One of my favorite things as a kid was the ice cream truck…hearing the happy music off in the distance…listening as it got closer and closer….knowing it was coming to my street.
The anticipation was too much. Kids everywhere would stop what they were doing and come running from every direction. So many choices…What ice cream to choose? Colorful pictures of...popsicles, nutty buddys, push-ups...on the side of the truck. The Ice Cream Man would put smiles on kid’s faces and then head out for another neighborhood… the sign on the back: Watch that child!
Every now and again an ice cream truck comes to our neighborhood. Although ice cream is still my number one food group, I was just thinking about how much more I would appreciate a…What’s for dinner? truck…a sort of meals-on -wheels…one that came through our neighborhood every afternoon.
I’m loving this idea. I can picture it now. You'd hear the theme song to the Rachael Ray Show in the distance...listening as it got closer and closer. And then it would pull up…a truck filled with prepared meals that you could serve your family for dinner. Over-worked, stay-at-home Moms everywhere would drop what they were doing...put down their playing cards, mah jongg tiles, golf bags, and tennis racquets…..and run to the truck.
So many choices…What’s for diner tonight? Colorful pictures of pasta, chicken, beef…on the side of the truck. (Even gallons of milk…just in case you ran out.) The dinner truck would put smiles on Mom’s faces and then head out for another neighborhood…the sign on the back: Watch that Mom!
Families everywhere would be happy….and stressed-out Moms would have time to get back to what they were doing…. “Who’s got the Ace of Hearts??” “Anyone for another 9 holes?” “Hey…I got mah jongg!”
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Duncandog's Bone to Pick
Hey Duncandog here. You haven’t heard from me in a while cuz Kat doesn’t let me blog very often. She’s such a blog hog…but every now and then I pull a fast one on her. Today while she was blogging her face off...I got a glimpse of her password over her shoulder…”DamnDuncandog.” I’m now wondering if I should be offended.
I’m mainly writing this because I have a bone to pick. It has to do with a little Cockapoo who has been on my back for a few days. They say he’s half Cocker Spaniel…half Miniature Poodle. That’s a mutt in my book. They also say this mutt’s name is Sam…Sammy…Samson…Yosemite Sam. In unison…oohhhh….Isn’t he cute. And he gets’s all the attention…cuz he’s a puppy. Again...in unison…oohhhh….isn’t he cute? Sucks to be me…a big dog at age 11 and get no appreciation for 11 years of loyalty.
They also say this Sam is my cousin. Huh? So because our humans are related…this makes us related? I don’t think so…no blood there. I hear my real cousin, Pierre, is living in Paris and floats down the Seine River all day long. C’est la vie.
Anyway, Kat is always complaining about me. The nerve of her complaining about my dog habits when I’m a regular angel food dog compared to that mutt. I’m thinking of calling the little mutt…Son of Sam. He’s the one that starts all the trouble.
He gets all worked up with his happy puppy routine…barks at me and tries to get me to chase him. I’d like to chase him…and eat him…but Kat is watching so I have to pretend like it’s all fun and games…just because we’re 4-legged cousins and all. So I chase him, and when Kat turns her head…I try to mount him…the next best thing to eating him.
One thing I did notice…this Sam dog has a gravy train life. I was watching the way Sistersledge, his owner, takes good care of him. Waits on him snout and paw. Picks him up, hugs him, kisses him, and feeds him 3 times a day.
Whoa…..Kat take notice. Why don’t I get the same TLC? You are one lousy dog owner.
Next time I get a hold of Kat’s laptop…I’m thinking of changing her password: DamnKatdog.
I’m mainly writing this because I have a bone to pick. It has to do with a little Cockapoo who has been on my back for a few days. They say he’s half Cocker Spaniel…half Miniature Poodle. That’s a mutt in my book. They also say this mutt’s name is Sam…Sammy…Samson…Yosemite Sam. In unison…oohhhh….Isn’t he cute. And he gets’s all the attention…cuz he’s a puppy. Again...in unison…oohhhh….isn’t he cute? Sucks to be me…a big dog at age 11 and get no appreciation for 11 years of loyalty.
