My husband is absolutely obsessed with Anime. I know, it could be worse, he could be an addict of an entirely different sort. It wouldn't be so bad if watching Anime didn't make me absolutely nuts. While Mr. Kat Lady isn't a purist per se, (person who watches Anime ONLY in Japanese with subtitles) he is unnaturally attached to pointless Japanese plot.
I've noticed that they talk about penises a lot in Anime. A LOT. Most notably in situations involving young cartoon children. While discussing the phallus doesn't really bother me, I have to admit seeing two animated children discussing the pros and cons of large penises disturbs me more than a little. And then there is this somewhat well, infamous show called "Those Who Hunt Elves." Look it up. The whole premise of the show is making people strip naked. I'm not even kidding. And people do it! I do have to say though, that's one plot that no US TV show will steal... (*cough* Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...*cough*)
The whole culture is a bit overdone really. While it's awesome to dye your hair in rainbow colors and wear short "school girl" outfits if you are in tip top shape....well lets just say some people who dress up as Anime characters should just leave it to the cartoon.
And then there's the actual animation. Most of it truly looks as if it was speedily sketched by a 3rd grader and the plot written by some semi-trained monkeys. And seriously- people riding around in giant robots that they fight with each other...should have just stuck with transformers and power rangers and left it at that.
Also, why do all Anime characters have those really high pitchy voices? Half the show is spoken above high C! And why are they always yelling? Are the Japanese children deaf from all the seizures they had from the flashing intros?
I do have to give the hubbster some credit though. He doesn't force me to watch Anime with him. I'm pretty sure he feels similarly about how I am obsessed with reality TV.
Hope you dodge the flying anvils.
-Kat Lady
The random musings I manage to pull out of my slightly damaged mind. Also, humor may be involved.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Apartment Shopping (not for me for once!)
Why is it that when you or a friend need to find a place to live that you end up searching through 50 cockroach dens before you find one that even barely covers your needs? Why do landlords think that tiny and smelling of urine counts as "Charming?" When the ad says "small two-bedroom apartment" they really mean "midget ready crack den!" Now I admit, my landlord is pretty awesome. He's in his 90s, spry, and quite the womanizer, according to the fact that he's been married 5 times. Somehow he always outlives them. I like to think they have heart attacks due to his still very virile attitude...lol. Anyway, we went through 5 AWFUL landlords before landing in our little cottage of wonders.
Our first landlord was a small town low income money grubber. I think our apartment was smaller than the bedroom I grew up in. It didn't help that in my pointless grabs for things to love me I got 5 cats. This apartment is also where the "oil incident" happened. Our neighbors became close with us, mostly because both of us could hear nearly every conversation held in either apartment. We finally decided to move to a bigger town for more job opportunities.
It was at this second apartment we met our first "slum-lord." Now mind you $325 a month was great for a spacious wood floored apartment. Once you counted in the roaches, the broken steps, the crack dealers on one side and the meth addicts on the other...well the rose had lost its bloom. Suddenly the landlord started not getting the rent money...(it must have been "lost in the mail") and he claimed we owed him over a thousand dollars. We got out of there...didn't even get our security deposit back. He claimed we broke a lightbulb, and charged us $2500. He never took us to court because he knew we had all the receipts from the money orders, and he had squat. He was a total dink. Later we found out that the cops raided the apartment next door (the crack dealer) and the one downstairs and found a working meth lab directly under our apartment. He sold the lot to another landlord and disappeared. I miss the balcony though. That was the best place in the apartment. Too bad it always smelled like rotting feces because of the dog next door...
We learned our lesson from that one. Or so we thought. We moved to another town, closer to a local metropolis, and had a really nice apartment. This landlord was invisible. Mr. Kat Lady said he met him, but I never saw him in over 9 months of living there. We met some really nice construction workers next door from Louisiana. That summer, while they lived there, Hurricane Katrina happened. We shared chili with them and learned their stories. Mr. Kat Lady, born in New Orleans, was able to reconnect with his home state. I was just happy with the built in dishwasher. (my first and unfortunately last)
Not to long after that, we made the biggest bone headed mistake of our life together. We found a (looked legit) job offer at a hotel in Alaska. Within two weeks we were on a plane headed to Anchorage. To make a long story short, we lived in the hotel and this landlord is now in the capable hands of the FBI. Can't say too much about it as he's still in the trial process. Let me just say that "Big Timber Hotel" was an accurate name.
Tails between our legs, we returned to the Land of Oz, and within a month or so found a great basement apartment. Two days before Christmas we were informed that we had to move. Serious foundation problems were causing the other side of the building to flood and sink. The only place to live was a broken down trailer in a small park in the "ghetto-y" part of town. That's when the landlord starting getting hinky. We paid rent and water to them, and they consistently "lost" our payments. They would shut off the water, claiming we hadn't paid them. They were awful. In an ice storm in January, a tree right next to the trailer broke and went through the roof. They nailed a piece of tin over it and called it good. We were done. That's when we began looking for our current place.
A funny story about the current place is that my aunt, my mom, and I all saw the house for rent and every one of us called about it. The landlord never had a chance. Mom had us in this house in less than a week. For once her annoying litanies paid off. Now we're looking at land contracting for the house and making it a bit bigger and better laid out...I'm sure there will be many adventures to share about that...lol
Our current landlord is pretty awesome. When Mr. Kat Lady's hours got cut, he lowered our rent. He lets us have our 3 cats, and is quite the gentleman. Now I'm hoping we can help my friend find a similar diamond in the rough. We'll see...I expect to smell a lot of urine tomorrow.
