tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72812154149879123902024-03-13T06:57:47.842-05:00Kat Lady and the TrampThe random musings I manage to pull out of my slightly damaged mind. Also, humor may be involved.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-8784057526999780502018-03-16T11:13:00.001-05:002018-03-16T11:13:05.478-05:005 years later!Wowser! A lot of life has come and gone since my last post!<br />
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In the past 5 years we've had a son (a big surprise!), my dad had a major stroke that disabled him, we moved to a bigger city, I cut ties with my mother, and I started making and selling art and jewelery.<br />
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I will hit on each of those subjects in future posts, but for today I'll focus on the impetus for all the other changes...my son.<br />
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Sometime around Labor Day we took a vacation. We hadn't used any birth control methods since we were married 11 years prior. Late September I began to feel awful. I assumed I had acquired the local stomach flu virus, as I was SURE I was infertile. <br />
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This flu was horrible. I couldn't even lay down due to the nausea. I began to sleep in a recliner that was just steps from the bathroom. The only thing I could even try to keep down were freezer pops. I had never felt so horrible in my entire life (and I had appendicitis and ovarian cysts in the past).<br />
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About week 2 of this plague, Mr. Kat Lady started to think outside the box. He suggested I may be pregnant. I laughed...and laughed...and laughed...and puked. I couldn't be pregnant after all this time!!!<br />
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I began to consider that I hadn't had my monthly this month (not immediately alarming, as I was irregular). I reluctantly made a doctor's appointment. I say reluctantly because just before the vacation I had seen my GP and he had warned me that because my TSH levels were balanced and I had recently lost weight, I may need to use birth control now. Again, I laughed him off, as I was OBVIOUSLY infertile.<br />
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Nevertheless, I went to the lab, got my blood drawn, and made my way to the office upstairs. They called me back immediately. The doctor knocked and walked in with a somewhat smug look on his face. He told me I was PREGNANT!!!! I must have looked exceptionally stunned, because he backed up and asked if I wanted to keep it. That snapped me into reality. OF COURSE I was keeping "it."<br />
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The next 9 months were a whirlwind of telling shocked people, dealing with severe morning sickness, and eventually bed rest until week 39, when it was time to evict him for both of our safety.<br />
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Come delivery day, I was confident in my birth plan (insert derisive laugh here), my doctor, and my birth coach's ability to help manage the pain/ I was not planning on delivering naturally with no pain meds. I may have even told the doc I wanted ALL the drugs.<br />
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24 hours of violent contractions, vomiting, and then decels in his heartbeat landed us in the OR for a C-Section. And there he was, a furry little squirming bean.<br />
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The first months were rough, with me suffering a horrible case of PPD. Mr. Kat Lady was AMAZING and helped me get through it. Whilst I was pregnant, my dad had suffered a massive stroke and eventually ended up moving in with us, which meant my mother moved in as well. The added stress of my mother second guessing every parenting decision I made did NOT help my PPD.<br />
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When Ro was 10 months old we made a tough but necessary decision. We were moving to the city. Not the nearest city, we needed some space. We moved 400 miles away. I still contend this was the best decision we have ever made.<br />
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We ended up right around the corner from his godfather, who is amazing!!!! We celebrated his first, then his second, then his third birthdays here, and now we're looking down the barrel at number 4 and school is right around the corner. There will be MANY fun stories featuring my son coming up soon.<br />
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But for now,<br />
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Love and Life,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-5983354217034163712013-05-14T14:03:00.001-05:002013-05-14T15:36:27.201-05:00Ten Years Makes All the Difference: Age 21 vs Age 31As I approach birthday 31 this coming June 2nd, I have been contemplating how much my life and myself in general are different from when I was a new adult at 21. So far I have come up with several comparisons, and I'm gonna share them with you. Feel free to add more in the comments!<br />
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<u><b>Bedtime</b></u><br />
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At 21 I was easily able to stay up for long periods of time. I was always afraid I might "miss" something while I slept. When I finally slept, it was for long periods of time. <br />
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At 31 I know what I am missing. Sleep! No longer feeling the need to be available 24/7, I have become a creature of habit. I sleep at least 8 hours a night, thanks to some very nice pills. I am on a schedule. At the same time, the schedule when I sleep varies from evening to morning thanks to the hubbs night working schedule.<br />
