Happy Birthday, PaulA

Happy Birthday to my hubby, PaulA ,

someone who has taken a little ribbing in this blog…and has been a good sport through it all.

It can’t be easy being married to a blogger.

I will try to keep this birthday dedication simple…

mainly because PaulA does not like much hoopla surrounding himself.

He doesn’t require gifts, but prefers the gift of time with family and friends.

(although he might take money, I just never had any to give.)

Unlike some who love receiving presents...PaulA doesn’t get too excited by them.

But maybe golf balls and golf socks aren’t mind-blowing gifts.

With my last gift to PaulA...I made a request.

I requested that he give a little more reaction when he opened it.

A little more animation.

So he did...he went ballistic.

His animation...went animalation.

Ape.

He hooted and hollered…jumped up and down.

That’s PaulA for you.

You give him some constructive criticism and he runs with it.

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

Even though PaulA doesn’t require hoopla and hullabaloo around his birthday...

he always appreciates a brewhaha with friends and family.

Happy Birthday, PaulA

Cheers to YOU.

Bloggus Interruptus

If you’ve read my blog with any regularity,

you may have noticed that I have come down with a condition common to bloggers…

a case of Bloggus Interruptus.

(say it isn't so)

Bloggus Interruptus is a condition
whereby a blogger posts blogs sporadically...intermittently...randomly.

I’m hoping it’s a mild case.

The condition is frustrating because the blogger wants to maintain regularity, but finds it very difficult.

The blogger tries to find the time to sit down and form a blog,

but is distracted.

Anywhooooo.....

The summer season brings distractions…

vices that have a way of interfering with this Kat's usual healthy blogging routine.

Apparently the lazy Kat Days of Summer and soft serve ice cream

are NOT good for the blogging track.

I long for my usual normal blog flow and have tried different ways to increase my blog fiber.  unfortunately...without success.

I’ve even increased my liquid intake to get my blog flow moving,

but apparently V and T’s

just add to more Bloggus Interruptus.

My last resort is the natural one...
the use of supplements to get back to a flow of regularity.

So occasionally I will post some well formed blog postings to add the necessary bulk to my blogs.

(Hopefully, supplements work as well as they claim.)

Thankfully Bloggus Interruptus is a temporary condition.

With some blog supplements and a few blog softeners...my condition should reverse itself...

especially when the Kat Days of Summer come to an end.

I look forward to getting over my case of Bloggus Interruptus soon…

to become regular again.

I’m not sure...Is it impolite to talk about my irregularity?

(TMI...maybe?)

If you were a Tree....

In my dreams, I see it...

I’ve reached the Pinnacle...the Apex...The Peak...of my made-up profession.

I’ve attained Renowned Blogger status (sadly now, I’m a mere Blogger Extraordinaire).

After years and years of blogging and clawing my way up the blogging ladder,

I’m sitting down for an interview with Barbara Walters.

And I have NO trouble answering BaBa WaWa's iconic, moronic, idiotic question:

“If you were a tree, what kind would you be?”

You might think I’d choose a Maple tree, because I’m originally from Vermont,

and Vermont is noted for its D’licious maple syrup …and also because...

I tend to run sappy, especially in the spring.

Or maybe you would think a Weeping Willow...

because I'm known to cry when I’m happy, sentimental, sad, bored, and hungry.

But, alas, you would be wrong.

I would be a Palm tree.

I love Palm trees. They are graceful with their feather-shaped leaves that sway in the gentle breeze.

And if I was a lucky Palm…I would be endowed with EXTRA large coconuts.

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

I got to thinking...hmmm.....

What tree would PaulA choose?

Maybe an Olive tree?

(That way he would have a handy supply of olives for his martinis.)

But he could also be a Blackberry tree.

PaulA has an affinity for his Blackberry...or a Torch for his Blackberry...wait, or is that a Storm?

If I were to choose a 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.)

Our kids probably would choose a different tree for their dad’ums.

A Money Tree.

Preferably one with branches loaded down with 100 dollar bills.

(And it would need daily pruning.)

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

Vintage

Vintage dresses, Vintage jewelry, Vintage cars.

Apparently vintage has made a come-back and it’s cool to be vintage.

(So does that mean your granny’s got game?)

When you get to be my age...vintage can be an eloquent euphemism for

archaic, obsolete, outdated.

Although I can appreciate the value of an antique...I prefer new stuff.

Scratch free, Dent free, un-faded.