Love and Laughter
-Kat Lady
Our first landlord was a small town low income money grubber. I think our apartment was smaller than the bedroom I grew up in. It didn't help that in my pointless grabs for things to love me I got 5 cats. This apartment is also where the "oil incident" happened. Our neighbors became close with us, mostly because both of us could hear nearly every conversation held in either apartment. We finally decided to move to a bigger town for more job opportunities.
It was at this second apartment we met our first "slum-lord." Now mind you $325 a month was great for a spacious wood floored apartment. Once you counted in the roaches, the broken steps, the crack dealers on one side and the meth addicts on the other...well the rose had lost its bloom. Suddenly the landlord started not getting the rent money...(it must have been "lost in the mail") and he claimed we owed him over a thousand dollars. We got out of there...didn't even get our security deposit back. He claimed we broke a lightbulb, and charged us $2500. He never took us to court because he knew we had all the receipts from the money orders, and he had squat. He was a total dink. Later we found out that the cops raided the apartment next door (the crack dealer) and the one downstairs and found a working meth lab directly under our apartment. He sold the lot to another landlord and disappeared. I miss the balcony though. That was the best place in the apartment. Too bad it always smelled like rotting feces because of the dog next door...
We learned our lesson from that one. Or so we thought. We moved to another town, closer to a local metropolis, and had a really nice apartment. This landlord was invisible. Mr. Kat Lady said he met him, but I never saw him in over 9 months of living there. We met some really nice construction workers next door from Louisiana. That summer, while they lived there, Hurricane Katrina happened. We shared chili with them and learned their stories. Mr. Kat Lady, born in New Orleans, was able to reconnect with his home state. I was just happy with the built in dishwasher. (my first and unfortunately last)
Not to long after that, we made the biggest bone headed mistake of our life together. We found a (looked legit) job offer at a hotel in Alaska. Within two weeks we were on a plane headed to Anchorage. To make a long story short, we lived in the hotel and this landlord is now in the capable hands of the FBI. Can't say too much about it as he's still in the trial process. Let me just say that "Big Timber Hotel" was an accurate name.
Tails between our legs, we returned to the Land of Oz, and within a month or so found a great basement apartment. Two days before Christmas we were informed that we had to move. Serious foundation problems were causing the other side of the building to flood and sink. The only place to live was a broken down trailer in a small park in the "ghetto-y" part of town. That's when the landlord starting getting hinky. We paid rent and water to them, and they consistently "lost" our payments. They would shut off the water, claiming we hadn't paid them. They were awful. In an ice storm in January, a tree right next to the trailer broke and went through the roof. They nailed a piece of tin over it and called it good. We were done. That's when we began looking for our current place.
A funny story about the current place is that my aunt, my mom, and I all saw the house for rent and every one of us called about it. The landlord never had a chance. Mom had us in this house in less than a week. For once her annoying litanies paid off. Now we're looking at land contracting for the house and making it a bit bigger and better laid out...I'm sure there will be many adventures to share about that...lol
Our current landlord is pretty awesome. When Mr. Kat Lady's hours got cut, he lowered our rent. He lets us have our 3 cats, and is quite the gentleman. Now I'm hoping we can help my friend find a similar diamond in the rough. We'll see...I expect to smell a lot of urine tomorrow.
Love and Laughter
-Kat Lady
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
It's funny how the world changes when you are sick...
Suddenly out of nowhere, it appears! A wild flu bug with it's big vampire fangs and slimy feet. At least that's how I see it from my flu-addled brain. Somehow colors are suddenly too bright...bananas are neon yellow and glowing like bars of uranium, oranges are well, orangey-er, and lights are my dearest enemy. The TV screams at me at any volume...I consider watching it like deaf people, on closed caption. And worst of all, I have become a screaming, crying, pooping, puking monster. All of the bits of evil that are normally dispersed in little clumps throughout my body fling themselves together and create SuperBitch. I really don't mean to be, but come on, I need a foot rub and I need it NOW.
Mr. Kat Lady can't hold it against me too much though, because he's just as bad when he's sick. He likes to give me pointers that he uses when he's sick. One in particular I tried today was a spectacular failure. He suggested I take a walk and maybe the fresh air would help. I'm sure if it was more than 40 degrees out it would have. I stumbled along, dazed by the overwhelming sounds and colors. A car honked...I jumped and then cried a little as my head pounded the rhythm section of some Queen song. A cop actually slowed down to watch me walk. I think he may have thought I was drunk. Wouldn't that have been fun...stopped for possible public drunkeness and forced to take a sobriety test when I was dizzy. I could be writing you from jail right now...lol. I decided that next time I'll just take a bath and go back to bed.
The cats sense that I'm sick too. Every five minutes or so one will paw up to me, meow, and then look at his or her food bowl. Maybe they're just hungry. I decided to pry myself out of bed and feed them. BIG mistake. Fed cats are hyper cats. All three began chasing each other around the room in some ridiculously loud and obnoxious game of tag. I could deal with that, they'd eventually wear themselves out, right? No. Suddenly I was a mountain that every one of them had to jump on, run down and vault over. Yes. I was effectively a puking kitty jungle gym. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I'm happy they are healthy, but I may have timed my hurling so I just might hit one of them once....I missed, thank god. After my attempt, my brain realized that had I hit him with my timed "upburst" I would have had a vomit missile flying around the house.
I decided to make pancakes as a way to distract myself and maybe settle my stomach. I really didn't feel like measuring, so I just added pancake mix to the water until the texture was right...I made like 30 pancakes. There's no way I can eat 15 pancakes by myself, so Mr. Kat Lady better be hungry when he gets home.
