Back To Reality

Kat’s back from Vegas, Baby. I would recommend a Las Vegas trip to anybody for…the weather, the hotels, the golf, the restaurants, the shows, the lights, the casinos. It has everything. Where else can you ride in a gondola on a Venetian canal, climb the Eiffel Tower, view the Statue of Liberty, witness a volcano erupting, and lose your family’s nest egg, all in one trip?

I had this brilliant idea of renewing our wedding vows…and what better place than in Vegas? So I checked out the wedding chapel at the Bellagio. Once I saw it, I knew it just wasn’t the right place for us ....not the right place for PaulA and Kat to profess undying love… it just wasn’t tacky enough. It was a pretty chapel decorated in Italian opulence over looking the Bellagio gardens. Who wants a pretty little chapel…I can get that home. I was looking for neon lights, tacky décor and a priestly Elvis.

So it is…Back to Life…Back to Reality. (Remember that song?) Back to rise and shine, feed the dog, make the school lunch, do the laundry…blah, blah, blah. Don’t get me wrong…I love being home, but there is a re-entry period when you first get back. I’m sure Cinderella had a little re-entry period. With the strike of the clock…it is Monday morning and the room service breakfast is now a breakfast bar to go…fresh towels and linens are now today’s dirty laundry, and the gourmet dinner over looking the city lights is hot dogs and beans with the distant flickering glow from the TV. So I need to slap myself in the face a couple of times. It will take a day to get over the “Can I get you something” pampering I have had for the past week. I must say, however, the best-est thing ever about getting home is seeing our Sweet Wishy’s happy face. And one thing is for sure…PaulA is still my prince.

When I think about it…Back to Reality isn’t so bad…I could have Eliot Spitzer’s reality.

Elvis has left the building.

Las Vegas Baby

Coming to you from the Vegas strip. I'm talking the Bellagio Hotel...Las Vegas Baby! PaulA has a conference and I am his assistant...Yeah, that's the ticket.

The flight here was a smooth one. It is cool how Las Vegas Baby appears in a major kilowatt blaze from the complete and total darkness of the desert. (For some reason ever since I got here, I can't stop saying Baby.) I'm still wondering why the flight attendant bothered with the life vest demonstration. What are the chances of going down at the Hoover Dam?

What a great idea to build an adult playground in the desert sand...build a city of gambling and decadence and they will come. A place where the motto of "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" is the guiding principle. Almost like when the priest absolves you of all sins during confession.

I am goofing off for a whole week Baby...7 days of Kat Kat, Kat...true self-indulgence. My tough schedule involves breakfast, the fitness center, lunch, the pool, dinner, some golf, the pool. Oh did I mention the pool aready and how amazing the weather is?

Actually is isn't easy sitting in a lounger all afternoon. At some point you have to flip over on your stomach, otherwise you end up looking like a sunnyside egg. I'm not sure how people around me look so comfortable lying on their stomachs. For me it has been torture trying to contort my back in a V-shape. Note to self: sign-up for yoga.

People are not complaining in Vegas Baby...so zip it Kat. Everyone is walking around with smiling faces. It might be because they've won at craps, they're vodka-induced happy, or they are in a state of shock after getting crapped on at the craps table.

I am not really a gambler or a bettingKat at heart. Although once when I was 10, I bet my bro that he wasn't going to be an astronaut. He can play rocket man on the piano...so I'll call it even - Steven.

I think if I do gamble, I'm going with the numbers 7 and 11. I woke up to 7:11 this morning...I'm thinking this means something is in the cards for me Baby. If my blog goes a few days without new entries...please know I'll return...hopefully, with my pockets lined with a few Grants.

I'll tell Elvis you said Hello!

Will Work For Olga

Olga is coming….I better clear the deck. Olga is my cleaning lady and she cleans every other Friday afternoon. I hate to admit it, but I’m a-scared of her. Olga just has a way of looking at me that is very intimidating…so I know she’s the boss. Even when she is a “no-show”, I meekly call her (walking on broken glass or is that eggshells) and say, “Umm…Olga, do you think you can fit me in another day?” When anything is broken, the pieces are left in a little pile with no explanation. (I guess if you think about it, what is there to explain?….Can’t I see, it’s broken?.....pass the glue.)