Keep the restored Thunderbird...Give me a spanking new Bentley.
(Not to be confused with that bad boy, Bentley, on The Bachelorette...who needs a spanking.)

Keep the dress with essence of mothball...Give me the latest couture.

Keep the tarnished broach...Yurman, por favor.

Vintage, Schmintage, Mintage.

Wait, I don’t have a problem with MINTAGE....torn, rumpled , stinking money.

Love old money.

Anywhoooooo........................

In my haste to bag the collective world of vintage...

I should say I am fond of some vintage...Perfectly Aged to Perfection.

Wine. All wine...Red, white, and all shades in between.

Every year adds taste.

And

Friends....always classic and never out-of-style....

never considered obsolete, outdated, antiquated, or passé.

Oh, and the perfect Vintage Combo...

A bottle of fine wine shared with old friends.

                                                                                    

                                                                    

Crystal Clear

We’ve all heard the relationship expression…

a “May – December” relationship…

when there is a big age gap within the couple.

But what do you call it when there is an age difference of 60 years…

when the ‘gap’ is as large as the Grand Canyon?

The term “May – December” doesn’t do it justice…

I would call it a “B.C. – A.D. relationship.”

That would describe the relationship between 85-year-old Hugh Heffner and 25-year-old Crystal Harris (Playboy model). Their 60 year age difference rivaled that of Anna Nicole Smith (another Playboy model) and Howard Marshall. 62 years. Yikes.

 I would venture to say that this much gold digging hasn’t gone on since the Gold Rush of 1849.

AnywhoWAY, the wedding that was supposed to take place this Saturday between Hugh Heffner and Crystal was called off...by Crystal.

Heffner tweeted, “Crystal has had a change of heart.”

Wow…I was impressed…

not that Crystal was smart enough to call off tying-the-knot with someone she would soon be tying his shoes…but the fact that 85-year-old Heffner actually knew how to tweet.

That’s impressive.

Apparently Crystal had an epiphany (to go along with her Tiffany.)

It suddenly became crystal clear to Crystal that Heffner’s lifestyle wasn’t for her.

But for some reason it wasn’t crystal clear during the previous 2 and half years.

($$$ signs have a way of blurring vision.)

One would say…the timing of her break-up is suspect…

especially as it comes on the heels of Crystal releasing her new single on iTunes.

Apparently she isn’t a blonde bimbo after all…she’s smart enough to recognize “free publicity."

Anywhooooo…..

I don’t feel too sorry for any of the parties in this B.C. – A.D. relationship.

Hef was using Crystal (not meth)…and Crystal was using Hef.

At age 85, Hef has to be old enough to know that he was being used and taken for a ride by Crystal.

(Hef happened to enjoy the ride in his used car.)

Maybe next time Heffner shouldn't try to marry a young woman.

 I think he would have better luck with adoption.

Or maybe Hef should stick with someone closer to his age.

Hey, Betty White isn’t married.

At age 89, she might be a little older, but I bet she could give Heffner a run for his money…

in a different way.

I’m sure it was hard for Hef to keep “up” his lifestyle with Crystal. 

In the end, Hef is probably happy Crystal broke it off…

now he can get back to his routine of Early Bird dinners and bed by 8:30.

Clothing Optional

Do you dress your dog in outfits?

Maybe a Paris Hilton doggie ensemble? 

Our Duncandog walks around unclothed, and I prefer it that way.

Au hairy naturale.

Except when the groomer puts a bandana around his neck

after a grooming/torture session.

Some bandanas look okay, but most make him look fruity…

so as soon as we are out of the groomer's presence...I rip them off.

I wouldn’t want to offend our groomer. Duncandog and I totally respect her.

Duncan respects her because she uses scissors on him.

She has him by the bojangles…one slip and he isn’t singing a happy tune anymore.

I respect her because she calls girl dogs “bitches.” I could be next.

Anywhoooooooooooo………………

I have dressed Duncandog in a black satin bowtie for New Year's Eve 

hoping it would bring him a little decorum and better table manners.

I remember a particular New Year's, when we had good friends visit

with their dogs, Bogey and Moses.

At midnight we put party hats on the dogs and had them smile for the camera.  

We were all a wild bunch of Party Animals…especially by the stroke of midnight.

Big C (our clothes hound) has always wanted Duncandog to wear an outfit.

It’s probably because she has friends with little dogs they dress up in bows and clothes.

 So Chelsea begged (please, please, please) for something special for Duncan to wear.

