What Are You Doing?

What are you doing for New Years? This time of year…that’s the number one question. Unless you have planned something in advance…a trip to Times Square…a vacation….a rager party…you are probably in the same boat as everyone else.

That would be the boat to….nothing really. That pretty much sums up what most people have planned for New Year’s Eve. The funny thing is that everyone feels like they should have some great plan…or party to tell everyone about.

For some reason because it’s New Year’s…people feel like they have to do something really instead of nothing really. You can’t stay home in your pjs, drink beer, eat macho nachos and call it a New Year at 10:30 pm. (That would be called Sunday nights.) Nope. You have to put on your glitzy flashy sequins clothing, get together with people, clink glasses and stay up late. And it is required to yell the countdown at the top of your lungs…5-4-3-2-1…as the old year winds down. Most importantly you are required to kiss everyone in the room. Heck, if you don’t…you will have bad luck in 2009. So you are left with no choice. “Get over here I need to give you a big ole kiss because it’s a New Year.” So you end up with kissing people you don’t even know…and a monster cold three days later.

We’ve had some good house parties over the years. This I know. When one of your guests decides…riding the reindeer you have as a decoration by your front door is a good idea…you definitely know you had a good/crazy party.

It’s funny how looong the night can seem before midnight. "What we still have 3 more hours before the damn ball drops?" The night is moving in slow mo…but finally the hands strike midnight and the ball drops…your guest has mounted the reindeer…and now it’s suddenly 3 am. Where did the time go?

I always have mixed emotions watching the ball drop in Times Square on television. Happy, that I am not there with 20,000 drunk maniacs (that’s a lot of kissing) and sad, when I hear Auld Lang Syne. That song makes me want to cry…couldn’t they come up with something peppier?

So PaulA and I will probably be doing nothing really with a bottle of bubbly for New Years Eve. I do have one request this year….no choruses of Auld Lang Syne…and I could do without watching Dick Clark on the Rockin' Eve….that guy is doing nothing really for me…unless of course he decides to ride a reindeer.

Happy New Year!

The Perfect Gift

I hope Santa was good to everyone this Christmas and you got that special something on your list. I must have been a good girl…I got that something special from Santa PaulA. He definitely wins points for bestowing on me…the best gift a husband could present a wife.

Okay, it wasn’t the diamond watch. My gift doesn’t sparkle or twinkle…but I am waay past the glitz of bling. My special gift warms my heart and my ass….the original electric blanket. And it’s the deluxe model…dual controls….automatic shut-off. Yowzer. The person who said “diamonds are a girl’s best friend”…is probably a jeweler trying to make a buck. An electric blanket is THIS girl’s best friend...electronics and warmth all rolled into one. Who could ask for anything more? Besides it weighs a lot less than the hefty heat machine next to me. PaulA does emit a lot of body heat, but he doesn’t come with an automatic shut-off.

I finally understand Linus and why he always has his blanket…I would love to walk around with mine but I can’t find an extension cord long enough…plugging and re-plugging is a pain.

There is nothing like getting into a warm bed. No more cold sheet…frigid feet…frosty seat. (okay, it rhymes.) I cranked the blanket to 10...and I was in heat wave heaven. Lying there I began wondering….is this okay for me to be underneath a 12 watt charged blanket? What if the electric blanket is the precursor to the electric chair. Why doesn’t everyone own one? Maybe they know something I don’t. Maybe it’s like the microwave…after years of use we find out that the waves it emits are dangerous to our health and we will glow years past the day we are buried toes up. What if the electronics on my new blanket are faulty, and the wires overheat and burst into flames? Note to self: google keywords: electric blanket/mishaps/sudden fires.

I wonder if I’m devloping a tan while I sleep. Maybe after spending a few nights under the blanket, I will look like I’ve spent some time in Cancun...ole chica. Not only a good night’s sleep but an all-over tan. Note to self: market new get-rich idea…an electric tanning blanket.

I have to admit…lying in my bed under my electric blanket…I kinda felt like a toaster strudel…warm on the inside, crispy on the outside. ….but oh…so saweeeeett…..

The Original Yankee Swap

This holiday season I was involved in a couple of Yankee swaps…and I got to thinking...(I’m always thinking…even during the holidays.) What claim do Yankees have on the swap? Does anyone know why it is called the Yankee swap and not the rebel swap? What is it about the Yankee mentality that makes them want to swap…is it some character flaw?? Do rebels have swaps? Questions, questions, questions.

We know northerners have the (un)earned reputation of being cold, unfriendly, pushy, rude, grumpy, fast-paced…I guess this is inline with what goes on at a Yankee swap…where gifts are opened and stealing is involved. We Yankees know stealing from each other is coming, so that makes it totally acceptable. It’s not like we’re stealing behind backs…Yankees are not that ruthless. So we grab, steal, take, bicker, name call … “Give me that…I want that….now.” Definitely not the rebel southern style…

The rebel swap would be a little different: “Ya’all are welcomed to come over, sit a spell, have a sweet tea…you can use my new handy dandy gadget anytime or maybe you want to borrow it…take as long as you need. What’s mine is yours.”

I think I just figured something BIG out…the reason the Yankees baseball team has been so good over the years. It’s because they are masters at the game of stealing and swapping. The original Yankee Swap. They recently swapped Cabrera for the Brewer’s Cameron. Heck, they stole pitcher A.J. Burnett from Toronto…but for 82.5 million…some would hardly call it a steal.

So if you’re playing the game…and your favorite player…or your favorite present…gets stolen. Remember, there's no crying in baseball or Yankee swaps. Whaa…whaa…whaa.

Merry Christmas

This is my version of the Auto-reply…aka automatic responder. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. That’s when you email someone and they’re out of the office goofing-off somewhere…and you get back from them an automated response….giving some real/lame excuse as to why they are out. And then they make some promise about getting back to you when they return.

Seeing it is Christmas Morning and I am home with my family…opening gifts under the tree and having a monster breakfast…I can’t blog today. My family would definitely pack my bags if I made any attempts. (Hey, where we going?)
The following is my Auto-reply message:

I am currently out of my blog chair for a couple of days. It may look like I am ignoring you…because I am…my family made me do it. I will resume the growing ass position soon and will get back to you with mindless blogs ...blog…blog…blog… Oh, and please feel free to leave comments. I don’t bite. Remember…Kat’s just scratch.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to YOU and YOURS.

Check It at the Door

Sometimes people request that you leave your shoes at the front door before entering their homes…not a problem. Back in the day during Christmas, our kids had a twist on that request. Could Santa leave the presents at the front door?...a problem.

They were scared out of their minds by this guy. I’m not sure what they were most afraid of. Was it his looks….the extra-long white natty beard, rosy wind-burned SLASH alcohol-flushed cheeks, the Jack Nicholson-ish twinkle in his eye, the Heavy Weight Champion of the World buckle, his big ass boots…not to mention his big ass. And an all red suit??? Red is definitely not the new black.

No. I actually think they were okay with his looks...they had seen their mother without make-up. It was that they just didn’t want this strange man entering our house. They wanted him to stop by…but check the gifts at the front door, please. Think about it…you’re 8 years old…and you’re lying in your bed on Christmas Eve. You know tonight is the night. It’s the night the stranger comes to visit. And you are supposed to sleep knowing that?

Most people think kids can’t get to sleep because they’re shaking with excitement…thinking about the toys Santa will bring. But in fact, they can’t get to sleep because they’re shaking with terror…thinking about the stranger. They’ve been taught not to talk to strangers…and then suddenly it’s okay for a stranger to enter the house….in the middle of the night….while the whole house sleeps? Some guy is in their house creeping around in the dark and they are left wondering, “Why is everyone okay with that? What about the stranger-danger talks…the ‘rents must have a few screws loose.”

But on Christmas morning…after they got a look at the truck load of toys the big guy dumped on them…the odd stranger was a good guy.

A couple of days later…I had cause for concern. I did notice they had an affinity for a large man in a bad suit donning a chapeau…at the video store. I decided I better have that talk again.

Re-gifting

Have you ever re-gifted or been the recipient of a re-gift (that you are aware of)? I have been on both sides of re-gifting…the re-gifter and the receiver of a re-gift.

A re-gifter should not be confused with an Indian giver. (Note to self: never use that expression…very offensive.) A person who gives a gift doesn’t ever expect to receive it back…although sometimes it finds its way back. I call that the “boomerang gift.”

Years ago, I sent a present for a child’s birthday…and low and behold…it came back…to one of my kids 3 months later. Not adequately disguised in different wrapping paper. The boomerang gift…the gift that keeps on giving.

The Today Show recently had on an expert to discuss the Etiquette of Re-gifting…duh. I’ve heard of etiquette for weddings, telephone speaking, and even golf… but for re-gifting? The expert was the great, great grandchild of Emily Post. So because she’s distantly related, I guess that automatically makes her an expert on the subject. That means…a blogger extraordinaire should be following in my footsteps.

The so-called expert’s advice:
Do not re-gift something that is monogrammed…especially if the initials are not quite the same.
Do not re-gift something that has been opened.
Do not leave old cards or name tags attached to a re-gift.
Do not re-gift something that is old and dusty.

We need an expert for that advice? I’m surprised she didn’t add to the list:
Do not re-gift partially used gift cards…especially with odd amounts left…$37.09.
Never re-gift skinny leg jeans and leg warmers to your Aunt Millie in the nursing home.

I admit that I have re-gifted. It was a bottle of wine…but it wasn’t an unwanted gift that I was trying to pawn off. I was in a hurry, okay. Heck, it was for a hostess gift and it was probably a better bottle of wine than I would have bought. Honest Injun! (Again…totally not acceptable expression.)

If you’ve learned anything about re-gifting…please follow the “expert’s” no-brainer advice and don’t give a re-corked half bottle of wine, an opened box of chocolates with the chocolate caramel missing…or a solitaire leg warmer (unless it is for Captain Morgan)…the person receiving the gift just might figure it out.

Shoot…now I have to go shopping…I was one step away from re-gifting my dirty wok, cracked crystal bowl, and my maroon handmade monogrammed KAT leg warmer.

I Still Believe

Don’t cha love it when your child still believes in Santa?
Don’t cha want to bop the kid on the head who tells your child, “Joey, there’s no such thing.”

I don’t know about you…but I believe. I believe there is always some kid out there who wants to ruin the Santa spirit…probably because some other kid did that for him. Your child has talked excitedly all season about Santa and his 8 tiny reindeer. Then a week before Christmas, he looks at you and says, “Tommy says there’s no such thing as Santa…duh.”

