I Can See Clearly Now

I have accomplished a seemingly impossible fetish. Right…feat. It’s something I’ve tried to do for a couple of years...off and on. I’ve put contact lenses on my eyeballs…right on. And right on! Wooo hooo!

I’ve always marveled at those who could easily get contacts in their eyes. I’ve always struggled because of my natural flinch reflex. That would be no surprise to the woman who gave me my last pedicure (my second ever). When she touched my feet, I had to resist the urge to kick her in the face. She thought it was funny that I was ticklish, but if she knew how much my foot wanted to smack her in the chin…she wouldn’t have been laughing.

So whenever I’ve tried to put contact lenses in…I would blink. And because contacts are as thin as Saran Wrap…they’d just fold over like a calzone. (I like using food items as similes.) After enough calzones…I was full and often gave up in desperado.


Any who…….

I have been practicing…by holding my eyes wide open and poking myself in the eye. I figured I needed to toughen up and learn to remain relaxed while a foreign object approached my eye. I guess my barbaric methods of attack worked. To heck with the eye professionals from Lenscrafters.

I actually surprised myself when I managed to get the lenses in…but mostly because now I could see everything around me. Woah…I guess I really don’t resemble Julia Roberts …do I?

My contacted eyes have actually felt pretty comfortable today. Now I’m wondering about tomorrow…and if I’ll be able to put them in again. But I probably should be wondering about tonight. Will I ever be able to get these things out??? And why do I have a hankerin’ for a calzone for dinner?

Go Fish

Yesterday Big C called and said she bought a goldfish. Today Big C texted and said he expired. We’ve all been struck, at one time or another, with the horror of finding our beloved fish sideways…doing the dead-fish float. She didn’t have him long enough to give him a proper name…a name he could live up to.

What is it about living in a 450 ml environment with stagnant, unoxygenated, chlorinated water that isn’t conducive to living? Fish are so finicky.

Goldfish ages should be calculated in multiples. Dogs years are calculated in multiples of 7…making Duncandog 77. By my calculations….Big C’s fish lived to the ripe old age of one week. Long past his expiration date.

For some reason I’ve had good (dumb) luck with goldfish. When I was in high school, I had a fish that lived for a while in a regular fishbowl…no bubbles. I added blue and yellow rocks to the bowl for décor, my school colors. To keep up his fighting spirit…I sang our school fight song to it every night. Okay, I made that part up…I’m really not that weird. But over time...my fish ended up in the familiar sideways dead-fish float.

I am periodically asked about the fish I keep in a glass vase in my foyer…wondering how the little fella is doing. I wish I could respond “swimmingly,” but unfortunately he too reached his shelf life date.

It must have been a shock for Big C to find her fish floating at the top of the bowl. Kinda like when you come across a body floating in the East River…doing the dead man’s float.

Anywho………………..

Big C gave her fish a fitting departure…a good swift flush into the City Sewer System. “Here lies, dearly beloved nameless fish.” Hopefully she will get over it. Big C can always get a new one… goldfish are a dime a dozen. Well okay, taking in today’s inflation, $2.50. Maybe she’ll get lucky and end up with one with a longer expiration date. Go fish.

Beaker Breakthrough

Recent studies have shown progesterone has helped traumatic brain-injured patients in both men and women. Woah…Wait …progesterone is a female hormone. If my name was Tom, Dick, or Jerry…I might worry about being on the receiving end of a female hormone. (No play on words intended.)

Scientists say there is no cause for alarm regarding any ill effects from receiving progesterone. They first tested the treatment on rats…and I’m not talking the Tiger Woods variety. I’m talking the rats that travel in other skanky circles… laboratory rats. Scientists swear on their glass beakers that the treatment doesn’t give males female characteristics……
………although they can’t promise you won’t meet up with a couple of your girlfriends every Saturday at the mall for a light lunch and shoe shopping.

Anywho……….

Last year a young man from Georgia was in a coma following a car accident. He was rushed to the hospital and given progesterone which helped in the speed of his recovery…spending almost a year less in the hospital. The scientists have found that progesterone is critical for normal development of brain cells and reduces swelling from trauma. A beaker breakthrough.

And if the young Georgia man, who has since completely recovered, for some reason starts putting the toilet seat back down after every use, cries during Hugh Grant movies, and color coordinates his outfits …I would consider getting in touch with his feminine side...an added bonus.

Mascot Mania

“How are your brackets performing?” Hopefully you don’t think I'm being too personal. (Don’t get your basket in a jam…I’m talking about the NCAA Basketball Tournament.)