I became tired of Chelsea’s attire request, so I decided to appease her (down, girl).

I got Duncandog a white jersey with her alma mater “Bama” printed on the back.

Although Dunks wasn’t a willing participant, we managed to stretch it over his physique...

honed from years and years of Milk Bones.

Remarkably, it made him look athletic and even a mascot candidate for the Crimson Tide.

Roll Tide.

Duncandog was an instant hit. The kids loved his new look and I think Duncandog did too …

mainly because everyone gave him A LOT more attention. 

His new fans gave him treats, played with him, and showered him with praise.

See what some cool new threads can do for you?

Suddenly you become a people magnet and they can't get enough of you.



Baseball Action Verbs

Picking

Spitting

Grabbing

Blowing

Those are just 4 verbs describing what goes on in the dugout of a baseball game.

If you’ve watched baseball on television, you’ve been privy to these words in action.

And it ain’t pretty.

Sometimes the camera catches a player with his finger up his nose...coal-miner style.

And I’m sure he’s been told…a thousand times…

nasal cavity excavation should be done in private.

Personally, I think the spitting verb is the worse.

Spitooie.

I’ve never understood spitting...unless, of course, you are

“the spitting image of someone” or “within spitting distance.”

A spit spray of sunflower seeds is MAJOR LEAGUE disgusting…

but it’s even worse when the spit spray is black, nasty, tobacco chew.

I know spit happens…

but I draw the baseball line in the dirt when it comes to “chew.”

Blowing bubbles…or nose blowing…isn’t pretty either.

But their gross factor isn’t as mind blowing as…bubbles out the nose.

And I assume the grabbing I’ve seen…is a wardrobe adjustment,

but I’m not a jock.

Anywhooooo…………

There is a lot of down time in a baseball game,
so the camera people are looking for ways to entertain us.

I know I am looking for something to do in-between innings and pitcher changes.

That’s when I usually go for a bowl of ice cream or paint my toe nails.

So I got to thinking….

You know how a network will sometimes put together replays of the game’s great catches, steals,

strike-outs, and home runs?

I dare them to put together a montage of all the
picking, spitting, grabbing, and blowing action in the dugout.
It would be an instant hit on YouTube.

As long as we don’t see a montage of players crying, sobbing, or blubbering.

We should never have to see those verbs in action.

There is no crying in baseball.

Baseball dugouts are not pretty.

Ice, Ice, Baby

When PaulA and I were newly married, we frequently visited his family.

Even though it was an hour's drive… I always enjoyed the trip….

there was a Dairy Queen on the way.

Our routine was always the same. On the way down, we would drive by the DQ,

but on our way back…we would STOP.

No Exception.

It didn’t matter to me that PaulA never wanted ice cream…that was his loss.

We could have just eaten a 5 course meal, complete with dessert a la mode…it was ALWAYS understood….PaulA had to stop.

He had married a soft-serve junkie.

Anywhoooooo…....…

As the story goes:

One particular drive home, PaulA and I were in a pissin’ match.

(That’s a disagreement…where one pisses, then the other pisses right back…on top.)

The pissin’ match quickly became the “ole silent treatment”….which isn’t particularly easy for me.

But I was going to play the game of…

Ice, Ice, Baby.

As we continued to drive in silence, the DQ was fast approaching.

I thought the ice would soon be shattered with our DQ stop.

But PaulA didn’t stop. He drove past Dairy Queen.

That did it for me.

I broke the ice, “I can’t believe you didn’t stop.”

PaulA, feigning ignorance, “Oh, you wanted ice cream?”

“Of course,” I said, “we ALWAYS stop…you did that on purpose.”

He replied, “I’ll turn around and go back.”

So I continued with the childish behavior, “No, forget it. I don’t want it.”

PaulA replied, “I’m going back. I want one.”

I squawked, “What? You never get ice cream.”

Soo..PaulA turned the car around, pulled up to the DQ…and came back smiling with a large vanilla cone. As we drove off…he ate the cone with obnoxious exaggerated slurping sounds,

“ooh, schllupp, ahh…this is so good…yumm.”

I am not sure what came over me. I didn’t even think about it.

In one motion…I reached over, grabbed the cone out of his hand…and threw it out my opened window.

He looked at me….I looked at him…. and we both cracked up laughing.

No more argument…no more silent treatment.

So here’s the moral of the story:

It’s always best to talk things out…

silence is best replaced by laughter,

and the biggie….

don’t ever, EVER, come between me and my DQ!



