Survey Said

WTH??? Is it me? Is it just me?

After a recent auto purchase…the salesperson informed me that the auto manufacturer will be sending me a survey of questions pertaining to how the dealer and the salesperson performed during the sale.

No problem…I was down with that. Until he followed with…“I would appreciate it if you could give us a perfect score.” And….“my compensation relies on high scores. If you have any problems, let us know directly rather than reporting them.”

Woah now. Suddenly I felt that his wife and 2.5 kids were depending on me for their next Big Mac and Happy Meals.

Why should they get a perfect score? Because they asked for one? Geez…who gets a perfect score? Perfect is a no-hitter, a shutout, Nadia Comaneci.

So he should receive a perfect score….because he sold me something I needed and I had to spend hours with him haggling over the price…while he played a shell game with the MSRP, Dealer Invoice Price, Dealer Cost and Trade-in? And because he thinks he went the “extra mile” when he offered me a cup of coffee and an old wrapped piece of hard candy??? I don’t think so.

Anywhooooooooooooo…………..

So instead of his plea causing me to react positively or negatively…I put it “N” neutral. I failed to react. I decided to not complete the survey. Who needs that kind of pressure…unless it’s in my tires?

Besides these types of surveys are not really anonymous. Hey, they could easily figure out who I was…and next time I was in for an oil change…they might top off my engine with EEVO. That might make Rachel Ray happy, but not my car.


Ya know…now that I think about it…the guy didn’t really beg for a perfect score…he wasn’t down on his knees.

But maybe if he was…and spit polished my shoes while he was down there…he would have gotten a perfect score. Or he could have offered me a Hershey’s chocolate bar. Now that is what I would call service.

An old hard candy??? Go suck on that, buster.

Ding-A-Ling

Do you still have a phone line to your house? You know…the land line that gets cut in the classic scary movie when the soon-to-be-attacked is sleeping…or is in the act of calling the police…when the line suddenly goes dead.

If you’re like me, you’re a ding-a-ling...paying for both…a house phone and a cell phone. A lot of people these days are saying ba bye to their home phones and opting to just go with their cell.

Hello…I would consider doing the same. Our home phone never gets used and hardly ever rings…except for calls from Linda McMahon who is running for U.S. Senator in November. You would think Linda and I were personal friends by her constant calls. (Give it a rest, Linda. You gotta know you’re gonna lose. We live in a freakin’ blue state.)

And whenever I want to make a call, I use my cell which is always somewhere on me. Otherwise, I would have to walk waaaay across the room, to use the home phone.

The Numero Uno reason, however, I keep the land line is because our internet is delivered through the same phone line. So if I discontinued service, I would worry about an interruption in service. And from experience I know once you start messing with something…another something goes wrong.

I wonder how many other ding-a-lings stick with things because of all the rig-a-ma-roll.

Anywhooooooo………………..

The home phone does have a useful purpose. I used it twice already this week to help me look for my cell phone that I “lost”…and then “found” in my pants pocket in the laundry basket in my closet. When the hell was I ever gonna find it there? I'm not sure when the next full moon is.

And without the phone line…what are the scary movie producers gonna do to create suspense? Hmm…Have the bad guy sneak in the house…find the person’s cell phone in their closet…and turn it off?

3-Day Walk for the Cure

Kudos to Chelsea for completing the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure in Atlanta.

When Chelsea first told me she was interested in doing the 3-Day walk....I admit, I was a little hesitant about the whole idea. Not that I wanted to talk her out of joining a great cause…but I wondered if she thought about everything it entailed…all the money she needed to raise, the 60 miles of walking (20 miles/day), the blisters, the tents, the showers, the port-a-potties?

But if you know Chelsea, once Big C puts her mind to something…there is no stopping her. (i.e. her blue couches…hehehe)

There are many women, however, fighting battles more monumental and serious than port-a-potties. And Chelsea wanted to do the walk in honor and memory of those who have had to fight those battles.

At the end of the 3 days, Chelsea attended the closing ceremony in Turner Field with thousands of supporters and many new friends she made a long the way that all gave their heart and sole. Those who walked together stood shoulder-to-shoulder with shared memories and so much in common…from hope for a cure to end breast cancer forever…to calluses, corns, and blisters. Oh My.

