Not it!

Has your home ever been in such a state of filthy disarray that you believe that burning the place to the ground and starting over would be preferable and less horrifying than the thought of actually cleaning it?  I'm more than a little embarrassed to say that I find my home in this situation more often than I would like. I have a reoccurring nightmare where I am killed by ninjas and my extended family gets together around a large table to talk about tying up my loose ends such as: who gets my sweet minivan, what to do with the $14 in my savings account, and who gets the remaining copies my Redbook subscription. They do this animatedly for hours before finally they need to decide who will go to my house and sort through the rest of my belongings.  So, my mother, who is obviously highly distressed about losing her only daughter and is showing it by wearing a mini skirt and furry boots, says, "So, who wants to go to Katie's house and clean up?" there's a long uncomfortable silence and then all at once, every single person at the table says "NOT IT!".

This is disturbing to me on many levels but mostly because in this scenario my mother is dressed like Snookie.

No. Just no.

Anyway, so yes, my house is a disaster. Like...Hoarders with less dried cat poop and more dust. It's not disgusting like, unsanitary- but more cluttered than anything else. We all have problems with a)throwing things away and b) putting things where they belong as opposed to on the nearest flat surface.

 I would like to blame the mess on a 3 day power outage we had this past weekend, but to be fair, it's not the power company's fault. It's mine. I did not get the obsessive neat-freak gene that my mother proudly possesses. I did, however get her terrible eyesight.

Tonight, the plan is to tackle the living room. I have good intentions now, but I also have a very comfortable couch. 

Maybe I'll just take my glasses off instead. Out of sight, out of mind.

And just so you know, the $14 should be used to buy Twinkies, should you find yourself in possession of my savings after a tragic ninja attack.

The Dad Game

As some of you know,  I have never met my real "father". 
While this is an increasingly sad situation for me as I get older and watch my own son grow, I am not all-together broken up about it.

There are some perks to not knowing the true identity of your biological father. One of the best is that you get to play The Dad Game.

I've played The Dad Game for as long as I can remember.
Whenever I see a man who seems like the kind of person that I would want to have as a dad, I add him to my ever growing list. See the list here:  Daddy? or here: Awkward!
88% of the time, these people are celebrities or even American Presidents. Bill Clinton, for example. More often though, they are celebrities playing someone else. On these occasions, the character possesses some positive dad-like quality that makes them good Dad Game candidates.

I point these people out so often that my husband [bless him] has started finding them for me.

 For example, we were watching Tombstone recently when he turned to me and said,

"Katie, I'm pretty sure that both Virgil Earp and Sam Elliot could be your father."

See? Both character and Actor are total dad material.
He was right.

How did I never see that before? It's all so obvious.

Exhibit A:

Now listen here lil' lady. You get that filthy room of yours cleaned before I return from restoring the law to this wild west town using only my deep commanding voice and unwavering fairness, ya hear?

Any dad of mine would totally say that!

Exhibit B:



Incredible mustache



Incredible need to wax.



Resemblance. BAM!

Who needs a DNA test when the pictures speak for themselves?

How could Sam Elliot/ Virgil Earp NOT be my dad?

My husband is like a detective, I swear.

Also, Stanley Tucci.

                                                                          This one.

Not this one.

Dad game = fun.

People of Facebook Part 1

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook.
I love that it's such an easy way to stay in touch with friends and family across the globe.
I hate that Facebook has become another way for grown up people to act EXACTLY the way they did in middle school.

There are certain types of personalities that inhabit facebook that make me want to delete my account and never look back.
These people are really jackassy. They bring their real life jack-assery to the digital world. They suck.
Let me introduce just a few.

1. The Twitterer- 

  Sample Status update(s)

PB&J debacle solved. Got Subway instead. Score.
Just now

At the store. All they have is CRUNCHY! :(
2 minutes ago

Damnit! Out of Peanut butter. Better go grocery shopping.
15 minutes ago

Which kind of Jelly to use? Strawberry or Grape? That is the question
17 minutes ago

Yep. Having the PB& J. Is there any better sandwich?
19 minutes ago

I think I want a peanut butter & jelly sandwich for lunch
22 minutes ago

This person thinks that Facebook and Twitter are interchangeable. On Twitter, I can look the other way when people tweet 22 times in a row. On facebook, you're just clogging up my home page. Stop doing that.

2. The lover -

Sample status update

My wonderful husband and my wonderful, beautiful children made me a  fabulous cake from scratch today just because they love me sooo much. I just lovey lovey love LOVE them so much.  I Love you Bob Smith, Kelly Smith, Timmy Smith, baby Smithy Smith and Bobo Smith (the doggy)!  <3 <3

 the lover loves everything, and she loves it all a little too much. She has the most romantic handsome husband, her job is simply amazing and she is so lucky to have it, her kids are the most outstanding children on earth, her dog wouldn't dream of getting fleas, her car shines like a diamond and drives like a dream, her local Walmart has the best service, her mailman is friendly, her Avon sales representative has amazing samples for her to try...everyone in her life is a-maz-ing. She loves to love people and she loves to tell all of her FB friends just how much she loves life. Really. She loves it.
 I hate her.

3. The song quoter-

Sample Status update

Who let the dogs out? Who? Who? Who? Who?

or possibly-

 All I wanna do in the middle of the evening is hold you tight, Rosanna. Rosanna!

