Tuesday, March 31, 2009


I think it would have been fun to be a beatnik in the late 50’s. I was alive then, but too young. (Damn, if only my parents were beatniks…maybe I could have been a baby beatnik.)

Anyway, beatniks preceded hippies…which was another generation that I just missed. Of course, I was aware of hippies, STOP the War, and John Lennon. Heck, I’m old….but I was not the age to experience it first-hand. I never went to a sit-in, stand-up, march march march. But if I could be either a beatnik or hippie…I would choose beatnik…berets down.

First of all, I love bongos. We all know that’s the beatnik’s first love. Everything sounds good with a bongo…especially poetry. I can see myself now: hanging out at a club in the village or in some underground coffee shop in Times Square listening to poetry. I’d be wearing a solid black turtleneck sweater, a beret, and dark glasses. I could have easily gotten into the beatnik counter-cultural, anti-materialistic philosophy…at least, until I became acquainted with Tiffanys.

I also love the beatnik lingo. Yea, I can still see my beatnik self: I’d be in the club, listening to some jazz, snapping my fingers to the beat saying: “I dig this jazz, man. That cat is hip.”

I love to refer to someone as cat…not because of the obvious Kat reference…but it sounds so cool. Not many people say “cat” anymore. Whoopi Goldberg still says it…and also a guy we know who has a band. Wait, this just came to me….he plays keyboards…and wears a beret during his gigs. OMG…AND he’s older than me. He could have been a beatnik at one time. Dig it! I gotta talk to this cat.

I think I might take a field trip to New York to see if there are any beatniks around the city anymore. I have a feeling though…beatniks have been replaced by rappers. Beatnik poetry has been replaced with rapper’s rhymes. The beret is replaced by the do-rag. And the trademark turtleneck replaced with baggy jeans, and bling.

So if you follow my convoluted logic…(could I have a bongo roll please here?)…the rapper is really a modern day beatnik.

This Kat…is one smart cat.

Monday, March 30, 2009

The Wait

It’s decision time. The time when college decision letters are sent out to all the eagerly awaiting High School Seniors who have been waiting on pins and needles to hear whether it’s a yea, nay, or sit a spell.

A sit a spell is what I call the Wait List. That’s the list they put you on when the college decides “you’re okay, but not okay to be initially accepted.” So if the students the colleges really want say “no”…then they’ll take you. Personally, I say to hell with them. If they didn’t want me the first go around…then they can’t have me. (I like to play hard to get.)

So the next couple of weeks are filled with anticipation of the college decision letters. Listening for the mailman to come around the corner in his mail truck. (I’m curious, how does he not fall out of that thing going around corners with his door wide open?) Will Mr. Mailman have good news or bad news…or no news? “They” say no news is good news…but after waiting for so long, it doesn’t always feel that way…feels more like bad news.

The size of the letter tells you a lot. No matter what anyone tells you…size does matter. The big envelope is a sure sign they have admitted you into their college. No college would spend the extra money in postage to send out a big envelope with the words REJECTED on it. It doesn’t take much space to say: HIT THE ROAD.

Students are also hearing online through email and websites whether they have either been accepted or rejected…with the official letter to follow in snail mail. I’ve heard some colleges even have snazzy links to their e-letter. So if you get the good news that you’ve been accepted…you click on a link and a marching band plays…fireworks explode. I don’t think they’ve linked a rejection letter to a funeral march procession. Or maybe they just haven’t thought of it yet.

I have an idea for Brianna. I think she should send out rejection letters through email to the schools who have accepted her, but she has decided against attending:

“Dear Mr. Dean of Admissions:

After carefully comparing your school to the other schools I have been admitted to, I regret to inform you that I have decided to not attend your college in Fall, 2009. Unfortunately, there was fierce competition between many highly qualified schools and only one of me to go around. This does not mean, in any way, that you are a bad school. I wish you future success in obtaining other students to attend your college.

P.S. You will be receiving a copy of this e-letter in the mail to make it official. In other words Mr. Dean of Admissions…HIT THE ROAD.”

Friday, March 27, 2009

Daisy is 94

My grandmother, Daisy, turned 94 this week. Isn’t that the prettiest name for a woman? It just radiates with summer happiness. I had a friend who used to call me by a flower’s name….Petunia. I was never sure if I should be offended…But at least she didn’t call me peat moss.

So Daisy is 94 years old…which means she was born in 1915. She has seen a lot happen over her 94 years. She’s seen a lot come and go. Seen a lot thrive and dive. Seen a lot ebb and flow. And I hear…she once saw Flo with Ebb.

