Prom Night

Once guys have undergone the torture and humiliation of asking a girl to their high school prom…I have to say, it’s a breeze from there. I have seen both sides…the girly-q side with Wishy and Big C, and the manly-b side with Colinboy. The guy side is waaaay easier. Hands and Tuxedo down.

The girly-q side starts with the dress dilemma…should it be long, short, low neckline, lower neckline, low back, lower back, front, no front? The shoes: should they be flat, heeled, high-heeled? The jewelry: should it be understated, overstated or overrated? The manicure and pedicure: should it be natural or unnatural? Makeup: of course. And the hair: I won’t even get in to the hairdo’s (and the don’ts.)

The manly-b side starts with one-stop shopping…tux, tie, taps…penguin attire.

As for the amount of time to get ready…no comparison. The girls need plenty of it. The guys need 4 minutes. Bri’s prom is tonight…Friday night…and the girls will leave school early…so they can make all their appointments and have time to primp and get dressed.

Only the boys are sitting in math class getting an education on a Friday afternoon…no wonder boys score better in math. And forget the girls going to any sports practices after school. They can’t be getting all sweaty and stinky. The coach has to cancel due to lack of bodies…….

The boys have time for practice…then saunter home, take a shower and throw on their penguin suit. And they look good. Which doesn’t seem fair…but this inequity goes on for the rest of their lives.

Last year a penguin-in-training confessed to his prom date: “My dad says I have to be nice to you. This whole prom thing means more to the girl.” Although his admission does ring true…I believe that was meant to be kept between penguins.

The girls, after all their fussing and primping, …are stunning. They radiate inner beauty and youthfulness. A few hours later…after the corsages have wilted, the disco ball stops spinning (wait, this isn’t 1975), and the limos turn into Forerunners and Fords…these beauties will be back to flip-flops, jeans, sweatshirts, and pony-tails…and will be just as stunning.

The prom is a big deal to the girls. And the boys better be nice to them. (You have learned well, young penguin-in-training.)

Emoting About Emissions

President Obama is putting forth legislation to make cars cleaner. Just when I was actually beginning to appreciate the smell of auto emissions...that odiferous smell of cyclobutanes with a combo of carburetor fumes. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

You’re familiar with that lovely smell. I love getting a good wiff of it as I’m sitting in traffic on I-95, bumper-to-bumper and the jalopy in front of me emits a cloud of black smoke…that enters every orifice of my car and permeates my clothing. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

And with the legislation, the smog produced by millions of cars over cities like Denver and LA…will be reduced. And just when I was getting used to the pale grey skies that color my world bleak even when the sun is shining. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

Without smog, my complexion will be missing the urban elements. Now I’m going to be faced with youthful skin…just when I got used to that old person looking back at me in the mirror. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

And with the new clean car policy, cars will be made more efficiently resulting in better gas mileage. And just when I was getting used to having to gas-up after going around the block once. I love stopping into gas stations to see what the attendants are doing and to pick up a bag of Fritos. And now I’ll be buying fewer lottery tickets. I guess I can forget becoming a lottery winner. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

And ghastly, I’ll be paying less for gas. I’ve so enjoyed taking my hard earned money (wait, do I work?) and lining the pockets of the oil companies. Damn, I’m gonna miss that.

President Obama………thanks a lot.

Race for Southwest

Game On.

Ready…Set…Go. I bet you can beat me in getting a lower boarding pass number on the Southwest Airlines website. Everyone beats my ass….

It seems more people are taking advantage of the online feature of getting your boarding pass 24 hours in advance of your flight. So there are more of us competing; trying to beat each other to the pounce for a low boarding number.

You can almost hear the collective mad dash to our computers. There’s Larry in Lubbock …Robin from Roanoke….Cindy from Cincinnati…and let’s not forget, Zach from Zephyrhills…all sitting at their computers staring at the screen…watching the time tick down…ready to attack.

Seconds can make a big difference in what seat you end up with. If you sneeze and blink (and just try not blinking when you sneeze)…you’re sitting in the back of the plane…while good ole Zach is in Row 1 looking all smug with his Pepsi and pretzels.

Wait another ten minutes and you are flying the unfriendly skies between two big sweaty guys; one with a going problem and the other with a coughing problem AND a going problem.

Yesterday I was determined to beat the system. I didn’t leave anything to chance. I took an antihistamine, so there would be no risk of random sneezes and I sat down to my computer early……….

So I had time to practice with the clicker…working on my clicker speed…working out my trigger finger with a few finger exercises. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. Add some more paper clips …and s t r e t c h with a couple of rubber bands.