Oh, and thanks for the earworm you jerk.
Related annoying person: The Movie Quoter 

4. Miss Speller & My Poor Gramma(r) -

Sample Status Update

I aint goin to work tamorow I diserve a vaccation guna go shopping insted

 at some point, this adult person must have thought,  "Screw it. Spelling is overrated."-and meant it.

Now, not everyone is a master speller, but spell check that crap.

This goes double for you if you are a teacher and your spelling is atrocious.

5. Death's Doormat-

Sample Status update

I have the worst head cold ever! I think my head is literally going to explode. It feels like my head is being hit by a bus. Repeatedly. I am in SOOOO much pain. And, I think I broke my toe. It huuuuurts soooo bad! It feels like tiny gnomes are poking my toe with tiny sharpened pencils. OUCH!

 this person is always at death's door. They have a cold. The flu. Food poisoning so bad that they can not stop throwing up. And, even considering all the throwing up they are doing, they are still dedicated enough to plunk themselves in front of a computer and tell us this? Ick. Go to bed. I don't want to catch your contagious douchebaggery.

6. The Jonses-

Sample Status update

Just got back from our Bi-annual safari in Africa and in the mail was a great big bonus from work so we went ahead and got that new Lexus I've had my eye on for weeks (yay! Finally!!) Going to drive it around as much as I can before we leave on the yacht for our yearly month long Tahitian vacation at the end of the month. :)

This person has an enormous house in a fabulous gated community, multiple expensive cars,  32 snowmobiles, 12 Jet skis, a yacht, an in-ground swimming pool, pure bred dogs, a perfectly manicured lawn, sparkling jewelry, and goes on the best vacations. Dont believe them? They have pictures (and pictures and more pictures) to prove it.
Especially annoying when these people are relatives. I...uh..hear.

Many MANY more to come in part 2 . 

Who is YOUR least favorite FB personality?

We have nothing to fear, but fear itself...and long division...

Someone close to me, who shall remain nameless, though his name rhymes with BY MUSBAND, pointed out the other day that I have a lot of strange phobias.

I, of course, denied it and accused him of not being open minded enough to consider my phobias normal. But he is right. I do have some strange fears.
So, in case you ever need to get revenge on me for something, here are some routes to pursue directly from the horses mouth.

Katie's Top 10 Weird Fears

1. Horses teeth. Too big. Very scary.

Frightening.
Photo via Wikipedia

2. Costumed, big headed mascots. [No I DO NOT  want my picture taken with you! *shudder*]

3. Dying, then having someone hack into this blog and then write posts badly...or worse, write posts better.

4. Dropping my keys into sewer grates, garbage cans, bodies of water, and any and all other precipice type places that it would be embarrassing to try to retrieve them.

5. Meeting George W. Bush. Ever.

6. Winning the lottery and losing the ticket.

7. Finding my dad and learning that he is a mass murderer or a puppy puncher or something.

8. Long division.

9. Parallel parking. [will walk 10 extra blocks to be able to park easily]

10. Writers block [which is responsible for today's post. My sincerest apologies.]

So tell me, what crazy things are you afraid of?

Stupid Things I've Heard At Work Part 1

I work at a store that sells items for teachers. We have books, classroom decoratives, toys, games, pencils, etc.
The name of the store is basically - Tools For Teaching.

This is a REAL call  that I received recently.

{{{Ring}}}

Tools for Teaching. This is Katie. How can I help you?

Uh. Hi. This is John. Do you guys have Teacher’s supplies?

We sure do John.

Like…right there in the store?

Yes sir. Right here in the store.

That I can come in and look at?

Of course. The store is full of all kinds of teachers supplies.

And you have them right there? In the store?

Sure do. Are you looking for something specific that I can help you find?

Not really. I just need some stuff.

(I look around, searching for a hidden camera or someone on a cell phone, pranking me.)Well, we have lots of stuff.

Are you open?

Currently, yes.

Are you open later?

Until 6.

What about in August? Will you be open in August?

Absolutely.

And you have teachers supplies IN the store? (still doubtful that I'm telling the truth)


Yes.

Ok. See you in August before 6.

Oh..kay. See you in Aug-

{click}

This conversation got me thinking about all the stupid things I have heard while at work.
There have been some doozies.  I realized that I have so many stories like this, that I could make a 5 million part series.

What are some stupid things that YOU hear at work?

I Was a Teenage Bra-Fitter

I was updating my profile today and realized that I have a wealth* of stories to tell.

Yeah fine, most of them are not fit for human consumption due to their lack of interesting details and/or valid point, but have no fear, I will share them anyway.
 I know you have important things to do like pay bills, feed your children and watch kittens on YouTube but I appreciate those of you who are still reading.

For example...

 

In 1998 I got a part-time job at JCPenney. I got this job because I was in college, my graduation money had all but run out, and I was hungry. You can only live on Ramen Noodles for so long before you actually TURN INTO Ramen Noodles.

Anyway, you know how some people have a God given talent to sing, or paint or do long division in their head? Well, I didn't get any of those cool talents. As it turns out, I am awesome at RETAIL.
Yep. You heard me. I am a retail savant. Me and retail, we just clicked. Which is disappointing because I really wanted to find that winning the Lottery was my forte but NO SUCH LUCK.

Now, any of you who are human work in retail are probably scratching your heads and saying, "Gee, Katie.  Retail is pretty easy stuff. They hire college kids for that kind of job. A potty trained orangutan would be good at it!"

To that I say: I agree. It does not take a lot of talent, a college degree, or business sense to work in the women's department of a clothing store.  And yes, an orangutan COULD probably do it, but they would have trouble using the sticker guns and the ink tag removers so NER.