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<u><b>Responsibilities</b></u><br />
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While I was married and had three or four cats back then, I really had nothing you could call a responsibility. I was sedentary and introverted.<br />
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Now, I have appointments, and Crochet Thursdays, and a car, and a yard to keep up. I don't have kids, but I do take the cat for a nightly walk. I have financial responsibilities that must be kept up with and I have to do it all and remain balanced mentally and physically. And I've grown up enough to accept that this is the way it is. It still SUCKS! lol<br />
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<b><u>Body</u></b><br />
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I wish I could go back to the days of running around, and dancing painlessly around the bonfire. I could drink and not be feeling it the next day. My body was overweight, but actively working. I could sit around all day watching TV and sucking down Pepsi. No side effects but weight gain. Unfortunately I was very uncomfortable with my body.<br />
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Today I tend to overuse the Ibuprofen and have to be careful so I don't re-injure myself like I did a short while ago. Ironically I decided this year to try and get healthier and feel better. I quit soda. I started riding the exercise bike. I walk A LOT. And my body is telling me I am betraying it...so it rebels. And I have learned to accept I am not going to be that lady to who lost 100 lbs. I'm a big girl, and I just want to be a HEALTHY big girl. And I am ok with it.<br />
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<u><b>Friendships</b></u><br />
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We had a large group of friends and acquaintances in our early 20s. Our house was the house you went to when you wanted to hang out, eat good, and see your friends. The group was diverse and from many different places in society. It was all about having a good time.<br />
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We've tended to drift away from the "good times" friends and into more deep friendships. We basically have one circle of family-like friends, and a small group of confidantes, and a large amount of acquaintances we see occasionally. It's more about quality than quantity now. We still like to have fun, we just aren't desperate for it.\<br />
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<u><b>Marriage</b></u><br />
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We had been married just over a month at my 21st birthday. It was still awkward, we had NO money, and lived in a tiny apartment. It was a very tumultuous first year, and my mom still hated Mike. I had to get used to doing something I had no prior training on, and that was awkward at first as well.<br />
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We just had our tenth anniversary April 26, and things have definitely improved. We live in a spacious house, can actually afford things, and we can have conversations just by looks. Mom has warmed up to Mike and they have their own dynamic now. And our intimate life? The sex has gotten better. Way better. Most of all we love each other more than the day we married.<br />
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What major changes did you experience in the years between 21 and 31? Leave a comment!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-1374909341215304102013-05-13T00:55:00.000-05:002013-05-13T00:55:21.828-05:00Shirley Sunday 2013: The Abominable Meatloaf Returns!Let me just say that this is an appropriate time for me to return to the blogging world. First reason is that a LOT of people have been asking me to start blogging again. Second reason is that they all want me to blog about Hurricane Shirley. And I have a LOT more material!<br />
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A lot of things have changed in the last few months for me, like moving to a new town (almost literally if you know me and where I live) and FINALLY getting disability for the mental disorders that had nearly crippled me from normal life! Unfortunately, even moving 45 minutes away from the parental units did not deter them from invading my life at regular intervals.<br />
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Our old house was a bungalow of shall we say intimate proportions. We were usually on top of each other...and not in the good way! Too small for long (overnight) visits from mom and dad. Now we live in a generous two-story. When we moved, mom decided to take a course at the local community college which has a satellite location in our town. She just HAD to take the course at our town's location. Every Friday. So every Thursday night without fail, we had an overnight visitor. Because apparently 45 minutes is too far to drive for her class in one day. Mind you, the woman makes multiple trips every week to locations far greater in distance than my house. After a while, dad started staying the night as well, because he works only seven minutes from our house. That's right, my mother refused to drive 45 minutes ONE day a week and my father has been doing it FIVE or SIX days a week for 40(!) years. Needless to say, while the hubbs was still working in our old town (driving 45 minutes TWICE a week) I would be sharing MY house with the two people I specifically moved away from for more independence. OK, so that's the backstory...now onto the meatloaf.<br />
