Linnyj and I finally played the big golf match…the match between David and Goliath…Good and Evil. (I like to be dramatic.) Okay, it was the golf match between the Linnyj/Kat team and the Billy Club Champ/Frank Champ team. The match went down last Tuesday at 6:15 pm. The date and time were noted.
There were 2 scenarios or 2 possible outcomes for the epic match. Which outcome would you put your money on……
Outcome A
Linnyj and I show up at the course ready to play…and damn we are looking good…I am wearing my lucky shirt. We play our hearts out…good swings, accurate chips, solid putting…we play like there is no tomorrow…and we win. David slays Goliath…Good triumphs over Evil.
Outcome B
Linnyj and I show up at the course ready to play…and damn we are still looking good….I am wearing my lucky shirt. We play our hearts out…good swings, accurate chips, solid putting…we play like there is no tomorrow …and we lose. Goliath eats David for lunch. Evil reeks havoc over Good.
So if you were a betting man or woman…you would have been a winner if you chose: Outcome B.
So we lost. We lost the big match. I have to admit, the guys were actually very nice about the win, very complimentary about our game, and general all-around congenial. Definitely not the way we would have been. We would have gloated, ragged, bantered, razzed, taunted...and every other word that means trash talked. (Especially the Linnyj side of the team.)
Note to self: Need a new lucky shirt.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Outta Here
My winter sport is now over...American Idol. Since January until now, I have sweated it out in front of the TV every Tuesday and Wednesday. From the beginning, my favorite singer was David Cook…and he finally won. I sure know how to pick a winner. First PaulA and then David Cook. I love the sound of his voice (David’s voice…not to be confused with PaulA’s.) Yo, Yo Dawg Randy likes to say David Cook could sing the telephone book and sound good. I agree...he can sing anything. I'd like to hear him sing the menu at my favorite restaurant. And all the specials too.
The whole notion of voting someone off is very interesting. To be told that you are not good enough…has got to hurt. And then to have to stand there and sing your final song…must be very hard. “We took a vote…and we want you…outta here…pack your bags. Now sing us a song.” It is supposed to be very democratic. After all, it was a vote…fair and square. Sometimes the option of voting someone out…would be a nice option.
We took a vote...and you are the worst golfer on the course...pick up your tee, put your driver back in your golf bag, and drive your cart back to the clubhouse. Outta here.
We took a vote…and you are the least fun at the party…put down your glass, hand over your swizzle stick, and leave the premises. Outta here.
I just hope there isn’t a vote taken in blogworld. I could very well get voted off.
We took a vote…and you received the fewest…erase your blog, sign off the internet, and step away from your computer. Outta here…....katOUT!!!
The whole notion of voting someone off is very interesting. To be told that you are not good enough…has got to hurt. And then to have to stand there and sing your final song…must be very hard. “We took a vote…and we want you…outta here…pack your bags. Now sing us a song.” It is supposed to be very democratic. After all, it was a vote…fair and square. Sometimes the option of voting someone out…would be a nice option.
We took a vote...and you are the worst golfer on the course...pick up your tee, put your driver back in your golf bag, and drive your cart back to the clubhouse. Outta here.
We took a vote…and you are the least fun at the party…put down your glass, hand over your swizzle stick, and leave the premises. Outta here.
I just hope there isn’t a vote taken in blogworld. I could very well get voted off.
We took a vote…and you received the fewest…erase your blog, sign off the internet, and step away from your computer. Outta here…....katOUT!!!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
See Or Be Seen
Just got back from the eye doctor. After an assault and battery of tests the doc says, “I bet you have trouble seeing and you get headaches at the end of the day”……Hey dude, where did you go to eye doctor school? School for the blind? Why else would I be here?
He put me through every eye test…I passed some and flunked the others. The test that bothers me the most…gives me the most trouble…is the puff for the glaucoma test. My dad has glaucoma and because it is contagious …I mean hereditary…I know I have to endure it. The anticipation of the puff is the hardest part. You know it is coming…but when? Then puff…Gotcha! I’m sure this is how the eye doc gets his kicks during the day.
