the laid-back, care-free life the first time he went with Colinboy to college. He loved sleeping until noon, eating dog food off a paper plate, drinking out of the toilet, taking naps on the couch, and sleeping on Colinboy’s bed. He especially loved the party life…girls flocked to him like he was Ashton Kutcher with 4 legs. So under the pretense of education...he found a way back to college with Colinboy.
But Duncandog can’t fool a Kat. I had a feeling he didn’t want to join the ranks of all the other Portuguese Water dogs…when he pretended he couldn’t swim. If Duncan looked himself up in the Book of Dog Breeds…he would see he is listed under the Working Dog class…only problem is Duncandog is a sheep in dog’s clothing.
Next thing I know he’ll be wanting to get together to talk about things…have a family bow-wow…to try and convince me that he needs to go to back to school, follow a new path…and leave the Portguese Working Class behind.
Unless he is interested in Bartending school…I’m putting my foot down. We could use a good Bartender in the family.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Another Country Conquered
After walking around Montreal…I have a new appreciation for what it feels like to be a foreigner in a strange land …or a stranger in a foreign land…or in my case, a strange foreigner in a land. It feels something like being illiterate and visiting Barnes and Noble Bookstore.
Although the Canadians in Montreal can speak English…they prefer French and would prefer if you would speak French too. Out of respect, PaulA did the best he could with the French he took in school. But I took Spanish, so I was looking for a French Spanish Canadian. Sadly to say, I never found one. Thanks to Lady Marmalade, the only French phrase I have mastered is “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi” …but I figured that could land me into trouble.
So there I was, a strange foreigner, left to interpret through other means. It’s amazing what you can figure out…when you don’t know what signs or people are saying. You start deciphering in other ways…other clues, symbols, pictures, and hand signals. There are some signs and signals, however, that are universal. Happily no one gave me the universal middle finger salute.
Numbers look the same in Montreal, so you have to be careful. If you think you’re going the posted speed limit of 90 and don’t pay attention to mph or kph…then you’re speeding, buddy. The Police will…how you say?... pull your American ass over. (Pardon my French.)
One afternoon I took to the streets…and did a little of the “s” word…Shopping. And surprisingly enough, Foreigner Kat got by without a lick of French. (Wait, isn’t French Lick Larry Bird’s hometown? I’m pretty sure he isn’t French.)
When you are dealing with salespeople…some things are the same everywhere you go. French case in point: I was shopping in a store holding a handful of clothes and the saleswoman said “paisxvoi loupdzidl”…which I figured was, “Can I start a dressing room for you.” Whala! Experienced shoppers, like myself, understand this…regardless of language.
And then after I paid the saleswoman, she rattled off: “ressloxi xliuoidj.” Easy again, “Do you want the receipt in the bag or do you want to hold it?” I don’t need French for that one either. With shopping there is a universal language. My most favorite universal sign is the red line...Bargain.
Another day…another shopping trip…another country conquered.
Au revoir Strange Foreigner.
Although the Canadians in Montreal can speak English…they prefer French and would prefer if you would speak French too. Out of respect, PaulA did the best he could with the French he took in school. But I took Spanish, so I was looking for a French Spanish Canadian. Sadly to say, I never found one. Thanks to Lady Marmalade, the only French phrase I have mastered is “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi” …but I figured that could land me into trouble.
So there I was, a strange foreigner, left to interpret through other means. It’s amazing what you can figure out…when you don’t know what signs or people are saying. You start deciphering in other ways…other clues, symbols, pictures, and hand signals. There are some signs and signals, however, that are universal. Happily no one gave me the universal middle finger salute.
Numbers look the same in Montreal, so you have to be careful. If you think you’re going the posted speed limit of 90 and don’t pay attention to mph or kph…then you’re speeding, buddy. The Police will…how you say?... pull your American ass over. (Pardon my French.)
One afternoon I took to the streets…and did a little of the “s” word…Shopping. And surprisingly enough, Foreigner Kat got by without a lick of French. (Wait, isn’t French Lick Larry Bird’s hometown? I’m pretty sure he isn’t French.)