They also say this Sam is my cousin. Huh? So because our humans are related…this makes us related? I don’t think so…no blood there. I hear my real cousin, Pierre, is living in Paris and floats down the Seine River all day long. C’est la vie.
Anyway, Kat is always complaining about me. The nerve of her complaining about my dog habits when I’m a regular angel food dog compared to that mutt. I’m thinking of calling the little mutt…Son of Sam. He’s the one that starts all the trouble.
He gets all worked up with his happy puppy routine…barks at me and tries to get me to chase him. I’d like to chase him…and eat him…but Kat is watching so I have to pretend like it’s all fun and games…just because we’re 4-legged cousins and all. So I chase him, and when Kat turns her head…I try to mount him…the next best thing to eating him.
One thing I did notice…this Sam dog has a gravy train life. I was watching the way Sistersledge, his owner, takes good care of him. Waits on him snout and paw. Picks him up, hugs him, kisses him, and feeds him 3 times a day.
Whoa…..Kat take notice. Why don’t I get the same TLC? You are one lousy dog owner.
Next time I get a hold of Kat’s laptop…I’m thinking of changing her password: DamnKatdog.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
You Have Been Declined
Let’s see if this story resonates out there. Here’s the scenario. You’re a customer making a purchase with your lifeline…aka…your credit card. When out of the blue you hear 4 dreaded words… “You have been declined.” (3 words if a contraction is used). Even if the words are whispered, you feel like everyone in the store has heard it too. It sounds like an announcement through a megawatt megaphone…YOU HAVE BEEN DECLINED.”
So you insist there is a reasonable explanation for the declination. “Run my card through that computer again, sonny.” So the kid does…and with an accusatory look says… “Sorry Ma’am…YOU’VE BEEN DECLINED.”
This, my friends, is what happened to Wishy and I while visiting the Apple Store. After a lengthy show-and-tell discussion with an Apple Expert about the pros of a MacBook computer…we decided to purchase one. At this point in the sale, Wishy and I were BFF’s with the Apple Expert…and we knew more about him than we wanted.
We knew that the Apple Expert was a Canadian, went to college in Nova Scotia, and his college education was a deal at 6,000 dollars a year (I wonder if Wishy would consider a transfer). He played the bagpipes, his identity was once stolen, he studied geology but switched to computers. And his name was Bruce.
And what did Bruce know about Wishy and I? One thing…WE HAVE BEEN DECLINED. We were a couple of rotten Apples.
Friendly, congenial Bruce then became the frenemy…No more Mr. Nice Guy. Bruce looked at us in horror…like we were trying to pull off the Great MacBook Laptop Caper…as if we were a mom and daughter duo…hitting Apple stores looking to reap the latest technology. Bruce called in all his enforcements…managers, and manager’s managers…all with concerned looks.
The humiliation was unbearable. Even though I knew I wasn’t a criminal…I began to feel like one. I felt like a fraud…move over Bernie Madoff. I thought about making a citizen’s arrest on ourselves and throwing us in the slammer…for ten to twenty.
But seeing Wishy was too sweet for jail life… I stammered and hammered out some story about how this was some mistake. I set out to prove my innocence by calling the credit crud people who eventually validated my story. I was actually an innocent mother/blogger from the burbs buying some electronics. (In credit crud terms, the computer had put an automatic block on my account because it concerned a large electronics purchase.) Hey, I wasn’t a rotten Apple. Vindicated!
Low and behold…Enemy Bruce became Friendly Bruce. He decided we weren’t riff-raff after all. We were not the Bonnie and Clydebelle schiksters of the electronic world.
I’m trying to figure out who bothered me the most…my credit crud company…or the Dr. Jekly/Mr. Hyde Bruce, Apple Expert.
