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