We are so proud of our transported Georgia Peach. Good job, Chelsea. Sometimes it makes good sense NOT to listen to your mother.

Pardon My French

Ooh la la……I hope you aren't planning a trip to France anytime soon. The French are… how you say…PISSED OFF. Pardon my French…but there is nothing Les Miserables than a pissed off Frenchman wearing a beret and armed with a rock hard baguette.

So what has put their French briefs in a wad? Apparently the French government has proposed legislation that would raise the retirement age from 60 to age 62. Ay Caramba! (Whoops, wrong language.)

This proposal has resulted in widespread strikes and demonstrations among the young and the old. The young because there will be fewer jobs for them in the future…and the old because they feel entitled to a long retirement of le vin, le brie, et les femmes. It’s a quality of life thing.

Even high school students are protesting with sit-ins, stand-ins, and lotus positions. There is mayhem in the rues…backlash in the Notre Dame…and backwash in the cafes. Labor unions are ceasing transportation and communication. Demonstrations are being controlled with tear gas-ation.

You know the situation has gotten really serious when Lady GaGa had to postpone her scheduled concert. It’s hard for me to keep a straight “P p p p Poker Face”…but you can probably guess Lady GaGa was planning on wearing a little French maid outfit.


Anywhooooooo……….

The work time card of the French, compared to that of an American, is not punched nearly as hard. In France, they are required by law to take five weeks of vacation per year...although it is common for the French to take eight weeks. Their work week is 35 hours long and they are especially noted for taking 3 hour lunches. Momma Mia! (Whoops, did it again.)

Hey, where can we sign up for that gig? By comparison of work schedule standards, Americans have been taken to the French cleaners. Many Americans work at least 50 hours per week, maybe get 10 days to 2 weeks vacation… and a few sick days off (after calling into work...coughing from the beach.)

It’s hard to feel too sorry for the French. I say, “Get over it…get back to work and stop all the wine-ing.”

How you say.... "Say La Vi."

Bull Work vs Squirrel Work

You’ve heard of retweet…reiterate…and regurgitate. Well, this is similar….this is a revamped blog. And so it goes……….


In every household there are chores that need to be completed…things to be washed, things to be repaired, things to be cleaned, things to be put away. And with every couple…there is always that question: Who’s responsible for getting it done? Who’s chore is it, anyway? For some…the decision isn’t so cut and dry. But for my brother in law…the decision is cut, dry, and pasted.


My brother-in-law has created a unique division of labor for married couples that works perfectly…for him. It’s an animal classification system...and not a Kingdom, Phylum, or Class type. It’s more specific…a bull work vs. squirrel work classification system. Let me explain………….

Bull work…is work to be done by the man of the house…and includes such jobs as heavy lifting, lawn mowing, cutting down trees, shoveling snow…you know, the big physical jobs. Squirrel work is smaller, detail work and to be done by the woman of the house….such as scheduling appointments, cooking dinner, washing dishes, vacuuming the floor, dusting the furniture, cleaning the toilets. Need I say more.

And seeing PaulA has the same genetic make-up as my bro-in-law….PaulA is totally on board with this division of labor. So for instance, da wife (uh, me) should ante up for jobs like the laundry. After all, washing, folding, and putting away laundry has “squirrel work” written all over it. BUT if the washing machine needed to be moved (so I could clean behind it)…that’s bull work.


Squirrel work is ironing the clothes and hanging them in the closet. Bull work is building a new closet. Getting the picture?

A very interesting thing about bull work is that sometimes bull work requires other bulls to get together to do it. The bulls congregate, put their bull heads together, get a case, just in case they get thirsty…and talk about how the bull work should be done.


Anywhooooooooo………


It seems to me the squirrels have a lot more nuts to take care of…and a lot more grunt work. I think this so-called division of labor is just plain Bull.

Wild West Story

Story Time. Many Colorado moons ago, I had an encounter with a horse.

PaulA and I had gone on a camping trip by horseback with friends in the mountains. It was my first time ever riding a horse, other than the carousel at the Shoppingtown Mall in Syracuse. But they say that doesn’t count.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t riding Mr. Ed. I had High-Ho Silver.

