Swamp people, or swamp things?

This television show both nauseated and repulsed me tonight. It's a show based on people who 'live off the bayou' in Louisiana. 'Living off the bayou' meaning they tie ropes to trees to catch alligators, and then shoot them with a 22 caliber rifle. They then pull these ridiculously large and frightening creatures into their little boats. Sometimes they have to even chase them onto the land. Lunacy. Not to mention the bare feet and dirty fingernails, those were abundant with these people.

What made me aware of this shows existence was my husband laughing hysterically from the bedroom. I went into ask him what was so funny, and I heard the answer coming from the TV. It was Troy Landy yelling 'Chootem Chootem!', 'Get that biggun!', and 'Get'em, chootem Elizabeth!'. You cannot understand a word this man says. I know this to be true because the show has subtitles on whenever he is speaking, and he speaks english; Kind of. After I was done mulling his speech impediment over in my head, debating whether or not it was a brain impulse that caused it, or the lack of teeth in his mouth, the Guist Brothers made their appearance. Dear sweet baby Jesus. What is on my television? I watched one of the brothers spit on a worm he was using as bait, because it made it more appetizing to the fish. Is this really happening?

Why on God's green earth do I not have a TV show, and these people do?  How is that fair, or even remotely justifiable? I have a solid 20 ideas right now that would make better television than this show.

I'm still sitting here in awe over the show in its entirety. It actually upset my stomach. I will never visit any part of Louisiana because of this show, these people, and their voices/language. A solid thumbs down to their whole operation; Even though alligators frighten me greatly.

Meet the Guist Brothers. I'd like to think that even though I'm a chunky girl, anything I do would be a bit more aesthetically pleasing than watching these two repugnant mutants spit on worms. Just sayin'.

Boredom, vice, and need.

Boredom flourishes too, when you feel safe.  It's a symptom of security.  - Eugene Ionesco

Great, I feel safe; That doesn't change the fact that I'm bored out of my damn mind. I do the same thing every night that my husband works. I play around online, blog, play scrabble on my iPad, watch TV, and do laundry. So, naturally, when he's home, I'm like an excited puppy. Whether we go to the grocery store, or watch a movie in bed, it's something different.

So, tonight when he had an errand to run, again with me being like an excited puppy; A ride in the car? Yes please. He ran that errand without me, and I got completely butt hurt over it.  He's now out in the garage with his buddy, mounting headlights inside of the grill on his truck. I'm sitting inside, furious, and bored, as usual.

On a side note, we have a few things to do tonight, and a full schedule for the weekend. Now we're going to get a late start tonight. Yes, I know sorting through all of the clothing in our closets and dressers isn't an exciting Friday date night; But I'd still like to spend a few minutes with him, no matter what we're doing. Besides, we have too many damn clothes, and it needs to get done. It's always something.

I'm just sick of being irritated by someone or something constantly. I don't have enough patience to be a functioning adult in society. That's just all there is to it.

Also, I need a vice to cure my boredom. Just sayin'.

Hunger induced rage?

Those three words were part of my friends Facebook status today. It made me laugh. I'd also like to note that she is probably the skinniest friend I have. The girl runs stadiums and marathons on a daily basis for cryin' out loud. I'm sure she was hungry enough to be angry.

 

A hungry man is an angry one. - Buchi Emecheta

 

Have you ever reached that point? I have. Don't laugh, because it does exist. There is just a point that you're so hungry you can't even think. At this point, the next person that approaches you with anything short of a three course meal may be in eminent danger.

 

Your stomach is churning, and it almost makes you nauseous. You can only chug so much water to ward off the inevitable; You need to find some snackems, now. The hunt is on. You're rifling through your desk drawers, your cup holders, and your purse pockets; Junk food don't fail me now. This is not the time for a stick of gum, and if I find a box of tic tacs, I'm going to ingest the entire thing in about 3 minutes. (Note: If you eat an entire container of Tic Tacs, it's about 60 calories, give or take, and you will still be hungry.)

 

It really is a miserable feeling to have gotten that hungry. You're just too busy to be able to stop what you're doing to grab something from the vending machine. A solid thumbs down to those work days. They do make you irritable, but sometimes I wonder if it's the job, and not necessarily the hunger. Just sayin'.

Work smarter, not harder.

Work smarter, not harder. - Scrooge McDuck (Carl Barks)

Leave it to an anthropomorphic duck to sum my night up so well.

I just spent 20 minutes rearranging my bedroom furniture. I stubbed my toe, pinched myself between the bed and the dresser, and I nicked the paint on my chair rail with the the corner of the bedside table. I did all this so I could plug my iPad in, and have the ridiculously short cord it came with reach to the bedside table. Success, it now reaches, and I can be lazy every night by not walking it back into the office to charge.

Why didn't I just grab an extension cord or a power strip out of the cord box in the garage? I could have walked out there, chosen from any length and color I desired, and been done in under 5 minutes; With about 15% of the effort.

Have you ever done that? Worked your butt off on a ridiculous, menial, yet extremely cumbersome task; And 5 minutes after you've finished, you've figured out an 80% easier way to do it? Yeah, that's pretty much my day to day life. It's always something. Whether it be balancing a grocery load, moving furniture, or trying to convince (trick) my husband to do something I know he'll dislike; As soon as I prevail, I realize I could have trimmed a good 15 minutes off my time spent on that task.

I have to say I'm an idiot, and about 68% of the time, I'm doing something the 'hard way'. The fabulous thing about that is, that as much as I'm doing it the 'hard way', I'm probably doing it better than most people could do it the 'easy way'. Just sayin'.