So are you good at picking and choosing winners and losers? Well, I know how to pick ‘em…I have a proven record. I picked PaulA…didn’t I? Some folks pick according to stats. And past records. And mathematical factors like percentages, odds, ratios. And odds to ratios. Woah…way too technical for me.

When I go to the horses…I want a sure bet. I might look like a horse’s ass, but I bet according to the horse’s name. It only makes good horse sense that the horse with the name, “Triple Crown” …is gonna bring home the roses. And the horse dubbed “At Last” is gonna trot home…dead last. And when I go to the dogs…well, that’s not a pretty picture.

When it comes to sporting events, I choose one team over another team according to their mascot. Like when the Ramblin’ Wreck play…the odds are NOT always in their favor. That also includes mascots named after foods…. “Artie the Fighting Artichoke” (Scottsdale Community College) and “The Fighting Okra,” (Delta State University). Or strange animals…“Sammy the Slug” (UC Santa Cruz) and “Gladys the Squirrel” (Mary Baldwin College.)

(Anywho)……..

Sometimes it isn’t a slam dunk/drop kick decision. It can become difficult when the lines between mascots are fuzzy. (Like when the University of Texas played the University of Alabama in the national title football game last January.) Although a Texas Bevo, with its sharp horns, can spear a slow moving elephant…a persistent Tide can drown a Bevo. So I had to go with the Tide drowning the Bevo. Yep, picked that winner…Alabama over Texas in the 2010 BCS Bowl Championship.

As for the UCONN Huskies Men’s Basketball team not making the NCAA Tournament this year and losing in the second round of the NIT…well, after a few years a Husky can lose its bite and get dog tired…which helps to explain their lousy season.

Villanova’s loss to St. Mary’s in the NCAA Tournament also makes sense. How much hope did the Wildcats really have against the Gaels…a name of Irish descent? When you have the luck of the Irish on your side…the cats can be as wild as they want…not going to do them much good.

Georgetown is a total enigma. What the hell’s a Hoya anyway?

So in the NCAA Tournament, if you thought Kansas was gonna beat Northern Iowa (a fictional cartoon bird up against a sleek Panther?) You should have known better…(Big C).

As for my brackets? (I do way better with parentheses.)

Medium at Large

MEDIUM
MARCH 26TH

…I saw those words written on a sign outside a shop and wondered…"What the heck? Medium?" It took me a minute before I realized “medium” was actually a psychic.

With the economy and such, it looks like the market for a medium is small…especially if a medium is resorting to large advertisements to find someone to con….that’s right, work with.

Do you believe in mediums and all that hocus pocus? I would say I’m a skepticalKat regarding those who profess to see dead people…or have conversations with someone who has passed. Supposedly, these people have a sixth sense. I actually think they have seven…non sense. And have you noticed that Tarot card readers are only playing with half a deck?

I don’t want to split hairs, toe nails, or eyes of newt…but to be perfectly clear, a psychic reads your aura…while a medium delivers messages from those who've passed over. Therefore, all mediums are psychics...although not all psychics are mediums. But all nut jobs are wacky.

Anywho….

I’ve watched TV shows about mediums and wondered how much was real…and how much was real bunk. The medium will ask questions to make you believe he is in contact with your loved one. He’ll say, “Your grandmother was a woman, correct? She had gray hair and didn’t move very fast as she grew older...Am I correct?”

If you've put yourself in a position where you are actually sitting across from a psychic, medium, or crack pot…you want to believe the medium is in contact with your loved one. So you fall for it all…hook, line, and crystal ball. “OMG…that’s my grandmother to a T…gray hair and all. Amazing.”

I admit, I do have a burning question to ask about my future…so I might see a psychic and have her gaze into her crystal ball to find the answer: “Will Kat ever become ‘Queen of Blogworld'?"

Should the crystal ball answer: “Don’t count on it”….I’ll have the psychic shake the ball, until it reads: “Signs point to yes.” Or my other favorite answer: “It is decidedly so.”

An Ultimate Diet Low

“I’ll take 5 donuts…jelly, Boston crème, glazed, sugar, chocolate frosted with sprinkles. Aww…heck…make it a baker’s dozen.”

That’s a typical Dunkin Donuts order from Donna Simpson, a New Jersey woman on a diet…to gain weight. Not that she isn’t killing the scales already. She weighs in at 600, but her goal is to reach 1,000 pounds. That gives new meaning to “having a goal in life.”

