Tick Tock Oscars

The Academy Awards Show is so lengthy.... it’s a lesson in endurance...which can be as painful as a root canal/a movie with English subtitles/a confession.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...I recently wasted 3 hours of my life watching the Academy Awards. Plus the hour and a half watching the pre-show red carpet...if I’m being truly honest.

Why do we watch The Academy Awards anyway?

Maybe to learn about the movies we haven’t yet seen, or to watch our favorite actors act happy when they lose, or to laugh at any verbal gaffes. (Note to Melissa Leo: Never drop the F-bomb at the Oscars.)

In reality...most people watch The Academy Awards to see what the beautiful people are wearing. The beautiful actors and actresses have worked hard with diet, exercise, and Botox to make a fashion statement: “Tonight I’m wearing a strapless champagne-color beaded Marchesa gown, Prada high-rise heels, bling by Tiffany, and face by Dr. Ramsey.”


When I watch the Oscars I make my own fashion statement: Tonight I’m wearing an off-the-rack 3-button flannel nightgown by Macy’s, bunny slippers by Target, and face cream by Revlon.

Anywhooooo..................

The important awards ...the ones that matter...don’t come until a few minutes before the show ends. “May I have the envelope, PLEASE!”


By then...I am so tired of waiting for an Oscar to be handed to Best Something-that-isn’t-a-Documentary...that I’ve nodded off. I wake-up when the credits are rolling.


It’s now midnight, but only 9pm at the Kodak Theatre in LA. My slippers are doing the bunny hop upstairs to bed, while the beautiful people are kicking up their Jimmy Choo’s with Hugh Heffner's bunnies.

Oh, I just remembered another thing that is a lesson in endurance...THIS BLOG...way too long, very draggy, and should be cut short.


Tick Tock. On the Clock.
Thanks for your time...Ke$ha KatOUT

Like Sands of the Hourglass...

Hell no…He won’t go.

Here we go with another political uprising in the Middle East. This time…it is the Libyan people protesting against the rule of Colonel Gaddafi…another Arab leader with his heels dug deep in the sand.

Gaddafi has been the leader of Libya for 41 years and is now desperately clinging to power…like my socks to the inside of my dryer.

He’s refusing to step down…refusing to throw in his military cap and gold epaulettes…for a turban, simple robe, and sandals. (I can understand that.)

Gaddafi has threatened that he will not succumb to the protests...like his neighbors, Egypt and Tunisia. Woah, those are fighting words…he isn’t going down without a struggle.

Believe it or not, Ripley…I was practically neighbors with Gaddafi in Tripoli, Libya many “midnight at the oasis” moons ago. Okay, I lived on an Air Force Base while Gaddafi lived in the palace. I’m glad we weren’t neighbors. I think he would have been a pushy and bossy neighbor…and never return anything he “borrowed.”

Anywhoooooooooooooo………………....

In 1969, Gaddafi came to power at age 27 when he staged a coup against an ailing King Idris who was in Turkey for medical treatment. He proclaimed himself “Colonel.” Kinda like I’ve proclaimed myself “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Now Colonel Gaddafi is 68, and hides his age with sunglasses and jet black hair…so the Libyans won’t realize how much time has passed. Only his hairdresser knows for sure.


So…like sands through the hourglass…so are the days of Gaddafi’s life.

Even though Gaddafi might not want to acknowledge it….his days are numbered. But after 41 years of clinging to power...he isn't walking into the desert without a fight.

There are ways of dealing with a stubborn, unrelenting resolve for clinging …may I suggest…dryer sheets.

They work for my socks...most every time.


PS. There are between 40 to 112 different spellings of Muammar Gaddafi’s name...Qaddafi, Kadafi, etc. My name, however, has only one correct true spelling….. “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Tiger Spit Fire

Shame on you Tiger …spitting in public…spitting on national television. Who do you think you are? A baseball player?


Spitting in public is just plain gross. You wouldn’t catch this Kat exhibiting bad manners. I’m no Emily Post but I’m pretty sure “no spitting in public” is on the list, right before “no 'f'-bombs during a golf tournament," and after “no farting out loud.” (I think Tiger may have been fined for previous 'f'-bombs.)


