Inside Scoop on PETA

Here’s the scoop on PETA. You know the organization…People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Well, PETA has “urged” Ben and Jerry’s to stop using cow’s milk in their ice cream and start using mother’s milk. And I’m not talking mother cows…I’m talking human nursing mothers.

Okay…all together now….ewwwwwwww. This is just plain gross. I’m sure PETA has good intentions …about saving cows, preventing bad treatment of cows and many reasons for their argument that human milk is healthier than cow's milk. But, I’m not buying it….and I’m not buying it. But I am buying…that this is just another one of PETA’s publicity stunts. I admit, the “I’d rather go naked than wear fur” commercials are very revealing to their cause.

PETA became aware of a Swiss restaurant owner who is purchasing breast milk from nursing mothers and using the breast milk in 75 percent of the food he serves. So PETA sent Ben and Jerry a letter requesting they use breast milk in their products…which is so udderly ridiculous. These people must have had a brain freeze.

And why pick on poor Ben and Jerry. ..a couple of old laid-back hippies who began scooping ice cream out of a renovated gas station in Burlington, Vermont? Hey folks, I was at the original B & J's back in 1978 before Cherry Garcia. (Does this make me an ole laid back hippie??)

I hope Ben and Jerry gave PETA an icy reception and told them to….Freeze Off. By the way, if Ben and Jerry ever did decide to have an ice cream made from mother’s milk…I have a suggestion: Call it…“Mother May I” ice cream. Buttermilk ice cream, with pieces of vanilla and chocolate shaped teats.

My big question is: How does PETA suggest Ben or Jerry collect the breast milk? Is PETA suggesting they open lactating factories….where every 4 hours they lead nursing mothers, by their braids, into a dark room with stalls, prime the milking machine pumps, attach the equipment to the nursing mothers…and play soft, calming classical music. I hear classical music is good for milk flow. But I don’t know though…maybe Cold Play is better music for lactation than Moozart.

Ping...Pong

The infamous ping-pong table. When your kids reach about age 10, you start thinking about getting a ping pong table. Heck, it’s hard coming up with ideas for Christmas...and you’ve already given the easy-bake oven and pogo-stick. Oh wait, that’s what I got, when I was ten. So you decide…it’s time for the ping pong table. The kids say they’ll really love it…really use it…all the time. You have visions of the whole family smiling…pinging and ponging for hours. So Santa brings one.

Thanks a lot Santa. We look for a place to put it…so we clear space in our basement. The kids play with it…for about two weeks and then it just sits. The ping pong table is just a large piece of plywood taking up space. Then I decide…I’ll use the ping pong table as a gift wrapping station. At least it will get some activity.

After a couple of years pass, there is renewed interest in the table. The kids have a few friends over and they all play. Colinboy and his buddies really seem to be into the sport. They like the competition. I can hear them hitting the ball, ping…pong….back and forth. Love that sound. And then whacking the ball…at each other. Throwing the paddles around the room and putting holes in the ceiling and walls. They’ve pulled the rubber coverings off the paddles and are using just the wood. They are destructive sons-of-guns, but at least the table is back in use.

Then it all goes silent again…no one is interested in the table. It sits and gathers dust. It gets broken down and shoved into a closet. The table seems to be approaching the end of its useful life. We think about giving it away, but deep down we hope for its return.

After a few more years pass, the table makes its return. Colinboy and his peeps have grown and come home from college...and YES, they want to play ping pong again. They pull the table out of the closet…find the paddles and set up the net. I am happy …brings such joy and a smile to my face.

The boys have to go back to college…they aren’t majoring in ping pong. I walk downstairs to view our infamous table. Wait…there is…something different about it. It looks…damp…it smells…yes, it definitely smells…and it’s sticky. What is that smell? Suddenly I am hit with a barrage of images…flashbacks of my own college days.

It can only mean one thing….beer pong. Well, that explains the smell. Ping pong is no longer a family game of pinging and ponging skills. It is a rowdy, beer swilling, drinking game...requiring a new skill set. The ping pong table has morphed and taken on a new life. So now, anytime the kids talk ping-pong...I know ping pong=beer pong.

So, my friends, if you’re considering purchasing a ping-pong table…for a little family fun…please consider the ENTIRE life cycle of the ping pong table. Don’t be ponged!