Her boyfriend weighs a mere 150 lbs. and would prefer it if Simpson was bigger. She says her boyfriend is a belly man, likes cellulite, and “completely supports her.” Hey, I’d like to see that. I think if she leaned on him, he would fold like paper origami.

Anywho………….

What’s Ms. Simpson’s favorite food? That would be sushi; 70 pieces in one sitting. And of course, donuts. Maybe DD’s should consider offering sushi and donuts together…saving her a stop.

In order to pile on the pounds, she chows down 12,000 calories a day and tries to stay sedentary. She makes sure every trip to her frig is gainfully productive.

Her gastronomical bill for her maniacal diet is astronomical at $750 per week, which is paid by viewers of her website (mostly men) to watch her eat and show off her body. The whole enchilada seems astrologically diabolical.

Simpson is proud to hold the current Guinness World Record for the "World’s Fattest Mother" and says that she’s being “original.” Along with donut cravings, I think she craves attention and will do anything for her 15 minutes of fame…even if gaining weight is her only talent. (I’m being biologically satirical.)

It would be SO easy to amass weight jokes….but that would be like taking candy from the fat lady…and she needs those calories to stay on her diet.

Sneeze Envy

Some folks sneeze like it’s their job. ..that would be PaulA…and he’s damn good at both.

If he eats a piece of chocolate, he’s good for a sneeze…and if he looks into the sun, he can hit a 3 or a 4 on the sneezer meter.

I like sneezing, but I rarely have the pleasure. I just wish I had more opportunities to experience a sneeze. People like PaulA get all the luck when it comes to gesundheits. But after PaulA has showed-off his sneezing ability in front of me...with 3 or 4 consecutive sneezes…it makes me crazy.

Okay, I admit it…I have sneeze envy.

When PaulA sneezes, I politely say, “Bless you.” I’ll even bless random strangers who I hear sneezing. The priest in me rises from within and I bestow blessings to those around me. After I bless PaulA once, bless him twice, bless him a third time…I figure he’s been blessed enough. Then I politely yell …“CUT IT OUT.”

I need to learn to control my sneeze envy.

Sometimes when I feel a little tickle in my nose, I get excited for an impending sneeze. Aaaaaahhhhh…yes...here is comes. But when my eyes start to water, I know it is just a sneeze tease. I guess that puts me in the sneeze flunkie category.

Anywho…………..

I’ve tried everything to make sneezes come. I’ve even resorted to artificial starters…onions and pepper. Nope. No sneeze. I have also thought about catching the common cold, but that seems a little extreme…even for me. Maybe I could develop a little allergy.

So the sad truth is………

I'm green with sneeze envy. (For some reason, that sounds a little gross.)

ps. I realize this blog blows. Bless you for reading it.

Happy Spring

Spring (the Vernal Equinox) officially arrived last Saturday, March 20th. But we don’t need the calendar to tell us that spring has sprung.

There are obvious signs to let us know spring is in the air.…daylight savings time change, MLB spring training, crocus blooms, greening grass, and Duncandog’s calling cards. After a long winter, Duncandog’s calling cards are left standing after the winter snow has melted away. They have magically appeared, but are NOT magically delicious.

When temps are below freezing and the snow is piled high…weiny Duncandog does his business quickly and runs right back to the door. He never gets as far as the woods…quickly leaves his duty in the snow, and makes a mad dash to the house. So when spring arrives and all the snow melts…his land mines are everywhere. Someone has the job to detonate them…and that would be Private First Class Kat.

Anywho......................

So while I am in the backyard on CP (Crap Patrol)…cleaning up his duty…HIS Royal Highness…HRH The Royal Rump Roast…is in the backyard with me...meticulously tiptoeing around. For some reason it ticks me off to see him…carefully negotiating his piles…so he doesn’t end up with his feetsie in one of his mounds.

And I can hear what Duncandog is thinking, as he supervises, “Come on Kat…get this yard cleaned up. Can’t you see how hard it is for me to navigate around all this shit? Why don’t you do a better of job of staying up with this? Cut the crap and get with it.”

Happy Spring. Hello pooper scooper.

Ship Ahoy

Just when I think I’m going to break down and consider going on a cruise…I read about people getting sick. Recently 350 people on Celebrity Cruise Lines were taken ill. What’s the deal? I thought the food was supposed to be good on a cruise. Apparently not…or maybe it is so good, people don’t know when to stop eating.

Any who……………

Before I chip ahoy…like I said, ship ahoy…I need to revisit the idea of cruising. I have a lot of questions that need to be answered before I will board the USS Contaminate:

Does the cruise ship have enough blow bags and toilets to handle a grunge catastrophe?