What I DO have that an orangutan doesn't is an uncanny ability to take an irate customer and turn them into a not irate customer** just by talking to them. I also have the talent to help a customer find exactly what they need even if they don't KNOW what they need.

Because I possessed these rare abilities, I was hired then promoted quickly.

How was I shown appreciation for my efforts and skills in the women's department?

I was eventually promoted to:

PROFESSIONAL BRA FITTER

 I'll give you a moment to take that in.

Every.Girls.Dream. = NOT.

Becoming a Professional Bra Fitter (PBF) or a "Titter Fitter" as we called ourselves in the break room -was not an easy task.
One had to pass BRA FITTING UNIVERSITY (BFU)*** which consisted of watching six 10 minute videos of staged (and quite poorly acted) BRA FITTINGS.

BFU graduation was only achieved by correctly measuring someone else in the class under the watchful eye of whatever manager happened to be on duty at the time  and culminated with being handed a framed certificate that contained your name, picture, and the words BRA FITTING PROFESSIONAL. Unfortunately, these were not ours to keep. Eventually they would be posted in the women's fitting room, so that if a customer found herself in a bra fitting quandary, she had only to track us down in the store based on our pictures.

After I graduated from BFU, I was an equal mixture of proud of myself and embarrassed for myself.

Weeks later, after pounding the pavement like a breast obsessed super hero in an exhausting effort to help the 70% of women wearing the wrong bra size, I told a friend (a guy) about my newest job responsibilities.

His reaction was,

 "ARE YOU KIDDING?...How can I apply for that job??!! I could measure women's boobs day and night. I bet I wouldn't even have to use a measuring tape. I bet I could just eyeball 'em or do some hand cuppage**** to figure sizes!"

In his horny college boy mind, he imagined tall, blond, perky college girls coming to me and asking for help finding their correct size which quickly led to hot girl on girl action in the fitting room.

What he failed to realize is- that if college girls know one thing, It's how to find a bra in the correct size. Not only that, college girls know exactly the right kind of bra to best enhance their assets. College girls excel at this.

Do you know what kind of person needs help with bra sizing?

The kind that:

• Burned her bra in the 60's and hadn't worn one since. (read:30 years of gravity saggage)
• Doesn't really need help finding the correct size, just likes to show people her boobs and incidentally DOESN'T like to SHOWER and/or SHAVE her armpits
• Just needs someone to talk to/is lonely and knows they will have a captive audience during bra fitting
• Wants to STUMP the bra fitter with breasts so gigantic/oddly shaped/differently sized/ that a  correct size for them hasn't been invented yet.

After I explained this to my friend, he was no longer interested. Quite frankly neither was I.

Being a PBF was a difficult, thankless, sometimes dirty job. I like to think that somewhere out there,  a woman is pulling on her (correctly sized) bra this morning and thinking fondly of the perfect stranger who was just trying to make money to eat found her a  perfectly fitting bra, size 48FFF, all those years ago.

Which, on second though seems creepy.






*approximately 8 stories
** a dangerous and highly difficult situation
***can't remember the real name of the program but it was something equally silly
****a gross phrase to this day

Silent night. Lousy morning.

Last night, I was coughing and coughing and coughing and could not stop. Shortly after the coughing attack ended, I lost my voice (seemingly, a Christmas miracle to my husband) Try as I might, I could not get my vocal cords to form sounds. And boy did I try.

This morning, on my way to drop my son off at school, I decided to treat myself to a coffee from McDonald's (any size is $1. Great marketing.)
 
Now, separately these two occurrences would make for a pretty lame blog post, but put them together and POOF! Instant blog fodder.

So, we pull up in the drive through and I have my son give my order at the little microphone thingy,

"ONELARGEcoffeeFORmymompleaseshelost

hervoiceandthatswhyIgettoorderFORHERisn't
THATcool?!"

My order was processed we were directed to the next window to pay and pick up the coffee.

At the window, I hand the lady my $1.06 and as I am doing so, I see through the window to the front counter. I am a little surprised that at 7am McDonald's is so busy. There are about 15 people standing at the counter.

The lady hands me my coffee, I mouth the words thank you and I pull the coffee through my window. As I pull the cup in, I hit the steering wheel with it, knocking the cup out of my hands and into my lap. Miraculously the lid stays on, but scalding hot coffee is leaking through the tiny hole in the lid directly into my lap.
So I scream "BALLLLLSAAAACK!!!" (as you do) and my voice is carried- as if on angels wings- through the open window, directly into the ears of the people standing at the counter who all turn and look at the crazy lady screaming private parts at the drive through window.

I wish that I would have chosen a cooler expletive, and I would have, if I'd only known that my voice would choose that exact moment to make its triumphant return.

Ahh Monday. That'll be enough out of you.


ps. My son was SUPER excited to find out that you could use words for body parts as a swear (an early Christmas gift for him).

Mistaken identity or, the inability to ninja kick.

So, it happened today.

Something so humiliating, so soul-crushing, so throwupinyourmouth-inducing  that I can barely bring myself to think about it. (Blog about it,Yes. Absolutely. As you well know if you are a regular here, I don't think while I blog. So we're safe.)

Are you ready for it?

Today I was mistakenly identified again** as a pregnant woman.

If this has never happened to you, consider yourself lucky.
If it has-my condolences.

The crappy part of all of this is that I have no good comeback for this embarrassing situation. I pride myself on having witty comebacks for embarrassing situations. Take a gander of these beauties:

I know you are, but what am I?

Yo momma!