I think Olga missed her calling…she could easily be the CEO of a major corporation. I’m not sure how many women she has working for her, but there are usually at least 3 women that show up at my house. Olga will drive up, drop them off and then go to another house. Actually I’m not sure where she goes…maybe she’s at Starbucks with her feet up, drinking a latte. But I would never ask….not me. The next time they show up, there are new faces. I started wondering the other day….what happens to all these women? Hmmm….does Olga send them to the rock pile?

I definitely consider it a major luxury to have a cleaning lady….so I’m not complaining or anything. It’s Olga day and that means ….I need to rev my engines. This is when I run around the house like a crazed woman on 5 Red Bulls, 3 espressos and a couple of chocolate bars…getting the house ready for Boss lady. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.

I pull the cleaning supplies out, pull the vacuum out, empty all the trash cans, make the beds, put Wishy’s clothes and shoes away or throw them on her bed, (I cut a little break with the other 2 in college), tidy the bathrooms, pick up towels, hang up or throw Paul’s clothes in a pile (depending on my mood), fold the laundry, put the laundry away, get rid of papers, newspapers (pant…pant…did I leave anything out?). PaulA doesn’t understand why I am cleaning before she gets here…Hey, he never met Olga.

Sometimes for a wild and crazy good time, I do everything in reverse order!….The upside of this caffeine-induced energy spree is that it is a good aerobic workout. Gotta go…what am I doing sitting here on my butt at the computer? I better get my rear in gear; I have work to do for Olga!!!

DMV Another World

The DMV (Dept. of Motor Vehicles) is definitely a world unto itself. Bri and I had to take a trip there to have her picture taken and pick up her license after passing the driver’s test. Even though an officer came to our Tony town to give the test…you still have to pay the DMV a visit. You see, there is no escaping the DMV. You might think you can run…but you can’t hide.

We arrive at DMV world and feel very fortunate…the first line that everyone must go through is very short. YES, the DMV gods must be looking down on us today! We excitedly tell the DMV lady our business….how Bri passed her driver’s test and she is here for her license….like she really cares. She says, “Here’ your number …go to the left. Our computers are down and we don’t know when they will be up again. We have someone working on it.” Huh? You have someONE…only one computer geek! What about a team of computer geeks…or a gaggle of geeks? Don’t computer geeks travel in packs? So we sit down…you can run, but you can’t hide.

There’s no turning back now…no throwing in the towel or DMV forms. We are in it for the long haul. The DMV is something you get yourself geared up for…you see it looming on your calendar circled in red and you know that you have to prepare yourself for a miserable experience. You can run…but you can’t hide.

We have nothing but time on our hands. Now what to do? That would be people watch…the DMV is the best place to see every form of life…and some species are more evolved than others. We spy a guy wearing cargo pants pulling out papers from different compartments and filing some others back. He was a regular walking file cabinet. Next time I go to the DMV, I am definitely wearing cargo pants.

Then there is...The girl with the wild colorful tattoo crawling up the back of her neck. The Romanian man that moved to the U.S. two years ago. The young girl who looked way to young to be having a baby. (not really our business) And the young children who were going ballistic waiting to get the hell out of there.

My favorite is watching the reaction of people when their DMV business is finished and they can escape. One guy actually waved to everybody sitting down. It definitely is a feeling of accomplishment and relief…like when school’s out for summer.

People actually seemed very patient at the DMV today…It can be a place where people snap, giving the DMV its other name…Driven Many Violent. Luckily no one wigged out… I hoped it would stay that way.

Yippee…good news… the lone geek fixed the DMV computer system. Only 33 people ahead of us. Let’s just hope that when they call Brianna’s name for her photo, she still feels like smiling. After all, when it comes to the DMV… you can run but you can’t hide.

Men's Fashion Trends

Hold the presses….or is that start the presses…sometimes I get my expressions mixed up. I have just read that the new fashion for men’s ties is for skinnier ties. A whopping half inch skinner. For men’s fashion, this is a big deal. Think about it, men’s fashion just doesn’t change. You don’t have guys running out to purchase the latest low-rise, skinny jean. Men are wearing the same thing since basically cave man days…when they wore tunics. (Or was that just Fred Flinstone?)

Men just aren’t up for a lot of change when it comes to their looks. They think they look good the way they are…besides they are practical and know it doesn’t make economical sense to buy new stuff year after year. And men would never pay way over a hundred dollars for a pair of jeans. They don’t get it…that is when they give you that caveman expression, huh?