Over the past 94 years there have been a lot of advancements in technology, ideology, psychology, and hamburgology. Here’s just a few: the invention of the television, Computers, Pampers, microwave, credit card, super glue, pacemaker, White-out, silicone breast implants, CDs, ATM, Internet (thank you Al gore,) Post-it, liposuction, Cell phone, High Def TV, artificial heart, Cialis, The Doplar, Cabbage Patch Kids, McDonalds, Google…to name just a smidge.

Daisy even uses some of these products today…mainly the microwave (10% usage), portable phone (2 % usage), and Digital COMCAST cable TV with remote (88 % usage). Boo yah Grandma! The television is by far her favorite advancement….Bring on Jeopardy, Dancing With the Stars, and an NBA Basketball game.

As far as Daisy is concerned…you can keep the ATM and the credit card…cash is best. And keep the computer…she communicates the ole fashioned way… pen to paper and she has perfect penmanship…promise. Hopefully Grandma will never need an artificial heart (I think her ticker is still good with ticks) and I won’t even go there with Cialis!!! I can’t see her in one of those bathtubs…I know for a fact she takes showers.

And you can be sure she will never be at a computer to read this…but I have only the highest compliment for my Grandmother:

“Grandma…you da bomb dot COM.”

Thursday, March 26, 2009

He Says. She Says.

I don’t know about you, but I find reading about some wealthy couple squabbling over money during a nasty divorce disgusting. I know I shouldn’t read the article…but it is hard to resist…right there on the front page. All their dirty laundry exposed for everyone to examine. A couple of dirty Polo socks, and striped Givenchy underwear.

I have to admit, there is an element of intrigue. He’s George David, a retired UTC CEO, age 66, and she is a Swedish countess, age 36. The news article refers to a lot of finger pointing on both sides…a lot of he says…she says. I say…I’m happy PaulA isn’t a UTC exec and I’m not a countess…although I say, 30 years younger than PaulA would be nice…and He says, he agrees.

It seems the unhappy couple signed a post nuptial agreement 2 years after they were married. That was a good sign things were headed to court right there. She says, he coerced her to sign the post-nuptial. He says, “no I didn’t. “ (He speaks in short sentences.) No children are involved. I say, both of you cut the crap…and split the difference and give some to AIG…they are looking for hand-outs.

The problem is you don’t know who to feel sorry for more. The poor rich guy who wants to lose the biotch…or the poor rich girl who stands to be living on Easy Ain’t Life Grand Street.

I am NOT saying she is a gold digger (besides diamonds are a girl’s best friend), but she did sign a contract. She is now claiming the amount in the contract is not enough to meet her $53,000 a WEEK (yes, a week) expenses which include:

-$27,300: Mortgages and maintenance fees for Park Avenue penthouse, Hamptons retreat and properties in Sweden
-$8,000: travel
-$4,500: clothing
-$2,209: personal assistant
-$1,570: horse care
-$1,480: domestic help
-$1,500: entertainment and restaurants
-$1,000: health and skin care
-$600: flowers
-$650: dry cleaning
-$250: personal trainer
I think I could become domesticated for $1,480 a week. Throw a saddle on me.

George David's Weekly Expenses – total $206,592 include:
Undetailed mortgages and fees on residences
-$7000: entertainment and travel
-$2,500: clothing
-$1,695: car service
-$863: books, magazines and newspapers
-$636: club dues
-$575: bank charges
-$337: yard care
-$71: wine

In review of Mr. David …or is it Mr. George’s expenses (confusing with 2 first names)…. I think he needs to spend more money per week on wine. 71 dollars …is nothing. Heck, one bottle of fine wine could easily cost 71 dollars. By my calculations…one bottle 7 nights per week….is only 10 dollars a bottle. That’s what a bottle of Fat Bastard Chardonnay goes for.

I have a little something to say to George David…”The Countess Dracula is right…you are cheap. Cough it up, Dude.”

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Say It Ain't So

“Hello, I’m Barack Obama.” When some people speak…they get your attention immediately. They have you at “hello.” I think President Obama is a great speaker and totally captivating. With one teeny tiny flaw…..he occasionally makes grammatical errors. Say it ain’t so, Mr. President!

Look, here’s the thing (Obama always says that)…The President has been using “I” when he should be using “me.” Barack will say…. “Michelle and I” …when it is grammatically correct to say “Michelle and Me.” Not cool. What is cool is: “Me and Julio down by the school yard.”

You know…it could be worse. Obama could say, you know, every other word like Caroline Kennedy, you know. You know, her ridiculous use of, you know, during the NY Senate race might have had something to do, you know, with why she dropped out…you know.