Apparently Tiger was having a bad day and stinking up the course at the Omega Dubai Desert Classic. While playing the 12th green, he spat (ugh) on the green before he putted. I couldn’t tell from the video if it was a minor spit…like a spit of rain. Or he coughed up a major Loogie.


(Note to self: Why does the word “spat” sound grosser than “spit.”


I do understand Tiger’s frustration. He was having a rough golf tournament…missing fairways into the Dubai Desert…and 3-putting greens…a la Katgolf style.


But this is golf, ladies and gentlemen. The Game of Etiquette. The Game of Decorum. And spitting is very offensive to the Middle Eastern culture. The European Tour had no choice but to fine him. That’ll be $4,000 for that 4 mm of saliva.


During the televised golf tournament, the announcers made a comment about the disgusting possibility of a golf ball rolling through Tiger’s saliva…but no one ever mentions anything about handling a baseball after C.C. Sabathia has spit all over it. Spit and Rub technique. Go figure?


Anywhooooooooooo………........…..


Tiger apologized…thru Twitter…the 2011 way to say you’re sorry. I’m sure Tiger didn’t mean to be rude. But his behavior conjures up spitting images of other athletes exhibiting bad behavior…Serena Williams, Latrell Sprewell.


Since Tiger’s sexcapades with 14 different women...there has been a lot of Tiger bashing. I think we should give him a break and pull him off the rotating spit of condemnation.


Hey…Tiger may have fired off "f"-bombs and spat on a golf course…but it’s not like Tiger ever had an infartion on a golf course. (To my knowledge.)

Duncandog's Best Friend

Colinboy and his dog.

The last time Colinboy came home…Duncandog went ape. He was wild with excitement to see his brother. It’s nice when the brothers can see each other every now and then. They have a lot in common…frisbee…naps…long hair.


When Duncandog sees this Katdog…he rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. Ho Hum. The last time Duncandog was ape excited to see me was when I came home with a bag of dog food…after not feeding him for a few days. (JK...bad joke…I would never Mick Vick my dog. It was only one day.)


Duncandog is such a lucky dog to have Colin for a brother. The first thing Colinboy does when he’s sees Duncandog is remove his collar. (So does his sister, Big C).


And Colin’s last visit home was no exception. So I called him on it.
“Hey, Colinboy what’s with taking Duncandog’s collar off?”


His reply, “Mom how would you like to wear a collar all the time.”

I said, “No problem. I’ll show you.”
What’s the big darn dealio?


Anywhoooooooooooooo…………………


With Duncandog’s collar fastened around my neck, I continued with my daily routine. I laid down on the rug by the kitchen sink for a little nap. I love the forced hot air gently blowing on me during the winter. But I couldn’t sleep…the feel of the collar kept waking me.


So I decided to play with my favorite toy for awhile. I was having a great time throwing it up in the air and barking at it…but then I became overly sweaty…very hot under the collar.


I trotted over to my bowl to get a drink, but the Big” D” initial that hangs down from my collar kept getting in my way as I tried to drink. (For some reason Kat thinks the “D” is funny? Cute? WTH?)


This Katdog had had enough. The damn collar was driving me mad. I wanted it off…and I wanted it off immediately.


Only problem…I couldn’t get the thing off by myself…the clasp was jammed. I rolled around on the floor in frustration.


I needed Colinboy.


I found him and ran to him wagging my tail….."Please. Please. Get this thing off.”


“Ahhh…Thank you Colinboy. Get back over here…so I can lick your face.”

And the Grammy Goes To:

“And the Grammy Award for Best New Artist goes to: Esperanza Spalding.”


Wow. I have to admit when I watched the Grammy Awards and heard the name “Esperanza Spalding” and not “Justin Bieber”…I was in total shock.


Bieber seemed like a runaway, a walkaway….a shoe-in. He was having a banner year…selling out concerts…#1 hits on the radio…a self-promoting, self-absorbing movie about him. It only seemed natural that the apple cart would keep cruising down Easy Street…and the Award would follow.