And the winner is....

Cologne. Cologne? Let's give this a whirl.


First of all, thank you for all of your votes in the poll, it was a close one.


Here's my view on cologne. As a whole, I dislike it. It usually is overpowering, because nothing about men is ever subtle. Overpowering  meaning that I can taste it; And cologne is not meant to be tasted. That fact is rather nauseating in itself. When you're caught in the cross breeze of a man with too much cologne, you can't win. If you breathe through your nose, you won't get enough oxygen; If you breathe through your mouth, you'll taste it and not get enough oxygen. That's a lose-lose situation. It's not often, but after a man leaves a room and I say 'Wow, what is he wearing?', I smile. I smile because that man knows his pulse points. The fact that he knows his pulse points is what makes him sexy, not the scent he's wearing.


More men need to learn the 'pulse points'; quickly. These are the parts of the body that heat up the fastest. What happens when your skin is warmed by your blood's natural flow is that the alcohol or the oil in the perfume/cologne begins to evaporate into the air around you. When you apply perfume/cologne to all of your pulse points, you walk around with a very slight yet significant aura surrounding your body. It's the perfect balance.


Also, this 'Axe effect' stuff is nonsense. All of that canned garbage smells like pepper spray. It's not acceptable unless your in middle school. Once you're legitimately on your way to manhood, step up, and spring the extra 5 or 10 bucks for a generic cologne. I'm not saying spend $85 for half an ounce of cologne, just make an effort to not smell like an over spiced salad. I don't think that's a lot for any woman to ask of you.

I think it's interesting that 'cologne' rhymes with 'alone.' - Demetri Martin


Yeah, that is interesting. As usual, this rant has been me, just sayin'.

Hypothetically speaking

Hypothetical questions get hypothetical answers. - Joan Baez

When a sentence starts with 'Hypothetically speaking', I'm annoyed, no matter what words will follow.

Whenever someone asks me a 'hypothetical' question, I just want to say cut the crap, and tell me what happened. Number one, if you're talking to me about anything of slight importance, you're my friend (or I wouldn't be listening to you); And number two, if you've been my friend long enough, you know I don't judge my friends, so again I say, cut the crap, and tell me what happened. I will help you, and not hypothetically.

Why waste time, and breath? It either happened, or it didn't happen; You're either thinking about it, or not. Just be an adult, and talk about it. Whether you want my opinion, help, an idea, or a way out; Hypothetically speaking isn't going to get you any of that, from me anyway.

I'm starting to wonder why so many of my 'friends' know so little about me, and irritate me so frequently. The answer is simple; People are always going to be a disappointment. To me, at least.

Maybe I should start looking at my 'friends' in a closer manner. That list is already short, but once in a while a good purge is needed right? I can think of a few right now I'd like to be rid of completely. Just sayin'. Hypothetically, that is.

Who, being loved, is poor?

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.  - Nora Ephron, When Harry Met Sally

That is beyond true for me, and anyone else who has been blessed enough to find the one their soul loves.

When Aaron proposed to me, I smiled non-stop for a month. He completely blind sided me; Probably because he was 17 and I was 18. We were kids, which makes it even more fabulous that we found the right person in each other.

Let me tell you about my husband. He throws his dirty clothing on the floor next to the hamper, he does not refill the toilet paper, and he leaves drinking cups next to his chair. He drives me bonkers. Yet, I love him him more than anything in the world, and I miss him when he's working. He gets on me about the routes I take while driving, whines about how long it takes me to buy a pair of jeans, and stomps his feet like a child every time we go grocery shopping. Yet, I still drag him with me everywhere I have to go. I enjoy his company, his outlook on life, and everything else about him. He is my favorite person in the world. Just having him walk through the door makes me smile, and that's an amazing feeling.

No matter the messes we get ourselves into (and hopefully out of), the drama that may surround us, too much money, not enough money, car problems, health problems, any problems; He is my best friend, my rock, and my solace.

I can speak his praises, and complain about him for hours on end; but I'll spare you. I'll just say that no matter how angry he can make me, and how much extra work he creates for me, I adore waking up to his groggy face every morning.

I'd say 'I do' again, every day of the week. Just sayin'.

I'm coming through

Today was a good day, but of course, it had it's troublesome points.

One of which was my mother, as usual. The other, was the line in a public restroom.

While on a narrow aisle, my mother and I were separated by a woman with an ill-placed shopping cart. I'm certain my mother did not ask the woman politely to move her cart, or even simply say excuse me; I believe the following occurred instantly upon her being blocked. As I turn to say something to my mother about a pair of shoes I see her ram the woman's shopping cart, well, scrape down the entire side of it anyway. During the massive collision, she exclaims 'I'm coming through!'. Yes mom, because you need to announce that you're the reason it sounds like the world is ending in the shoe department.  I grabbed the front of her cart and pulled it apart from the other one. I yelled 'Jesus mom! Where did you get your license?!' This question did not get a verbal answer, however it did get a nasty mom-scowl. The woman managed to regain her balance, and I shot her an apologetic look, which also received a mom-scowl. My sister had abandoned the aisle upon the impact, so as not to confuse people; After all, she can't be related this circus. I have news for you, you are, and that's never going to change; No matter how many aisles you run away from us.