You’re face drops…and you tell your son: “Well…duh…Tommy doesn’t know what he is talking about. Christmas is magic. ”

My kids were never told any different…and they didn’t question us…maybe because Tommy wasn’t in their class. Or maybe because they didn’t want it to stop. (Heck, so the ‘rents say there is a guy in a ratty ole suit who flies around the world in one night in a sleigh pulled by 8 reindeer…fits his fat ass down 8 trillion chimneys…or in some cases walks thru the front door. As long as the payday keeps coming…why say anything and ruin a good thing.) Besides I’m not so sure the three of them didn’t conference…and discuss it, “What do ya think? Katwoman as Santa??? Nah she couldn’t be Santa…she’s way too disorganized.”

And so in our house…we believe. Not only do we believe in the true meaning of Christmas…but we believe in the spirit of loving, giving, and sharing...St. Nick Style.

I still believe. Does this mean Santa will bring me a diamond watch for Christmas???

A Page from Kat's Manual

My cell phone rings…it’s Big C with a big question: “Mom, I’m driving to Atlanta and a warning light just popped up. It's an exclamation point within parenthesis (!) What does that mean?”

My composed response: “Honey…we are 1000 miles away from you…you’re the one with the car and the owner’s manual…get out your manual and look up the warning symbol. Then we will both know.”

After the call, I started thinking…hmm…maybe I should not have been so condoleza with her…I mean, condescending. I began to understand Big C’s cry for help. Here she is going 65+ mph and a warning symbol flashes in front of her. At that time…she isn’t sure if her car is about to blow up within the next 3 seconds, or her tires need blowing up within the next 3 days.

I don’t understand why auto manufacturers make cars that use symbols for warnings. If they can make the symbol, then why don’t they make a warning that actually tells you what’s wrong. That way you don’t have to stress-out, look for the manual, find the right page and then match the symbol with the problem.

So if you need oil…the warning light says: OIL. And if you have low tire pressure it says: AIR. What’s the deal with these clever symbols…that aren’t so clever? NASA can send men and women to infinity and beyond…you would think the automakers could invent a warning system…that made sense. They need to take a page from Kat’s manual.

You have to wonder about the competency of the automakers…especially with all the money they are asking for now. If Detroit’s Big 3 automakers were asking me for money to bail out their asses, I would flash them a warning. But my warning light would not be a clever symbol…a dollar sign with a diagnonal line through it. Nope. It would spell out…plain and simple…NO CASH.
Or better yet…GET REAL.

Let the Season Begin

Thanksgiving was late this year…so the holiday season was instantly upon us. I don’t know about you…but I find it hard to switch from one holiday to another…in a day. One moment you are saying “Thanks” and “pass the gravy, Pilgrim PaulA” and the next moment you are saying “Feliz Navidad” and “pass the fruitcake, Carlos.”

So after Turkey Day, I dutifully put away our fall decorations and dragged out the decorations for Christmas. But it just didn’t feel like Christmas. Even after we put everything up …it didn’t feel like Christmas. We had a temp of 22 degrees with a dusting of snow…and it still didn’t feel like Christmas. So I have to ask myself…Why does it not feel like Christmas?

I have an inkling why this is so. It is because our kids are grown!!! I think the holiday season is all about little kids anticipating the big day. Counting down the days until Santa comes…the “I just gotta have it” wish list…the trip to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap …the threat of being good or Santa will put coal in your stocking or even skip us. (OMG, I can’t believe I said that.)

With little kids, the Christmas season begins the day after Thanksgiving. Your kids wouldn’t have it any other way. You feel their wonder and excitement as the countdown begins…with them asking about Santa and his reindeer, watching Christmas specials on TV, reading Christmas books, singing holiday songs, buying Christmas outfits, making gingerbread houses…

Yep, my kids are big kids now…all grown up. And we won’t all be together until a few days before the holiday. It will feel like Christmas when all 5 of us are home together…sleeping under one roof…nestled all snug in our beds….…let the visions of sugar-plums begin.

That’s the moment the Christmas season officially begins…for me.

Larger Than Life

Some actors work their entire career hoping to be cast in a great role…hoping to sink their acting chops into a part that is larger than life; one with true meaning. And I’m not talking about Mama Mia here. We have someone in our family who has acted in such a role and achieved notoriety…at a young age. Exit stage left: Meryl Streep.

Enter stage right: Brianna….aka Sweet Wishy. Wishy took on such a role in a play and delivered it with such ease and candor. Her performance was revered by all who were lucky to have scene her seens.

Her larger than life role…Baby Jesus. When Big C and Colinboy were little they were involved in the Christmas pageant at church. Big C (who was actually just a little c then…about age 5) was the peasant girl/angel…now not exactly her preferred style of living and clothing. Colinboy…age 3 was a sheep herder…just a perfect role for the Colinboy. Anyway, one look at Wishy ….and the director was interested in her for the role of Baby Jesus.

Bri had all the attributes needed to play the role…a director’s dream. She could sit up without slumping forward…her temperament was calm and serene …she had the face of a cherub with the most beautiful peaches and cream complexion…and her best attribute for the role…she was a baby. Brianna was 6 months old.

I was the typical stage mom…of course. Doting on my child. Demanding special privileges. Front pew seats for my family and friends. Requesting special products in her dressing room. Extra Huggies and binkies. I know I was a little over the top with all the demands but…Come on folks…we are talking the Baby Jesus.

So as roles go…where do you go after playing the Baby Jesus? I guess that would be immediately down…to earth. Heck, the part of Moses in the Ten Commandments had already been done (Charleton Heston got all the good parts.)

Wishy did well to sink her acting chops into her role as Baby Jesus…especially with only having two teeth to work with.

The Twelve Days of Duncandog

I can’t believe we only have 9 days left until Christmas…I wish we had more like twelve. Instead of shopping (like I should be doing)…I have done a little song arrangement…that is, I've rearranged the words to the annoyingly popular Christmas favorite: The Twelve Days of Christmas. You know the tune!!

On the First Day of Christmas
My Duncandog gave to me
A large poop on my kitchen rug.

Okay, the song can get very tedious so I’ve decided to cut to the chase…and take you straight to the Twelfth Day of Christmas...I gotta get shopping.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas
My Duncandog gave to me:
12 nylons ripping
11 deer ticks carrying
10 years of living
9 leashes pulling
8 treats a begging
7 butts a sniffing
6 tails a wagging
5 EATEN SHOES
4 booming barks
3 face licks
2 burnt-out lawns
And a large poop on my kitchen rug

This new version may soon become another annoyingly popular Christmas favorite.

The Company Holiday Party

They say (not sure who “they” is)...but they say that with the slowed economy, companies have planned fewer holiday parties or have scaled down their festivities. They’ve moved them to less expensive places (like the Legionnaires’ Hall instead of the Legion Hall) or they don’t include spouses (yea baby…no ball and chain))…or worse yet…CASH BAR (Oh no!)

Frankly or Shirley (your choice) I wouldn’t think anyone would mind missing their company party a year or two. First, you have to decide what to wear…chic or chicly shabby…and then most importantly, you have to promise yourself and your spouse that you’ll be on your best behavior.

Maybe some of you like the company party and are gonna miss it. After all, FREE FOOD AND FREE BOOZE. But it was always clear to me…the company holiday party was just an opportunity to get yourself in trouble…and fired the next day anyway.

So you’re at the party….and you drink too much. Now you’re making eyes at a pretty woman…you find out she’s your boss's wife…whoops. You drink too much… you stumble and step on your boss’s wife’s foot and she is limping…whoops. You drink too much…then start making lewd jokes and comments about T’s and A’s (and we’re not talking the alphabet)…to the boss’s wife…whoops. The music is so intoxicating (yea…the music)…you start grinding on the dance floor…with the boss’s wife…quadruple whoops.

Now you're in BIG trouble. So where do you go from here? OUTTA HERE BUB…you’re off the payroll.

Do you see how the lowest economy in the past 30 years…has just saved your job? It’s actually a good thing that your company’s holiday party was cancelled. You might actually be gainfully employed for another year…before you put your boss’s wife’s limp foot in your filthy mouth…after a grinding session.

Relatively Humorous

They say humor is relative and that makes sense to me…I have some very humorous relatives. But what is funny to one person is NOT always funny to someone else. That is why I would never want to be a stand-up comedian. Come to think of it…even comedy from a sit-down position is hard…especially on a wooden chair. The easiest comedian by far is the blogging comedian. You can post something you think is funny…and then never have to hear whether it bombed…flat lined…or DOA’d. I am far from being a comedian…but I do enjoy hearing a good joke.

Some people just have a way with telling a joke. They stand up, flail their arms, use different accents and sound effects, and deliver the punch line…the whole room cracks up. I don’t have that kinda stuff. My lines never deliver and my lines certainly don’t punch. Forget standing up….I prefer not to draw that much attention. If I even manage to remember the joke…I have to start over a couple of times. Then I’ll get half -way through and realize I have already told the punch line….

You should hear Pia tell a joke. I have…the same jumper cable joke…for years. Sometimes jokesters come in teams…Paco y Juanita…regular Sonny and Cher (and you should hear them sing.) PattyO has the best voices and BA has the sarcastic voice. Then there is linnyj…what a crack up. No, she doesn’t do crack…she’s just funny.

I think PaulA is funny...that’s why I am still around after all these years…laughing my way to the bank. Ba dum bum. Okay, that was my attempt at humor. See what I’m talking about? Not funny. My dad likes to say… “You’re funny…funny looking.” Now you know where I don’t get it.

Jokes are great…but what I really like is slap-stick humor and this I did inherit from my dad. Any falling down, tripping , stubbing, dropping….especially on the big toe…is a riot. That’s why Peter Sellers was our FAV. But I would never, ever laugh when someone near me falls down and hurts themselves…that would be Bri. Sweet Wishy always laughs when I hurt myself….consequently, Wishy gets many laughs from her clutzy mother.

Wait, I guess that makes me a comedian, after all!

'Tis the Season

You know it’s the Christmas season when…
You receive a 5 lb fruitcake aka door stopper from Aunt Millie...Fed Ex
The blinking and chasing Christmas lights are giving you vertigo.
You hear “Grandma got run over by a reindeer” on the radio.
Every third television commercial is a Chia commercial.

One of the best things about the Chia…is the song for the commercial. That jingle is so catchy that you catch yourself singing it all day long. Okay, maybe that’s just me. Ch-ch-ch-chia.

The Chia itself is as clever as the song. Over the past 20 years the Chia has come in different figurines…animals, cartoon characters and heads. Now what could be more fun than watching Homer Simpson or Elmer Fudd sprout a full head of Chia hair? Sort of a Homer on Rogaine.

Did you know now they have Chia grass for cats? I didn’t know cats ate grass. But then, other than my name…I am not a cat person. At least this Kat is smart enough to know better than to eat grass…although I do enjoy some sprouts now and then in my sandwiches. Ch-ch-ch-chia.