So the Esperanza win over The Bieb came as a HUGE upset. Upset…because her win was totally unexpected. And Upset…because Bieber fans were sooo upset…their baby bellies were feeling sick. They were so disturbed that their apple cart was upset…they put out death threats on Esperanza.


Yo stupido pint-sized Bieber fans…it isn’t her fault. Blame the people who vote.


Anywhooooooooooooooo…………………


They say that after the Grammy’s the scans for Arcade Fire went up 95 % , for Mumford and Sons up 99 %...and for Esperanza Spalding up 243 %. Yikes. Apparently no one knew who she was.


But alas…I did. I was familiar with this jazz bassist/singer because she went to Berklee College of Music and taught when Colinboy and the guys in Dear Havanah were there. She is the first jazz artist to win the award. This Kat likes razzmatazz and all that jazz.


So grow up Bieber fans. Grow up and get over it….and I would venture to say…that over time, you’ll just plain grow up. You’ll have to…What are you 12 or something?


And hopefully one day…another dream can be realized….

"And the Grammy goes to: Dear Havanah."

(click on link below)
http://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/shows/10-show/Dear_Havanah_Performs_Philadelphia-116489023.html

Winter Blues

Snap crack bang. That wasn’t my bowl of Cocoa Krispies startling me this morning when I added milk…but something more alarming. With a day of 50 degree weather… our house, aka the ice house…is beginning to melt.

With every increase in degree…our home sounds like it is under attack from enemy fire. I jump and run for cover every time I hear a bang, but alas, this lass’s ass isn’t grass…it is only the sound of ice melting and sliding off our roof.

This has been a crazy winter. Every time we’ve turned around…we’ve had another 10 inches fall on our heads, roads, driveways, and sidewalks. Hopefully, we’ve reached the end of winter madness.

The mounting snow accumulation has caused a surmountain of problems. (Sorry, love to make up words) And the cold temps haven’t allowed for melting between snowstorms. Without a snow rake and huge pair of kahunas…to clear off your roof…you run the risk of a collapse or leak.

Anywhooo……..……

Not everyone is singing the “I Hate the Freakin Winter/Snow Blues.” There are some that actually dig it…namely…snow plowers, body shops, and roofers. One man's misery...is another man's cash cow.

When last year our plow guy didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of turning a profit...things certainly have turned around. As my mom would say: “That fellow is making money hand over fist.” He must be eating high on the hog now. Last winter he was eating somewhere near the tail. I know this because…I got his bill last week.

The numeri storms increased fender benders two-three-multiple-fold. It is especially scary/frustrating when a plow backs directly into you…and nothing stops him from coming. I know this because…I tried honking.

The roof repair people are shingling with excitement over the amount of work they have now. Their work load is through the roof. Yo. Yo. I know this because…after a certain age (especially 50) most people have snow on the roof.

With warmer weather in the forecast this week…I will be running for cover as I’m startled by the ice melting and falling from our roof and gutters. I know this because…I am dramatic.

Westminster Gone to the Dogs

Hey…this is Duncandog here. I haven’t spoken in a while, but I have a few things I need to get off my barrel chest.


How do I get my behind in that Westminster Dog Show for next year?


I don’t think being a Portuguese Water Dog should make me a second class dogcitizen….although I am registered as a member of the Working class. (I’ve worked my butt off for everything I have…Kat never gives me anything for free.)


But do ya think Kat would ever put the time and effort into getting me into a contest like that? Noooo. I could never see it. Not a dog’s chance. She keeps me holed up in this hole of a house…dog day in and dog day out. It’s an endless string of doggie bad dreams…and an occasional Milkbone. Big whoop, Katwoman.


Anywhooo……………..


I got a look at the winner of the “Best in Show” this year….a Scottish deerhound named Hickory. Hickory-Schmickory. That dog is butt ugly. What a hound. Bow wow.


Her hair is so wiry and scraggly...you could exfoliate with it. I’ve got such nice soft loose curls. I never use a relaxer on them…just naturally soft and smooth…like a damn ProV commercial.