After the dust settled from that collision, and my sister and I had laughed ourselves many aisles away from mom, we headed to the restroom. My sister is 6 1/2 months pregnant, so she got first dibs on a stall, naturally. All of the other stalls were occupied, so I took my place in line, I was also the only one in the line. A women then walks in, looks at me, walks in front me and stops. At this point, I didn't realize I had been 'cut'. When  a stall door opened and she shuffled in rapidly, looking at me over her shoulder, I knew I had been 'cut'. She was in and out of that stall before another had come open, so as she was watching her hands, I just stared at her, pretty much in awe. I didn't go into the stall she had gone into, I ended up going into the one my sister had been in; But not before I stared at her long enough to make her obviously uncomfortable. Really? Did that just happen? I would have let her go first, I was not in an emergency state of needing to pee. She should have asked; I would have asked. Manners people, manners. If we were kids, there would have been a scene made by any line-respecting child; Myself included. There would have been witnesses, and consequences. Some pinching may have occurred, who knows.

Today was good. I am pretty sure I emitted my own mom-scowl for the first time ever; Thumbs down to that, as I am not a mom.

The test of good manners is to be patient with bad ones.  - Gabirol (Solomon ben Yehuda ibn Gabirol), The Choice of Pearls

I like, and agree with, what he's just sayin'.

When I grow up.....

Remember when we were in such a hurry to grow up and be adults? What was so mystical and amazing about adulthood? Were we looking forward to working, bills, and insurance? Or was it cars, getting away from our parents, and 'doing what we wanted'? I am personally let down by adulthood, because of all of those things. (Please don't misunderstand me, I do love my life, husband, friends etc.)

Riding my bike, rollerblading, and climbing trees are things of the past, things I loved dearly. Swinging as high as we possibly could, getting up early on Saturdays to watch ridiculous cartoons, and burning our legs on the old metal slides. No fear, no worries, just fun.

Today my friend Tippy and I found out you can't go back. In the middle of our relaxing pool day, which involved killing wasps and jello shots, we spotted a tire swing. Yes, I said a tire swing. Yes I am 24 years old, and she is 20. We are both entirely too old to be running towards a tire swing in the manner we did today.  We ran towards it like we were 6 years old, and I blame the jello shots for this.

Once we killed the crazy spider that was on it by slamming it into the tree, we were in business. Tippy climbed up it with ease, as she is a tiny thing. She sat on top of it, and I pushed her eagerly. She stated that she felt like she was going a thousand miles an hour, let out a few good 'Wheeee's, almost hit the tree, and she was done. I was too apprehensive to climb on top, so I took a running start, grabbed the rope, and clamped my legs on for dear life. This was a bad idea, and a terrible tire swing form to take. I didn't last long before my hands hurt from the rope, and both of my thighs were red and bruised from the tire itself. I was also mentally picturing the dry rotted rope snapping, and throwing my large body to the ground at a breakneck speed. Luckily, my thighs took the hit, not my neck. Tippy ended up being bit by ants, and we sprinted back to the pool, battered and bruised from our 5 minute tire swing escapade. We laid in the pool, slightly winded and giggling. We are too old for this.

Today's events made me think of how non-observant we were when we were kids. We checked for bugs in the tire swing. We would have never as kids, we would have hopped right in, gotten bit, and not known until mom saw at bath time. We drank out of the hose, ran through the yard barefoot, climbed in trees, jumped down, and triple dog dared our friends. As an adult, the hose would have to be my only option, and I would have to be dehydrated. I would have to be chased by a masked man to run through a yard barefoot, and the last time I climbed a tree was because a cat was stuck in it. Okay, so maybe I still triple dog dare my friends, it gets the job done, what can I say? Do you remember fighting naps when you were a kid? Maybe we thought we were going to miss something? I pray for a nap every day now, and I don't care what I miss.

Maybe we should trade in our tire swing for a shuffleboard court. Just sayin'.

Pass the Bengay, I think I'm going to feel that in the morning.

Just another day in paradise

Not much to write about today. Today was my Friday, and that makes me smile.

It was the Easter egg hunt at work. If you've read my recent blog,  Cadbury egg warfare, you know how I felt about that. All in all it was an alright day though. Other than a 2 year old eating a piece of candy, with the tinfoil wrapper still on it. He apologized as soon as he swallowed it, so I guess it's okay because he used his manners, right? Lordy. Is that really my job? Again, Lordy.

I enjoyed floating in a pool this evening, and I enjoyed melting in the hot tub even more. There's also nothing like good conversation with good people. That was certainly a welcome change, as I feel that I am forced to converse with vegetables rather than people on a daily basis. There is one friend of ours who is intelligent to begin with, but his creativity and sense of humor just make him the full package. He is probably one of my favorite people, and he is an advocate for medical marijuana. Before you fly off the handle, judge me, or block my page, view his website here. If you're not for medical marijuana, that's fine, but you can't be against the awesome recipes he has at the bottom of that page. Click around, there is a lot of useful information there. Honestly, you're probably currently misinformed, and that's what he and his site are there for. Get on his soap box, the view is amazing.

Tomorrow I will be spending the afternoon with Tippy, my favorite Polkadot. We will be floating in her pool, talking, giggling, and finally being tipsy enough to fall off of our rafts. I have spiked jello in the fridge, and mixed drinks in the freezer. I need tomorrow, I know she needs tomorrow. She is bitter and nasty, much like myself, but she is just so much cuter at it. Regardless, we never run out of things or people to talk about. I simply adore her.

Saturday and Sunday are looking a bit bland for me. Some laundry, maybe a trip to a store or two. My husband works, so he'll be sleeping during the day, which leaves a pillow-movie-marathon out of the question for me. Maybe I'll just kidnap Tippy for the weekend. I'll tie her into my convertible and drive out of the state like we've always joked about. Why out of the state? Just because.