I’m thinking of making this a Chia Christmas. Chias for everyone on my Christmas list…just don’t tell them. I want them to be surprised by the WONDER of Chia. Aaahhh Ch-ch-ch-chia. (Stop with the jingle already!)

After all this holiday talk…I have an incredible urge to eat fruitcake, listen to that charming holiday classic “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”, and admire my Homer Chia in the glow of my blinking Christmas tree lights.

This blog might deserve a hearty round of applause…but wait…what am I thinking? Applause will cause my clapper to turn my Christmas lights off and on…and could cause a circuit malfunction. Hold the applause.

'Tis the season…to be tacky.

Lame List

My friend Eva sent me an email with a link to 11 of the lamest blogs. Do ya think she’s trying to tell me something? Actually Eva was nice and said that my blog wasn’t on the Lame List. But I checked…just to make sure.

Nope…not on the List. The List mentioned Rosie O'Donnell's blog…and how she doesn’t use punctuation or capitals…an e.e. cummings style. (I use capitals and punctuation…but I better watch my dot…dot…dots.) Then there was Kim Kardashian’s blog who had sexy pictures and an abundant use of the exclamation point! (I can’t be accused of either of those!!!) And a dull blog by a guy who wrote descriptions about opening doors or tidying pencils. (Jury's out with that.)

But then I got to thinking…..hmmm…Damn. I want to be on the Lame List. At least if you’re on the List, then you’ve arrived. You actually have readership…a gaggle of people going gaga over your garbage.

So I guess I need to change things up around here. I thought being lame was easy…especially for me. Now I find I have to work at it. I’ll have to skip capital letters and punctuation, include sexy pictures, and write about dull stuff!! maybe sexykat should write a lame blog about lame blogs!!!!!!…

If I can’t be on the ‘A’ List or even the ‘B’ List…I would definitely settle for the ‘L’ List. After all, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.

Incentives

Take a walk through the Taj MaMall for the holidays…and you will see sales all over the Taj. 15, 20, 25…percent off. Retailers are trying to entice us to step into their shops and spend money. But with the economy as bad as it is, it’s getting harder to part with Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, and Grant. Heck…even Georgie Washington is a keeper. So now you have big purchasing decisions to make…you stand over the cool gadget that slices, dices and massages and think…hmmm…do I really need this?

Stores are trying all sorts of new gimmicks…new ideas and promotions to get people to come into their businesses and spend money. I guess you would call them incentives …

So I was thinking….hmmm…What a capital idea! I too would love to have more traffic…more blog readers. So maybe I need to think of a promotion…something to get people to read Kat’s blog. Maybe I just need to offer some incentives.

So here’s my idea: With every new blog reader you bring in…I’ll give you something. Okay…I just realized that’s hard to do…plus you’ve already gotten the new toaster from your banker.

New idea: I’ll mention you in a blog. I’ll tell people all about you…your personal stories. I will give you so much publicity that I’ll make you famous. Okay…maybe not a good idea. Maybe you’d prefer not to be mentioned …and not so exposed in a ridiculous blog.

Another light bulb moment: Here’s the best idea for an incentive yet….Okay, I won’t mention you in my blog. That will be my angle….I won’t embarrass you or ridicule you. So my incentive: Get your friends and family to read Kat’s blog and you will be spared all mockery, razzing and harrassing.

To some, my ideas might seem like threats…instead of incentives. Sometimes I get my threats and incentives confused.

Four My Eyes

I know I need glasses. You see…everyone I know…knows…I need glasses. And do I have glasses? You bet I do……14 pair of them. Just none that I would wear around town.

Okay, maybe I am little vain and in denial about being old and needing them. Although I know not just old people need glasses. But only old people need 4 different pairs to see 4 different distances. Long range vision, so I don’t run a stop light. Mid range vision, so people don’t think I’m snubbing them at the Stop and Shop. Arms length vision, so I don’t throw the car in “D” when I’m backing out of my garage. And close-up vision, so I don’t poke myself with the needle when I’m darning PaulA’s socks….

You should see the different pairs of glasses I have around this house. And I could see them too….if I was wearing glasses to find my glasses. Most times I live in a blur. Besides everyone and everything looks a little better when air-brushed…including myself when I look in the mirror.

I am constantly putting down glasses for a stronger or weaker pair so I have them scattered around the house. It was a little embarrassing when our friend Dug went around the house and collected my glasses into a pile. He had collected enough to outfit …an army of Woody Allens.

When my glasses aren’t in a pile…I’m walking around with them like a human display for the Vision Center. I’ll have two pair hanging from the collar of my shirt…one pair on the top of my head…one pair dangling from my mouth…and one pair over my eyes…wear they belong.

Unfortunately not all of my glasses are in the best of shape. Some have the ends chewed off…and others are mangled from my stepping on them…or the dog stepping on them…or the car rolling over them. Consequently they look crooked when I wear them…or my ears are uneven and need to be readjusted.

Someday I will have to get some good looking glasses. Maybe some Sarah Palin’s which as you can see…work for her. Not like my crooked ones that make me look half in the bag. A half in the bag Woody Allen is not so appealing.

It’s a good thing you can’t see me right now. I couldn’t find my glasses that are computer screen reading distance….so I doubled up on two pair of lower strength. Yep. I am wearing one pair over the other and it totally works like a charm. One thing is for sure…you can’t call me four eyes. I am way passed that.

PaulA is worried about me wearing two pairs of glasses at the same time…especially in the sun. He’s worried that with the extra magnification…I might catch myself on fire. Now that’s what I call a vision.

It's All About Me

I can’t believe no one has called me on this…on what is written in on the right-hand side of this page where it says “About Me.” That’s the section where I give a lame description about who I am and a little insight into the (crazy) type of person who would write a blog every day.

You see…my blog profile needs a little updating. Maybe you didn’t notice (care)…or maybe you did notice but didn’t want to be nit-picky…or picky–un…your choice. But my ‘About Me’ is outdated because I wrote that description over a year ago…actually on September 13, 2007 to be exact. And some things have changed.

First of all, my children are all a year + older. I have to admit, I didn’t want to change their ages. It’s hard to accept that they are those ages already and see it in print. And the second of all is…with each year they get older…I too am another year older. (You’re just figuring that out, Kat?)

Some things, however, have stayed the same…I’m still a mom at home...blogging away while my ass grows (that’s for you, Pia). So after one year of my life, actually almost 15 full months from when I first began …I find myself in the EXACT same place. That is, I’m still trying to find my inner-self. And this blog is waaay cheaper than one of those psychoanalysts.

So today, if you care to notice or notice to care…I have changed the “About Me” section of my page…but just a smidge…cuz some things never change.

What's on your iPod?

A cool question to ask someone is…"What’s on your iPod?" Unless of course they don’t own one…not so cool. But the music on someone’s iPod can tell a lot about them.

Back in the day…or excuse me…back in my day…it was all about your album collection. Granted it’s hard to walk around with 500 albums under your arms and go through your collection…much easier with 500 digital songs on your iPod.

I still have my old albums and my collection of 45s. I am particularly fond of my 45 collection and I have about 100 or so of them. (Actually some of them have “Jayne” written on them…I think I stole a few from my sista…just don’t tell her.) My 45s are safely tucked away in a box that I decorated…with peace signs and a label I made with one of those label makers: “Keep Out or I’ll sock it to ya.” Okay I was in high school and it was the 70s, so cut me some slack. My laptop case happens to say the same thing. Okay it is umpteen years later and I’m weird, so cut me some slack.

I’m sure if you’re an 80s fan you’ve got the Go-Go’s, Billy Idol, Wham, and Blondie on your iPod. And if your into the 90s stuff…R.E.M, Smash Mouth, Sugar Ray, Green Day. Classic rocker if…Pink Floyd, Who, Stones, Doors are there. And you are definitely your grandmother’s best friend if you have…Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, Paul Anka…Booyah grandma…(I have to get that in…every other blog.)

Yesterday I had my iPod on shuffle and Miley Cyrus came up. Who commandeered my iPod and loaded that? Big C…Wishy? Thirty minutes later of shuffling…I heard a brother boy band blasting from the speakers…Jonas Brothers. I wanted to scream …not for them (like every 10 year old girl.) How did that get there? I did not authorize a Miley and Jonas take-over.

A great band that I’ve been listening to is Dear Havanah. They have a new CD (album) release through Veggie Co. Records later this month. Check them out at: dearhavanah.com.

So what’s on your iPod? A sampling of mine is: U2, John Mayer, Dave Matthews, Prince, Carrie Underwood, Colbie Caillat, Dashboard Confessional, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals and Dear Havanah….MINUS a newly DELETED brother boy band and Disney girl.

Get Into This

Bri, Wishy, Sweet Wish, Sweet Wish of America….all the above…found out she is going to college. Okay, so we always knew she was going somewhere, but as you have heard me reiterate 100 times (enough already)….colleges give students an uneasy feeling about “getting in.” So instead of hearing the expected: “You’ve been declined. Back that ass up.” Wishy heard: “You’ve been accepted. Drop all your money in the bucket at the door.”

When kids and parents talk about college, you’ll hear them say: That school is so difficult to get into. What college did she get into? This whole “get into” thing is like there is a special secret combination.

When kids tell their friends “I got into XYZ College"...it sounds like they broke in. Like the doors were bolted shut, but they somehow found a way in. They crow bared the door …or turned themselves into Flat Stanley and slid under the door.

I prefer that kids come up with a new train of thought regarding "getting into." They need a new mantra: Repeat after me… “XYZ College is lucky to have me grace their campus for the next 4 years.”

So before I say “Bri got into college”…I stop myself and say: “Sweet Wishy was admitted to college.” Or even...welcomed, recognized and embraced. Okay, that might seem like a matter of semantics. But when you go to high school for 4 years…not miss a day, do all your homework, study hard for tests, write papers, get involved, play sports, cheer at games, volunteer…etc. etc. …you didn’t finagle your way in…you worked your way in. And that is waaaaaaaay more than semantics.

Go Wishy!

What Elephant?

I swear no one in this house ever sees anything …except me. Why is that? And I thought I was the blind one. Whenever Duncandog leaves some biological matter on the floor (he usually has a good reason), it is always the ELEPHANT in the room...no one ever notices…walks right by. “What? There’s something on the floor? Oh, that…I didn’t see that.” Of course you didn’t…How convenient! So the one who sees it…cleans it.

The clean up job is now all mine. I make sure to not wear my glasses…the ones that magnify objects 10 fold. I don't need a close-up. I get a good enough picture through my blur…I call vision.

I know Duncandog feels bad about presenting his business on my floor…at least he better feel bad. I try not to yell at him, but I do…“Get outside Duncan…you are such an animal!!” I’m sure Duncandog is thinking… “Hey Kat, If I had an opposable thumb like you …I would have gladly opened the door and retched outside.” (Duncandog has an extensive vocabulary.)