And did you get a look Hickory’s legs? Woah dog…those are some bony Olive Oyl appendages…only a Popeye could like those.


They say her breed is gentle and friendly. Yo, I can be gentle and friendly too…as long as you aren’t grooming my privates…or a little kid resembling a chew toy isn’t running around.


Apparently the judges prefer the wiry, long bony-legged and needle nose types…you know…the Camilla Parker Bowles type. This certainly wasn’t the dog-eat-dog competition that you would have expected.


I hope I’m not barking up the wrong tree with my complaints. I realize the contest has been going on for 135 years…but this year’s winner for “Best in Show” is definitely a sign that the Westminster Kennel Club is going to the dogs.


Whew…I feel better now. Thanks for listening.

Walk Like an Egyptian

It finally happened. Egyptian President Mubarak finally stepped down...after he was OVERTHROWN by the Egyptian people.

First: I find it interesting Mubarak was even called a President. What President is in office for 30 years? Most times…Eight is Enough….just like the old television show.
Second: What took Mubarak so long to see the hieroglyphics were on the wall...and his gig was up?

Apparently Mubarak’s gig was too good for him to give it up. He was used to living in sheik heaven and in the lap of luxor. (Note to self: check availability at the Luxor in Vegas.) The sheik didn’t want to leave behind his Egyptian sheets. I understand why. Egyptian sheets are the King of Cottons.

Mubarak’s initial refusal to step down…led me to the realization…some people have a hard time taking the hint that it is time to move on. Apparently Mubarack wasn’t get the message that it was time for him to put his camel to bed…and walk like an Egyptian…toward the door.

In order to get Mubarak to hit the dusty desert road…it took a racket, a riot, a revolution…by the Egyptian people. A revolution organized on Facebook. Mark Zukerberg could not have known his social network at Harvard would grow into a big pharaoh deal and become something that could bring down die-nasties.

Anywhooooo…............

There are those that know when they should get out of the game, before it gets ugly. Apparently even Kenny Rogers knows when to hold, knows when to walk away…knows when to run. But Mubarak is not one of them.

That got me thinking…….

It’s been 3 and a half years…and I’m still blogging. Hmmmm…maybe I’m another Mubarak and my readers are close to their breaking points…like the Eygyptians were with Mubarak after 30 years. It might take one more blog post …before I break the blog camel’s back…and they go crazy with nasty comments and a Facebook campaign to end my madness.

I better start checking Facebook to make sure there isn’t something brewing.

Should I hear…Ay oh whey oh…in the distance…I know I’m in trouble.

Happy Colintine's Day

To most people, today is Valentine’s Day….but to our family, it is Colintine’s Day. A Colin Birthday and Valentine’s Day all rolled into one sugary sweet day. So as I send out love and kisses to all my favorite Valentines…I also send out love and birthday wishes to Colinboy for a “Happy Birthday.”

23 years AGO in St. Louis…PaulA and I heard sweet music when the doctor said to us, “Congratulations…you have a son.” And 23 years later…Colinboy is making sweet music with his band, Dear Havanah. Oh, to be turning 23…finished with college and following your dream…filled with optimism, enthusiasm, and energy (where can I get me some of that.)

I know, I know…at age 23 I shouldn’t be calling him Colinboy especially with his new Jesus flo and beard look. (When did Jesus come back as a rocker?) I promise in another 23 years, I’ll drop the Colinboy nickname…and just go with Boy.

Anywhooooooooo………………

I love Valentine’s Day and all the sweet things that are wrapped up in it…hearts, flowers, cards, and candy…especially the conversational hearts. You know…the little NECCO candy hearts with short and sweet sayings. I like reading the little sayings on each candy heart as I pop them into my mouth. The only problem after 20 or 30 of them…you become very ill.

The conversation hearts have been around forever with cutsie sayings like:

Call Me
I’m Sure
Be Mine
Kiss Me
Hug Me
Whiz Kid (never got that one)

Then after a hundred years, NECCO added new sayings in the 90's to stay with the times:

Fax Me
Email Me

In 2000 they added:
Got Love
2000 Hugs
2000 Kisses.