I'm rubber you're glue...blah blah ...sticks to you!

Oh yeah?

Your mother wears combat boots!

And when in a pinch, I have been known to use:

Whatever!*

*only to be used if you will never see the person you are saying it to again because this is absolutely NOT a good comeback. You both know it.

Ok, so I prided myself on having snappy, knife like retorts when I was 12 and not much has changed in my repertoire since then.
HOWEVER.
This situation demands a response.
Just looking at the person with a blank stare as a single tear rolls down your cheek is not enough.
I am always tempted to say, "you think I'm preggo huh? Then you will definitely not be expecting this... (perform a ninja-like kick directly to the persons sternum) from a pregnant lady!"
Except, I'm chubby, which is what got me into this mess in the first place, and can not deliver a kick that high.
So, you can see that that my retort has to be especially biting to make up for my lack of ability to kick people in the sternum.

Until I can find the perfect comeback for this, It will warm my chubby little heart and my plus sized soul to know that when I say "um...no" to people when they ask if I'm pregnant, they feel like total assbags for not knowing the rule that you NEVER ask that question. Never.


**this has now happened on 3 seperate occasions. Maybe I should take the hint.
And get pregnant.

I think I can...I think I can...I can't

There is this...thing that happens to me whenever I witness anyone with talent do, well, anything with talent.
I have always been this way.
When I see someone do something particularly awesome, I get an overinflated sense that I can do _____ (fill in the blank)too.

For example(s).

In 4th grade, my school took a trip to the roller rink. I saw some 8th graders in the middle of the rink just a-twirling, twirling, twirling. I was mesmerized by these girls. The height of their bangs. The disco like reflection off their enormous glasses and Manic Monday being played over the speakers. It was magical.
They had four more years of rollerskating experience than I did. They made it look easy.
I grabbed my friend Tracy and skated toward the center of the rink amidst oohs and ahhs of my 4th grade classmates. I was gonna twirl. And I was gonna do it well.
Needless to say, I did NOT twirl well, and would certainly have landed myself in a full body cast had the eighth graders not seen to it that Tracy and I were quickly removed from the center of the rink.  4th grade dorks were not allowed into the center.  Unspoken rule or some such nonsense.

Cut to present time.
I watch the Young Americans perform.......... I think I can sing and do an intense cardio workout dance at the same time for 3 straight hours. (Nope.)

I watch American Idol..........I believe I can sing anything from Whitney Houston's Catalog with Whitney Houston accuracy and style. (Nope-ity nope.)

I Watch the winter Olympics.......... and I think I can snowboard. Or do that broom sweepy thingie that I still haven't figured out the point of. (What the?)

I watch Ken Jennings on Jeopardy.......... and I think I can answer any question correctly even though I have never actually been able to do so. Ever. Unless it's celebrity Jeopardy where they clearly dumb down the questions. (Whatever-so can my 6 yr old.)

Do you see what I'm talking about?  Yeah. It sucks because honestly, for like 30 minutes after I see a cool thing being done by someone who has CLEARLY got a different skill set than me, my brain allows me to believe that not only can I do these things...but I can do them better. Ugh.

Then comes the inevitable minute 31 where I have been hopelessly  attempting whatever it is I happen to be infatuated with only to realize I have failed. And not just fail, fail. I mean, I go above and beyond at failing. The only real talent  I have is consistency of lack of talent.  It's heart breaking until I find the next thing I become SURE that I will be good at.  Ghost Hunting? Tax Preparation? Yodeling? Silk screening pictures of ferrets onto t-shirts?

And one of these times, I just may surprise myself.* *But I hope that I don't find out I'm good at Yodeling. Where's the money in that?

Tonight's heartache? I went to my local bookstore and listened to one of my FAVORITE authors (Lesley Kagen- read her!) speaking about her newest book. She is witty and smart, has great life stories, is friendly, charming and a hell of a good writer. And guess what? She made it all sound.So.Easy.
Like any homosapien-ish being with access to a computer or, god forbid, paper and a pencil can write a fabulous book just as she has done on 3 occasions.



For the last half hour of her discussion, I wasn't even listening (what a shame). I was deciding who would watch my child tonight when I went home and wrote the next big thing in publishing.

Title: The Eye of the Beholder. (I told you. No good.)

Well, here I am at minute 42ish and I have come back down to earth. I will not write The Eye of the Beholder (you're welcome), but 15 minutes ago that seemed like the only obvious path for my life.

I am so weird. Oh well, I know I make being weird look easy. Go ahead. Just try to be as weird as me. I'll give you 31 minutes.


BTW,    Lori at Random Ramblings of a SAHM  is now hosting FYBF. Go there for the rules, ok?

Practice what you...title your blog...?!?

I've been under the weather. As such, my blogging senses have not been finely tuned as of late.
Normally, my brain processes every minute of every day for blog topic possibility.
For the past week, my brain has not done that. What has happened instead is that my brain tells me that every minute of every day is completely boring and void of anything even remotely worth blogging about.

For Example:

Situation ==>Very elderly woman with purple lipstick completely covering her general mouth area, but none actually on her lips.

 Normal Katie reaction to that situation - HOT DIGGITY DOG! Where's my camera?
Under the Weather Katie reaction - What's for dinner?

Situation ===> Lunch with a friend at a casino buffet. (Which by the way, I believe is the single best place to go for some AMAZING people watching.)
Possible blogworthy item: Seeing a lady dump a plate full of food into a (hopefully) lined purse.
NK reaction - Mashed potatoes into a purse! Yahtzee! Where's my camera?
UWK reaction - What's for dinner?