Then the test with the letters….the doc covers one eye asking…is Line Number One better than Number Two…Line Two better or Three…Three or Two? OMG…after awhile all the lines are a blur. Now I am all mixed up…is Line Three really any better? I’m just sticking with Line Two no matter what he asks…this test is too difficult.
After the exam…glasses are suggested. They ask me to look at frames, but I can’t see the frames…I can’t even see the floor to walk over to the frames. My pupils have been dilated so the doc could look to the back of my head…all the way to my optic nerve. That really weirds me out. My optic nerve feels so exposed.
I am thinking I am gonna pick out some coolio glasses…ones that I actually want to keep on my face…maybe enhance my appearance……which could use some enhancements. Now I am trying to think of what movie stars wear for glasses. Hmmmm…Geez, can’t think of any. Ooh…..now I get it…That’s because movie stars don’t wear glasses, Kat!
I can see, with or without glasses, that this blog is rambling on and on. Yup, the way I see it…you would rather be left in the dark about all my appointments.
He put me through every eye test…I passed some and flunked the others. The test that bothers me the most…gives me the most trouble…is the puff for the glaucoma test. My dad has glaucoma and because it is contagious …I mean hereditary…I know I have to endure it. The anticipation of the puff is the hardest part. You know it is coming…but when? Then puff…Gotcha! I’m sure this is how the eye doc gets his kicks during the day.
Then the test with the letters….the doc covers one eye asking…is Line Number One better than Number Two…Line Two better or Three…Three or Two? OMG…after awhile all the lines are a blur. Now I am all mixed up…is Line Three really any better? I’m just sticking with Line Two no matter what he asks…this test is too difficult.
After the exam…glasses are suggested. They ask me to look at frames, but I can’t see the frames…I can’t even see the floor to walk over to the frames. My pupils have been dilated so the doc could look to the back of my head…all the way to my optic nerve. That really weirds me out. My optic nerve feels so exposed.
I am thinking I am gonna pick out some coolio glasses…ones that I actually want to keep on my face…maybe enhance my appearance……which could use some enhancements. Now I am trying to think of what movie stars wear for glasses. Hmmmm…Geez, can’t think of any. Ooh…..now I get it…That’s because movie stars don’t wear glasses, Kat!
I can see, with or without glasses, that this blog is rambling on and on. Yup, the way I see it…you would rather be left in the dark about all my appointments.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Grocery Cart Wars
Everyone has at least one particular chore that they don’t like to do, avoid doing at all costs, but have to eventually face it. For me, that would be grocery shopping. Believe me, I postpone it as long as I can…sometimes I can get pretty inventive. But when Bri complains, “We are having eggs a la mode for dinner…again?”...I know it is time.
The grocery stores might have fun names to disguise the real experience…The Piggly Wiggly, Winn Dixie, Schnucks. But let’s face it…they could call it, “Day at the Park.” and it still wouldn’t be fun.
Down to my last egg, I drag my heels and head to the grocery store. The mere sight of all the cars parked outside makes me queasy. It is busy and that means…grocery cart wars. You know the drill, there are so many people pushing around carts that we get in each other’s way. People are bumping into each other…or accidentally hitting the back of some lady’s heel because I’m following too closely. “Lady, honestly, I didn’t do it on purpose…it was an accident! And don’t give me that evil eye…I heard you call me an ass under your breath.”
After a friend told me her grocery cart story (Thanks Eva)….I knew the next time I went…I would be prepared for battle. She was at the grocery store on a busy day, probably before turkey day or super bowl weekend…when all the chuckleheads are there. (Excluding Eva, of course) Maybe the forecasters mentioned a little snow...and the whole town headed to the store to get milk…’cause you can’t live without milk for a couple of hours. Your bones could get soft.
While working her way down an aisle, some goofball squeezed by her with his cart and took the skin off her knuckles….actually bloody knuckles so she had to go for first aid. A grocery cart injury…just another reason to keep me away from the grocery store.