I think the little hearts are due for some new sayings;

FB Me
Text Me
Tweet

Some Colin sayings would certainly jazz things up:

Waz up
Corp Flo
Mwaha
Woot
Idk
yahoo
DH rulz

And should NECCO give me a chance…I would add:

…
Read
Kats
Blog

P.S.

Have a Happy Birthday Colin(boy). Enjoy the tour…and always keep making saweet music. We are your biggest fans.

Under Reconstruction

Unbeknownst to me...a little mole infiltrated my blog shop and managed to create major underground damage.

The mole is a cute and seemingly innocent little mole, but her persistent works brought down the foundation of my blog. Before I knew it...the floors buckled, the walls fell, and the ceiling caved. I then was forced to reconstruct a new shop.

A renovation was probably long overdue and in the end...I will have the little mole to thank. But until then...when I get my hands on that mole........



Anywhooooo...........


This will be the new model for my blog shop...until the little mole rears her head again and decides I am in need of another remodeling.

National Botch/Blunder/Blooper

By now you had to have heard. Heard what happened to the Mickey Mouse Clubteer…turned mega recording artist...turned movie actress…turned blonde…..Christina Aguilera (aka Xtina) at this year’s Super Bowl.

Even if you weren’t into the Super Bowl because your favorite team didn’t make it. Even if you were watching a MOVIE (ahem, Wishy) instead of the SUPER of Bowls…you had to have heard that Xtina messed up the words to the National Anthem.

And it appears the blunder is something that Xtina can’t live down. It has taken on a life of its own...and is currently walking down Rodeo Drive. Her flub has become fodder for late night comedians…the talk of talk shows…and banter for bloggers.

The Super Bowl is a LIVE event and anything can happen during a live event. Your clothes could suddenly fall off exposing yourself to 100s of millions of people. Oh Say We Can See. YOWSER.

Anywhooo……………..

As a fellow national anthem singer (okay small potatoes) I would never jump on the Xtina bashing bandwagon. I know what it is like to stand in front of thousands of people …and I’m not a professional. (Although I do play one on TV.)

It just goes to show you how difficult the song is to sing. So in effect, Xtina’s blooper brings more credit to the fact that I haven’t (yet) screwed up the words over the past 10 years. (Never say “never.” It’s the sure kiss of doom.)

Fergie commented that Xtina’s mess up was probably due to nerves….I doubt it. Xtina has been singing in front of people since she was Christina. It has to do with the nature of the song. The words to the national anthem just don’t roll off your tongue like poetic words to songs like: “I wanna be a millionaire, so freakin’ bad.”

The national anthem is about ‘ramparts’ and ‘rockets’ and ‘gleaming’ and ‘streaming’…one missed word will send the anthem singer careening in another direction. Francis Scott Key could have made it easier on us all and chosen simple words that are easier to remember…like…"boom boom pow…gotta get-get.” Apparently, the Black Eyed Peas hit the scene a couple of centuries too late.

Unfortunately there are no do-overs with the national anthem. That is what is so scary about it. There are no second and third chances like Bill Clinton has had over the years. Clinton is King of Do-Overs…but has nothing on Trump…the King of comb-overs.

If I could give Katvice to Xtina, I would tell her… “Practice does make perfect.” But not the standard practice. I have found the best way to practice the national anthem is to sing the words while thinking of something entirely different…so the words come to you automatically. For example, think about: what you’re doing this weekend or your next meal. I know if I can sing the entire song without...slipping in my lunch order…I’m good to go.

I would be happy to help Xtina before the next time she performs the national anthem. Does anyone have her number?

"O’er the land of the Frito and the home of the Buffalo Wings."

The Social Network

We watched the move “The Social Network” last Friday night. It was PaulA’s first time. My third. I could easily watch that movie a fourth time…and I never ever repeat movies….although I do repeat myself. I have been known to repeat myself.

How did the movie make you feel about Mark Zuckerberg, the creator of Facebook? The movie shows him possessing many positive qualities…extraordinary intelligence, ambition. But he isn’t shown in a positive light. Arrogant, insecure, socially handicapped. I wonder what Zuckerberg thinks of the movie? Maybe a billionaire 12 times over doesn’t give a lick…he gets the last laugh.

