My New Mantra

I recently read a quote from Maria Sharapova. If you follow tennis at all or Cannon Camera commercials, you have to know her...tall drink of water (my parents say that) pretty blonde athletic tennis player….with a BIG attitude. She played in the French Open and at Wimbledon…but got toasted. All the swearing, screaming, and “die opponent” looks she gave her opponents did not help her. So she might have reason for her big ‘tude.

Anyway, she was very snippy after her French Open loss and was quoted in the newspapers as saying, “I can’t please everyone. That’s not in my J. D., you know, not in my job description.” Love it!

That, my friends, is my new mantra. That saying is the ole trump card…the ace of spades. Moms usually try to please everyone and we know it is virtually impossible…but still we try. So when things don’t work out…I’m using my new mantra: “I can’t please everyone. That’s not in my J.D.”

I can’t wait to use it…which should real soon….when PaulA and Brianna walk through the door for dinner and I ….uhhh…don’t have any. "Hey…I can’t please everyone. That’s not in my J.D."

My new mantra would have really come in handy over the years. Too bad that ‘tude tennis player couldn’t have been born twenty years earlier. But I guess….She can’t please everyone…That’s not in her J.D.!!!!!

And if you find this blog not-so-good……. “I can’t please everyone. That’s not in my J.D.” Love it! See how well it is working.

Happy Birthday Dear PaulA

This is a special Sunday submission…because it is my hubby’s birthday. I have now completed all the birthday dedications for those in my immediate family...PaulA is the last. I guess I saved the best for last.

PaulA has taken a little ribbing…and a lot of crap in this blog…and has been a good sport through it all. My silly nickname for him has become infamous. He doesn’t mind if you call him Paul-A to his face…just don’t say Paula. And don’t call him Jethro. Although the Return of Jethro did feature a swallowed fish bone.

I will try to keep this birthday dedication simple…mainly because PaulA does not like much hoopla surrounding himself. He doesn’t require gifts (although he might take money…I never had any to give)…and prefers…the gift of time with his friends and family. He never would object to a party…just wants to be with everyone…without all the foo foo.

If you give him a present. He unwraps it….looks at it…says, “Isn’t that nice” and then puts it back in the box. Now whenever I give him something…I tell him, “I would like a little reaction when you open this gift.” So now…he goes ape shit. The kids get a charge out of it. I have to admit…it is pretty funny. He starts hooting and hollering…jumps up and down…puts the item on…puts it on his head…jumps on the couch (He basically does a Tom Cruise psycho act.) That’s PaulA for you. You give him a little constructive criticism and he runs with it.

Age 52 might sound old to some, but PaulA has so much energy. I do not know where he gets it…or what powerbar he is eating….but he has always been this way. I always knew he would be difficult to keep up with. I wouldn’t call myself a lazyass….but he can plum tucker a person out. The other evening I tried to take a katnap in the chair and pretend that I was awake, but he caught me…when I made no sense.

I have celebrated 33 of PaulA’s birthdays with him…every birthday since he was 19!! And every year is more special than the last…because it is another year with my loving husband.

I can’t wait to give PaulA the monogrammed “Manomet Man” bathrobe I got him for his birthday….and watch his crazy act.

Go PaulA, it’s your birthday!

You Too!

Is it me? Is it just me? Hopefully, not. Here’s the scenario: You are in a store, at a dentist’s or doctor’s office and a person says, “Have a nice day”…and you respond, “You too.” Now that makes perfect sense and is very appropriate. The awkwardness is when a salesperson says, “Here’s your change”….and you respond, “You too.” (Whoops) Without a thought, the “you too” just dribbles out of your mouth.

Sometimes we are just so conditioned to say things to an expected response…like Pavlov’s dog...although the dog never talked. I was driving on the New Jersey Turnpike and we stopped at a rest stop for a little TCBY. After handing me a tub of frozen yogurt, the woman said, “Drive safely”…and I responded, “You too.” Whoops! The toll booth operator took my change and said, “Have a good day”…and I responded, “You too.” (Whoops…again) (Kinda awkward…the person is trapped in a cage on the Turnpike.)

