My house isn't dirty, it's Interesting.

Ok, I admit I'm hardly an effective housekeeper, but I'm no candidate for Hoarders. My house is lived in, loved in, used, and sometimes abused. I like to think of my house as a living being in a way, an entity on the same level as Moya from Farscape. A living ship that permits our residence within.

In some ways, my house is like an archeological dig. On the surface there is dirt, but as you open drawers and dig in the closets, there are relics and treasure. When something is missing, Mike and I are like Indiana Jones searching the caves (under the bed) for the Ark of the Covenant (the object we're searching for).

The house talks. It groans, it whistles, it even chirps sometimes. And of course, there's George, our friendly house spirit that keeps the cats active and even gets them "talking" sometimes.The house has it's own lived-in feel. It is over 100 years old and has been lived in for nearly every one of those years.

My house has character. Unlike the new box-style houses, each room is slightly off square, the walls are plaster, and the floors all slope gently toward the east side of the house. But it's MY house. I love every crack, crevice, cobweb and closet. Because it's MINE.

From the garden tub to the 6 foot tall windows to the weird passageway from the bedroom to the laundry room, it is a unique and comfy place to live. My friends all joke that my house puts them to sleep, because they relax when they come over. Even though my house is usually a mess, my friends choose MY couch to crash on, my floor lay out on, and my old clunky bathroom to clean up in.

So tell me...why would I ever want my house to be a spotless, pristine wonderland, when it could be all that it is? I'll live happily in my cluttered house with my love, my friends, and even George.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

My apologies....and a few updates...

Ok, I admit it. I'm a bad blog mommy. I have ignored her since July, and that was a bad thing for me to do. The only way I can make up for my egregious error is to update you on my life since my last post.

Lets do this in an organized manner.

First- Me and Das Bear. We are doing great, he's taken more hours at work and I've taken to a schedule in which I actually accomplish things during the day.

The furkids- Our family has expanded by one furkid...a very sweet, friendly stray that began sleeping on our porch in August. By the end of the month we were feeding him, and by September he was an indoor/outdoor cat visitor. Now, in a few days he'll be getting fixed, and as of last night is a full time indoor member of the brood.

My mother- Bless all that is holy, she is too busy to spend time fussing over me. Until the RV season ends at least. She's currently spending a great deal of time at the college finishing her journalism degree, and then working at an RV resort on the weekends.

My dad- He remains unchanged. I do worry a bit about him as he's lost over 80 pounds in the last couple years, but he says he feels better. I'm just nervous because he's approaching the age at which his father bit the big one from cancer.

My car- Ok, so this is a complicated one. The Jeep we were going to get ended up falling through due to title issues, so we continued to drive Kitty the StegaTaurus that my parents have loaned us. Then, in August, she decided to start acting up. BAD. We drove her around town for about a month, and then Dad's coworker came and picked her up to work on her. He fixed everything but the major issue we told him needed fixed. That was over a month ago. Now, as of tomorrow, she will be getting that issue fixed at an actual mechanic-and it should only take a couple days. Whew...that saga will soon be over and we will have a car again.

My life- My bipolar has been categorized into the bipolar 1 category with anxiety disorder. I am on meds and they are doing great! I am excited to report that I am functioning at a normal level and am able to maintain relationships healthily.

So all in all, life is good. The only things I could wish for are more sesame seaweed snacks and a less gassy Bela. That cat can clear a room. LOL

My promise to y'all is that I will try my best to keep writing...especially now that I've started writing my mystery series... more on that to come.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Hey Readers!

I now have a facebook page for Kat Lady and the Tramp! Come like it and when I reach 100 there will be a giveaway! So come by and click! Just click here to go straight to the page!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

This is why I am excited. (insert underwhelmed applause)

Ok, so it's not like it's a Caddy or a Jaguar, but for years now I have wanted a Jeep. Rugged, solid, it's a vehicle for people like Das Bear and I.  And on August 26, we will take possession of a 1989 2 door 4x4 Jeep Cherokee Sport. I know, those of you who aren't Jeepies are like, "What the heck? This is supposed to be something cool...click."

What you don't understand is our history with cars. I want something that can survive a collision. And here's why.

My first car was a 90 Geo Metro. Red. I drove that thing like burning zombies were chasing me. Sure, it shook like a leaf when I hit anything over 70, (and I did) but she held together and got me places. Mom kept it at home when I went to college, and 2 weeks later the tranny dropped out while she was driving. I might have actually mourned for that car...lol.

I didn't have another car until I got married. We were strictly walkers for the first couple years of marriage, then my parents gave us an 88 Olds Ciera that we named Agnes. She wasn't pretty, and was suited more for blue hairs than newlyweds, but she ran and was easy to fix. Until she met a parked tow truck while she was going 45. Das Bear was lucky to survive, and Agnes sadly had to go to the parking lot in the sky.

Following Agnes, we had my fathers Chevy Half-ton for about a month during the worst ice storm this county had seen in years. We named him Angus in honor of the dearly departed Agnes.  Then my mom surprised us with the hooptiest, most terrifyingly nerdy car I have ever owned. Maggie was a red (again) Mercury station wagon. She looked ok from the outside, but not long after buying her Das Bear was driving and the brakes failed. He swerved to avoid a van full of children (really, I mean how cliche, right?) and ended up running into a HOUSE! Maggie sort of survived, we did some major reconstruction, but her running days were in her past. Another one for the heavenly parking lot.

We decided to buy from a dealership, as the last car was a bit-shall we say-deficient. We went north 20 miles to a town in another county and met Bebe at a used car dealership. She was a 1998 Ford Contour. She had a few quirks too, but ultimately met her fate at a stop light when someone ran a red light. Again, I mourned her, as I was attached.

We were still paying off the loan, so my parents decided that they would loan us their 1996 Ford Taurus. She held up well until about a month ago. Suddenly she stopped at a major intersection and refused to start again. I had to run 6 miles in the dark in flip flops to deliver the stuff Das Bear needed to get her home. Yeah, if you know me, you know that this was a miracle on par with the resurrection of Jesus. She made it home and promptly decided that Mike's work is as far as she cares to go and back. So we've been walking a lot again. Her head gasket is fried.

Then Biker Babe threw out a solution. (not knowing my thing for Jeeps) She said that she and her husband had a Jeep that ran well and they would sell it to us for a reasonable price. Today we test drove and set up the nitty gritty.  She gets her new tag on August 19, and we make our first payment the 26th. Then we can start our Jeep adventures.

So without further ado, here she is.

As a red Cherokee, we're tossing about Pocahontas for her name.

I promise we're not trying to be racist with the name, it just fits.


To Jeepies and Cobwebs on the Driving Record (Me, at least...)

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Egg Salad! Or How to speak Spousanese.

The other night as Das Bear and I were hanging out with Biker Babe, there came a point in the conversation where I needed to communicate my needs to him without actually coming out and saying them. Using a made up communication system involving hand gestures and meaningful looks I managed to explain my issue without a single spoken word. Suddenly, he began excitedly gesturing back. I understood everything. "Exactly!" I said, and Biker Babe looked at me like I'd gone loony. "What do you mean?," Biker Babe queried?

Das Bear looked at her and in a few sentences conveyed the entire gesture conversation, word for word, gesture for gesture, look for look.  I realized suddenly that somewhere, somehow, we had managed to create our own silent language, and frequently communicated in it.  I bet it looks strange when we do it in public without thinking. Just imagine me in the ice cream aisle rapidly gesturing and making funny faces down the aisle toward Das Bear. Then imagine him nodding, walking to the chip aisle, selecting the exact brand and item I specified and returning. Creepy, right?

We also have a set of code words we use when we need to communicate something quickly and ungestured. I'll share a smattering of them with you, but not all of them, or our secret language wouldn't be a secret anymore.

Egg Salad- Let's bounce. Asap.

George- Wow, that dude/lady/kid/animal is dumb.

Boober- (actually this is short for Boo Bear- my nickname for him.) I use this when I want something...said with a slightly southern drawl.

Yes? Yes. No? (really?) No. K- Our short hand negotiations.

Douchecanoe (Thanks Bloggess!)- This is pointless.

Squee!!!!- Please Oh PLEASE can I have it? It's so FLUFFFFYY! (yep, that's a direct movie reference.)

Meoooowwww- Yes, I actually meow like a cat sometimes. It's my signal that I need some attention.

(Chewbacca sound)- HE wants some attention. I know, weird. But it's really cute, I swear!

Anyway, that's a sampling of our weirdo communication/language. What strange ways do you communicate with your significant other/friends?

To making noises and waving your hands.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

A Shirley Story-the origin of my disease...

So it's been a while since I shared a Shirley Story. I've surpassed 4000 pageviews and now you shall be rewarded. Today I'm gonna open up on my mother and I's weird relationship. We're both messed up in very similar and different ways.

I've got to give her credit, because she did an excellent job training me to live bipolar. The earliest memory I have of this phenomenon is when I was 7 years old and starting my first year of 4H. (13 years total) The night before the county fair I was woken up at 2 am to start baking. My poor little 7 year old body couldn't stay awake, so my mother actually tied me to the one cleared chair next to the 3 foot square of cleared dining room table and forced me to stay awake and mix up the ingredients. I must have mixed up close to 3 dozen more cookies than necessary because they were not perfect enough. This was ridiculous, because my mother had to literally shove crap out of the way to even get to the oven.