Seconds ticked down...Game on. I ended up with boarding pass: A44. 43 people still managed to beat me and I was on top of my computer. I even practiced.

How do these people do it? Whenever I arrive at the Southwest gate for my flight …I always check out who’s first in line. I have to stop myself from going over and asking, “Do you have a life?” How is it you are able to get first in line?

They probably are the same people you see at concerts standing in prime real estate. From my seat in the stands, I look down and see the lucky ducks right there in the front row…getting showered on by Springsteen’s sweat. Not fair. I want Springsteen’s sweat too. How do people get these spots? A radio contest maybe? And please explain to me, how do you win a radio contest?

Somehow these people have mastered being Caller Number 9. I’ve tried to be Caller Number 9, but I can’t even be Caller Number 3.

I just don’t have the luck. I swear if I bought a raffle ticket…and there were only two tickets sold in the raffle…I wouldn’t win. Unless, of course, if I entered a contest to be thrown under a train….I am sure I would have the winning ticket.

Maybe that’s the ticket…forget Southwest…take the train.

The Bo Report

Duncandog here to give Bo Obama, a report card on his past few weeks as First Dog. Heck, Obama got a report card after 100 days…so here’s yours. From one Portuguese water dog to another….The Bo Report.

In every picture I’ve seen of you with your fam…you’re pulling them across the lawn. Great job. You've earned an “A”. It’s great how you yank the kids on the leash…but I particularly like how you have Obama on his toes. The Obamas will try to train you…and make you submit…but so far you are doing a great job of showing them who's really in charge. Obama can have the country. But you've got Obama...so basically you da dog.

I hear you don't like the water...another "A" for you. For some reason owners think we want to jump in and swim the damn English Channel...just because we have webbed feet. Leave that for the crazy 2-legged humans. My owners are always trying to get me into the water...but if I was a freakin’ fish, I’d have gills and not this cute little black nose.

I also heard that Michelle Obama told a bunch of first graders that you were a crazy dog. Yep, you are doing your thang. "A+". Crazy is good…heck, it works for Jack Nicholson and Dennis Rodman.

Oh, and I like that you woke the President and his wife up when they were sleeping. First of all, what the heck is going on that the whole fam is sound asleep at 10 p.m. They obviously aren’t watching my favorite program, 24. Jack Bauer is the best. Obama could learn a little something about keeping our country safe from Jack.

Nice job with all the barking when you’re playing with your ball. Another “A” for you. Heck, I do the same thing every morning. I have my breakfast of doggie-O’s, go out for my morning dump, then I come in and throw the ball around and bark. That’s when PaulA gets his papers together and hits the road early for the office. But you’ve got Obama trapped…he’s already at his office.

I hear this is your fourth home. Saweet…you get an “A” for being a boomerang dog. I hear your new trainer is part Portuguese herself. So watch out for that one…she might be a dog whisperer and start messing with your head…after all, she speaks the same language.

So it looks like straight “A’s” for you, Bo. Good dog, Bo. Good dog.
Go to the Head of the Class.

What Ails You?

Back in our college days PaulA and I frequented a bar called What Ales You. And not surprising, sometimes the ale gave me an ailment…but that’s another blog. Here I’m talking about some other ailing…and not the Porky Pig flu. It’s called Senioritis.

Senioritis is a real ailment. The reason I know this: Brianna has a classic case and has all the symptoms. At this point in the school year, high school seniors know where they are going to college and are kicking back…got their feet up and enjoying the senior slide. Not only is the weather changing, but so is their outlook on books, school, and advice from parentals.

Cause of symptoms: High School is so old-school.

That’s not to say Bri has thrown in her book bag or tossed her calculator out the school window. Those rumors about colleges not allowing you admittance after a bad senior year…are true. But Wishy is mostly focused on all the fun coming her way.

If you ask her, Sweet Wish is 21 days from graduation…but who’s counting. She loves to tell us her schedule of upcoming events: Cold Play concert, the Prom, the after-Prom party, Physics field trip (to an amusement park), Senior Field Day, Senior Skip day at the beach, Memorial Day, her 18th birthday, Dave Matthews concert….....

But the big event with the seniors is: The Assassins Game…which by the way, is not sanctioned by the high school. Go Figure. It has been a tradition for years and Bri couldn’t wait until it was her turn to play. The game consists of teams of two who must “eliminate” another designated team, but also avoid being hit. Luckily, the guns they use are just water guns…and not the real McCoy …otherwise I would have to put my foot down.