Laters Peeps...
-Kat Lady
Mr. Kat Lady can't hold it against me too much though, because he's just as bad when he's sick. He likes to give me pointers that he uses when he's sick. One in particular I tried today was a spectacular failure. He suggested I take a walk and maybe the fresh air would help. I'm sure if it was more than 40 degrees out it would have. I stumbled along, dazed by the overwhelming sounds and colors. A car honked...I jumped and then cried a little as my head pounded the rhythm section of some Queen song. A cop actually slowed down to watch me walk. I think he may have thought I was drunk. Wouldn't that have been fun...stopped for possible public drunkeness and forced to take a sobriety test when I was dizzy. I could be writing you from jail right now...lol. I decided that next time I'll just take a bath and go back to bed.
The cats sense that I'm sick too. Every five minutes or so one will paw up to me, meow, and then look at his or her food bowl. Maybe they're just hungry. I decided to pry myself out of bed and feed them. BIG mistake. Fed cats are hyper cats. All three began chasing each other around the room in some ridiculously loud and obnoxious game of tag. I could deal with that, they'd eventually wear themselves out, right? No. Suddenly I was a mountain that every one of them had to jump on, run down and vault over. Yes. I was effectively a puking kitty jungle gym. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I'm happy they are healthy, but I may have timed my hurling so I just might hit one of them once....I missed, thank god. After my attempt, my brain realized that had I hit him with my timed "upburst" I would have had a vomit missile flying around the house.
I decided to make pancakes as a way to distract myself and maybe settle my stomach. I really didn't feel like measuring, so I just added pancake mix to the water until the texture was right...I made like 30 pancakes. There's no way I can eat 15 pancakes by myself, so Mr. Kat Lady better be hungry when he gets home.
Laters Peeps...
-Kat Lady
Watching the bear sleep...
Anyone who's met Mr. Kat Lady knows that when he sleeps...he SLEEPS. He has slept through everything from tornado sirens going off (across the street!) to EMTs, policemen, and firemen tromping OVER him when I had my heart attack. They actually checked to make sure he was breathing and it wasn't carbon monoxide poisoning. Yeah, he sleeps deeply. However I must say, even though he is closing in on 29, he sleeps like a little boy. A snoring, grunting, sleep speaking little boy.
Mr. Kat Lady is what I like to call a "cuddle-humper." He will grab the nearest warm object and scoot (hump) himself forward until it is firmly ensconced in his arms. This is all well and good unless you are a "splay" sleeper like me. I sleep on my back, arms over my head and legs splayed. Kinda like someone dumped me out of a bucket of paint and I just landed like that. I'm not really a cuddler, unless it's cold. Throw 2 or blankets on me and I'm good. Trap me in a "cuddle prison" and I can't sleep for the life of me. Every time I move to release myself, there he goes again. Cuddle, cuddle, hump, hump, whimper, stuck again. I've found that if I very slowly replace myself with a pillow, I am free to sleep unhindered. I'm sure this process looks very much like a fish trying to escape a squid's tentacles. If he feels you struggling to release yourself he unconsciously wraps his legs around your lower body. Then you might as well try to get comfortable, because you aren't going anywhere until he wakes up. I however usually end up wearing myself out and waking up with various sore muscles and such because he's too adorable to move.
Sometimes he talks. Usually it's a running commentary of his dreams. So far I've heard him tell me to leave him alone, he's painting the fence, or to let him out of the closet (umm....hmm....what was THAT dream about...) or him just mumbling randomness. If his dream-speech is coherent enough, sometimes I can have conversations with him in his sleep. Very rare, but hilarious when it happens. My friends Owl and Princess have both been around to hear it. Well, I must go for tonight, as I have to wake Mr. Kat Lady from his nap. See ya on the flip side
-Kat Lady
Mr. Kat Lady is what I like to call a "cuddle-humper." He will grab the nearest warm object and scoot (hump) himself forward until it is firmly ensconced in his arms. This is all well and good unless you are a "splay" sleeper like me. I sleep on my back, arms over my head and legs splayed. Kinda like someone dumped me out of a bucket of paint and I just landed like that. I'm not really a cuddler, unless it's cold. Throw 2 or blankets on me and I'm good. Trap me in a "cuddle prison" and I can't sleep for the life of me. Every time I move to release myself, there he goes again. Cuddle, cuddle, hump, hump, whimper, stuck again. I've found that if I very slowly replace myself with a pillow, I am free to sleep unhindered. I'm sure this process looks very much like a fish trying to escape a squid's tentacles. If he feels you struggling to release yourself he unconsciously wraps his legs around your lower body. Then you might as well try to get comfortable, because you aren't going anywhere until he wakes up. I however usually end up wearing myself out and waking up with various sore muscles and such because he's too adorable to move.
Sometimes he talks. Usually it's a running commentary of his dreams. So far I've heard him tell me to leave him alone, he's painting the fence, or to let him out of the closet (umm....hmm....what was THAT dream about...) or him just mumbling randomness. If his dream-speech is coherent enough, sometimes I can have conversations with him in his sleep. Very rare, but hilarious when it happens. My friends Owl and Princess have both been around to hear it. Well, I must go for tonight, as I have to wake Mr. Kat Lady from his nap. See ya on the flip side
-Kat Lady
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
My alternate reality (TV)
I admit it. I'm addicted. All you have to do is throw some moderately interesting people into an obviously contrived situation and let the cameras roll. I'm hooked. I am a snob about it though. If I watch the first episode and it seems too stupid, or sappy, or just too fist pumping-y (Jersey Shore anyone?) I only will watch it if there is absolutely nothing else on. But I still watch it. The more train-wreckish the show, the more I am hooked.
