Current Electricity

Thank you for returning to us.

Oh, we have missed you.

You stormed out last Sunday morning, without so much of a flicker of warning.

Things had been running smoothly; without interruption...

then bam.

You left us in a world of darkness.

It was hard to get used to our new life without you.

We felt despondent...

all our circuits had been broken.

We blindly walked around the house...unable to function properly...

unable to make meals...do chores...or even watch television.

We missed you the second you left.

Your brillant and perpetual glow lights up entire rooms,

 so your presence was greatly missed.

It hurt us that we spotted you in other places around town,

shining your radiant light for others. 

But we never lost hope that you would soon return to us

and end our darkness.

Anywhooooo.....

We are so happy that you have come back into our lives. 

Don't ever leave us.

You light up our lives.

Me, Myself, and Irene

You may or may not be familiar with "Raising Kane" ...

but you have to be familiar with Hurricane Irene

 raising cane on the east coast of the United States.

It’s consumed the airwaves and sea waves for the entire week.

You’d have to be living under Plymouth Rock

to not know there was a hurricane coming to the northeast this weekend.

There’s been 25 hour coverage on television as we watched Irene sashay her sultry butt up the east coast.

(That nasty biotch.)

The advantage of living in the Northeast is that we know waay in advance that a hurricane is coming

and have time to get prepared /procrastinate.

For some reason, the more the forecasters and doplers talk and lecture about Irene...

the more I hear Charlie Brown’s teacher’s voice...waaa..waaaa.

Anywhoooo.........

So what have I done to get ready for this huge weather event?

Not much. Nothing. Really.

Note to self : Get off your ass. Be a good Girl Scout and tie some knots.

The most I’ve done over the past 3 or 4 days is to buy tickets to see the performance of...

 “Wicked”

in Hartford, CT on Sunday.

Sunday, the day Wicked Irene, the unwanted visitor, comes knocking at our door.

I don’t know what I wasn’t thinking...

Apparently I’m not too worried.

I attribute my laissez faire attitude to my maiden name. Thomas.

I fit the Doubting Thomas mold.

(usually I’m not this moldy.)

So what could be the worst scenario?

The worst case scenario could be destruction to our home, and loss of life and tree limb....

but I’m thinking the realistic worse would be

No internet connection for 3 days.

No blogging for 72 hours.

Say it isn’t so, Flo.

I look forward to when all this hubbub and hallabaloo about Hurricane Irene and her wicked ways...

is behind us ...and we can all say...

Goodnight, IRENE.

That's Amore

Who doesn’t love Pizza?

It’s a well rounded food...

eaten round the clock...

sometimes with a round of beers.

It’s good for breakfast...eaten cold.

Great for lunch and dinner...eaten with a cold one.

Awesome for midnight snack....eaten cold, with a cold one.

But are you a true fan of the pizza pie?

How far would you drive for your favorite pizza...

10 miles...30 miles...1400 miles?

You are a true fan SLASH nut job if you would drive 1400 miles.

That’s exactly how far David Schuler drove...

from his home in Jackson, Mississippi to Town Spa Pizza in Stoughton, Mass to pick up 150 pizzas.

Apparently Jackson, MS has better grits and biscuits than pizza.

(Note to self:  idea: Southern Pizza:  Grits pizza with biscuit crust)

I’m lucky to live in an area of the country where there are a lot of good pizza joints.

My favorite is Pepe’s Pizza, which is 1 hour away in New Haven, CT.

I think 60 miles is as far as I would drive for a Za.

( But what would you do oo oo ...for a Klondike bar?)

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

He doesn’t eat all these pizzas himself...he delivers them to his sisters, nieces, and nephew who have also relocated to the Jackson, Mississippi area.

He buys the pizzas half-cooked, seals them in vacuum-packed plastic,

 packs them in coolers with ice packs. ..and then drives them back in his SUV.

That got me wondering....

How much do you tip the guy who drives 1400 miles

to deliver your pizza?