When you are dealing with salespeople…some things are the same everywhere you go. French case in point: I was shopping in a store holding a handful of clothes and the saleswoman said “paisxvoi loupdzidl”…which I figured was, “Can I start a dressing room for you.” Whala! Experienced shoppers, like myself, understand this…regardless of language.
And then after I paid the saleswoman, she rattled off: “ressloxi xliuoidj.” Easy again, “Do you want the receipt in the bag or do you want to hold it?” I don’t need French for that one either. With shopping there is a universal language. My most favorite universal sign is the red line...Bargain.
Another day…another shopping trip…another country conquered.
Au revoir Strange Foreigner.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Turn of Luck Louie
You know the saying... "You can’t take it with you.” That’s a convenient saying to justify big bucks spent on a houseboat with a multimedia room, gourmet kitchen, and gym. Recently I read an article about a man who had won the largest lottery at the time…back in the early 80’s. Apparently he lived by the motto: “You can’t take it with you.” He’s broke….and he can’t be fixed.
In 1981 at the age of 53, Lou Eisenberg won 5 million dollars. At that time he was making 225 dollars a week changing light bulbs in a high rise building. It must have felt good to go into work the next day and say, “Screw, yourself. I quit.” (Couldn’t resist that one.) For the next 20 years Lucky Louie received 219,000 dollars a year. Now he’s 81, and makes 250 dollars a week through a small pension and social security.
So after winning the lottery…you would think he lived happily ever after. Well, after 20 years passed…his coach turned into a rusty pick-up, his ocean-view condo turned into a mobile home, and his 3 wives turned into blood sucking leeches. Apparently Out-of-Luck Louie had attempted to save, but he had a bad habit of marrying and divorcing. Plus the horse track frequently called his name. I’m guessing he was as unlucky at the horse track as he was in love. Go #7 Skid Row.
So would you consider Louie stupid or a financial planning genius? Why take it with you? Why not spend it and enjoy it now while you’re able to? Why wait until you aren’t able to travel because of that growing problem?
I’m not a throw-caution-to-the-wind Kat…so the idea of spending every penny from a lottery wining doesn’t appeal to me. But the idea of working and saving every penny of a lottery winning……doesn’t either. There has to be a middle ground.
If I had to give advice to Better-Luck-Next-Time Louie…with what to do with his windfall of cash…I would have told him to spend some, save some, and bet on Horse 11. That’s my favorite number.
In 1981 at the age of 53, Lou Eisenberg won 5 million dollars. At that time he was making 225 dollars a week changing light bulbs in a high rise building. It must have felt good to go into work the next day and say, “Screw, yourself. I quit.” (Couldn’t resist that one.) For the next 20 years Lucky Louie received 219,000 dollars a year. Now he’s 81, and makes 250 dollars a week through a small pension and social security.
So after winning the lottery…you would think he lived happily ever after. Well, after 20 years passed…his coach turned into a rusty pick-up, his ocean-view condo turned into a mobile home, and his 3 wives turned into blood sucking leeches. Apparently Out-of-Luck Louie had attempted to save, but he had a bad habit of marrying and divorcing. Plus the horse track frequently called his name. I’m guessing he was as unlucky at the horse track as he was in love. Go #7 Skid Row.
So would you consider Louie stupid or a financial planning genius? Why take it with you? Why not spend it and enjoy it now while you’re able to? Why wait until you aren’t able to travel because of that growing problem?
I’m not a throw-caution-to-the-wind Kat…so the idea of spending every penny from a lottery wining doesn’t appeal to me. But the idea of working and saving every penny of a lottery winning……doesn’t either. There has to be a middle ground.
If I had to give advice to Better-Luck-Next-Time Louie…with what to do with his windfall of cash…I would have told him to spend some, save some, and bet on Horse 11. That’s my favorite number.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Pessimistically Optimistic
Would you consider yourself an optimist or pessimist? I don’t think any of us would eagerly raise our hands and admit we are pessimists. It sounds so…so pessimistic. There is one sure way, however, to figure out what side of the p/o line you fall. It’s the litmus test…The half glass test. Do you see the glass as half-full or half-empty? \~/
There are always two ways or sides of looking at something. People who see the glass as half-full are optimistic. They look for the bright, sunny-side up…positive side of things. They walk around being hopeful…like thinking the economy is going to turn around any second.