For example, I just watched America's Next Top Model. I don't think there is a better advertisement for teaching girls that they aren't enough without makeup, fashion and rocking hair. Mr. Kat Lady and I have come up with a controversial show to follow it on Wednesday nights. It's called "Eat a G-- D---- Sandwich and Have Some Self Esteem on the Side." And then there's the Bachelor. What lessons do little girls learn about love? Watching a busload of women discarded one by one for often ridiculously minor things teaches girls that they have to be Polly Perfect all the time. Can I pass out the Anorexia now?
And then there are the "Reality Competition" shows. These are my true addiction. Survivor, Big Brother, Amazing Race, and one that was on a now cancelled network that was called Solitary. I have to admit that the backbiting of the first two are a bit much, but then there are the characters you fall in love with from the minute you see them. Rupert, Sugar, Bob with the bowtie...you get the idea. And of course once I pick my favorites, I have to assign my villains. Russell, Richard Hatch, Parvati...(who came up with that name anyway? It sounds like something you would eat with meatballs and marinara.) By the point I have my favorites and my hate list, there's no going back. I am stuck watching them every week. I am a reality TV sheep.
If they asked me to be on any reality show, it would have to be The Amazing Race. I am ready and willing, CBS...just tell me when and where. I've already weeded my potential partner list to two: Mr. Kat Lady and my biker friend. I bet I could provide some great TV, but they'd probably have to bleep and blur a lot... Next thing you know, I'll be assaulting you with my wit via the boobtube!
I wish Solitary was still around. That was one trippy show. The whole premise was to put each contestant in a windowless room with no sleep, barely any food or water, and make them do ridiculous competitions until they gave up or went nuts. That's reality! (or Guantanamo Bay...)
Reality TV is a curse I continue to lay upon myself. It would help if they would stop coming up with new crazy premises that I get sucked into. Or maybe it would help if I turned off the TV...but everything DVRs anyway. I wonder if I could sell a cat reality show based on Three's Company...hmmm....off to draw that one up!
-Kat Lady
For example, I just watched America's Next Top Model. I don't think there is a better advertisement for teaching girls that they aren't enough without makeup, fashion and rocking hair. Mr. Kat Lady and I have come up with a controversial show to follow it on Wednesday nights. It's called "Eat a G-- D---- Sandwich and Have Some Self Esteem on the Side." And then there's the Bachelor. What lessons do little girls learn about love? Watching a busload of women discarded one by one for often ridiculously minor things teaches girls that they have to be Polly Perfect all the time. Can I pass out the Anorexia now?
And then there are the "Reality Competition" shows. These are my true addiction. Survivor, Big Brother, Amazing Race, and one that was on a now cancelled network that was called Solitary. I have to admit that the backbiting of the first two are a bit much, but then there are the characters you fall in love with from the minute you see them. Rupert, Sugar, Bob with the bowtie...you get the idea. And of course once I pick my favorites, I have to assign my villains. Russell, Richard Hatch, Parvati...(who came up with that name anyway? It sounds like something you would eat with meatballs and marinara.) By the point I have my favorites and my hate list, there's no going back. I am stuck watching them every week. I am a reality TV sheep.
If they asked me to be on any reality show, it would have to be The Amazing Race. I am ready and willing, CBS...just tell me when and where. I've already weeded my potential partner list to two: Mr. Kat Lady and my biker friend. I bet I could provide some great TV, but they'd probably have to bleep and blur a lot... Next thing you know, I'll be assaulting you with my wit via the boobtube!
I wish Solitary was still around. That was one trippy show. The whole premise was to put each contestant in a windowless room with no sleep, barely any food or water, and make them do ridiculous competitions until they gave up or went nuts. That's reality! (or Guantanamo Bay...)
Reality TV is a curse I continue to lay upon myself. It would help if they would stop coming up with new crazy premises that I get sucked into. Or maybe it would help if I turned off the TV...but everything DVRs anyway. I wonder if I could sell a cat reality show based on Three's Company...hmmm....off to draw that one up!
-Kat Lady
Blast from the past...
So I told you guys that this post would take us back to high school. Had I known then what I am sure of now, life would have been much easier, but not necessarily as interesting. High school was rough for me because I had no self esteem and an overbearing (understatement) mother. She was a running joke at the school because without fail she would show up and for lack of a better word, invade my life. Needless to say, this made me look like a "mommy's-girl," which was not true in the least. I did everything I could to get me and my Geo Metro as far as I could from her. At one point I would show up at school before 7 am and not leave until after the last sports event around 9. The true story I am about to tell you is a mere shade of the crazy things she pulled on me during my teenage years.
Flashback to 2000- my junior year.
I was taking Home Economics, which had recently been given the more politically correct name of Family and Consumer Sciences. We'll just call it Chaos. Somewhere in February we started the "relationships and sex" section of FACS. Being that my class was 8 people (6 low achievers, my friend and I) we often had less scheduled classes. We were usually rowdy and often in trouble with the teacher, but never sent to the Principal. We had been looking forward to this section of the class for the whole semester! Being that we live in the midwest it was more about holding hands and abstinence than relationships and sex. Still, we got the chance to take home these robotic babies to prove we were not yet ready to procreate. (Mind you, two of the girls in the class were pregnant or already had a baby.)