At this point, the further away the better. Just sayin'.

What goes around comes around

That saying is also known as karma. I believe that to be true with every fiber of my being. I also believe I watch it happen, on a nearly daily basis.

Everytime I have to bite my tounge, because it would behoove me to keep my mouth shut, I just tell myself karma will get you for that. It always does. It may take a week or so, but I end up giggling in the corner at you. Granted, I may be wrong in assuming the moment of misfortune they're experiencing is payback for what they recently did to me, but I'll take it that way. Thumbs up to that, each and every time.

When I really can't stand someone, either for the person they are, or the things they do; I cannot bring myself to ever feel bad for them, regardless of what happens. When someone tells me something bad, or even terrible has happened to these people or their families, I usually say 'Karma', and walk away. That's genuinely how I feel. You suck, and I hope your suck comes around tenfold to bite you in your face. Good, I'm glad you broke your arm, and no I will not sign your cast. Get out of my office.

I will openly admit I wish bad on people, although it's not for the usual reasons people would do such a thing. I'm not a jealous person, and if I am jealous, it's usually of people I'm close to, and love. If I'm wishing bad on you, it's because I despise your very being, not because I want what you have.  I know this points karma in my direction with vengance, but that's fine. As long as I get my evil wish, I'll take my lashings from the universe. I've also made my own karma. Meaning, if I didn't get my wish, I set things in motion for that, or something equally as evil to happen. Yeah, I'm actually filled with that much hate.


Does that make me a bad person? I often tell my friends that I am completely aware that I have no soul. They're still my friends, so I'm either not as bad as I'm leading you to believe, they just don't care, or they're all evil too.

I still think karma is on my side. Just sayin'.

Cadbury Egg Warfare

What's the first thing that comes to mind when I say Easter egg hunt?

For me, it's that parents are evil. Plain and simple.

Have you ever been to an Easter egg hunt? They're terrible. Kids are running all over & screaming. Then they're falling, and screaming some more as they're being trampled. There is also more screaming caused by the Easter egg hunt bullies. Those little jerks will steal the eggs right out of your basket.

As the children are divided by age/stature, half of them are already crying as they're lined up for the shot gun start that will further ruin their day. Something will then happen to delay the start, and then even more of them are crying. Some have started pushing, or kicking dirt on the kids next to them. Watch out for those kids, they're more likely than not the Easter egg hunt bullies.

Finally, the hunt is on. 7 of the 30 children involved have tripped and fallen during their first 5 steps. They've been stepped on, and are running back to their parents crying, with an empty basket. That empty basket will be the reason they're crying for the next 3 hours. The remaining 23 children will fall victim to survival of the fittest. Those of poor balance and agility will fall victim, quite literally, to the uneven surfaces of the field they're sprinting through. They will fall down, and quite possibly sprain an ankle, or bump their head on a tree. Someone may go to the hospital, whether they need a butterfly closure or a cast,  emergency room here they come. Survival of the fittest will take out about 15 competitors. That leaves 8. Those 8 are the bullies. These 8 children have helped survival of the fittest along, by pushing and shoving the smaller children out of their way. They've also stolen half of their eggs from the weaklings after they knocked them down. Little jerks.

At last, everyone is rounded back up with their families. The smart mothers have a mini-first aid kit in their purses, and are nursing small scrapes and bruises with antibacterial wipes and snap-em ice packs. The not-so-prepared mothers are grumbling as they drag their children into the nearest bathroom to fight for sink-space, soap, and paper towels. Someone is cursing on the way out of the church parking lot, because they're on their way to the emergency room. What a great day this has been for everyone.

Let's not forget that the churches that have these egg hunts before the church service itself. Genius. Now, if they weren't crying before, they're crying because their parents are locking their loot in the car for the next hour or so. All they wanted to know is what is in that glittery egg. The glittery egg is special, therefore the contents must be amazing. Good luck quieting that level of childhood anticipation during the sermon. The service is filled with sniffling children, and whispering mothers. No one is hearing the good news that they so anxiously got up at sunrise for.

Basically, unless you're the bully/Easter egg hunt gold medalist; Easter eggs hunts are terrible for you.

Easter eggs hunts are also really just another event that proves nice guys finish last. Just sayin'.

Two Weeks Notice

We've all left a job before. Maybe to go into a different field, for more money, to pursue a career, or just to get out. How did you leave? Did you turn in a letter of resignation? Maybe the position you were leaving didn't require such a formality, and a verbal notice was sufficient. Maybe a quick hand written note taped to the boss' door did the trick.

What about an email? Is an email appropriate? I know that in a large company, when you turn in your notice, news may travel up or down the chain of command via email; But what if it's a small, semi close-nit business?

Here is what I experienced today.

I got to work at 8:45 AM, and noticed an employee's vehicle wasn't there; She should have been there at 8:15. I walked in, and I find out she hadn't called in either. No call + no call = no job. Fine by me, she was crappy at her job, and was extremely nosey, as was explained in Curiosity Killed the Kat. So, at 9:00 AM I called her. No answer, and no voicemail to even leave a message on. Fine. A final thumbs down to you, you pain in the butt. So, we check the office email at around 11:00 AM, and we have an email from her. It states that she is having problems at home, and is letting it affect her work. She also says she is sorry she couldn't give notice. The time stamp on the email is 9:18 AM, an hour after she was supposed to be at work. I have news for you, you were fired before you quit sweetheart. On a side note, I find it odd that I heard nothing of problems at home, when she had no problem talking about her trailer having a collapsed roof, having too many pets, having rats in her walls, and using the calndar method as birth control. Those weren't problems? I'd hate to hear what's gone wrong in her life since the above mentioned issues were apparently completely acceptable.