I have a plan for the next time there is an ELEPHANT in the room...I won’t wear my glasses and I’ll wait until someone else sees it. As long as I don’t step in it…I’m golden.

Wish Me Luck

Tonight I sing the National Anthem for the UCONN Men’s basketball game at Gampel Pavilion. I love singing on campus mainly because of the students. Students have so much school spirit and do funny things like paint their faces and bellies. Wait, I saw a man at the Packers game on TV with a painted beer belly…but that’s football and football just has a way of turning grown men into adolescents. Also I like that Gampel is smaller than the Hartford Civic Center where I have also sung for UCONN. Gampel just feels more intimate…only 10,000 fans.

Just knowing that I am going to be standing in front of 10,000 can get my adrenalin pumping…especially that second before I sing…after walking out to the middle of the court…and the whole place is silent…just waiting for you to sing. Sing already…and get the heck Outta Here!!!

I have a couple of things I do to get ready before I sing. First I write a lame blog about it. Then I make sure I know my first note. Do Re Me... Starting on a note a step or two higher…like a ti instead of a do….could be the...fa so la of me. I could end up hanging myself in front of 10,000 people.

Then of course I have good luck rituals. I know everyone has good luck rituals…getting out of bed a certain way…putting on your socks…left before the right. Actors say stuff like: “break a leg.” Tiger Woods wears red on Sunday. University of Alabama Coach Saban keeps a lucky penny in his pocket given to him by his daughter. Roll Tide.

Lucky for me…my good luck charm is that today is the First of the month….and I remembered to say “rabbit, rabbit, rabbit”……and I jumped on my right leg 11 times, walked around the house counter clockwise, ate breakfast with my left hand, and was extra nice to Duncandog……

Just in case.

Cooking Wonders

Thanksgiving is over…and everyone wobbled home fat and happy…which is more than I can say for Mr. Tom Turkey. I actually love Thanksgiving…lots of family….lots of food and more food. I wouldn’t consider myself a gourmet cook…but I can manage Thanksgiving…and I always find ways to entertain myself in the kitchen.

I learned that peeling 10 lbs of potatoes can be very relaxing. The day before Thanksgiving I stood at the kitchen sink peeling away…deep in thought…about the next day’s events...and the poor turkey who gave his life. Before I knew it, I realized my potato was taking shape…taking on human form. I took a closer look at it and thought I saw a face just wanting to bust out of the spud. Now I know what Michelangelo felt like…seeing David emerge from the plaster.

So I kept whittling away…and then I saw it. My potato had Abraham Lincoln’s face. I knew I recognized that long face …longing to be freed. But then again, maybe the potato resembled a serious Obama. Another potato to whittle…next up… Bill Clinton.

After carving a series of presidential potato heads…I moved to making cranberry brie. The cranberry topping calls for small amounts of many different spices. An eighth to be exact of allspice, cloves, nutmeg, and dry mustard. As I was adding the spices…I wondered what dry mustard smelled like. Was dry mustard like its cousin…wet mustard? So I put the eighth of a teaspoon of dry mustard up to my nose for a little smell test. With one breath in, I ended up snorting an eighth. I’m still not sure what dry mustard smells like. But I do know…it burns the inside of your nose.

So if you wonder what I am doing in the kitchen the day before Thanksgiving…I am snorting spices and whittling president heads out of baking potatoes.

Who said cooking wasn’t fun?

Happy Thanksgiving

I think I should keep this blog short…short on words. Especially when it is Thanksgiving Day morning and I am expecting 21 relatives for dinner. Yep, today is the perfect day for me to cook up something fast for my blog…kinda like a quick bread…not the long rising old fashioned yummy bread.

Besides I want my blog readers to not be stuffed…so full of Kat. I want them to still have a ravenous appetite for more. We want more…We want more… We want more…

Plus it would be really sad if everyone arrived and found nothing prepared…no table set...no turkey roasted…and found Aunt Kat at the computer…blogging away. Stick a fork in her already and call her cooked.

So I want to offer my Thanks to you for giving your attention to my blog…when I’m sure most times you want to cry fowl. Other than much gratitude…I really have nothing to offer my blog readers…which is better than nothing to offer my guests.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!

Blogger Insurance

I realize you can insure just about anything. There’s insurance for homes, cars, businesses and not to mention…body parts. Mariah Carey actually had her legs insured for a $1,000,000,000. That’s a billion dollars folks…I know I had to count the zeros to believe it. I would love to see Mariah’s leg policy…and what they are insured for. Maybe her gams are insured against ….people like the whackos associated to Tanya Harding. Maybe Madonna will want to knock her down a peg (leg) or two. Or maybe a broken leg from falling or getting pushed off a stage. But I mostly wonder about cuts when she shaves her legs….or any ingrown hairs.

I wonder what my legs could be insured for…probably $2.50 for the pair…tops. I’m thinking of looking into some insurance for my most admired body part…my fingers…very valuable tool for bloggers. One accidental slice with my chain saw…and my blogging career is over.

Fortunately now bloggers everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief...the world has invented blogger insurance. Bloggers can be protected from charges brought against them for defamation and invasion of privacy. So now some disgruntled person that was mentioned in a blog can’t come back with a vengeance. It seems the number of lawsuits against bloggers have increased from 4 to 89 over the last ten years. But that didn’t seem like a crazy number considering the millions of crazy bloggers out there. Percentage wise…crazy lawsuits to crazy bloggers…not so bad.

I thought blogger insurance was an interesting concept and I appreciated that my good friend, Mickster passed the information along to me…until I remembered he’s an attorney and his wife is linnyj. Yikes.

After that realization…I quickly scoured through the past 270 blogs I’ve written. I combed through them word-by-word looking for any references to linnyj…wondering if I said anything about her that could be used in a court of law against me. I can see it now…my blogging career blowing up in my face…Boom…because of something I said about linnyj. Let’s see…there was that time I razzed her about the 5K race, Camp Linnyj…oh, and about Cancun. But I am making her famous….so there is an upside to being slandered in the Kat blog.

Now I’m thinking…I better get a policy to cover my ass….again, with the body parts insurance. Mariah has her legs and I have my ass……..to take care of.

Book Club Slacker Reform Thyself

I have a confession to make: I have been a book club slacker. For the many years that we have had the club, I have read every single book, but the last two months…I admit, I fell off the page.

It’s not like I didn’t read the book because I was protesting, or because I had better things to do, but hmmmm…why? Maybe I wanted to see what life was like on the slacker side. I’m just such a rules person…maybe I wanted to feel what it is like to wing it….Booyah.

So the past two months I have gone to the book club dinner…with the intention of…faking it when it came to discussion of the book. I figured I’d just bluff my way through. Besides, I figured who would notice? After all, we give the book as much attention as a gnit or is that a gnat.

So Marilin began a very engaging discussion about the book. Seeing I had nothing intelligent to add to the conversation…I just nodded in agreement with her. Then she made the comment: "Did you see how the author never uses the girl’s name?" So with zippo clue to what she was talking about, I just repeated…"Yes...the author never uses the girl’s name." Two minutes were up…book discussion over. I’ll have another chardonnay…thank you very much.

So I figured out the trick to covering up slacking. All you have to do is ‘nod and then repeat’. It’s so easy…I’m sure there wasn’t a book club soul at the table who didn’t know I was slacking.

After I came to this slacker realization…I looked around the table. Hmmm…my friend over there. What is she contributing to the conversation? I see she’s smiling and listening. Wait, she is nodding …we are both nodding. Oh, and now she is repeating…we are both repeating. Ah ha…I might not have read the book…but I totally read her…she’s a book club slacker too.

Nod and repeat…after me.

I can’t continue to lead the life of a book club slacker...with no book spine. I will fry in book club hell.

Book club slacker, reform thyself…

Kid Influence

You know the saying “kids keep you young.” Question: “Why the heck all the gray hair?”

Maybe at some level, kids do keep you young. When I think about it…I know lots of cool stuff because of our kids. Like I knew about this 'Twilight' phenomenon waaaaaaaay before it was main stream. Wishy had read the books so I was clued in. (Boy, am I kicking myself that I didn’t come up with a teenage vampire book.) And she also introduced me to the new Taylor Swift CD (boy, am I kicking myself that I wasn’t 35 years younger and had talent.) Yep…my kids have instructed me in downloads, uploads, and not to mention…numerous loads of laundry.

Colinboy does his part to keep us hip to all the latest bands and music…and also the latest slang. I am so down with the lingo…Peace Out girl scout.

And Chelsea keeps us abreast of the fashion trends…which is an interesting word choice…as that is what is seen in fashion magazines these days.

So if we didn’t have our kids to keep us young, dear PaulA and I would be a couple of turnips on a log…couple of bumps on a truck…or is that the other way around? I could just picture….........The Life of PaulA and Kat:

PaulA walks in the door at the end of the day…and I pull myself away from watching Alex Trebek. PaulA would say, “How was your day Kat? And I would say, “just fine Ward, I mean PaulA.” We would play Paul Anka on our CD player while we sat at the dining room table and ate our meatloaf. After dinner, I would show him the colorful toe socks I bought myself at the TajMaMall…and the gray cable wool vest with the extra deep pockets for his new handkerchiefs that I got for him.

But instead we have been influenced by our 3 musketeers…Big C, Colinboy and Wishy and…so the Life of PaulA and Kat is a little different:

PaulA walks in the door at the end of the day…and I pull myself away from blogging… “Hey PaulA, Waz up dude?” “NMU, Kat?” We decide to download the new Dear Havanah song recently released by Veggie Co. Records to our iPod. Then upload pics from our digital camera to our computer to be printed out at Walgreens, and catch up on a Grey’s Anatomy on the DVR later in the evening. But then we might call some peeps over and chill, or play rock band on the Xbox. Or stay in and have a little sushi at the coffee table. I show PaulA the new Sevens jeans I bought myself online and the Tommy Bahama shirt that I got for him.

So…Big C, Colinboy and Wishy …have saved us from Paul Anka, toe socks, Alex Trebek, handkerchiefs, and meatloaf…although I could easily be convinced in all of the above.

Saggers Beware

I don't talk politics...mainly because I'm not a talking head...but I admit it…I didn’t vote for Barack Obama. I do appreciate his intellect, captivating speeches and his winning smile, but not his share the wealth ideology. I do believe in sharing though…it’s the kind-hearted thing to do and I was taught this in kindergarten (Isn’t that a book?…All I Really Need to Know I learned in Kindergarten) However, I think regular Joe Six-Pack spreads the wealth around just by using his hard earned income to buy things, in effect, stimulating the economy. I do believe in helping folks out…but I also believe in getting out there and working hard for the American Dream. Wait, oh that’s right…I’m not working…thanks, for reminding me…but I tell my kids to do this.