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It was the hubbs birthday. He turned 31 on a Wednesday, and we had a barbecue planned for Saturday. We had planned to walk to a local eatery and celebrate quietly. Then mom called and informed us we need not eat, she was making her meatloaf- a (very) loose interpretation of my cousin's recipe. Now look, I love meatloaf, even being a person who doesn't really like red meat. What she made most closely resembled wet cat food in sight and texture. The taste wasn't terrible, but I couldn't get past the texture. I mean, who puts evaporated milk in meatloaf? The answer should be no one. Trust me.<br />
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I ate exactly 3 bites and declared myself full (of whatever I could snack on before). I knew the horrific meal that was going to be presented and warned the hubbs that we should at least snack so we didn't go hungry. He expected bad, but was not prepared. I'm pretty sure he'll trust me about what mom can and can't successfully cook from now on.<br />
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I am absolutely terrified because she has already talked about the recipe she wants to try for my birthday in a couple weeks...prepare the airsick bags!<br />
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You know though, on a serious note, I am very lucky. I was blessed with two moms. One who gave birth to me and one who was there from the beginning. My mom means well and she's a really nice lady with a lot of old-fashioned behaviors. I think I'll cut her a break today and just say "Happy Mother's Day to a mom who constantly keeps me on my toes." Oh, and thanks in advance for never making your meatloaf again!<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat Lady<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-60516197976593726822012-12-03T05:32:00.000-06:002012-12-03T05:32:09.492-06:00The Government Ate My Paperwork, Then They Paid Me.Ok, so I should probably start with an apology. However, I'm not going to, and here's why: excuses are easier. I've spent the last 6 months applying and fighting for my disability to go through. And just a couple hours ago I got my first payment. I can breathe now.<br />
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You all knew I was bi-polar, and since the last post I've also added OCD, GAD (general anxiety disorder), PTSD, and mild Agoraphobia. Quite the list, huh. It's actually quite funny when you get right down to it.<br />
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For example, a conversation I would normally hold in my head on any given day:<br />
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(BP): So, I should really get out of bed.<br />
(GAD): But what if it's COLDDDD out?<br />
(PTSD): We could get sick!<br />
(BP): Nope, I am getting up.<br />
Crap! This house is a mess!<br />
(OCD): I've been telling you that for weeks!<br />
(BP): Well, I've been in a down swing for a while. Why don't you help me clean it up?<br />
(OCD): It's gotten too bad, I can't face it. You mixed up everything I had in ORDER!<br />
(GAD): It's too much, I need to lay down.<br />
(BP): We'll do it later. How about a walk to the library?<br />
(A): NOOOOOOOO!!!!<br />
(OCD): Just don't forget to go the right way, no sidetrips or something may go wrong!<br />
(GAD and PTSD) By yourself??? NOOOOOO!!!!<br />
(BP) I guess I'll go later, after I take a nap.<br />
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Rinse and repeat. But such is my life. On the upside, at least I'm not Schizophrenic...yet...lol!<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat Lady <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-78982577072899801882012-05-26T23:01:00.000-05:002012-05-26T23:01:03.527-05:00Buying Booze For My Sober Mother: Gin EditionMy parents are VERY anti-alcohol. They are so against drinking that they don't even know what the names of alcohol are. My mother is also an avid gardener. She's recently gotten into using household items for weed killing and such. <br /><br />So today she and my dad show up at my house with a magazine that gave a recipe for homemade weed killer. This conversation happened:<br /><br />MOM: Hey, do you know what G-I-N is? Daddy says he thinks its a type of alcohol.<br /><br />ME: Gin. Yep, that's alcohol. You can get it at any liquor store.<br /><br />MOM: You KNOW we don't go into places like THAT. (said with obvious scorn.)<br /><br />ME: Mom, do you want to give me the money to go buy some gin for your plants?<br /><br />MOM: Well, you don't tell anybody we bought alcohol. (nope, no one. Just letting everybody read it on my blog...)<br /><br />MOM: How much does it cost?<br /><br />ME: Well, I've never bought gin, but probably less than 10 bucks.<br /><br />Mom and I then walk over to the car, where Dad is waiting patiently.<br /><br />MOM: Daddy, (yes she really calls him that...) will you take *Kat Lady* (my name omitted for obvious reasons) to the liquor store so she can buy me some gin for my plants?<br /><br />DAD: Why? Do your plants need to get drunk? (The wit of my father astounds me...lol)<br /><br />MOM: Don! That's not funny. I use it for weed killer. (I would use it for other, more obvious reasons...and I rarely drink.)<br /><br />DAD: Shirley, calm down, I'll take her with me and we'll go get your alcohol.<br /><br />MOM: Shhh! I don't want the whole neighborhood to know!<br /><br />ME: The whole neighborhood is probably drunk already, mom, it's Memorial Day Weekend.<br /><br />Dad hands me a twenty, and I grab my ID (which they didn't check btw...) and we drive the approximate 2 blocks to the nearest liquor store. I briefly contemplate buying a dollar shot bottle to ease the headache of dealing with my mother. I buy the gin, and exit the store. This conversation happens:<br /><br />DAD: Was it expensive? <br /><br />ME: Nope. 6 bucks for a decent size bottle. Wanna see?