Then there are the pessimists. They walk around thinking that a piano is going to fall on their head any second…because they once saw it happen in a Tom and Jerry cartoon…not to be confused with a Ben and Jerry carton.
Colinboy is an eternal optimist. After borrowing the car with a full tank of gas…I complain about him returning it with the gas tank half-empty. Colinboy only sees the upside… "Hey mom, no worries…it’s half-full.”
I’d like to think of myself as optimistic. I’m being optimistic right now by thinking that there is a person out there reading this blog. Every now and then, however, there is an upside to seeing a glass as half-empty. Especially if the wine pourer is making his rounds with a bottle of wine “Hey Garcon, over here…my glass may look half-full to you…but believe me…It’s half empty.”
Sometimes being pessimistically optimistic can work to my advantage.
There are always two ways or sides of looking at something. People who see the glass as half-full are optimistic. They look for the bright, sunny-side up…positive side of things. They walk around being hopeful…like thinking the economy is going to turn around any second.
Then there are the pessimists. They walk around thinking that a piano is going to fall on their head any second…because they once saw it happen in a Tom and Jerry cartoon…not to be confused with a Ben and Jerry carton.
Colinboy is an eternal optimist. After borrowing the car with a full tank of gas…I complain about him returning it with the gas tank half-empty. Colinboy only sees the upside… "Hey mom, no worries…it’s half-full.”
I’d like to think of myself as optimistic. I’m being optimistic right now by thinking that there is a person out there reading this blog. Every now and then, however, there is an upside to seeing a glass as half-empty. Especially if the wine pourer is making his rounds with a bottle of wine “Hey Garcon, over here…my glass may look half-full to you…but believe me…It’s half empty.”
Sometimes being pessimistically optimistic can work to my advantage.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Happy Birthday to Me
I don’t mind singing “Happy Birthday to YOU”…it’s really "Happy Birthday to ME" that I don’t care for...although I do appreciate living another year. I just don’t care for the sound of the numbers as they fall on the pig pile I have already accumulated.
I remember when I was young and middle-aged people seemed sooooo old. Now these cronies are my homies, my peeps. I also remember no one at Woodstock would trust anyone over 30. I wonder if now ex-Woodstockers don’t trust anyone under 30?
I find the little ditty sayings about aging annoying . They’re something the Hallmark people came up with to soften the blow of it all…little cutesy sayings that try to make you feel like you are not the codger that you are. Fabulous at Forty, Fifty is nifty, Sixty is sexy, Sultry at seventy. Woooah……with the crap. After age 40, I wasn’t falling for it…I was old enough to know better. Here’s my suggestion for Hallmark’s octogenarians and nonagenarians: Eighty is Ancient. Ninety is Not Fun.
You’ve heard the tiring adage: You are as old as you feel. More propaganda to disguise what is really going on. When I first wake up and open my eyes I do feel like the college co-ed that I was at groovy UV. But then I open my eyes in the bathroom mirror and quickly realize I’m not that college co-ed. Yikes…where did she go? And I’m also not that same co-ed who could stay up until 2am and look refreshed in the morning. Scary! Even with major beauty sleep…I’m still the Beast. Note to self: Dispose of all mirrors.
But there’s no sense on dwelling too long on my age. Age is only a number right? Wait. Again…stop with trying to soften the blow.
Happy Birthday to me.
I remember when I was young and middle-aged people seemed sooooo old. Now these cronies are my homies, my peeps. I also remember no one at Woodstock would trust anyone over 30. I wonder if now ex-Woodstockers don’t trust anyone under 30?