There were 4 babies. 3 white babies and a black/asian one. I am assuming they were aiming (and missed) for a bi-racial baby. Anyway, the teacher thought it appropriate to give the odd baby out to me. Mind you, my mother is what I like to call "situationally racist." The day I was scheduled to take the baby for the weekend had slipped my mind and suddenly I had a black robot baby to take home to show my mother. This wasn't going to go well. I wasn't due home until late, so I figured I would just sneak it in after they were asleep. My car being tiny, I had to shove the car seat in the back. The baby looked freakishly real. I decided to visit a friend before the games began that night. I called and checked in with my mom. She was hysterical.
Jeeeeeaaannnn Annnnnnnn what have you done! (I'm really confused...has someone died?) You should have told us if you were "in trouble!" (Oh, GOD, she thinks I got pregnant and had a baby between 7 am and 4 pm today?) That *only black kid in my class* is the father, isn't he? (At this point I had to break in and explain.)
Why didn't they give you a white baby? (My mother assumes I am white, and refuses to acknowledge the other races in my lineage. I am adopted.) I'm going to have to talk to Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher* about this. I said ok, and she hung up.
What the teacher hadn't told me about my controversial (to my mother) baby is that it was EXTREMELY sensitive. If I looked at it wrong, it cried. Demons would have been jealous of that horrid baby's yowling. And it had a glitch. Normally those type of babies stop crying when you put a key in their back. (I know, that's so realistic, right? LOL) My baby would cry for two hours nonstop, then turn off. Key or no. I'm sure this didn't help my mother learn to be racially tolerant.
The next Monday morning, my mom followed me to school and went straight to the principal. Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher* gave my child a defective black baby! I want her to get full credit for this assignment because she was given the wrong baby. Mr. *Principal* had dealt with her before and quickly agreed to have the teacher award full credit. My mother can be a force to reckon with, and by this point all of my teachers usually just gave in.
Over that weekend I had gotten over 10 pointless racial lectures about dating. By the time the assignment was over, I was so scared of babies that I wanted nothing to do with sex until I was married.
Congrats Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher.* You knew exactly what you were doing.
-Kat Lady
Flashback to 2000- my junior year.
I was taking Home Economics, which had recently been given the more politically correct name of Family and Consumer Sciences. We'll just call it Chaos. Somewhere in February we started the "relationships and sex" section of FACS. Being that my class was 8 people (6 low achievers, my friend and I) we often had less scheduled classes. We were usually rowdy and often in trouble with the teacher, but never sent to the Principal. We had been looking forward to this section of the class for the whole semester! Being that we live in the midwest it was more about holding hands and abstinence than relationships and sex. Still, we got the chance to take home these robotic babies to prove we were not yet ready to procreate. (Mind you, two of the girls in the class were pregnant or already had a baby.)
There were 4 babies. 3 white babies and a black/asian one. I am assuming they were aiming (and missed) for a bi-racial baby. Anyway, the teacher thought it appropriate to give the odd baby out to me. Mind you, my mother is what I like to call "situationally racist." The day I was scheduled to take the baby for the weekend had slipped my mind and suddenly I had a black robot baby to take home to show my mother. This wasn't going to go well. I wasn't due home until late, so I figured I would just sneak it in after they were asleep. My car being tiny, I had to shove the car seat in the back. The baby looked freakishly real. I decided to visit a friend before the games began that night. I called and checked in with my mom. She was hysterical.
Jeeeeeaaannnn Annnnnnnn what have you done! (I'm really confused...has someone died?) You should have told us if you were "in trouble!" (Oh, GOD, she thinks I got pregnant and had a baby between 7 am and 4 pm today?) That *only black kid in my class* is the father, isn't he? (At this point I had to break in and explain.)
Why didn't they give you a white baby? (My mother assumes I am white, and refuses to acknowledge the other races in my lineage. I am adopted.) I'm going to have to talk to Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher* about this. I said ok, and she hung up.
What the teacher hadn't told me about my controversial (to my mother) baby is that it was EXTREMELY sensitive. If I looked at it wrong, it cried. Demons would have been jealous of that horrid baby's yowling. And it had a glitch. Normally those type of babies stop crying when you put a key in their back. (I know, that's so realistic, right? LOL) My baby would cry for two hours nonstop, then turn off. Key or no. I'm sure this didn't help my mother learn to be racially tolerant.
The next Monday morning, my mom followed me to school and went straight to the principal. Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher* gave my child a defective black baby! I want her to get full credit for this assignment because she was given the wrong baby. Mr. *Principal* had dealt with her before and quickly agreed to have the teacher award full credit. My mother can be a force to reckon with, and by this point all of my teachers usually just gave in.
Over that weekend I had gotten over 10 pointless racial lectures about dating. By the time the assignment was over, I was so scared of babies that I wanted nothing to do with sex until I was married.
Congrats Mrs. *Home Ec Teacher.* You knew exactly what you were doing.
-Kat Lady
Monday, March 14, 2011
My furwads...
I don't have kids, so this post will be about the next best thing to me. Furkids. Yes, I am that nuts. My cats are my proof to myself that I could mother something without accidentally starving it. Unfortunately, this has created an odd behavior by my cats. They are absolutely certain that they are human. They have evolved ways to do things that normal (non-human) cats should not be able to do.
Although my house does have a friendly "house-spirit" named George, the cats had me convinced for months that my house was haunted. Doors would open by themselves, cabinets would be wide open for no reason, things would crash in another room when all the cats were with me...you get the idea. So I decided to play ghost detective. I ended up detecting that I am just not very observant. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed a paw curling around the door and pulling it open. Or the cat entering from a not-quite-closed cabinet door, and exiting the door that was left wide open. Or the cat daintily prancing along the top of a cabinet, just slightly nudging things right to the edge, ready to fall at the slightest jar.
