Category: funny

if i love ice cream…

…if i love ice cream so much, why doesn’t it love me back?

Since I was preggers with Minime more than a decade ago, certain foods have decided to longer be my friend.  The dairy group as a whole broke up with me pretty much.  I refuse to let it go: it’s not you, it’s me, we’ll figure something out!

I can’t have plain ol’ milk without getting heinously sick.  When I was in Jamaica, they had this awesome cold porridge stuff with oats and nuts and fruit and they covered the whole thing in milk.   I ate this delicious stuff every morning I was there!  And I got sick every day I was there after my porridge, agonizing stomach cramps galore… Of course on day 3 or so, my then hubby Mr. Kat 2.0 suggested I stop eating the magic porridge for breakfast.  I suggested he piss off and stop bossing me around because I was completely willing to trade a bowl full of truly wonderful yum for an hour of misery.

I can do a little yogurt, sometimes even a little cheese…but ice cream is different…

Ice cream I can eat in moderation.  “Moderation” tends to mean that I shouldn’t eat the entire container of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food for dinner.  Moderation is something I’m not good at—the way I live tends to be pedal to the metal, go for it; moderation is for wimps, wusses and nancyboys.  Really, to avoid the drama and pain, I shouldn’t have ice cream at my house at all…

…But somehow, I magically had this big ol’ container of Moose Tracks in my freezer.  I don’t know how it got there.  Magic, I guess, because surely I’m not so stupid that I would buy something that causes me pain??!!  I decided I wanted the little chocolatey bits out of the Moose Tracks last night, so I set about digging into the container and excavating the chocolate out when I hit the motherlode: my spoon hit a ribbon of fudgey goodness so wide and wonderful that I felt giddy.  I knew right then and there that the entire ribbon of fudge was mine, but I would have to dig it out…and it only made sense to eat the ice cream along the way to get to the fudge.  The search for the ribbon of fudgey goodness took an evil turn as I ate more ice cream than one would call “moderate…”  I got it! I got the entire ribbon out, extracted the frozen chocolate happiness just as the stomach pain kicked in…oh helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll.  I really couldn’t decide if I was going to barf in the freezer (as all of this is taking place standing up in the kitchen, freezer door ajar) or if I was going to double over in pain from the gut-wrenching cramps on the floor right there.

I decided to stagger to bed, given that I should’ve been in bed maybe an hour before that anyway.  And just before I dropped off to sleep in the fetal position of agony, I thought about how much I liked digging the chocolate fish out of Phish Food so much better than I like the stuff in Moose Tracks…

a joke-thx to stampin’ t

g rated jokes seldom make me laugh, but this one did:

 

One day, a cat dies of natural causes and goes to heaven, where he meets Saint Peter himself. Saint Peter says to the cat, “You lived a good life, and if there is any way I can make your stay in heaven more comfortable, please let me know.” The cat thinks for a moment and says, “Peter, all my life I have lived with a poor family and had to sleep on a hard wooden floor.” Saint Peter stops the cat and says, “Say no more,” and a wonderful, fluffy pillow appears.

 

A few days later, six mice are killed in a tragic farming accident, and all of them go to heaven. Again, Saint Peter is there to greet them with the same offer. The mice answer, “All our lives we have been chased. We have had to run from the cat, dogs, and even women with brooms. Running, running, running; we’re tired of running. Do you think we could have roller skates so that we don’t have to run anymore?” Saint Peter says, “Say no more” and fits each mouse with beautiful new roller skates.

 

About a week later, Saint Peter stops by to see the cat and finds him snoozing on the pillow. Saint Peter gently wakes the cat and asks him, “How are things since you got here?” The cat stretches and yawns, then replies, “It is wonderful here. Better than I could have ever expected. And those ‘Meals On Wheels’ you’ve been sending by are the best!”….

Vintage Kat Box…

Oh this is a good one…my resolutions from 2003, as originally posted on FreakinAsheville.com:

I’m sorry to have kept you waiting for my New Year’s resolutions, but it took me a few days to make up my mind.  I hope that by sharing them with you, together we can attain our goals.

 

I will delete the email addresses of all my ex-boyfriends from my address book and I will not email any of them this year unless they email me first and even then I will be so free and unencumbered that I may not even reply.  Well, ok.  Maybe I will delete MOST of them from my address book and I won’t email them, unless I have a really funny joke to forward.  Maybe I will delete ONE of my ex-boyfriends from my address book and I will not send messages to any of the others unless it’s a holiday, a birthday or a Wednesday.  Who am I kidding?  I have all their email addresses memorized so deletion is futile, and if it weren’t for my ex-boyfriends, who would read my Kat Box articles other than my mom and Chiquita?  I resolve to email them all less than I did last year, but emails regarding new articles on FreakinAsheville, birthdays and national holidays do not count toward the total.

 

In 2003, I will wear oodles of fabulous lingerie from Victoria’s Secret!  Well, I still won’t be wearing any underwear; I don’t care how pretty it is, folks, if it’s not a granny panty there is wedgie potential and I will not spend the year plucking my drawers outta my behind.  Wearing no undies frees me up to spend my time saving baby seals or something, but I will be wearing more of those wonderful Victoria’s Secret balconette bras.  Those little confections turn my cleavage into a shelf of fun so gorgeous that I have considered staying home and dating myself.

 

I will not eat ice cream for dinner this year.  I must admit, I am concerned about osteoporosis, and ice cream is rich in calcium, so it might be wise to have a whole bunch once a week or something.  I understand that chocolate is an antioxidant, bananas are full of potassium and nuts are a good source of protein, so if I eat an entire container of Chunky Monkey, I am on a health kick!  Good for me!  Who knew I was so health-conscious?