I’m shopping at the Taj MaMall and the sales lady says, “Thanks for shopping with us.”… “You too.” (Whoops!) Come back and see us… “You too.” I just can’t stop myself.

The other day I answered the phone while I was talking to Bri. As I was about to hang up on an annoying solicitor selling phone services …I caught myself before saying, “Bye…love you.” (Whoaaaaa!)

Bye for now…Love you. You too!

Happy Birthday Jayne

Today is my sister, Jayne’s birthday…that’s Jane with a Y…Jayne!! Jayne heard the call of the wild to move West…so Wild Jayne and Carl moved to Arizona. I don’t get to see her as much as I would like…so thank Dell for my computer.

Our family nickname for Jayne is Jaynie bug. Trust me, she didn’t get that name cuz she looked like a cricket or a cockroach. No way, she was way too cute. She got it because she swallowed a lady bug. As kids do…she tried to kiss one and it crawled down her throat. Just a little family lore.

And I mentioned how cute she was…the cutest little girl with black hair, bangs, big dark brown eyes and big smile. Jayne has the distinction of attending college when she was only five. Granted, she is way smart, but this was a preschool called Kiddie College. My dad still talks about it…you would have thought that would have run its course by now. My dad is still relying on his old material.

Jayne and I shared a room growing up. Jaynie bug was a good roommate…only squabbles were the “Who said” kind: “Who said…you could wear my favorite shirt? Who said…you could take my record? Who said…you were the boss? But, Who said…sisters couldn’t have a couple of “Who saids?" and not be good friends and loving sisters.

Back in high school, I used to call Jayne by her Spanish name, Juanita…because she was learning Spanish… and I was practically a Spanaird with two years of high school Spanish under my poncho. Juanita, pass los huevos, por favor. Carlota, tu eres muy fea. Yep, Juanita and Carlota…a couple of senoritas gone loco.

Jayne is very mechanical…probably because she studied Mechanical Engineering in college. She can draw up detailed plans and figure out anything. She works for a company in Phoenix that designs and builds themed environments, exhibitions, restaurants, and she even worked on the last super bowl…not to be confused with the last supper. If you watched the half-time show this year…you would have seen her work. She is a very exact person…hanging a picture is a science project. She’s figured out all the heights and distances from the ceiling, ground, and the equator…exact perfection. She’s not about to hit and miss…and put 3 holes in the wall…like yours truly.

Jayne can be very frugal…not wasteful. She is very good for the environment. She might be prudent, and thrifty when it comes to her budget…but when it comes to her heart…she’s generous, giving, warm, over-flowing. She is the sweetest, kindest, caring person to her family and friends…and especially her nieces and nephew.

This year Jayne will be visiting us on her 49th and holding birthday. Who said….49 is getting old??

Happy Birthday Juanita,
I love you,
your seester Carlota.

Duncandog Is A Decade

Duncan is ten years old today. The funny thing is…I thought Duncan’s tenth birthday was last June 24th. I had even made a big dog deal celebration for the four-legged rump roast. I am not sure how come I jumped a whole year. It was his Vet that set met straight, “ole Duncandog is turning 10 this year.” And I said, “Oh no..that was last year.” And he said, “Oh no…that is this year.” Seeing he had all the doggie documents…I didn’t bother to argue...any further.

I had even gone to the dog bakery. A beautiful bakery with a glass-case filled with lots of dog delicacies that looked good enough for any human to eat. Dog food disguised as cupcakes, canolis, and cookies. I picked out the cutest little doggie cake. Nothing but the best for my Duncandog on his birthday. So I put a candle in his cake and gathered the family around to sing “Happy Birthday, dear Duncandog.”

So I got to thinking, how unfair of me to make Duncan a whole year older than he really is. I’ m sure Duncandog was wishing he could correct me when he would hear me say my ole dog was a decade. Stop oldKat, I am only NINE.

And the worst thing is...those are dog years. Messing up by one year is a big damn dog deal because it is really 7 years. So last year Duncan was only 63 and not 70, after all.

I have to make it up to Duncan this year….give him a proper 10th birthday…do it up for the little guy. Maybe I’ll get another doggie birthday cake…or maybe I'll make it two doggie cakes…make it extra special with ten candles.