I find the little ditty sayings about aging annoying . They’re something the Hallmark people came up with to soften the blow of it all…little cutesy sayings that try to make you feel like you are not the codger that you are. Fabulous at Forty, Fifty is nifty, Sixty is sexy, Sultry at seventy. Woooah……with the crap. After age 40, I wasn’t falling for it…I was old enough to know better. Here’s my suggestion for Hallmark’s octogenarians and nonagenarians: Eighty is Ancient. Ninety is Not Fun.
You’ve heard the tiring adage: You are as old as you feel. More propaganda to disguise what is really going on. When I first wake up and open my eyes I do feel like the college co-ed that I was at groovy UV. But then I open my eyes in the bathroom mirror and quickly realize I’m not that college co-ed. Yikes…where did she go? And I’m also not that same co-ed who could stay up until 2am and look refreshed in the morning. Scary! Even with major beauty sleep…I’m still the Beast. Note to self: Dispose of all mirrors.
But there’s no sense on dwelling too long on my age. Age is only a number right? Wait. Again…stop with trying to soften the blow.
Happy Birthday to me.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Count the Ways
Why do I write this blog? Let me count the ways.
1. hmmmm
2 . well...yea
3. sure, that's it
4. that's definitely why I write
5. I write this blog cuz ...ummm
6. lots of reasons
7. yep, you betcha...lots of reasons
8. first reason is, wait....I'm on reason eight already
9. I write it cuz it's a way to ummm....
10. a way to ummma....ummma
11. let's see...
12. uhhh...you know
13. I like to
14. like, you know...
15. that was it
16. oh yea...
17. and that too
18. that's it...right there
19. yes siree....
20. Wow, I'm to 20 reasons already.
Do I need to count 20 more?
1. hmmmm
2 . well...yea
3. sure, that's it
4. that's definitely why I write
5. I write this blog cuz ...ummm
6. lots of reasons
7. yep, you betcha...lots of reasons
8. first reason is, wait....I'm on reason eight already
9. I write it cuz it's a way to ummm....
10. a way to ummma....ummma
11. let's see...
12. uhhh...you know
13. I like to
14. like, you know...
15. that was it
16. oh yea...
17. and that too
18. that's it...right there
19. yes siree....
20. Wow, I'm to 20 reasons already.
Do I need to count 20 more?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Above the Clouds
I don’t like to fly…although I like going places. And because I can’t always get there from here….I’m forced to climb aboard the 400 tons of steel that somehow makes it off the ground…and face my fears. The scary feeling of leaving the ground…when everything is out of your control and the thought, “what goes up, must come down”…rests heavily on my mind.
So there I was…on my latest flight…hoping like hell that what goes up, comes right-side down in Charlotte after a couple of hours. And not down in 90 seconds with the belly up.
The best thing about flying is that it’s always beautiful at 37,000 feet, regardless of whatever nasty weather we are having on the ground. Above the clouds, the sun is always shining. Maybe that’s what heaven is like.
Everyone has their own version of what they think heaven is like and it usually has something to do with what pleases them the most. So for PaulA, its’ probably an endless string of stellar days with unlimited golf. For Colin…a gig with 10,000 adoring fans. For Chelsea…a mall with FREE fashionable clothing. For Bri…actually, just the shoe store with every shoe imaginable. And for Duncandog…a room full of meat loaf and lasagna.
My heaven is to be back on earth……plane upright, nose forward, wings intact, and wheels down.
So there I was…on my latest flight…hoping like hell that what goes up, comes right-side down in Charlotte after a couple of hours. And not down in 90 seconds with the belly up.
The best thing about flying is that it’s always beautiful at 37,000 feet, regardless of whatever nasty weather we are having on the ground. Above the clouds, the sun is always shining. Maybe that’s what heaven is like.
Everyone has their own version of what they think heaven is like and it usually has something to do with what pleases them the most. So for PaulA, its’ probably an endless string of stellar days with unlimited golf. For Colin…a gig with 10,000 adoring fans. For Chelsea…a mall with FREE fashionable clothing. For Bri…actually, just the shoe store with every shoe imaginable. And for Duncandog…a room full of meat loaf and lasagna.