Moving ahead further with my diatribe…onto the lighter side of politics. If I had heard Obama make the following comment about saggers during his campaign for President…he would have had me at "Change." I just might have jumped on the Obama Express.

Obama’s comment: "Here is my attitude: I think people passing a law against people wearing sagging pants is a waste of time. We should be focused on creating jobs, improving our schools, health care, dealing with the war in Iraq , and anybody, any public official, that is worrying about sagging pants probably needs to spend some time focusing on real problems out there. Having said that, brothers should pull up their pants. You are walking by your mother, your grandmother, your underwear is showing. What's wrong with that? Come on. There are some issues that we face, that you don't have to pass a law, but that doesn't mean folks can't have some sense and some respect for other people and, you know, some people might not want to see your underwear -- I'm one of them."

This was a direct quote from Obama and I applaud him. G.Q. Public does not like to see underwear exposed…and I’m not just talking about the elastic band of boxers. I’m talking about pants that are only pulled up to around the butt or below the butt…not even close to the hips. It just looks silly…not to mention that saggy pants make legs look 12 inches tall. I realize that not all brothers sag. My bro doesn’t…so Obama would approve of Steverino.

It is interesting that you never see a woman wearing saggy pants. What woman wants her legs to look a foot long? Women are just smart like that.

So Saggers beware…pull your pants up. Otherwise, Obama is gonna be on your ass.

Name Change

Did you hear Beyonce changed her name for her new album that dropped this month? I guess Beyonce was just too…ho hum…run of the mill. Karen, Kathy, Linda, Beyonce, Nancy, Mary. See how her name just runs together with all the other common names. It doesn’t have a chance of standing out and getting noticed. There are other Beyonces in the world….I understand why she wouldn’t want to be confused with the other 2. Why not change your name to Sasha Fierce?

Well lots of reasons…it is a stupid name. I like Sasha as a first name…but Fierce is an adjective not a last name. I guess it sounds better than Sasha Savage…which sounds like a sausage link when you say it out loud.

Remember when Prince changed his name…to a symbol? Now that was creative. His symbol is unpronounceable…it can only be written. So he is referred to as: The Artist formerly known as Prince. I’m wondering what people call him in person…to his face? “Hey….Symbol.” “Hey…Artist.” Maybe they just pass him a note with his symbol on it. That is so damn cool….a name you can’t pronounce.

Why didn’t I think of having a symbol for a name….especially when the kids were little. “Family meeting…I’m officially changing my name. Mom is not my name anymore. Never refer to me as Mom again as I will not answer. If you need me…you’ll have to write my symbol down and pass it to me”….(but just try to catch me.)

Prince and Beyonce were actually born with cool names, so I’m not sure why they felt the need to change them. It’s people stuck with common names like Kathy that have to reinvent themselves…

Hmmmm…Why don’t I choose a new name? Maybe I should change my name with each season…Autumn in fall…Crystal in winter…Sultry in summer….and May Flowers in spring. Or best yet….

Stick with my favorite: Blogger Extraordinaire

Positioning Statement

I walked by Duncandog and saw his lazy ass sleeping on the kitchen rug…again. And I wondered what it was like to sleep all day. Don’t get me wrong…Duncan is up for just about anything when he hears the magic word. Just whisper… “Walk” and he’s standing on all fours…sprung from a dead sleep.

But most hours of the day he is in some sleeping position. You can figure out the time of day and time of year by his positions. During the morning he likes to lie on the kitchen table rug in the sun. During a winter morning it’s the kitchen sink rug near the heat vent…turn the heat up already. He moves from spot to spot all day long.

There are some positions that are so cute you want to wake him up and tell him. There’s the diver look with just his two paws out front. Then there is the fetal doggy position…into a small ball…again, turn the heat up already. My personal favorite is the four-legged dead dog look….flopped on his side…4 paws out. Like he just passed out. Duncandog are you alive? Gets me every time.

I don’t know how he can lie around all day and sleep…and then sleep all night. Maybe he isn’t really sleeping when I think he is. Maybe he is lying there awake with one eye open and he’s really watching me and wondering……how does Kat can sit in front of a computer day after day and blog?

Maybe he can tell a lot from my blogging positions. Elbows up at the keyboard…I am all jacked from caffeine and in full blogger mode. Elbows down at the keyboard…I am a slow ass and no thoughts are coming. Duncandog’s personal favorite is the two-legged dead blogger look. Kat’s eyes are glossy…fingers haven’t moved in minutes. Like she just passed out. Katdog are you alive?

Just whisper… “Sale” and Kat is standing on all two’s…sprung from a blogging trance. Gets Duncan every time.

Mechanicals Attachment

Saying goodbye to your cell phone is like saying goodbye to a friend…at least for me. I know being attached to a mechanical device sounds a little bit weird. But when did I say I was normal?

My attachment to mechanicals started when I was a kid. I became attached to the old family station wagon…the place I sat, behind my dad…looking at the back of his head and watching the road behind him…at times seeming scary. Could I ever drive a car? And seeing my mom’s profile as she rode shotgun. I always had to kiss our cars goodbye…which didn’t happen too often because we rarely got a new one. It always felt like saying goodbye to a family member.

So this mechanical attachment continued with me as I got older…with our leased cars. When I have to say goodbye to a car, I think about the 3 or 4 years that have passed and how the kids have grown. Wishy in the car seat…Colinboy flailing around in the back when he should have been in his seat belt…and Chelsea kicking the back of my seat. Such fond memories.

Lucky for me, I won’t be saying goodbye to the car I have now for 2 more years. But yesterday by dear cell phone stopped working. It just plum had enough…the battery door wouldn’t stay closed. So I had to replace my dear friend. It was so hard to say goodbye. After all, I had the phone for 4 years. The kids don’t seem to have mechanicals attachment…they all have had double (or triple) phones since my dear celly.

So I laid my phone to rest in my bureau drawer…and gave it some final words:

Goodbye my dearest cell phone…
I will miss the sound of your ringtone…the feel of your buttons…the cute sounds you make when you turn off and on…..your simple uncomplicated nature. You will be dearly missed.

Hello…hello….Enough of the crap, Kat…

Runs on Guns

The title of this blog might have you thinking Doctor Suess…like Hop on Pop. But this is waaaay more intelligent than that. (Although there is nothing like a good rhyming book.) Nope. This is about the effect the new administration is already having on the economy before Obama even gets into office.

Even with the economy in the toilet with the housing market crisis, credit crunch, 2 wars, loss of jobs, etc. etc.…there is a bright side to our bowl of problems. There is actually one area where increases are occurring at a fast rate….and believe me, it isn’t my blog readership.

Gun retailers countrywide are seeing an increase in gun sales…especially military guns and assault weapons. Sales are shooting through the roof because people are thinking that gun control will be a top priority for the new administration. (Obama just doesn’t like guns as much as the gun toting Sarah Palin.) So people are running out to purchase their Uzi. Shouldn’t we all be entitled to a military style gun? Or maybe even a Saturday-night special. You never know when an assault weapon could come in handy. After all, the burbs are becoming more and more dangerous these days.

I don’t frequent gun shops…so I was surprised to hear about the runs on guns. I am familiar with, however, the guns at Wal-mart. Their gun area was one part of the store that I would walk around when my kids were little…no short cuts through the Gun Dept. Heck I knew…one look at the shoot ‘em up Dept. and Colinboy would be asking for one. I prefer to think of him toting his bass guitar around town instead of a shotgun.

But it only takes one kid to trigger the subject with other kids. Colinboy had cousins who owned bb guns...4 brothers. So he talked PaulA into one. The manly men shot targets in the woods, until the thing jammed...and then we deep-sixed it. Stick with the bass guitar son.

So Annie Get your Gun….or Andrew Get Your Gun…at Wal-mart…before Obama shoots down any hopes of you getting guns during his administration. I actually approve of gun control...cuz the only thing I’m gunnin for is…more people to read my blogs.

The WE in US

If you were to overhear a conversation between parents, you would inevitably hear someone say “we” when referring to their child…with phrases such as: ‘we applied to college’ or ‘we have a game today.’ So you may wonder…Is the parent applying to Boston College? Does the parent play soccer too? What’s the “we” thing? They are talking about just their child, right? But then again, are they really?

The fact is…we so fiercely love our children and are so invested in them that we can’t help think…WE. WE are a package deal. It began when WE first laid eyes on our kids…at that moment WE were in this thing called ‘life’…together and forever.

WE want and feel for our children. WE are out there on the playground trying to make new friends. WE are hurting when someone makes fun of US. We are elated when making the team. WE are stressed over final exams. WE are beaming in the high school prom picture. WE are sad after learning the hard way. WE are jumping for joy over an ‘A’ in Chemistry. WE are nervous for the upcoming interview. WE are rooting, hoping, laughing, fearing, crying, and praying for our children.

So right now…WE (Sweet Wishy, PaulA and I) are getting those applications out to colleges…and in a few short months…WE will hear where WE are going to school next fall. And then WE will moving into the dorm. And then WE will be graduating from college. And then WE will be looking for a job. And then WE….

It will always be ‘WE.’ There will always be ‘WE’ in US.

So Easy Even a Kat Can Do It

Last month we visited Sistersledge and Daryl to the third power’s house and had a cup of coffee made from their machine…the Keurig. Have you heard of this machine? It makes coffee one cup at a time…in 10 seconds, although it seemed like it took a whole 15. The thing uses little “pods” of coffee that are premeasured. You just pour water in the machine (no measuring), put the pod in, pull the handle down and it fills your coffee mug with piping HOT coffee.

I have to say, the coffee is pretty darn good. I am not trying to put Dunkin Donuts out of business…because that place is near and dear to my heart. And I’m sure the people at the DD drive-thru window are wondering where their favorite Kat is…but every 5 or 6 years you need to take a break from routine…mix it up…..go crazy and try something a little different. So we bought a Keurig of our own.

The cool thing about the individual pods is that you can choose what coffee you want…depending on your mood. If you are feeling French piggish…there’s always French Roast. If you are feeling south of the borderish…there’s Columbian. Don’t want to be too wired and chatty Kathy?….Decaf. And if you are feeling like a constipated Queen Elizabeth…hot tea is a nice option. One cup at a time…your choice.

Of course, the coffee is only as good as your water. Our tap water seems to be fine...not exactly a fine blend from the Poland Springs of Maine…but definitely not the muddy Mississippi. I like that you don’t have to measure out the water for the Keurig. I never could see the LINE for the water on the other coffee makers. Holding the carafe up to the light…I’m always pouring water in and out, like a chemistry experiment before I get it right. And not having to measure the coffee prevents…too watery…too strong. Aaahhhhhhhhh.