AfterKatdogword

Duncandog: that Kat better get me something good for my birthday…after gettting my age wrong last year. What an air head! Nothing like making me 70 when I am still a spry 63. And if she gives me that crappy dog cake with a candle in it…like she did last year…I am gonna get sick on her rug. Why do humans think we like that stuff? It might look tasty to her, but has she ever tried it? And if the Fam sings that goofy song again…off-key…I am running for the hills.

Kat: Oh, Happy Birthday my Duncandog! Today is your tenth birthday and I got your favorite….doggie birthday cake...just like last year. Come here my little side of beef, we are going to sing "Happy Birthday to you." Oh, Duncandog…Come back here…where ya going?

Pat, I Presume

Just a tiny tirade about …all the mail we get from Capital One. You must be getting it too. We receive at least 2 letters every week…each one disguised to look like something we might want to open. But what smells like a rat usually is…and I end up dumping it in the trash…even before opening it. But sometimes it passes the sniff test and I open it.

I would like to meet the originator of all this mail...Pat W. Johnston, Director of Consumer Services of Capital One. Pat sends us so much mail…I could have a recycling bin dedicated to Pat from Capital One. I bet if I saved all the mail Pat has sent over the past year, it would weigh more than my leg, or my dog. Well, one of those.

I have a couple of questions for Capital One regarding their employee, Pat. First question, aren’t there some other jobs Pat could do, besides sending us all this mail? I suggest having Pat make coffee. Second question, is Pat a man or a woman? I guess it doesn’t make a difference, Pat is a pain regardless of sexual identity, but I am just curious. I like having a mental picture of my nemesis.

The funny thing is…about two years ago I decided…why not do dear Pat a favor and get the crummy credit card that Pat has been trying to shove down my throat? So I called the toll-free number to apply. As expected…I got a man in India, Joe, who I had a hard time understanding…but then again I have a hard time understanding the Boston accent.

After a lot of… “Huh, what did you say?”….I ordered the card which was to come within the next 2 weeks….but it never came. Ole Pat’s company never sent their card. So I waited another 2 weeks and then called the company again. A very polite Indian woman, Mary, said, “Oh let me order it again…and it will come within 2 weeks”…and it never came. (You must be catching on by now.)

So I called Capital One again and got another one of Pat’s friends in India, Sam, and I told Sam to keep his crappy credit card and to tell Ole Pat that I am sticking with my former Citicard….especially because they wised-up and gave the umbrella back.

So Pat is still up to the usual tricks…trying to disguise mail in different ways to get me to open it. I guess, I have to admire Pat’s persistence.

I’ll be hearing from Pat, I presume, in a couple of days.

Imaginary Friends

I am parked at school waiting for Wishy after her final exams…her high school does have a bus, but Wishy likes her mommy to pick her up. And hey, she'll be a senior in the fall so my days waiting for Sweet Wishy are numbered.

So I’ m sitting in the car…waiting…humming…waiting. And then I see a friend of mine across the parking lot sitting in her car, waiting…humming…waiting. So I give a friendly quick wave. No reaction. Hmmm…I swear she is looking right at me, although I can’t see her eyes through her big ass... I mean, really big sunglasses. Hmmm...maybe she didn’t see me wave. Maybe I need to give a bigger wave. So I try again, this time I give a windshield washer wave. I swear she is looking right at me…I don’t want to seem unfriendly.

Oh, I think she sees me this time. Great…it looks like she is gonna wave back. Finally she sees friendlyKat. But then, wait…her hand goes up…and she scratches the back of her head. Oh, awkward. Gee…I look around. Did anyone else see that? See me waving wildly and getting zero response. It’s embarrassing….I don’t want other people around to think that I am a poser…posing to have friends.

Total humiliation. Okay. I am not falling for this a third time. But I see her look over in my direction again. Hello Friend…remember me…we play golf and paddle together. Remember.

I have to grab my own hand to not wave again. There could be a number of reasons for her lack of response. Maybe her eyes were recently dilated…that would explain the big ass sun glasses. Maybe I beat her big time in golf and paddle….but that probably didn’t happen. Maybe she can’t see this far.....

