Category: kat

car trouble

In case you’d never really given it any thought, when the mechanic calls you to list off the 800 million things wrong with your car and you ask for the bottom line, then he asks, “Are you sitting down?”…yeah, just an fyi, that number’s not going to be good.

Apparently the E Pluribus Unum Communicator isn’t transpiring with the Monkeypaw Dooflopper.  Additionally, the engine’s Frappe Ergonomics are all off kilter, probably due to the jujitsu window washing capacity of the Ricky Ricardo joint.

Or something like that.  I’m not sure I exactly followed what he was saying after he mentioned the price, but we all know it would be a safety issue at high speeds to ignore the Monkeypaw Dooflopper, so I had them take care of it.  I’m so glad they are conveniently located near the plasma center so I can sell some plasma to offset my expenses.  Tell a friend to go here and buy my book because I only have so much freakin’ plasma to go around, people, and Doofloppers don’t just fix themselves.

Street Fighting in Charlotte

So I met up with the Steinster in Charlotte yesterday. 

She said, “Why ya in my town, beeotch?”

I said, “Wahlberg.  Donnie Wahlberg.”

She said, “He’s a wuss.”

The Steinster  was frozen to the core by the icy stare I gave her as I said through clenched teeth, “You did not just disrespect a Wahlberg in front of me.”

And then it was on, street fighting right there on Trade Street.

I went all ninja on the Steinster for talking smack about my favorite New Kid.  I flew through the air sideways and kicked her in the head with both feet.  She recovered quickly and brought a roundhouse kick to my spleen.   I barfed my peanut M&Ms on her suede boots and hurled throwing stars at her in rapid-fire succession.  The Steinster was swift and cat-like, dodging the stars, catching the last one in her teeth and spitting it back at me…I ducked, rolled and kicked her feet out from under her just as the throwing star hit my Donnie Wahlberg in the rattail, killing him not quite instantly…he did have time to whisper to me as I cradled him in my arms right there in front of Baskin Robbins, “Kat, I’ll be lovin’ you forever, ’cause you got the right stuff, love the way you turn me on, cover girl” before he went to join the great boy band in the sky, disappearing into the ether in a cloud of bubble gum scented smoke, leaving behind only a black jelly bracelet on the sidewalk.

I slipped on the bracelet, then wiped a tear from my cheek.  I turned to the Steinster and said, “The world has lost a cultural icon and I have lost my reason to stay on the right side of the law.  I’ll be back for you when you least expect it.”

As I strode off into the sunset, I knew that Step By Step, I had to keep Hangin’ Tough.

 

 

(ok, so that’s not really what happened exactly and precisely.  no wahlbergs were harmed, thank goodness!  chiquita and i did see the steinster and her man friend in charlotte and we had some very very small food and it was fun!  i was there to see donnie wahlberg, that much was true, i came to see him shake his moneymaker and indeed he did, oh yes he did,  and all is right in the world.  but i could go ninja on you at any time, so keep your anti-wahlberg talk to yourselves, folks)

Hanging My Head Out the Car Window

Generally speaking, I can drink vast, huge, ridiculous amounts of alcohol without getting sick or hungover.  This is not bragging, it just is one of those things.  Consider what I drank for my birthday this year for example–wasn’t sick the next day, was up and at ’em quite bright and early in fact.  Was chatting with someone today and the subject of drinking copious amounts came up…and I said I seldom get sick or anything like that…but that reminded me of hanging my head out Chiquita’s car window!!!

Travel back in time with me to that fateful night!  You know what, Chiquita?  It’s been more than TEN years!  REALLY! Because I was getting my computer programming degree and Minime was just a speck, so like TEN WHOLE FREAKIN YEARS!  Anyhoooooooo, so Chiquita and I were out and about doing what we do with the Ninja and Some Guy, and someone decides (probably me, I have been known to be a total dumbass) that we should be drinking Everclear and Tang.  I believe the venue we were frequenting called that little number an OrangaTang. 

Tang is probably super if you’re in outer space.  I really don’t want to encourage anyone to mix their alcoholic drinks with it, even if they are orbiting our planet and are fresh out of sensible mixers.