Does Dramamine work…or only add to the drama?

Do you feel trapped like mice…cruising with as many people that could fill your town?

Would I really want to go on vacation with every mouse/rat from my town?

Do you really have to wear a moo moo onboard? Or is okay to just look like one?

Do strangers with bad table manners join you for dinner?

Have they ever left anyone at a rum runner bar and shipped off without them?

Has anyone fallen overboard by accident…or are they usually pushed overboard by their husband or fiancé, and made to look like an accident?

Is shuffleboard still wildly popular?

Is the crew as professional as that of “The Love Boat?”

Will Donna Summer songs be playing in the discotechque?

Is everything really all inclusive, or is there a drink limit…during happy hour?

Is everything really all inclusive, or is there a lap dance limit…during happy hour?

Does the Captain have nice quarters…or more dime a dozen?

Unless these questions are answered, I am putting the brakes on cruising. There is one exception…if Captain Stubing is driving the boat…I’m so onboard.

Bring on the Dramamine…Chip Ahoy, Matey.

Megatron

Did you hear about the expectant woman who agreed to name her baby Megatron if her brother got one million fans on Facebook? It looks like Megatron is going to happen…her brother has 868,212 fans already…and the baby isn’t due until August.

Megatron, named after the toy Transformer, might be a strange name, but I’ve heard of parents coming up with worse. Being born to level-headed parents with more than half a brain is the luck of the draw…so you have to hope you don’t end up with the Scarecrow for your father and Kellie Calamari Pickler for your mother.

Your name is something you have no vote over. I suppose you have the option of changing it when you get older…but then you have to worry about offending your parents. “Oh Stinky…we’re sorry you don’t like your name. You think it’s foul?”

I like to think our kid’s names were from parents with well-developed frontal lobes. Chelsea was named after Jane Fonda’s character in “On Golden Pond”….special because of my connection to Chelsea, Vermont. Colin was named from the Rob Lowe character in the movie, “Oxford Blues” and a perfect match with his Irish heritage. And I loved the nickname, Bri, when I first heard it…and loved Brianna even more. Also of Irish, Gaelic origin.

Anywho……

If you had to name a baby now…what name would you choose? How about Le-a? It’s pronounced le dash a. As the woman who gave it to her daughter was quoted as saying…the “dash don’t be silent.” Half a brain there.

You could be clever and name your baby after a corporation. There are 4 boys in the U.S. called ESPN. I wonder if they pronounce it as 4 separate letters, or pronounce it as one word…so it sounds like…Espen.

I don’t think you should try to be clever when naming your child. I’m not saying you should name your daughter Kathy, Karen, or Sally…but Nautica, Lexus, and Armani? Only if I was getting paid royalties, would I name my child Levitra.

The good thing about the name, Megatron, is that it works for a boy or a girl. It’s a transformer name…so it goes both ways. And if Megatron grows up and later wants to transform from one sex to another…not a problem…Megatron can keep his/her name.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

“Ye take the high road…And I’ll take the low road... And I’ll be in Ireland afore ye." (I took the liberty of changing the words. You say Scotland, I say Ireland. Same vicinity, different island, close enough.) So I’m taking the low road today and posting an excerpt from last year’s St. Patrick’s Day blog. I’m in a wicked pissa hurry to get to my clogging lessons.

Paddy PaulA, being the Irish bloke that he is…likes to say to me: “The next best thing to being Irish is marrying Irish.” On St. Patrick’s Day, it doesn’t matter who came over on the boat…everyone is Irish. And I’m no exception…I’m right there with the rest of the Irish-posers…wearing “the green” and my blinking “Kiss Me I’m Irish” button. Yep, right there…singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”, downing a green stout, and passing a blarney stone.

Anywho.....

On St. Patrick’s Day, when the kids were little and believed just about anything we told them…(back when we could really mess with their minds)…the leprechaun would visit our house in the wee morning when they were sleeping and turn everything green. They would find green milk for their cereal, green bottled water, green mashed potatoes, and the best yet…a kid’s dream…green water in the toilets. They would run from one bathroom to the next…checking out the toilets to see if the leprechaun had left them his calling card. Lucky for them…a little green was all they found.

And as luck would have it...green Guinness for the parents.

So “Top O' the morning to ya”… “May love and laughter light your days”…. “May the road rise up to meet you”…and whatever else the Irish say.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, lads and lassies...and special Irish blessings to my trinity...Big C, Colinboy, and Wishy.