Brianna finally gets in the car… “Hey mom, who you waving to?”

Good thing Brianna can drive to school next year…that way I won’t be sitting in line waving to my imaginary friends.

Tattoos!

It is tattoo season. The time of year when the weather is warm. People are wearing less…and showing more…thus exposing all those nasty tattoos.

To put it nicely, I am just not a fan of tattoos. To put it harshly, I DESPISE them. I don’t understand how someone would think it was a good idea to stick a needle in their arm and chance getting hepatitis, infection, or an allergic reaction just to have your significant’s name carved into you…when they will probably be insignificant within a year. Or to burn some Chinese characters into you...symbols that you are told mean “house of happiness", but really mean “house of ill-repute.” But hey, call me crazyKat…maybe I just don’t get it.

Colinboy talks about wanting a tattoo…not a good idea son. Someday that tattoo will be drooping or hanging…not something that you want exposed to the public. I have told him, if you must do something…get a piercing instead…something that can grow over or close up. Not something that is so permanent that you have it forever…until you are toes up.

Once I was walking through a mall behind a woman who was wearing a shirt that was open in the back so her tattoo was totally exposed. It was a picture of the NYC skyline and a plane hitting the twin towers…with fire and smoke billowing. It was so scary. It didn’t seem fair that we all had to look at it…when she never had to see it…unless she stood in a 3-way mirror at Macys. If she really wanted one, then why didn’t she put it where she could see it!!! Could you please cover up for J.Q. Public.

So if you have to get a tattoo, please put it in a place where no one ever sees it….maybe a place where the sun doesn’t shine …and I don’t mean Alaska. I’m talking on your bottom...or the bottom of your foot.

And someday, when you are toes up….you can show it off.

The Food-Teller

You can tell a lot about a person by the way he eats. I don’t mean manners…like whether you put your elbows on the table or chew with your mouth open. That is a no-brainer…that person is a slob. I am talking about the order food is eaten…and the way you arrange food on your plate, like at a buffet. I am not a psychologist or claim to be one on TV, but I can tell a lot about people by the way they eat. I guess it is just a natural gift that I was born with. Some people are lucky like that.

When PaulA eats his food he takes a bite from everything on his plate so that he is left with equal amounts. Take for example…a meal with eggs, toast, bacon and juice. He eats them so that at the end of his meal, he is left with a little bit of egg and bacon and a small bite of toast with one swig of juice. (By the way, this drives his buddy, BillyA, crazy.) This eating strategy reveals that he is a planner and an organizer…which is totally his personality.

Then there is the type of person who eats all of his food randomly…haphazardly…willy nilly. These types of people are disorganized…they run from one job to the next before completing anything.

What about the person who finishes all of one food on his plate before eating the next? Easy, that person likes to finish something completely before starting something new.

Then there is the person who does not like their food to touch each other. These folks definitely have issues that are over my head, but I do know that they particularly dislike close-talkers.

Lastly, there are those like me…I put each type of food on the side of the plate. Even if I have one food item…I do not put it in the middle…always the side. This says that I like order and everything in its place. That must explain why my house is neat 24/7. :)

I have a friend…JayneL…who could be considered a Food-Teller…she may also have the gift. When she met me for the very first time, she said that I looked like the type of person who picks the kidney beans out of my chili. OMG, she was exactly right on the chili bowl. But what does picking the beans out of my chili say about me? She never disclosed this…she might have been afraid to say. Maybe it says that I am the type of person who is very picky, fussy, persnickety…

Or it could say that I am the type of person…who hates kidney beans PERIOD

I Object

“Your honor, I object.” I was so impressed the first time I heard those words in a courtroom. They actually say them…not just on Court TV. There I was in a courtroom with an actual judge (sans white wig, darn), 2 lawyers and a plaintiff. It was a dark wood paneled room with a juror’s box….I was living a real life Perry Mason Show. I was just hoping the lawyers would keep saying “I object.”