The game can get really intense and guides every senior's actions. Now seniors have real reasons why they can’t do anything or go anywhere. Reasons why they can’t take out the trash…run an errand…or pick up their clothes. Hell, they are in danger of getting knocked off. Ease up rents.

The game can get pretty serious…Bri stood outside one boy’s house in the pouring rain for an hour to take him out...and we’re not talking dinner. Yep, that’s my sweet darling adorable competitive I’m-gonna-nail-your-ass Daughter. So far…Wishy and her equally possessed partner have made it to round 3…leaving 4 seniors in the dust.

During this season of senioritis…I’ve noticed my senioritis has been acting up…but mine really has nothing to do with graduation… mine hits me mostly in the morning when I attempt to get out of bed.

Cause of symptoms: old age.

So what ails you?

Girl Power

Rachel Alexandra won the Preakness last Saturday on the strength of her girl power. All 1000+ pounds of her. Whoops…no lady likes her weight disclosed. Sorry about that Rach.

I say…never underestimate a woman with four legs. “Girls rule, boys drool.” That’s a little ditty 6 year-old girls say. But in the case of The Preakness 2009…I can’t help but add my own version: Fillies rule, colts are mules. Na na na na na.

The race at the Preakness last Saturday had all the emotion of an After-School Special. Which by the way, is always a tear jerker for me. Any After-School Special (no matter the subject) will have me sitting in a pool of blubber. I mean, blubbering pool.

But an Afterschool Special about horse racing…could only be a double whammy. Remember the movie Seabiscuit? That movie reduced me to blubber because I think horses are beautiful , especially when they are shown running in slow motion. S l o w m o t I o n. . . . seconds my emotion.

I’m hoping the horses like to race as much as they look like they do. Or are they in it for the sugar cubes? I'm guessing it probably is innate because of their breeding. Just like how Duncandog being the Portuguese Water Dog that he is, instinctively picks up his toy and delivers it back and forth, each time he goes through the door.

And when the clock strikes 9 p.m….I instinctively get off the couch and run (in slow motion) toward the kitchen. Ass over tea kettle, as I make my way to the freezer. My arms flailing and reaching out to open the door. The look of extreme bliss as the freezer light shines on my face while I search for my secret stash behind the frozen green beans. Then a series of tears…down my cheeks as I realize …someone beat me to my tub of Chubby Hubby. All the makings of an Afterschool Special.

If a movie isn’t made about this year’s Preakness …I’ll be a horse’s patoot. It was a feel good story which could have only been made better…if the jockey riding the filly…was a woman.

Girls AND Fillies Rule.

Yo Quiero Taco Bell

I read the following news article online: Officials say a suspected drug dealer who led police on a 90 mph chase in Indiana was arrested after he stopped suddenly at a Taco Bell parking lot. The Fort Wayne police say 36-year-old Jermaine Cooper told officers he "knew he was going to jail for a while" and wanted to get one last burrito. “Give me a burrito to go. And make it snappy.” Okay that last line was mine.

I find it interesting that someone would be thinking about their stomach in a time of peril. The guy is driving 90 mph through Indiana…with the cops on his ass and his stomach starts speaking to him in Spanish? Yo quiero Taco Bell.

I’m still having a hard time digesting the article and understanding that guy’s stomach. That’s kinda like those bad, bad people on Death Row who choose their Last Meal the night before they are executed in the morning. I think my stomach would be in knots and a last meal is the last thing I would want. But there are those who order it up….Hmmm should I have the ham, the roast beef, or two all beef patties, pickle, special sauce on a sesame seed bun?

But now I’m thinking…What if I was like burrito loco Jermaine and knew I was going to jail for a while. Where would my high speed chase end?

That’s easy. Dairy Queen.

Last weekend on a trip through the Chusetts of Mass, I asked Colinboy to get off the highway so I could find the DQ that was listed on an exit sign. Being the obedient son…he pulled off. Definitely not something PaulA would have agreed to do. But then again, I’m not PaulA’s mother…although we both have the same name.

Anyway, we exited the highway…drove down the ramp, followed a sign, then a turn, then a mile, then another sign, then a desolate country road. After a couple of miles….we thought: wild goose chase.

We turned around and headed back to the highway. But it was killing me…I had to have my medium twist in a cone…so we pulled into a gas station and I desperately pleaded, “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME…I am looking for the DQ!” “Hey lady, just keep going down that country road.” We turned back around …and our perseverance paid off…My Frozen Frosty Favorite appeared in the distance.

Give the guy his burrito. Give the Kat her twist.

Where would your high speed chase end???