When my horse approached a log across the trail…he would come to a complete stop. Instead of stepping over it, he jumped over the log like it was a 3 foot high fence. What I would have given for Mr. Ed. At least Mr. Ed could have said, “Kat, hold on. I’m about to jump”…before he sent me flying over the saddle. Leave it to High-Ho to give me the Heave Ho…without any warning.

But that was then…and this is now. Now I’m talking about a “’horse’ of a different color.”

This Colorado trip I had an encounter with a Mongolian Camel. One hump or two you ask? Two humps. (How do you like your camel?)

Her name is Camille Camel...and not related to Maria Muldour or her sexy sheik. Camille actually belongs to an old friend and lives on her ranch. (Maybe camels are in vogue…and horses are “old cowboy hat” these days on Colorado ranches.)

Anywhooooooooo…….

This time I was smart…I was not about to ride this “horse” of a different color…even though her two humps were very appealing. Instead I asked for PaulA to take my picture with her.

In order to fit me in the pic with Camille, PaulA kept having me back up along the fence and stand closer to her. That was when I felt Camille’s mouth going for my head. Again, no warning. What’s with these animals?

I subsequently learned that Camille has an affinity for hair…even processed Kat hair.

Maria Muldour said it best... "send your camel to bed”…preferably without Kat hair.

The Wild West can be a very dangerous place.
Story time over….you can go to bed too.

Cute Comment

"I’m rubber, you’re glue. Everything you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.”

So who's slinging verbal insults? The kids across the street? The politicians running in November? No, my darling. That would be none other than Joan Collins, age 77, former Dynasty actress. It appears Joan is looking to start a little something something with America's sweetheart...Jennifer Aniston.

Last week in an interview with the UK magazine, Hello, Joan Collins complained that there aren't many beauties in Hollywood, "I have to say, there aren't that many good looking actresses around today. I mean, there's Angelina Jolie and there's Angelina Jolie."

This is where Joan opens mouth and inserts high heel. "Jennifer Aniston is cute, but I wouldn't call her beautiful. She's no Ava (Gardner) or Lana (Turner). When I was young everybody on screen was gorgeous."

Hello Joan... Are you for real? Oh, that's right...you're 50 percent plastic and 50 percent Biotch. (I can sling the verbal hash too!)

Anniston commented by saying she was not commenting on her comments.

Unfortunately with Anniston's lack of comment, it looks like we will be denied a good old fashioned cat fight....or a round or two in the mud ring. Not only is Jen cute...but apparently she is not combative.. Darn, I would have liked to have see more than a verbal slap...any biotch can do that. It’s so much more fun to watch hair pulling.

Anywhoooo…......

Joan's comment got me wondering, "What's so wrong with being called cute?" Meg “When Harry Met Sally” Ryan...Marlo “That Girl” Thomas...and Sally “Gidget” Field are cute. Well, 20- 40 years ago.

IDK. Maybe because when you think of "cute" you think: pigtails, small, and precious. And when you think of "beauty", you think: womanly, sophisticated, and elegant.

It seems to me that beauty is skin deep and what you see on the surface; the packaging. While cute is deeper than skin deep and takes into account your expressions and personality. But us beautiful people aren't that intelligent. What do we know?

Hopefully, Jen didn't feel too insulted. I would consider Joan's cute comment a compliment. Just one thing…don't tell Jen that bulldogs and pugs are also in the cute category. Bow wow.

A Record

Do you hold a record? I’m not talking police record…I’m talking personal record. (Hey, your police record is your own business.)

Today I have reached a record…number of blog entries. Today marks my 700th blog. So for 3 years and 35 days I have been wasting /SLASH/ spending my time writing random thoughts on random subjects.

My accomplishment really doesn’t measure up to people who have attainted real records ...like Olympians or Hall of Famers or Eva biking 100 miles or Linnyj running a marathon. Oh, and Tiger Woods and his personal record of 13 mistresses.

When your winning record gets broken it’s a sad day. The University of Alabama senior quarterback Greg McElroy hadn’t lost a football game since the 8th grade…until two Sadurdays ago. I remember when I broke my record in high school, I felt like crying. It was a Beatles White Album and I stepped on it. Bummer. Ob la di Ob la da...life goes on.