I was picked to serve on the jury for a civil trial on a slip and fall case. I was the alternate…Alternate #1. So if one of the jurors couldn’t fulfill their duties…I was in. I was shocked they even picked me…that they didn’t object …even after one of the lawyers disclosed he indirectly knew me and that he had once played golf with my husband. I’m sure he was being objective and probably figured I was a push over…like PaulA was that day at golf. :)

So I drove dutifully into the city to the courthouse for 5 days…and I never objected once. I loved the whole process and I got paid. I wasn’t paid a lot of money…but it was more than they give me to write these blogs 5 days a week. How could I object? I was very objective about my fellow jurors and found them very interesting and colorful.

As the case progressed, I got more and more into it. I was dreaming about it. I tried to be objective, but I was totally on the fallen woman’s side. The poor woman had attended a wedding at an Elk’s Club, slipped on the waxed floor when she walked in, and damaged her arm. She had to have surgery and was not able to do her job as a typist. Damn, I know whenever I hit my funny bone…I wanna cry. I felt terrible for her. I was wishing I was Juror #1 and not Alternate #1.

It didn’t take long for me to know the other jurors objected to giving her even a penny. They said they wished they could have a million dollars too. Geez, if it was up to me, I would not have objected to giving her the million dollars or at least some of it. But that was the problem…I didn’t have a say as the alternate. I sat there for a week and when it was time to deliberate… I was out.

I would do the whole thing over in a heart beat. I got to hear the lawyers say, “I Object” several times and I was happy to serve my civil duty. But next time I would want a vote. The jury is out…. I object to being an Alternate…it bites.

I hope you don’t object to this long dissertation.

Facebook

Email = snail mail. That may be hard to believe, but in the kid’s eyes…you might as well be licking a stamp and depositing your letter in the blue metal mailbox. Let’s face it …kids have moved on. Email is so yesterday…so old school…so classic. It’s like taking a slow boat to China. They have stuff way cooler…Instant Messaging, Text Messaging and the mother of all…Facebook.

Their world revolves around Facebook. Facebook...a virtual meeting place…the world according to young people. This is where they post a picture and profile of themselves. I don’t think it asks for height and weight, but it asks for your status…we’re talking romantic availability. Cuts right to the chase. Facebookers also love to put lots of pictures of themselves out there…family photos, friend photos, dog photos, and party photos…and sometimes incriminating photos…friends at a family party getting sick as a dog photos.

On Facebook, you can collect friends like you can prizes in a cereal box. But where are they when you need them? You have 256 friends…but they are all online…you don’t see them, talk to them, but hey they’re your buds.

Friendships, dateships, and loveships have been made, broken, and obliterated on Facebook. And when the break up occurs…updates from Facebook are automatically generated. "Attention Johnny and Judy have broken up"…23 minutes ago. Where ya been?

A fun thing on Facebook…is that you can poke someone. It’s a way of getting someone’s attention...without out pulling hair or dipping a ponytail in the ink well. Back in the day, when I was in 5th grade, there was a boy named Craig H. who got my attention. He would follow me…harass me…push me. What did I ever do to him? So my mother met with my teacher…and the teacher told her that this stalker/bully liked me. Wow…what would he do if he loved me? I would be in real danger. He got my attention… a little Facebook poke would have been gentler.

If kids are gonna throw a party…just shout it out on Facebook. Who needs an old school handwritten invitation. Before you know it, there are 150 kids at your house and the cops aren’t far behind…..

I used to think I was “with it”…down with the new technology with blogging and emailing….but now I find that I am actually on that slow boat to China.

High-Grass Violaters

“Homeowners who don't mow their grass in Canton, Ohio now face possible jail time. The city council unanimously passed a law that makes a second high-grass violation a fourth-degree misdemeanor…carrying a fine of up to $250 and as many as 30 days in jail.”

It is about time citizens in a town stood up for what is really important in life…well-manicured lawns. We all know how essential it is to keep up with the Jones’ lawn. So if these high-grass violaters should falter and not keep up with scheduled cutting…then I say, “Off to jail. Lock the damn door and throw away the key.” It is a big job for the city council to keep America beautiful…one lawn at a time. If these violaters can’t afford the price of gas required to mow…then a pair of scissors is always an option. No excuses here.