I was raised on a double standard. Do what I tell you, but do it better than I expect...don't do what I do. Every night I went to bed in a room stuffed with random things that didn't fit anywhere else. And then my brother started woodworking. His final 4H project was this GINORMOUS oak desk, and it was meant to go in his room. He needed pictures of it in there for his 4H book, so Mom began "the great cleanup of 1996." And for all of four months (a record) there was a desk sized clean area in his room. I was jealous.  He had a space to DO something in. Mom never did that for me. I don't think she could mentally handle the thought of me wanting space. I cried for her to help me clean my room, and we tried. Every time I would pick something up, she would start crying about how that couldn't be thrown away, it was special. The thing is, when Mom starts to contemplate something that is complicated or over emotional, she falls apart. I once caught her crying because she lost her glasses somewhere in the massively over crowded and dirty living room. I found them by the bathroom sink.  Sometimes I wonder if maybe she has some weird mental tick that helps her completely ignore the giant issues right in front of her and makes her nag about the little things. Maybe she just can't handle facing adversity.

It's funny really, we all walk on eggshells around her, and we all resent her in some way or the other. Maybe she's better off not knowing our real feelings, and just knowing we love her anyway.

There was this one time when she was (as always) over-committed to a billion things, and hadn't taken the time to check the date.  Turns out my birthday had passed 3 or 4 days before, and she had forgotten it. (Dad told me this story...) She immediately dropped everything, ran out, got a cake, invited all the neighbors and made them promise to fake that it was June 2, not June 6. I was only 3, but she knew that someday I would hear the story and be disappointed. I'm not...I think it's funny, you know, the thought of 20 adults pretending it's actually my birthday, and glancing uncomfortably at each other wondering if she's always this scattered. (We had that birthday at the park.)

I only remember one time that anyone actually came to my house to celebrate anything. I'm pretty sure I was 10ish, and mom had hired a housekeeper to help her get the house under control (lasted 2 weeks) because she wanted to have a party for me there. I was completely surprised to see people in my house that didn't live there. To this day I still struggle with strangers in my house, even though I have nothing to hide. I never had anyone over to spend the night, but went to many friends houses instead. The older I got, the less I was at home.  I think it was less complicated for my mom to have me away, so she could concentrate on herself. (I know that sounds harsh, but it's true.)

I spend a lot of time now trying to analyze why I am the way I am, and there is really no other reason but the way I was raised. I'm glad though, it made me tough and smart. I know Shirley has a serious mental illness, and so do I. She'll probably never get help or take it seriously, but I do. I think I was put where I was so that I could share my story and help others who are in mentally unhealthy situations.  Just call me Dr. Kat Lady...lol...

There is a purpose for everything, and there is a reason my mother exists. She is crazy, self centered, hypochondriac and a bit slow, but if she loves you she loves you with all her heart. I am pretty sure my life would be dead boring if she wasn't in it. So in some weird way, she's a blessing to me...if that makes sense.

To complicated mothers and fixing yourself,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Growl. Hiss. Grumble. WHINNNNNE. It HURTS!

Yeah, so as usual the kiddos are doing great...they took a nap at 7 pm and slept til 9, then went to bed at 11. I think we are doing a great job at wearing them out during the day. I can't even begin to think about party planning for the weekend until tomorrow. (I know, talk about LAST MINUTE!)

My body has picked a new and creative way to revolt. As of last Sunday I have been noticing my knee swelling and being unwilling to bend and/or support me. I now limp like Quasimodo. I refuse to accept defeat and go to the doctor- mainly because I can't afford it- and I'm sticking to the RICE method. (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevate) as best as I can. It's not easy when you are the primary caretaker for two really active kiddos for 10 days. On a side note, Bug is really a doll. Everyone who has met him said that he is the most polite and gracious kid they have seen in a long time. I agree. They should clone him. He's that awesome.

The Fairy is great too, but man can she get annoying. She's at that age when everything is "WHY?" My patience isn't where it needs to be right now because of my knee pain, and I'll admit, I have actually sent her out to play a few times to spare my sanity.  She is an awesome kiddo too, and a bundle of energy. Bug really helps keep her in line though.

I've spent a bit of time recently playing with my photoshop and editing my step-niece's wedding pics. It was fun to get back into doing what I love to do. I also got to make a few birthday cards and even took the time to doodle a bit. Anything to keep my mind off of the pain.

I'm already getting a little sad about the kiddos leaving Sunday. They really have kept me occupied and given me a lot of joy this last week or so. I don't know when I get to see them again. It may be next month, or it may be next year. Therefore I'm trying to ignore my pain for the most part and focus on the kiddos. I want them to have such a good time that they remember it when they are my age.  I still remember visiting my Aunt C when I was 12 and how they went above and beyond to make my time there fun.

The cats have been complete spazballs this week too. They just don't understand how to relate to the midgets. Icarus is the worst. He'll rub up on them, purr, and allow exactly one pat on the head, hiss, bat at them, and run away. It's actually pretty comical. It's like he forgot for a second that he doesn't like them. Moonie is very hot and cold. By that I mean he is fond of Bug, but terrified of the Fairy. He's also punishing us for disrupting his routine. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get tired of washing cat pee out of the dirty clothes.  Hazel is absolutely in love with the midgets and would rather be with them than us. I'm expecting a depression from her when the kiddos leave. On a side note, we may have number four in our household soon. Bela (formerly thought to be Bella) is the stray cat that has adopted our porch. (I swear I only fed him twice...) The plan is to get him neutered and introduce him to the cat herd. He's already familiar with all of them via their sniffing and rubbing at the screen door. Hazel loves to hold hands through the hole in the screen. He's a sweet cream colored cat and I'm sure he'd fit in well.

Tomorrow Das Bear is off, so it's clean up day at the Den.  I'm grateful to have 4 extra hands to make the job faster. Oh, and Hurricane Shirley says hi to y'all...she has no idea I share her exploits via this blog, but she knows I'm a writer. Don't worry, there are MANY more stories of her to come.

I guess that's all for tonight.

To ACLs and Spazball Cats,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Sparkler Burns, Ringing Ears, and other memorable moments.

We had a blast. For the 2nd year I joined my friend and her family for the 4th of July. This year, however, I had a couple extras to keep an eye on. Bug decided he wanted to help the Master Sergeant shoot off the big stuff, and boy did he get a surprise. Bug is 12, and naturally has decided this makes him invincible. Or at least that's how he felt until last night...

All was okey dokey until they got to the last few mortars. Suddenly...BOOOOOOOOOMMM and the mortar exploded right near the ground.  Luckily, the Master Sergeant is a big guy and immediately grabbed Bug and shielded him. All Bug got was a scratch and burn on his arm and a lot of ringing in his ears.  He has now decided that he no longer likes fireworks. I think he'll get over it before next year.

In related news I have managed to well and truly screw up my right knee. Not sure how, but it doesn't really hold weight at this point and is swelled up like crazy. Needless to say, I decided to torture my swollen, burnt and miserable body and go for a midnight swim at my friend's pool. Ok, so I may bring my burns and sprains upon myself, but why stop living when you are already in pain...what's a bit more, right?

Later last evening we brought out the sparklers. All of the older kids managed to burn the crap out of their fingers. Being that they were already hot, tired, and DONE, this brought on the biggest, most annoying whiny fit I have ever seen! When we got home, Das Bear was home from work and helped wrangle the kiddos into their beds.

Looks like tonight will be another long one, as we'll have Sparkle along with the Fairy and Bug. Das Bear works 11-7, and then it's another day. Wish me luck.

To Flash Burns and Cranky Kids,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The Lady Lobster and the ever so steamy day.

Things that are red- tomatoes, cherries, Rudolph's nose, ME. Wowzer did I acquire a humdinger of a sunburn today! I can't say I didn't enjoy acquiring the sunburn, as I got it swimming at my hometown pool today (for FREE!) and spent some fun time with Owl and the kiddos.

Speaking of the kiddos, they are doing great and we haven't had any major issues, just some funny misunderstandings.  One happened when the Fairy saw some smallish orange squares wrapped up like presents. What are these, Auntie? (They were maxi pads...) I told her they were expensive and shouldn't be played with.  Another happened when we tried to explain the term "gay" to the Fairy. Apparently (awesomely) the 6 year old has no concept of any difference in love from gay or straights.

We had some fun at Walmart, when we stopped to get groceries after swimming. We walked in and the first thing we saw was free face painting via Kelloggs. There were a TON of samples in the store, and it was almost an outing in itself. (I now have 200 flavor-ice freezing in the fridge freezer.) I was amazed at how well the kiddos handled the over-stimulation of the colors, sounds, and shiny stuff all around. They didn't have any problems understanding that they weren't to beg for things, and didn't cause any issues in the store so I got them each a treat.

I'll tell you, though, I'm burnt to a crisp, and from the sounds of it I will be until they go home next weekend. I wouldn't have it any other way, these kids are the bomb.

To Sunburns and Surprise Outings,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Nacho Mama- the Adventure Begins- Day 1

Well, it's happened. I exercised, by my own full consent, and I didn't die. Much.  (The things we do for kiddos we love.) Today the four (KL, DB, Bug and the Fairy) walked down to play in the water at the splash park. We also got to listen to the (at times AWFUL) talent show that was taking place a 100 yards away.  Trust me, if I disliked hearing certain pop songs on the radio before, now I may just hurl when I hear the first chords.

But these kids...the Niece and Nephew...are actually pretty spectacular. (Lets see how I feel in 10 days...) They don't beg for things, they help out, and they even respect others. I don't know how they learned it on their home ranch of 18000 (yes, thousand) acres, but they are pretty down to earth and humble kids.  I couldn't believe it when Bug (the boy) took the time to move his sister after she fell asleep so that she would get more A/C.

The Fairy is a complete firecracker. She's a ball of energy that sometimes manages to crash land for 40 winks or so.  She walked 3 and a half miles with us today and did not complain once, even when she got a blister! That's pretty amazing for a 6 year old. Bug is 12 (as of a couple days ago) and has been a mature little man for a while now.

I did learn today, however, that these kids are blessedly naive about sex.  When confronted with my friend's (the Stripper) 5 inch patent leather stripper heels, The Fairy said only this: "those are fancy! Does she wear them to church? I bet everybody stares...it's not nice to stare." It took all I had not to tell her that those shoes were meant to make people (men) stare. Thank God I didn't tell her those were the Stripper's work shoes!