How do people make things like this make sense in their heads?! How was quitting via email, after your scheduled arrival time acceptable? Again, I would like to point out, that she will not be missed. No one at work could be happier that she left. As much as she was a moron, I think we were all still surprised at the email. Doing things like that in an email tells me you're afraid of the consequences; That you don't want to face the repercussions. Tippy called in when she said she was very immature. Good eye Tippy, good eye.

I guess ignorance is bliss, and I guess that's why I am not a blissful person. Just sayin'.

All the Single Ladies

This song came on at a party my husband and I were at Saturday night. You may be familiar with it; It sort of sounds like a carnival game in the beginning, with a lot of repetition. 

I was sitting in a row with two other girls, and the one in the middle was single. The following conversation occurred between the three of us, after every woman there raised their left hand and shook it while they sang loudly.

TC: Do you wear your ring?
Kitty: Yes.
(We compared wedding band sets.)
(The single girl places her hand, with no ring, in between the two of ours.)
GR: Look at that. Fail.
TC & Kitty: Stop it!!
(Giggling)

GR, why fail?

Let me paint a picture of GR. She is a single, independent woman. She has purchased her own home, and is in the process of furnishing it amazingly. She has exquisite taste, with a theme of blacks and whites, and beautiful art adorning her walls. She has reliable means of transportation, which she also pays for. She has a respectable, stable job, which she does extremely well. She has an infectious personality; She is kind, helpful, and extremely personable. She has a cute laugh, and makes adorable faces for pictures. Physically, she is also gorgeous. Flawless porcelain skin, thin, and very pretty facial features. I specifically love her eyes. They're warm, kind, and inviting. No, I am not secretly in love with GR. She also has the cutest dog anyone has ever seen, and his name is equally awesome. His name is Waffle, and Waffle had a tux on for the party. That just adds to GR's awesome personality for me.

Again I ask, why fail? There is no fail about you, or any other awesome woman who has her stuff together enough to be single and that great of a person. You don't need a partner to be great, you emit awesomeness effortlessly all on your own. Also, you would be a prize in any relationship. I am happy to have you in a friendship; Any sane gentleman would be ecstatic to call you his own. He will find you, but until then, I may buy you a ring, and have it engraved with 'FAIL'.

I believe that as soon as you, and all other GR's of the world are comfortable being single, the one that your soul loves will surface, and you will never remember those 'FAIL' moments. That person will subtly and effortlessly snuff all those things away, into the past, and leave you with nothing but eagerness for the future. That person will love Waffle (or other Waffle equivalents), also. Just sayin'.

First class please....

A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic.  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

In America there are two classes of travel - first class, and with children.  -Robert Benchley

You can learn many things from children.  How much patience you have, for instance.  -Franklin P. Jones

These three quotes sum up my evening, as well half of my days for that matter.

I am replaying my evening in my mind, over and over again. Did I really witness all of those things in Cracker Barrel tonight? No, it can't be; People don't sit idly by while their children act in such a manner, do they? Yes, they do, and tonight was proof. A solid thumbs down to that discovery.

My husband and I get seated in the restaurant, we get our drinks and start reading the menus. There is a group of 11 about 20 feet from us at another table. There were three adult women, two 'tween/teen' children, three 6-8 year olds, one 2 year old, and two 1 year olds. These ages are based on my expert age gauging skills, learned from working in preschools for so long.

Both one year olds are screaming, probably because it was 9:30 PM, and they were tired. They were being passed like rag dolls between the three 6-8 year old girls, who had no business holding an animal, let alone a human being. The 6-8 year olds are also fighting over who is going to hold which screaming one year old. The two 'tween/teen' girls were bickering back and forth at a somewhat audible tone. Something over karate I think, but I really couldn't hear it clearly over the one's extremely 'Snooki-esque' poof. The two year old has a seat, with a booster seat in it. He is sitting on the edge of the booster seat, rocking it back and forth, screaming bloody murder. When the 'mother' told him to sit down/be quiet/stop he started screaming even louder at her to shut up. She did nothing. He then took his shoes off, and hung them on the top of the chair rails, he's still standing, as well as still screaming. The next thing I see is a full juice box go flying across the dining area. A 6-8 year old smacks the boy, and goes to retrieve the juice box. So, of course he screams louder, and throws a handful of macaroni and cheese at her. She was wearing white capri's, poor thing. The tween/teen girls are taking a different younger child to the bathroom about ever 7 minutes, obnoxiously. Mom is speaking away to the other two women, in her own world. The 6-8 year olds are now at other empty tables  in the dining room, stacking the hurricane globes of of lit candles, as well as the Cracker Barrel peg games.

Throughout the course of our dinner, any of the given items above were repeated around 3-7 times, or were constant. The screaming for example, was a constant out of at least two children at a time. Mom is sitting there, oblivious, or in complete denial that this was happening to her. She came to when there wasn't enough raspberry flavoring in her tea though, gosh golly, that certainly snapped her into reality.