As you can see, this state of mind wastes perfectly good blogging opportunites ( Um, No Missed opportunities, Kate! Geesh. Practice what you title your blog. Or something like that.), but it does make me realize that when I am under the weather I think alot about dinner.
That said, as much as I would like to blog about that wayward lipstick attempt, or about that incredibly disgusting way to steal food, the wind for those topics has left my sails.
I apologize for any bucket list I may be ruining by not writing about the previous topics. However, if reading about those topics are on your bucket list in the first place, you may want to reevaluate your existence.

Anyway, I am on the road to feeling better so you can be sure that those hard hitting stories will be back soon.
Now, I'm off to find a large purse to line to take on my next topic inspiring trip to the casino buffet, and to figure out what's for dinner.

You sit there and listen young lady, M'kay?

As much as I would like to keep my last post  up forever (I'm totally proud, and all), I have decided that today I would take part in a meme that I found over at Confessions of a Jaded Gym Junkie by the Jaded Vixen herself.

Meme:  Letter to my younger self :

(I have taken liberties, of course. I would like to tell young Katie some specific things.

I work better in the form of lists anyway.)

Your two best friends are going to move. Far away. New York and Wisconsin to be exact. You will grow apart eventually because of the distance but don't worry, when you do get to see each other it's just like old times. And the word 'stiffy" is timeless. Kara will still use it. 

Your highschool boyfriend is going to break up with you your first year in college. Your heart will be broken. When it happens, dont embarass yourself. Don't start smoking and stop eating. This will not bring him back and will only create more issues for you to deal with. Be sad about it, but know that you are about to become the hot ticket in your dorm. Your social calendar is gonna fill up fast!

Be nicer to your suite mate in the dorm. Yes, she annoys you because of the fact that she refuses to wear pants in the common areas but just ignore it. This will be a great story to be able to hold over her head tell when you're 30.

I suggest that you do not take that ill advised trip with friends to Sault Ste. Marie Canada.  If you must, try-TRY to remember that the border guards will NOT think the four of you are funny.

The correct answer to the inquiry of  what you were doing in Canada is,

"We came for the weekend to do some shopping and sightseeing"

and NOT

"Hookers. We were looking for hookers... and black market cat livers"

 And no, you will not die in a Canadian jail like you thought you would. Close call though.

Don't do yourself a disservice by  pretending to like HORRIBLE bands just because your significant other does.  Rob Zombie? Insane Clown Posse?

uh, no.

You don't have to marry the first person who asks you. You will, but you don't have to.

If you are having dinner at someone's house and you ask what they've made, but they won't tell you until you try it... It's probably squirrel or some other horrifying food that you would never eat in a million years.

Also, stop eating at this house. Ew.

In the summer of 2007, give your Aunt Ann a nice long hug and tell her that you love her. Tell her that her love of bingo and the very colorful strings of curse words that she puts together are just some of the things you truly love about her. 

It will be the last time you ever see her.

Embrace your weirdness.

Your son is everything  you ever wished you could have and more.

Don't take your husband forgranted. He is one of the best things that will ever happen to you.

But he fishes a lot.

Protect your good credit rating.

I may need to do this one again, I just thought of like, five billion other things teen-me needs to know.

Next time.

He makes a good (uncomfortable) point.

My husband and I play this game about once a month where we list the celebrities that we like would like to get 'frisky' with.

I used to think we did this because we are such forward thinking individuals and because we are secure in our relationship. As it turns out, however, we do this because we like to take stock and see just where the other person is currently standing in regards to what we find attractive.

For years, the TOP person on his list has been Scarlett Johansson/Sara Evans. Recently, poor Scarlett/ Sara was ousted by none other than...Megan Fox.

I found this alarming if only because it was completely unoriginal. EVERYONE likes Megan Fox. How cliche'.

And, you should know that we play this game based ONLY on looks. We are not allowed to make decisions based on personality at all. Only looks count. ( I know, kinda goes against the whole inner beauty theme doesn't it?)
 For example, I just tried to take Curtis Stone off my list because I had heard on Twitter that he is a "wanker", "self-centered" , and a "bad person". However, stickler to the rules that he is, my husband reminded me that those types of qualities could not be taken into consideration and that unless I found someone that I found sexier then Curtis Stone to replace him with, he stayed. Which I will, eventually.So, there sits that self centered wanker Curtis until I can come up with someone who is hotter.

Anyway,  I told you that story to tell you this.
My husband pointed out not very long ago that I  have people on my 'get frisky' list, that also happen to be on my 'dad possibilities' list. (A whole seperate blog topic, me not knowing my dad. I am constantly on the search for him and since I was little, I have kept running lists of celebrity possibilities. Seriously. Go here or here to find out more about the search for my dad)

Not just a couple were on both, mind you. Lots. Scary lots.

This is my current " Frisky list"

George Clooney (der)

Steve Martin

Jimmy Buffett

Gerard Butler

His Wanker-ness Curtis Stone

Craig T. Nelson

Tommy Lee Jones

Dennis Quaid

Sam Neil

And this is my current "possible father" list (in a perfect world.)

Steve Martin

Jimmy Buffett

Craig T. Nelson

Tommy Lee Jones

Dennis Quaid

Sam Neil

Terry O' Quinn

Hector Elizondo*

Jimmy Smits*

as you can see, I clearly have some issues. DADDY ISSUES.
Those lists share 6 people!