Anyhoo, I drank this concoction in quantity quickly; my companions gave up on it (smart, smart people!).  And then, here’s the part that made the world go blurry, we decide to all start swapping drinks.  Drink, swap, drink, swap, the four of us sliding drinks around and around the table until they were all empty.  That was a very, very bad idea on top of the Tang and Everclear.

But I distinctly recall being absolutely 100% fine…until I stood up and really there was no solid floor under my feet, I was walking an imaginary tightrope, all wobbly and out of my mind.  Fast forward to the part where we need to leave because I’m convinced death is eminent.  My stomach was agitating like a Maytag, my head was swirling.

You ever felt so sick to your stomach, whether from drinking or stomach flu or whatever, that you find yourself praying you’ll throw up soon?  Because you know if you can get the evil out of your body, you will feel better.  I was in that zone.  I wanted the vile mix of I-don’t-even-know-what-everyone-else-was-drinking and Tang out of me and anywhere else.  I got hot, so freakin’ hot, and swimmy.  Chiquita was driving me home, and I was so hot I thought I was going to melt courtesy of the bubbling cauldron in my gut, so the only thing that made sense to do was hang my head out the car window most of the way home.  It made sense at the time.  I don’t think I barfed, but I remember that I wanted to very much, and the only thing holding me together was hanging my head out that car window like a dog…a drunk on Tang and who know’s what the hell else dog.

I’m older and wiser now, and I steer away from Tang at all costs these days.  Because I stay away from the Tang, I don’t have to stick my head out of a moving vehicle anymore.  So that’s the morale, maybe, I dunno: if you’re going to drink, don’t drink Tang unless you’re an astronaut.  Which I am not.  Amen.

song of the day

You wanted the best, you got the best, the hottest band in the world: KISS!!!!!!!! I Love It Loud, one of their best songs in my opinion, right up there with God of Thunder, Shout it Out Loud, Love Gun, Detroit Rock City.  When I was 5, I had a KISS poster over my bed when my peers were playing with Barbies.  Their concerts with the makeup and the blood and the pyrotechnics back when no one did that kind of thing set a high bar for what I would come to perceive as a good show later on in life—-I don’t want to see any bored frat boys in tshirts and baseball caps onstage noodling around for 18 minutes on the same song…I want intensity, sweat, leather, fire!!

Much as I love this band, when KISS removed their makeup in the 80s, yikes, I wanted them to put it back on quickly!  If you have some time to kill, head on out to YouTube and look for some 1980something KISS videos…I will say I know all the words to these songs and enjoy them in my car, but to watch the videos, ewwwwwwwwww, not so much.

Let’s Put the X in Sex: catch Paul Stanley making the most heinous porn face when he’s behind the chick, they show that a couple times in the video.  Dude, I don’t care if you are a rock star; if I looked over my shoulder and you were making that porn face, it’s over, done.  It makes me cringe!  And Paul Stanley reminds me a lot of Cher in the If I Could Turn Back Time video in this one.

Heaven’s On Fire: go see Gene Simmon’s hair.  He obviously shared the same hairstylist as the rockin’ ladies in Heart.

Lick It Up: the premise of this video is that in a post-apocalyptic world, only the members of Kiss and scantily clad big haired vixeny women will survive.  It’s sort of like Love is A Battlefield or something but instead of hookers, it’s a rock band, I dunno.  What the hell is that crotch string thing on Paul Stanley’s right thigh and errr crotch?  Why is he wearing a woman’s crop top and is it from Pat Benatar or one of her video hookers?

Tears Are Falling:  Paul Stanley’s stylist beat up Cyndi Lauper, stole her clothes and put them on Paul.

Shame on me!

Not 24 hours later, I ended up arguing with Mr. Kat 2.0 again and I blame myself 100%.  First, I shouldn’t have answered the phone at all when I saw the number on caller ID; I was at work, I was tired and frankly, I was still irritated at him from yesterday, so I shouldn’t have taken the call.  Second, I can’t believe I fell right into yet another dispute when I know better than to even engage in it in the first place.

Here’s a sample of the irrational conversation from today:

Me: It’s your dog.

Him: He was our dog.

Me: No, you had him before we were even dating, before you even knew me,  thus he’s your dog.  Take responsibility for him.  (I’m calm at this point, completely factual.  Logic is my friend!)

Him: Well, you kept the storage building.