 

Last but not least, some little resolutions:  I will find out more about the cute guy at church and not fear that God will smite me for flirting during the morning meditation.  God wants me to date, right?  I will book more bands that other people enjoy for FreakinShows, not just bands I like.  Pfffffffffffffffft, yeah right!  You wanna see the bands you like to spin dance to then host your own soiree, babe.  I will not work six days a week at my day job.  I mean that one, because it requires at least two days of relaxation for my nervous work-induced eye twitch to stop.

 

Happy New Year!  Let’s reach our goals together, freaky friends o’ mine.

every day i try something new…

Every day I really make an effort to try something new, maybe just make a different choice than I normally would, mix it up a little.  Sometimes new things are really good, and sometimes they aren’t.

Sunday, for example, I tried a bite of birthday cake where the white icing had been colored black (and I was correct in my theory that it would turn teeth and tongue black, ick).  Yesterday I treated myself to a decadent nap at home at lunchtime when normally I would’ve just ignored my fatigue and suffered through the afternoon or crammed 6007 errands into that same window of time.  Today I wanted a Pop Tart and a bubble bath at the same time…and, kids, yeah, don’t try that one at home–trust your Aunt KittyKat.  It was actually all pretty good and enjoyable until a piece of the Pop Tart broke off and fell in the tub and then when I was fishing around for it in the bubbles with one hand, another piece fell in; from there the whole situation just descended into a huge mess.

 Seize the day…but not always with a Pop Tart in one hand.

Soccer Joke

A soccer goalkeeper was walking along the street one day when he heard screams from a nearby building. He looked up to see smoke billowing from a fourth-floor window and a woman leaning out holding a baby.”Help ! Help!” screamed the woman, “I need someone to catch my baby!”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered, but none was confident about catching a baby dropped from such a great height. Then the goalkeeper stepped forward. “I’m a professional goalkeeper,” he called to the woman. “I’m renowned for my safe hands. Drop the baby and I will catch it. For me, it will be just like catching a ball.”

The woman agreed:”Ok, then. When I drop my baby, treat it as if you were catching a ball.”

On a count of three, the woman dropped the baby. Everyone held their breath as the goalkeeper lined himself up to catch it. There was a huge sigh of relief, followed by wild cheering as the goalkeeper caught the baby safely in his arms. Then he bounced it twice on the ground and kicked it 50 yards down the street.

I think Minime called Uncle 420 a hottie

Wow, in an inadvertent compliment, Minime told Uncle 420 he was a cutiepatootie at the grocery store yesterday.  She was busy comparing him to her friend’s dad, the dad I consider to be the Mayor of Hottieville when I pointed out she’d just called Uncle 420 a hunk.  Minime tried to backpedal, but it was too late.  Minime has matured and can spot a hottie in a haystack.

Let’s consider her friend’s dad for a moment.  Her friend with the rhyming name, we’ll call her Winiwe.  Winiwe’s dad, let’s call him…Mayor McHottie.  Mayor McHottie is single, so it’s perfectly legal for me to think he’s cute.  When Minime and Winiwe have an adventure and it’s his weekend with Winiwe, I feel a compulsion to put on lip-gloss and perfume…and a sequined evening gown and high heels…so I can casually greet him at my front door to chat about the kids.  And when he calls, “Uhh, hi, this is Mayor McHottie.  Winiwe wants to take Minime to the basketball game tonight,” it takes tremendous strength not to giggle and invite myself along.

Despite his single-osity and absolute cuteness, Mayor McHottie is off limits.  He’s Minime’s friend’s dad.  If I dated him and discarded him in the rubble pile of ex-boyfriends, it would make things awkward for Wini and Mini, and they’ve been buddies since they were 5.  So I just can’t go there, sigh, but it’s quite nice to have some eye candy in the basketball game/afterschool care/slumber party social circle.

And as for Uncle 420’s slow simmer hottie factor, well, it was only a matter of time before Minime recognized it…so bask and wallow in the glory of the compliment, 420, bask and wallow! (and we’re glad Mrs. 420 is up and about in her radiant glory as well!)

Yeah, yeah, so maybe that last post was a little over the top…

…but really…

whaddya do when you just don’t like who someone has taken to be their life partner?  I’m sure everyone out there has had the experience of a buddy who’s head over heels with someone you really aren’t crazy about.  Not that you have to be crazy about who your friends fall in love with, but it’s nice to be able to tolerate or like them and feel like they like you back…  Usually, I feel compelled to blurt it out one good time because my mouth runs faster than my brain: ohmygawdyoursignificantothermakesmyskincrawl pass the bean dip.  And then I let it go because in ya’ll’s matters of the heart, my opinion has no bearing.  But then think about how many relationships you’ve had that once it was splitsville, your friends were all like “thank goodness, we thought s/he was horrible.”  And you were like, “well, crap, why didn’t anybody tell me?”  And if you’re my friend, I can say “dude, I did that one time, right before you passed me the bean dip.”

But that’s just a tough one.  I know I’ve been involved with people that my friends were like “heyyyyyyyyyyyyy, ummm, yuck!” and I didn’t listen, I didn’t want to hear a word when I was lost in the land of smoochywoochysmittenluvvvvvv.  So I guess it’s pretty useless to point it out, everyone has to reach their own conclusions about what they want in life and love and the pursuit o’ smoochyness and we should all mind our own beeswax (but hey, dude, check for the 666 on her scalp while she sleeps).