Degrees of Promptness

When it comes to arriving for an appointment…are you early, late, on-time? My dad always says, “You can call me late…but don’t call me late for dinner.”….bada bum. Nice joke, Jerry. (The other Jerry shouldn’t have to worry about Pops stealing his job.)

I would say that PaulA and I are either early or on-time. We are rarely late…so if we aren’t showing up when expected…people wonder. OMG, where is PaulA and Kat? Maybe Kat is having a bad hair day….

Some people use little tricks to keep themselves timely…like set their clock ahead 10 minutes. But if you were the same person who moved the clock ahead….wouldn’t you just factor in the extra time. I know I would. I never understood this trick.

They say President Obama runs late…which is not at all like President George Never Late Bush, but similar to former President Bill Always Late Clinton. Let’s just hope any similarities between Obama and Clinton begin and end there. I hear Obama prefers cigarettes over a cigar anyway…which is a good thing.

There are different degrees of promptness, and I wouldn’t attempt to name names here and put people into specific categories…EARLY BIRD, ON-TIME, LATE, SO LATE YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME LATE. Everyone knows what category they belong in. I don’t need to be pointing fingers.

Sometimes people jump categories…and that’s not always a good thing. It brings in an element of surprise. So the LATE person, suddenly moves into the ON-TIME category. Now that’s a problem, because the on-time person has already factored in that the late person is gonna be late by at least ten minutes…and now they have become the LATE person.

Every degree of promptness can have its problems:

EARLY BIRD: you catch your Grandmother putting in her teeth.

ON-TIME: you catch the plane that ends up in the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

LATE: you just miss seeing the horses cross the finish line at the Kentucky Derby.

SO LATE YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME LATE: you miss seeing your kid graduate from college...summa cum laude.

p.s. Happy Birthday ShoutOUT to Alice May..who is in a category all of her own...Rockin Mom!

Dijongate

In American politics, you never know what will come from under the flood gates…Watergate, Irangate, Monicagate, Travelgate, and now…Dijongate.

Even though Obama and I don’t always have the same politics, we totally agree on choice of condiment. Make it mustard. Last week Obama and Biden were in Arlington, Virginia and stopped into a burger joint for a couple of burgers. Obama dared to order his with the yellow stuff on it.

I know, I know…mustard instead of catsup? Yep…the leader of the Free World and Kat…prefer the turd of the mouse over the sup of the cat. Probably most people would put catsup on their burger, but there are also some radicals out there who must have mayo. Radical PaulA. And not just any mayo…it must be the whip of the miracle.

Now it seems Obama is in a pickle. Obama has been labeled an elitist by some Talking Heads because he ordered his burger with “spicy mustard or a “Dijon mustard.” Personally I think this is just another smear campaign….by a United Catsup Front.

In fact, Obama was quoted as saying in his burger order, “I just want mustard, no ketchup. If you’ve got like a spicy mustard or something like that, or a Dijon mustard, something like that….” He used the phrase, “something like that.” It’s not like he asked for their finest Grey Poupon…year 2009…with an English accent, clenched jaw, and his pinky sticking out.

So big deal, Obama likes a mustard with a little kick. Who wouldn’t want to cover up the taste of a burger from a fast food joint that probably has sat there a couple of days. Nothing like spicy mustard to kill the taste of dried shoe leather.

I like a President who has the hutzpa to ask for a burger the way he likes it. “Have it your way.” After all, isn’t that the American Way???

Turds of the Mouse Unite.

Caught Again

It happened…caught by the house alarm…again. The alarm gets us every time. It went off the other morning when Bri was headed out the armed door for school. “Brianna has left the building.”

So far the only people our alarm has nabbed are the ones who live here. I guess that’s a good thing and I shouldn’t complain…better us, than a real-live scary criminal with a dark hood, gloves, flashlight, and axe (my last nightmare.) PaulA and Wishy don’t scare me as much.

I suppose our alarm is like the alarms in most other homes…one where the culprit caught is the same person who pays the bill. Our alarm has saved us from each other…for years.

I can’t tip-toe downstairs for a mid-night snack with the thing on level 3. That’s when the slightest movement sends the motion detector into full attack. I might have a sudden urge to cozy up to a tub of ice cream…but the alarm curbs those urges. Then there are times I might have slipped out the back door…or climbed out the window. I’m always trying to break out of this house in the middle of the night…Krispy Kreme here comes Kat.

Back in the day…we lived in a new house that had an alarm installed. Being the scaredy-Kat that I am, I was very happy to have our house secure from bad guys with dark hoods brandishing axes.