O’katOUT

Fashion Forward

There are times when I resist wearing what's in fashion. I realize it is fashionable to know what’s in fashion and dress fashionable…but sometimes the latest fashion is something I don’t fashion…so I won’t dress in that fashion. I’m not saying that I’m out of fashion.. and I’m not trying to act in a cranky fashion…but as we know…all fashions of people make up the world.

Any who………

There are times when a fashion has been full circle…come right back around…when it should never have had a starting point to begin with. It actually should have been a line…..a b-line into obscurity. Take the unitard and stirrup pants…yes, please…take them, burn them, and shit-can them.

I find fashion trends an interesting concept. Hem lines, like the NASDAQ, have gone up and down over the years. And also especially like the NASDAQ these days…fashion designers have taken a downward trend……

Like bringing down the waistline on jeans. With low rise jeans, we can let our waists breathe a sigh of relief and let the muffin tops rise.

And bringing down the shirtline…making shirts longer. There was a time when shirts stopped 3 inches before they should.

And bringing down the neckline. Not only exposing the neck…bust da move.

For about a year or so now…the fashion has been ruffles, foo foo, and even feathers. It's hard to find a shirt without some ruffle or foo on it. At a party I recently attended, 8 out of 10 women wore ruffles…and some even had ridges. Hey, I’m not making fun of anyone. I was standing there all ruffled up. I can get a ruffle on as good as the next woman.

Anyway, I’m not going to continue in this fashion and get my panties in a ruffle over this subject any longer...or was the trend shorter? And I certainly don’t want to ruffle any feathers with this subject…even if it is in fashion.

Mr. Handsome

For some ‘Go Figure’ reason…scientists have rebuilt the genome of an ancient human. From analysis of samples of hair excavated from a permafrost in the 1980’s…(more Go Figure) scientists were able to analyze the DNA , and come up with physical characteristics.

Mr. Handsome, a Palaeo-Eskimo, lived about 4,000 years ago in Greenland. Research reveals that he had brown eyes, brown skin, shovel-shaped front teeth, and a problem with dry earwax.

OMG…the description is a dead ringer for my Aunt Wilma….albeit there is a slight difference, Aunt Wilma has green eyes…but very close. The shovel teeth and earwax is dead-on. Now I understand where the family resemblance comes from.

I wonder how scientists figured out about the dry ear wax? I can understand determining eye color and skin color…but knowing about the wax floors me. And floor wax happens to make your wood floor extra shiny…and slippery…so be careful.

Any who….

I especially like his mullet haircut. Mr. Handsome would have been so pleased to know he was ahead of his time…that Jon Bon Jovi would be wearing his haircut in the 1980’s…and his style managed to “Never Say Goodbye.”

How's your giddy-up?

We try to exercise and eat healthy…but it is hard to stop Mother Nature from eventually clobbering us. Over time, there is always something to go. And something has to be the FIRST.

It’s a toss-up as to what body part could go first. And it’s different for everyone. Maybe you notice your back hurts, after 18 holes of golf. Or your knees ache, after a tennis match. Over time, the giddy in your giddy-up…ain’t what it used to be.

I don’t have any aches and pains yet…KNOCK ON WOOD…but for me the first to go is clearly gone…it’s my eyes. My eyesight used to be 20/20. Now its…20/not-so-good. (But I can see you making faces at this blog. So stop that.)

Any who…

PaulA's giddy-up is still working…he’s strong like bull, or is that ox?…Okay, bullox. But if I could choose something on him to go first…I would have it be his eyes. I wouldn’t make him totally blind…but I’d give him just enough of a blur. That way when he looks at me…I look airbrushed…directly off the pages of Vogue.

But I have a suspicion PaulA would choose something else to go first. Yep…it would be his hearing. He already is experiencing hearing that's in and out...in one ear and out the other. “You wanted me to get tickets to the Broadway Theatre in NYC? Ohhhhh…I thought you said…get tickets to the Big East Tournament in NYC.”

Very convenient, I say.

Kids in Control

Being the nervous Nelliekat that I am…I’m always wondering about the pilot, whenever I board an airplane. I'm obsessing over the pilot’s stats and condition… ADHD meds? fear of heights? sleep deprivation? alcohol intake?

But apparently there are other things I should add to my list of worries. Now I have to wonder about the air traffic controller. I forgot about those guys/gals. Now I have to wonder if the person calling the shots from the control tower…is someone who plays Dodge ball during recess.