Slooow Down

Sometimes I get so busy thinking ahead, that I don’t pay attention to what I'm doing at the moment. I’ll be thinking of 4 things at the same time and then take off in my car….get to the end of the street and think, "Hmmm, should I go right, left? Where the heck am I going? Oh yea…grocery store.”…no wonder I keep forgetting.

Like most people, I get in a hurry…and just need to slow down. Once I pulled out my Dunkin' Donuts card to pay for a pair of shoes. Okay, easy mistake…my DDs card is gold…like my credit card. But the other day, I tried to pay for a new outfit with a paint chip that I had in my wallet. “Yarmouth Blue” didn’t cut it. The salesperson made me get out real money. Come on…you gotta agree, a good paint suggestion is worth something.

I have also been known to forget my purse when I'm carrying something else, because for some reason in my little head…I think I have it. Once we were leaving the house for the kids’ doctors appointments and I grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies before heading out the door. ( Doesn’t everyone eat chocolate chip cookies before seeing the doctor?) Anyway, we got to the doctor’s office and I realized I just had the bag of chocolate chip cookies…wrong bag. I’m not sure why the receptionist wouldn’t take cookies over my insurance card. But, maybe that is why I am unemployable.

It will help if I slow down…and pay attention to what the heck I am doing….and live in the here and now. Instead of the over there and then.

If I get to your house…and I have a bag of chocolate chip cookies, instead of my handbag… you just might want to let me in. I always share.

Craig's List

Have you ever used Craig’s List? Colinboy used it to find a sublet for the summer when he interned in NYC. It’s all random, so you hope you end up with normal people. He did have to go through a few apartments that were very sketchy… sketchy hair places…one apartment with lots of cat hair and another apartment with an older man with grey hair…run Colin run!

Luckily for him…he ended up in a situation where the guys were normal…no weirdos. Just 2 working guys, in their mid-twenties, needing a roommate to split expenses…that felt he needed to be exposed to the gambling world. ( I hope that’s all they exposed him to.) His roommates took him to Atlantic City. Only problem was…20 hours later, they were still there…no sleep ..no ride…he took a bus home.

I have also heard that Craig’s List has served other uses. People have stretched the envelope or list and used it in inventive ways. You can find anything on the List now…even someone to do your dirty work or someone to provide you with assistance.

A woman was arrested for looking for someone to kill the wife of her boyfriend. (Now that’s one way to get rid of the other woman.) Wanted: Crazy man with own gun to take out (and not for dinner) my boyfriend’s wife. Person must be crafty, shifty, and down right murderous, with good aim and a fast trigger finger.

Someone was also arrested for soliciting as a prostitute. A woman with probably a code name like “May Flowers” was offering her services on Craig’s List. And I am not talking about laundry services. Her calling card: May Flowers available year round. Call for an April shower.

Maybe I should use Craig’s List…to find someone to post a blog for me when I am busy with important things like golf, paddle, and shopping. Ad could read….Wanted: Blogger Extraordinaire. Person must be available at a moments notice. Person should be engaging, smart, controversial, entertaining…in short, nothing like Kat.

Lucky Duck

Beginner’s luck is an interesting phenomenon. Some unassuming “Aw shucks” person appears on the scene and decides to do something and immediately becomes successful…out-performing everyone else. People around them want to clobber them, especially when they’ve been doing something a lot longer.

I have a friend who rarely plays golf …maybe 3 times a summer. She teed up her ball on a Par 3, hit the ball with her driver, and put the ball in the hole…in one. Okay, it’s not fair. Especially when good golfers like PaulA who have golfed for years, have never had a hole-in-one. Sorry to bring that up, PaulA.

I’m sure Hillary Clinton is thinking the same thing about Sarah Palin. Enter, Sarah Palin…an obscure governor from East Snowshoe, Alaska…very removed geographically and not well known outside the frozen tundra. And then McCain chooses her as his V.P. running mate.

Sarah is probably pinching herself…thinking… “What luck I have! I’ve been living in this refrigerator they call a state, have 5 kids driving me crazy with one of them turning me into a grandmother, and I have this ‘Bridge to Nowhere’ albatross around my neck. But I could be going to Disneyland...I mean, Washington."