("Hey Schuler, here’s a tip for you... steal the pizza recipe and open up your own pizza joint.”)

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie,

that’s amore.

Obama's Retreat

                                              What to do when the economy is struggling?

The Dow is plummeting,...

 unemployment rate is at 9.1%...

S&P downgrades the U.S. credit rating...

in other words.....

the economic climate is cloudy.

If you are the President of the United States, you go on vacation...for 10 days.

And you pray for Sunny skies...or Partly cloudy, at the very least.

 

Obama isn’t in DC, sweating it out in his office...he's down on the farm...

the Blue Heron Farm on Martha’s Vineyard.

I have a feeling he isn’t exactly milking cows on this farm.

But someone’s milking a pretty penny from his $50,000/wk 28-acre waterfront RENTAL.

It has been debated whether this is a good time for the President to be in Martha’s Vineyard.

Well, I would surely say so.

The vineyard other times of the year is dead, dead, dead.

It just might not be a good time for the President to take a vacation.

I would never deny anyone a vacation....

but there are times when hitting the beach and putting your feet in the sand, along with your head...

is not the right move.

If Obama was seen in his office with his sleeves rolled up, grinding it out,

while the rest of Washington was on recess, playing dodge ball ...

it would look good to the American People.

Sometimes it is just “better to look good than to feel good.” (Just ask Billy Crystal.)

Anywhoooo.....

The job of being a President is a difficult and arduous one,

so I understand the rationale that the President needs a break.

Heck, with technology he is never more than a round of golf away.

BUT the problem lies herein....hereby...and herewith..............

Americans would also like to be taking a vacation...from their JOB.

That’s the point....they aren’t working.

Apparently you need a JOB first, before you can take a vacation.

“It’s the economy, stupid.” (just ask the other Bill...Bill Clinton.)

Here’s hoping (that along with the President)....we all enjoy sunny skies, real soon.



Woodstock 1969

“If” this was August, 1969...and...

“If” you opposed the Vietnam War,

embraced the sexual revolution,

'experienced' psychedelic  rock,

and reeked of incense.....

(that’s a lot of “Ifs”)...

you would be in bed today...crashed...dead tired...

after 3 days at Woodstock.

You would also be in need of an EXTRA looooong shower...

and a scrub brush to clean those dirty feet.

(No “Ifs” about that.)

Woodstock...August 15-18, 1969

was billed as "3 days of Peace and Music"...and remarkably it was...just that.

A Love Fest in the mud, muck, and mire...that actually rolled into Day Four.

 

Woodstock,

where a half a million people descended on Max Yasgur’s 600 acre farm in Bethel, New York

and peacefully gathered to commune with each other and experience live music.

Can you dig it?

Trivia Question for you: (If you answer correctly, you get to keep reading my blog)...

Who was the last musician to play at Woodstock?

Woodstock,

where everything flowed...love, long hair, peasant blouses, and that 8-letter word...

pot...I mean, cannabis.

Woodstock,

Make Love NOT War.

Can you imagine a FREE concert today...of 500,000 people camping out in ankle deep mud for 3 days?

A few things could have helped Woodstock......

Better weather...altho the rain didn’t dampen spirits...just added to the squishy experience.

More latrines.  Any extras are a plus with 500,000 people..

 iPhones...to find your lost friends...and to call mom to let her know you were okay.

Anywhoooooo..........

Back in 1969...I was too young to attend a 3 day hippie concert, unless my square parents brought me.

But if I was of age...I would NOT have gone to Woodstock...

...the thought of thousands of hippies scared the bejeesus out of me...

Actually the thought of ONE hippie scared the mood ring off me.

I’m not entirely sure why I was such a fraidyKat of such peace-loving individuals.

Maybe it was their hippie look....maybe it was their drugs...maybe it was their hippie drugged look.

Or maybe yet...my parents convinced me that the hippie subculture was too counterculture.

So...where have all the hippies gone?