Well, now you know, dear readers...the truth.So if you will excuse me, I need to cruise the internet in search of someone to replace Curtis Stone with.

It's a tough job but someone has to do it.

Do you have a 'frisky list'?
Feel free to share.

*Hector and Jimmy could technically go onto my frisky list but I think If I told my hubby that he might be weirded out. I might be weirded out.

In this case, the winner is a loser.

All over the radio for the last couple of weeks I have been hearing of contests that you can enter to win fabulous prizes.
 One is:
The Hometown HOTTIE contest, sponsored by a local rock radio station.
Basically, if you are hot, or think you are, you send your pictures to this station.
One close up picture of your face, one full length body shot.
After receiving all of the entries, the people of this radio station will pick out their top 10 favorite hot people and from there, listeners can go to a website and vote for their favorite.

The winners, (one guy and one girl)-deemed the HOMETOWN HOTTIES win a sitting with a professional photographer, who will then take MORE pictures of their incredible hotness, whereby allowing them to have more pictures to send to more contests and so on until, just by winning beauty contests, they are able to snag the sugar daddy (or mama) of their dreams...

The other:
 was a HOT MOM contest.(In honor of Mother's Day, for joy!)
Same premise as above, only to qualify, you have to...you guessed it. Be a mom. Nay, a gorgeous mom.
(You know, not necessarily a good mom. Rules didn't require you to be a caring mother...or that you read to your children, or that you give them enough fruits and veggies every day. The contest did not stipulate that you must give discipline and guidance to your child. You didn't even necessarily have to have custody of this child.) NOPE. YOU JUST HAD TO BE HOT.

The winner of this HOT MAMA contest got a day at a local spa, being pampered and primped.

Wow! It's a good thing that the poor beautiful people of the world are finally, FINALLY getting their fair share. They get so little in life.... (~GAG~!)

I hate both of these contests.

Firstly, I think contests like this reward something that is a complete fluke. If these people had different parents or different circumstances, the hotties may have looked completely different.

 Real beauty (hotness) is on the inside.
(That kind of sounds like something only ugly people say to make themselves feel better doesn't it? Well...I'm SAYIN' it so think what you will)

How about rewarding people who have manners?

Help those that are less fortunate?

Teach people how to read?

Take care of the dying?

You know, the things that actually make a difference.


In twenty years, I would much rather hear my son say,

 "My mom left no doubt in my mind that I was loved and cared for every day of my life!"

than

"My mom was hot!"

That's the REAL way to win the contest of life. Hot or not.

Good day! ---Denied!

I am feeling a bit 'bleh' today which is strange because It's not even Monday.

 Life in general is going well. The sun is shining and the weather people are calling for warmer temperatures soon. I was fine when I woke up this morning. I even got to sleep in a bit until 7:15.
My inbox was full of nice comments from lots of different readers of this very blog, and no one on facebook  made one of those cheesy feel-good quotes their status update. (I'm not sure why I hate that so much, but I do. It irks me.)

The best I can figure is that I must have seen myself getting out of the shower and promptly shoved that horrifying sight into my subconscience.  Clearly, not far enough though.
99% percent of my bad days can be attributed to two things.

1. Seeing myself  fresh out of the shower.
2. hmm, wait...no. Nope. I guess there is just one thing to blame. See above.

Anyway-  usually, I have a system. I will share it. It sooooo interesting. (eye roll)

Step one-Turn off shower
Step two-Open shower curtain, letting damp air escape leaving no chance that bathroom mirror will be fog-less
Step three-cover as much of body as possible with 'bath' towel that is roughly the size of a dinner napkin. Possibly smaller.
Step four- Walk directly past mirror as quickly as possible, eyes averted, exit bathroom into mirrorless bedroom.
Step five- Continue happily with day.

See, this way, I still know I am a chubby bunny but I don't have to be visually presented with just how cold and hard that truth really is.

Ignorance is bliss.

This morning, my napkin towel was not where it should have been, forcing me to exit, dripping from the shower and into the closet DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM THE (gasp) MIRROR. Being that my system was out of wack, I did not have the presence of mind to avert my eyes before turning around and being visually assulted but the reflection.

My options?

Mirror removal?  No. I do use it to make sure I don't have things in my nose/teeth before I go into public.

Discontinue showering? Ew. I do not want to be chubby AND smelly.

Robotic towel delivery? Interesting...but not cost effective.

Lose weight? Yeah yeah. I'm on it.

For now, I guess I will just have to put all of my positive morning juju into making sure my towel is where is should be.
 Every time.

To be 6 again OR You can call me Superman.

FIRST---it's friday so it's time to FLOG YO BLOG. Head on over to Brenda's blog Mummytime and join this blog hop. I have found MANY of my favorite blogs this way. And have gotten lots of great followers too. Plus, Brenda is hilarious, which is good. I like hilarious. You will too.

ok. OK...
I wish I could make friends as easily as my first grader does.
At a recent outing to the park, in the short span of 1 hour my son managed to make 7 friends. SEVEN.
Kids find it so easy to just go up to another kid and start a conversation.
This is what happened within the first 3 minutes of being at the park---

My little guy is playing under the monkey bars when a little boy dances up (the kid literally danced over-it was a mix of the 'robot' and and tap-dance).

New Kid:  Hey, my name is Ryan but Call me Superman. I like to play here. You want to play Star Wars with me?

My son: I like to play here too. Can I be General Grevious?

NK: Sure. I will be a storm trooper but instead of a white storm trooper uniform, I wear red. I am a special forces storm trooper.