Believe me, it would be easier and less expensive if we could just let our lawns go to pot…you know what I mean…go to crap. I would love the opportunity to let my lawn crap out…but a guilty conscious keeps it mowed. Some people don’t have a guilty conscious or any conscious so they need a little incentive. Besides, if I have to keep up my lawn…then put the rascals in jail who aren’t doing their part.

My sketchy neighbors (who have since moved out in the middle of the night), would have been the poster family for high-grass violation. For their sake, they better not have moved to Canton, Ohio…where their ass would be grass by now and they would be singing the “get me outta Canton, Ohio” blues.

And while the reasonable people that make up the city council are at it….I hope they don’t stop there, when there is so much legislation that is needed. They should also establish a law requiring incarceration for women whose nails are not finely manicured. Chipped nail polish, ragged nails, and overgrown cuticles violations should carry a minimum sentence of two weeks in the slammer.

And for those who own cars so filthy…you can read the words “Wash Me” on their back window….they deserve to do hard time.

Word - Fo sho

Sometimes my kids do not use appropriate words when they talk to me…a little too much slang…and I have to remind them that they are talking to their mother…not one of their friends. “Excuse me, Colinboy but should you really be saying, ‘my band’s new CD is the shit.’ Shouldn’t you be saying, your ‘band’s new CD is terrific.’ That just sounds better.”

Kids these days…have their own way of talking…their own words. And sometimes I have to admit…it is kinda fun. My dawg, Linnyj and I are off the heasy when it comes to the lingo. Word. And sometimes just for kicks….I like to use my kid's words...back at them. And when I do…they laugh their butts off. When they least expect it …I fire one off and it gets them every time.

To Chelsea: “Girlfriend, your cell phone is blowing up.”
To Brianna: “You chillin with your homies tonight? No ragers.
To Colin: “Check out Dad’s pimpin’ new ride. It’s Saweeeet.”

But then…I would have laughed my ass off if my parents said to me, “We had a far-out bitchen groovey time at the disco. Can you dig it?

I guess it is best when kids and their rents each stick with their own lingo…fo sho.
Peace Out – Girl Scout.
Snizzle my nizzle Beeotches.
It’s all good….Aiight??
Snaps to Kat for another bangin’ blog!
Da bom diggity.
I can’t stop myself!
Blogger mother gone mad wild.

Fear Factor

There is so much danger out there, folks. It is enough that we have to worry about robbers, looters, chain-saw murderers and pesky salesmen….but there is another category of danger. One that keeps my friend, Pia, up at night…and out of her backyard …the wild world of animals. You pick an animal and she is afraid of it. Lions…oh yea. Tigers…oh yea. Bears….oh my! Squirrels….run for the hills.

Pia is a petite woman so no wonder she is afraid. She has just cause. She’s so petite – she could easily be a tasty human petifor…for a mountain lion…with just one gulp. And God knows she’s seen at least one mountain lion in her backyard…or so she swears. :)
(Sure, we believe you Pia.)

The biggest threat and fear for Pia are the evil squirrels… she is a marked woman when it comes to the squirrel species. They are sure to attack her at any given moment. They are sitting in her backyard watching her every move…and plotting their next. They are probably peering through her kitchen window watching her make dinner right now. I’m not sure what she did to piss them off…to make them want to jump her.

And the golf course is a problem. If she shanks her ball in to the woods (for her sake, not often), she requires that someone watch her back. I know this, because I play golf with her and I promise I am watching. All the animals could have conferenced and planned a sneak attack on Pia while she was innocently trying to get in “a quick nine.”

It’s not like her husband hasn’t tried to rid their yard of these evil squirrels…to get Pia back outside. Pedro…a Marlin Perkins Wild Kingdom guy…has put a lot of effort into trapping these creatures. He knew that he had to think like a squirrel to catch one….he had to get squirrely. So Pedro got some traps and strategically placed them in squirrel places. I wonder if that squirrel running around the top of their roof even knows he has a trap attached to it.

I’d like to help Pia get over her backyard squirrel phobia. Here’s a couple of suggestions. I hear cats are a good deterrent to squirrels. How about we find that elusive mountain lion and invite him over for some backyard squirrel ….a sort of neighborly backyard barbecue for one hungry mountain lion. He should bring the sauce. Or maybe I could just sit in Pia’s backyard……this is one Kat that could scare all the squirrels away.