The first night we used it…I set the darn thing off…as I was tip-toeing downstairs for cough medicine (sure Kat.) The alarm was wild. In addition to the regular alarm sound…it also had a booming and commanding voice that kept repeating: “You have entered a protected area. Please leave the premises.” It sounded like there was a big-mouth cop standing outside with a bullhorn. How do I shut him up???

Thank goodness we don’t have the voice alarm anymore. I especially don’t need to be caught in the act of Chunky Monkey…no that’s not a new dance craze…it’s the pint of Ben and Jerry’s I’ve got stashed in my freezer…behind the bag of frozen green beans.

It’s much better to be caught by a regular alarm than a voice alarm hollering: “You have entered a protected area. Put down the Chunky Monkey and go back to bed, Kat.”

Butt Head 24/7

Previously on 24:
Special Agent Jack Bauer (on a CTU mission to save the world from a terrorist bomb) sneaks up on 4 hostiles in an abandoned warehouse. Jack kicks in the door and slits the throat of the terrorist guarding the door. Then Jack is faced with a 3 on-one situation. Doesn’t sound fair?

No problem…we are talking Jack Bauer, CTU Agent, Super Human, and King of the Whisperers. Jack attempts to shoot one of the terrorists, but his gun is knocked out of his hand. Jack then kicks him in the privates, swings around, and knifes the other guy. Jack head-butts the last hostile, knocking him out. He deciphers the code and deactivates the bomb…in a nick of time. Jack saves the world from terrorists again. All in a 24-hour day’s work.

The following takes place between 1a.m. and 2a.m.:
Jack Bauer aka Kiefer Sutherland (on a mission to save the world from rude, un-cool fashion designers) encounters fashion designer, Jack McCullough. Kiefer, King of Whisperers, is having a quiet conversation with Brooke Shields outside a trendy NYC bar. McCullough bumps into Brooke without offering an apology to Ms. Shields. Kiefer becomes majorly pissed-off and the two men exchange words. That’s when Kiefer head-butts the fashion designer and breaks the guy’s nose. Kiefer successfully saves the world from rude and trendy fashion designers. All in a 24-hour day’s work.

Stay tuned to next week on 24:
…when Kiefer is scene in court for his head butting occurrence in addition to a violation of his probation terms resulting from his second DUI conviction.

So it appears Kiefer Sutherland is in big trouble for head butting. But can you really blame him? I think it must be hard for Kiefer to know where his Jack persona leaves off and real-life Kiefer begins. Maybe Kiefer is the real Jack…or maybe Jack is the real Kiefer.

And if you’ve ever watched 24…it would be easy to believe that sooner or later the tough Jack routine would rub off on Kiefer. Kiefer has played Jack Bauer for 7 seasons of ‘24’ so he has learned a thing or two about busting heads. Sutherland probably has to contain himself 24/7 to not kick someone in the privates and slit someone’s throat. And it must be even harder for Kiefer to not talk in that tough guy dialogue that is written for his Jack character:

I need you to patch me through.
Secure the perimeter
Keep me posted.
You have my word.
Trust me.
Dammit

I think Kiefer shouldn’t be held accountable for his actions…especially after playing Jack Bauer for 7 years…someone who is always above the law and takes matters into his own hands. It was just out of Sutherland’s control.

Or maybe Kiefer Sutherland is just a butt head…and head butting just comes naturally. Copy that.

Oh, and secure the perimeter…I don’t want either Kiefer or Jack coming after me.

Trust me……..dammit.

Bring on Da Noise

Some people are just inherently loud. They wake up, put two feet on the ground, and immediately start banging around. They couldn’t be quiet if they tried…and interestingly, they ALWAYS swear they are trying. When they walk…they sound like Irish cloggers with a wee bit o’ Guinness.

Back in the day when PaulA and I were first married, we lived on the second floor of a 3 family house…and wondered if the people living above us would have the heavy left foot. Luckily no cloggers there. Ironically they complained more about us…than we complained about them.

You would have thought they could have chilled, especially because we were the same age…and both newly married couples. But then again it might have had something to do with school rivalry. The fact that we would bang on our ceiling with a broom handle when Villanova (Go Nova) scored over Georgetown in Big East basketball…didn’t help. What the hell’s a Hoya, anyway?

I’m already thinking ahead to how quiet our house is gonna be next fall when Sweet Wishy goes off to college. I am gonna miss the noisy days of the kids living in our house. Noise = Fun. Case in point: Library = not fun.

I’m going to miss the days when Colinboy played his bass through his amp that he set up in our living room…Big C with her big voice singing random songs at random times…and some random door slams when she was fed up with her random parents….Sweet Wishy BLASTING her stereo so she can hear it over her morning shower. TV blaring from different rooms.