My Son  makes random lightsaber-ish noises as he and new friend Ryan Superman take off running across the playground to play in a galaxy far, far, away.  (On top of the slide)

Meanwhile Superman's mom and I are eye-balling each other from each of our benches to trying to figure out who should make the first move to start talking to the other.

Being in my 30's, I find it hard to make friends. Making new friends now just seems weird.  When I think I am hitting it off with someone at a park the relationship rarely lasts beyond the time at the playground.
It's like speed dating in a way. You have just a few moments to size the other person up while your children are happily playing. Or, in this case, discussing politely (strange) who gets to rescue  Padme (although they pronounce it PAD A MAY). I know,  Star Wars fans,  Neither Grevious nor a Storm Trooper would put much effort in rescuing her but 6 year olds don't care about technicalities...

Inevitably it is me who makes the first move. I walk across the playground to her bench, with my mommy heart on my sleeve in the hopes that even if we don't become busom buddies, at the very least the conversation won't be awkward or even worse, that she is an over-sharer.

Me: Hi. They (pointing to our children) seem to be hitting it off quite well!

Her: Yep.

Me: Can you believe this weather?

Her: Nope.

Me: That slide looks a bit rusty on the bottom, there.  Is it possible that this is the only park in the world that  still has a metal slide?  Seems like they are all plastic now... (I know, salty stuff)

Her: Yeah. Plastic.

The conversation continues in this fashion until I fall asleep or get tired of trying to pry this mom out of her shell and call out to General Grievous that it is time to head to Dairy Queen for our after-park vanilla soft serve.

Someday I am hoping for THIS conversation:

Me: Hi! Our kids seem to be getting along pretty well.

Her: They sure do! I like your handbag.

Me: This old thing ?(eyelash batting) I got it on sale at Kohls...

Her:  I love Kohls!  I just got these new shoes there. 25 bucks! Can you believe it?

Me: Amazing! So, what do you do for fun?

Her: Oh, you know...Read...shop...eat twinkies, blog, cruise around the Great Lakes on my yacht -you should come sometime... My name is Lauren, what's yours?

Me: That sounds great!  My name is Supermom, but you can call me Katie. So nice to meet you!

Until then, I appreciate the blogging topics that I have been blessed with from the moms whom I  have awkward conversations with...

Today A few weeks ago, I was given this beautiful award by one of my FAVE-O-RITE bloggers Brenda, at Mummy Time. Thank you very much, Brenda. If you have not visited her blog, I suggest you do. Especially if you would like a good laugh. Or a chuckle. Even if you would  just like to giggle-this is the place to do so. 

The Rules are that you are to state 7 things about yourself and then pass the award to 7 more bloggers.

These are simple rules that I can handle. Though I am only passing this on to 3 bloggers. For now.

Here we go.

BUT  First, here are some bloggers that I love that I would like to have this award:

 Rattling of the Brain- You should check out this blog because this gal is from Michigan. If that is not enough of a reason, she also has a tattoo of something her grandma drew. I know. How cool is that? Oh, and she has 1 follower-and it's me. 'Nuff said.

Wherever you go...there you are...-I like Rhonda because she makes me feel better about being a cougar. Plus, On St. Patty's day she wrote in GREEN.  I am so jealous I did not think of that. Pay Rhonda a visit she will make you smile.

Layin' it down for all to see- Do yourself a favor and read through this blog. It is strange and wonderful on every level. I love it, love it, love it. This is my go to Monday morning blog. 

So...in trying to be KREATIVE and all, I am going to make the theme of these 7 bits about me come ONLY from my super fascinating highschool years.

 In high schools I was voted:

Most humorous (read: I was in trouble a lot)

Most School Spirit (read: I could be very annoying)

Prettiest Eyes (read: I paid people to vote for me for this one)

An english assigment that was given in 11th grade was:  Write a 500 word essay on what you are going to do to succeed in the real world after highschool.

 (The answers they were looking for-College, Hard Work,Budgeting, yada yada. BORING!)

The title of my paper was-

"I am going to succeed in the real world by sleeping my way to the top."

 My grade? One day in-school suspension spent with the principal.

Totally worth it!

I once dyed my hair black and orange (ridiculous school colors).

What can I say? MOST SCHOOL SPIRIT, people! 

Thankfully no photographic proof of this exists.

That I know of.

I was once groped in a bar during school hours. I was sent to the bar during school hours to sell year book ads.

Yep. True story.

The car I drove to school in did not have heat but it DID have a cassette player so whatev. Also, the passenger side door had to be held closed from the inside which didn't matter to me, but my cousin hated it, being my passenger every day. What were my parents THINKING?

I went to school with 2 people who became 'Famous' with their bands. You know- famous like Paris Hilton and Kate Gosslin where you wonder WHY?  Not famous like, say, Michael Jackson

I took a German Language class via satellite with a school that offered it not too far away. We secretely called the teacher Herr Hair because of his luxurious golden locks.

Seemed funnier then.

Incidentally, I did NOT sleep my way to the top.

But...it's never to late to start.

Katie- by the numbers

This is for my husband who makes fun of my lack of math skills. Here's counting. Take that!

3- times a day I actually check Facebook to see what life shattering status updates I am missing.

541+ - times a day I think about checking Facebook to see what life shattering status updates I am missing. (I refrain, but just barely.)

7-days per week that I say to myself first thing in the morning, "Today I start my diet" but know in my heart that today will NOT be the day.

