Long Distance Calling

Our home phone rarely rings. I would venture to say, that is the case in most households. Now that everyone has an umbilical cord attached to a cell phone…who needs to call the house phone. Plus…who wants to make small talk with PaulA or Kat…when it is Bri they want to talk to.

Back in the day, we didn’t have cell phones that would conveniently ring in our pocket…playing a Bob Marley ringtone. I remember when I got a call at home…whoever answered the phone would yell through the house, “Kat…Telephone.” I would yell back, “Coming.” But every now and then I would get the mother load of calls….

“IT’S LONG DISTANCE.” Whenever you heard this, you were expected to high tail it to the phone…ASAP. There was to be no dilly dallying or finishing what you were doing. Nope. You were expected to break your neck or break your toe…it didn’t matter…just as long as you got your ass to the phone. It was Long Distance Calling….and extra tick tocks were costly.

I didn’t get many long distance calls…not until I met my boyfriend, PaulA from CT…and it was summer vacation. I remember the first time I called PaulA long distance at his house. He asked me to call him on their “kid’s phone”….woah. How cool was that to have two phone lines. Now that I am a parent, I understand why his parents wanted a separate line for the kids….they had seven children.

Modern technology has made life easier…with just a reach into your pocket or pocketbook…you can easily check your caller id, read a text message or actually answer. But nothing beats the exhilaration I felt whenever I would hear…“Kat…Phone….IT’S LONG DISTANCE”…just knowing it was PaulA on the other end….dropping what I was doing…running through the house…tripping over the dog….knocking over the chair. Waaaay more exciting.

Kat's Greatest Hits

I have a confession to make. I was thinking of copying and pasting an old blog I had written months ago and passing it off as a newly written blog. Partly to see if anyone would notice...even care, or then again… even care. I told PaulA about my little caper. And he said, “Why not? If the Rolling Stones can replay the oldies, why can’t you?" Darn good thinking, PaulA…way to put that noggin to work.

So I am launching “Kat’s Greatest Hits”….I would take requests, but that would mean I would have to hear from you out there in blogworld…and it seems like you are either very shy…or non-existent. I realize my blogs were never real “hits”….so you are wondering how could there be “Greatest Hits”…but could you please humor me for a minute and just roll with it, already.

For my first Greatest Hit…I am bringing back:

Starbucks Encounter
Today I was in another town and had some time to kill so I found a Starbucks…which was easy. Isn’t there one on every corner? I had my book, so why not park my butt in a warm trendy coffee shop? Only problem was, I felt like a fraud…like all the alarms were going off the minute I stepped in the door. You see, I’m a Dunkin Donuts regular and I just crossed over to the other side.

I wasn’t sure how to order the different coffee sizes, so I motioned with my fingers to indicate a small decaff. The barista handed me my coffee, “Here you are (Don’t say Maam.)…one tall decaff.” (Darn thing looks short to me.) So I took my small/tall coffee and looked around…nice couches, chairs by the fireplace, tables…(very posh). The only problem was everything was taken…except one table in the corner with a chair that faced the wall. Yep…that would be my table. After all, I am a coffee fraud so I deserve to face the wall.

So I sat down and cranked my neck around. Who’s here? Let’s see…some cappuccino moms with hot chocolate kids in tow. An espresso woman in for a quick jolt. A yuppie caramel frappuccino couple with a mocha syrup baby in a carrier… a skinny latte teenager and a Chi tea babe.

I’m not sure why I feel like a fraud at Starbucks or what they do to make me feel this way.

Maybe because their coffee pourers are called baristas. I overheard a woman order a special coffee that had 8 adjectives, 6 adverbs and a couple of nouns. The barista got it right the first time. Heck, I could never work there…I just don’t have that much memory in my bank. Then the coffee expert made something that sounded like a 747 landing…and no one ducked for cover…except me.

Maybe because they play Starbucks CDs recorded at their own record label which are configured to make you linger and drink more coffee.