Me: What? What the f-ing hell are you even talking about? (I’m a little irritated at the new topic, but I’m not mad.  I cuss all day long, this use of ‘f-ing hell’ was merely emphasizing that I have no idea what he’s talking about)

Him: You kept the storage building, and that should be mine.

Me:  What does that have to do with the dog? (I’m trying to find the logic here, even though I know there really is none to be found!)

Him:  I think I paid more for the storage building than you did.

Me: (this is the part where I should’ve stopped the conversation because see how he changed the subject from the dog to something else completely random out of thin air? where did this topic even come from? random topics in mid-discussion to distract me are so annoying, but I know this trick of his and should’ve just hung up)  No, you didn’t, I have the check to prove what I paid but I don’t care about the money.  If you want it, please take it, move the damn building already! (see, at this point, I’m officially pissed, because his whining about the storage building has gone on for 18 months, and every time, I’ve said come get it if you will shut up because I’d much much much rather have peace than any storage building…but there’s no sport in taking the building, is there? It’s only fun for him if he gets to randomly argue with me about it)

Him: Why are you always so mad at me?

Me: ARG! (the conversation that followed was infused with a ridiculous number of angry obscenities flying from my mouth before I hung up in disgust, so we’ll just sum it up with ARG!)

So.  Shame on me for getting mired in the most idiotic of disputes, shame on me for falling for the random change of topic to turn nothing at all into an argument, shame on me.  I will do better next time; I will let voicemail pick up…and if I must talk to him, then I will try to keep the conversation focused and calm, not letting him digress into other conversational hot buttons just to stir up a fight out of thin air.  Above all, I will be grateful that he’s the only person that I argue so nastily with on the whole planet and I will be grateful that we don’t live together anymore, ever again, hallelujah for that.

what does Prince wear around the house?

Yes, I’m supposed to be studying, but sometimes these random thoughts are very important to consider.  What does Prince wear around the house?  Historically, he’s always been a very fashion forward, chic sort of person.  While I’ve seen photos of Madonna, for example, looking like hell on a stick as she goes out for coffee, Prince is always neat, presentable, elegant.

So.

It’s Sunday, late morning.  What do you think Prince is wearing right now?  Do you think he’s wearing yesterday’s tshirt (like me!) and some semi-sketchy-not-sure-when-these-were-last-washed flannel pajama pants (like me!) as midday approaches?  Do you think his significant other has to be all up in his face like “Prince, you’ve been wearing that Lakers sweatshirt for what, 3 days now? What is that on the front, nacho cheese?  You’ve got to put on something clean before my mother comes over and for god’s sake, brush your teeth!”  Yeah, it’s hard to imagine his Royal Purpleness sniffing at his cheese-stained 3 day old sweatshirt and going “But honeyyyyyyyyyyyy, I smell fine!”  Do you think he has some nasty hole riddled pair of sweatpants or flannel pj pants that his woman would set on fire if she could just get him parted from them for any length of time?  I’d like to think that Prince is a regular guy.  That thought comforts me.

don’t let me watch tv, I get all girly and sensitive

I try not to watch tv.  I get sucked in and lose valuable time.  I get all lost in tear-jerking 2 hour episodes of House like I did tonight and end up feeling all sensitive and girly.

And then, once I get all freakin’ sensitive and girly, I have to start sharing things.  I must.  I can’t stop myself.  Crap.  Here I go, or I won’t be able to sleep…here comes the sharing, nice Kat and after 2 emotional hours of House, I have a lot to say: 

My birthday’s coming up (you must have been under a rock not to know that), and there’s a lot to think about, be grateful for, so very much on my mind.  I’m so excited about paintballing and dinner and karaoke for my birthday that I can hardly hold myself together.  I’m tickled pink not to have to throw my own party this year–thanks, T! 

I’m full of gratitude as this 35th birthday rolls around.  It’s been a tough year in a lot of ways, but I think I’ve picked myself up, dusted myself off and moved right along fairly well.  Dang that Chiquita for trying pretty hard to drop dead earlier this year and stressing me the hell out! Thank goodness she bounced back to eat apple fritters with me in TN and worry with me about poonanny maintenance!  And the V-man, glad you’re back in my life, though I hate that it took your illness to put you here, but I accept that sometimes that’s how life works–now and then, it takes the hardships to inspire us to reach out. 