The feeling you get when a good streak comes to an end is devastating…especially after a long string of wins comes to a grinding halt. Just as I’m sure the way Tiger felt when his grinding string of mistresses…came to an end.

Anywhoooooooo……..

Maybe you aren’t impressed with my small feet (size 6 ½). Maybe instead of kudos for 700 blogs…you think I should be locked up somewhere…or at least have my hands tied so I seize to blog.

Go ahead and tie my hands. I’m pretty sure I can type with my nose. But just don’t take away my blog chair. I know for a fact, I can’t blog standing up. All my inspirations come from the rear.

Some days I swear to myself (and a few of you) that I’m gonna quit this day job…and look for a new one. But then again, I remember how much fun I’m having.

Where can you have this much fun in a room by yourself? Don’t be fresh…you know what I mean.

Changes in Altitude, Changes in Attitude

“Changes in altitude…changes in attitude.” I know that’s not the way Jimmy Buffet sings the song…but he might sing it that way in Colorado.

An altitude of 9000 feet above sea level can have a huge effect on you. It did me on our visit to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I felt light-headed, dizzy, queasy, and head achey.

Okay, I know it sounds like I had a few too many margaritas at the Rio Grande Saloon…but believe me, Jimmy…it really was “Changes in Altitude” and not “Margaritaville.”

It’s easy to experience a change in attitude in Colorado…especially if you are a flatlander used to the air at sea level. “They” say the air is thinner at high altitudes. I’m going to have to take their word on that. Apparently, all these years I’ve been breathing fat air.

If the Colorado altitude doesn’t send you reeling…the wide open gazes of wide open spaces, and the beauty of wide mountain bases…can have the same exhilarating affect.

With every gorgeous mountainous vista, I couldn’t help thinking about John Denver and his songs. I was experiencing a Rocky Mountain High…and feeling tipsy in the mountains. Yo yo.


Anywhooooooooo……....

Speaking of John Denver (we were, weren’t we?)…John Denver died in the 90’s when he crashed his small aircraft into Monterey Bay. But rest assured...he has come back as teenage heart throb Justin Bieber.

Check out Justin’s hairstyle…he’s a dead ringer for John Denver. (Sorry, just a figure of speech.) If you remove Denver’s eyeglasses and sideburns….baby baby, baby, ooooh ….you have Justin Bieber reincarnated.

“Take me home, country roads to the place I belong." It’s a good thing I’m back to the place I belong…..75 feet above sea level. My attitude has since readjusted...and I’m back breathing fat air.

Mr. Happy

What's your happiness quotient?

What brings you happiness?

Fame?

Fortune?

(I’d settle for a cool million dollars and/or
 a million cool blog readers.)

I’ve read that happiness

is a skill that requires both time and effort.

Great, now we  have to add "get happy" to our To-Do Lists. 
Aren't our lists long enough?

No wonder so many people are walking around ala Oscar-the-Groucho-Marx.

Who needs more work in one day?

I suppose there are a few ways...to "get happy."

Gadget happy with the new iPad2.

Trigger happy with a sawed-off shotgun.

Happy Meal happy with a supersized McNuggets...extra fries. 

Silly songs can bring you to a happy place...

like “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” ...for da rastas or

“Happy Days are Here Again”...for dem demacrats.

I suppose camping works....I hear there are lots of happy campers.

Anywhooo.............

Scientists are now happy because they have found the happiest man in the world.
The real Mr. Happy...

Matthieu Ricard.
A 60 year-old French academic-turned-Buddhist monk

who meditates for hours...and hours.

They say long hours of meditation produce a huge level of “positive emotions." 

(Maybe Matthieu's meditating about a Pamela Anderson hook up.)

I think I might give meditation a try.

But, if it doesn’t increase my happiness quotient,
I’ll just visit my happy place...

happy hour...

where I get both
happy feet
and slap happy.

10-10-10

If your favorite number happens to be 10 …then yesterday was your day. Your Ultimate. The best of your rest. I hope you played the lottery or did something involving sexy Lady Luck (nothing nasty please.) The odds were definitely on your side yesterday.