So now I stumble downstairs to the kitchen with hair disheveled, mascara smudged, tattered nightgown and socks. I don’t get in the car and scare the world (I save that for PaulA). I just pick my pod (boy that sounds nasty) and Press a button….10 to15 seconds later…piping HOT java.

It’s so easy…even a Kat can do it.

Jerry Bring Back

This is a “Bring Back” Blog in honor of my Father on his 77th Birthday. Last year I wrote this blog for his Birthday. As you will see when you read further…the “Bring Back” Blog is perfect for Jerry. Happy Double 7’s, Dad!

Happy Birthday Father!
You are 76 today and you have a lot of fans out there thinking of you and wishing you a Happy Birthday. I know you like to call us “sports fans”…but we are really YOUR fans….call us “Jerry fans!”

I just have to tell the world about my amazing father on his 76th birthday and what better place to do it! First of all, Gerald is a trivia buff. Okay maybe knowing the square mileage of Jacksonville, Florida could come in handy someday….especially if you were going to walk it. He can also give you directions to anywhere from nowhere. He knows that Interstate 70 intersects with Interstate 71 in Columbus, Ohio … I don’t know how he knows this stuff, maybe he was born with a GPS chip inside of him. And he also knows everything about sports. I mean everything…obscure facts about teams, players and coaches....and not just professional sports…even high school sports….go ahead, quiz him. Gerald is the friendliest guy you ever want to meet and the most easy going…that’s G.L. He should have run for mayor because he can hold court wherever he goes. He can strike up a conversation with just anyone….and believe me he has.

You should have seen Gerald when he wore his Air Force Blues. Maybe I am a little biased, but I thought he was the most handsome dad ever. And at age 76, he’s the cutest dad out there. Yep, when it comes to the cuteness factor, he’s got it… hands down. The dog tags given to me when my dad was in the Air Force are my most prize possession. And on Veteran’s Day I wear them proudly… proud that they say, “Kathy-Anne T.… Daughter of Gerald T…

Gerald has also earned the nickname as Jerry Bring Back. When my mother buys something and later decides she doesn’t want it…she gives it to my dad. Okay, who is going to give a 76 year old man a hard time about bringing back curtains. Remember, I just said he has the cuteness factor going for him, and what is he doing with swags and jabots, anyway?

One of my father’s famous lines growing up was, “Who loves Dad? Raise your hand.” We could be doing our homework, washing the dishes, or watching television and he would say it, “Who loves Dad? Raise your hand.”… automatically we would each raise our hand into the air and keep on doing what we were doing. Do you think we were going to deny my dad his fun?!

I remember when my mom didn’t feel like cooking and we were lucky to get dinner at McDonalds. My father and I had the special job of picking it up. I would get a pad of paper, write down everyone’s order, and then jump in the ole Tempest next to him. I can still hear that car today…sounded just like my washing machine. Off we would go to Mickey D’s, my dad and I on a burger mission…swoosh, cchuck, swoosh, ccchuck. I remember hoping that mom didn’t feel like cooking the next week …..burgers and time with dad….it was the best.

So Happy Birthday, Father. You are dearly loved by me and everyone who knows you. I could write more about how great you are, but I am having a hard time typing with just one hand. You see, my other hand is raised….. high in the air....

The Cold Patient

I just got over a nasty cold. The reason I knew it was nasty…other than the lack of energy, stuffy head, sore throat, nasal drip and coughing jags…PaulA and Sweet Wishy were staying clear of me. I am not a baby when it comes to colds, although I do whimper now and then…and sometimes I roll around in my bed and moan. I never take cold medication, not because I am a freak like Tom Cruise and not believe in meds…but I don’t think anything really helps except massive sleep. Everyone has their own way of handling a cold…and we are all a little different.

When PaulA gets a cold…he soldiers on. He doesn’t let it stop him. He gets up and goes to work. He marches on…through the daily trenches of life. (So dramatic.)

When Colinboy gets a cold…he has to first make sure it is a cold…and not a rare disease from South Africa. He goes online to WebMD, researches his symptoms to rule out diseases such as necrotizing fasciitis…that nasty flesh-eating disease. He makes sure he is going to live another day.

When Chelsea gets a cold…she deals with it…as long as there something she can take. She wants it over and over now. A trip to CVS, down the cold remedies aisle, and she is set to go…with a med for every symptom.

When Bri gets a cold…she never says a word about…let alone complain. She can have something wrong with her and I’m the last to know. Turns out last spring she had Mono and was walking around with a swollen neck gland for 10 days before she decided to show me the tree trunk she had for a neck.

Yes, the 5 of us are all different…but if you take the good parts of how we each handle a cold and combine them…we are:

The perfect cold patient: Someone who…doesn’t complain to anyone…and after ruling out Ebola disease from the Sudan …and taking massive meds…soldiers on through their day…and gets to bed early.

Together we are the perfect cold patient.

Hat Please

I picked Duncandog up from the groomer after his haircut and I hardly recognized him. He was more shaven than cut. I wonder if Duncan wanted to cry. If he did…I would totally understand. I’ve been there….women everywhere have been there…the bad haircut.

Once years ago when I was shopping at the Taj MaMall with my sister, Jayniebug…We entered a hair salon…which was really a butcher shop with a fancy façade. On a whim I decided to get a hair cut. Not exactly sure why I would do this…I have to blame someone…so I’ll blame Jayniebug …

Anyway, the salonSLASHbutchershop could take me right away. That should have been a red flag right there. So I sat down in the chair and my sister sat next to me in the open chair …hello, a second red flag. Edward Scissorshands (third flag) pulled out her hedge clippers, and started to work. With one cut, massive amounts of my hair fell to the floor. I couldn’t really see what was happening because she was working on the back…and I don’t have eyes in the back of my head…although my kids were always sure I did.

I knew I was in trouble by watching my sister. I could see her face in the mirror as she watched the woman slowly butcher me. With each cut, Jayniebug winced a little more…and then a little more. She didn’t want to be impolite to the hairdresserSLASHER butcher…but yelling “STOP the madness” would have been a good idea. Instead she just made faces. After 10 minutes…I could hardly recognize my own sister. Her face was so contorted…she looked like W. C. fields smelling dirty gym socks.

The woman could tell by the tears streaming down my face that I was less than happy with the hack job she had just performed on my head…so she charged me less. I tried to be adult about it. So I got up from the chair…threw the money on the floor and stomped out of there. Okay, I didn’t do that, but that is what I wanted to do.

Instead, I went home…cried some more…and put on a hat. I am not a hat person, but I quickly became Kat in the Hat. At least I had the option of wearing one…poor Duncandog wasn’t as fortunate.

PackKat

Are you a pack rat? I wouldn’t say I was...maybe a packKat. I don’t hoard hair balls or anything, but I do find it hard to get rid of things, especially the kid’s things. So consequentially we have their old crib, cradle, clothes, toys…all a pale yellow and neatly stored in our basement. Okay, I lied. There are those worse than me. Oprah had a woman on her show who couldn’t stop buying stuff…she could hardly move around her house. At least I contain my mess to my basement.

The entrance to my storage side of the basement should come with a warning: “Danger. Do not go in there.” When I do decide to clean it out…I always start with good intentions. “Today, I am throwing all this shit away.” Then I pick one thing up …. “Awww. I remember when Colinboy puked on this…his first puke.” I never get anywhere. I even have some of the groovy clothes I wore in high school and college.

There is an upside to all this. This packKat stuff comes in handy. When Bri has to dress in some crazy outfit for lacrosse team spirit…and needs to be a cowgirl...got her covered. Needs to be hippie…got her covered. Needs to be a bridesmaid…she’s covered 5 times over. And when Colinboy needed stuff for his apartment…he got great deals in Kat’s Basement...Come on down!

I know I should have a tag sale, rummage sale, selling crap sale…or whatever you want to call it sale…but I just can’t stomach pulling that stuff out of my basement, setting it up, figuring out a price, haggling with cheap sons-of-guns, slashing the price, barely making a hundred dollars and then hauling the crap back to the basement or dump.

Light bulb moment: I think I’ll bring everyone to me…have a sale where everyone goes into my basement. I’ll let them go downstairs, paw through my crap, I mean my valuables…and let them haul it out of there themselves. Besides I think I might even make more money. People always feel like they are getting a deal when they have to go through piles, bins, and shelves …and fight each other off for stuff. It would be like a T.J. Maxx...ala Kat.

Yea…that’s what I’ll call it…T.J. Katt. And my slogan: “You get the MOSTEST from the LEASTEST at T.J. Katt.” Sing it with me, folks.

Some Guidance

I can’t imagine working in the Guidance Office right now...a bustling hub of activity with high school seniors applying to college. I only have one kid I’m trying to make sure gets into school…I can’t imagine 250.

The Guidance Office does a great job of keeping everything organized and answering questions from students and parents. And they don’t go GUIDANCE on you. (That’s like going POSTAL, but at the Guidance Office.) I could never work there…I would go GUIDANCE at least once a day. The whole college application process is so stressful, that it puts students and parents in a state of panic.

Students are applying to numerous schools because colleges make them feel that if you aren’t the ‘best slice in the loaf of life’…you won’t get in. So students second guess themselves: What if I don’t get in to XYZ College? Gee, I always thought I was a good student. (But you did get that B minus in Spanish class...Remember, you (accidently) said a swear word in Espanol. Who knew?)

So what do you do? You apply to numerous schools….JUST IN CASE! You look for schools you deem as your safety school, your reach school, your reach school that is a safety-reach, your safety school that is a reach-safety……it just keeps going and going.

Before you know it you’ve applied to 15-20 schools, your family is out-of-pocket 1200 dollars, and you still think you aren’t getting in anywhere. (Maybe there’s a good safety school in Idaho…with a safely reachable altitude.)

Then you try to come up with some strategy to the application process. Do I apply Early Decision, Early Action, or Regular Decision? Early Decision is binding, so it hurts…and Early Action is loose…I mean, non-binding so it doesn’t hurt as much. It seems students aren’t going for the Regular anymore…probably because of the name…it’s just so plain. If they called the Regular Action…Prize Action…students would be all over it.

Then there is standardized testing strategy. The SAT or the ACT…which do I take? Which initials look better? Do I send my scores? Or do I hide my scores under my mashed potatoes? Should I take the tests four times or will I look too desperate? Or do I look for a school that is a kinder, gentler school not requiring standardized tests? (Maybe a school in Idaho that doesn’t believe in stamping numbers on students…only their cattle.)

After the Nov. 1st Early Action date passes…there is a lull. A very short lull when the Guidance Office can catch a breath…until kids start to hear from colleges. Then the stress returns. It turns out the college in Idaho that was supposed to be a safety school within a safety-reach, was actually a safety school within a reach-safety…and although the SATs were not required, they required better grades in Spanish….and the application should have gone binding Early Decision instead of loose Early Action.…..Ahhhhhhhhh. What happens now?