<br /><br />DAD: NO. That's your MOTHER's gin.<br /><br />DAD: By the way, that was a lot of Mexicans buying a lot of beer behind you...<br /><br />ME: Uh-huh. It's pretty cheap. It's also a holiday weekend.<br /><br />DAD: You would think it was Cinco De Mayo. (Dad's slightly racist, but in an ironic way.)<br /><br />ME: Let's just get this liquor to Mom, so she can murder some weeds with alcohol poisoning.<br /><br />We return and I leave the liquor in the car.<br /><br />MOM: Did you get it? Is there enough?<br /><br />ME: Mom, you could drown a whole lawn full of weeds with it.<br /><br />DAD: Shirley, I had her pick me up a bottle of Champagne so I have something for later. (COMPLETELY deadpan. The man is comic genius!)<br /><br />MOM: (starts looking like she's gonna blow her top)<br /><br />ME: (Starts maniacally laughing...this is just too ridiculous.)<br /><br />DAD: Shirley get a grip. If I wanted to get drunk I'd buy some of those Mexican's beers. <br /><br /><br />I later find out that mom snuck the brown bag with the gin in it inside like she was smuggling crack. I imagine it looked a lot like Gollum trying to look inconspicious. What I wanna know is how many weeds is she gonna kill with that amount of gin.<br />Goodbye Mom and Dad's lawn...<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-43384346688583722172012-05-23T14:24:00.001-05:002012-05-23T14:24:28.429-05:00Out Here, On the Prairie, Where There's NO Entertainment...Figures, right? I start blogging again, and my internet access is cut off, I have NO cable, and I'm using the public library to access everything. Well, it could be a lot worse, I know...first world problems. However, I am a week or so out from my 30th birthday and I'm crawling the walls til Friday, when I get my cable back. I could kiss Dish Network on the mouth for picking up the ball when Cox Communications dropped it. 4 years of solid usage by us and Cox decided that it was time to be complete...well...Cox about it.<br />
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Jokes on them though. Now we can get TV from Dish and internet from them for about half of what we have been paying. Just for the record, customer service with Cox is a nightmare. Oh well, adios to them and on to bigger and better things!<br />
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June 2 is my birthday, so since my hubby has to work the night shift, my parents are taking me to dad's company picnic at The Sedgwick County Zoo. Should be fun! I've always wanted to go to the zoo on my birthday, just never thought it would be my 30th...lol. Then, on the 8th, my friends and Das Bear and I are going to go to this ah-may-zing Chinese buffet in Wichita and shop at the mall- make a real day of it. I'm lucky my friends are so awesome! Until then, however, it's back to the house with 12 channels on TV and a girl who is ten feet deep in the Hunger Games books. I read the first two back to back without putting them down. Now I MUST watch the movies! soon I hope!<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-15825880630998231882012-05-10T19:00:00.001-05:002012-05-10T19:00:50.116-05:00Garage Sales: Formerly Your Trash, Now Mine.I'm excited about spring for one very specific reason. I LOVE GARAGE SALES! Specifically I love town-wide garage sales. This weekend, my home town will be opening it's garages and I'll most definitely be there. I have a mission this time, however...we need a couch. I won't be specific, but ours is past it's use by date. Not to mention it is the MOST UNCOMFORTABLE couch I have ever been on.<br />
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Anyways, odds are I'll come home with more than I need, and that's why Das Bear is coming. He's a slick negotiator. He brings out his "hotel face" and manages to sweet talk everyone into giving us a great deal. Sometimes I even feel bad for the person- they have no idea what they are going to be up against. ;)<br />
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I am a sucker for 80s and 90s kids toys as well. I don't need them, but I'll gladly put them on my collection shelf. My Little Ponies and Cabbage Patch Dolls and Troll Dolls are my kryptonite. What can I say? I have some fond memories of all but the troll dolls. (Mom said NO TROLL DOLLS because apparently they are hideous.)<br />
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Another thing I will always buy is sarongs and colorful sheets. I stay much cooler in the summer wearing sarongs and dresses, and the colorful sheets are great room dividers. Also, I love incense and oil burners. I am a sucker for incense! Yes, I am a bohemian hippie style girl!<br />
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You can also tell a lot about a person by what they are selling. (I've touched on this before.) I have found some very strange things at garage sales, some which were on the tables with the kid toys. Once I found a self pleasure item in a free box full of plastic toys. Would not touch that with a ten foot pole.<br />
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Often the best sales are at the sketchiest looking houses. These are the people who know they won't get much foot traffic, so they price things accordingly. Never pay more than 50 cents for clothing- unless it's designer, couture, or a gown.<br />
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I've been known to stretch a 20 dollar bill until it screams. I will sort through a freebie box all day long. I am the freebie queen. My secret to stretching your garage sale cash is to add up everything in your hands and then offer half to the seller. Less than half is insulting, and you can always negotiate to a price you are both comfortable with.<br />
