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'.