Maybe because coffee can cost…4 to 5 bucks.

I admit, I felt like an alien that was dropped on to another planet…Planet DarkRoast. I tried to fit in – but I think they could tell….I am a fraud. I am not one of them. I’m a Dunkin Donuts regular.

I’m not thinking of crossing over again too soon. I guess I’m just your average Joe who likes a cup of Joe…without all the fuss.

Kat The Coffee Maker

Kat made coffee at home. She didn’t get in her car… pass go…and drive directly to the Dunkin Donuts Drive-thru. Nope. She put 5 scoops of coffee in the filter basket and poured water in the coffee maker reservoir. Wait, why am I talking in the third person? Well…maybe because it was like an out-of-body experience.

Yesterday I decided to buy a small coffee maker for the beach. Whenever we have company, I feel like the morning coffee is an issue. As you know…I like to go to DD’s every morning. Nobody does it like Dunkin. Conveniently, there happens to be one close by. But, when we have guests…I am getting the feeling that they would like to have a pot of coffee when they wake up….and not wait for me to get my sorry ass out of bed. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am the hostess….and I have a sorry ass.

How did the coffee turn out? I just know you are asking. I was very surprised that it tasted okay. But nothing is as good as my Dunkin Donuts cup of java. I’ve always wondered what gives it that special taste. I have bought DD’s grounds and my coffee still doesn’t taste anything like theirs. It is probably their commercial grade machines, or extra hot water. But I have figured out their special ingredient…it is the foam cup. I swear it is. My mugs don’t do the java justice.

I’ll try to continue making coffee while at the beach and I'll work on perfecting it. I’ll be the best dang hostess on the beach…with a sorry ass.

I first have to make a quick trip over to DDs to get some foam cups.

ColinHomingBoy

When PaulA has business in Boston I like to go along for the ride…I always love the chance to be in Red Sox Nation…Beantown…Home of the worst accent in the nation. The extra special bonus of riding shot gun with PaulA…is the opportunity to see Colin. So luckily last week PaulA had a meeting in Copley Plaza…and I had a meeting on Newbury Street …yeah…That is what I like to tell myself. Okay, I had a big date with the shops.

I called Colin and arranged to meet him after he finished work and before he had real plans with cool, fun people…aka…not me. He could take the "T" after work and meet me on Newbury Street. A little digression …I love that Boston Beaners call the train the “T”. Someone asked me for directions to the subway…a dead giveaway they were from NYC… “the City”…not “the Town.”

So now…Where to meet Colinboy on a busy summer street? “I’ll find you,” he said….which he did. And I knew he would. Colin has a built-in homing device. I swear if I stepped over the Boston City Limits line Colin would know….his homing boy device would go off immediately… Katmom has entered Beantown …right foot taken on Massachusetts Ave near Dunkin Donuts.

When Col was young, he always knew right where I was…no matter what the size of the crowd. When we would attend his concerts, or games and it was difficult to find him through everyone. …I would always know he could find me. I would ask, “Did you see where I was sitting?” Oh yea…you were in row 10, left side…in seat 3A.”

The best is…if ever I was lost hiking in the Rocky Mountains…(yeah, like I hike a lot)…ColinHomingboy could find me. I am so lucky like that.

Surf's Up!

We are at the beach and the clouds have moved in…the wind has kicked up off the ocean and blowing straight into our faces. The clouds are dark and the waves are getting higher and crashing louder. To most people it sounds like a storm is brewing …but to us….it means only one thing…The Ramones are getting closer.

Yep. Whenever the Ramones visit us at the beach …they bring the nasty weather. This might seem like a generalization, but we have lots of proof over the years. Even other relatives who are here want to know when they are visiting…they want to plan their activities around the bad weather.

Actually the Ramones are very good natured about the ribbing they get for crappy weather. Luckily, they have a great sense of humor… Jokingly, once during a visit Stacy called herself “the booze hag”...which we couldn’t resist relaying to the rest of our relatives. It was too funny...except when Uncle Al met Stacy and said to her face, “Oh, you’re the sea hag.”….Whoops…wrong hag, Uncle Al…Keep your hags straight.