My heaven is to be back on earth……plane upright, nose forward, wings intact, and wheels down.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The New Queen of Mean
The one thing I try hard not to do is say anything mean in my blog. It’s not my style to be rude or condescending. Childish…yep. Insulting…nope. When it comes to Paula Deen, however, I can’t help myself. She brings out the Joan Rivers in me. In other words….Deen brings out the mean.
For some reason, Paula Deen is just one particular celeb that rubs me the wrong way. And I’m not talking pork rub…cuz there is nothing like a good pork rub on a Sunday afternoon. I pretty much dislike everything about her. I dislike her voice…a bogus, played-up southern accent…and I really dislike her schtick. Every time she slices one of her cakes on television, she runs her fingers down the knife…and then sucks every finger…one by one. Now that’s disgusting.
She is so over the top, you just know she is one phony person. Holden Caulfield would go absolutely nut-so on her. That sugar sweet persona is as fake as saccharin.
Yep, I’m the Queen of Mean when it comes to Paula Deen. I am also not a fan of her recipes. There isn’t anything that she makes that I would want to cook. It might be comfort food…but I don’t take comfort in her ingredients. Her recipes are fattening and heart attack friendly. We are talking mac and 45 pounds of cheese, cheesy meatloaf, triple fried chicken, and deep fried Twinkies.
There is only one Paula that really gets me cooking…and that is PaulA. Hot tamales baby.
For some reason, Paula Deen is just one particular celeb that rubs me the wrong way. And I’m not talking pork rub…cuz there is nothing like a good pork rub on a Sunday afternoon. I pretty much dislike everything about her. I dislike her voice…a bogus, played-up southern accent…and I really dislike her schtick. Every time she slices one of her cakes on television, she runs her fingers down the knife…and then sucks every finger…one by one. Now that’s disgusting.
She is so over the top, you just know she is one phony person. Holden Caulfield would go absolutely nut-so on her. That sugar sweet persona is as fake as saccharin.
Yep, I’m the Queen of Mean when it comes to Paula Deen. I am also not a fan of her recipes. There isn’t anything that she makes that I would want to cook. It might be comfort food…but I don’t take comfort in her ingredients. Her recipes are fattening and heart attack friendly. We are talking mac and 45 pounds of cheese, cheesy meatloaf, triple fried chicken, and deep fried Twinkies.
There is only one Paula that really gets me cooking…and that is PaulA. Hot tamales baby.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Appearances Can Be Deceiving
I learned something on my last flight. It’s tough to be a guy with ear lobe plugs, a nose ring, and full sleeve tattoos exposed on both arms…and go through security without getting extra attention. The reason I know this is because he ended up sitting next to me on my last flight.
When he first sat down he smiled and said hello. Although I was momentarily blinded by the gleam off his nose ring, I thought to myself, “What a nice person.” Then when the plane started its ascent, he offered me a stick of gum. I thought, “What a very nice person. That bull nose ring is starting to grow on me.”
After a little convo, I learned that he was actually a Tattoo Artist and had an art portfolio that was being made into a hard covered book. Through his business he did a lot of flying and was always profiled by Security. Every time he flew, they pulled him out of line, roughed him up, and searched through his belongings.
I say leave the guy alone. The tattoos, ear piercings, and nose ring are way too obvious. I’m more concerned about the little ole granny peering over the top of her glasses. I hope the Security people x-ray her cane…it’s probably hollowed out and carrying more than a bottle of Geritol.
So here’s the moral: Appearances can be deceiving. Don’t judge a book by its cover.
Oh, and I have one thing to add: Don’t judge a blogger by their blog. Give them a chance. Otherwise, I’m just a windbag of mindless thoughts…when in fact…I’m a Blog Artist.
When he first sat down he smiled and said hello. Although I was momentarily blinded by the gleam off his nose ring, I thought to myself, “What a nice person.” Then when the plane started its ascent, he offered me a stick of gum. I thought, “What a very nice person. That bull nose ring is starting to grow on me.”