I was so focused on the peg game at our table, so as not to go flip the 2 year old boy out of his seat, that I am surprised my channeled energy did not levitate that thing right off the table. Cracker Barrel is an open floor plan, no matter where we would have asked to be moved, you would have been able to hear the screaming. It was pointless. I honestly cannot even remember what type of cheese I ordered for my eggs, or if I ate hash browns or a hash casserole. I love the casserole, so I hope that's what I ordered. Yes, it was that loud. I am not exaggerating, there were a few octaves that made my vision blur.

When we were done telling the waitress how much her patience amazed us, we high tailed it out of there. I wanted to give the mother a piece of my mind, but my husband advised against it, as I tend to get carried away in those situations. We found a middle ground in our debate, and I flipped the mother the bird for a good 45 seconds as we were leaving. I didn't get to say my piece, but my patented Kitty-stink-eye paired with the bird probably got my point across to that lazy potato sack. Had I known what vehicle she was driving, I would have written her a nice note, and stuck it under her windshield wiper.

How can you let your children act that way in public? A two year old telling his mother to shut up? I cannot wrap my mind around it. Judging by her reaction, or lack there of, this was the norm for them.

If I were at that table, things would have gone a bit differently. I would have been hosting the bathroom trips; Just sayin'.

TGIF; or not?

Thank the Lord, it's the weekend. Right? We're so excited for a day or two off of work, yet we cram it so full of housework/chores/errands, that we are probably are doing more work, than we would be if we were at work. I know I do.

I do endless amounts of laundry, which I don't understand, because it's just my husband and I. You'd think we had 6 children if you looked at the laundry baskets. I scrub the bathroom, which also looks like 8 people are sharing it. You can refer to a past blog, called A place for everything, for an explanation of that fact. Also, I grocery shop; And being as frugal as I am, you know I'm hitting the warehouses and cheap stores for a deal. In this economy, so is everyone else. That means one thing, Saturday morning food shopping is very similar to Black Friday electronic shopping. It's horrifying in many ways.

There are elderly people driving motorized scooters, that have to have had the governor removed, because they're going 20 mph past the Cheerios. These people are steering so badly, and mumbling profanities so loudly (because you mistakenly made eye contact), that all you can do is pray they took the bus there, and didn't drive themselves.

Once you've avoided all those collisions, you get stuck behind someone with immense body odor. They may not look like they're going to smell, but oh, they do. It's a sudden gridlock, you can't go left, you can't go right, and if you stop, you risk being rear-ended by a scooter at a lethal speed. You fear if you mouth-breath much longer you're going to taste that horrific smell.

Now that your blood pressure is up from the near panic attack you've had, there are unruly children, everywhere. They are from different families, but have all met up to finish off your food shopping nightmare. They're playing tag, they're spitting, they're pushing, and they've just crashed into your leg. If you're me, you emit a low gremlin like growl, accompanied by the official Kitty-Stink-Eye. They run in the other direction. I've seen other people purposely clip them with their shopping carts, and I have to say, I've smiled at their initiative.

Then you get in line. There are 4 registers open, one has a cashier training a newbie, and every single line has at least 8 people in it. 8 people who have just received their food stamps, and each have two carts full of food. Great.

Thirty minutes later you're walking to your car, slightly sweaty, absolutely parched, and in need of a nap. You look over, and  you see the smelly person. You shudder in remembrance of the odor. Then you notice that the child-gang ring-leader is the smelly person's child. There's food for thought. Oh, and wait, who is that driving the car they're all getting into? Grandpa, who's motor scooter broke the sound barrier on the way past the coffee. How appropriate. Such a nice family tree.

So glad it's the weekend, right? We're being our own personal maids, for free. So relaxing and rewarding after a tough week of work.

At least I get paid at work. Just sayin'.

If the shoe fits...

Always wear expensive shoes. People notice. - Brian Koslow

Well said, Brian. A lot of people may or may not notice, but I certainly do. I am a first impression-shoe judger. Yes, that means I stare directly at your feet for 5-10 seconds the moment I initially meet you; And no, I am not subtle about the staring at all.

I will, more likely than not, hear nothing you have to say in the first 5-10 seconds of meeting you. I'll be staring at your shoes. They speak volumes for the type of person you are. Also, you will never escape my initial shoe-stereotype label. You will forever be known as one of the following listings; And no, I never forget them. I may not remember the actual shoe, but I remember the category. Forever.

Dirty - I don't care if they are heels, flats, or super-cute sneakers; If they're dirty, I do not like you. If they are dirty white flip flops, you've made me nauseous.

Spunky - These are fun looking shoes. They have flair, and 90% of the time, I know you're in pain from at least one of the straps. Kudos. You have earned a nugget of respect from me, for making a small pain sacrifice to make an impression. These shoes always make the outfit you have on, also.

Bland - Shoes. Just boring shoes. Nothing spectacular, nothing eye catching. Just plain shoes. I am in a grey area with you folks. Are you boring people? Should I give you a second shoe chance? Perhaps. Only time will tell with this group. Repeat offenders, however, I tend to skim over quite quickly.

Obnoxious - Please do not confuse spunky and obnoxious. If you have hot pink sneakers with lime green/electric blue checkered laces, I don't like you. You have a low IQ, and simple things entertain you, for lengthy periods of time.

Perfect - This is almost a sub-category. There isn't anything spunky about your shoes, but they aren't bland either. You've anchored on the middle ground. They just suit you, and are perfect. They match your outfit, and are well-maintained. A solid thumbs up for perfection.

Those are my five shoe categories. You will fall into one, and I will shoe-judge you. It is just a fact of Kitty-life as I know it, as ugly as it may be. I can remember doing this as a kid, which was probably unfair, because I know I wore what my parents gave me, and that was all there was to it. That's probably how it was for most kids, because they were kids.