The latest scary airline story…and there have plenty…lest not forget the pilot and co-pilot who overshot their destination and were unreachable for some time…because they were what?…sleeping? passed out? bored? video game addicts?

Any who…………

Did you hear the audio clip of the 7-year old boy in a control tower giving an ‘all-clear for take-off’ directive to a Jet Blue pilot. It seemed innocent enough….the kid was having fun and the pilot was going along for the ride. But the big problem was…so were a couple of hundred other people on that flight.

I am surprised that Junior was allowed to be in radio contact...let alone, be allowed inside the tower. What if Jr. decided to play with the switches and buttons, or spilled his juice box on something? What the hell?

I’ve heard of 'take your child to work day'…but there has to be a limit as to when and where you draw the line. “Okay, Junior…I’m gonna take a little break over here…go ahead and finish sewing Mr. Johnston’s chest up. Just follow the dotted lines…like in your coloring book, son.”

Some careers by nature are safer to bring your child to work..maybe newspaper delivery, hair salons, sales and administrative offices. A child couldn’t get into too much trouble sitting in my blog chair. I do run the risk, however, that if my back was turned…a kid could post something childish, immature, and sophomoric. But then, you might not even notice. After all, most the time this blog is written in the voice of a 10-year old.

Anywho

Anywho

What do ya think of the new name for my blog?

I know what you’re thinking: “Kat, are you kidding? Is that the best you could come up with? After the big hoopla over the name…that’s all you got? My dog could have dropped something bigger in the backyard.”

I hope I didn’t build it up too much…but there has to be a lead in…that’s the way to get people to stay-tuned. Kinda like all those TV commercials for new shows that turn out to be a disappointment…say "Community" and the "Prime Time Jay Leno Show."

So you’re probably wondering why I went with “Anywho.” Well….the way I see it... 'anywho' is a good filler. Granted, not exactly an expression of intelligence…not something the poet, Maya Angelou would have said, but definitely something…Homer Simpson…has said. Lest we not forget, my man Homer, was awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I should be so lucky.

anywho...

See…how I just used it to change the subject…and transition from one subject to another? It really is a good segway… and the best thing is you don’t have to actually stand on it…and look ridiculous like those goofy segway people I see riding around cities.


anywho…

I hope you like the new name of my blog…and if you hang in there long enough…say years from now….I might change it again.

And for those who don’t particularly like the change…one thing remains constant…the dribble that daily fills this blog will totally remain unchanged.

A change is gonna come

Some people like to change things up…change their hair color, change their hair-do, change their underwear. I don’t mind change, but sometimes it takes me a while before I change things around. Although, you’d be happy to know…I regularly change my underwear.

Growing up, my mother consistently made changes to the décor in our house...like with the color scheme in the bathroom…changing towels, shower curtain, rug. She changed the living room furniture so often…the couch should have been on wheels. I’d come home from school and find everything had been rotated to the left. What up wit dat?

I’m the opposite. The furniture in my own house has not been moved since the day we moved in…almost 14 years ago. Okay, I have moved it to clean underneath….I’m not dirtykat...but then, I move things right back into place.

As you may have noticed. ..I’ve slowly made some changes to the appearance of my blog. I finally added pics to my blog, which was a wise suggestion by Big C. And Colinboy suggested I add some more color to my blog page.

But on my own…I’ve decided to go for the major over-haul…the major make-over….the major facelift. Don’t get excited now….I’m only talking about my blog…not my personal appearance.

I’ve decided to change the name of my blog from Just Your Average Family. I decided I wasn’t giving our family enough credit by lumping us all into the average category. Collectively, we have a slight advantage over the average family...we have Duncandog…Rappa D. Yo Yo.

So I’m working on coming up with a new name for my blog. There are so many possibilities:

Kat’s Krap
Kitty Kat’s Krappy Korner
Krappy Kat’s Kitty Korner
Korner Kat’s Krappy Kitty

Just soooo soooo many possibilities….and if you have a particular suggestion…something I should contemplate...drop it here.

Tune into tomorrow………when I make the big reveal. Don’t worry, I’ll be keeping my clothes on.

The Stinky Open

It is one thing to win the Masters, or The US Open…but The Waste Management Open??? Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

That’s what Hunter Mahem did in Scottsdale, Arizona. Hunter was knee deep in Waste Management and somehow came through smelling like a rose. A Black Rose. I think a guy with a name like Hunter…would have figured out a way to blast through the last green…and shoot to come in second. Hey, that’s what I would have done. I would have aimed to stink up the last hole.