A Hankering

Do you ever get a hankering….a hankering for junk food? You know, Mickey D’s, Burger King, Wendy’s…fart food, I mean, fast food. These burger joints usually get a bad rap from health experts.

I suppose you can eat healthy at Ronald’s house. They do offer healthy menus that are all about salad and fruit…but what’s the point in that? If I wanted to eat healthy, I could stay home, eat an apple and keep the freaking doctor away. But where else can I get a Big Mac and French fries with just the right amount of special sauce and artery-clogging, heart-stopping saturated grease…Go Ronald. Damn, there’s nothin’ like it.

So the other day I got the idea… it would be fun to eat junk food for a day…for the entire day. I am talking breakfast, lunch and dinner and maybe an afternoon snack. I’ll call my hankering an experiment. Yeah, that’s what I’ll say. If anyone dares question me, I’ll say I am doing research …a study… scientific writing on the effects of fast food on a middle-aged woman. I could get away with that angle. Who would dare mess with a middle-aged woman with angles?

My ideal McMenu:
Breakfast…….Egg Mc Muffin.
Lunch…10-piece Chicken McNuggets, fries, diet coke :)
Dinner…Big Mac Attack, French fries, and Chocolate shake.
Snack…McFlurry with Oreo.

I am so looking forward to an entire day of eating this belly-busting food……It seems so scandalous. I just hope this McMiddle-aged woman doesn’t get a McMonster tummy ache…...McKatOUT

Reunited

This is the time of year for Class Reunions from high school and college. Time to get together with old friends, reminisce, and find out if Johnny lived up to his “Most Likely To Succeed” distinction and if Betty still deserves “Best Looking.”

PaulA and I attended Groovy UV (That’s the University of Vermont) back when we were a couple of cool groovers. We missed our Reunion last week because Brianna had her prom. We weren’t missing her big event…just so someone could take a good look at us and say…"my, they have aged." Anyway, I married my best friend from college. And we have a reunion every night when PaulA walks through the door.

Oh, honey….it is so nice to see you. Now how long has it been? Let me guess, I haven’t seen you in what…about 8 or 9 hours. Oh, wait, there was that special time you popped in around 10 a.m. because you left your cell phone on the counter…I almost forgot about that.

You know…you still look great after all these hours. You haven’t changed a bit. You haven’t aged since I last saw you get out of bed. You still have hair...nothing on the shower floor this morning. And you haven’t gained a single pound since last night…so amazing.

So we need to get caught up on everything. What have you been doing with yourself these 8 or so hours? How have you been spending your time? Are you still playing golf or did you give it up after you had that bad round last evening?

Oh, I remember the time…when you and I got up this morning and had breakfast together….you had the bagel and I had the English muffin…it was the best. Then you said, ‘See ya later honey, have a good day.” I’ll never forget it.

Hey, let’s get together real soon...not let so much time pass between reunions….let’s try to do lunch.

Happy Birthday Brianna!

Brianna is 17 years old today. June is a great month for a birthday and I will always remember the gorgeous day we brought our beautiful Baby Brianna home…to complete our family. I remember staring at her with amazement as she slept in her cradle…the face of a cherub with a peaches and cream complexion.

Wishy gets her nickname from the songs I used to sing to her before bed. I would always end with “A Dream is a Wish” from Cinderella and then whisper, “good night Sweet Wishy.” But I think she most preferred, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

Growing up Brianna has always looked forward to her birthday. She would start talking about it…at least 6 months early…even at the age of 4. It would be January, with the snow falling and Brianna would be asking, “Mom, what kind of birfday should I have?” “How many friends can I have at my birfday?”

Bri, at every age, has always been the ultimate party girl. She would be right in the middle of things with red cheeks, a big smile and a big belly laugh…one that came from her toes. My friend, Tracy, told me back when Bri was 5 that she could picture Brianna in college at a keg party. Woah…that was looking at least 13 years into the future. (I hope!) I wasn’t sure where Bri’s excitement came from…the festivities, the friends, or the sweet treats. At least it wasn’t the keg…not yet.