One year when the kids were little…the Ramones brought a monsoon with them. After a couple of days of damp clothes, damp towels, and damp spirits…we were ready to walk the gang plank. The forecast was so bad for each day that we started looking at flights. Myrtle Beach was looking clear.

We decided it was a little extreme….to get on a plane and take a vacation from our vacation. So instead, we packed up our families and went into Plymouth to stay in a hotel. It was actually a brilliant move. The kids happily walked a gang plank…into the pirate theme pool. And the adults got happy…with the help of our pirate friend, Captain Morgan.

Today I received an email from our foul-weather friends … they are on their way. They are leaving Old Forge where it has been rainy. We are looking forward to seeing the sea/booze hag and family…We anticipate lots of laughs, lots of fun, and LOTS of rain……Surf’s up.

You Say Bologna...I Say Baloney

What is so wrong with a bologna sandwich? Geez, I thought everyone loved Oscar Mayer Bologna. Bologna was the first sandwich I ever made PaulA. I found out that not everyone appreciates a bologna sandwich…especially the way I made it…but not until years later.

PaulA and I were newly dating and we decided to go on a picnic near our college. I offered to make a nice picnic lunch. (This would be great time to impress my boyfriend with my culinary skills.)

Growing up in my household, our sandwiches included: PB & J, PB & Fluff, egg salad, tuna, Devil’s Ham and bologna. I went through the process of elimination and I decided…peanut butter was sooo 4th grade. Egg salad and tuna salad smelled big time…especially in the sun and therefore, so would we. Deviled ham is just plain gross…always was and always will be. Bologna…rose quickly to the top of the list.

So I worked on the best bologna sandwich for my boyfriend…got two slices of white bread, smeared a little yellow mustard and added a slice of bologna. Waaahlaa. The perfect sandwhich.

PaulA ate his bologna sandwich without a complaint. But after we were married, I found out that…not only is bologna not his definition of a perfect sandwich…the white bread and mustard didn’t cut it either.

I have since learned to make the perfect PaulA sandwich…That would be to use any bread (but white), deli meat (but bologna) piled five inches high, mounds of miracle whip, and any fixins that you have in the frig. The technique is: layer…and smother…layer…and smother… the perfect sandwich.

I’m still surprised about the poor reception my sandwich received from PaulA. You see I thought I couldn’t lose with a bologna sandwich… ‘Cause Oscar Mayer has a way with B-o-l-o-g-n-a… (Okay, I couldn’t resist that catchy little jingle… you had to know it was coming.)

Very Interesting

After 10 months of writing this blog…I am used to THE questions. When I first started writing, I didn’t tell anyone, but then decided... "why not tell people?" Part of the fun of writing something is to have it read. Besides 35 million other bloggers can’t be wrong. So I slowly spilled the blogger beans.

The following are the types of questions that I am asked about my blogging tendencies. These questions are usually asked by the person observing me with their head cocked to the side, eyes squinted and mouth pursed…as if observing a train crash OR freak of nature.

You write a blog? Oh...that’s interesting.

Why did you start? You were avoiding things you should be doing…that’s interesting.

Do people actually read your blog? Maybe 1 or 2 people...that many... interesting.

Did you have a normal childhood growing up? Oh, you think so…you think you’re normal…that’s interesting.

Are you sure you don’t have some mother issues that you are trying to resolve with your blog? Oh, none you can think of…your mom wasn’t the Betty Davis type...you're still thinking your're normal...that’s interesting.

How much time do you spend blogging? Oh, all that precious time wasted…down the tubes…that's interesting.

When do you think you’ll stop this blogging nonsense? I mean, absurdity…uh…gibberish…inanity…lunacy? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that…like it sounded. But when…exactly?

As a freak of nature…I am very interesting.