So yes. Instead of figuring out my cats were genius, I decided to proclaim my house haunted for several months. Now if only George would stop watching me shower!
I guess I should tell you all a bit about my cats. Moonshadow (Moonie to those of us who know him best) is our 12 year old formerly feral tom cat. He's sneaky, but melts like butter when you pet him just right. He also has a stare that could force a starving person to give them his last crumb. Even after you just watched him snarf down two scoops of cat food. He used to be very vocal...by that I mean he was "uncut" and raring to go. He managed to knock up the neighbor cat before we took him in to get fixed. (He's a neuter now...no more yowling!) And thats how we ended up with:
Icarus. Though he is genetically Moonie's son, he has none of Moonie's skills. I believe he may be mentally retarded or at the least mentally unstable. Can cats be bipolar? He is the most sweet and loving big orange furball to most everyone. Unless he hates you. He seems to make this decision at will, with no explanation. Except for my mother. ALL the cats want nothing to do with her. His only problem is that he has an effeminate look, meow, and hiss. It's like Elton John in a fursuit. Hyttthhhh, Hyttttthhh. We had him neutered before puberty, so he got stuck with a kitten's meow. Mew....MEWWWW...Hyttthhh... You get the idea. Sometimes I piss him off just to get a laugh at his ridiculous noises. He's also vain. As a long haired cat, he needs a bit more maintenance than the other two. He loves nothing more than to spread his generous bulk out on the floor and lick his no longer manly parts. It's quite the entertaining show watching him try to stretch his head far enough over his "fluff" to get to the parts he's trying to lick. He was the baby of the family for the last 2 years, so he still (at 20 pounds) tries to curl up on my chest. (Until I begin to asphyxiate and shove him off my face. Nothing like waking to cat butt in the morning!
And then there's Hazel. She is simply clueless. Hopelessly stupid. Doesn't even know cat's don't like water. But at least she's cute. That'll get her by. As the only (spayed) female in the bunch, we figured she'd level out the testosterone party the other two were having. No such luck. She walked her 8 week old booty into our house and hearts, and promptly took over. She owns the place. (Probably due to the fact the other two are too high up for her to reach by jumping...) She has figured out how to climb, and has taken to scaling the curtains, wallhangings, towels, and even once tried to scale the toilet paper. Yeah, that didn't work so well for her. She's dunked herself in a full tub TWICE and still is fascinated with playing in water from the side of the tub. I love her so much though. She's like a feline Gloria Steinem...out to show the "man's" world what a woman deserves. And apparently she needs to eat her body weight in food daily to achieve that. She will eat ANYTHING. Except popsicles. She is terrified of popsicles. I think it goes back to conception. I wonder if she was the cat at the back of the womb. That would probably make me scared of popsicles too. She loves ice cream though, so we have to guard it like Fort Knox. Like most every other food in the house. We should have named her Hoover Houdini.
Anyway, that's the furkids...special in many ways, and absolutely the center of my heart...next to Mr. Kat Lady of course...
Until next time----
-Kat Lady
Although my house does have a friendly "house-spirit" named George, the cats had me convinced for months that my house was haunted. Doors would open by themselves, cabinets would be wide open for no reason, things would crash in another room when all the cats were with me...you get the idea. So I decided to play ghost detective. I ended up detecting that I am just not very observant. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed a paw curling around the door and pulling it open. Or the cat entering from a not-quite-closed cabinet door, and exiting the door that was left wide open. Or the cat daintily prancing along the top of a cabinet, just slightly nudging things right to the edge, ready to fall at the slightest jar.
So yes. Instead of figuring out my cats were genius, I decided to proclaim my house haunted for several months. Now if only George would stop watching me shower!
I guess I should tell you all a bit about my cats. Moonshadow (Moonie to those of us who know him best) is our 12 year old formerly feral tom cat. He's sneaky, but melts like butter when you pet him just right. He also has a stare that could force a starving person to give them his last crumb. Even after you just watched him snarf down two scoops of cat food. He used to be very vocal...by that I mean he was "uncut" and raring to go. He managed to knock up the neighbor cat before we took him in to get fixed. (He's a neuter now...no more yowling!) And thats how we ended up with:
Icarus. Though he is genetically Moonie's son, he has none of Moonie's skills. I believe he may be mentally retarded or at the least mentally unstable. Can cats be bipolar? He is the most sweet and loving big orange furball to most everyone. Unless he hates you. He seems to make this decision at will, with no explanation. Except for my mother. ALL the cats want nothing to do with her. His only problem is that he has an effeminate look, meow, and hiss. It's like Elton John in a fursuit. Hyttthhhh, Hyttttthhh. We had him neutered before puberty, so he got stuck with a kitten's meow. Mew....MEWWWW...Hyttthhh... You get the idea. Sometimes I piss him off just to get a laugh at his ridiculous noises. He's also vain. As a long haired cat, he needs a bit more maintenance than the other two. He loves nothing more than to spread his generous bulk out on the floor and lick his no longer manly parts. It's quite the entertaining show watching him try to stretch his head far enough over his "fluff" to get to the parts he's trying to lick. He was the baby of the family for the last 2 years, so he still (at 20 pounds) tries to curl up on my chest. (Until I begin to asphyxiate and shove him off my face. Nothing like waking to cat butt in the morning!