Jobs and Bulldogs

Finding a job is no picnic or walk in the park. In other words

….it ain’t easy.

I guess that’s why “pounding the pavement” is an appropriate analogy.

Finding a job requires a little bit of luck…and a whole lot of who you know.

Once I got an interview because PaulA’s softball coach was a fellow Vermonter.

(Us Vermonters gotta stick together.)

He took my resume and passed it along. In the interview, I didn’t drool on myself…so I was hired.

See what I am talking about?

It comes down to…who you know and lady luck.

Anywhoooooooooooooo……………..

When we moved to Jacksonville, Florida from Connecticut…I managed to get an interview in the Systems Dept. of an insurance company.

They say you “gotta look the part…to get the part”…

so I dressed in appropriate business attire for the interview…skirt and blouse...sans jacket.

The jacket was too blasted HOT (temperature hot…not Angelina Jolie hot.)

At the end of the interview, the Dept. Head told me that I was wearing the “right” colors.

I looked down to see what the heck I was wearing.

Red blouse, black skirt?

Huh ? I didn’t get it.

Apparently he was a University of Georgia fan and I was looking like a little bulldog…

minus the under bite.

(FYI…Jacksonville is located in northern Florida, so there is a mix of RIVAL fans...

FL Gator fans and GA Bulldog fans.)

So if I was wearing blue and orange…I would have been wearing the “wrong” colors.

Once again, I managed to not drool on myself, and I got the job.

My choice of attire was definitely a stroke of luck. Heck, I could have easily worn Gator colors.

A blue suit and orange top...and that bulldog would have used me as a hydrant

and then thrown my scaley gator ass out.

To those of you who are “pounding the pavement”…take my advice…

know somebody,

have a little luck,

and wear the “right” colors.

Oh, and remember…don’t drool on yourself.

Weiner's Woes

By now the whole wide world is aware of the length of Weiner’s woes.

How CRAZY and ironic that the Congressman’s name happens to be Weiner?

The Weiner jokes keep coming. He couldn’t have had a more inappropriate/appropriate name.

The only name better than Anthony Weiner would have to be

Seymour Weiner.

(Ba dum dum)

Anywhoooooooooooooooo.......................

Every time Weiner’s name is mentioned, I can’t get the Oscar Mayer Wiener jingle out of my head.

I’ve taken the liberty of changing the words to their catchy tune….

“Oh, he wishes his last name was anything, but Weiner

An other body part, he’d rather be

If his name was Sphincter, instead of Weiner

It’s still a pic, we shouldn’t have to see.”

I know Congressman Weiner says that he’s not resigning.

But he is.

That weenie just doesn’t know it yet.

The Weenie roast will continue until he does resign.

There is only so much roasting over an open fire a Weiner take…before he’s cooked.



A Sign from TCBY

Woah...Hold the Steering Wheel.

Are my eyes deceiving me?  Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?

Last week I pulled up to a traffic light headed home from the Post Office (my second home) and did a double take...

so much so...I almost drove into the back of the car before me.

I had to make sure what I saw was real and not a pigment of my imagination.  

As I read the white letters on the pink sign...the skies opened up and I heard the ice cream gods calling me, "Kat,  it's TCBY ...we're here for you."                  

Thankfully I missed running into the car in front of me. But I'm  almost positive the driver would have understood....who doesn't love TCBY??

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

Within the hour I swirled my way over to TCBY.

When I saw the line of people flooding the place....

I wish I had opened it.  It would have ben a capita$ $dea. Cha-ching.

First...with the self-service model, TCBY has fewer employees to pay.

Plus they won't get any worker's compensation claims from ice cream scooping injuries.

Second...the froyo containers are large so customers keep adding more frozen yogurt, otherwise,

it looks like a drop in the bucket.

Third...as you stand in line waiting to pay, you stand in front of the topping bins

which are overflowing with candy, cookies, sprinkles, marshmallows, nuts, and brownies.

Extra time in front of the topping bins...DEADLY.

The girl in line in front of me was charged $8.81 for her frozen yogurt and 2 pounds of toppings.  People feel like they are being healthy by eating frozen yogurt...but the toppings tip the scale for the wallet and the waist.

"They" say TCBY stands for "The Country's Best Yogurt", but for me, it stands for

"Topping Choices Beat Yogurt"...any day.

If you are ever looking for me...look for me at my new second home.  

TCBY.

Happy Birthday, Brianna!

What is cheery  and a breath of fresh air?