So yeah, the kiddos and I are figuring out this whole summer visit thing. Tomorrow we go to my hometown for their celebration, then Sunday it's off to hang out with friends at Mike's hotel. Looking forward to the week, just gotta keep em busy til the 10th. Cross your fingers peeps!

To learning mommy skills and explaining strippers to 6 year olds.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Ok, I was asked, so here is my gross story. (or 2)

*Warning in advance- if you are eating or nauseous, come back later. If not, read at your own risk.*

So after reading The Sarcasm Goddess's gross story and commenting I had a doozy too, she asked me to share it to the interwebs. So here goes.

Das Bear and I had been married all of a year and a half, and had moved 3 times already.  I still considered us Newlyweds, because we hadn't broke the fart barrier yet. (you know, when you finally comfortable passing gas in front of a loved one...) We had moved from a tiny (3 total rooms) apartment to a GIANT apartment to a smallish apartment in the basement of a local complex.  The layout was such that the door was on one end of the rectangular living room and the hallway on the other end. At the end of the hallway on the left was the bathroom. This was the setting for the breaking of the Newlywed status. However, as I normally don't just break barriers (I obliterate them...) I unintentionally scarred my husband for life.

I had been in quite a bit of pain. I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and tend to run toward stopping up as opposed to the other option. My belly was distended so much I looked pregnant.  It was all I could to just crawl from the living room couch to the bathroom and give it "the ol' college try." For days I had not been able to poo.  We couldn't afford for me to go to the doctor so I began experimenting with options.  I drank this horrible concoction from Walgreens that's supposed to make you- let's say Unconstipated.  No dice.  I laid on my stomach to see if that would get things moving. Nope.  Apple Juice, Cranberry Juice, even exlax. Not happening.

By day 7 I was miserable. Das Bear finally decided that if I didn't have some relief by the time he got home from work I was going to the ER.  Now, you don't know it, but the ER is my LEAST favorite place to be. I'd rather wait miserably at my own house as opposed to waiting miserably in a crowded waiting room. It was my "come to Jesus" moment. No, I didn't pray, I got creative.

I got out the Vaseline, and couldn't locate the rubber gloves. (You all know what's coming next...) I sat on the toilet and got to work. I spent 2 or 3 hours trying to clear my impaction. Finally it happened. A moment after I got the impaction out (the hard way) the bathroom door opened. I hadn't heard him come home, but there was Das Bear with possibly the most grossed out look on his face I have EVER seen. He backed up, closed the door and silently walked away.

Only later did he tell me what he saw.  He opened the door to his beautiful bride sitting on the toilet crying, and smiling. What grossed him out was the fact I was also holding (in my bare hand) a softball size ball of poo. (I may have also been sighing happily as my bowels emptied.) There was crap streaked up both arms from fingertip to elbow. (How did it get up to my elbows?) And I may have been laughing maniacally. Now mind you, when I finished on the toilet I got right in the shower, but he didn't hug me for almost a week, and he's never looked at me the same again.

That's when I knew he loved me, because he eventually let me touch him again, and the whole incident has become a funny story we tell our friends (and apparently now the internet.)

On a side note, a few weeks later he had a hilarious run in with my mother. He tends to be naked whenever we are alone at home and she tends to walk in and make herself at home. He came out of the bedroom into the hallway as she headed down the hall to the bathroom. Now imagine the most awkward and embarrassing collision EVER. And add him getting racked in the bare jewels by her knee. Yep. That happened.

So I guess I just told my first poo story here, and have obliterated the wall of good taste. We'll see where this goes.

To breaking barriers and unimpacting poo.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Watch out world! I'm learning perspective!

Yeah, so today I feel like crap. Not like when I felt like crap for almost 2 months, but definitely like when I felt like crap last summer. The sun hates me. (Or conversely my body hates the sun.)

Not long ago, (up until about my high school graduation) I was an avid sun worshipper. (I am now too, but it an entirely different way and connotation.) I could swim in the glaring sun all day long, and wish for more daylight so the pool wouldn't close. I lived with a perpetual suntan and absolutely dreaded the Labor Day weekend.  I still love to swim, and I would happily spend my days sunning if it wasn't for one big issue. It seems as if my body turned 20 and decided it no longer knew how to tan, or could handle the blasting heat of summer.  No, instead, it has decided to be faithful only to the A/C and shade. I look like a freaking Goth, for goodness sake!

Being that I tend to listen to what my mind and heart want, and not what my body asks for, I consistently torture it.  I go to the splash park in 106 degree heat and dare it to fail me. I come home and spend the better part of the rest of the day in the bathroom or lying flat out in front of the A/C on the couch.  Can I get a trade in for a younger, more cooperative body? This one doesn't work anymore!

I don't know...maybe I just need to look at this from another angle. I love Abby (Paulie Perette) from NCIS and she is as Goth as they come. Can you be Goth without wearing pancake makeup and looking depressed all the time?  Maybe I'll be a an Emohemian---dark hair, light skin, hippie clothes.  Ah, what does it matter any way? I'm willing to take the pain after the fun, if it means I can pretend to be normal for the day. (Wait. Normal? That's probably not the word that best describes me...)

Later this week I get to have my niece and nephew for the whole week, so I best figure out a way to enjoy the sun and be able to function after. (Maybe a portable toilet in the car?)  On a related note, kids grow much faster when you don't see them for 8 or 9 months.

Ok, that's enough rambling for today...my addled brain has run off without me, so I must chase it back to the couch.

To Sun sickness and summer pools.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Then and Now: A humorous retrospective.

Today we are taking a trip back 20 years to when I was 9, and seeing some of my favorite childhood things in a new light. So, back to 1991----

We'll start with TV. I didn't have cable, so my TV spectrum was limited to Saturday Morning Cartoons, PBS, and daytime talk shows.  Only recently have I been able to get to enjoy the Nickelodeon gems that were in their heyday in the 90s.  I have come to one conclusion. Everything I thought was hilarious or cute on TV back then is now unbearably creepy. I mean come on, Pee Wee's Playhouse featured the equivalent of a pedophile on an acid trip, and Mr. Rogers certainly wasn't sketchy at all (can you feel the sarcasm?). What kind of grown man changes his clothes four times in a half hour, and then plays "make-believe" with his puppets? I think he and Miss Aberly had something going on. (A little bit of "hide the Trolley?")

Of course daytime talk shows were no better. What with Jerry Springer and Maury Povich, my summer was spent vacillating between watching incestuous twins fight, and hearing if PoShaLaQueNisha was telling the truth that JaQuonLaDonte was the father. (Usually not.)

Because of the lack of quality boob tubery, I was (luckily) forced to actually find other things to do. You know, like dry humping my barbies on my brother's GI Joes. I loved my Care Bears (though I secretly favorited Sunshine Bear and the one with Rainbow on it's tummy) and I positively coveted my own little stash of My Little Ponys. When I got the scratch and sniff fruity pony I actually hid it in my closet so no one could get it but me. ( I know, what a selfish little imp!) There was one type of toy I wanted desperately and was not allowed to get (Mom said they were disgustingly ugly, I was like DUH!) called the Troll Doll. I wanted one in every color and especially the ones with the jewels for belly buttons! (Kinda glad I didn't get them, because I would rather not be compared to Mimi from Drew Carey.) One toy scared me so senseless that I will not touch one to this day. It probably had something to do with me watching Chuckie at a friends house right around the same time I got it. Teddy Ruxpin. What a creepy toy! Something about a toy talking to you just makes me shiver. My brother was always telling me it would kill me if I left it facing me while I slept. It lived in the closet right across from the fruity pony, but for obviously different reasons.

I never really did get into 90s music, but I was also immersed (forcefully) into hearing Garth, or George, or Johnny, or Waylon's voices bombarding me at full volume every morning on the way to school. Everyone else was into NSYNC and BSB, and Britney. The more they loved them, the more I hated the artist. I've just never been a bubblegum pop kinda girl.  Reba and Martina's lyrics were the ones I belted at the top of my lungs.  (Badly.)

I guess now that I'm looking back I realize that the things I found intriguing back then were good back then. (Now I can't sit through a whole 90s show without needing a break to wash the schmaltz off.

So be it I guess. Nostalia is a fickle and fie lover.

To looking back, and Ebaying the crap outta your old toys.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Popularity has its downsides, and popularity is one of them.

Please forgive me. I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad girl. I have been neglecting my dear web-child, and I have been receiving gentle prods, urgent emails, and not so gentle veiled threats regarding my lack of blog posting recently. No excuses, just a plea for you to forgive me and a new blog post for all of my loving and loyal fans. I apologize for my absence and I will try to do better. :)

Now on to today's topic, popularity. When I was younger, if I had decided to throw a party, I would have had to offer free money to get people there. Nowadays it seems as if the tide has changed. I am now able to find someone to hang out with at a moment's notice, or throw together a barbeque on a whim and have at least 10 people show up.

Facebook has been a huge help as far as the throwing parties thing goes. Recently I decided to put an event together at my house, and I (perhaps unwisely) made the event open to anyone (i.e. friends of friends' friends...) because I thought that way we might have more than the 30 people I invited. Well kiss my lips and call me Porky, when I checked my Facebook event page moments ago I found a whopping 73 may be attendings. I have a decent backyard, but that plus the 30 I originally invited would give me a final total of 100 (!!!!) people. Holy Freaking Cow. I may have made a mistake when I put "Bring the whole family" on the event poster. Oh, well, at least we'll have music, food, and people dancing, talking and laughing together. That's what it's all about. 