I’m guessing the reason men’s fashion is slow to change is that most guys do not like to shop. I don’t remember the last time PaulA bought “an outfit” for himself. If he goes to the mall he makes sure he goes to a store with an outside entrance…no wandering aimlessly through the mall, drinking a cappuccino and window shopping. Men are not buying things on a whim. They have a purpose: Get in and get out without much damage…psychologically or financially.

Also men do not see the need to own multiple numbers of things. I can find a shirt I like and buy it in white, black, grey, pink, light blue, and green…because St. Patrick’s Day is coming. Besides guys have their “favorites”…which they wear over and over anyway. That favorite navy blue t-shirt with the hole in the back of the neck is just perfect. And forget shoes…for every 3 pair men own…women own 33.

Then there is the “wear whatever is on top” method. That is a PaulA specialty. PaulA will open his dresser and put on whatever he sees on top. I wash it and put it back in…and then he’s got it back on. After 6 months of same ole, same ole…I have to rearrange things.

And guys don’t really have outfits….they have separates…pants, a shirt, sweater and shoes. They are all interchangeable…which makes packing easy. That is why they only have a carry-on bag and a woman has 2 over-the-limit-have-to-pay-extra suitcases.

Okay I am writing in generalizations…not all men are Neanderthals when it comes to fashion. So if you are a guy who has a sense of fashion…feel to strangle me with one of your new skinny ties.

Going Places

Brianna passed her Driver’s License test! Like every new driver, she has places to go… “hand over those car keys, mom.” Although Bri can now legally drive, PaulA and I are still getting comfortable with the idea. Our heart will be in our throats every time our 16-year-old newly licensed driver takes the wheel.

Here’s a cute Bri story….’cause she’s so darn cute. Have you heard of the show, My Sweet 16? On the show, a kid is given an over-the-top Sweet 16 birthday party and then given a car….Surprise! When Chelsea turned 16, Brianna had her own surprise gift for her big sister.

She worked on her secret idea for a few days hiding it from everyone in the basement. On the big day, Bri presented Chelsea with a small box. Chels unwrapped the box and found a set of car keys inside. Chelsea looked at the keys, looked at Bri, then looked at us...with excitement. Then Brianna said… "Happy Birthday Chelsea…there’s something for you in the garage.” Chels ran to the garage and parked there, in all its glory was a … red car...made of cardboard. Bri had made it out of old moving boxes, hangars, foil…amazingly clever and cute. It was big enough for Chelsea to sit inside…complete with a license plate on the back that said “Sweet 16.”

Now that Bri is driving, she likes to dream about different cars she would like to get. She likes the Jeep, Land Rover and older models of cars, like Volvo. She says she prefers cars with the boxy look…Perfect. I better get busy…I need to find a ton of boxes to make her new Jeep.

Happy and Safe Driving Brianna!

I Got Soul

I had my first ever pedicure…a very sole-full experience. I guess it was about time…a lot of the female teenager population has already had several. I am not a fan of strangers touching my body parts so massages have always been out of the question. But I thought I could start with my feet and maybe later graduate to other extremities. Plus I was with some friends at a spa celebrating a friend’s big birthday. We were there after hours so we had the place to ourselves…cosmos, appetizers and pedicures…soul food for the sole.

I jumped on the sole train, picked out a toe nail color (think pink) and got in the chair. Very nice…big leather lounger with a control. I flipped on the back massage, stuck my feet in the whirlpool and turned 3 shades of scarlet. I have to say, it is a little embarrassing to have a total stranger examine your feet. You wonder what pedicurists are thinking when they take their first look. I know they have seen all kinds of souls with all kinds of soles walk in there. But it still is a little awkward. Maybe they can actually see your soul through your soles. I was just hoping she was thinking… “This woman has a lot of soul.” And not thinking… “her feet smell like a 3-day-old piece of sole.” I wanted to prove how soulful I was by playing “Heart and Soul” on the piano. (By the way, all stupid puns are intended…can’t stop myself.)

The woman took my foot and got right to work. Every time she touched my toes, I would jump…and then she would look up at me. I would say, “I’m so sorry.” And she would give me a little smile. And then it would happen again. One time she looked up at me and caught me biting my hand. I figured if I inflicted a little pain on myself I would not be jumpy and move my feet every time she touched my toes. She did not speak English very well, so it was hard to explain to her that I was fighting the urge to kick her in the face.

After much soul-searching about pedicures, I realized that: Pedicures + Kat = Soul Mates…I would definitely do it again. This soul sister got a great pedicure…smooth, soft feet with pink toes. And the woman didn’t get kicked in the face…which luckily for her…was not her sole tip.