Here’s some guidance: Go ahead and call the Guidance Office. Just remember they have 249 other kids to guide through the college application process…so don’t go GUIDANCE on them.

Yes We Can

Barack Obama-The First African-American President of the United States of America.
Congratulations to Barack Obama and to our country! Regardless of your political stance, whether you paint your face red or blue, or whether you feel you are gonna get taxed up the ying yang…I don’t think there is anyone out there that doesn’t feel the historical significance of the result of this Presidential election.

The country spoke…in fact, it appears they shouted. “Yes we can.” AND “Yes we did.”
Personally, I can’t imagine why Obama or McCain would want the job of President. Except for maybe the cool digs, personal jet, extensive travel with first class accomodations, yummy food, access to rock stars and Hollywood types and POWER…POWER…POWER.

This Presidential election was to be an election of Firsts…regardless of who won. First Mavericky Oldest White Guy. First Woman Gun Toting Moose Hunting Vice President. First Dude. In the end, Americans decided that…First African-American President...had a better ring.

With Election 2008…we showed we are not a white, black, Latino or Asian America, but a United States of America. We are a great land of opportunity...where all things are possible. Doors have been opened: We can look forward to four years from now…Say it with me folks….Kat – The First Blogger President of the United States of America…2012. Yes we can.

Just VOTE

Who ya voting for? Come on, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.

What? Not gonna share? Some people are very private about their voting. They feel it is their own business and don’t feel the need to share…or make their politics someone else’s. Papa Joe was this way. He always said his vote was private…his own business. He wouldn’t even tell Nana. (Let alone put it in a blog for all to see.)

I ,too, follow Papa Joe’s thought on keeping my vote private. I don’t feel the need to share either. Although I will share that I enjoyed being Sarah Palin for a night…Halloween night. (And PaulA made a cute Joe the Plumber.) But I am not gonna spill the beans in this blog about who I am voting for. I would never want to influence your decision and make you doubt your own choice. I realize the enormous impact Kat-Blogger Extraordinaire has on blogworld…especially with the limitless numbers of readers following every word. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for interfering in American politics.

I will keep this blog short today…this beautiful fall day…because I am leaving soon to do my civic duty and VOTE…and I have a tee time with Pia this morning.

So………‘My friends’, I am off. I am feeling a little ‘mavericky’ so I might ‘change’ the usual route I take to the voting polls, right after I put ‘lipstick on a pig’…...

Whoever you vote for….Just VOTE.

To-do List

I love a To-do List. It keeps me organized, so nothing falls through the cracks. No appointments get missed…no one left at the bus station for 20 minutes…what son? Or left at the kennel another night...what dog?

I’ve got lists…sub-lists, mini-lists and midnite-lists. Many nights I wake at 3:11 am and start forming lists in my head…which keeps me awake for hours…memorizing tasks. Now I keep a pen and paper by my bedside so I can unload all these thoughts…declutter my pea brain…so I can get some sleep. Plus a EUREKA moment for the best blog ever written can come anytime. This blog…proof positive.

The best part of a To-do List is crossing items off. Bri and I are both like this…and I’m sure lots of you are too. We will write something down on our list…even something that we have already done…just so we can cross it off. There is so much satisfaction from crossing it off the List.
My To-do List…
#1. Wake up. (Oh, I’m awake…I can cross that off.)
#2. Drink coffee (last drop gone…cross it off.)
#3. Kick the dog…outside (Score: 20-yard field goal…cross it off.)

Some things on my To-do List get quickly crossed off…but then there are others that stay there for months…and even years.
#23. Make my root canal appointment…on the List for 2 months.
#45. Tell PaulA about the ‘ding’ on my car….on the List for 6 months.
#99. Organize the basement….on the List for 8 years.
#100. Get rid of the dog…on the List for10 years.

I’ve seen those small pocket recorders where you can record your To-do List…which sounds cool…but then you wouldn’t have the satisfaction of crossing it off. Although, I guess you could say… “check” when completed.

To-do List…testing one.....two...
Wake up……check
Drink coffee...check
Kick the dog outside…….check
Write a stupid blog….double check.

Trick or Treating

Oooooooo…Happy Halloween to all you spooky witches and goblins. I love this holiday, mainly to see the little kids in their cute costumes…the little pirate, ballerina, and pumpkin. You open the door and they just stand there looking at you …hoping you know what to do…cuz they don’t get it. They are still trying to figure out why their parents have them dressed in odd clothing and have them talk to strangers.

I just hope I don’t see any what’s her name and whoses. That would be Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers dudes. Even old Kat has heard of them, cuz you can’t go anywhere without seeing their mugs on just about everything. I have a feeling I’ll see at least 5 of those little Hannahs. And numeri Jonases.

Not sure if PaulA and I will be dressing up to answer the door. Anytime PaulA needs a costume, he pulls out his college graduation gown. Thank god, he graduated…he’s used his black gown so much it was worth the price of admission. You can be a lot of things if you have the black gown to start…Nun, Dracula, Jonas Brother.

A couple of years ago, I was a beauty pageant ‘Miss.’ I wore one of my bridesmaid gowns, heels, and a sash. My lipstick and eye make-up were smudged across my face…not exactly in the lines. (I looked like a drunken bridesmaid…honest I wasn’t.) And my pageant banner said: “Miss Applied”. The trick or treaters totally didn’t get it….but if I wore it this year…they would. Oh, you are a drunk Hannah Montana.

I wonder if Brianna is thinking about going Trick or Treating. I hope not, at age 17. When I see a big kid come to the door looking for candy…I want to tell them to get a job. The ‘older’ girls usually come dressed like Raggedy Ann. I know they are definitely over 15….cuz they’re not dressed like...you guessed it...Hannah Montana.

Duncandog is going to be dressed for Halloween tonight. I have a crimson and white BAMA T-shirt to put on him…a University of Alabama mascot. He’ll just have to work on his southern accent: “Hey ya’all this is Duncandog. If ya'all would just give me a little treat...I could do a little Hannah Montana for you...or Jonas Brother...your choice.”

Happy Halloween!

APP-OCD

Bri did it…she pressed the ‘submit’ button. That would be, the ‘submit’ button on the common application that is used to apply to colleges online. That might not seem like a big dealio, but it is. Because once it is sent, that sucker is sent…and there is no retrieving it…no sticking your hand in the blue metal mailbox....wait, is that illegal?…no begging the Post Office people to retrieve it...and threatening to go postal. What?...illegal again?.

Once you hit ‘submit’, the application is queued up at the college…instantaneously. One, two, three...presto. No more having to run to the Post Office with a big envelope, wait in line, pay extra postage, send it express…and then hope like hell it gets there. Hoping that the Postman didn’t put it in the outbox for Hong Kong.

I do love the efficient way of applying to colleges now. You can be a procrastinator and submit it two minutes before midnight of the due date…and Bang, it is on time. That is the coolest. We thought about trying that…just for goofers. What are we…stupid? Dumb idea. Just our luck, at that moment our computer would freeze…or Storm Zelda would blow up and knock us offline. Nightmare.

When you hit ‘submit’…it is so final…that you doubt what you have written. You’ve probably made a mistake, so you check and recheck. You’ve never had OCD in your life, but suddenly you’ve developed a bad case of APP-OCD. Okay, APP-OCD is a made up ailment, but if you’re applying online…you know what I am talking about…cuz you have it too. You are compelled to go over the information at least 45 times. So you recheck the ‘name of applicant.’ Wait… does Bri spell her name with one ‘N’ or two? Not sure now. Is her name Brian(n)a or Sweet Wishy of America?...Wait, that is too long to fit in the space.

I ‘submit’ to you that I never get BLOG-OCD…never. When I decide to post a blog, I hit ‘submit’ and never look back. I don’t check and recheck what I’ve written. What 'cha see, is what 'cha get. Just don’t go postal on me.

Manure Happens

The different bumper stickers, school stickers and accessories we apply to our car, tell a little something about each of us. They SHOUT-OUT an image as we go tooling down the road...without having to say it. A ‘Dartmouth College’ sticker says…this is one SMART head. ‘If You Don’t Vote, Don’t Whine’ …this is one TALKING head. ‘Save the Earth’ …this is one GREEN head. ‘Grateful Dead dancing bears’….this is one POT head. ‘Manure Happens’... this is one SHIT head.

I recently was driving behind a car that had a license plate with a chain link framing it. Without saying it, the chains say… “Hey...move back, jack…This is one BAD ASS in front of you.” Yep, any chains are definitely bad ass. Anytime you see someone with a chain…around their neck…or hanging from their pants…you better stay clear of the bad ass. Only thing was… the car with the chains…was a Honda. How bad ass can that person be?… Driving a pale blue, 4-door, compact, economical, fuel efficient Honda Civic. He would have been better with a bumper sticker that said: GOING POSTAL.

My Duncandog has an image to uphold, but unfortunately for him…it is something out of his control. After his latest haircut, I should have gotten him a chain link collar. I think he would have appreciated looking a little bit more BAD ASS, instead of the sissy look the groomer gave him. And a bumper sticker slapped to his rear end: ‘KAT THE OTHER WHITE MEAT’.

Kat's Head

In the early 90’s I used to watch a show called Herman’s Head. It was on TV for a few years, but probably most people never watched. Anyway, it was about a guy whose personalities, Sensitivity, Fear, Lust, Genius, were represented by actual people. Whenever Herman had an important decision to make, the different personalities would voice their opinions…and duke it out when they had disagreements.

I thought it was an interesting concept. So it got me thinking…..Hmmmmmm….. What goes on in the hollow container on top of my shoulders...with my personalities: Lazy Ass, Neurotic, Anal Retentive, Blogger. Here is a glimpse of Kat’s Head….

Situation: Linnyj and Pia call me for 9 holes of golf. Decision to make: Should I play?

Lazy Ass Kat: Don’t do it Kat. You will have to get off this couch, which isn’t easy after eating bon-bons and chips. Linnyj will probably want to play speed golf and then Pia will want to play another 9. Oh, and you’ll miss Oprah. So chill, Kat…have some more chips.

Neurotic Kat: Careful Kat. You could get toxins from the course that could make you sick…maybe you should stay home. But if you go, wear gloves on both hands. Also leave the umbrella at home, a thunderstorm might be brewing and just your luck you’ll get hit by lightening…you only have 9 lives.

Anal Retentive Kat: Go ahead and play Kat. Just remember to replace all your divots as you hack your way down the fairway. Count all your strokes, even the wiffy ones and the ones in the woods, sand and water. And if Linnyj is 2 minutes late arriving, that is only 120 seconds…not a lifetime...so let's cut her some slack this one time.