I must have forgotten to mention what exactly would be happening at this party. Apparently, all you need to attract a load of people is tie dye and food. Yep, that's right, in two weeks we will be hosting the First Annual Hippie BBQ at our modest little abode. I'm kinda excited at the thought of it being a success and having to do next year's at the city park because of the amount of people...lol

I wanted a bouncy house, but I guess that will have to wait for next year- Das Bear says my budget limit is -and I quote- "frugal." That means it's do-it-yourself this year, and I've already recruited a couple friends to make the backyard party friendly. 

Tomorrow I'm off to Hesston to spend the weekend celebrating the sun, and then I plan on coming back and party planning full force. Did I mention someone is bringing a WATER BUFFALO roast? That'll check off another on my strange things I've eaten list. I really can't wait. I'll post pics if it turns out well. I'll post video if it turns out crazy. I'll be in handcuffs if it turns out insane. lol

Alrighty then, ladies and gents, it's off to bed for the Kat Lady.

To Hippie Dreams and Square Nightmares,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

My hippie is hanging out!

I've decided that because Das Bear decided to poke his dear beary nose into my blog I must get back to entertaining my public. I. E. You.

I'm a hippie. A down to the earth barefoot nature loving hippie. I'd do dreadlocks, but with my multicultural hair I would just look like I needed to cut my hair.  If I could walk around in nothing but a sarong and flip flops 24/7 I would. Show me a tree and I will hug it.

My parents are strictly RV campers, thus I was borne true as a tent camper. There's nothing like unzipping your tent in the morning to birds chirping and a morning breeze sweet in your nose. (Or a downpour...there's nothing like dancing in the rain.)

I love to sit in the dirt, or play in the lake, or go rock hunting on the lake shore. I smell of sage, earth, and probably one too many glasses of mead. Ah mead. The nectar of the gods. Literally. That's the drink they were referring to. There's nothing like the honey sweetness of a taste. Of course no one stops at a taste. Often a taste escalates into a game of pass the bottle(s) around the circle.

I'm not a big drinker, but when the mead's available I'm in. That being said, I love to drink hot cocoa by a roaring fire and and dance to the beat of a drum in the dark of night. Many people find me an enigma, a product of ice and fire, water and earth. I'm mutable. I can go from silently meditating to a rousing game of Marco Polo in no time flat. (I am a CHAMPION Marco Polo player. Just ask Fox.)

I'm a trickster, a sneaky little prankster with the best of intentions. I love to hide behind doorways and scare passersby. I enjoy swimming up behind an unknowing subject and poking them. I enjoy watching them scream and I enjoy the inevitable chase that follows. I love to play on the floating dock...doing a silly dance and then diving in. And don't think that's not a big thing for me. You all can see me in my swimsuit directly to the right...

I try to be entertaining and fun, and I love to LIVE life. Therefore, the hippie in me is getting to come out of winter hibernation today when my friends and I have a barbeque and tie dye party. I can't wait to see the creations and I promise pics.

To tree hugging and enjoying the outside,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Coining a Term and a New blog owner

Das Bear here, just to let y'all know it appears I'm gonna win my bet as it seems that the Kat Lady her glorious self has been caught up in a Procrastinado, yep new term, a good one too.
  
        Procrastinado n.  or adj. - to let circumstance or ones own actions keep one from doing        a task over and over again. This state can sometimes cause a person to lose all sense of self and the pressure of the unworked on project can actually lead to stress and backache until one either caves and does the thing or gives it up. 

No The Kat Lady wont give up but I'm sure after a short round of the crazies and the writers block she will be back at the helm.  Till then I'm taking over and turning it into a blog about cars and computers.  Just kidding Katty has just been a bit under the weather and not feeling inspired the past coupla days so forgive her and she will be back at it tomorrow she promises, and the procrastinado cant whisk her off to Oz cause she already lives there..


~To coining new terms and Hostile Takeovers

Das Bear

Getting the Mail- Then and Now

I remember being about 10 years old and waiting for the mail to come so I could see if my magazine had come. Or waiting for birthday cards from relatives and the inevitable cash boon inside. I remember waiting (impatiently) for the present that my dear Das Bear had sent from clear across the country. Never do I remember dreading the mail as a child. However, as I got older, I began to understand the true fright that comes with impending mail drops.

When I reached high school, I would race home to (hopefully) intercept the demerit slip I earned with my procrastination. I remember literally having mini panic attacks if there was no mail in the mailbox when I checked it. That meant mom may have got there first.

As I reached college I began to look forward to mail again. There's something about being by yourself in a new town that reminds you how nice it is to have someone remember you exist.

Then I got married. Suddenly the mail became dreadful again. Bills seemed to appear out of nowhere, laughing and cavorting in our little metal box. Junk mail would pile up and never was there a positive piece of communication.

I finally got smart. I started applying for free samples and learned that not all mail was bad mail. It somehow tempers the dread of opening a bill when you get to open an awesome box or envelope with a free present.

So I guess I've learned that I shouldn't have spent so much time as a child wishing for the mail to come...I've got it in spades now, and I actually rejoice when the box is empty. All hail EMAIL!

To Postage and Handling,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Foreign Reality Shows...another reason to procrastinate...

Well, I won't out and out say where I happened to find my newest fix of foreign reality shows, but I will say that it came via computer. That being said, I have now watched Canada's Next Top Model, Top Chef Canada, The Amazing Race Asia (which is surprisingly in English...), MasterChef Australia, The Amazing Race Australia, and Project Runway Canada. Needless to say, Canada is a much under appreciated talent pool.

That being said, I have begun to pick up foreign phrases from these shows, and believe that before long I will begin to be able to fake a foreign accent from most anywhere. This will help me in my desperate bid to get on the Amazing Race. Somehow a cabby drives faster when you shout at him in his own accent. (I picked that up from the Amazing Race Asia.) In fact, if you pay attention, you can learn many important life lessons from these shows.

Some of the things I learned are: It's ok to throw up sometimes. Luck is a fickle and sarcastic monster that dangles just out of reach.  You will get fined for changing clothes on the street in India, but the kids showering NAKED across the street in the fountain won't. Canadians like puffy sleeves. Asians can pronounce unfamiliar words better than Americans. Canadian models are just like American ones, mostly too skinny and annoying. Food is location specific. Balut (Duck Fetus in Egg) is a delicacy that tastes like chicken, if you don't look at it. And most importantly ANY person of ANY nationality can get lost ANYWHERE.

Oh, and the host of TAR:Asia is super hot. British accent and gorgeous Asian features in a perfect mix. Ok, maybe I need to get out more because I am actually lusting over someone I have not seen ever before today on TV.

Also, an interesting note, TAR: Asia have a LOT of bungee jumping challenges. Are the producers subversively trying to lower the Asian population? Or do they think they are suicidal? Jumping off buildings and such?

Anyway, I'll see ya on the flip side, I'm going back to Asian TV.

Konichiwa and Adieu,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Left after the rapture money making ideas...

So I know this is horrible, but as the world is (reportedly) ending this weekend, I have come up with some money making ideas for those of us not lucky enough to make the cut.

1. Post Rapture Pet Care- (This one came from my cousin's cousin.) With 1000 dollars down, I will take care of your pets post rapture. If you are unlucky and miss the cut also or the rapture doesn't happen, I will pay you 500 dollars back. (I get to keep 500 dollars because of your stupidity.)

2. Post Rapture Real Estate- I figure a lot of nice homes will suddenly become available if/when the rapture comes, and I bet I could make some reasonable money from selling homes to the poorer people who normally couldn't afford a big house.

3. Post Rapture Religious Leader- I have a feeling that post rapture, many people will find religion. And probably pay lots of money for it. (Oh, wow, I sound like a sociopath....)

4. Post Rapture Prostitute- Again, many people will find religion. The rest will go hog wild.

5. Post Rapture Celebrity- Being one of the many left, I will make myself (in)famous and make money from doing things that aren't even remotely entertaining. (Oh, wait, the Kardashians have already nailed this one.)

So, should the rapture happen tomorrow, I am confident that I'll still be sitting here, enjoying my not-so-sinless life, and I'd like to let you know you can leave your pets with me...just leave 1000 bucks on your counter and a bright colored post-it on your door with the pet's name, age, and health info. And in the morning, as you peel the post-it from your door sheepishly looking for other paranoid people on your block, remember this: If a deity is going to take you to the beyond, it's not gonna be when you are expecting it. You can't tell a higher power when and how you are going to transcend. Unless you are in one of those weird suicide cults- in that case, avoid the red Kool-Aid. See you on the flip side, unless I don't.

To Rapture, and being Left Behind,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Ok, so I dropped the ball. A lot.

Let me start with an apology. I completely dropped the ball on posting this last week or so.  I have no excuse, just being lazy. That being said, time to get on to the post.

Today I feel like annihilating something with my awesome super powers. Super powers that I don't technically have (yet). I plan on getting bitten by a radioactive spider (like the one that lives in my microwave) or splashed with toxic waste (when I change a diaper). Heck even being kidnapped by aliens and shot up with some random substance that activates my latent powers. You see, I have known for years that I have latent super powers. Everybody does, you just have to know where to look.

My most obvious latent super power is the ability to draw crazies to myself...Instant League of Super Heroes! The crazies are always the ones who have the latent powers. So I guess I have the power of attraction...

I also have the power of empathy. You know, it's starting to sound like I'll end up as one of those Captain Planet weirdos. (Anything but Heart...Anything but Heart...Anything but Heart!) Maybe my tears would be acid or something cool like that...

I doubt I'd be cool enough for super speed or laser eyes or anything like that. Maybe toxic farts. That could be a helpful super power. Or maybe the Evil Eye...disfiguring villains with a mere look. Das Bear says I am good at that already.

I guess I have a million possibilities when the aliens take me! How awesome! I just hope I don't get x-ray vision. I have too sensitive of a gag reflex to handle that.

Up, Up, and Away!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Getting older...one gray hair at a time...