Maybe you got married. They say the number of lucky couples who got married on 10-10-10 was up 500 percent. I hope the odds that you married the perfect 10 and stay married...are better than those married on random 10-24-10. There will be NO excuses, however, for forgetting your anniversary. The odds that your spouse will let you off the hook.....not so good.

Maybe you were born. I think it would be cool to be born on October 10, 2010. Just think about filling out forms with the birth date…10-10-10. Easy to write…easy to say...easy to type..10-10-10-10-10-10...I can't stop myself.


There have been other great birthdates this decade…1-1-01…...2-2-02…3-3-03...etc. etc. I’m not sure about those born on 6-6-06. It seems that the odds are high that the kids born on that day are destined to be little devils and grow up to be hellions.

Anywhooooooooooo..........

If you’re a regular blog reader (odds are 100 to 1 ya ain’t)…you would know that my favorite number is 11. So November 11, 2011…or 11-11-11 will be da best. Maybe that will be the day I reach a total of 11 blog readers...yahoo...can’t wait.

I’m not sure what day 11-11-11 falls on. I guess if I was an idiot savant…and not just an idiot…I would know that already. I’ve got to start working on an 11-11-11 special event. I’ve only got a year to plan. Maybe a house party with my 11 friends, maybe a night at the craps table, maybe a night with 11 Twinkies. Maybe the ultimate...11 friends, 11 twinkies, and winning with 11 at the craps table.



Come on 11…come to Kat!!!

IMAGINE

Today marks the 70th birthday of John Lennon. "Happy Birthday, John. Your music and words...of peace and love...speak to many generations. Peace OUT."






I've taken the liberty of changing the lyrics to my favorite John Lennon song: IMAGINE

Image there’s no evil
It’s easy if you try
No madness around us
No more reasons to cry
Imagine John is with us
Living life in peace



You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
If we all come together
In John's hopes we'll live as one.

When Fashion Meets......

What happens when fashion meets science?
Duh……...Spray-on clothes, of course.

Spray-on clothing, at this time, is a new concept and hasn’t become a fad. I’m hoping the concept doesn’t catch on. There are things that are better left in the concept stage SLASH should have been left in the concept stage...like leisure suits...and LEISURE SUITS.

Should the concept of spray-on clothing catch on...skinny jean wearers will look like saggers. We’ll be seeing things we have no business seeing. If you've been to Walmart, you know what I'm talking about, Willis. At least the lounge lizardy leisure suit covers things up…albeit, in a tacky kitschy way.

I’m sure the Britneys of the world would love spray-on clothes. Their clothes would then fit tighter than an O.J. glove. Unlike O.J. they won’t be a poor fit…and have any trouble getting them on. “The Pants will fit…you must admit.”

I’m thinking that the new spray-on technology would be better suited for socks. It could be a good answer to the MIA sock dilemma…just spray a new one.

Anywhoo………….

What happens when fashion meets meat?
Duh…meat clothes, of course.

If you happened to catch Lady GaGa in the raw at the 2010 MTV Video Music Awards…you would have seen that she was wearing more raw meat than showing raw skin. Not only was her dress made of meat, but she complimented it with a meat hat and matching meat purse. It was actually a nice touch. It’s always fashionable to coordinate your accessories with your outfit.

Her publicist later stated that her meat dress (should it not be attacked by maggots)…was going to be made into beef jerky. Call me crazy, but I prefer that my beef jerky wasn’t worn before I buy it.

Is it just me? There ought to be a law on the books against previously worn beef jerky.

Spray-on clothes and meat clothes…two dumb concepts. Let’s hope they never become fads. Suddenly leisure suits don’t seem so bad.

Stink Bugs Stink

Move over bedbugs, stop hogging all the covers....you have some competition. Stink bugs are in the HOUSE! Yo Yo

Luckily, I am not intimately or olfactory familiar with stink bugs, but I hear wherever they venture...their odor precedes and succeeds them. Pew...please pass a clothes pin.

Stink bugs are plant-eaters and especially like to gorge on a variety of fruit. They are mainly an agricultural pest, but as the temperature drops outdoors...stink bugs are looking to get indoors. They need a place to ride out the winter. May I suggest a nice comfortable condo in sunny Florida.

Stink bugs have settled in the Mid-Atlantic states…so they are not thinking about retiring any time soon. But I do hear they are thinking about “moving on up”...like George Jefferson...with a move into the White House. Their plan is to stink up the place...more than Obama’s plans are stinking. (Sorry, it was just ripe for that comment.)

Anywhoooooooo................

Fortunately, stink bugs are harmless to humans. They don’t bite...although they are highly irritating to the nose.

So what do stink bugs smell like? Stinky feet? Rotten cheese? Burnt rubber?...maybe a combination. If the odor is highly offensive...you can bet the stink bug has moved in with you.

So don’t go blaming that highly offensive smell on your husband’s dirty underwear in the corner. It could very well be the stink bug...going for the Fruit of the Loom variety.

Just so ya know...and even if you don’t want to……..stink bugs originated in China and arrived in the United States in the 1990’s. (Just another stinking product “Made in China.”)

Same Dress/Different People

I think most women would agree with me…a woman doesn’t want to be seen in the same thing twice…especially at special events like weddings and holiday parties. Even at your very last event when you’re laid out...the outfit better be new…or you’ll be back to haunt the person that dared to wrap you in old wraps.

Guys never have this problem. They could have the same suit on for 5 days straight…change the tie or shirt every other day…and who would know? Unless of course, they haven’t applied their deodorant...by Mennen.

But women, on the other hand...can’t fathom wearing the same dress again. They have to shop til they drop and wear themselves ragged to find something new to wear. But if you happen to get lucky and different people will be attending the event…then you’re none the worse for wear. Same dress...different people. Yahooo

I’ve been hearing about new businesses springing up online that offer rent-a-designer-dress options. It sounds like a good concept. Many women wouldn’t mind the fashion of Lindsay Lohan...as long as a matching ankle bracelet isn’t part of the ensemble.

Anywhoooooo…………

A couple of weeks ago we attended a beautiful wedding with many beautiful people and I wore a black dress that I had bought to wear to a previous wedding. (Shhhh) Same dress…different people. We also recently attended a wedding in Colorado and I wore the black dress again. Same dress…different beautiful people. (I’m sure they aren’t one of my 3 blog readers…so I’m in the clear.)

At some point your different circles of friends become concentric and overlapping, so wearing the same dress becomes mathematically difficult to pull off.

I’m realizing that I better get more friends if I expect to wear my black dress ever again. I guess that means I’ll have to start being nice to people…which I gotta tell ya…ain’t so easy.

Which Came First?

Which came first…the chicken or the egg? I’m sure you’ve thought about it....who hasn’t? The question has burned in the minds of many an intellect. As for this intellect...the dilemma has been a colossal enigma. (SAT word #145)

So what is your take? The chicken...or the egg? Come on...don’t chicken out, or be afraid of getting egg on your face...with a wrong answer.

For me, it’s a toss up…and who really cares right? Maybe you care more about the question: “Which came first...True Blood or Twilight?”

I’m going out on a wire now, but I’m going with the chicken as first. Not because of any scientific reason, but because I prefer chicken salad over egg salad. Egg salad tends to smell funny...especially after it’s been wrapped in Saran and left in a locker. Everyone has their own scrambled and fried logic.

Anywhoooo.......

It seems they have come up with an answer...which will lay the chicken/egg question to rest. “They” being the bloody scientists from England. They say they have scientific proof that the chicken came first. Apparently they have discovered a protein that is vital to eggshell formation inside the chicken.

I ask them, “Why find an answer? Isn’t it better that we keep this provocative question alive to stimulate intellectual conversation and debate? Do we really need a scientific explanation?” Before we know it... “they” will be coming up with scientific explanations for questions like “Why did the chicken cross the road?” And then where will we be?

I’ m sure the Brit scientists are good eggs...but they should be working on real problems.

I'm walking on eggshells as I ask this....but shouldn’t “they” be working on the more pertinent question: "Which came first...the salmonella chicken or the salmonella egg?"

Take a crack at that one...bloody scientists.


ps. October 1...rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.