After a little convo, I learned that he was actually a Tattoo Artist and had an art portfolio that was being made into a hard covered book. Through his business he did a lot of flying and was always profiled by Security. Every time he flew, they pulled him out of line, roughed him up, and searched through his belongings.
I say leave the guy alone. The tattoos, ear piercings, and nose ring are way too obvious. I’m more concerned about the little ole granny peering over the top of her glasses. I hope the Security people x-ray her cane…it’s probably hollowed out and carrying more than a bottle of Geritol.
So here’s the moral: Appearances can be deceiving. Don’t judge a book by its cover.
Oh, and I have one thing to add: Don’t judge a blogger by their blog. Give them a chance. Otherwise, I’m just a windbag of mindless thoughts…when in fact…I’m a Blog Artist.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Friendly Skies
I’m at the age to remember when Flight Attendants were women and called stewardesses. I’m not sure if it was just rumor, but there was also something about them having to be pretty. But that’s pretty much not the same anymore. First of all, flight attendants can be men or women. They can be all shapes and sizes…and they can pretty and unpretty. On my last flight I saw a flight attendant who was an unflattering round triangle.
But one thing Flight Attendants through the years have always been is patient. I could no sooner do their job than write an intelligent blog.
I would be very short in the patience department. There’s always some person onboard who tries to stretch the rules…use more overhead compartment space than his fair share, sit in more than his fair share of chair, and spend more of his fair share in the bathroom. They think the world is actually a “table for one.” But Flight Attendants manage to keep their cool, keep their smile, and keep from using a baseball bat that I would have easily put to good use.
So I want to send a shout-out to the Flight Attendants who keep the skies friendly: THANK YOU!!!!!
But one thing Flight Attendants through the years have always been is patient. I could no sooner do their job than write an intelligent blog.
I would be very short in the patience department. There’s always some person onboard who tries to stretch the rules…use more overhead compartment space than his fair share, sit in more than his fair share of chair, and spend more of his fair share in the bathroom. They think the world is actually a “table for one.” But Flight Attendants manage to keep their cool, keep their smile, and keep from using a baseball bat that I would have easily put to good use.
So I want to send a shout-out to the Flight Attendants who keep the skies friendly: THANK YOU!!!!!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Happy Anniversary
Tomorrow …October 3rd is the 28th wedding anniversary of PaulA and Kat. Wow that’s a looong time. Being the traditionalists that we are, I’ll be wearing my wedding dress (faded and old)…no wise cracks please. We’ll be listening to our song "Something So Right" and dancing around the family room 1,2,3. 1,2,3. Actually it will be more like...stepping on each other shoes… trying to take the lead from each other. You can count on that. 1,2,3.
The words... “Something So Right” by Barbra Streisand are engraved inside our wedding bands. PaulA has tried to lose his ring twice…but it keeps finding its way back, even after losing it on 2 different golf courses. I knew losing a golf ball was a hazard of playing golf…but it also seems so is losing a wedding ring.
Our good friend, BillyA,who sang and played guitar at our wedding, informed me that Michelle and Barack Obama have the same anniversary date. But we had it first! I always knew we had a lot in common with the First Couple. Heck, we are both good looking and PaulA and I also live in a White House.
I’m sure this will be a special anniversary for the Obama’s…especially because it’s their first as President and First Lady in the White House. I wonder if Obama will sign his anniversary card to Michelle… Love, the President. Awwwww. As for cards, no one writes a better card than PaulA, even if you are Obama and have people writing for you.
For the past 28 years, PaulA has always made me feel special…like I was the First Lady. And even though PaulA might be considered the President of our White House…you can be sure…I always get the lead.
After all these years…still Something So Right.
The words... “Something So Right” by Barbra Streisand are engraved inside our wedding bands. PaulA has tried to lose his ring twice…but it keeps finding its way back, even after losing it on 2 different golf courses. I knew losing a golf ball was a hazard of playing golf…but it also seems so is losing a wedding ring.
Our good friend, BillyA,who sang and played guitar at our wedding, informed me that Michelle and Barack Obama have the same anniversary date. But we had it first! I always knew we had a lot in common with the First Couple. Heck, we are both good looking and PaulA and I also live in a White House.