So eventually I make it home alive from “Day at the Park”…drag in the grocery bags, and put everything away. Then I realize…I picked up the no-lactose, no-fat, no-taste skim milk …Yuck. Now I have to go back. Where’s my helmet and steel gloves?
The grocery stores might have fun names to disguise the real experience…The Piggly Wiggly, Winn Dixie, Schnucks. But let’s face it…they could call it, “Day at the Park.” and it still wouldn’t be fun.
Down to my last egg, I drag my heels and head to the grocery store. The mere sight of all the cars parked outside makes me queasy. It is busy and that means…grocery cart wars. You know the drill, there are so many people pushing around carts that we get in each other’s way. People are bumping into each other…or accidentally hitting the back of some lady’s heel because I’m following too closely. “Lady, honestly, I didn’t do it on purpose…it was an accident! And don’t give me that evil eye…I heard you call me an ass under your breath.”
After a friend told me her grocery cart story (Thanks Eva)….I knew the next time I went…I would be prepared for battle. She was at the grocery store on a busy day, probably before turkey day or super bowl weekend…when all the chuckleheads are there. (Excluding Eva, of course) Maybe the forecasters mentioned a little snow...and the whole town headed to the store to get milk…’cause you can’t live without milk for a couple of hours. Your bones could get soft.
While working her way down an aisle, some goofball squeezed by her with his cart and took the skin off her knuckles….actually bloody knuckles so she had to go for first aid. A grocery cart injury…just another reason to keep me away from the grocery store.
So eventually I make it home alive from “Day at the Park”…drag in the grocery bags, and put everything away. Then I realize…I picked up the no-lactose, no-fat, no-taste skim milk …Yuck. Now I have to go back. Where’s my helmet and steel gloves?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Kat's Memoir
I was thinking about writing a memoir…telling my life story. Only problem: my life story is not that interesting. Then there is that whole honesty thing surrounding memoirs. Take the James Frey novel, Million Little Pieces…which I happened to love. Oprah seemed to have a problem with the author’s million little lies…so she broke him into a million little pieces…in front of a million little viewers. I’d like to read Oprah’s book when she writes one…and check all her facts.
So let’s take a look at my story: I have 1 husband, 3 kids, and 1 dog. My kids are not kids…they are young adults. So I need to change my blogspot bio and reveal that 2 of my children are in their 20s, but that just sounds so old….not for them, but for me. And my “baby” is fast approaching her senior year. You see…my daily life is lacking in material, but I do have a past. Maybe I could write about that.
Maybe I could write about the earlier period of my life…the part that I don’t mention that often…for obvious reasons. It is a little unusual so I am a little hesitant. You see, people have always believed I grew up in a military family, traveling around the country and the world. Actually my past is more colorful than that.
When I was growing up, we lived with a traveling circus…not the Big Apple Circus…but smaller…the Crab Apple Circus. My mother was the fat lady who sang in the closing ceremony of every performance. They used to wheel her out in a cart. My dad, bless his heart, was a one-armed lion tamer. One day his overly trusted lion, Leo, let him know that he was the King of the Forest and not a big pussycat. My playmates were the circus dwarfs. We used to spend many afternoons playing leap frog between performances. I worked hard at learning to become a high flying trapeze artist.
After a few years of traveling with the circus, things started to go down hill. Not enough people were interested in our freak show…I mean circus act. Things got slow for the circus and I kept breaking bones trying to learn my trapeze act. We decided to leave the circus life behind. It was time for my mother to loose a few pounds before having other children and restrict her singing to only the shower. My dad got a great looking prosthesis and took a desk job in accounting. We moved into a lovely suburban town and I was enrolled in school where I impressed the kids with my above-average skills on the monkey bars during recess. Those were the days….
Maybe I will write my memoir...get my life story down on paper. Just don’t check the facts.
So let’s take a look at my story: I have 1 husband, 3 kids, and 1 dog. My kids are not kids…they are young adults. So I need to change my blogspot bio and reveal that 2 of my children are in their 20s, but that just sounds so old….not for them, but for me. And my “baby” is fast approaching her senior year. You see…my daily life is lacking in material, but I do have a past. Maybe I could write about that.