Blogger Kat: Forget it Kat. Don’t play today. You have way more important things to do. What could possibly be more important than writing a blog? You have at least 5 people reading…and you don’t want to disappoint.

A rumble ensues…the personalities duke it out….rock, paper, scissors…shoot………

Blogger Kat beats Lazy Ass, Neurotic, Anal Retentive Kat every time. Lucky you…you’re the recipient of another blog.

This Could Turn Ugly

Being from Vermont, I just can’t help but like cows. In Vermont, you see cows all over the place. Granted, they don’t walk the aisles of the Stop and Stop Dairy Dept. buying fat free milk, but they grace the beautiful VT landscape. You can actually learn a lot from a cow. If they are standing in the pasture, it’s gonna be a nice day. If they are laying down…it’s gonna rain. If they are facing East…you’re gonna have Chinese food for dinner.

I love cows so much that I have a little collection…my Cow Parade collection that I display on my kitchen windowsill. You know, the little cows that are decorated and painted with different themes. You might think that is a little kitschy…but the cows remind me of my home state and my best friends, Ben and Jerry. I am not a huge collector like some people who collect…spoons, Santas (my mom), coins, boyfriends. I just have a few cows.

I know a woman from the hair salon I frequent who has a bizarre collection...she collects ugly things. She started with a small cabinet of a few special ugly things…but her collection has grown to be a whole room of ugly stuff. Anything she deems as ugly, she buys and proudly displays. Her friends have joined in on all the ugliness and have helped add to her collection.

Although her collection sounds weirdly interesting…I would never want to visit her house and check out her ugly things…not that I am above ugly. I’m just afraid she might have taken a picture of me sitting in the salon chair with goo in my hair…and have it hanging on her “Wall of Uglies”…yikes.

And forget having her visit my house. If she came over and saw my Cow Parade collection…I would be afraid that she would like it….which could turn ugly.

Read My Lips

In the late 80's we bought our first CD player…so I trotted off to the record store (I sound so horsey) to buy our first CD…no iTunes digital store back then. I knew exactly what CD I wanted to purchase…Milli Vanilli.

I thought Milli Vanilli was great. They had won a Grammy…which was taken back from them, once it was determined that they were a fraud. Boy, do I know how to pick ‘em. Not only did they not write their music, not play their instruments…but they didn’t even sing their songs. They were masters of lip synching.

I guess lip synching is not all that uncommon. Ashley Simpson lip-synched on Saturday Night Live, but to me that was no biggie…at least she was lip-synching to her own music. Although I thought that Irish jig she morphed into was very awkward.

Yep, lip synchers are quite common…even around the world. How about that little Chinese girl at the summer Olympics opening ceremony who didn’t actually sing. Some other little Chinese girl sang for her, because the Chinese officials decided she wasn’t pretty enough. (that’s another blog.)

Our friend, Dig, suggests the word “elephant” is a great word to use for lip-synching…especially when you don’t know the words to the song or you forget them. “Elephant, elephant” when said repeatedly, keeps your lips moving so you appear to be singing. …it worked for him in high school chorus.

Then there are people who would never stoop so low as to lip-synch…they would never pull a Milli Vanilli. They sing right out-loud…with their own voices…no “elephant, elephant” for them.

But OUCH, sometimes you wish they would.

Blogger Extraordinaire

Whenever I am filling out paperwork that asks for my occupation, I hesitate. Hmmm…What exactly is my occupation? I know I’m busy doing something…but what exactly do I do? Then I think of all my odd jobs. It is hard to fit….driver, banker, sexpot, organizer, shopper, maid, cook (never on a weekend) into one small space…so I conveniently use….homemaker. Years ago I used to put down: housewife. But I could just as easily have put: domestic engineer… better half…PaulA’s Wife…Financially dependent….Stepford Wife (After all, I do live in CT.)

Recently Bri was completing a college application (It’s about time Wish!)…and she was stumped. So she had to ask me for a little help. “Hey Mom…I know what Dad does….but what’s your occupation? What should I put down? Should I put Bri’s Mom? (Very Funny, Wishy.)

I yelled back… “You mean to tell me, you don’t know? I’m so surprised. My occupation is blogger…OR…Blogger Extraordinaire….your choice.” And so she wrote down ‘blogger’ on her college application. (Thanks Wishy, I feel so validated.) She did leave off the Extraordinaire part…which would have elevated my status among all the other bloggers. Then I thought….should Bri really be listing my occupation as blogger? But I rationalized…Wait a minute Kat, what is the college gonna do? Call Bri and tell her...your mom can’t be a blogger.

Actually what most people don’t know is….a blogger and homemaker are very similar. As a homemaker, you’re sitting at home…drinking coffee, talking nonsense with your friends on the phone, coming up with excuses as to why things are not getting done around the house, while your ass grows. As a blogger, you’re sitting at home...drinking coffee, writing nonsense about your family and friends on your computer, coming up with excuses as why things are not getting done around the house, while your ass grows. See…….what I’m talkin’ about here.

AND with both blogger and homemaker…you get ZERO glory and ZERO money.

Let My Cell Phone Go

We recently had an incident…Wishy’s cell phone went MIA. Bri and I both looked everywhere for it…even through the garbage. (I’m still wondering how I got that nasty job.) We also called her phone using my cell and our home phone. No Answer. Nothing.

The case, however, was solved in a couple of hours. A friend of Bri’s sent her a message on Facebook and told her that he had just texted her cell phone and got a weird sounding text back…nothing like Bri. The text response read: Who is dis?” …Not exactly the way Bri talks. (Plus she knows her friend’s number.) Someone had Sweet Wishy’s phone.

So Bri texted the person: “thanks for finding my phone…if you intend on returning it, please text me…but if I don’t hear from you…I am turning off the service and it will be no good to you.” Did she hear from the person?….No answer. Nothing.

This might have been a professional job…a cell phone kidnapping and they were looking for some ransom money. Maybe Bri needed to do more to get her phone back. Maybe she needed to plead with her cell phone captors…beg…grovel…Let my cell phone go. Maybe she should have responded:

I know you are somewhere out there with my precious cell phone…please give it up. It means nothing to you and everything to me. We’ve been together for a couple of years and it would just tear me up inside, if I could never see my cell phone again…never see the pink bedazzles I’ve attached…never hear its ring tones. Whatever it takes, I am willing to do. Just be nice to it…it has never done you any harm. It means more to me than to you. I beg of you, please respond and let me know how I can go about getting my beloved cell phone back. I won’t get the police involved…I’ll keep it between the two of us. I will wait to hear from you.

Maybe Sweet Wishy needs to watch more cop shows….

Dog Trains Kat

Our lawn looks better than it has ever looked and that would be “no thanks” to Duncandog. It would be “yes thanks” to ChemLawn…or EXCUSE ME, now TruGreen. Same company, more environmentally friendly sounding name.

Anyway, after 10 years with Organicare, our lawn was starting to look like it needed help…the kind you can’t get with a wimpy fertilizer. What was needed was something bad ass…that would be…weed killer and chemically engineered products. Wow…what a difference a few chemicals can make.

Plus, what a difference keeping your dog from peeing and crapping on your lawn can make. This summer we were away for a month and when we returned, our lawn looked like a turf builder commercial….thick, green, lush. People were stopping to take pictures. Promise. Chemlawn/Trugreen did its part and Duncandog’s absence… did its part.

Now my mission…keep the damn Duncandog from burning out our lawn. I decided to train Duncan to do his dirty business in the woods. So in the mornings I would put a leash on him…walk him across the backyard lawn and tell him to “go in the woods.” At first when we walked across the lawn, he tried to stop and “do it” right there. But I would tug him by the leash always saying……. “Duncan, go in the woods.” This is one smart dog and I could tell by the smart ass look he gave me…he knew exactly what I was insisting.

After reaching success in just a week of using this method…I decided to graduate Duncandog…no more leash. So now I would follow him outside…just to make sure. As we walked toward the woods, he would try to stop and “do it” on our beautiful chem lawn. He’d look at me, “Thanks Kat for such a nice lawn for me to pee and crap on.” I would insist, “No Duncandog…go in the woods.” For a few more weeks, I continued to follow his rear end to the woods.

Problem: Now the mornings are getting colder…I don’t want to follow his ass outside through the cold wet grass. I know he’s a smart dog and has been well trained….so I decide to hang back on the top step and watch…let my pupil go alone. I yell to him as he heads out by himself… “go in the woods Duncan.” I am so pleased with my training as I watch him trot towards the woods. Wait, he is stopping … in the middle of the lawn. He turns his head back to me…then looks forward toward the woods…and then pees right there. I run down the steps and chase him through the yard, yelling, “go in the woods.”

Okay….I got it…it just took me a while. Our dog knows how to train a Kat.

Joe the Plumber

If you watched the Presidential debate last week you’ve heard who won …Joe the Plummer. After the debate, Joe was immediately plunged into the spotlight. He’s an instant celebrity…receiving more than his 15 minutes of fame. If you google his Wikipedia…you’ll see he’s arrived. There is even an online effort to get Joe to run for U.S. Congress. Slogan idea: Vote Joe the Plummer. He’ll roto-root cloggy Washington politics.

Doggone it, Joe Six-pack…you’ve just been replaced by Joe the Plumber. Heck, Golly, I liked Sarah Palin’s Joe Six-pack reference for the “normal American” wink, wink. But Joe the plumber might be a better symbol. Statistics show that most Americans don’t have six-packs…they’re aren’t that toned.

People can relate to Joe the Plumber….the common man. He exemplifies the struggles the everyday man faces to get ahead and live the American Dream. Okay, I can see the attraction to Joe the Plumber …butt, too much of Joe the Plumber…is a little too draining. Maybe McCain might want to think about using me to represent a cross-section of America. I,too, have a story. His next political sound bite could go like this:

My friends, let me tell you about my friend, Kat the Blogger. She’s an American blogger just trying to get ahead in the world. She’s been working hard blogging and making no progress with her life. Did I mention…she is making no progress with her life? I am here to tell you how I can help Kat the Blogger and others just like her. First of all, I am a maverick…with maverick ideas about how to help bloggers. I am not the same as all the other Cyperspace insiders. I’m someone who marches to the stroke of my own keyboard. These are tough times. I fight…for Kat the bloggers of the world. I fight…to restore pride in the blogger party. I will bring change. I do not have the same old blogging politics that have been going on for years in cyberspace. I fight for you….Kat the blogger.

Okay, I admit…maybe the idea of Kat the blogger replacing Joe the Plumber as the go-with-the-flow working class symbol is leaking in substance…I mean, lacking. If you listen carefully, you can hear my dreams as the next American icon going down the drain.

Besides, the best thing about Joe the Plumber…you can take a better crack at him.