The Bean and the Steinster moved away; while it bummed me out they had to move on down the road and I miss their jokes already, I’m so pleased they took the opportunities offered.  Miss Rosey, I’m glad that while it seemed like you were leaving, you got to stay after all; you’re a cool chickie.  Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, move that man into your house already; it’s killin’ me.  Annie Oakley, I’m so glad to walk and talk and harass Subway employees with you.  And speaking of lunch, that reminds me to get all grateful for Mr. Oddstar and the time we manage to find to split nachos with extra jalapenos and no tomato and talk about life; you know I’ll perform your wedding ceremony: I’m ordained! 

Mr. Dog and Uncle 420, thanks for always believing in the Kat Box and for helping me have this forum for the last, what, 8 years or so?  I’d be in a rubber room without it, and your offer to beat up those menfolk that have wronged me with baseball bats has always been such a comfort in my times of woe, thank you!!

Scoot gets mad props for building a good campfire and always letting me drink the majority of his beer without complaint; our younguns are gonna be hell on wheels together before we know it!  Ms. Morgan keeps me ever amused with her on-going sagas of love, keep ’em coming, along with your birthday celebrations laden with pumpkin cheesecake.  Baby Bro, I suppose that now that I’m just about 35 and you’re 33 that I might finally let you drive on our roadtrips——-nah, ask me again when you’re 35; bummer about CrueFest, but STP was crazy fun and so were all those roller coasters this summer!

I haven’t exactly made peace with the ex Mr. Kat 2.0 yet, but I have made some peace at long last with ex Mr. Kat 1.0 and that’s big progress over this time last year.  I saw 1.0 today and didn’t once yearn to punch him in the eye! That’s a huge change, so much can happen in a year.

This year we’ve had a bunch of potlucks and the absolute most hilarious food fight ever; I learned how hard it is to shake rice out of my ear and how pee in my pants funny it is to throw Jello in my unsuspecting friend Annie’s face.  Remember last year in September how I insisted on cake for my birthday potluck and had so much cake that I ate it for every meal for days and days!?! You were all so very, very good to me, showing me love with cake! Omg, it was so good to see my beloved Mr. Sutton for my last birthday, such a treat! I love those parties and camping trips and road trips and dinners; somehow I’ve become a social director on this cruise ship of life and I’m ok with that.

Spider John, come out and play with us.  Ricardo Allejandro of the High Mountains, I’ll perform your wedding ceremony, but I have questions about going commando under the kilt I know you’ll wear (what if it’s windy?!).  Vernie Sue & Ada Mae, ever so glad to still have you around–remember when we were just a bunch of goofy Warren Wilson freshmen (we’re still goofy)? NatureGal, you and your old man are such a good match; it’s so sweet and inspiring.  Sparky, what more can I tell you other than what you already know for sure? Thanks for making me smile a lot.  SGF, you are such an SGF and I’ll always be the NSGF (the color on my toes is Rocker Blues).  Don, send nosejob pix and thank you for turning me into a nut for cold sake.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m sure I missed a lot of folks in this lengthy drawn out rambling sensitive girly nonsense, but I have to stop now, I’m sorry! I’m getting sleepy finally, and I’ve worked most of the girly-osity out of my system at last.  So much has happened from turning 34 to getting ready to turn 35–thanks for all the adventures we’ve had, friends, and all the new adventures yet to come.  Thanks for the parts you play in the story that is my life, let’s see what happens in the next chapter!  Much love to all…g’nite!

My birthday, my birthday, yay yay yay

It’s time for my birthday!  There is no such thing as celebrating me too much!  If my parents had given me birthday parties as a child, I wouldn’t have to overcompensate like this as an adult!

The official date is September 5, but I am open to adoration and celebration starting right now.  If you have no idea what I want for my birthday, I will accept cash…and then I will kick you for not paying attention to my needs, wishes and whims.

Further poonanny thoughts…

If you use your poonanny too much, it will fall out–Chiquita and I decided that earlier this week.  After much thought on my behalf, I also determined that if you don’t use it at all, it will dry up, turn to dust and blow away.  “Oh wow, it’s been a really bad pollen season, look at the coating of dust on everything!”  Noooooooooooooooo, it’s been a really bad frigid bitch season; that’s the residue from dried up poonannies!

Use it or lose it, but don’t dare abuse it!