Forget going for first place. I wouldn’t want my name connected with waste management. To me, the idea of winning that one would absolutely stink to high heaven. “And the winner of the 2010 Malodor Open…Hunter Mahem.”

It’s too bad that Tiger wasn’t around to play in the Waste Management Open…and not busy with his sex addiction therapy (another blog waiting to be written.) Tiger would have easily won it…and no surprise to us…we’re already accustomed to seeing Tiger’s name associated with trash. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist trashing and bagging Tiger there.)

First, as we all know…waste management is a dirty job, but someone has do it. But ya think the sponsors could come up with a better name. Although I admit, Waste Management does have a better ring to it than the Dump Open, Dispose Open, or Refuse Open.

Back in the day…the tournament used to be The Phoenix Open. But sponsors want to get recognition and advertisement for sponsoring the tournament…so they want their name out there. I guess things could have sounded worse for Hunter. The company sponsoring the tournament could have been in the business of helping guys with manly problems. Hunter could have won the 2010 Jock Itch Open. Scratch Here.

“They” tribute Mahem’s win in the Waste Management Open to his perseverance. I think it would take a lot to play golf in Waste Management for 4 days…that’s the ultimate in perseverance. So I have to give Hunter kudos. I wonder what technique he used for his win. I’m guessing a clothespin.

Peace, Love, and Spreak

It’s funny what words go in and out of style…in and out of favor…in and out the door.

What got me thinking about all this was the word “fox.” You never hear the expression, “she is foxy” anymore. Words used to refer to a good looking female have changed through the decades…dame, chick, babe, knockout, fox…now the word is HOT. “That girl is HOT”…or 'SMOKIN’…or the two together…smokin’ hot. If she’s smokin’ hot…someone needs to have her stop, drop, and roll. ..and throw a blanket on her.

I like the idea of making up words or expressions to see if I can start a trend. Al Gore invented the internet…although I’m not so sure about that. Last year I invented a hand symbol for peace and love….and I’m sure about that.

Check out the pic...All you do is cross your first two fingers and then make the shape of an L with your thumb. I’ve tried to get the peace and love symbol to catch on….and I’ve actually had some of Wishy’s friends around town using it…but I need to have it go further than 3 blocks.

I’ve also created a new word that I would like to share with the world. It‘s…. “spreak”…to mean spring break. That way, when college kids are talking about their spring breaks in March…all they have to say is “Where ya goin’ on spreak?” Now…how cool is that?

Come on blog readers…let’s see if you can help make these trends…both the peace and love symbol and “spreak.” I rarely ask any favors of you…..except to KEEP READING MY BLOG.

Here’s a sample conversation with the word "spreak":
“Hey dude, how was your spreak?”
“My spreak was awesome, man.”
See how easy that is?

Peace and love ya…………katOUT
Ps. Wishy and Colinboy…have a safe and fun spreak. (And PLEASE don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t do on her spreak.)

If you were a tree...

If I ever became famous enough to be interviewed by Barbara Walters and she asked, “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?” …I would have no problem answering.

You might think I’d choose a Maple tree, probably because I’m originally from Vermont, and Vermont is noted for its maple syrup …plus I do tend to be sappy, especially in the spring. But alas, you would be wrong.

I would be a Palm Tree. I love Palm trees. They are so graceful with their feather-shaped leaves as they sway in the breeze. And if I was truly a lucky Palm…I would be endowed with large coconuts.

I wonder what PaulA would choose for his tree. Maybe an olive tree…and have an ample supply of olives for his martinis? But probably a Blackberry Tree…he’s always attached to his Blackberry.

If I were to choose a type of tree for PaulA, I would choose an Oak tree. PaulA is very strong and solid, thrives in a loam soil, and requires very little maintenance. Don’t worry…I won’t talk about his acorns.

The kids, however, have already chosen a tree for PaulA. Their dad’ums would be a Money Tree. Preferably one with 100 dollar bills…not just those stinkin’ 10’s and 20’s.

…And I know my niece, Natalieboo, would choose to be a Christmas Tree. When you are eight years old….you wish Christmas came every day of the year.

So if you were a tree, what tree would you be?

Guess Things Happen That Way

Sometimes there are stories that make you feel good…hence, feel good stories. The most recent one is about Louie Sulcer of Woodstock, Georgia, age 71…a man with 7 stents in his heart, and artificial hip sockets. Louie downloaded the 10 billionth song from iTunes, “Guess Things Happen That Way,” by Johnny Cash…and won $10,000 in credit to spend on songs, movies, and apps.