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Wear sunscreen and a hat. Nothing ruins a good sale more than being physically miserable. Drink plenty of water or buy at lemonade stands. Also, don't be afraid to pay what something is worth, not what it is priced.<br />
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Well, I am crossing my fingers and hoping for the best deals on Saturday...wish me luck!<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat Lady<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-11067765191590181272012-05-07T19:36:00.000-05:002012-05-07T19:36:07.225-05:00Gardening with Hurricane Shirley and Don the Brawn.Lately I have found out my parents are complete opposites. Mom's speed is such that the only way I can think to describe her is two words: Gung Ho. Ok, that sounds bad, my mom is not a Ho. She's just really insistent on getting her way, and is willing to beg, borrow, whine, and grouch her way into getting what she wants. Now mind you, my mother has a good heart, and is always thinking she is doing the best for someone else, when in reality it benefits her.<br />
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My dad, however, is strictly the backbone, the moving parts of the operation, and possibly the most patient person I have ever met. However, as he is getting older, he is finally starting to stand up to Hurricane Shirley, and will yank her chain back if necessary. He also has an excellent sense of humor. With Dad, you know that he's going to throw a sarcastic quip out at the right moment and usually at your expense. It's quite charming really.<br />
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Today was the best example of classic Hurricane Shirley and Don the Brawn. Mom stopped by this morning and I went to a couple greenhouses with her. I had started a small container garden (4 containers and a front flower bed) so when I went with her, I had planned on getting two more tomato plants. When I arrived home, I had added two tomato plants, four cucumbers, and eight peppers to the original 3 tomato plants, 4 cucumbers, and eight peppers. This small container garden was small no more. I did some shuffling and planted what would fit, and mom said she'd bring me a couple more containers to plant the extra peppers in.<br />
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I had just began to relax and contemplate a bath when my phone rang. Mom. I answered (like I always do...) and mom told me that she and Dad were in town with some stuff for my garden. They arrived with 5 tomato cages, 2 large buckets, a shovel, 2 large planters, and a giant planter. I was informed by my mother that we were going to replant the tomatoes into the new containers, plant the peppers and douse everything with Miracle-Gro. Joy. Dad went straight for the folding chair on the porch. It was obvious that he had been coerced into coming. Being as we were out of potting soil, it was also obvious that someone was going to have do some serious digging the backyard for dirt. I looked at Dad, he looked at me. I smiled, he smiled. Then he said, "Well, you better get to it..." and I knew my back was about to get REALLY sore. At some point he took pity on me and filled a couple of the containers, I don't remember when as I think I may have been hyperventilating. I'm not a small girl, and I'm not that great at physical stuff, so I was in some good pain.<br />
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We brought the filled containers around to the front (brought=lugged, pulled, panted, died) and I started transplanting. Then I realized we had to fill four more containers. I looked at Dad and smiled, he pretended not to see me. I looked at mom, she was pouring Miracle-Gro generously EVERYWHERE and I dragged the shovel and container back to the torture zone (I mean backyard). I filled the pots and brought them up and transplanted the remaining plants. My mom then spent the next 10 minutes telling me to do things and making me change things a million times. Dad fell asleep on the porch.<br />
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Mom woke Dad up and said she was hungry. Dad told her to walk across the street to Dillons. She looked at me and said "Let's go." I thought of many responses to that order, and eventually decided I would probably get a shovel to the brain if I said any of them to her. Besides, I was not going to be THAT daughter. You know the ungrateful one who makes their mother walk across the street to the grocery store with her broken leg and walk back carrying food.<br />
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By the time we returned I was exhausted. Still am. Which sucks because Das Bear wants me to clean the living room before he gets home at 11. Thinking that's not gonna happen. I'm taking a nap. Maybe a bath.<br />
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Most of all, I'm going to expect my phone to ring tomorrow morning, and for the caller ID to say MOM. Odds are I'm going to the greenhouses again, and I'm gonna have to dig more dirt and I'll get an impromptu visit from Mom and Dad again tomorrow. And Dad will sit there and watch us monkeys work, and I'll break my back and die. Ok, maybe not that last one. But for sure the others.<br />
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Love and Laughter-<br />
Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-2204909892734274432012-05-05T21:49:00.000-05:002012-05-06T20:10:33.395-05:00How much is that weenie in the window???I vaguely apologize for my long absence. I could make excuses, I could lie, I could grow an extra arm...no, wait not that last one. Really, I just stopped finding myself interesting enough to write about, let alone read about. Now I'm on a better dosage of my psych meds and possibly may be humorous again. Or not. Whatever works for you.<br />