Hmmm…I’m thinking Bruce ticked me off more: “Hey, Apple Expert….take a bite out of my…."
So you insist there is a reasonable explanation for the declination. “Run my card through that computer again, sonny.” So the kid does…and with an accusatory look says… “Sorry Ma’am…YOU’VE BEEN DECLINED.”
This, my friends, is what happened to Wishy and I while visiting the Apple Store. After a lengthy show-and-tell discussion with an Apple Expert about the pros of a MacBook computer…we decided to purchase one. At this point in the sale, Wishy and I were BFF’s with the Apple Expert…and we knew more about him than we wanted.
We knew that the Apple Expert was a Canadian, went to college in Nova Scotia, and his college education was a deal at 6,000 dollars a year (I wonder if Wishy would consider a transfer). He played the bagpipes, his identity was once stolen, he studied geology but switched to computers. And his name was Bruce.
And what did Bruce know about Wishy and I? One thing…WE HAVE BEEN DECLINED. We were a couple of rotten Apples.
Friendly, congenial Bruce then became the frenemy…No more Mr. Nice Guy. Bruce looked at us in horror…like we were trying to pull off the Great MacBook Laptop Caper…as if we were a mom and daughter duo…hitting Apple stores looking to reap the latest technology. Bruce called in all his enforcements…managers, and manager’s managers…all with concerned looks.
The humiliation was unbearable. Even though I knew I wasn’t a criminal…I began to feel like one. I felt like a fraud…move over Bernie Madoff. I thought about making a citizen’s arrest on ourselves and throwing us in the slammer…for ten to twenty.
But seeing Wishy was too sweet for jail life… I stammered and hammered out some story about how this was some mistake. I set out to prove my innocence by calling the credit crud people who eventually validated my story. I was actually an innocent mother/blogger from the burbs buying some electronics. (In credit crud terms, the computer had put an automatic block on my account because it concerned a large electronics purchase.) Hey, I wasn’t a rotten Apple. Vindicated!
Low and behold…Enemy Bruce became Friendly Bruce. He decided we weren’t riff-raff after all. We were not the Bonnie and Clydebelle schiksters of the electronic world.
I’m trying to figure out who bothered me the most…my credit crud company…or the Dr. Jekly/Mr. Hyde Bruce, Apple Expert.
Hmmm…I’m thinking Bruce ticked me off more: “Hey, Apple Expert….take a bite out of my…."
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Russians Are Coming?
The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming! Well…maybe that’s a little dramatic. But it is interesting that two Russian submarines were detected off shore…200 miles out in international waters. That ‘s not that far away. That’s like from here to Newark… waaay too close for comfort.
The Russians have been on the back burner since the Cold War. Back in the day when I was in middle school, I used to pretend that I was a Russian spy. Call me Katyenka….but I had a weird obsession with Russians. Now it’s just a mild fascination.
I think the fact that the Russians have a couple of submarines off our shores...should move them from the back burner…to the front burner. And also the fact that lately…Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin has been photographed bare-chested riding a horse in Siberia. Whoa…hold your horses.
What’s the deal with that? For some reason Putin is being photographed as a rugged outdoors man doing manly-man things. He’s either trying to drive the Russian women wild, or he’s letting the world know he’s a tough guy…virile, athletic…and means…“you-wanna-piece-of-me” business.
Add his bare-chested-ness to the list of his other macho maneuvers…..fishing and swimming the butterfly in an icy Siberia river, skiing expert rugged terrain, mastering a black-belt in judo, diving to the bottom of the world’s deepest lake in a mini-submarine, co-piloting a fighter jet, hunting bear and wild boar, and shooting a tiger.
I must say that Putin is in pretty good shape….there’s no pudding in the Putin. Much better shape than the red-faced, vodka sauced Russian President Boris Yeltsin. But are the beef-cake pics of Putin showing off his pecs a form of intimidation? Have we moved from the Cold War to the Warm Blooded War?