And Hillary is probably pinching herself…muttering … “How did this happen? I’ve been living this political life forever…putting up with Bill’s shit, doing my time in the Senate. Then this four-eyed newbie appears on the scene and BANG…her tight ass could be sitting in the White House before me.”

But once you really start to play the game….beginner’s luck comes to an end. So calm down…try to feel better PaulA and Hillary. My friend’s luck is way over…she can’t hit a fairway, never mind a green. She last scored 150 for 18 holes.

And Sarah’s lucky streak…well, that is still to be determined. But so far…she’s the luckiest duck in the political pond.

Jobs and Bulldogs

Finding a job is no picnic or walk in the park. In other words….it’s not easy. I guess that’s why “pounding the pavement” is an appropriate analogy. Good jobs are hard to come by…although I’m sure a job cleaning the latrine in McDonald’s at LaGuardia Airport is available. But like I said, good jobs are hard to come by.

Finding a job requires a little bit of luck…and a whole lot of who you know. Of course, an education helps. I remember I got an interview with the insurance company that PaulA worked for because his softball team manager was from Vermont…us Vermonters gotta stick together. He took my resume and passed it along. I interviewed with another person and I didn’t drool on myself…so they hired me. See what I am talking about…who you know and a little bit of luck.

When we moved to Jacksonville, FL because of a job transfer for PaulA…I had to start all over, pounding the pavement. 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…skirt, blouse. No jacket…too damn hot in Jax.

I interviewed with a nice man who ran the department and at the end of the interview he mentioned that I wore the “right” colors. I looked down to see what the heck I was wearing. Red top, black skirt. He said he was an avid Georgia Bulldogs fan (FYI…with Jacksonville being located in northern Florida, you can have both Gator fans and Bulldog fans.) Yep….wearing the right colors…and the fact that I didn’t drool on myself….once again, got me another job. It was definitely a stroke of luck. Heck, I could have easily worn a blue skirt and orange top that day…unknowingly gone Florida Gator style and he might have shown me the door.

To those of you out there who are “pounding the pavement”…take my advice…know somebody, have a little luck and wear the right colors. And remember…don’t drool on yourself.

Go To The Head of the Class

Last week I attended Open House…my last ever, as Bri is now a High School Senior. When I think about it ….I’ve attended many open houses…3 x 13 (including kindergarten)= 39 open houses. Oh, I forgot about the other open houses I’ve been to. But those are different …they serve booze at those…only cookies and coffee at the school. Definitely not the same.

So I followed Bri’s class schedule, attended some interesting classes and met some nice teachers. One thing I wondered as I changed classes…Was I ever this smart?

But I did get to show off my stuff…in Mr. Jones’ physics class. After the teacher went through the litany of what the kids would be learning and the grading polices, etc. etc. He asked if the parents had questions. There was silence…no one had questions. My God, it’s physics…who is really interested??

Then one parent in the group asked, “This doesn’t pertain to physics…but could you please tell me…What does that sentence written on the bottom left-hand side of your blackboard mean?” The statement read: MR. JONES IS THE SHIZNAY. Mr. Jones answered, “I don’t know. A former student was just in here and wrote it on the board. Does anyone here know what that means?”

All the parents in the class shook their head…no…never heard of it…but I did. Hey, I wasn’t embarrassed to show-off my expert command of the English language. So I raised my hand…and volunteered, “Mr. Jones, that is actually a very positive comment to you. The student that wrote it thinks you’re great…cool. They like you.”

I am sure that I impressed the teacher with the breadth and depth of my knowledge. “Go to the head of the class, Kat.” Okay, he didn’t say that. I bet he wanted to… but he probably didn’t want me to look like Teacher’s Pet and have everyone give me the evil eye.

I was glad to help him out…he just needed a little vocab. lesson from Kat. He’s a physics teacher so what the heck does he know? Now that I’m over-the-hill and not in school…my education comes from my kids.

Thanks to them I am muy intelligente….a regular walking dictionary and thesaurus. My kids are…da bomb, shiznit, wicked, shizzle, sick, hot, bitchin, the shit, phat, saweeet…and in case you are like Mr. Jones and aren’t down with the lingo…they are THE GREATEST.