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I'm back and I've got some real ringers to share with you, involving my husband lusting for a cabinet and some weiner-related collectables to fill it with. If you read back to my post on reality television you will note that I am a true reality junkie. Recently, some of the shows have captured Das Bear's attention. One of these shows is Interior Therapy with Jeff Lewis. The most recent episode featured a couple named Adam and Yvonne. (Yeah, really.) She was gung-ho to move in after their committed relationship of an immense 5 months. Yeah, Yvonne, see me in another 9 years or so. Anyway, this jackwagon (Adam) has a curiously large collection of dicks. Yes, penises, weiners, wangs, jackwillies, etc. He had so many phallus related items that he needed to store them in a glass fronted cabinet. That's right...a "straight" man had so many dick-related replicas he had to buy them a cabinet. I wonder how it goes at his house parties. "Welcome, let me show you around...there's the kitchen, with the new stove, the dining room with the gigantic table, and my piece d'resistance- my collection of cocks.<br />
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Of course, he was totally connected to these one-eyed willies, and demanded they be carefully stored. To me it seemed he may have been a little too concerned about his penises, and not concerned enough with the (YOGA INSTRUCTOR) vagina that was willing to permanently pay attention to his (attached) flesh wand. Anyways, I commended what a dick (ironic, eh) this guy was, and my husband said something that stopped me in my tracks.<br />
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Me: That guy's a dick. I totally hate him.<br />
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Das Bear: I like his weiner cabinet. You CAN'T hate a guy that collects weiners.<br />
<br />
It was at this point that he and I both concluded this dude was so far in the closet that he needed to collect dicks. Did I mention the dude had this really weird obsession with Mr. Rogers' sweaters and giant bowties? I can't think of a straight man who'd wear that inside his house, let alone on television. To cement our view, the camera cut to his "girlfriend" outside doing yoga. The woman was literally balanced on her arms with her legs in the air out to the side. This led to another discussion on his sexuality.<br />
<br />
Das Bear: He's got be gay.<br />
<br />
Me: Why?<br />
<br />
Das Bear: If a woman like that wanted to move into my house I'd be like "and where would you like your yoga studio? My man cave? Have at. I'll build a treehouse in the back yard to drink beer and watch man shows.<br />
<br />
Me: Wow. Just wow.<br />
<br />
So, yes, at the end of the show Yvonne decided she really didn't like being the bitch in the relationship and ended it with Adam. I hope he's happy when he finds his true (man) love.<br />
<br />
And also, my husband wants a cabinet so he can collect penises. Yep, that sounds good to me, as long as I get the bottom shelf for all the colorful rubbery ones....;)<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-74349727753357124372011-10-21T00:09:00.002-05:002011-10-21T00:09:42.012-05:00My 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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-35190734952389025212011-10-19T23:29:00.000-05:002011-10-19T23:29:21.048-05:00My 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.<br />
<br />
Lets do this in an organized manner.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-32569557429568328742011-07-27T04:25:00.000-05:002011-07-27T04:25:32.513-05:00Hey 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 <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kat-Lady-The-Blog/256592811032971">here</a> to go straight to the page!<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-85949101848922932682011-07-25T23:37:00.001-05:002011-07-26T21:27:28.221-05:00This 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."<br />
<br />
What you don't understand is our history with cars. I want something that can survive a collision. And here's why.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
So without further ado, here she is.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1DtiBQDohFw/Ti5D3H1gcYI/AAAAAAAAAFU/4-tjUR7ySqc/s1600/284773_10150324320820930_652280929_9971926_5301033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1DtiBQDohFw/Ti5D3H1gcYI/AAAAAAAAAFU/4-tjUR7ySqc/s320/284773_10150324320820930_652280929_9971926_5301033_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As a red Cherokee, we're tossing about Pocahontas for her name.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I promise we're not trying to be racist with the name, it just fits.<br />
<br />
<br />
To Jeepies and Cobwebs on the Driving Record (Me, at least...)<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-11186482594656359232011-07-24T04:40:00.000-05:002011-07-24T04:40:25.588-05:00Egg 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?<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Egg Salad- Let's bounce. Asap.<br />
<br />
George- Wow, that dude/lady/kid/animal is dumb.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Yes? Yes. No? (really?) No. K- Our short hand negotiations.<br />
<br />
Douchecanoe (Thanks Bloggess!)- This is pointless.<br />
<br />
Squee!!!!- Please Oh PLEASE can I have it? It's so FLUFFFFYY! (yep, that's a direct movie reference.)<br />
<br />
Meoooowwww- Yes, I actually meow like a cat sometimes. It's my signal that I need some attention.<br />
<br />
(Chewbacca sound)- HE wants some attention. I know, weird. But it's really cute, I swear!<br />