I remember growing up when my mom complained about noise…she would say: “I can’t even hear myself think.” I always wondered how that was possible? As I matured I understood what she meant. (It’s funny how things your parents said finally end up making sense.)

This fall….our house will be so quiet that I’ll be able to hear myself think. (I hope I like the sound of my thinking voice.) My thoughts will be very loud and clear, “Where did the years go? I miss my Big C, Colinboy, and Sweet Wish.”

Bring on da noise…bring on da fun.

Waste of Time

It is amazing how much time you can waste when you sit down at a computer. There ARE some productive things you can do….like respond to email, check school and sports announcements, pay bills, read Kat’s blog. But then there are many other things that suck you in and waste your time.

We subscribe to AOL for internet service which always has something on the homepage to entice you. “Click Here.” Next thing I know 20 minutes of my life have passed by and I’m reading about Jessica Simpson and her ridiculous life!!!! I need to know this because??? (I am so acing that Jessica Simpson test in the morning.)

One popular thing online is pictures of celebs taken by the Poparatzi…who PoP out of nowhere and take pictures of THE glamorous people. You can find pics of celebs doing just about anything. Even in their daily lives. Please spare us. Normal life just isn’t glamorous. Moments on the red carpet are, but coming home from the gym, choosing a brand of bacon at the Stop and Shop, and bending over isn’t glamorous. Suck it in babe….you’re gonna be on next week’s cover of Rag Magazine.

Maybe there is a market for this stuff…maybe there are people interested in seeing what celebs look like when they don’t have make-up on or have gained a few pounds. Then they can be reminded : OMG ….they are regular people! So do we really need these pictures?

Apparently yes. The latest pictures I got sucked into online really did take the cake. And I’m speaking literally and figuratively here. They showed different Hollywood stars in the act of eating. Which if you get just the right shot…even Gisele caught eating a ham sandwich isn’t attractive.

I couldn’t help myself… I took a look at a pic of Kate Walsh (Grey’s Anatomy) in a restaurant about to take a bite…with her mouth open, a big forkful and her eyes expanded…just about to shove it in. Then a look at Kiefer Sutherland with a forkful of spaghetti…mouth wide open…just about to shove it in. Then Kelsey Grammar eating a French fry with catsup…mouth wide open…just about to shove it in. I should have shoved on…but I got sucked in with the spaghetti and couldn’t stop myself.

I’m sure there are some of you right there with me, on the same page…with the waste of time thing regarding the computer. And hopefully you are STILL right there with me, on the same page: katstaleof5.blogspot.com.

Benedict Specter

I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Arlen Specter…the latest Benedict Arnold. Specter, a Republican Senator from Pennsylvania gave Obama and the rest of the Democrats a great gift for Obama’s 100th day in office. He became one of them. He turned his back on his republican political party and changed parties…a redcoat turned blue.

And what a gift for the Democrats! A much better gift than the iPod Obama gave the Queen Mum. Specter woke up one morning and said: “I think I’ll be a Democrat today…I look so much better in blue than red.”

I’m sure Senator Specter has his reasons. Maybe Specter thought the Democrats were having a better party…(open bar, alright!)…Or maybe Specter was just tired of being referred to as an elephant. But is a donkey that much better?

Granted, elephants can be known for being bungling and stupid…but they also are known for dignity, strength, long memory, and for being group oriented and cooperative.

Unlike the stubbornness of the donkey…which is a lowly, silly, and whiney hee-hawing animal. The other problem with a donkey is they smell…at least elephants shower themselves with water. But it is Specter’s prerogative to choose what animal he wants to party with.

I just realized if Arlen Specter added an “e” to the end of his first name…he could easily cross over to the other side…an easy transition on paper. (Not so easy other places.)

Trading teams happen all the time…especially in sports. So what’s the big dealio about Specter jumping from one animal to another? Well plenty, seeing his defection puts the Democrats in a position to control the Senate. That would be like the Yankees getting an unfair advantage by signing all the best ball players….those WERE the days. And lest not forget those switch hitter ball players. First they’re on, then they're off…..

Speaking of switch hitters…even Lindsay Lohan traded teams and is playing with the other side…..…not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Sound the elephant trumpets: Arlen Specter is now a jackass….not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Twitter is for the Birds

The world is all a-twitter over Twitter, the new social networking site. Frankly, I think Twitter is for the birds. But apparently there are a lot of birds out there twittering their heart out.