And then there's Hazel. She is simply clueless. Hopelessly stupid. Doesn't even know cat's don't like water. But at least she's cute. That'll get her by. As the only (spayed) female in the bunch, we figured she'd level out the testosterone party the other two were having. No such luck. She walked her 8 week old booty into our house and hearts, and promptly took over. She owns the place. (Probably due to the fact the other two are too high up for her to reach by jumping...) She has figured out how to climb, and has taken to scaling the curtains, wallhangings, towels, and even once tried to scale the toilet paper. Yeah, that didn't work so well for her. She's dunked herself in a full tub TWICE and still is fascinated with playing in water from the side of the tub. I love her so much though. She's like a feline Gloria Steinem...out to show the "man's" world what a woman deserves. And apparently she needs to eat her body weight in food daily to achieve that. She will eat ANYTHING. Except popsicles. She is terrified of popsicles. I think it goes back to conception. I wonder if she was the cat at the back of the womb. That would probably make me scared of popsicles too. She loves ice cream though, so we have to guard it like Fort Knox. Like most every other food in the house. We should have named her Hoover Houdini.Anyway, that's the furkids...special in many ways, and absolutely the center of my heart...next to Mr. Kat Lady of course...
Until next time----
-Kat Lady
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I was normal....once...
So, I promised a post about my husband and furkids... so here ya go.
Mike and I were married April 26, 2003. Our marriage was on fire from the beginning. Literally. My half-brother Kody was a candle-lighter, and had one of those long metal poles with a lit wick in it. The wick fell out into a candle, which very nearly caught the whole candelabra on fire. I was behind the windows in the back of the sanctuary crying. Why?? Not because I was upset...because I was laughing so hard. Life's been full of laughter and fun moments since.
We had to learn how to be married. Somehow, just being together wasn't cutting the mustard...lol. Being a squeaky clean good girl all through high school (*snort*) and never doing anything wrong, (*giggle*) I was ready to do things MY way. Such as cooking. Specifically, an indian fry bread recipe I learned from a friend in college. And that's where things went screwy. Little miss newlywed wanted to do something cute, sexy, and fun for the new Mr. Kat Lady. I got all the ingredients together, stripped buck naked, turned up the oil (what was I thinking????) and dropped the first piece of fry bread in the pan. Not being what you would call culinarily inclined, I was flying blind. I hadn't noticed a few drops of oil hitting the ground while I poured into the frying pan. (Hey they called it a FRYING pan, how was I supposed to know that you deep fry in a deep pot? LOL) By a few drops I mean the Nile of vegetable oil was flowing down the middle of my hallway sized kitchen. Suddenly, the phone rang. Startled, I turned. And immediately I was Michelle Kwan, spinning, sliding and splitting all over the kitchen trying to find my footing. At last I found a handhold...the screaming hot frying pan full of vegetable oil! Quicker than you can blink my belly and lady parts were on fire with pain. I'm surprised no one called the cops to haul me to the loony bin when they heard "My GOD, MY VAGINA is on FIRE!" through the paper thin walls. I was able to regain calm when I went into shock. I can only imagine the scene at this point, me standing nearly catatonic, naked, and burnt staring at my burning fry bread. At this point I very calmly walked to the bathtub and ran warm water. I took the phone to the bathroom, got in the water, and called the public library for Mike. I'm reasonably sure they thought I was either (a) nuts, or (b) an idiot, when they heard what sounded like a giggling woman asking for her husband because she burnt her vagina. Well...he came home and off to the hospital with friends we went. We didn't have a car and our neighbors had a van. I'm almost certain that the ER workers laughed for a good long while about the lady who burnt her lady parts cooking.
That reminds me of the time we were told by the fire department that we couldn't fry chicken anymore...but that's a story for another post.
-Kat Lady
Mike and I were married April 26, 2003. Our marriage was on fire from the beginning. Literally. My half-brother Kody was a candle-lighter, and had one of those long metal poles with a lit wick in it. The wick fell out into a candle, which very nearly caught the whole candelabra on fire. I was behind the windows in the back of the sanctuary crying. Why?? Not because I was upset...because I was laughing so hard. Life's been full of laughter and fun moments since.
We had to learn how to be married. Somehow, just being together wasn't cutting the mustard...lol. Being a squeaky clean good girl all through high school (*snort*) and never doing anything wrong, (*giggle*) I was ready to do things MY way. Such as cooking. Specifically, an indian fry bread recipe I learned from a friend in college. And that's where things went screwy. Little miss newlywed wanted to do something cute, sexy, and fun for the new Mr. Kat Lady. I got all the ingredients together, stripped buck naked, turned up the oil (what was I thinking????) and dropped the first piece of fry bread in the pan. Not being what you would call culinarily inclined, I was flying blind. I hadn't noticed a few drops of oil hitting the ground while I poured into the frying pan. (Hey they called it a FRYING pan, how was I supposed to know that you deep fry in a deep pot? LOL) By a few drops I mean the Nile of vegetable oil was flowing down the middle of my hallway sized kitchen. Suddenly, the phone rang. Startled, I turned. And immediately I was Michelle Kwan, spinning, sliding and splitting all over the kitchen trying to find my footing. At last I found a handhold...the screaming hot frying pan full of vegetable oil! Quicker than you can blink my belly and lady parts were on fire with pain. I'm surprised no one called the cops to haul me to the loony bin when they heard "My GOD, MY VAGINA is on FIRE!" through the paper thin walls. I was able to regain calm when I went into shock. I can only imagine the scene at this point, me standing nearly catatonic, naked, and burnt staring at my burning fry bread. At this point I very calmly walked to the bathtub and ran warm water. I took the phone to the bathroom, got in the water, and called the public library for Mike. I'm reasonably sure they thought I was either (a) nuts, or (b) an idiot, when they heard what sounded like a giggling woman asking for her husband because she burnt her vagina. Well...he came home and off to the hospital with friends we went. We didn't have a car and our neighbors had a van. I'm almost certain that the ER workers laughed for a good long while about the lady who burnt her lady parts cooking.