Obama, however, has not ambushed the English language like Former President Bush. Bush should have been given a linguistic lashing…for his lack of command of the English language. You could predictify that Bush was going to botch some word up in every speech.

Gosh Dern Golly Geeez….at least Obama hasn’t pulled a Palin with his speech.

Look…here’s another thing…sometimes Obama can get a little too casual in his speech, and say something my kids would say. For example, when he said “I screwed up.” That just doesn’t sound very Presidential. Bush never would have said that….HAHA…I set myself up for that.

Look, here’s the other thing…at least as a blogger…ummmm….no one expects I as a hack blogger to have, you know, great command over the English langrage. I would not be expected to have prefect gramatiker skills. Golly, geez, who cares if I screw up anyway? You betcha, wink…wink.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Who Gives a Twitter?

Do you twitter? Do you tweet? Do you even know what the hell I’m talking about? I thought about dabbling in twitter…so I set up a twitter account with a twitter name of…katHERE. Heck Kat was already taken…and so was Kat1-100!

Then I thought: What the hell? What do I need to be doing this for? I’m more of a twit than a tweet anyway. Basically, why do I need to know 24/7 what other people are doing? I barely know what the hell I’m doing. And why do I care? And why would anyone care what I’m doing 24/7?

Twitter allows you to either be an exhibitionist or a voyeur…or both. You can post public updates on your life in 140 characters. It’s like a big “Away Message.” “Taking a shower and using my new shampoo.” Or you can follow someone else’s life. That way you can compare twitters and see who is having the better life…minute to minute. I wouldn’t want to compare my twitter with Oprah’s.

The only twitter I would be interested in following would be that of my kids. But I can guess…I’m the last person they would want following them. Heck, isn’t it enough I can reach them by cell, im, text, email, blackberry, and blueberry?

Maybe twitter is made for the young…or someone doing important stuff like a project for work and sending out updates to everyone. The only project I (should) have going is to clean out my basement…but who wants those updates? katHERE: throwing out Kat's clothes from college.

But then again...maybe I should twitter (As you can see…I’m experiencing twitter dilemma) because it would just sound soooo cool. “Yea…I twitter. I’m cool.” But once people got a peek at my tweets….they might want me to keep my tweets to myself.

katHERE: writing a boring blog about twitter…What do you expect from a twit?

Monday, March 23, 2009

Downhill From Here

I have heard some news that is making me crazy…mentally mad. Researchers from the University of Virginia have determined that we reach the summit of our mental abilities at age 22. And some of our mental abilities, including reasoning and speed of thought, begin to decline significantly at age 27. It's all downhill from here. So by my calculations…at my age now, I’m basically a dolt. There is no hope for me. And what if I live to be 80 or 90? A Bumbling Stumbling Idiot.

That’s gets me thinking…what incentive do I have to exercise and remain healthy into my golden age? (I’m still wondering why they call them golden?) Now I have the best reason ever to not work-out.

I always knew a college kid, at age 22, was at the peak of his mental abilities. Especially the kid who after a night of binge drinking, throws up on his shoes and passes out behind the couch. Regular Einstein.

Good thing John McCain was not elected President. According to this study…McCain would be dumb as rocks. YIKES. An utter and complete moron. According to the UVA research, if elected, he probably would be sitting at his desk in the Oval Office playing marbles with the ones he lost.

Who would have thought the twilight years began at age 27. (Why do they call them that?) Now it seems we should be getting those AARP cards sooner. If we are gonna have senior moments in our late 20s…then bring on the discounts.

The study suggested that we may need to begin therapies to prevent cognitive decline associated with old age at a sooner age. So how do we keep all our mental abilities…and not end up as stooges? “They” say doing activities that challenge your mind will help: crossword puzzles, mind-teasers, sudoku, balancing my check book that hasn’t been balanced in 7 years.

The main reason I even write this blog is to keep my mind working. Yeah, that’s the reason. It has nothing to do with getting sheer pleasure from writing pure unadulterated nonsense. I figure if I blog for the next ten years…I might not actually be as stupid as I would otherwise be ten years from now. I will only sound stupid. Write ON Kat!!!

Friday, March 20, 2009

Electric Blog

A man from a neighboring town was recently arrested for operating a marijuana factory in his house. He had 200-300 plants in various stages of development. The police raid on his home was due, in part, to the amount of electricity he was consuming. (Hey, do I have your attention?)

Wow…that guy’s electric bill must have been through the roof. It has to take a lot of electricity to grow that much pot inside your house. It’s not like we live in Arizona and get a lot of solar power. He probably kept his growing lights on 24/7 to keep all his pot plants thriving.

I just never realized the Power company was looking that closely at our electricity consumption. Big Brother is watching our every move. This makes me take a closer look at my own bills. What do my electric bills tell the company about me?

A review of Kat’s electricity consumption: Moderate usage during the week. Very low usage on the weekend. Heck, the power people could be calling me any minute about the discrepancy. I would have to explain to them that on Saturdays and Sundays… I don’t cook, do laundry, iron, run the vacuum, dishwasher, or electric mower (if we had one).

The twist to this news story is….marijuana man was using near ZERO kilowatts. And that is exactly what tipped off the electric company into doing an investigation. After the police searched his house, they discovered he had rigged up something to steal electricity. Free electricity. So now he has to go to court for the drug factory stuff…AND stealing.

He is in double trouble. And you can be sure the electric company is gonna come down hard on that guy. It is one thing to grow 300 marijuana plants in your home, but it is quite another to steal electricity from the Power company right under their nose. Nothin’ pisses them off more.

Now I’m getting worried that I might get a call from the electric company about the discrepancy in our voltage usage. Asking me why my usage is so low on weekends.

Yikes. The Power company might be sending out someone in the near future. I need to start increasing my voltage usage on Saturdays and Sundays. I know…this calls for more high def. television, margarita blending, and weekend blogging. That should do it.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

OMG, It's Brad Pitt

Hey, I hear Brad Pitt was visiting the White House two weeks ago and turned the place inside out and upside down…regular chaos. (And I don’t mean Get Smart style.) In seeing Pitt, Senators and Congress people were running around giddy with excitement. They were falling all over themselves and each other just to get a peek at the Pitt. I was surprised to hear they would go that gaga over seeing a star, but apparently they did. Their excitement resembled that of a 10 year-old girl seeing a Jonas brother.

And I’m not just talking the women at the White House…I’m talking about the men too. Brad Pitt even had a few men a little weak in the knees. But how could they help themselves…with Pitt showing up at the White House looking all Hollywood with his dark sunglasses. They immediately flocked to him…like Kat to cake…looking for autographs and for his Va va voom wife.

I see this as a big problem in the future. You see, Obama has a lot of Hollywood stars who want to come to the White House and rub elbows with the President. Obama is seen as a cool guy. He’s young and likes to cut an Oval rug with Michelle. They enjoy dinners and music…so I see a lot of parties going down.

Now how’s anything going to get done? With Hollywood stars like Pitt showing up to these festivities…there will be a major cog in the wheel of regulation. Government will slow and nothing will get done. We can add that to the list of why things can’t get done in Washington.

It was hard for Bush to get things done on Capital Hill, but this commotion is going to compound things. I think there should be a limit on the number of famous peeps that are allowed to visit Obama. Heck, Congress and the Senate are already distracted by the cool cat himself…No Drama Obama. Any more cool people in the White House will just confuse things.

That’s why cool Kat will be staying home…I don’t want to slow down the wheels of government.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

With The Economy and Such...

If the idea of skimping, getting by, and making do makes you sick…then you better take 2 aspirin and go to sleep for the next few years. The Frugal Doc is IN.

Hello shabby chic. The catch phrase, “With the economy and such” is perfect (thank you Linnyj and Mickster) when you want to emphasize that during this recession/ depression/oppression...you’re a little more cognizant of your spending and you’re holding back with your expenses:

“With the economy and such”…it’s in vogue to scale back and not go for flashy or big ticket items. And just when I was gonna purchase a Lear jet for myself…I can’t. Now I have to keep flying with all the other cattle on Southwest.

“With the economy and such”…it makes sense to order the house wine…go Butch…I mean, Dutch….and split entrees when you go out to dinner unless your sharer is coughing wildly.

“With the economy and such”…you might want to frequent Sardis less frequently.

“With the economy and such”… you might want to put your purchases in unmarked shopping bags that you have brought with you to high-end stores…all the stars are doing this.

“With the economy and such”…you might think to buy cubic zirconia instead of real bling…unless you are Terrell Owens.

With the economy and such”…you may want to leave your personal trainer behind and run your own personal behind.

Hopefully President Obama’s stimulus package stimulates the economy soon. Until then, we are left conserving our dollars….pinching our pennies….and nursing our nickels. Conspicuous consumption is OUT…Copious conservation is IN.

As you can tell from this non-stimulating blog…There is one thing you do not need to be economical about at all. That is the saying: “With the economy and such”…

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Happy St. Patrick's Day

“Ye take the high road…And I’ll take the low road... and I’ll be in Ireland afore ye." (I took the liberty of changing the words. You say Scotland…I say Ireland….Close enough.) So I’m taking the low road today and posting an excerpt from last year’s St. Patrick’s Day blog. I’m in a wicked pissa hurry to get over to McTarget and get some wearing of the green.

Paddy PaulA likes to say to me: “The next best thing to being Irish is marrying Irish.” I admit, St. Pat’s Day is the one day of the year I wish I was an Irish lass with red-hair and freckles. But other than St. Pat’s Day…I am fine being the English/Welcher that I am. See…I don’t like a lot of Irish stuff …other than green beer and potatoes. Not really a fan of Irish songs and jigs. Let’s face it Irish clog dancing is kinda goofy. And Irish food isn’t my taste…corned beef and cabbage …nasty combo. But on St. Patrick’s Day, I am right there with the rest of the Irish-posers…wearing “the green” and my blinking “Kiss Me I’m Irish” button. Yep, right there with the rest of them singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”, enjoying a green beer, and passing a blarney stone.

On St. Patrick’s Day when the kids were little and believed just about anything we told them…(back when we could really mess with their minds)…the leprechaun would visit our house in the wee morning when they were sleeping and turn everything green. (Well, turn everything green that we could add green food coloring to.) They would find green milk for their cereal, green bottled water, green mashed potatoes, and the best yet…a kid’s dream…green water in the toilets. It was Christmas in March…they would run from one bathroom to the other…checking out the toilets to see if the leprechaun had left them his calling card. Lucky for them…a little green was all they found.

So “Top of the morning to you”… “May love and laughter light your days”…. “May the road rise up to meet you”…and whatever else Irish people say.

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day…the day when everybody is Irish.

Monday, March 16, 2009

What a Doll!

Have you heard the news? Barbie turned 50! Doesn’t she look amazing for 50? She hasn’t aged a bit…nothing has changed or been rearranged. I know one thing…I wouldn’t want to stand next to that Biotch.

For some reason Barbie’s body has defied gravity…everything has remained in the same place. At age 50, nothing is left hanging or drooping. Her figure still resembles an hour glass and not a root vegetable. In all her years, she has not gained a pound…let alone an ounce. With her trim figure she can still wear all the new fashions and designer clothes. Her legs are still long, lean, and toned. Her arms aren’t flabby and don’t jiggle like Jello when she juggles. How is this possible? I think Skipper doubles as her personal trainer.

Barbie is a perfect 10 from head to toe. Her hair isn’t even graying, balding, or snowing. And her feet still have nice high arches…perfect for the latest strappy heels. Nothing fallen, corned, or blistered.

She’s still got that perfect flawless skin…granted, a little shiny at times. No aging can be seen in her face either. No lines, wrinkles, or pitfalls. No crow’s feet, pigeon’s feet, age spots, or bird droppings. Her lips are plump and full. How is this possible? I think Ken doubles as her plastic surgeon.

I would like to say a little something to Miss Barbie: “You think you are such a doll. Come on Barbie…be real. Without a few love handles and muffin tops…you haven’t lived.”

Friday, March 13, 2009

Chew On This

Why is it when you aren’t allowed to eat…that’s all you want to do. That’s all you think about. You’re fasting for your holiday, or it’s a Friday, like today, during Lent and you aren’t supposed to eat meat. That’s when you wanna stuff a double-cheeseburger-hold-the-pickle in your mouth. You’re a ravenous vegetarian and haven’t eaten red meat in years…suddenly the Whopper is a die from snack…I mean, die for snack. (sometimes I get my prepositions confused.)

I never realized how many food commercials are on television until I wasn’t allowed to eat for a day…before my colonoscopy...lest I remind myself of that fun time. There are actually a ton of commercials for food and restaurants …Dishes clanking, glasses clinking, people chewing …that’s when the salivation starts.

After a few hours of denying food…anything and everything starts to look good. Even fast food places where food usually looks like ‘yack on toast’ …suddenly looks appetizing. Even commercials where you see the grease bubbled in the burger or chicken looking like rubber…now looks like a Bobby Flay special.

A friend once told me that when she was fasting before her colonoscopy, she ate a little steak…hold the sauce. She didn’t think it would be a BIG DEAL…after all, it was only a little piece of steak. “Besides it's so hard to fast!” I totally understand. Before you have a colonoscopy ‘they’ tell you…you can have tea…but in your mind you switch a couple of letters around and then you think: EAT!!!

See what I’m talking about here? Heck, even dog food commercials start looking good…and Rosie O’Donnell’s upper arm is looking mighty succulent.

They have said that in desperate times…people have turned to desperate measures. I would want to be careful when I visited Asia. If someone hadn’t eaten in awhile…they might find Kat appetizing. Heck, I think I am a delicacy in some remote regions of China.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

4 x 6 of Brianna

Pictures are my thing and I have albums that chronicle every year since PaulA and I were married. I also have great memories, which are just as vivid, never yellow with age and I can take them with me. I have a 4 x 6 of Brianna imprinted in my memory…one that I always carry with me…one that I will never, ever…never forget.

On June 5, 1991 a gorgeous summer day, our Sweet Wish was born. We were all so thrilled, and Chelsea and Colin couldn’t wait to go to the hospital with PaulA to meet their new baby sister. A change of plans. Friends, who were taking care of Colinboy and Chels, noticed that Chelsea had chicken pox forming on her stomach…making Colinboy next in line. A sibling visit to the hospital was totally out of the question.

When we brought our sweet Wish home, we put her in a cradle in our bedroom...away from the caped chicken pox duo who were officially banned from all contact. Luckily for us…and especially me…my mother drove down from Vermont to help with the great germ fiasco.

My mother entered our bedroom to meet her new granddaughter. We both stood over sweet Wishy’s cradle…hugged and wept tears of joy…in awe of Brianna…with her beautiful peaches and cream complexion and her sweet pursed lips…a face of a cherub.

Brianna’s angelic face as she slept in her cradle…her first day home…

I will never, ever…never forget it.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

4 x 6 of Colin

Pictures are my thing and I have albums that chronicle every year since PaulA and I were married. I also have great memories which are just as vivid, never yellow with age and I can take them with me. I have a 4 x 6 of Colin imprinted in my memory…one that I always carry with me…one that I will never, ever…never forget.

We were on a family vacation for 3 weeks in Manomet. PaulA had to leave the beach for a few days to do some business. (Someone has to pay for our fun…Thank you PaulA.) In the morning, Colinboy, age 5, asked me if we could go to the local hardware store to buy a kite. There had been a storm the night before and we woke to an incredible windy, blue sky day…a perfect 10 for kite flying.

At the hardware store, Colinboy picked out a kite in the shape of a shark. Luckily for me, he chose a kite that was easy to assemble. I guess he realized at an early age his mom was fumble fingers. In 3 easy steps (as the directions promised) we had the shark put together.

Colinboy couldn’t wait to send his new kite soaring. He scrambled down the beach stairs and started running. Through teary eyes I watched my beautiful towhead boy dressed in orange swim trunks, run up and down the white sandy beach. I can still see Colin’s hair swirling in the wind with the deep blue sky overhead…and the proud smile on his face when he yelled,

“Look mom, the shark is flying!”

I will never, ever…never forget it.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

4 x 6 of Chelsea

Pictures are my thing and I have albums that chronicle every year since PaulA and I were married. I also have great memories which are just as vivid, never yellow with age and I can take them with me, wherever I go. I have a 4 x 6 of Chelsea imprinted in my memory...one that I always carry with me…one that I will never, ever…never forget.

PaulA and I were living in St. Louis and decided to make a trip to Vermont to attend a summer wedding of a college buddy. We were young and Chelsea was just 18 months old (not a BigC yet). I don’t remember why we didn’t fly, maybe we were trying to save a buck, but we decided to hit the open road….Road Trip.

Were we making a mistake by taking a toddler on the road? Would Chelsea, locked in her car seat for two days, scream the entire way to the Green Mountain State? Apparently….NOT! We were prepared with just the right supplies…apple juice, Cheerios, and Fun Fruits. We were young…but not stupid.

Over the course of the trip, we threw her all of these goodies and more. And it seemed to do the trick. Whenever she woke from a nap… we stayed with the plan.

When we arrived, we had to unglue Chelsea from her car seat. What a vision she was…a sweaty, sticky, sweet vision. As PaulA and I worked with a crowbar to pry her out of her seat…she was smiling ear-to-ear. With sticky, humidity-wired ringlets of hair around her face and a gleam in her eye......her smile said it all: “Mom and Dad, I love road trips!”

Chelsea’s sticky, sweet face. Chelsea’s BIG, dimpled smile…

I will never, ever…never forget it.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Spring Ahead

If you haven’t turned your clocks ahead by now….you’re in trouble, dude. It’s Monday morning and you are late. Turning your clocks ahead is an indication…Linnyj might be on time. Little joke there. hehe. Actually, the change in time is an indication that Spring is coming.

I know it’s hard to believe that spring will soon be springing upon us…putting the spring back into our step. But it will happen. And with the new season comes….warm rays, singing birds, daffodil blooms, and GOLF.

Gimme a G…O…L…F. What ya got? FLOG…that’s golf spelled backwards…and that’s exactly what happens while I’m on the course. I flog myself…with a stick for 18 holes.

Every spring season I am excited about the game. I’m hopeful that during the winter, a fairy golf god granted me some golf skills…and I’ve become a decent, respectable player.

Actually when I get out for my first few rounds of the season, I play well. Everything is par for the course (just an expression…not accurate). Plus the sun is shining…the course looks good…and I’m out with Linnyj, Pia, Eva, and Juanita. What could be more fun than playing golf with a barrel of monkeys?

I’m even driving the ball far and in the fairway…making some good chips and putts. That’s when I start thinking I got this game down. And I can hear my friends thinking… “Yes! The fairy golf god visited Kat…FINALLY.” But just as they start to think that…my golf game turns to flogging.

That’s when reality shits me. I mean, hits me. PU. My game stinks. It only takes a few rounds before I realize I’m still the hack golfer that I was last season. That’s when I look over to my friends after my last shot…a shot that bounced off two trees and back into the fairway (another Kat trick shot.) I catch Linnyj rubbing her nose. I knew it…she thinks I stink too!

Kat…A hack golfer during the golf season…and a hack blogger in the off season. Spring Ahead.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Honeymoon Over

Usually the honeymoon period of a relationship goes on for at least a year before the spouse starts irritating you with those strange sounds. But I’m not talking spouses here…I’m talking about President Obama. Is the honeymoon over already?

It has been argued that the media has been too soft on Obama. That they have treated him like a rock star…adored him…no tough questions. The press probably didn’t press that hard on Obama during the election. Heck…they wanted to make sure he was elected.

You could just feel the love from the media. It was oozing out of every media portal. I was watching Glenn Beck on NECN and he read a quote from the Washington Post in December 2008, that described Obama during his workout. It read like a Danielle Steele book. You would have thought someone was describing their lover.

“The sun glinted off chiseled pectorals sculpted during four weightlifting sessions each week, and a body toned by regular treadmill runs and basketball games.” Remember…this was in the Washington Post.

It was comical when Glenn Beck asked to have the studio lights lowered while he read the quote outloud…but even funnier when he re-read the quote and played Barry White music in the background. "Baby….oh, baby"…in that low Barrytone voice.

But now the media is lifting the house lights on Obama…no more dimmers or mood lighting, instead Obama is being put in the bright spot light. No more low soft moaning Barry White pillow talk….more like a shrill piercing Bjork. The difference now is that the liberal journalists don’t have to worry that Obama might lose the election. Now the news media can give an un-biased position.

It seems that Obama has become fair game for the media. The love affair is over…just like with Brittany, Lindsay Lohan, A-rod, Michael Phelps, and Chris Brown. (I wanna go on record…I never loved Lindsay Lohan.)

Thursday, March 5, 2009

AIG, Go To Your Room!

“AIG is a huge, complex, global insurance company attached to a very complicated investment bank, hedge fund that was allowed to build up without any adult supervision.” Quote by U.S. Treasury Secretary, Timothy Geithner.) AIG is in HUGE trouble…and we’re telling mom and dad.

AIG has been acting like a teenager. When the ‘rents go out…the kid goes crazy. Basically AIG got a Keg and set it up in the basement. Got 400 blue plastic 16 oz cups. Pulled out the beer pong table. Found speakers to blast some great tunes(DearHavanah.com). And sent out a mass invite on Facebook to 400 close friends. “Hey…no one is home…partaay.”

A party with zero adult supervision. A party out of control. AIG was right there dancing in the middle of the mess…wild drinking, rockin’ music, chairs broken, beer spills, and sticky floors.

So what did AIG do after their party? Nothing. What could poor AIG do now? AIG was incapable of doing anything. Everything was so destroyed…and AIG wasn’t sure where to turn. So the rents were left with the disaster…spilled beer, tossed plastic cups, blown speakers, broken furniture, and someone’s tossed cookies behind the couch.

The rents were left no alternative but to come in and clean everything up…put everything away, dole out lots of cash, and make nice-nice. No sense crying after spilled beer.

The whole time AIG had the rents fooled. The rents had believed in AIG…took his word…and all his promises. The rents thought AIG was mature enough to look after himself and be responsible. Now they realize they were wrong.

From now on the rents are left to question what AIG says, restrict what he does, and keep an eye on him. No more nice guys………

“AIG…you are grounded. Go to your room.”

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Kat in the Hat

March 2nd was Dr. Seuss’s birthday and he would have been 105 years old. I decided to honor him with this zany blog. FYI…In 1954, Life Magazine published a report on illiteracy among school children, concluding that children were not learning to read because they found their books boring. As the story goes, Dr. Seuss’s publisher made a list of 348 words they felt were important and asked Seuss to cut the list to 250 and write a book using only those words. He wrote “The Cat in the Hat”…using 236. Of course he had other great classics: “One fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish” and my personal favorite “Green Eggs and Ham.”

I couldn’t resist a couple of my own renditions:

The Kat in the hat
All day she done sat
All day she did blog
‘Bout nonsense and hog

‘Bout dogs that can talk
And fish that can walk
She never could stop
So they sent out a cop

Or someone in white
Whom she tried to bite
But alas she not win
Off to the loony bin

And there she does bloggin’
Not go for a joggin’
Not get off her butt
She is caught in a rut

All day she does ponder
In a seat over yonder
‘Bout her ass spreadin’ fat
Oh, that Kat in the Hat

Sorry….Just one more………….............

I do NOT like Green Eggs and Ham
I do NOT like them, Kat I am

I do NOT like them on a bun
I do NOT like them with a nun
I do NOT like them as a dinner
I do NOT like them with a sinner
I do NOT like them with a bore
I do NOT like them with a whore

I DO like Green Eggs and Ham
I DO like them, Kat I am

I DO like them in a jar
I DO like them in a bar
I DO like them there and here
I DO like them with some beer
I DO like them on the prodka
I DO like them with some Vodka

No wonder there is only one Dr. Seuss.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Electronic Hell

You lose the cord to your PDA…so your PDA is DOA
Your computer crashes…so your drive is not hard
Your phone battery dies…during a phone interview
Your back-up laptop battery…is not backing you up
Your computer refuses to connect…like a typical teenager
Your camera battery dies…at your child’s graduation
Your electronic toothbrush quits…and you are running late for work

Any single one of these electronic malfunctions by itself can be devasting. And any combination is enough to put someone over the electronic ledge. But all of these together…is the electronic perfect storm. Electronic Hell.

So…Who ya gonna call? The Geek Squad…to your rescue. Hire a geek…someone who knows more than you do about electronic stuff. Just don’t call Kat…cuz this Kat Squad don’t not squat about stuff. Unfortunately, in order to avoid a long down time in Electronic Hell…you are on the hook to shell out some major clams for the Geek…(Geeks love clams.)

They probably call it down time cuz that is exactly how you feel. Down. And that is exactly where you are going. Down. They certainly don’t call computer failures…up time. You aren’t exactly feeling upbeat about the situation. Get in Line…there’s a lot of other non-Geeks with you…in different degrees of Electronic Hell.

After a couple of days without your device…Electronic Hell becomes unbareably hot. You need a Geek. And you need a Geek now.

You’re at work and you’re getting hot under the collar…you’re without out your contact list and have no means to make ANY contact…you can’t call, text, im, or email. And you have bad breath…so you can’t even make contact the old fashioned way.

Suggestion: Make the toothbrush a priority.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Desperate Blogger

Do you watch the television show Desperate Housewives? I sheepishly admit that I do. Granted I am astute enough to know…it is a stupid show…total ridiculous crap…but I find every stupid crappy minute very entertaining. The story lines are waay out there…but there is something fun about watching the messed up lives of these desperate women. Uh, Oh…what does that say about Kat?

The housewives are a part of a neighborhood that might seem a little too crazy and not real life. But then again…Are the lives of these desperate housewives really that far fetched? If we took a close look at our own neighborhoods….we would find crazy. Heck, if we took an even closer look at our own families….we would find crazier. (Except mine, of course.)

Remember….we had the sketchy/scam neighbors who secretly moved out in the middle of the night. And in another neighborhood I once lived in…the wife from one couple moved in across the street with the husband of another couple. (There was actually a lot more drama than that...but I'll spare ya here.) So ya see...there is always juicy stuff in every neighborhood.

The murder plot line in every season, however, is a little far fetching. But Wishy and her friends like to watch and give points to each episode for a cheating housewife or murder. I wonder how many points they would give for a murdering cheating housewife? (100 point Bonus?)

Now that I think about my own neighborhood…. I haven’t seen my neighbor Julie around in a very long time. And when I asked Julie’s husband how she was doing…he said that Julie was “feeling a little under the weather.” But now I’m wondering…maybe she is a different kind of under…(100 points?)...especially after he asked to borrow PaulA’s wood chipper. (Note to self: Why does PaulA have a wood chipper? And why does he keep it oiled and in perfect running order?….hmmmm.)

This is one desperate housewife who is so desperate…she likes making stuff up. Idea for new TV show: Desperate Housewife Bloggers.