Tick Tock Oscars

The Academy Awards Show is so lengthy.... it’s a lesson in endurance...which can be as painful as a root canal/a movie with English subtitles/a confession.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...I recently wasted 3 hours of my life watching the Academy Awards. Plus the hour and a half watching the pre-show red carpet...if I’m being truly honest.

Why do we watch The Academy Awards anyway?

Maybe to learn about the movies we haven’t yet seen, or to watch our favorite actors act happy when they lose, or to laugh at any verbal gaffes. (Note to Melissa Leo: Never drop the F-bomb at the Oscars.)

In reality...most people watch The Academy Awards to see what the beautiful people are wearing. The beautiful actors and actresses have worked hard with diet, exercise, and Botox to make a fashion statement: “Tonight I’m wearing a strapless champagne-color beaded Marchesa gown, Prada high-rise heels, bling by Tiffany, and face by Dr. Ramsey.”


When I watch the Oscars I make my own fashion statement: Tonight I’m wearing an off-the-rack 3-button flannel nightgown by Macy’s, bunny slippers by Target, and face cream by Revlon.

Anywhooooo..................

The important awards ...the ones that matter...don’t come until a few minutes before the show ends. “May I have the envelope, PLEASE!”


By then...I am so tired of waiting for an Oscar to be handed to Best Something-that-isn’t-a-Documentary...that I’ve nodded off. I wake-up when the credits are rolling.


It’s now midnight, but only 9pm at the Kodak Theatre in LA. My slippers are doing the bunny hop upstairs to bed, while the beautiful people are kicking up their Jimmy Choo’s with Hugh Heffner's bunnies.

Oh, I just remembered another thing that is a lesson in endurance...THIS BLOG...way too long, very draggy, and should be cut short.


Tick Tock. On the Clock.
Thanks for your time...Ke$ha KatOUT

Like Sands of the Hourglass...

Hell no…He won’t go.

Here we go with another political uprising in the Middle East. This time…it is the Libyan people protesting against the rule of Colonel Gaddafi…another Arab leader with his heels dug deep in the sand.

Gaddafi has been the leader of Libya for 41 years and is now desperately clinging to power…like my socks to the inside of my dryer.

He’s refusing to step down…refusing to throw in his military cap and gold epaulettes…for a turban, simple robe, and sandals. (I can understand that.)

Gaddafi has threatened that he will not succumb to the protests...like his neighbors, Egypt and Tunisia. Woah, those are fighting words…he isn’t going down without a struggle.

Believe it or not, Ripley…I was practically neighbors with Gaddafi in Tripoli, Libya many “midnight at the oasis” moons ago. Okay, I lived on an Air Force Base while Gaddafi lived in the palace. I’m glad we weren’t neighbors. I think he would have been a pushy and bossy neighbor…and never return anything he “borrowed.”

Anywhoooooooooooooo………………....

In 1969, Gaddafi came to power at age 27 when he staged a coup against an ailing King Idris who was in Turkey for medical treatment. He proclaimed himself “Colonel.” Kinda like I’ve proclaimed myself “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Now Colonel Gaddafi is 68, and hides his age with sunglasses and jet black hair…so the Libyans won’t realize how much time has passed. Only his hairdresser knows for sure.


So…like sands through the hourglass…so are the days of Gaddafi’s life.

Even though Gaddafi might not want to acknowledge it….his days are numbered. But after 41 years of clinging to power...he isn't walking into the desert without a fight.

There are ways of dealing with a stubborn, unrelenting resolve for clinging …may I suggest…dryer sheets.

They work for my socks...most every time.


PS. There are between 40 to 112 different spellings of Muammar Gaddafi’s name...Qaddafi, Kadafi, etc. My name, however, has only one correct true spelling….. “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Tiger Spit Fire

Shame on you Tiger …spitting in public…spitting on national television. Who do you think you are? A baseball player?


Spitting in public is just plain gross. You wouldn’t catch this Kat exhibiting bad manners. I’m no Emily Post but I’m pretty sure “no spitting in public” is on the list, right before “no 'f'-bombs during a golf tournament," and after “no farting out loud.” (I think Tiger may have been fined for previous 'f'-bombs.)


Apparently Tiger was having a bad day and stinking up the course at the Omega Dubai Desert Classic. While playing the 12th green, he spat (ugh) on the green before he putted. I couldn’t tell from the video if it was a minor spit…like a spit of rain. Or he coughed up a major Loogie.


(Note to self: Why does the word “spat” sound grosser than “spit.”


I do understand Tiger’s frustration. He was having a rough golf tournament…missing fairways into the Dubai Desert…and 3-putting greens…a la Katgolf style.


But this is golf, ladies and gentlemen. The Game of Etiquette. The Game of Decorum. And spitting is very offensive to the Middle Eastern culture. The European Tour had no choice but to fine him. That’ll be $4,000 for that 4 mm of saliva.


During the televised golf tournament, the announcers made a comment about the disgusting possibility of a golf ball rolling through Tiger’s saliva…but no one ever mentions anything about handling a baseball after C.C. Sabathia has spit all over it. Spit and Rub technique. Go figure?


Anywhooooooooooo………........…..


Tiger apologized…thru Twitter…the 2011 way to say you’re sorry. I’m sure Tiger didn’t mean to be rude. But his behavior conjures up spitting images of other athletes exhibiting bad behavior…Serena Williams, Latrell Sprewell.


Since Tiger’s sexcapades with 14 different women...there has been a lot of Tiger bashing. I think we should give him a break and pull him off the rotating spit of condemnation.


Hey…Tiger may have fired off "f"-bombs and spat on a golf course…but it’s not like Tiger ever had an infartion on a golf course. (To my knowledge.)

Duncandog's Best Friend

Colinboy and his dog.

The last time Colinboy came home…Duncandog went ape. He was wild with excitement to see his brother. It’s nice when the brothers can see each other every now and then. They have a lot in common…frisbee…naps…long hair.


When Duncandog sees this Katdog…he rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. Ho Hum. The last time Duncandog was ape excited to see me was when I came home with a bag of dog food…after not feeding him for a few days. (JK...bad joke…I would never Mick Vick my dog. It was only one day.)


Duncandog is such a lucky dog to have Colin for a brother. The first thing Colinboy does when he’s sees Duncandog is remove his collar. (So does his sister, Big C).


And Colin’s last visit home was no exception. So I called him on it.
“Hey, Colinboy what’s with taking Duncandog’s collar off?”


His reply, “Mom how would you like to wear a collar all the time.”

I said, “No problem. I’ll show you.”
What’s the big darn dealio?


Anywhoooooooooooooo…………………


With Duncandog’s collar fastened around my neck, I continued with my daily routine. I laid down on the rug by the kitchen sink for a little nap. I love the forced hot air gently blowing on me during the winter. But I couldn’t sleep…the feel of the collar kept waking me.


So I decided to play with my favorite toy for awhile. I was having a great time throwing it up in the air and barking at it…but then I became overly sweaty…very hot under the collar.


I trotted over to my bowl to get a drink, but the Big” D” initial that hangs down from my collar kept getting in my way as I tried to drink. (For some reason Kat thinks the “D” is funny? Cute? WTH?)


This Katdog had had enough. The damn collar was driving me mad. I wanted it off…and I wanted it off immediately.


Only problem…I couldn’t get the thing off by myself…the clasp was jammed. I rolled around on the floor in frustration.


I needed Colinboy.


I found him and ran to him wagging my tail….."Please. Please. Get this thing off.”


“Ahhh…Thank you Colinboy. Get back over here…so I can lick your face.”

And the Grammy Goes To:

“And the Grammy Award for Best New Artist goes to: Esperanza Spalding.”


Wow. I have to admit when I watched the Grammy Awards and heard the name “Esperanza Spalding” and not “Justin Bieber”…I was in total shock.


Bieber seemed like a runaway, a walkaway….a shoe-in. He was having a banner year…selling out concerts…#1 hits on the radio…a self-promoting, self-absorbing movie about him. It only seemed natural that the apple cart would keep cruising down Easy Street…and the Award would follow.


So the Esperanza win over The Bieb came as a HUGE upset. Upset…because her win was totally unexpected. And Upset…because Bieber fans were sooo upset…their baby bellies were feeling sick. They were so disturbed that their apple cart was upset…they put out death threats on Esperanza.


Yo stupido pint-sized Bieber fans…it isn’t her fault. Blame the people who vote.