I wonder what Louie will use it on? Apparently he wasn’t sure what they had to offer and went to bed. I’m guessing he’ll probably download every Johnny Cash song that Cash ever sang, and some John Wayne movies. He should probably download the app that checks your blood pressure…a handy app for a guy with 7 stents.

Louie owns an iPod Nano that was a gift from his children for his 71st birthday. I am pretty darned impressed that he could figure out how to download music onto it…and that he didn’t take it to a pawn shop. Maybe his kids were hoping he wouldn’t know what to do with the iPod…and give it back to them.

The cool thing is that Louie got a call from Steve Jobs, the Head of the Apple Core, congratulating and thanking him for using Apple products. So now Louie is a rock star with 15 minutes of fame. Even Rolling Stone wants to interview him. I hope his ticker is up for it. Louie thinks Rolling Stone will be disappointed interviewing an old man. I say…NO PROBLEMA, Louie…all you have to do is get a sleeve of tattoos, take your shirt off, and lie down on a bed with your guitar in front of you….that’s the way bad boy John Mayer does it.

To add to this feel good story…Roseanne Cash called to thank Louie for listening to her dad, and also had her musician husband, John Leventhal, play the song over the phone for him. Apparently, Louie CASHed in a few times.

When you’re an ole country boy, a Georgic peach of a man, living with 7 stents…it makes sense that Louie should be the winner. ‘Guess things happen that way’….for a reason.

Fool-Proof Coverage

Sunblock, as we all know, is very important. Not only for health reasons, but also to keep skin from looking 45 years older than it is.

Too bad my parents couldn’t have passed on this age defying information to me…but we didn’t know then, what we know now. I constantly tell my kids to remember to apply sunblock . If they end up looking like Great Granny or Great Grampy...before their time, it will not be on my conscious.

For protection from the sun…it’s all about the SPF. When I first started using sunblock, I used SPF 4, then SPF 8, and then moved up the sunblock ladder to SPF 15. I have noticed that it has gotten increasingly difficult to even find SPF 15 in stores anymore. SPF 30 apparently is the new SPF 15.

There are higher SPFs on the shelves…45, 50, and 75. Personally, I think SPF 75 is the equivalent of locking yourself in the closet…with the lights off …which if I could suggest, would be much cheaper.

Random question: If you apply SPF 30 and SPF 15 together…is it the equivalent of SPF 45?

I do, however, understand why someone would want to block all harmful rays and look for total, all-over, fool-proof coverage. For this person, may I suggest a funky chicken suit. You can get them on eBay for $45.55.

I hope that my own kids…(now that they aren’t under my roof, let alone under my thumb)… will remember to apply and reapply…an SPF of any number. Or if they find a little number… say in a funky chicken suit…I would have no worries.

Wait, now that I think about it…wearing the funky chicken suit…although providing total coverage….isn’t totally fool-proof.

Olympic Thoughts

I just realized I hadn’t written anything about the Olympics. With the closing ceremony held last night, this posting is Post-Olympic.

Let’s see what Olympic thoughts I have regarding the games.

It seemed like every time I turned on the TV to watch the Olympics, there was a bobsled race. I agree with PaulA …. “Why do they always have to use Bob’s sled? (Please excuse PaulA’s ridiculous humor….as you know, mine is so much more sophisticated.)

NBC periodically would throw in a tease: “Women’s figure skating coming up in 5 minutes.” So I’d patiently watch, team after team, take Bob’s sled…then FINALLY…the figure skaters would be televised. But they would only show 4 skaters…a few short jumps and spins later….they would have Bob’s freaking sled out again….banging it all up to hell.

But there were many Amazing Races…like Shaun Gold…I mean, White. It's amazing what he can do on a snowboard. Apolo OhYes…amazing with what he can do on speed skates. And it’s amazing what Jimbo, from the USA, can do with a stack of ham sandwiches…polishing them off in a record two and a half minutes…with a clean delivery…nothing on his shirt.

Some athletes got Gold, some Silver, some Bronze, and some Hurt…physically and mentally. I was thinking how it must stink to come in Fourth….one place short of the podium. Fourth is definitely the hardest place to land. Kinda like missing the runway by a nose.

Props to the Canadians for winning the gold in both men and women’s hockey. I guess they have earned the bragging rights, eh? Their win will make PaulA’s trip to Montreal today so much easier…a place where they live and breathe hockey locker rooms.

All in all…the 2010 Olympics were excellent…with many memorable story lines. Now that they have ended, I think it is about time someone gave Bob his sled back... preferably in good condition.