Maybe I could write about the earlier period of my life…the part that I don’t mention that often…for obvious reasons. It is a little unusual so I am a little hesitant. You see, people have always believed I grew up in a military family, traveling around the country and the world. Actually my past is more colorful than that.
When I was growing up, we lived with a traveling circus…not the Big Apple Circus…but smaller…the Crab Apple Circus. My mother was the fat lady who sang in the closing ceremony of every performance. They used to wheel her out in a cart. My dad, bless his heart, was a one-armed lion tamer. One day his overly trusted lion, Leo, let him know that he was the King of the Forest and not a big pussycat. My playmates were the circus dwarfs. We used to spend many afternoons playing leap frog between performances. I worked hard at learning to become a high flying trapeze artist.
After a few years of traveling with the circus, things started to go down hill. Not enough people were interested in our freak show…I mean circus act. Things got slow for the circus and I kept breaking bones trying to learn my trapeze act. We decided to leave the circus life behind. It was time for my mother to loose a few pounds before having other children and restrict her singing to only the shower. My dad got a great looking prosthesis and took a desk job in accounting. We moved into a lovely suburban town and I was enrolled in school where I impressed the kids with my above-average skills on the monkey bars during recess. Those were the days….
Maybe I will write my memoir...get my life story down on paper. Just don’t check the facts.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Freegan
Have you ever heard of a Freegan? I hadn’t until I saw Oprah. The Oprah Show and People Magazine…the source of my enormous wealth of knowledge and the reason people confuse me with Stephen Hawking.
A Freegan sounds like someone who gets stuff for free….and that’s exactly what they do. They do not beg…they are not begging Freegans. They go to dumpsters near bakeries and grocery stores and take the food that has been thrown out. You would be amazed at what perfectly good food they find there. Fruit with just a small bruise, bags of salad, canned vegetables…bagels. These people are doctors, engineers, and lawyers and believe in the philosophy of anti-consumerism. They have money and could pay…like me the other day….......
I was at Carvel…I am not a Freegan so I didn’t scrape ice cream out of one of their dumpsters. I went in expecting to pay, but realized that I didn’t have a dollar on me. (I don’t understand why they wouldn’t take debit cards.) A woman saw me rummaging through my empty wallet and offered me a five dollar bill. I respectfully said, “Oh, that’s so nice of you…thanks anyway.” She kept insisting. So what did I do? I took that five spot and got myself a medium twist in a cone...thank you very much. (Thinking back…maybe I should have ordered a small one.) I felt funny taking the money. (I didn’t keep the change from her five…I am not that much of a cheap-sKATe.
I understand why a person would want to save the earth and all, but I find it hard to understand how someone could pick through a dumpster of messy food and trash. I have a hard enough time picking through the racks and racks of stuff at T.J. Maxx.
But for some reason, I don’t find it hard to pan handle a few bucks off a total stranger for a Carvel medium twist ice cream cone.
A Freegan sounds like someone who gets stuff for free….and that’s exactly what they do. They do not beg…they are not begging Freegans. They go to dumpsters near bakeries and grocery stores and take the food that has been thrown out. You would be amazed at what perfectly good food they find there. Fruit with just a small bruise, bags of salad, canned vegetables…bagels. These people are doctors, engineers, and lawyers and believe in the philosophy of anti-consumerism. They have money and could pay…like me the other day….......
I was at Carvel…I am not a Freegan so I didn’t scrape ice cream out of one of their dumpsters. I went in expecting to pay, but realized that I didn’t have a dollar on me. (I don’t understand why they wouldn’t take debit cards.) A woman saw me rummaging through my empty wallet and offered me a five dollar bill. I respectfully said, “Oh, that’s so nice of you…thanks anyway.” She kept insisting. So what did I do? I took that five spot and got myself a medium twist in a cone...thank you very much. (Thinking back…maybe I should have ordered a small one.) I felt funny taking the money. (I didn’t keep the change from her five…I am not that much of a cheap-sKATe.