The ultimate Twitterer is Ashton Kutcher…King of Twitter. He has the distinction of reaching a million followers before CNN…a major network. But then again Ashton is a major star. (I guess.) When Kutcher realized he and CNN were close in numbers of followers, he went on youtube to get people to follow him. His incentive? He made a pledge: If he reached a million followers before CNN…he would go to Atlanta, ding dong ditch Ted Turner’s house and post the video online.

Hello, is Ashton 10 years old? Ding dong ditch? What grown man poses that as a threat? (Obviously a very good looking movie star man, Kat.) Ashton should have made a better threat, one that would have had Ted Turner shakin' in his CNN: “Ted Turner, I’m gonna steal your girlfriend.”

I’m wondering if this whole twitter thing is just self indulgence; an ego building thing. I’m sure he’s loving the fact that he has over 1,000,000 people (minus Kat) following him. Kutcher even posted a picture of his wife, Demi Moore on Twitter. Actually the picture was of her butt as she was bending over. Maybe that’s a reason for someone to follow.

Frankly, I think Twitter is loosing its sticking power (Okay, you can laugh at me 6 months from now when everyone including John McCain is twittering.)…But I think people sign up and then don’t return. After a while even Demi Moore’s butt has to get boring.

But maybe I’m not as cool as Ashton…which is proven by the fact that I have 5 followers…instead of a million. At one time I was up to 6 followers, but I had to remove some strange bird…who is now tweeting up someone else’s beak.

I do check twitter once in a while…mainly to follow John Mayer (me and 900,000 other people.) Okay, I do have my faults. John twitters a lot; writing a stream of consciousness.

Maybe I will stay on twitter after all, that way I can keep tabs on what Colinboy is doing with the band Dear Havanah…and my peep, John…

You see how John and I are on a first name basis now? After all, I know John eats Life Cereal…how many other people know that?

Put that in your pipe and twitter it.

Getting Lucky in Kentucky

The great thing about betting on a horse race is…anyone can pick a winner. You don’t have to be a horse expert, horse trainer, or even have horsey features. It’s all about the luck of the draw…and getting lucky in Kentucky.

We were at a great Kentucky Derby party this past weekend and the lucky person who picked the horse to win had already left the party. What are the odds of that happening? 50 to 1. Maybe the person had too many mint juleps and had to race out before being put down. The odds that I would have picked the winning horse was a sure long shot.

Some people pick a horse by its odds of winning…but most people pick a horse by it’s name. Which makes the most sense to me. How many women picked Chocolate Candy to win? Probably more women than men. How many men picked Musket Man to win? Probably more men than women…PaulA did. The horse I picked to win the Kentucky Derby (Hold Me Back) was actually a dog. Never ever ask me to help you with your pick unless you are betting the greyhounds.

Some pick a horse by the number the horse wears for the race…or by the jockey…or by the jock size. Or there are people with good aim…who throw a dart at the list of contenders. Although I’m not very good at picking horses…One thing I know how to pick…is a husband.

Granted, picking a horse and picking a husband shouldn’t be mentioned in the same sentence. And is that fair to compare PaulA with a horse? Neigh…I say. I didn’t pick PaulA by his name…or by his size. It was just a feeling. That’s what picking a horse is…you just get a feeling…you know instinctively or randomly…THAT’S the won for you.

Lady Luck was on my side when I picked PaulA. Actually that was the last time I was a winner…and I won by a couple of lengths. I’m not saying PaulA is a horse, but I have to say, I’ve been a horse’s ass a time or two.

Cinco de Mayo

Hoy es Cinco de Mayo. To all you gringos out there…that is Spanish for: Today is May 5th. Cinco de Mayo is a big dealio day to the Spanish community. This holiday is just as important to the Spanish Latino community as St. Patrick’s Day is to the Irish. Same festive celebration, different accent…no snakes.

The day commemorates the unlikely victory of the Mexican army over French (Napoleon) forces back in the 1800’s. It is not their independence day, but a day for celebration of Mexican heritage and culture. How do I know all this muy valuable information about Spanish history and culture? I drink Corona.

I’ve also been to Mexico once…with mis amigos…the Cancun 10. It was a blast…how can you not have fun being with fun people drinking margaritas on the beach, in the sun, in the swim-up bar, at Senor Frogs, on the rocks…make mine with salt, por favor.

I love margaritas and Mexican food….which we all know is really a taco that gets morphed into 50 different food forms. 50 different ways of serving cheese, refried beans, tomatoes, olives, guacolmole, cheese. There’s the enchilada, burrito, quesadilla, quesaburrito, and the enchitaco. And te amo Spanish cerveza…beer, gringos. With lime, por favor. I used to think the lime in the coconut was the best idea ever, until I tasted the lime in the beer for the first time.