Are you classifying your favorite pair of shoes right now? You should be. I'm certain I'm not the only one in the universe who does this.

No dusty feet welcome here. Just sayin'.

I believe in options

I do not have much to write about this evening. I do, however, need to apologize to the general public for my miserable attitude over the past week. I don't have anything to really say for myself that isn't an excuse; And we know what they say about excuses...

I haven't been feeling 100%, not necessarily ill, just off, which is rather unexplained and unnerving in itself. I was turned down for financial aid, and I'm still trying to get that figured out and situated. I've been extremely busy and have chosen to neglect sleep to be able to get everything else done. I'm still philandering around trying to find a new job, something that pays a good bit more, so I can feel like I'm doing my share in the financial department of our marriage. I miss my husband, I feel like I never get to see him because of our conflicting work schedules. There are  other reasons behind my mood, but as much as I love you dear blog, the world is not ready for those Kitty-isms. The above mentioned reasons/excuses/items are also referred to as life. I need to shut up about it, and buck up. I could be currently handed a much worse list, but the karma gods are still at bay for the moment I suppose.

Basically like I said, nothing but excuses. I'm just in a foul mood, and have never been so grateful that a weekend was readily approaching, so I could pout in the privacy of my own home. I've been in the nastiest mood, I need to just snap out of it.

Is there a pill for that? No? A solid thumbs down to that.

My mood was so foul this week that I'm actually going to purchase a card to apologize to one particular person, whom I will refer to as my Samantha Jones. I feel the need to use a card because she loves cards, I think she actually likes picking cards more than getting them. Maybe I should tell her to go pick her own out, and I'll sign it. Also, Samantha is my boss, and I'm shocked she hasn't knocked me out of my chair with the strong backhand I know she possess', or just fired me this week. She is the one who is trapped in a 10x10 office with me for 9 hours a day, thus, she gets the absolute brunt of my moods. Again, how she has not murdered me and buried me on the playground this week alone, is a miracle, I'm sure. I'll be giving her that card tomorrow, with my tail between my legs.

I need to be ashamed of myself, for being adult and being in such a Veruca Salt state of mind for the past week. What is the matter with me? Who knows, but hopefully tomorrow at work we have an awesome day, even though a co-worker I love is finishing out her two week notice tomorrow. Maybe I can blame my mood on that? No? Okay then. I finally get to spend a whole weekend with my husband, so hopefully that eases my tension and irritability. Please God, snap me out of this. That's my prayer before I go to bed tonight; It's probably all of my co-workers prayers too.

The highlight of my week has been this statement from Tippy P. Hopplebuns;

'I believe in options.'

Me too, Tippy. Me too. Thank you for letting me know that I am not the only one.

You're irritable too, you're just cuter at it than I am. Just sayin'.

A penny for your thoughts...

So, will a dollar shut you up? How about five dollars?

Have you ever felt like that? Like you would love to buy someone's silence? Not silence about a secret, or an event; No. Silence in general, like you need them to become a mute, instantly, or you may crawl into your own skin and disintegrate.

Have you ever purposly found something meaningless or extra to do, just to be on the other side of the building from them? Hidden in a bathroom faking an upset stomach maybe? I have a good list I go through to avoid them, whether it be unwanted loud mouthed company at home, or a pain in the ear co-worker. Oh please, we've all had at least one of them! You are more likely than not related to a few.

When people are shifting in their seats, or have visible signs of discomfort on their face when you're speaking, you should stop. It may be the subject, or it may just be you. Either way, just stop. Do us both a solid and grab a Twix, because I need a darn minute.

It's a shame life doesn't have a 'hide' button for selected people, like Facebook does. That hide button would make all the difference. Just sayin'.

Tippy P. Hopplebuns

Yes, you read it right; It says Tippy P. Hopplebuns. Who is Tippy P. Hopplebuns you ask? Tippy is my new pet name for my favorite friend that I have in my life right now. The nick-name is peppy, fun, and somehow odd; Leaving you with questions about what she's thinking. It suites her perfectly.

Tippy is a divine friend, and she says the right things at the right times. Also, she makes the right faces at the right times. I adore her! She is truly a go getter, and she has a straight head  on her shoulders. I am proud she has befriended me in such a way, and that she listens to my miserable, undoubtedly depressing, rantings on a nearly daily basis. Her typical solution to a problem is to go get 'Starbucks Wasted'; Completely amazing I say, completely amazing. Seeing her cry breaks my heart, and simultaneously gives me the urge to stab whoever made her sad.

 I can also see myself going on a road trip with her, maybe not across the country, but to another state for sure. Smoking Marlboro Smooths all the way, and talking crap about the Desperate Housewives of the Highway I'm sure. I think she is the type that would make the trip just as fun as the destination.

All in all, I love you Tippy. I can honestly say you are the best friend I have, out of anyone I know. My husband is not included in that statement by the way, before anyone puts their two cents in on it. My husband is the best aspect of my life at any given time, and for that (as well as a million other things) I adore him.

I tip my hat to you Tippy; It's not often I actually like someone the moment I meet them. It's also not often that I don't get the urge to physically harm them a month into the friendship.

For that, you deserve kudos. Just sayin'.

A place for everything...

