Category: chiquita

so whatcha whatcha whatcha want?

Chiquita suggested that I spell out some rules for dating me, the uber hott Katster, so would-be lotharios bearing gifts get it right.

1.  Pretty much I can date as many people as I want at a time, but you can’t.  You can only date me.  “Date,” by the way, is not a euphemism for “bed.”  Just because I date you doesn’t mean I will bed you.  Get over yourself.  You’re lucky I’m even acknowledging your existence.

2.  I deserve gifts and flowers ALL the time, and I require them to put up with your nonsense.  One of my ex boyfriends was so fabulous at this.  He never appeared at my door empty-handed; even if it was just a pack of my favorite gum, the boy brought gifts every time.  He knew how to pay homage to She Who Must Be Obeyed.  Good boy.

3.  I will only tell you I despise red roses one time, and this is it.  If you bring them to me, I will hit you with them.  If you enjoy that, you are too bizarre for me.

4.  Don’t lie to me.  Don’t make up random crap.  I have no tolerance for lies. NONE.  Ask Mr. Kat version 2 if I have patience for that.

5.  I get to remain friends with as many of my ex-boyfriends as I want.  Your ex-girlfriends should fall off the edge of the planet and be snapped up by piranha from outer space.

6.  You should buy me dinner, at least the first date; I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, but I need to know you at least have the means to provide a meal or two…it’s a manly, good thing to do.  You should hold open doors, and you should let me order first at restaurants.  Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?

7.  You should smell good, but manly.  A manly, rugged scent is not sold in the bathroom at any bar, bowling alley or gas station.  I should smell your goodness only when I lean in, not when I’m leaning away, gasping for air.

8.  Compliment me.  I am looking extra especially glamorous in your honor.  Tell me I’m hotttttt, but please don’t say that directly to my cleavage.  I’m up here, thanks.

9.  Hold up your end of the conversation.  My last date was very good at this part, so good I was quite charmed by his company, pleased to spend time with him, not planning my escape.  On the other hand, I have had numerous dates with gents who couldn’t come up with anything, anything, anything to say, so it was an exercise in pulling teeth to get them to talk.  No fun!  You should also be the one to follow-up after  the date with an email, phone call (I probably won’t answer) or text; this shows you are undaunted in your passion for me, even after I’ve been a diva all evening.

 10.  If it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul.  Don’t talk nasty untrue nonsense about me around town.  You want me to hug you when I run into you at Stella Blue, not enlist one of my posse to beat you up in the men’s room.

 I think these 10 rules are a really good start.  If you can make it beyond the first 10 hurdles, the rest is a cake walk.

In Praise of the Wingman

Chiquita, as many of you know, has been my wingman for more than a decade now.   Traditionally, the wingman flies the support plane when you’re in dangerous territory.  There is also your dating wingman who helps you in the search and destroy scene that is modern romance; your dating wingman will talk you up, make you the center of attention.  Last but not least, your social wingman is there to support your wildest schemes, keep the mingling going at your parties and, to blatantly steal a line, help you be all that you can be.  Chiquita and I have never flown in a war zone, but she has certainly been my wingman in every other situation you can think of over the years, and a darn fine one at that.

 At my social functions, Chiquita runs an awesome backup to my somewhat rude social graces.  She’ll keep an eye on the music, keep a lookout on the food and keep the conversation going, having memorized a tidbit or two about all my guests.  At a bar, if I’ve thrown myself into some dancing, flailing frenzy, Chiquita is at the ready with water so I don’t dehydrate and die.  In day to day life, she nudges and nags so that I’m not letting opportunities pass me by.  She is the Gayle to my Oprah, the Cal Naughton to my Ricky Bobby.

Right now, there’s something on my mind that I need to do.  Chiquita is aware of the situation and has called and emailed me a variety of options to help me with the outcome.  Hell, if I’d let her, she’d do this one thing for me just to get it over with so we could move on to actually coordinating the end result.  In the meantime, Chiquita’s got my back.  She’s talking me up.  She has me convinced I can conquer the world, and with a good wingman, I believe I can.

 So raise a glass, friends…I shall raise my iced green tea with honey and a dash o’ mint…and we will toast our wingmen.  Cheers!

Kat, On the Road

Chiquita, MiniMe and I returned from our beach weekend this afternoon, happy, well-rested.

I like to travel.  I like to go anywhere.  It doesn’t matter if I can get there by plane or if I can just get in my car, I like to see new places, do things out of the routine.

Chiquita and I entertained ourselves by singing in the car.  I think my version of Emotional Rescue was beautiful!

We also found entertainment in the various sights out the car window along the way: trucks, restaurants, the adult entertainment shop with ‘private modeling’ advertised on the side.  Some lucky soul will actually be getting my random road trip notes in the mail, I do believe, because it’s fun to share them, like I’m channeling some chapter of Kerouac’s On the Road.

But, friends, no matter where you travel, there you are.  You and all your mess travels along with you.  If your head is full of stress, you might stow it in the trunk for a little while, but it creeps back in.  That little something on your mind, nagging at the back of the brain, went dormant only long enough for you to unpack your bag.  At least you get to think about it in a new place, a new space.