So today I thought I would leave you with a couple of important phrases you can use during Cinco de Mayo. I do not claim to be fluent in the language of Espanol…but I am fluent in the language of nonsense.

Hola. Me llamo…..(Gato.) Hi. My name is…..(Kat.)
Habla Espanol? Do you speak Spanish?
Donde esta el bano? Where is the bathroom?
Mi aerodeslizador esta lleno de anguilas. My hovercraft is full of eels.

Enjoy Cinco de Mayo…the day when everyone is free to be Espanol and a little bit loco……….especially after a couple of margaritas.

Ole’…….gatoOUT

The Other White Meat

I haven’t written about the swine flu yet, mainly because I was taking a wait-and-see attitude. I didn’t want to add to the swine flu frenzy and get everyone’s pig’s hairs crossed or raised. The whole idea is scary.

Plus we already have Joe to get us all worked up. You know Joe… Joe Put Your Foot in your Mouth Biden. It didn’t help that he appeared on the Today Show and advised the public against riding the subway or taking commercial flights. Come on Joe, how stupid are you? You want to cause nationwide pig panic and have people running for the hills.

I used to think pigs were cute. Chubby pink creatures with curly tails and happy faces…think Porky Pig. But now when I close my eyes at night…I see chubby pink creatures growing horns…think Porky Pig on Percodan, Percocet and Red Bull. I see cute pigs morphing into swines. A swine sounds so much dirtier than a piggy. Porky Pig becomes a stealth germ-carrying swine…the other white meat.

It is important to be cautious during this time and practice simple common-sense hygiene. Frequent hand washing is very important and no kissing. And holding hands while kissing is a definite no-no.

People are starting to look at each other differently…with an accusatory eye. Hmmm…are you a swine carrier or do you just resemble that remark? I was in Walmart yesterday and a woman coughed in front of me. I grabbed a Miley Cyrus t-shirt and put it in front of my face. I always knew that Miley was good for something… “Hey Lady, keep the swine flu to yourself.”

And the swine flu is causing us to spread rumors about each other… “I think that man working in the Stop and Shop deli looks sickly. He’s probably a swine flu carrier. I heard him cough…and his snout is growing daily…not to mention his tail is curling.”

Every person and every condition becomes suspect: A sneeze = swine flu. A skin rash = swine flu. A skinned knee = swine flu. A zit = swine flu.

I don’t know about you, but if I thought about the swine flu too much…I could easily get my bacon a-shakin’ in my blog chair.

Smile :)

Smiling people are happier people. I heard this on a news segment on the Today Show. Wow, more rocket science…Where do they come up with this stuff? (Note to self: Check the Classifieds for a job coming up with scientific findings.)

In college I had a friend in the dorm room next to mine who used to complain about me laughing. And she never failed to let me know that she was tired of hearing me. Atleast she didn’t accuse me of being a laughing hyena…thank God. I’ve seen one in a book and a laughing hyena is not at all attractive. I never understood how she heard me laughing through the cement walls that separated our rooms. Ahhhh….bionic ears.

She was right though…whenever PaulA was around I was laughing. He wasn’t tickling me though. Thank God.…that would make me cry…and is down right cruel to do to someone. For some reason I just thought PaulA was so, so funny. I mean really funny…not so-so. He is still making me laugh today and hopefully I still don’t look like that hyena when I do.

As a kid, I would hear my mom say that dad woke her up because he was laughing in his sleep. I always wondered what the heck could be making him laugh? Did he go to comedy clubs in his dreams or was he the Jerry Seinfeld of his dreams? Maybe he pictured himself giving a speech in front of a room full of fully-clothed people at a nudist colony…and he was naked. Now that is funny.

This past winter I visited my parents in a place they were renting in Florida. I slept on the pull-out couch and I heard first hand…my dad laughing in his sleep. His laughter woke me up and put a smile on my face. Next thing I knew I was chuckling and it was 2 am. Laughing can be contagious. It’s great to know Pops is still laughing after all these years. Which make sense…Jerry has the reputation of being the most good natured person you could ever meet. (Maybe there is Something About Jerrys that brings laughter.)

My favorite expression happens to be… “ so funny I laughed my ass off.” I’m guessing that’s just a figure of speech. Because if it were true…I would have no ass at all by now. But as you know…my ass is still very much attached to this blog chair.

PS. SHOUTOUT today to Sistersledge (my wonderful sister, Michele) on her birthday. We are Family….get up everybody and sing: “Happy Birthday!”