Today Das Bear and I got to take a wonderful little girl (Barbie) rollerskating for a girl scout party. It was great to see her fly around the rink and pretend she was ours for an evening. I had made a major error in my thinking when it came to skating with her, however...I have NO balance.

After sitting on the sidelines in my size 9 skates for most of the event, Das Bear finally decided to dare me to try to make it around the rink once.  Yeah, so being dared immediately spiked me into the "oh, no he didn't" mode and I had to prove to him I could do it. So there I went, a menace on 8 wheels, determined to not mow down small children in my quest for victory. About 10 feet from where I started, I discovered something untoward was happening, starting at my ankles and working up. Suddenly my feet were separated about twice as wide as necessary, and the distance was quickly becoming a bigger problem.  Soon, with a yelp I was spread eagle, in the splits, in front of everyone. Luckily I am used to being a clumsy oaf and was able to laugh it off as I stood up.

Apparently I am completely able to ice skate on two little slivers of metal, but cannot balance on 8 big sturdy wheels. I managed to make it through the rest of the trip around the rink, with a few windmills and quick stops. Das Bear found this to be highly entertaining. By the time I came around the last corner, it was a matter of pride, and I HAD to finish strong. So strong I nearly ran down a four year old and clotheslined myself on a half wall.

I'm pretty sure none of that nonsense is going to help my back feel good tomorrow. Oh, well, I guess it was about time I learned my limits.  I just felt another gray hair pop up.

Well, now that it's apparent I have no sporting abilities whatsoever I think it's time for me to apply to the Amazing Race again. Goldarnit they need to pick me so I can prove to my husband that we could TOTALLY win!

To Roller Skates and Rug Burn,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The Guide to Bad Baby Names.

After attending my friend Redbird's college graduation today, I found myself contemplating a few of the names. Some names even made me want to walk up and smack their mother. Therefore, I have developed the 10 rules of bad baby naming.

1. If you would like your child to be beat up incessantly for the 18-20 years, please by all means name him/her something long or snooty sounding. Names recommended are: Benedict, Mortimer, Harold, Lusitania, Margaret, Albequerque (not even kidding.), and/or Chrysophilia (The love of GOLD).

2. Take a common word and either shorten it, or add a few letters. I.E. Angerine, Lemonjello, Orangejello (Look those two up.), LaCommode (Yes, THE TOILET), Iantelope (Ok I made that one up.), or the ever popular VaGina.

3. Nerd it all up in here. Obscurity is your friend. Terrabithia, Leia, Uhura, Pickard, Facebook (Egyptian), and even Weasley have been used as FIRST names for babies.

4. Use the baby's name as your middle finger to the world. I kid you not, when my nephew was born, the baby across the hall was christened PeeWad. Not even joking. I believe he was renamed by the state shortly after. I've also met a Fuq Hyu, and while in Korea, I met a Fuk Mei.

5.Band names. There's a great area for a terrible baby name. How about Abba, or MetAllica? Or maybe GaGa or Jovi? Why not go all the way and name the twins AC and DC?

6. Pick the name from a catalog. Any catalog. My nephew's name is Ruger, as in the handgun. I have seen such names as Shirt, Tenys Shue (what creative parents!), Motorola, and even Dell.

7. Aim for the sky...or the clouds, or magickal rainbow land. Miracle, Rainbow, Sunshine, Cloudy, Rayne Dae (was my boss), Sparkle, and Promise. Their parents HAD to have been hippies...or at least smoking the ganja... But seriously, by the time these kids are in their twenties, most of them will have to become strippers, because that is the only job that a grownup named Sparkle or Rainbow would be acceptable.

8. Name your kid backwards. This has become a local phenomenon (plague?) that just bugs the daylights out of me. Nevaeh. Really. Why don't you name the next one Lleh? Or Diputs? In my opinion this is not creativity, it is Dedrater.

9. Be cute with your last name. If your last name is Winter, why not Snowy, Wet, and Long? Or if you happen to have a rhyme-able name use it to your advantage. Lacy Tracy, Alli Tialli, Prong Dong (which is terrible on MANY fronts...) or maybe Marina Carabina.

10. Here's my number one bad baby name idea. Name your kid after a disease! Alopecia, DiSlexia, Laren Jitas, Catyract, Rubella...you get the idea.

Now that I've given you the guide, I expect to see some more terrible baby names to keep me company.

Wednesday Battle: Cats Versus Dogs

I have decided to institute a new feature! Wednesday Battles will feature competitions between two things, from a humorous perspective...

For the inaugural Wednesday Battle, we'll examine a common war. Cats Vs. Dogs. Let us begin.


Dogs are inherently social animals. So social that they will walk up to a stranger and sniff at their tuna fish taco or extra large hotdog. Yep, a snout straight to the crotch is one way to introduce yourself, but often is considered rude. Dogs will usually introduce themselves with a bark or wag of tail, but occasionally introduce themselves by peeing all over themselves and your shoes. When going for walks, dogs are often chick magnets and can probably get you laid every once in a while. Some dogs are anti-social and would rather rip off your arm than sniff your crotch. Dogs are widely known as man's best friend, and are loyal to the end. Unless they smell something interesting...

Cats are independent and high strung animals. They would much rather you'd ignore them, thank you very much. The more you ignore them, the more fascinating you are to them. Cats are more likely to stare at you from across the room, take a flying leap into your lap, and shove their butts right into your face.  There's no point in even trying to walk a cat. The resulting squalling, hissing, and completely boneless blob on the  sidewalk is definitely not a chick magnet. Who walks their cat anyway? Anti-social cats are more likely to stare menacingly at you from under the dresser or bed than attack. Do not approach said cat unless you are wearing leather gloves, a cup, and have excellent life insurance.  Cats are very intuitive, unless they see something shiny...

So which is better? Cats or Dogs?

In my personal opinion, cats are low impact, easy to care for animals and are perfect for my lifestyle. (And if I said any different I wouldn't wake up in the morning...I'd be cat food...) Dogs are more outgoing animals and require a lot more training and attention. Too much in my humble opinion. So in my opinion, cats take the crown as the better animal. Now I'm going to go cuddle up with my little independent monsters and let y'all throw some balls to your dogs...

To Furballs, Dog Breath, and Cat Farts,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

My friends...also known as "The Peanut Gallery"

I have the greatest friends in the world. They also happen to be the most diverse group of crazies I have ever known and loved. Today I will spend a good part of the post gleefully poking them! Remember, all fun is made with nothing but love.

Going WAY back, there is a friend who has dipped in and out of my life, now back in for good. She's such a good friend she even accidentally named her kids after my husband! ;) We'll call her Birdie. Birdie and Das Bear were an item long before I came along. Birdie is known for chasing her babies, laughter, and being terminally impregnable...even on the pill! She's such a good friend that she even helped put Das Bear and I together! (Well, I'm sure if she had been given a choice I'd be married to someone else right now, but she was graceful and kind enough to give him to me...)

One of Birdie and I's best friends happens to be my first gay friend. We'll call him Gayru. Gayru saved more than his share of emotional lives during Birdie and I's teen years. Gayru also happens to be a Gold Star Gay! (I had to brag for him...) He brings the snap to my sarcasm, and french to my toast. He even strapped himself into a death machine with Birdie and I once. (I believe this was the episode where I attained my fear of heights...)

Then, as I am on the Gay Train, there's Owl. Owl is the least cliche gay I know.  He looks very manly (I believe they call them Bears.) and acts very straight...unless he's dressed as his alter-ego The Lube Fairy.  He's great at listening and terrible at following directions. Believe me, any trip with him during tornado season is truly an adventure!


Speaking of adventure, there's my friend London Bridges. If that sounds like a stripper name, it's because it is. I can't say I don't enjoy the free shows when she comes over to show her new outfits though.  LB's daughter Freebird is like a daughter to us, and is a constant source of hilarity. LB is good at her job, and she'll be the first to tell you that. Now if only we could find her a man who can look up long enough from her boobs to fall in love with her brain...

And brains leads me to my newest friend, Rabbit. Rabbit is the most excited and friendly person I have ever met. She's like a shot of espresso in an energy drink. It's very refreshing, unless you are trying to follow what she is saying...I say "slow down" a lot. LOL It's impossible not to like her, she is so honest and genuine. She's the kind of friend who will tell you if your butt really does look big in those pants. And you will thank her for it.

Finally, there is that group of friends that are really family. We like to call ourselves the Island of Misfit Toys. Starting from the top, Redbird- the neurotic but motivated mother figure that will sell her left kidney if it will help a friend.(I think she may have offered once...). Her husband Silver is a big teddy bear, unless you mess with his clan...then you've got a Grizzly ready to maul. Silver is possibly the most hilarious nurse I have ever met. Next is Foxy Lady. FL is a mama to the nth degree. Technically she's a grandma to the nth degree too. If only we could encourage her to let MonkeyButt cry until he sleeps...but that's a grandma thing. She's the peanut butter to my celery.  Her husband Dragon is my best bud, and we joke I'm the long distance girlfriend because we talk on the phone nearly every day! He's like a marshmallow egg. Hard on the outside until you find out how to crack him and find the gooey inside. (That sounded a lot dirtier that I intended. We are not "that" kind of friends. I promise.) Biker Babe throws some adventure into the mix, riding her Honda Davidson right into our hearts. Leather and Lace...that's her to a tee. Amazon is a new addition to the Island also. She's got the snap of cinnamon and spice that just makes the whole dish work.

All of my friends have their quirks and idiosyncrasies, and I am sure you will hear more about them in future posts, along with Alien Queen, and Sir Aqueduct.

To Quirky Friends and Friendly Quirks,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Shirley Sunday: Every day is Mother's Day

And so the perfect storm has commenced. The calendar has been kind enough to lend me Mother's Day on Shirley Sunday!