<br />
Anyway, that's a sampling of our weirdo communication/language. What strange ways do you communicate with your significant other/friends?<br />
<br />
To making noises and waving your hands.<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-50978032748808872642011-07-08T03:16:00.000-05:002011-07-08T03:16:55.794-05:00A 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
To complicated mothers and fixing yourself,<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-53679132797563963772011-07-07T03:19:00.000-05:002011-07-07T03:19:50.839-05:00Growl. 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!)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I guess that's all for tonight.<br />
<br />
To ACLs and Spazball Cats,<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-11139043777077661582011-07-05T16:11:00.000-05:002011-07-05T16:11:26.537-05:00Sparkler 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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
To Flash Burns and Cranky Kids,<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-45761174117298991992011-07-02T20:42:00.000-05:002011-07-02T20:42:29.574-05:00The 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
To Sunburns and Surprise Outings,<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-38381230688427400932011-07-02T00:06:00.000-05:002011-07-02T00:06:39.638-05:00Nacho Mama- the Adventure Begins- Day 1Well, 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
To learning mommy skills and explaining strippers to 6 year olds.<br />
<br />
Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-17402924345161936202011-06-29T10:00:00.033-05:002011-06-29T10:00:06.542-05:00Ok, 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.*<br />
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So after reading <a href="http://4theluvofwriting.blogspot.com/">The Sarcasm Goddess</a>'s gross story and commenting I had a doozy too, she asked me to share it to the interwebs. So here goes.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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To breaking barriers and unimpacting poo.<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-6678006549453099602011-06-28T16:13:00.000-05:002011-06-28T16:13:44.365-05:00Watch 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.)<br />
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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!<br />
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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!<br />
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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...)<br />
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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.<br />
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Ok, that's enough rambling for today...my addled brain has run off without me, so I must chase it back to the couch.<br />
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To Sun sickness and summer pools.<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-57182458101149824362011-06-27T19:05:00.000-05:002011-06-27T19:05:24.520-05:00Then 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----<br />
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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?")<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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So be it I guess. Nostalia is a fickle and fie lover.<br />
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To looking back, and Ebaying the crap outta your old toys.<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-48740910598077175242011-06-25T06:00:00.000-05:002011-06-25T06:00:29.821-05:00Popularity 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. :)<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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<br />
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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. <br />
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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<br />
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Alrighty then, ladies and gents, it's off to bed for the Kat Lady.<br />
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To Hippie Dreams and Square Nightmares,<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-45067836514758631362011-05-28T04:19:00.000-05:002011-05-28T04:19:32.219-05:00My 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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...<br />
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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.<br />
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To tree hugging and enjoying the outside,<br />
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Love and Laughter,<br />
-Kat LadyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09490280013245012003noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7281215414987912390.post-4421304051354897382011-05-27T03:59:00.000-05:002011-05-27T03:59:22.615-05:00Coining a Term and a New blog ownerDas 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.<br />
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Procrastinado <b>n.</b> or <b>adj. - </b>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. <br />
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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..<br />
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~To coining new terms and Hostile Takeovers<br />
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Das BearMykey Finnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14868358051751259514noreply@blogger.com0