Our own President Obama, however, is no pudgy pudding pot belly President. Last summer Obama was photographed on vacation bare-chested in his bathing trunks. GoBama. I think we should retaliate with our own pics of our President bare-chested. Obama walking his dog…bare-chested. Obama conferencing with Hillary Clinton (calm down Hillary.) Obama addressing the nation…bare-chested.
The Russian media can keep photographing the shirtless, macho ex-KGB man Putin. We will not be intimidated. Putin ain’t got nothing on Obama. I hope the Russians know that……….OUR President killed a fly with ONE swat…of his bare hand.
The Russians have been on the back burner since the Cold War. Back in the day when I was in middle school, I used to pretend that I was a Russian spy. Call me Katyenka….but I had a weird obsession with Russians. Now it’s just a mild fascination.
I think the fact that the Russians have a couple of submarines off our shores...should move them from the back burner…to the front burner. And also the fact that lately…Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin has been photographed bare-chested riding a horse in Siberia. Whoa…hold your horses.
What’s the deal with that? For some reason Putin is being photographed as a rugged outdoors man doing manly-man things. He’s either trying to drive the Russian women wild, or he’s letting the world know he’s a tough guy…virile, athletic…and means…“you-wanna-piece-of-me” business.
Add his bare-chested-ness to the list of his other macho maneuvers…..fishing and swimming the butterfly in an icy Siberia river, skiing expert rugged terrain, mastering a black-belt in judo, diving to the bottom of the world’s deepest lake in a mini-submarine, co-piloting a fighter jet, hunting bear and wild boar, and shooting a tiger.
I must say that Putin is in pretty good shape….there’s no pudding in the Putin. Much better shape than the red-faced, vodka sauced Russian President Boris Yeltsin. But are the beef-cake pics of Putin showing off his pecs a form of intimidation? Have we moved from the Cold War to the Warm Blooded War?
Our own President Obama, however, is no pudgy pudding pot belly President. Last summer Obama was photographed on vacation bare-chested in his bathing trunks. GoBama. I think we should retaliate with our own pics of our President bare-chested. Obama walking his dog…bare-chested. Obama conferencing with Hillary Clinton (calm down Hillary.) Obama addressing the nation…bare-chested.
The Russian media can keep photographing the shirtless, macho ex-KGB man Putin. We will not be intimidated. Putin ain’t got nothing on Obama. I hope the Russians know that……….OUR President killed a fly with ONE swat…of his bare hand.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
A Song and Dance for Papelbon
If I could be any athlete, I would be Jonathan Papelbon. No Question. Papelbon… the Red Sox Closer. He’s the pitcher who comes into the game in the 9th inning when the Red Sox have the lead. His mission: keep the Red Sox ahead and close the game with a “W.” All he has to do is get 3 OUTS. 1-2-3-you’re OUT! And that sounds easier than it is…or he makes it.
Sometimes Papelbon likes to mess with his fans and give them heart attacks along the way. ..so he loads the bases. Maybe that’s because he only gets to play for 1 inning and wants to hang around for a while. But eventually he gets that 3rd OUT…right before Red Sox Manager Terry Francona wants to string him up by his baseballs.
Another great part about being Papelpon is that he gets wicked applause and kudos…just for not blowing their lead and the game. How cool is that? “Hey…thanks for not losing the game, dude…you da man.” Wish PaulA gave me kudos for the obvious. “Hey,…thanks for not losing Duncandog today…you da Kat.”
The coolest thing, however, about being Jonathon Papelbon is that he has a theme song. When Papelbon gets the call to pitch...he grabs his balls and trots out onto the field toward the pitching mound…while his theme song plays…and 38,805 screaming fans are dancing and cheering for him.
And his song is a fun one… “I’m shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys. I wonder who chose it? It sounds like an Irish drinking song…and let’s face it…by the 9th inning, the crowd is ready for a drinking song.
You just know Papelbon is loving it all…who the hell wouldn’t? So I was thinking….hmmmmm…..Damn, wouldn’t it be nice to have a theme song…your own personal song that plays when you enter a room? Can you imagine that? For some reason I can.
I enter our house through the front door after a hard day at the Taj MaMall…and the music starts. I hear it now…it’s “Super Freak” by Rick James. Wait, why should I get the short end of the song stick? I’m changing it to something better… “Foxey Lady” by Jimi Hendrix or “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer. (Your choice.)
I wonder what my theme song would be if PaulA chose it for me. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember my latest shopping spree and choose “Material Girl” by Madonna. Hopefully he chooses something sweet like “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison or “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher. Yep, Now we’re talking.
As for PaulA…When he walks through the front door after a long and arduous day at the office…I would suggest the song: “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” by Jimmy Buffett. But maybe he would prefer “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” by Justin Timberlake. Or “Rock Star” by Nickelback.
Who wouldn’t want to be Papelbon ….he gets applause AND a theme song…just for not messing up.
Sometimes Papelbon likes to mess with his fans and give them heart attacks along the way. ..so he loads the bases. Maybe that’s because he only gets to play for 1 inning and wants to hang around for a while. But eventually he gets that 3rd OUT…right before Red Sox Manager Terry Francona wants to string him up by his baseballs.
Another great part about being Papelpon is that he gets wicked applause and kudos…just for not blowing their lead and the game. How cool is that? “Hey…thanks for not losing the game, dude…you da man.” Wish PaulA gave me kudos for the obvious. “Hey,…thanks for not losing Duncandog today…you da Kat.”
The coolest thing, however, about being Jonathon Papelbon is that he has a theme song. When Papelbon gets the call to pitch...he grabs his balls and trots out onto the field toward the pitching mound…while his theme song plays…and 38,805 screaming fans are dancing and cheering for him.
And his song is a fun one… “I’m shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys. I wonder who chose it? It sounds like an Irish drinking song…and let’s face it…by the 9th inning, the crowd is ready for a drinking song.
You just know Papelbon is loving it all…who the hell wouldn’t? So I was thinking….hmmmmm…..Damn, wouldn’t it be nice to have a theme song…your own personal song that plays when you enter a room? Can you imagine that? For some reason I can.
I enter our house through the front door after a hard day at the Taj MaMall…and the music starts. I hear it now…it’s “Super Freak” by Rick James. Wait, why should I get the short end of the song stick? I’m changing it to something better… “Foxey Lady” by Jimi Hendrix or “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer. (Your choice.)
I wonder what my theme song would be if PaulA chose it for me. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember my latest shopping spree and choose “Material Girl” by Madonna. Hopefully he chooses something sweet like “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison or “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher. Yep, Now we’re talking.
As for PaulA…When he walks through the front door after a long and arduous day at the office…I would suggest the song: “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” by Jimmy Buffett. But maybe he would prefer “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” by Justin Timberlake. Or “Rock Star” by Nickelback.
Who wouldn’t want to be Papelbon ….he gets applause AND a theme song…just for not messing up.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Likeness is Scary
“I am so like you, it’s scary.” Big C wrote that comment on one of my blogs. I chuckled to myself when I read it. Question: Why when we find that we are similar to our moms…in some way…ANY way…we think it’s scary?
Maybe Bic C mean’t that our resemblance is remarkable and uncanny…and not ewwww scary. (Go ahead and tell yourself that, Kat) Regardless, I’m sure Big C isn’t the only one to think this…let alone verbalize it. Heck, I might have had the same thought once or twice about my mom. But if Alice is reading this blog… “Not once in my life did those thoughts ever, ever cross my mind.”
Of course, it only makes sense that we would have a few similarities with our moms. Heck they are just that…they are our MOTHERS…they have mothered us. It only stands to reason that some of them…their mannerisms, their momisms…would rub off on us.