There were many aspects of the movie that I liked…the acting, the familiar scenes of Cambridge, insight into the creation of Facebook. But I absolutely HATED…the portrayal of young women. Except for the young lawyer and Zuckerberg’s ex-BU girlfriend…every other young woman in the movie was either a clinger, a drunk, a sex addict, a drug addict, a whiner, a moron….or the ultimate combination…a psychotic whiny drunk sex-addicted bimbo. WTH? What the Heck?

The young men in the movie, on the other hand, were shown as intelligent, sharp, athletic, and goal oriented. WTF? What the Farce?

Anywhooooooo………………….

I discovered that PaulA and I had actually watched the movie on Facebook’s 7th birthday…which was February 4th. So I got to thinking about the world 7 years ago. OMG…It was a different world. Where would we be without Facebook? We have Mark Zukerberg to thank for our social network.

Without Mark and his Facebook…we would actually have to face our friends. We couldn’t have hundreds of friends that we kinda know. It would be hard to poke each other without getting slapped. When we wanted it known that we are ‘single’ or ‘in a relationship’ …we would have to wear a billboard around our necks….or a ring around our fingers. And we couldn’t blurt out: What’s on our mind."

Facebook has made a huge impact on entertainment, commerce, advertising, and politics. Obama and Sarah Palin might look like they don’t have much in common…but they both have used/abused Facebook. The Eyptian protesters even used Facebook to organize rallies. WTD? What the dealio?

7 years ago before Facebook…I had a few friends. Now thanks to Mark Zuckerberg…I have 27.

Thank you, Mark Zuckerberg.”

Ps. My favorite line from "The Social Network" is when Zuckerberg calls the Winklevoss twins… “Winklevii.” Cracks me up.

Super Bowl XLV- A First

Give me a B
Give me an O
Give me an O
Give me a Hoo
What does that spell?
Boo Hoo!

Did I hear cries during Super Bowl XLV...or was that you crying over a spilled nacho plate?

Super Bowl XLV made history. It was the first Super Bowl in 45 years without cheerleaders on the sidelines. The Steelers and Packers are among 6 NFL teams that don’t have professional cheerleading squads to cheer their teams on to V-I -C-T-O-R-Y.

The Dallas Cowgirl cheerleaders did poney up and offer their services (ooh yea)..but their offer was turned down because they didn't have an affiliation with either the Packers or Steelers. If they wanted to perform, they were told: "Kick it outside, Cowgirls." (Probably the first time any one of them was ever kicked to the curb.)

Anywhooooooooo............

Did you feel cheated out of the full football experience at this year's Super Bowl? Without the cheerleaders doing their thang...what would a fan watch between plays? There were no pom poms, no cheers. no claps. No grinding, no shaking...no booty, no booby.

And what was the cameraman to ‘shoot’ right before going to commercial?...A little boy and his Dad smiling? The cameraman would have gotten more entertaining shots of grown men drooling...if the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders were allowed to perform.

Some say that scantily clad, gyrating cheerleaders distract the fans from the game. One player was quoted as saying that they don’t need “eye candy” at their games. But I hear they do need a good gyro. Yum. Yum.

There are others who say cheerleading is a part of the game and it adds to the atmosphere. They say showing half naked women is not degrading...in the least. And least is best. Cheerleaders are an American tradition. Apple pie. Fourth of July. Hot Cheerleaders. Who are we to mess with a slice of Americana pie?

At least the Dallas cheerleaders were allowed to cheer outside the stadium: “That’s alright. That’s okay. We’re shaking booty, anyway.” I wonder how many were late getting to their seats...because they were watching the shake and bake outside.

Go. Fight. Shake. Shake. Shake.

Wish You Were Here

Do you remember going on a vacation before cell phones, iPads, and delicious blackberries? When you wanted to send greetings from your vacation spot to your family and friends back home…you dropped a postcard in the mailbox. “Scribble and drop” came waaay before “click and send.”