Today I will share with you some random and funny facts about the wonder we call Shirley.

1. She is physically incapable of being in the same room (or county, or state) as a snake. Not even on TV. Mike won me a stuffed snake at the arcade and I am gleefully waiting for her to discover it in my house. I don't like snakes either, but I am not quite that bad.

2. She has a unique dialect. Holes become hoes, and instead of using the more common phraseology, she says "when the fan hits the ceiling..." Yeah, that makes a whole lotta sense...\

3. She is SUPER religious. We were dead broke and she told us to pray to God for guidance. I was like "heck no! I'm praying for money, biotch!"

4. She is a perpetual college student. Going on 6 years at the local CC now, and the teachers are trying to figure out a way to MAKE her graduate.

5. She claims to be allergic to EVERYTHING. In truth she's only allergic to things she is afraid of.  Maybe she's allergic to snakes...

6. She is delightfully racist. She actually refers to blacks as COLORED PEOPLE! I once asked her what color they were...she didn't find that as funny as I did...

7. She has absolutely NO gaydar. She met my gay friend Owl at least 50 times before I finally was able to make her understand that he liked the boys. She tried to set him up with her friend's granddaughter...most AWKWARD date EVER!

8.  My mother is terminally helpful. She cannot look at any open space without figuring out what to shove in it to "help" a person. Stuff is not what is needed when you need help spring cleaning... Another man's junk is always her treasure! (And sometimes mine...)

9.  She has formed a tradition of being admitted to the hospital about every 6 months...minor things usually, but she manages to stretch some stays to 3 weeks! Almost like clockwork, she is usually in the hospital around July 4th and Christmas. Sometimes I wonder if she decides to stop taking her meds so she can get some attention.

10. For mother's day, I should add something nice about her...she is generous. Too generous. She will spend every dime my dad gives her to help someone, even a stranger. So, really, she isn't a monster, she's had a hard life and managed as best as she could. That being said, I still think I'll pay for some therapy for her for her birthday. And maybe some Xanax...

To Mommies, Mamas, Moms, and Mothers... (and Mother F*****rs...)

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

8

Little moments of clarified insanity....

You probably know what I'm talking about. The moment that happens seconds before you crash your car, and all you can think about is whether you are wearing clean underwear.(If you were before, you won't be after...so what does it matter anyway?) Or the moment you take your boy infant's diaper off and you see him screw up his face and aim the pee gun right at your face. And especially the moment directly following a very dirty word you uttered in front of your impressionable mimicking toddler. (And now will spend the next 6 months working to rid from her impressive vocabulary.)

I have a term I like to use to describe these moments: Bursts of Clarified Insanity. For just a moment, the world is clear, and your brain finds the one inane, niggling thing that is completely not relevant to the situation.  It happens to all of us in stages. It can start out with a little phrase like "Did you leave the oven on?" during an intimate moment, or "That wasn't a fart! OMG!" in a car or van full of people.

Yes, during these moments, it's as if time itself slows down and we see ourselves in slow motion and unable to stop the momentum of the situation. If you've ever seen Doctor Who, it doesn't matter, because anything can be undone. Unfortunately, Matt Smith and David Tenant are busy filming the next season and cannot bother to transport you back to the moment via Tardis. (Oh, dear! My geek is hanging out! Better shove that back in the IT closet.)

So what do you do when faced with the inevitable clarity of insanity? You laugh of course. You realize that life is but a series of random events shoved together to make you a stronger and better person. So you laugh, and hope that next time there won't be a next time. You realize that someday the peeing infant's wife will get to hear the story of his freely peeing, and life will go on. You wipe it up, (or spit it out...) laugh, and cuddle the little ball of ornery. You look at your toddler, tell them what you just said was a no-no word, and that mommy and daddy make mistakes. Then you laugh, and tell your toddler a funny story about when you were little.

You brace yourself for the incoming crash, then look at your spouse and say, "well, at least the insurance is good for something." Then you laugh, because tomorrow it will be worse, but then it will get better. You take these moments that somehow stick in your mind as failures, or errors, or even just slip-ups, and you assign them humor value. Why? Because if you focus on the little moments of clarified insanity, you will slowly drive yourself insane.

Soon you will find that the spills on the floor, and the stains on the shirts, and the dents in the fender incite a different response. Laughter. Things happen. (More to me and Das Bear than a lot of people...) and giving a positive and forward thinking response will save you a lot of pain.

Or you could just go kick a door, break your toes, yell at a nurse, gripe at your spouse, growl at your children, and scold the dog...

To Spreading Positivity and Accepting Faults.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Mawwwiage...all about TWUE WUV.

I think the Princess Bride got it right. True love is something to have good humor about. It's often humorous and frequently inspires you to do things you wouldn't for anyone else.

After a while, true love becomes marriage. That's when the real fun starts. You get to see your true love mid urination, and find out that the old adage about women not farting is terribly false. True love allows you to see beyond these minor human faults and only see your glowing beautiful spouse seated upon a throne. (Ok, I am lying about this, no one looks regal when they poop.)

Truely, love is but a lens through which two unsuspecting souls find the urge to create yet more unsuspecting souls. At the barest, love is the natural biological function that allows a species to continue and survive. I believe, however, that true love also begets a kind of natural humor.

How can you not find funny the two bickering old geezers on the bench on the corner. You know that when they meander home, they will settle onto their rickety porch swing and hold hands, like any old married couple is likely to do.

I find bickering an essential part of true love. If you didn't love a person, you would not take the time to try to change them. (I am fully aware that changing a man is impossible. Women change daily, sometimes hourly.)  This leads to bickering. Sometimes it's an unconscious way to tell that your spouse knows you exist. Take the toilet seat for example. Das Bear knows if he leaves it up, I will acknowledge this fact to him loudly when I get that unhappy splash of butt in bowl. Me, I like to hide the remote. That way, whenever he needs it, he has to ask me where it is.

It's all about the little battles.  Let's be serious, we fight little control battles daily, and lose, and win. Mostly lose. But really, sometimes we fight just for the makeup sex. (Yes, on purpose. And yes, it is exactly as good as you have heard.)

Love is a funny thing, and marriage is a tricky path, but I would not have it any other way. It's like having a roommate that helps you pay the bills, clean the house, and you get to have sex with them too!  Friendship became true love for us, which became marriage. Sometimes it works in other ways. (Sex buddy becomes best friend becomes live in partner...)

I knew I was in love when he walked in on me pooping and didn't bat an eye and just backed away slowly. I knew he was in love when I threw biscuit dough at his head in a rage  and he proceeded to start a food fight to make me laugh.

So true love is a random thing that blindsides you and then proceeds to drag you through the briars until you learn to love it. Ask my husband's first girlfriend, Robyn. She let me have him because she knew we were going to end up together, and she and I are still great friends. She's now married with two of her own progeny. So yeah, true love can lead you down some pretty unexpected paths.

To the maze of Twue Wuv, and Princess Bride.
Aaaaaaasssssss Yooooouuuuu Wiiiiiiiiissshhh!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The Feline Thought Process.

My cats are special, individual fursuited human beings. That being said, the cat brain is not known for being large or super complicated, and they often fall prey to what I like to call "Kitty Brain."

Moonie likes to eat. A full bowl is his Nirvana. However, 5 minutes after he has eaten, he forgets that he did so. Soon there he is again, winding around my feet and looking pointedly at the food bowl. I pick him up and set him in front of his food, and he eats again. This scenario plays out for about an hour, or whenever he exhausts himself.

Icarus is a pervert. His favorite thing to do is watch you going to the bathroom. He does not merely sit by and watch you, however. He must be IN your LAP whilst you do the family business. Yes, he actually purrs while you whiz. He even does this odd behavior with strangers. And don't even THINK of closing the door. He has the ability to curl his paw under the pocket door and loosen it, then he paws at the opening until he can get in. I think he thinks he's protecting the pee-er or pooper and therefore deserves treats.  You try explaining to your significant other why there is cat hair "down there."

Hazel is the prime example of "Kitty Brain." She is excitable, vocal, and a true "oooo....SHINY!" cat. Half the time, she looks like she's been hopping it up on the catnip. Now, I realize, she is still technically a kitten, but her brain just works so differently than the boys! I can't say I don't like having a kitty that goes into full on kittygasm if you look at her and wiggle your fingers, but jumping in the tub every time I go to use the toilet and licking the tub spout manically is a little weird.

So, yeah, my kitty family are quirky, and have an unnatural need to be near someone while they do their business.  I wouldn't have it any other way, because my kitties are the best kitties in the world.

To Toilet Kitties and Kitty Brain,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

I'm back, and the word Moist is offensive.

Well, after a brief respite following the vacay, I have returned. You all should feel very special, because due to my throat issues, you are the only ones I can communicate clearly with. Oh well, I'm sure that doesn't bother the hubbs so much.

On a side note, Mr. Kat Lady has gotten a wild hair up his butt and would like to be referred to as "Das Bear." Ok, whatever, right?

Now on to today's topic. The word "Moist" offends me. I find the word and anything it is referring to just plain gross. Think about it, the first thing that comes to mind is either a bread or cake, or someone's nether regions. Moist, to me, is possibly the creepiest non-dirty dirty word.

Of course like any word, context and punctuation can affect the connotation in which it is heard.
"That cake is really moist." Innocent sentence, right? "That cake is really....moist..." is a little more suggestive. "That 'cake' is really Mmmoisttt..." is downright dirty!

And NEVER, I repeat NEVER, use the word moist in reference to a human or animal. "She looks moist." Yeah, that doesn't sound sketchy at all, even if she is stepping inside from the rain. "Look how moist she is!"

To me, the word moist infers a warm, wet, and slightly sexual environment. I feel like showering every time someone refers to something as moist. I know, it's just a word, but it's like the word caress. Every time I watch a shampoo commercial for that brand, I just see two people lathering up and preparing to get moist.