7- days per week that I drink Coke and/or eat somthing made by Little Debbie for breakfast. (see previous list item- its a  delicious vicious circle)

7- times per week I tell my son to please, please, please stop leaving his dirty underwear on the living room floor after he gets dressed in the morning.

1- time a day that I have an amazing topic idea for this very blog.

1- time a day that I forget what my amazing blog topic was going to be and settle for something that probably puts people to sleep. Oh, and screams NOVICE BLOGGER! NOVICE BLOGGER!

1- time per week that I pick something off the floor, brush it off and eat it. (I know, I know.)

17- times per week that I tell my son not to eat things off the floor. (I know, I know.)

21- Times per day that I think I should audition for American Idol.

5- minimun days of vacation that I wish I could go on. All. By. Myself.

100 - times a day  I am almost positive that winning the lottery would make me happier.

1- time a day that I know deep down that I already AM happy without winning the lottery. (But I would be willing the test that theory.)

1 - Time 'the Man' my boss has told me to get back to work while writing this entry. (fine- but she'll be sorry when I win the lottery.)

And what were YOU doing in April 1978?? Hmmm?

As half of you know- (and I can officially say half of you, because I only have 2 readers and one of them is my mom)-I have never met my father. I use the term 'father' here pretty loosely and actually consider this man more my mothers CO-PROCREATOR than my father.

This situation (not having met my MC-P) has never been a big issue with me until I had a child of my own. I never really cared to meet him or to know anything about him. I do now. Badly.

Call it a search for who I am. Call it Morbid curiousity. Call it My wishfull thinking that I am heir to a vast fortune of some sort. The truth remains that the time to find him is now.

 I didn't know I was going to officially start looking for him until I found myself typing his name into Facebooks friend locator. (Oh, and by the way Facebook management-may I suggest a M.I.A. PARENT application?? I swear other people would use it. Not just me. Ok. Maybe just me, but still.)

So-I pop in this guys name and hit enter. My search results end with one exact name match. At this point I am pretty excited becaus finding your long lost father 30 years later is usually a pretty labor intensive matter involving rigorously interviewing your mother about her personal life during the Carter administration, hiring private investigators, pouring over boxes of public records in musty basements of government buildings and drinking gallons of coffee. (or maybe I just watch too much t.v.).

Of course my next step is to visit this guys page right? Wrong. Flippin' privacy settings! My name-match-dad had thoroughly secured his profile so I didnt get to see what he looked like. I did however discover that  name-match-dad  does have what looked to be a small yellow puppy that is a good swimmer. At least thats what I surmised from his profile picture.

Deep breath. What to do?  I opted on sending a private message which went something like:
  Dear Guy,
   Did you live in the Detroit area around 1978-1979?

   Are you currently between 55 and 65 years of age?

   Did you knock up a nice Catholic girl and then hit the road around this time?
 (hah. just kidding mom. I remembered my manners. I used the word impregnate not the phrase knock up. I'm not an animal)

I mentioned that I was looking for a 'family friend" (ok, itty bitty lie-sue me.) that my family had lost touch with, assured this person that I was not a stalker and asked nicely  for a reply. I'm not holding my breath.

Oh, and just a word of advice. I do not recommend typing the words "Finding your daddy" into googles search engine.  Eww.

Cocker Spaniels and the Nudists Next door

I did some reminiscing over my  lunchtime patty melt apple, salad, and the recommended 8 oz. of water  about when I lived in Detroit.

(Which was a LIFETIME ago)

My friends Tara and Michael lived across the street.  Tara and Michael had a pool although I only recall swimming in it once and that very time I did something (I can't remember what)- to which Tara replied "Shape up or ship out!" Was I banned after that? I don't know.

Right next door to us, a couple lived with a brownish cocker spaniel named Napoleon. He was a beautiful dog and probably the reason why I would love a cocker spaniel to this day.

Dave and Orla owned Napoleon and for a reason I wasn't aware of then, my mom didn't let me go outside when Dave and Orla were out. Especially when Dave was in his garden. I always knew there was something different about them, but as a child I was just too innocent to put my finger on it. Orla did wear some bathing suits that looked like strategically placed rubber bands and eye patches, but I didnt find anything strange about it at the time. I just thought, "Wow! That's a small bathing suit."

One night, coming home from Tara and Michael's house I saw into Dave and Orla's living room window. It was dark outside but their room was very brightly lit. I saw that they were both walking around completely naked.  NAYKID!! For some reason, seeing Dave in all his nude glory didn't really phase me. (Which, it should have, because at the time I attended a Catholic school and that would have been awesome playground convo with my friends. I would have been the coolest. "Did you hear? Katie saw a weinie??"  "NO!"  "Yes!")  I was more worried about Orla. For some reason she was the one I was staring at, mouth gaping. I felt bad for her. Like maybe she just forgot to put her clothes on. Like maybe I should phone her and just remind her. To which she would reply,

 "Oh, thanks for the call Katie!  I was so busy this morning grooming Napoleon, getting dressed must have completely slipped my mind."

I hurried across the street and into the house.I wondered if they forgot to close their drapes. I wondered if they HAD drapes.

Later I learned they were nudists.

I wonder what that crazy couple is up to now. They would be well into their 60's. Napoleon has long since gone to doggy heaven. Maybe they have a new dog they call Caesar or Achilles or some other historical name.

Orla probably still wears those rubber band-eye patch contraptions - maybe just a little lower- and a whole new group of parents are keeping their kids inside when Dave is doing the gardening in his tight and tiny speedo.

I would venture a guess that they never did invest in those drapes, either.