We swore when we grew up we would never have the same quirks and facial expressions…as mommie dearest. And we swore we’d never, ever say comments like: If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times. Or how could you be bored? I was never bored at your age.
Another interesting observation (at least to me) is…for some reason any resemblance to Dad…is not scary. Why is that????
That’s okay. I’m so proud of my kids…that if they think we share some resemblance in ANY…way, shape, or form….scary or not…I’m grinning like a Cheshire Kat.
Maybe Bic C mean’t that our resemblance is remarkable and uncanny…and not ewwww scary. (Go ahead and tell yourself that, Kat) Regardless, I’m sure Big C isn’t the only one to think this…let alone verbalize it. Heck, I might have had the same thought once or twice about my mom. But if Alice is reading this blog… “Not once in my life did those thoughts ever, ever cross my mind.”
Of course, it only makes sense that we would have a few similarities with our moms. Heck they are just that…they are our MOTHERS…they have mothered us. It only stands to reason that some of them…their mannerisms, their momisms…would rub off on us.
We swore when we grew up we would never have the same quirks and facial expressions…as mommie dearest. And we swore we’d never, ever say comments like: If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times. Or how could you be bored? I was never bored at your age.
Another interesting observation (at least to me) is…for some reason any resemblance to Dad…is not scary. Why is that????
That’s okay. I’m so proud of my kids…that if they think we share some resemblance in ANY…way, shape, or form….scary or not…I’m grinning like a Cheshire Kat.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The Disclaimer
There is always something lurking below the surface…the unsaid, the underlying meaning, the underlying truth. When you scratch the surface…the real truth is revealed. Question: Aren’t the words “real truth” redundant? Is there such thing as “false truth?”
With advertising…whether in print or television….advertisers start out with some amazing claim about their product and then directly follow it with…the small print…or a tiny voice…aka the disclaimer. That way they don’t land their butts in jail.
First they say things like: “Take Sleepytyme tonight for the best night’s sleep of your life.” Then a tiny, quiet, speed-talker adds: “Prolonged use of Sleepytyme is habit forming and may cause loss of liver, limb, lungs, and life. Should you never wake again…that’s your own stupid fault.”
If I were to advertise my blog on television I would make the following claim: “Kat’s blog is good for your health. It relieves stress and prevents tension. Your blood pressure is guaranteed to go down 100 points with daily dosage. Read Kat’s blog today and lower your blood pressure.”
On the surface it appears as though Kat’s blog has a health benefit. The unsaid, however, is apparent: Kat is desperate for blog readers and is making claims that are total B.S.
Just so I wouldn’t find my sorry ass in jail…I would add The Disclaimer (please read this part as fast as you can)… “99 out of 100 people have been known to become nauseous with excessive exposure to Kat’s blog material. Any real health benefit regarding blood pressure is total crap.”
With advertising…whether in print or television….advertisers start out with some amazing claim about their product and then directly follow it with…the small print…or a tiny voice…aka the disclaimer. That way they don’t land their butts in jail.
First they say things like: “Take Sleepytyme tonight for the best night’s sleep of your life.” Then a tiny, quiet, speed-talker adds: “Prolonged use of Sleepytyme is habit forming and may cause loss of liver, limb, lungs, and life. Should you never wake again…that’s your own stupid fault.”
If I were to advertise my blog on television I would make the following claim: “Kat’s blog is good for your health. It relieves stress and prevents tension. Your blood pressure is guaranteed to go down 100 points with daily dosage. Read Kat’s blog today and lower your blood pressure.”
On the surface it appears as though Kat’s blog has a health benefit. The unsaid, however, is apparent: Kat is desperate for blog readers and is making claims that are total B.S.
Just so I wouldn’t find my sorry ass in jail…I would add The Disclaimer (please read this part as fast as you can)… “99 out of 100 people have been known to become nauseous with excessive exposure to Kat’s blog material. Any real health benefit regarding blood pressure is total crap.”
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