That reminds me of the time we were told by the fire department that we couldn't fry chicken anymore...but that's a story for another post.
-Kat Lady
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Kat Lady: An introduction
This being my first post, I guess I should be a good kitty and introduce myself and my life. I live in a medium sized town, in a medium sized state in a...wait for it.... ha! You're wrong! A SMALL house. Miniscule really... just barely enough room for two adults and three cats. Usually.I live a pretty typical life except for a few things. 1. I'm bi-polar. This should make for some very interesting posts! 2. I was raised by a category 5 hoarder. Nope, no issues from that...lol. 3. I am multi-racial. I sometimes feel like the result of a racial blender. 4. I'm adopted. From Wendy's. Seriously. 5. I married a very interesting person. Life is always better when you choose to spend it with interesting people.
Sooooo.....Let's just kick this off then...
I am a social butterfly. I spend copious amounts of time with people....mainly because I can't stand being alone. Oh, and I like being with my friends. My mother has some kind of innate ability to know when I'm having fun, and an immediate buzzkill button. It's called SEND on her cellphone.
This is a typical conversation with mom.
My phone rings.... I groan when I see caller ID because I KNOW what's about to ensue.
Mom: JEEEEAAAANNNN ANNNNNNN
Me: Yes, Mom...
Mom: Can you type a paper for me? (Let me interject, my mother has gone back to community college after 30 years, and does not know a mouse from a USB.)
Me: How long is it?
Mom: It needs to be 600 words. It's for the school paper. (I cringe...this means I have to actually spend time editing it down from her 5 pages of written notes to 600 words.)
I now interrupt this blog to insert a sample written word for word from my mother's notes.
"Children do learn what they live. Kids whatch us all. We all are examples. Do you want to be a gl (?) block to them?"
What I wrote- "Children learn from what we show them. We need to be good examples instead of stumbling blocks for them."
OH the IRONY!!!!
Me: Let me see what I'm doing this week. Bring it by and I'll try to fit it in. (praying for something to come up)
Mom: Ok. Have you heard from brother? (who moved away for a better job and some freedom)
Me: No, mom, he doesn't call me. ( Sometimes he shows up when he comes through town. He made me promise not to tell her when he comes through.)
Mom: How about daddy? You know he always has his phone off, and he never spends time with me, and I just don't know if I can take it anymore.
Me: uh-huh (approximately at this point is when I check out until she runs out of steam)
Mom: He snores! He sleeps all the time! He doesn't shower! (Yes, he does shower, he does snore, and he sleeps because he works 50 to 60 hours a week at a welding shop to give HER money to buy things to hoard.)
Me: mmm.
Mom: How's the weather? (she lives 15 minutes away)
Me: good. It snowed out west though.
Mom: Oh, how did you hear that? (facepalm inserted here...seriously?)
Me: The news, mom. I heard it on the news.
Mom: oh, ok. You let me know if daddy calls you.
Me: Ok, bye Mom.
Mom: hangs up.
Those who know my mother know this is just a tiny bit of what she's capable of. I'm sure there will be plenty of stories featuring Hurricane Shirley.
Well, that's about it for today...tomorrow we will converse about my husband and fur children.
-Kat Lady
Sooooo.....Let's just kick this off then...
I am a social butterfly. I spend copious amounts of time with people....mainly because I can't stand being alone. Oh, and I like being with my friends. My mother has some kind of innate ability to know when I'm having fun, and an immediate buzzkill button. It's called SEND on her cellphone.
This is a typical conversation with mom.
My phone rings.... I groan when I see caller ID because I KNOW what's about to ensue.
Mom: JEEEEAAAANNNN ANNNNNNN
Me: Yes, Mom...
Mom: Can you type a paper for me? (Let me interject, my mother has gone back to community college after 30 years, and does not know a mouse from a USB.)
Me: How long is it?
Mom: It needs to be 600 words. It's for the school paper. (I cringe...this means I have to actually spend time editing it down from her 5 pages of written notes to 600 words.)
"Children do learn what they live. Kids whatch us all. We all are examples. Do you want to be a gl (?) block to them?"
What I wrote- "Children learn from what we show them. We need to be good examples instead of stumbling blocks for them."
OH the IRONY!!!!
Me: Let me see what I'm doing this week. Bring it by and I'll try to fit it in. (praying for something to come up)
Mom: Ok. Have you heard from brother? (who moved away for a better job and some freedom)
Me: No, mom, he doesn't call me. ( Sometimes he shows up when he comes through town. He made me promise not to tell her when he comes through.)
Mom: How about daddy? You know he always has his phone off, and he never spends time with me, and I just don't know if I can take it anymore.
Me: uh-huh (approximately at this point is when I check out until she runs out of steam)
Mom: He snores! He sleeps all the time! He doesn't shower! (Yes, he does shower, he does snore, and he sleeps because he works 50 to 60 hours a week at a welding shop to give HER money to buy things to hoard.)
Me: mmm.
Mom: How's the weather? (she lives 15 minutes away)
Me: good. It snowed out west though.
Mom: Oh, how did you hear that? (facepalm inserted here...seriously?)
Me: The news, mom. I heard it on the news.
Mom: oh, ok. You let me know if daddy calls you.
Me: Ok, bye Mom.
Mom: hangs up.
Those who know my mother know this is just a tiny bit of what she's capable of. I'm sure there will be plenty of stories featuring Hurricane Shirley.
Well, that's about it for today...tomorrow we will converse about my husband and fur children.
-Kat Lady
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