Shirley 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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Battle of the Bathroom!

There are bath people, and there are shower people. You are either one, or the other. There is no middle ground. I myself am a bath person, and cannot understand why anyone would ever want to hurry through what could be such a luxurious experience. Most of the shower people I meet tend to say that they don't have time for a bath in the morning. My comment to that is that they could take a bath the night before. This makes no sense to them, as a shower person's reasoning and personality is the absolute antithesis of a bath person's.

Bath habits are a contentious subject to hardcore bath or shower people. Showerites (as I call them) are religious about their 5 to 15 minute scrub-a-thon. Many even have a choreographed ritualized routine that they follow during their shower.Enter bathroom. Open shower door, turn shower on, close door. Wait 3 minutes. Open door, check temperature, adjust, close door. Wait 3 minutes. Undress, open door, check self out in mirror. Enter shower. Stand at the back of the shower until used to the terroristic onslaught of water. Move under water. Pick up Soap. Drop Soap. Pick up Soap, banging head on front wall of shower. Wash body. Wash genitals. Wash genitals. Rinse body, spending extra time rinsing genitals. Smile. Pick up shampoo. Open shampoo and pour way too much in your hand. Slather shampoo on head. Get shampoo in eyes. Grope blindly for washcloth. Hit head on front shower wall. Wipe off eyes, Rinse hair. Repeat with conditioner. Turn off water. Open door. Shiver uncontrollably. Reach desperately for towel. Miss and slip on floor, walloping your foot on the sink cabinet. Grab towel and dry. Check self out in mirror. Dress, and exit bathroom.

Now bath people (Bathbyterians) are much more relaxed about their daily cleansing ritual. Their bath usually goes something like this... Enter bathroom. Start bathtub faucet. Check temp, insert plug in drain. Undress. Sit naked on toilet reading or playing on phone/ipod. Get absorbed. Notice water is much too deep for tub. Remove plug. Wait 3 minutes. Insert plug. Step into tub. Realize hot water ran out before tub filled. Deal with it and sit down. Lay in tub reading/gaming/whatevering for 15 minutes. Start hot water. Burn foot. Put in still cool-ish water. Resume entertainment. Wait 4 minutes. Turn off hot water. Lay in water until it cools again, remove plug. Wait 4 minutes. Insert plug. Start hot water. Burn foot. Put in still cool-ish water. Resume entertainment. Repeat 4 times. Put entertainment down on toilet as you are now getting sleepy and don't want to get entertainment wet. Nap for 30 minutes. Wake up in chilly water. Realize it's time to get clean and get out. Empty and refill tub again. Wash up, shampoo, condition and empty tub. Get out. Check self out in mirror. Weigh self. Look surprised and then disappointed. Towel off. Get dressed and leave bathroom.

Yes, Showerites and Bathbyterians are two very different breeds. But at least they cleanse themselves. Nobody wants anything to do with the Nobathtists! So remember. Whether you are a Showerite or a Bathbyterian, your way is the right way. And no one can tell you any different.

My personal preference is Bathbyterian. My husband is as well. How do we know? Our shower broke over a month ago, and we have yet to care to fix it. It never got used much anyway...our poor shower will be FOREVER ALONE.

To Cleanliness, and Ridiculous Bathroom Religion!

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

It's funny how the world changes when you are sick...

Suddenly out of nowhere, it appears! A wild flu bug with it's big vampire fangs and slimy feet. At least that's how I see it from my flu-addled brain. Somehow colors are suddenly too bright...bananas are neon yellow and glowing like bars of uranium, oranges are well, orangey-er, and lights are my dearest enemy. The TV screams at me at any volume...I consider watching it like deaf people, on closed caption. And worst of all, I have become a screaming, crying, pooping, puking monster. All of the bits of evil that are normally dispersed in little clumps throughout my body fling themselves together and create SuperBitch. I really don't mean to be, but come on, I need a foot rub and I need it NOW.

Mr. Kat Lady can't hold it against me too much though, because he's just as bad when he's sick. He likes to give me pointers that he uses when he's sick. One in particular I tried today was a spectacular failure. He suggested I take a walk and maybe the fresh air would help. I'm sure if it was more than 40 degrees out it would have. I stumbled along, dazed by the overwhelming sounds and colors. A car honked...I jumped and then cried a little as my head pounded the rhythm section of some Queen song. A cop actually slowed down to watch me walk. I think he may have thought I was drunk. Wouldn't that have been fun...stopped for possible public drunkeness and forced to take a sobriety test when I was dizzy. I could be writing you from jail right now...lol. I decided that next time I'll just take a bath and go back to bed.

The cats sense that I'm sick too. Every five minutes or so one will paw up to me, meow, and then look at his or her food bowl. Maybe they're just hungry. I decided to pry myself out of bed and feed them. BIG mistake. Fed cats are hyper cats. All three began chasing each other around the room in some ridiculously loud and obnoxious game of tag. I could deal with that, they'd eventually wear themselves out, right? No. Suddenly I was a mountain that every one of them had to jump on, run down and vault over. Yes. I was effectively a puking kitty jungle gym. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I'm happy they are healthy, but I may have timed my hurling so I just might hit one of them once....I missed, thank god. After my attempt, my brain realized that had I hit him with my timed "upburst" I would have had a vomit missile flying around the house.

I decided to make pancakes as a way to distract myself and maybe settle my stomach. I really didn't feel like measuring, so I just added pancake mix to the water until the texture was right...I made like 30 pancakes. There's no way I can eat 15 pancakes by myself, so Mr. Kat Lady better be hungry when he gets home.

Laters Peeps...
-Kat Lady