The postcard aka The Boastcard: a 3 ½ x 4 ½ note card subtly boasting: I’M ON VACATION AND YOU’RE AT HOME.

I remember sending postcards back in the day. It was important for me to promptly get the postcard into the mail so it arrived at home…before I did. I remember looking for just the right card…staring at them all on a revolving display rack…spinning it around and around…trying to decide which card subtly said: Nah, nah, nah…You’re stuck at home in 4 feet of snow and I’m in sunny Mexico. (For example, of course.)

The act of sending postcards is a lost art. The process of carefully selecting the right picture and crafting a message to that certain someone is becoming obsolete. Now we simply take a picture with our cell phone and forward it to 10 of our dearest friends…at the same time. Subject: “Wish you were here.”

You always had to be very careful about getting too personal with what you wrote on the back of the postcard. You didn’t want to divulge TMI…after all…the postcard would be read by everyone who touched it. Including the mailman. The mailman always knew everyone’s business.

Anywhooooooooo………………

I was thinking the inventors of Twitter probably got their “What I’m doing…in 140 characters or less” idea from a postcard. Tweet: "Yo. Yo. Wit da posse in Cabo San Juan for Sun, Sand, Salsa, and Siesta." 140 characters is approximately the amount of space you had to cram in your bad handwriting on the back of the card.

Seeing I didn’t get my act together and send out any boastcards…………here’s my postcardBLOG to YOU:

In Cabo…having a whale of a time. Watching the whales breach. One more margarita and tamale…and San Juan will have another beached whale sighting.
Wish You were here.

Mexican Immersion

I totally recommend traveling and experiencing other countries...not just immersing yourself in a resort pool at 86 degrees...but actually immersing yourself in a pool of culture... at 98.6. So while in Cabo...PaulA and I decided we would tear ourselves away from the swim-up bar and do just that.

First of all we would have to change our names so we would fit in. The names "PaulA" and "Kat" SCREAM AMERICANS ON VACATION...so we decided to go with Paulo and Gato. That way we would blend in with Maria, Alberto, Senor Frog, and Frito Bandito. We were determined to be igncognito and not stick out like a couple of gringos. We also decided losing our black socks and fanny packs would help.

Seeing it was Sunday and too early to be drinking margaritas...we decided to go to church...a spanish mass. Not to be confused with a spanish moss. A spanish moss is much longer than a spanish mass...which is generally an hour...like in the U.S.

The best thing about attending a catholic mass is that it is always the same, no matter where you are. You could be in South L.A. or South America...same/same. So even if you can't follow the language...you can follow the mass. Plus you always know that the basket being passed around means..."Fork it over, Amigo." Dinero...mula. Money talks in every language.

I found that the few years I took of high school spanish actually paid off. I just needed the priest to talk slower...so I could comprehend faster. I knew "Dios" was God, "Jesus" was Jesus, and "Amen" was Amen. There was a bilingual mass we could have gone to, but we were not interested in a mass for gringos. We were Paulo and Gato...a couple of Mexicans. GuacamOLE.

Anywhoooo....

One thing that takes some getting used to is seeing skeletons. I know a few of us have them rattling around the closet....but these skeletons are out in the open. They are seen everywhere...art, sculpture, figurines, paintings.

In the Mexican culture skeletons are not considered to be spooky and scary. They stem from their catholic heritage. Death is seen as another stage following life and is celebrated. I think I prefer to celebrate life with a birthday and balloons instead of a Day of the Dead and bones. (Note to self: A total Mexican immersion might be harder than I thought. Where's the hotel pool?)

Skeleton figurines of all sizes and materials (clay, plaster, paper machete) fill the shops.. They're dressed in different costumes from everyday situations and occupations. I've seen a bride, mariachi player, Michael Jackson, cupcake chef...and my favorite...the pole dancer. I was looking for an insurance man skeleton to give to Paulo. I admit...I was feeling left out...I couldn't find a blogger skeleton. Maybe Mexicans don't want to waste their time blogging when they have a siesta to get to . Adios Amigos.

gatoOUT
ps. conejo, conejo, conejo....and for you gringos...
rabbit, rabbit, rabbit