Anywhooooooooooooooo…………………


They say that after the Grammy’s the scans for Arcade Fire went up 95 % , for Mumford and Sons up 99 %...and for Esperanza Spalding up 243 %. Yikes. Apparently no one knew who she was.


But alas…I did. I was familiar with this jazz bassist/singer because she went to Berklee College of Music and taught when Colinboy and the guys in Dear Havanah were there. She is the first jazz artist to win the award. This Kat likes razzmatazz and all that jazz.


So grow up Bieber fans. Grow up and get over it….and I would venture to say…that over time, you’ll just plain grow up. You’ll have to…What are you 12 or something?


And hopefully one day…another dream can be realized….

"And the Grammy goes to: Dear Havanah."

(click on link below)
http://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/shows/10-show/Dear_Havanah_Performs_Philadelphia-116489023.html

Winter Blues

Snap crack bang. That wasn’t my bowl of Cocoa Krispies startling me this morning when I added milk…but something more alarming. With a day of 50 degree weather… our house, aka the ice house…is beginning to melt.

With every increase in degree…our home sounds like it is under attack from enemy fire. I jump and run for cover every time I hear a bang, but alas, this lass’s ass isn’t grass…it is only the sound of ice melting and sliding off our roof.

This has been a crazy winter. Every time we’ve turned around…we’ve had another 10 inches fall on our heads, roads, driveways, and sidewalks. Hopefully, we’ve reached the end of winter madness.

The mounting snow accumulation has caused a surmountain of problems. (Sorry, love to make up words) And the cold temps haven’t allowed for melting between snowstorms. Without a snow rake and huge pair of kahunas…to clear off your roof…you run the risk of a collapse or leak.

Anywhooo……..……

Not everyone is singing the “I Hate the Freakin Winter/Snow Blues.” There are some that actually dig it…namely…snow plowers, body shops, and roofers. One man's misery...is another man's cash cow.

When last year our plow guy didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of turning a profit...things certainly have turned around. As my mom would say: “That fellow is making money hand over fist.” He must be eating high on the hog now. Last winter he was eating somewhere near the tail. I know this because…I got his bill last week.

The numeri storms increased fender benders two-three-multiple-fold. It is especially scary/frustrating when a plow backs directly into you…and nothing stops him from coming. I know this because…I tried honking.

The roof repair people are shingling with excitement over the amount of work they have now. Their work load is through the roof. Yo. Yo. I know this because…after a certain age (especially 50) most people have snow on the roof.

With warmer weather in the forecast this week…I will be running for cover as I’m startled by the ice melting and falling from our roof and gutters. I know this because…I am dramatic.

Westminster Gone to the Dogs

Hey…this is Duncandog here. I haven’t spoken in a while, but I have a few things I need to get off my barrel chest.


How do I get my behind in that Westminster Dog Show for next year?


I don’t think being a Portuguese Water Dog should make me a second class dogcitizen….although I am registered as a member of the Working class. (I’ve worked my butt off for everything I have…Kat never gives me anything for free.)


But do ya think Kat would ever put the time and effort into getting me into a contest like that? Noooo. I could never see it. Not a dog’s chance. She keeps me holed up in this hole of a house…dog day in and dog day out. It’s an endless string of doggie bad dreams…and an occasional Milkbone. Big whoop, Katwoman.


Anywhooo……………..


I got a look at the winner of the “Best in Show” this year….a Scottish deerhound named Hickory. Hickory-Schmickory. That dog is butt ugly. What a hound. Bow wow.


Her hair is so wiry and scraggly...you could exfoliate with it. I’ve got such nice soft loose curls. I never use a relaxer on them…just naturally soft and smooth…like a damn ProV commercial.


And did you get a look Hickory’s legs? Woah dog…those are some bony Olive Oyl appendages…only a Popeye could like those.


They say her breed is gentle and friendly. Yo, I can be gentle and friendly too…as long as you aren’t grooming my privates…or a little kid resembling a chew toy isn’t running around.


Apparently the judges prefer the wiry, long bony-legged and needle nose types…you know…the Camilla Parker Bowles type. This certainly wasn’t the dog-eat-dog competition that you would have expected.


I hope I’m not barking up the wrong tree with my complaints. I realize the contest has been going on for 135 years…but this year’s winner for “Best in Show” is definitely a sign that the Westminster Kennel Club is going to the dogs.


Whew…I feel better now. Thanks for listening.