I understand why a person would want to save the earth and all, but I find it hard to understand how someone could pick through a dumpster of messy food and trash. I have a hard enough time picking through the racks and racks of stuff at T.J. Maxx.
But for some reason, I don’t find it hard to pan handle a few bucks off a total stranger for a Carvel medium twist ice cream cone.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Little Blue Box
I haven’t written much about the Taj MaMall lately…my home during the holidays when I was there shopping every other day. This blogging thing has actually been good for my pocketbook…and thus…good for PaulA’s wallet. PaulA has to balance what I might say about him in my blog VS the check book balance… and I’m thinking he is happy to be rolling with the punches I give him on my blog. One-two.
Okay, so the other day I went to the Taj MaMall…(trying to remember why)…Oh yea, the gas company turned off our heat, for fear of explosion, until it got fixed…which took a week. So on a Friday I hit the wall and then the mall, ‘cause I was freezing my ass off…and my fingers were frozen straight so I couldn’t bend them to blog. I went to the Taj MaMall for a short 6 hours.
Just my good fortune, I happened to be there when Tiffany’s had its grand opening. The infamous Tiffany’s little blue box diamond sparkle jewelry store. You should have seen the mob. People couldn’t spend their money fast enough. Our mall is lacking in high-end stores and I suppose these people were tired of burning their money…so they decided to spend it. Personally, I think the real attraction is the little blue box. The box itself definitely increases the WOW factor.
My friend, Patio, gave me a little blue Tiffany’s box on my 50th birthday. WOW…she shouldn’t have. I tried to remember what I gave her when she turned 50….(now I am feeling like a Heal.) So I opened the box and saw a diamond “L” pendant. (Gee, I thought she understood that Kat starts with a “K”, but I could be "Lat.") Now I get it. She explained the “L” is the Roman Numeral for my age….30. I mean, 50. At that point, I didn’t know what to think…except another…WOW..a blue box and a diamond necklace. Then she proceeded to tell me the “L” is Cubic Zirconia.
I had a good time watching the people shop at Tiffany’s…plus it was warm there. Tiffany’s even served champagne for the masses but, unfortunately, no bacon and eggs. People seemed to be lapping it all up…and buying jewelry, hand over finger, to put in those little blue boxes.
I asked the sales person for “just the box, please.” Hmmm…whose birthday is next? I need a little blue box if I am going to pull a “WOW.”
Okay, so the other day I went to the Taj MaMall…(trying to remember why)…Oh yea, the gas company turned off our heat, for fear of explosion, until it got fixed…which took a week. So on a Friday I hit the wall and then the mall, ‘cause I was freezing my ass off…and my fingers were frozen straight so I couldn’t bend them to blog. I went to the Taj MaMall for a short 6 hours.
Just my good fortune, I happened to be there when Tiffany’s had its grand opening. The infamous Tiffany’s little blue box diamond sparkle jewelry store. You should have seen the mob. People couldn’t spend their money fast enough. Our mall is lacking in high-end stores and I suppose these people were tired of burning their money…so they decided to spend it. Personally, I think the real attraction is the little blue box. The box itself definitely increases the WOW factor.
My friend, Patio, gave me a little blue Tiffany’s box on my 50th birthday. WOW…she shouldn’t have. I tried to remember what I gave her when she turned 50….(now I am feeling like a Heal.) So I opened the box and saw a diamond “L” pendant. (Gee, I thought she understood that Kat starts with a “K”, but I could be "Lat.") Now I get it. She explained the “L” is the Roman Numeral for my age….30. I mean, 50. At that point, I didn’t know what to think…except another…WOW..a blue box and a diamond necklace. Then she proceeded to tell me the “L” is Cubic Zirconia.
I had a good time watching the people shop at Tiffany’s…plus it was warm there. Tiffany’s even served champagne for the masses but, unfortunately, no bacon and eggs. People seemed to be lapping it all up…and buying jewelry, hand over finger, to put in those little blue boxes.
I asked the sales person for “just the box, please.” Hmmm…whose birthday is next? I need a little blue box if I am going to pull a “WOW.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)