(No...not Febreze......but you are close!)

EZ Breezy.....Brianna...

and she smells a lot better!  

Today Brianna is TWENTY years old.  Woot Woot.

Goodbye Teens...Hello Twenties.

Anywhooo......

or

Who of any.....

wouldn't want to spend time on Breezy Street?

It's always a good time... when you hang with Bri.

And the sun is always shining on Breezy Street.

B is for bubbly and beloved

R is for radiant, real, and really radiant

I is for intelligent and innovative

A is for amiable and altruistic

N is for natural and nice....and naturally nice

N is for nocturnal :)

A is for adorable (inside and out)

Happy Birthday, Sweet Wish!!!!!  We love YOU!

The Stanley Cup

Let's go BRUINS!

Ahhh Hockey...the sport where fighting, facial hair, and f-bombs are the norm.

I don't normally watch hockey, but the Boston Bruins are playing in the Stanley Cup Final which hasn't happened since 1990...and  hasn't been won since 1972.  

I've decided they need me as a fan.

I don't know about you, but I find watching hockey on TV  hard work. 
Some people have eyes that naturally track the puck,  

but mine don't work that way.

My eyes don't know where to look on the ice.  There is just so much to watch...
the players, the puck, the positioning, and it's all happening so pfast.
I always seem to miss a goal...even when I'm intently watching.  

I must blink a lot.

I'm not sure why I have so much trouble.  The contrasts are in my favor.
The puck is black and the ice is white;

we have a large screen TV with High Definition;

PLUS I'm from Vermont, which is as close to being Canadian as you want to get.

If it wasn't for an occasional fight...to slow things down...my head would be spinning.

(I do get a chuckle watching players in the corner boards digging the puck out of their crotch.  

Well, that's how it looks anyway from the TV camera angles.)

Anywhoooo...............

LIVE Hockey is far more entertaining than watching hockey on television.  Plus you get the added benefit of the sound of the skating, swearing, shouting, and zaboning.

The first NHL game I ever attended was a Hartford Whalers game.  We had seats right next to the ice and when 2 players crashed the boards at full force...Chelsea,  Bri, and I  screamed and threw our popcorn in the air.  

Holy Puck.

Now that is what I call fun.

I'm gonna keep working on my hockey spectating skills and hopefully see a Boston Bruins VICTORY.

Hmmm...something just occurred to me....this guy Stanley in the Final....
he sure has a big cup.

What's on your DVR?

Don't cha love a dvr session?  Nothing quite like a combo of donuts, vodka, and rocky road.

Wait, this blog is supposed to be about the digital voice recorder and not my binge session last evening. 

So what's on your DVR?

Right now our DVR is at 70 percent capacity...with loads and loads of Grey's Anatomy episodes.  We are faithful Grey's fans, but a  little behind. Make that 32 episodes behind.  I guess that makes us unfaithful fans.  (And my behind in not that little.)

We've started to surgically remove episodes from the dvr...but that many episodes of a medical drama is painful and requires anesthesia...or extra donuts, vodka, and rocky road.

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

I've noticed that the number of hookups between Grey's Anatomy interns, residents, and doctors is off the hook.  At one time or another, over the seven seasons, they've all hooked up with each other.  The show has run out of combinations, so some of them have had to switch teams and play with the other side, if you know what I mean.  Kinda like when Manny Ramirez switched from the Red Sox to play for the Dodgers, but VERY different.   

I find that all entertaining.  But the one thing that blows my mind...so much so...that I want to throw my donuts at the TV...is how excited these doctors are to take on a medical case.  

There is never a McWeiney in the bunch.

They will fight each other tooth and hang nail to get a case from one another or to perform major surgery.  Not one of them is trying to take the afternoon off for a round of golf? WTH?

Whenever an ambulance pulls up at the ER or a helicopter lands on the roof, the docs are standing there...waiting...with scalpels ready...including the Chief of Surgery.  

Like that would ever happen.

Of course, I know this is TV...but I would just hope that  if I had an infected hang nail and had to be admitted (to the MEDICAL hospital)....

McSteamy and McDreamy would be right there waiting to treat me.   

And in return...I would promise  to  keep my mouth shut should I see any of their romantic hookups...which, by the way, never happens on the show.  

Whenever there is a private conversation or romantic interlude between docs there is always a McCockamamie lurking around the corner...ready to blab it around the hospital. 

Forget the rocky road....I'm thinking McCreamy.

P.S. Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit. Happy June 1st.