I'm guessing most went to college, married, and are still working for the man...

(hopefully they wear love beads and tie-dye underwear...under their work clothes.)

Where have all the flowers gone?

........the answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.

...............the answer is blowing in the wind.

                     .........the answer to my trivia question is: Jimi Hendrix

Keep On...Truckin'....and Reading my blog, Man.

Vice, Vice, Baby

With our economy in a downward dog position. …

we are spending less cashola on big-ticket items.

 Instead, we are indulging in small “vice” items such as beer, candy, ice cream, and lipstick.

Oooh la la

What better way to get out of a slump...than with a little VICE, VICE, baby....

beer, candy, and ice cream to the hips…

and a little lipstick to the lips.

There is nothing like a new shade of lipstick to put a little color on our faces and put us in a good mood. Although PaulA might argue that beer can have the same effect.

A tube of lipstick is a cost effective indulgence...

and the sassy names given to them (after things like: food, drink, sex, and romance)...

add decadence.

You don’t know whether to eat them or date them.

You never see lipstick called “Red.”

More like: “Cherry Desirable” or “Cherry Tart.”

(Ooooo...so scandalous.) 

I would love to work for L'Oreal and name different shades of lipstick..it could be fun:

Redneck Red,

One Hot Momma,

Lotsa Wine,

Blogger Blush,

 Kat Krush.

Back in Renaissance England days,

lipsticks were given names like: Rat, Horseflesh, Blood, and Puke.

And even “Smoked Ox”, “Chimney-Sweep”, and “Dying Monkey.”

(Honest…I can’t make this stuff up.)

Anyone at L'Oreal today suggesting “Puke” as a new lipstick shade...

would be smeared out of a job…likity split.

 (Note to L'Oreal... likity split...new name for lipstick)

Anywhooooooooooooo..................

Whenever I splurge on a new tube of lipstick....I almost always buy the wrong shade.

After I get home with "Dolce Vita" and apply it, the color looks more like “Dying Monkey."

So I end up going back to the store for another shade.

My bathroom cabinet drawer is full of rejected “little splurges.”

I guess the upside is...I’m stimulating the economy.

Wait, I think I’m on to something....................

Women unite.

Together we can stimulate this economy…one tube of lipstick at a time.

Letter of Complaint

Dear Kat,

I have a few things I need to get off my Portuguese Water Dog chest.

For the past few months I’ve been biting my chops, trying to keep my yap shut,

but if I continue to hold this in any longer...I will pass out.

To get right to the point of this letter..

First, Front, and Foremost...

Your services have gone downhill. You’ve let things slide sooo much that they have hit rock bottom. And.I.Can’t.take.it.Anymore.

When I bark at 5 pm to let you know that it’s MY dinner time...you get up and fix yourself a drink.

WTH?

I am not barking to remind you that it’s happy hour.

My walks have become shorter and shorter.

Walking me from the house to the fence

and then encouraging me to take a leak IS NOT considered a walk.

I’m never allowed any time to smell the roses or smell the crap anymore.

Sniffing the deposits of the fellow four-legged who have walked before me...

is the highlight of my day.

I’m waaay overdue for a visit to the dog groomer.

It’s been 8 weeks now and I’m beginning to resemble Cousin-It.

My hair is so long that it covers both my eyes and you know I only have one good eye.

Do you enjoy watching me run into walls, car doors, glass doors?

Anywhoooo....

Last night’s “incident” was the LAST and FINAL straw.

You know what I’m talking about....when I fell off the stairs on my way back up from the beach.

You were busy yacking with your girlfriends and not paying attention to me...

when I blindly veered off the side of the stairs and fell into the brush and poison ivy 6 feet below.

FML

 

PLEASE don’t tell me that I am barking up the wrong tree with these complaints.

If things don’t start improving around here SOON...

I will be forced to take my business, of being a dog, somewhere else.

You are OFFICIALLY on notice, Katwoman.