And everything in its place. Right? Not in my house, well, my bathroom for sure. Each time I enter my bathroom there are at least the following 5 things out of their obvious, easily reachable, designated place. My husband's deodorant, his Axe body spray, the toothpaste, his lotion, and one prescription bottle. All in one little cluster/line on the counter. The deodorant and body spray belong in a blue basket on the right of the sink. The toothpaste and his lotion belong on the back of the counter to the left of the sink, and the prescription bottle belongs  in the medicine cabinet. Other items that are occasionally added to the disarray are a new roll of toilet paper (complemented by an empty tube remaining on the hanger), a hairbrush, and his electric razor.

Why? It takes me about 10 seconds to put those things back in their rightful homes, and change the roll of toilet paper, if necessary.

Why just leave it?

I don't think I will ever have a real answer to that question. I also suppose that as long as leaving it there is the last step in his bathroom routine, putting it back will be the first step in mine.

I would also like to point out, that if I'm in a hurry, and a few articles of my make-up don't quite make it back into their designated drawer, I get a lecture. I don't think that's very fair, yet, I'm still just sayin'.

Curiosity killed the Kat...

The title of this blog so kindly comes from a co-worker of mine, who I will refer to as 'Meow Wilbur-Beans'; She knows the exact reasoning of this entry, as does the rest of the staff!
Curiosity is slowly killing me; but it's not my personal curiosity, it's a co-worker's curiosity. She is beyond a shadow of a doubt, the nosiest woman I have ever encountered in all my days. She just watches you while you're talking to other people. I can feel her radar powered ears pointing towards me the second I open my mouth. It's insane. She just appears out of nowhere, and instantly knows what you're talking about. Most likely because she was eavesdropping for 20 minutes before she was comfortable enough with the conversation (that didn't involve her) to finally join in. That, or she pops over the fence and says 'what?' in the middle of your sentence. She's like the neighbor you avoid like the plague.

What happened to manners? Speak when spoken to? Not interrupting? Those were drilled into me at a very early age, but apparently not everyone was raised that way. What a shame that is.

I know this doesn't seem like it should be this big of a deal; Yet it is. It is for every other single member of the staff also. She is driving us crazy. We all just thank the Polkadot Gods that she leaves for lunch every day, so we get an hour peace.

I do not like her. I've passed my judgement, and it will take a very large helping of awesomeness from her to have her re-graded on the Kitty-Grading-Curve. Until then, she fails, miserably.

Overall, I give her a 12% out of 100%; Just sayin'.

Financially Speaking...

Today I called the college to see if they received my FAFSA application. They had, and it was denied. Then I applied for every other loan and grant they gave me; Those all got denied instantly too. Apparently my husband's income puts me 'over the fence' financially. Alright, fair enough, we pay our bills, and don't necessarily go without; Yet, if you throw in a $500/month tuition bill, I can't afford other things, such as electric.

I didn't have many programs to choose from, but there were plenty for other walks of life; Such as a Hispanic Scholarship Fund, American Indian Graduate Center, Asian and Pacific Islander American Scholarship Fund, oh, and of course the United Negro College Fund. Where is mine for being Caucasian? I can't have the same option because my skin is white, as a spanish person gets for having an awesome natural tan? Or what about me as a Jew? My 'people' were persecuted in a pretty severe way, being baked, gassed and tortured in other ways; How is that any different than an African American getting a 'Negro Fund' because of slavery? I'm pretty sure any Jew would have chosen slavery over their camps and ovens; Just sayin'.

I guess I'll never know the exact breakdown of these programs, and I've probably spoken completely out of turn. I do not care though; I'm mad I'm not going to be able to start school in August, unless I win the lottery. Maybe I should play it. I'm also just tired of applying, it's made me sick of my own personal information!

With that, I'm headed into shower, and then into my bed early, possibly to cry. I know God works in mysterious ways, and that everything will work out, but I really, really, really wanted this.

Sticks and stones

I have been extremely busy lately; but this is my vow to stop neglecting my blog! As busy as we've been, there really isn't much new to report. My husband got a promotion of sorts at the sheriff's office, the dog had an ear infection, my car registration is due, oh, and I've finally decided what I'm going to go to school for. I intend to do my best at getting into a nursing program at the local college. I haven't done school-type anything in close to 7 years, so studying for the test to get into the program has been fun. I realized during my studying fit over the past week that I despise fractions more in my adult life than I did in 6th grade! What ridiculous little things they are, and what random ways we have of doing equations with them!

Yesterday my place of employment competed in a 'story book forest' competition. We came in third out of about 16 other business', so I'd call that a wash. We worked so hard on this, and being that it is April in Florida, it was ridiculously hot outside. That being said, we headed to my boss' swanky pool in her swanky development... Now every time we go, there are these four women, whom we have so lovingly named the desperate housewives. They are constantly talking behind each others backs when one goes to the restroom, and so on. They're really fabulous people, naturally. As one of my co-workers was walking to the gate, she heard one of the desperate housewives say 'honey, you look pregnant'. Now, not knowing whether or not she was catching part of a conversation, or if it was directed at her, she did  not lose her mind on them, she just kept walking. Let me tell you about my friends body. I would kill her for it. Huge happy-to-see-you boobs, tiny waist, slender thighs, and curves you could ski off of. She's damn sexy. Now, the desperate housewives on the other hand, they're all a hot mess, in Ill-fitting tankinis. So, of course, this tidbit of info spawned us into a small badmouthing marathon geared towards them from our little side of paradise. I've decided they're jealous of her body, as am I, and they just couldn't contain it anymore. So, to the desperate housewives of The Trillium housing development..... I say sticks and stones ladies, sticks and stones. Also, you're faces look like poorly crafted leather, as well of the rest of your bodies. Just sayin'.