What word do you think may be accidentally heard in sexual context? Does it make you cringe every time you hear it?

To Moist Caresses, and Cold Showers,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Mikey's Monday Guest Post

It's Monday and Mrs. Kat Lady is currently begging me to do a post for her today.  I am tempted to say no, but she just looks too pathetic, and tired for me not to take pity on her.  So what to talk about, well how about this, just the other day i realized that it has been almost a month since we last used each others real names.  Its always "Hun" this and "Baby" that and many other sickeningly sweet monikers and embarrassing nicknames when not in public, and only slightly toned down ones for the rest of humanity to hear.  So why do we as married people seem to actually forget our own and our significant others real names.  Do we just file the face of our partner away with no name because we see them literally every day?  or some other illness of the married mind?  I don't know but every once in a while I make sure to call Mrs. Kat lady by her given and try to get her to do the same just so i don't forget my name.


Posting for my Honey Bee

~Das Bear

Shirley Sunday: Mental Illness

Welcome back, to another edition of Shirley Sunday! Today we learn my mother's intolerance of mental illness.

I am not even kidding you, my mother wants me to turn down FREE medication for my bipolar disorder, and throw away FREE medication for my anxiety disorder.  She's not even aware that she helped aggravate the conditions until I needed medication!

Speaking of mental illness...my mom has a few.  Let's see, hypochondria, Munchausens, chronic depression, severe anxiety, and let's not forget her own case of bipolar disorder.

We call her Hurricane Shirley for a reason. She exists in two modes. Windbag mode, where she must expel all she knows and thinks about verbally for long periods of time, and Level 70, where she attacks everything she loves and destructs it and her own self worth at the same time. There are, of course, shades of each mode, and they are easy to detect. When she's working up to a Level 70, she pouts, cries a lot, and calls me every day to bitch about everything and everyone. I know then that in a few days I need to stay away from my phone and not answer the door unless I want to be emotionally or physically assaulted. Yes, folks, she has thrown books at me, keys at me, and even once threw a brick at me. All because I told her no. Now she don't need no medication! Windbag mode is much more pleasant. Usually it comes off as the friendly but slightly creepy lady who finds you so interesting that she must tell you all about herself. Sometimes it comes out as the lady who tries way too hard for something she'll never have.

I'll give my mother credit...she lives with mental illness every day, and living with her encouraged me to get help. At times, my brother and I have even contemplated dosing her tea to see if she would get better...then I realized that was a crime, and I had no compunction for living in a cell.

Thursday was a good day, so I'm expecting Level 70 by next Friday. Or even one of her rare but amazing and mystifying Level 70+ moments, in which she threatens her own life and those of any adults in the car with her.  Note to self, do not ride with mom anywhere next week.

To Looney Bins, and Crazy Talk,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Alaska, land of ...well, never mind.

Somewhere in our 4th year of marriage, Mr. Kat Lady and I got a wild hair up our butts about seeing the world, and working in new places. Starting over, really. Well, yeah, not so much, as you will soon see...

It was on the plane ride from Seattle to Anchorage that I began to have my doubts. I was scared out of my mind. How were we, two podunk midwesterners going to survive Alaska...IN THE WINTER!  Needless to say, that thought was too little too late. We landed in Alaska and the scariest and most messed up adventure of our lives began.

It was around 8 pm local time, and the airport was crowded with vacationers returning home and workers flying out to the crab, lobster, and salmon boats. We stuck out like sore thumbs. Luckily, we were rescued by a taxi driver. We instructed him to the hotel we were set to manage, and a short time later arrived at a three story, tow up from the flow up, massive motel.  The name alone gives me pause these days...The Big Timber.

What our new boss had neglected to tell us before we left the land of Oz was that he was adding a strip club to the back of the motel. Oh, and have I mentioned the mirrors? EVERYWHERE. It was my job to scrub them down every day and make sure all the rooms were comfortable for the "clients."

It wasn't long and our ethics cost us the job. We were now homeless in Alaska, as we had been staying in the motel until we found a place. Luckily we had made a few friends who helped us find a hotel room for a couple nights so we could call home and ask to be rescued. Another friend found out we were missing from the motel and spent two days going all over Anchorage looking for us. He drove us to the airport and made sure we got home safely. (Thanks Guardian Angel John! You made some awesome crab salad!)

We had lasted all of a month in Alaska.  When we got home we made a pact to always stay where we were doing well, and travel for vacations only. So why do you all care about this story? Well the moral of the story is: When trapped in foreign lands, follow the yellow brick road home. Someday I'll tell you all about the porn superstore that was a block from The Big Timber.

To taking CALCULATED risks, and sometimes failing,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The Nori Incedent. (FBI Follies with Kat Lady)

So you're probably wondering how I'm posting this when I don't have a laptop and I am out and about in that city, doing that thing. Well, I won't even try to hide it...I actually wrote this post on Thursday night. Also tomorrow's and Shirley Sunday.

I hope you don't feel cheated, but I really didn't want y'all to have to go without me for a whole 3 DAYS!  So yeah, I have spent the greater part of Thursday and today packing for our trip. I discovered Mr. Kat Lady and I have obviously different packing styles.

Mr. Kat Lady likes to shove it all in the bag haphazardly and hope for the best. Having learned my lesson while packing for a month in Korea, I tend toward the roll it or fold it method.That's how I packed 31 days of clothing, toiletries and shoes into the 2 bags that came with me to Korea. It's also how I have managed to get all of our clothes into one large bag and 2 back packs.

You know, thinking of Korea and packing, I have a funny story...

My host mother was nothing if not efficient. She carefully took note of those things she cooked that I liked, and those I did not. I may have been a little overzealous about my love for her homemade nori. (the seaweed wrap around sushi) She also was not shy. She had no problem going through my things while I was off teaching or sight seeing. I imagine it was a curiousity of America or some such thing. I had nothing to hide. The night before we left, the American teachers went out for one last night on the town. I had packed before leaving the house, so when I got home, I laid down and rested until it was time to go. I really REALLY should have looked in my bags, because there was a slight problem. (On a side note, I had been treated for thyroid problems with Radioactive Iodine just 2 weeks before we left, and had been stopped by the FBI in Minneapolis on the way there because I set off their detectors. I got to go on only when I showed the doctor's note and they called him.) When we got to Minneapolis on the way back, I was once again accosted by the men in suits and sunglasses and taken aside. "You are setting off our radioactivity meters, and we need to find out why." I told them about the treatment, and being stopped on the way to Korea also. Once again they called my doctor and got the okay.  Right as they were moving me on, they decided to search my bag.  Suddenly there was a commotion. They pulled two freezer bags of an unknown leafy green substance from my luggage. I knew right away what had happened, and hurried over to explain myself. It seems my host mother had seen how much I loved here nori, and wanted me to have some to take home with me.  Because it was in my checked luggage until Minneapolis it had taken a beating, reducing it to green shreds. Very Mary Jane looking green shreds. They confiscated it, and I was not allowed to move on until it had been tested. I ended up barely making the next flight, and could not get out of there fast enough. I'm probably on a no fly list somewhere...

To checking your luggage before you check your luggage,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Someone else's junk, my treasure.

Ok, so I love to go to garage sales. Other people's stuff fascinates me. When did they use that mobile stripper pole? Why are they selling all their bar equipment? (Probably has something to do with the stripper pole...) Why are there size 13 women's shoes when the only women holding the sale are barely a size 7? Why does that guy keep blushing every time I pick up the shoes?

Sometimes you can figure out a person's whole dietary history by going through the cookbooks.  Usually there are several diet cookbooks, at least a couple vegetarian, and then a few crock-pot books.  To me this says: "I dieted for a week then became vegetarian for a week. Then I quit. Hail the Golden Arches!"

There's always some obscure piece of exercise equipment that looks used and abused, and then ignored. Usually there are at least a few CD's, or DVDs, or even VHS tapes. The VHS tapes are usually child related or feature Susan Powter or Richard Simmons. That's sweatin' to the oldies alright, because I'm usually sweating from the heat when I burst out laughing at their exercise video choices.

And then there are the clothes. This is how you tell a decent garage sale from a "let's get rid of the useless crap" garage sale. If you see anything polyester hanging on the clothing rack, drive on by! These people usually also have an unreasonable attachment to their crap and will charge up the nose. 

I got lucky today. Mom and I stumbled across a garage sale that had several pairs of shoes in an awesome gym bag that were Mr. Kat Lady's size. His birthday is Sunday and I am not above buying him used shoes.  He's sleeping right now, so he'll have to try them on when he wakes up, but 50 cents for a few pairs of shoes is a deal!

We stopped at the Dollar Sense on the way home and picked up some decongestant for Mr. Kat Lady and I, and I picked him up a root beer to cheer him out of his congestion. There's nothing cuter than a stuffed up grown man suckling a root beer bottle like a sippy cup.

Well, I guess that's all for today...On Sunday we will discuss my mother's views on mental illness...and her mental illness. ;)

To Bargains, Bargains, Bargains!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Now? Really? This is SO not happening!

To whomever infected my husband with the ick...you are on my list. When he arrived home last night from work, he dropped his bag in the entry way, and ran to the bathroom with nary a word to me. This was followed by retching. (Which still makes me shudder when I think of it.)

He feels much better today. The down side? I feel like crap. My throat feels like it has been misused by a fire swallower. My stomach is rebelling all entry. And I am SOOOOOO tired. This is one of those moments in which I declare war upon my illness.

In two days I will be on my way to my first honeymoon (8 years in the making), and I staunchly refuse to let this illness ruin that for me.  Therefore I shall retreat to the couch, suck on flavor-ice and force my body to reboot in healthy mode.