I’m sure this will be a special anniversary for the Obama’s…especially because it’s their first as President and First Lady in the White House. I wonder if Obama will sign his anniversary card to Michelle… Love, the President. Awwwww. As for cards, no one writes a better card than PaulA, even if you are Obama and have people writing for you.
For the past 28 years, PaulA has always made me feel special…like I was the First Lady. And even though PaulA might be considered the President of our White House…you can be sure…I always get the lead.
After all these years…still Something So Right.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Upsell Principle
I don’t want to sound like Andy Rooney…or resemble him…in any way, shape, form or eyebrow. But I have a complaint.
I hate upselling. I realize waiters and waitresses are trained to get you to spend more money. It’s their job to get customers to buy more than they really want…to eat more, drink more and be happy more. It’s the upsell Principle.
After I’ve plowed through the bread, appetizer, salad, and Fred Flintstone sized prime ribs of beef…now they want me to eat dessert. And they do this because they want to see me well fed? No, they want to upsell for a big fat tip…they don’t care about waste or waistlines.
I was thinking about the subject of tipping. The tipping of waiters, that is…not the tipping of cows, one of my all-time favorite subjects. If you order a burger and fries for 9.99…the (20%) tip is 2 dollars. And if you order the sea bass which costs 25 dollars…the tip is 5 dollars. But when you think about it…there is the same amount of work required for the waiter to carry either plate of food. Heck, the fish plate even weighs less than the pound of red meat and fries. And to carry it further…(hehe).. the more your meal costs…the less there is of it on the plate.
Upselling not only occurs in restaurants, but everywhere. At the mall when I’m buying a sweater…they want me to buy 2 sweaters…and get the second for half off. But I only want one. I have 5 different shades of black sweaters already. They want you to get their credit card and receive 10% off your next purchase. If you open a checking account you can get a free toaster. But I have a toaster. Doesn’t every person who opens a checking account already have a toaster?
Everyone has some deal to offer you. Heck, that’s why I had 3 kids. My obstetrician promised me a deal that after 2 kids, the 3rd was half price. I couldn’t refuse!
Hmmm...maybe I should apply the Upsell principle to my blog. Here’s the offer:
If you get 2 friends or 2 frenemies…(your choice) to read my blog…you will see your name and address written in my blog. Wait, just kidding. Come back.
I hate upselling. I realize waiters and waitresses are trained to get you to spend more money. It’s their job to get customers to buy more than they really want…to eat more, drink more and be happy more. It’s the upsell Principle.
After I’ve plowed through the bread, appetizer, salad, and Fred Flintstone sized prime ribs of beef…now they want me to eat dessert. And they do this because they want to see me well fed? No, they want to upsell for a big fat tip…they don’t care about waste or waistlines.
I was thinking about the subject of tipping. The tipping of waiters, that is…not the tipping of cows, one of my all-time favorite subjects. If you order a burger and fries for 9.99…the (20%) tip is 2 dollars. And if you order the sea bass which costs 25 dollars…the tip is 5 dollars. But when you think about it…there is the same amount of work required for the waiter to carry either plate of food. Heck, the fish plate even weighs less than the pound of red meat and fries. And to carry it further…(hehe).. the more your meal costs…the less there is of it on the plate.
Upselling not only occurs in restaurants, but everywhere. At the mall when I’m buying a sweater…they want me to buy 2 sweaters…and get the second for half off. But I only want one. I have 5 different shades of black sweaters already. They want you to get their credit card and receive 10% off your next purchase. If you open a checking account you can get a free toaster. But I have a toaster. Doesn’t every person who opens a checking account already have a toaster?
Everyone has some deal to offer you. Heck, that’s why I had 3 kids. My obstetrician promised me a deal that after 2 kids, the 3rd was half price. I couldn’t refuse!
Hmmm...maybe I should apply the Upsell principle to my blog. Here’s the offer:
If you get 2 friends or 2 frenemies…(your choice) to read my blog…you will see your name and address written in my blog. Wait, just kidding. Come back.
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