You name a theme party…we’ve been there and done it. As long as she was asking for it, I was dishing it out. I would start planning…with pads of paper, ideas, cookbooks, décor, surprises, prizes, invitations, supplies, spreadsheets…you name it. I would pull out all the stops for my party girl. Doggie pound, bouncey house, Who dunnit detective party complete with dead dad in the Jacuzzi, Punk’d, camping, swimming, circus…for starters. One year I gave her a very elaborate Survivor party…….and she was eliminated...by me…Jeff Prost. What kind of mom am I…that I didn’t cheat…I mean, fix it to make her win??? Last year on her 16th we took Bri and 7 friends into NYC for the mystery Accomplice tour…shopping and dinner.

So now that Bri is turning 17…I might be off the hook with theme parties. But if she asks me, “Mom, what kind of birfday should I have?”…..I am all over it!!

Happy Birthday Sweet Wish…you complete us!

Try Again

I recently read about a new device…a hand-held lie detector. It is being used by the U.S. Army in Afghanistan to screen possible threats entering military bases and roadside bombing suspects. I was thinking about more practical uses for this device. Something that could help me in my every day life. Let’s see:

PaulA says to me: “I played 18 holes this afternoon.” Sorry PaulA, this here lie detector says you’re lying through your golf shirt…you actually played 27. “Well…the last 9 don’t count ...I played them so badly.” Try again, PaulA.

Colin says to me: “I got home around 1 a.m.” Sorry Colinboy, this here lie detector says you’re lying through your scruffy face…it was actually 2 a.m. “Well, the last hour doesn’t count...I stopped having fun.” Try again, Colinboy.

Brianna says to me: “I only had 3 of my friends over last night. Sorry Brianna, this here lie detector says you’re lying through your angel face…you actually had 4. “Well…one girl was only an acquaintance…I just met her.” Try again, Brianna.

Chelsea says to me: “I bought one new outfit last week.” Sorry Chelsea, this here lie detector says you’re lying through your southern accent…you actually bought 3 outfits. “Well...two don't count...one is for a job interview and I decided the other is ugly.” Try again, Chelsea.

It would be great if I could get my hands on that hand-held lie detector. No one could ever pull a fast one on me…pull the wool over my eyes…or even pull my chain. Just as long as no one uses the lie detector on me…

Kat says: “I’ve written another meaningful blog.” Sorry Kat, this here lie detector says you’re lying through your blinking cursor…all you’ve written is crap. Try again, Kat.

ADougdendum to June 4th.............
Doug says to me: "Today is my birthday and I am 40 years old." Sorry Doug, this here lie detector says you're lying through your sinister smile...you may think you are 40 today but you are actually 44. "Well...at least I'm not 104 like you and PaulA." Try again, Dig.

Inconveniently Running On Empty

When I am running low on gas, the idea of stopping and dropping 60 plus dollars in my gas tank is not appealing. But I am smart enough to know, I can’t avoid the red warning light for too long before leg power is my next mode of transportation. PaulA has a knack for running out of gas…that’s his story. This is my story. I have run out of gas only once. Leave it to me to run out during a bank robbery. (No joke.)

I was driving a car rental because my trusty minivan was in the shop. Colinboy, age 5, and I were headed to his ski lesson at a nearby mountain. On the way, I inconveniently ran out of gas. But conveniently a cop appeared out of nowhere and helped me. He actually took us to the gas station and back to the car. He wanted to keep us moving...a man had just robbed the bank and had taken off on foot. Colin thought it was "the coolest" to see his gun rack stretched across the back of his cop car.

We were a little late, but Colinboy joined the class at the bunny hill for his ski lesson. I watched with the other moms from the warm lodge, of course. I told the other moms my story about inconveniently running out of gas, the cop and the bank robber. They laughed and probably thought I was a weirdo.

As we watched the lesson we noticed something odd. Why does the ski instructor have our kids hunkered down in the snow…looking like they are trying to hide? We then saw… a man running through the bunny hill with 3 cops chasing after him. The cops caught up with him…threw him to the ground and hand-cuffed him.

It seems that I was not the only one who ran out of gas. The bank robber was also inconveniently running on empty........