As nice as that sounds, it's only a brief respite, as I have 2 loads of laundry to do, and a living room to pick up, so it's go go go until I'm done. If I stop now I'll never start. I would kill for some chicken noodle soup and gatorade right now. Even Sprite.

Wow, I am one whiny little crank when I'm sick.  I apologize for whining, because nothing irks me more than being whiny to strangers. On a side note, someone found my blog by searching little hairy girls. Dear god, why?

I hear the ice cream truck outside. I never realized how creepy their songs were until today. All they need for a complete creepfest are a clown and a mime. Ick. "Come Heeeeerrrreee little Chilllldrennnn..."

I must look pretty bad, because my cats are glued to me and purring. All three. At once. Either they are concerned, or they want to smother me while I'm weak. Oh, that's a comforting thought. Moonie just licked his lips. Now I CAN'T sleep for fear of becoming a cat appetizer.
Fabulous!

Ok, that's probably enough illness induced rambling for today...

To Midol Cocktails and Creepy Cats,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The Anniversary...oh the humanity!

Yep, today's our 8th Anniversary. Yes, I am home alone typing a blog post while my husband works until midnight. Yes, mother nature has bestowed the giant red flag upon me so I am officially out of the game until she lifts it. So yes, I am pretty blah today. However, I am spending today finishing the plans and packing for this weekend.  I have discovered that I am an over packer.

I firmly believe that when you pack, you should pack accordingly, so that if the apocalypse were to happen whilst you were away, you'd have the appropriate Zombie killing supplies. That being said, I am packing neither guns nor knives. I figure a can of hairspray and a lighter should do the trick if I am facing down a zombie.

Mind you, we are going to a REALLY nice hotel, and I am sure the employees could be paid to fight off the zombies for us if necessary. So, I'm not too worried.

My cats know something is going on. They have decided that the best way to keep us from leaving is to cover every nice outfit we have in cat hair. Our nice friend Biker Babe was kind enough to give us a dresser to store our things in, so now the kitties are plotting a new revenge. I sincerely hope it doesn't involve cat urine and our freshly steamed carpets...

Man, I'm tired. Probably because of the 14 loads of laundry I completed in the last two days...and now I have two more loads in various stages of launder-osity. It never ends! Oh, well, I am going to grab some chocolate truffles, watch Biggest Loser, and veg out. Happy Anniversary, Hon, I'll think of you as I snarf down my weigh in cocoa. ;)

To Wedded Bliss and Chocolate Trysts,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Feet. Eww.

I hate feet. Specifically I hate my husband's feet. And especially after he's been standing on them for 8 hours or so. Unfortunately, that is exactly when he wants me to pay attention to them. The moist and smelly monstrosities at the end of his legs make me want to dive into a bucket of sanitizer after I touch them. I mean, I can't refuse to rub them, he works all day and I am sure those puppies are yelping.

His feet are not the only ones I have a problem with. I have a classification system for feet, ranging from cute and pretty to hobo chic to OMG EWW!!!

Some feet are not disgusting. These usually belong to infants, toddlers, and foot models. They fall into the cute and pretty category. I have never seen a foot model with a callous. Of course baby feet are adorable...baby everything is adorable. (except vomit and poop)

Then there are the feet I like to refer to as "hobo chic." You can find these feet on hippies, farm girls, and young boys. Hippies tend to run around without shoes, so their feet are usually dusty or really tan, sometimes very callused. Farm girls have hardworking feet, but take care of them when the work is done, so they are usually in ok shape. Young boys tend to spend more time outside digging up worms and other gross things than inside, so their feet are usually fair to middling gross.

And then you have the OMG EWW's. These generally belong to big hairy men, big hairy women, and teenage boys. Big hairy men and women tend to have big hairy jobs, so they are on their feet a lot in boots. Boots do not make for a smell friendly environment. Teenage boys are a category upon themselves. They have so many new smells and hairs that they tend to forget their feet are getting rank.

There is one category I left until last, just in case you are eating. If so, come back later after you have digested your dinner. Ok, you've been warned.

The final category is rotting off at the ankle. These feet belong to those people you see on the internet with the super overgrown toenails and excessive toe jam. I honestly do not know how someone could let their feet get that bad, and I would think that they would need some sort of foot removal surgery to cure it.

I would post a picture, but I really don't want you to ruin your keyboards with what's left of your dinner. Just trust me, the feet I found on google images have scarred me for life.

(On a side note, check out my friend Gay Guru's blog...give him some love. Gay Guru's blog )

To Toejam, Athletes Foot, and Gold's Foot Powder,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Shirley Sunday: Lady in red...and green...and purple...plaid.

My mother is what I like to call "fashion unconscious." Sometimes I wonder if she's colorblind, or if she really thinks that day-glo green and vomit yellow go together. As an artist, it makes me a bit nuts.

Along with an amazing inability to recognize color complements, she has no idea of flattering cut or patterns. At my high school graduation she wore a blazer that was smattered liberally with giant pink roses. From the stage the jacket looked as if she was wearing a bunch of giant vaginas on an ill fitting suit jacket.

Mind you, she thinks she has an idea of what's current and in fashion, and wants to bestow her opinions on whoever she can. At my wedding, she changed my wedding colors so that they matched the ugly PINK AND MAROON silk bouquet she wanted me to carry. My bridesmaids dresses were ungodly ugly. They ended up with a floor length maroon gown with maroon lace cap sleeves. I was ashamed they had to wear that for me, but by the time I saw them there was no time to redo things. I later found out that mom picked out my flowers to match her dress, which was maroon, and she wanted the bridesmaids to look like her. Ick.

My mother has an unnatural attachment to wearing suit jackets and slacks. Not just any normal suit jacket either. I have counted, and the number of black and white checked suit jackets she owns is astronomical. She pairs them with bright red or navy pants. Then there's the ill-fitting grey suit, that probably would look better on her if she gained 100 pounds. It would also help if she would stop pulling her slacks up to her nipples. (OH GOD! I just talked about my mother's nipples! Where is the bleach? I need to pour some in my ear to make the image go away!)

So yeah, when I was growing up, my mother liberally sprayed my wardrobe with ugly and unfashionable. I cannot count the number of polyester train wrecks that I wore because she said that was what was in style. She had me so brainwashed back then that I actually believed her! Yes, this means that up until about sophomore year of high school I dressed like a douche canoe. (That one's for you Bloggess...)

I am slowly encouraging mom to recycle her old wardrobe into quilt pieces and wear some things I have found that actually complement her skin tone, color range and body type. I'm not asking for Cindy Crawford, but I'd be satisfied with Betty White.

To Golden Girls and Old Biddies,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

How to be BFFs with an LGBTQ...AKA The fag hag.

As you all may have seen, I have a very diverse group of friends. Many of those friends are LGBTQ. For those of you who aren't sure what that stands for, it's Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Transexual and Queer. Those are all different types of homosexuality, and they are all ok with me. Having "collected" gay friends for a while, (they flock to me like moths to a flame) I have come up with several guidelines in becoming a successful fag hag. This is all meant in fun, and is not intended in any mean spirit.

There are many ways to meet your new gay best friend.

1. Any bar with Rainbow or Man Hole in the title. Also giant roosters as images on the sign.

2. Males who work at a lingerie store. I don't know any boss who would hire a straight man to help women choose their underwear.

3. Concerts. Specifically Barbra, Cher, or GaGa.  Also, Joan Crawford movies.

4. Video store. Renting Joan Crawford movies.

and finally,

5. The Grocery store. They are the ones comparing the size of the cucumbers and sniffing the melons for ripeness, not size.

Once you've met your gay, you now begin the process of becoming besties. My suggestions are late night brownie sundaes at Dairy Queen, followed by a morning working it off at the gym, or a Judy Garland and Bette Midler movie marathon.

If your gay is of the femme-ish variety, have a fashion show. You wouldn't believe how natural your new friend can be in your 4 inch heels. Go get Martinis and kvetch over the hotties on Survivor.

If your gay is of the masculine sort, take him to a football game and point out the butts on the players. Also, gymnastics and swimming are great to watch on TV.

So...now your gay is your bestie, and what do you do?

Introduce him to all of your friends! By this point he has given you a fashion makeover/under and it's time to release him to the rest of your buddies!

Remember, the best gay best friend is one you can share!  Also, don't confuse best friend with boyfriend. That's a common mistake. Their may be a guest post in the future about how to tell if your boyfriend is gay...so keep your eyes open!

To Queers, Steers, and Rainbows,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

The elusive and captivating Vangina...

I have noticed a disturbing (read train wreck) trend in reality tv for the last few years.  While for a few years the reality tv community was focused on something I find captivating (LITTLE PEOPLE!)...recently I have been disappointed with the excessive amount of shows featuring a) multiple births and b) largely over producing families and c) multiple spouses.  While one or two shows featuring unique families of this nature is acceptable, the copy cat effect makes them completely nauseating to me.

She looks mighty comfy with those fake babies...

I call it the Vangina effect.  There are multiple versions of the Vangina  effect. First there is one time use Vangina, also known as the mini-Vangina (as in Ford Birthstar). The mini-Vangina is most often associated with the Octomom, Kate Gosselin, and Bobbi MacCaughey.

Another well known Vangina is the CaraVangina. Like a line of semis, this Vangina is in constant movement. (See Michelle Duggar) This particular Vangina disturbs me mostly because with each delivery the carbon footprint of the Vangina increases. (It is Earth Day after all...)

Ah-choo! Oooo...number 20!

Finally, the MovingVangina. This is associated mostly with fundamentalist polygamy and the show Sister Wives.  I see nothing wrong with them loving each other, but seriously, those kids are gonna need some therapy.

These shows are encouraging women to use their women parts as a long term parking lot. And I do have a problem with that. I understand different beliefs dictate different standards, but lets be serious. It's 2011, the world's already over-crowded, and it's gonna end next year anyway....:)

To less Vanginas and more responsible breeding practices.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady