That's kind of my thing...

These are the things that are currently on my mind...

...I just referred to myself as a BA in an email to Husband.  I then went on to tell him that I will be referring to myself as a BA from this point forward, and a BAMF when I do something super awesome.  I've decided that's my new thing.  Until I forget it's my thing and move on to something else...

...I really want a sour cream gun.  Can civilians buy these?  If so, I'd like one in  my stocking this year, sans sour cream.  Every time I fix a baked potato or a taco on Taco Tuesday, I think, "Why is sour cream so hard to maneuver?"  And that commercial is crap.  Who wants a dollop?  I want my sour cream spread out.  I want the gun.  And I may or may not make laser beam sounds when I shoot it on my food...

...Arts and crafts with a baby are hard.  Last week, the ladies at daycare told me Spencer was advanced.  Apparently, I processed that information as, "Your daughter is a savant."  I researched lots of cute arts and crafts projects on Pinterest with high hopes of cuteness galore.  The funny thing about Pinterest is that no one tells you, "A 10 week old can't do this project, you moron."  So I bought paint and glitter and all the accoutrements.  I ended up with a baby covered in green and red paint and seven failed attempts at homemade keepsakes.  The dog was barking and running in circles, I yelled at Husband because he couldn't get our advanced daughter's feet properly on the paper to make perfect Christmas trees, it was a really fun family moment.  No idea why I think I'm Martha Stewart.  I much more resemble the SNL spoof version of Martha who puts pretty bows on bags of poo...

...I'm salty about all this talk of Mike Gundy leaving.  Who knows if he will, but my gut is saying he will.  Because this is what being an OSU fan is all about.  I waited my entire life for us to be relevant in football.  I stuck with this team one disappointing season after another.  "Just give them more time," was my mantra.  And then it came.  2011 was like a wonderful dream amongst fluffy clouds of touchdowns.  And what do I get as a follow up?  A bleh-filled 7-5  season with my coach bailing to an uglier orange.  Thanks Universe.  Thanks for bringing me back to reality...

...There has been a significant shift in the space time continuum.  Our household can no longer yell during sports.  I'm devastated.  Yelling during sports is kind of my release of all stress in my life.  When I yell, "Rebound!" or "Holding!" I feel better about life.  My advanced baby doesn't feel so good about it.  We learned this during Bedlam as Blake Bell rumbled into the endzone with 45 defenders hanging off of him. Then this past Saturday, as my Pokes lost the ability to tackle, my baby cried as if she had been stuck with a hot poker...in the eye.  Imagine my mood as my football team was refusing to win and my baby suffering emotional trauma.  Maybe she could read the writing on the wall that Gundy was leaving.  It makes me want to cry too...

Hiking a mountain with Bradley Cooper

There are two things on my mind, and they have nothing to do with one another.  This happens a lot.  I want to blog, but I have too many topics to cover.  So, I'm just going to write about them both.  Don't try to find the common bond.  It doesn't exist.

This morning I was watching Morning Joe. I think this is a sign that I really am old.  Or well-informed.  Or on my way to being a well-informed senior citizen.  (**Editor's note: I had a very long paragraph here explaining why I watch Morning Joe.  After I read it, I realized no one cares why, so I deleted it.  If you want to know my reasoning, let me know.  I'm happy to share).

On today's show Bradley Cooper was promoting his new movie.  After watching his interview, I walked into the kitchen and had the following conversation with Husband.

Kathy: I'm uncomfortable with how attractive Bradley Cooper is.
Husband: Oh yeah?
Kathy: Yeah.  He's promoting his movie on Morning Joe, and he's also talking public policy.  When his segment ended, he asked  if he could stick around to talk to Chris Christie. Apparently, he's smart.  AND he speaks French.  And he's just so good looking.  It all makes me a little uncomfortable.
Husband: **laughing**
Kathy: Can someone really be that perfect?  I just don't know.  
Husband: Maybe he's a womanizer.
Kathy: That's okay with me.

I thought about my last comment as I continued getting ready and came to the conclusion that I don't mind men who are womanizers.  In fact, a lot of my very good guy friends are womanizers.  I don't even know what that says about me.  I worry that sometimes I really am a boy, but then I buy four pairs of new shoes and watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and balance everything out.

Moving on... somehow my name and address were distributed to every company that produces a catalog in the last four months.  We honestly get at least four each day in the mail.  Just throw them out, Kathy, you say.  Well, no.  I flip through every one of them.  I use those little sticky tabs that you are supposed to use on important documents at work and tag all the things I like.  I get a shopper's high from it without spending money.  Somewhere along the line, someone out there in consumer land got the idea that Husband and I are adventurous.  We get catalogs filled with plaid outdoorsy stuff a lot.  They should know that they received bad information.

And then I received a Patagonia catalog two days ago.  Have you ever seen one of these?  I had not. I had no idea what I was missing out on.  Remember when Elaine Benes worked as a copy editor for the J. Peterman Catalog?  I think the Patagonia catalog is the Peterman catalog in the real world.  There are stories inside.  Long adventurous tales.  It's fascinating.  Beautiful pictures of mountains and such.  They aren't just selling clothes here people, they are selling a lifestyle.  And I'm buying!  I'm buying the clothes, not the lifestyle.  Who in the world has time to climb a mountain?  I am currently trying to find time to make my bed.

So is it acceptable for a non-adventurous person to wear Patagonia?  Because I feel like the only people I've ever seen wearing it are also wearing hiking boots and carrying a Nalgene bottle.  I have neither.  Would I be instantly identified as a poser?  Because there is a very cute orange pullover jacket, that apparently is perfect for wicking away the moister while climbing over boulders.  I however would wear it as I climb the treacherous stairs of Gallagher Iba Arena.

Check the Footnotes

I need to get something off my chest.  I don't like Rhianna.  I should clarify, I don't like her music.  I have no issues with her as a person.  Go on with your tattooed self.  But her music...I feel as if I'm being punished.  What did I do so wrong?  She was the musical guest last week on SNL.  I watched as she sang her new song Diamonds. And I thought, "I don't think I like this song. Are there any verses?  Or just the chorus over and over?"  Then on the way to work yesterday I heard the same song and thought, "Okay, I really don't like this song.  Why does she sing so monotone?"  It's like listening to a robot from Barbados.  I mean, do they even have robots in Barbados?  Doubt it.  And the line, "Shine bright like a diamond," stuck with me ALL day.

You know how one form of prisoner torture is to play an annoying song on repeat?  I strongly suggest they
play Rhianna.  They could rotate between Diamonds  and her song with Drake, Take Care.  Show those terrorists how much we really hate them.  Damn right, America!  One of my friends who went to a different college and pledged a different sorority once told me a story about her initiation.  They played Alabama's Song of the South on repeat for hours.  In the biz, that's what we call "hazing."  She got into my car once and that song came on.  Let's just say that she had a strong reaction.  I feel that way about Rhianna.  My body tenses up, I grip the steering wheel, and I get angry.  And because my subconscious hates me, the song plays on repeat in my head for the rest of the day.  My brain is hazing me.

I was going to write this blog yesterday, because the wound was so fresh.  But then I got distracted.  It happens.  A lot.  One of the things that distracted me was a column written by Chuck Klosterman I happened upon.  I love Chuck Klosterman, he is one of my favorite writers.  Dave Eggers, Chuck Klosterman, Bill Simmons and Dave Sedaris are at the top of the list.  Apparently, I'm a sexist reader.  Let me amend my list to include Jen Lancaster and Jennifer Weiner.  I'd add Pat Forde to this list, but five years ago he wrote some critical things about Coach Gundy, and I take such blasphemy seriously.  So as I was reading this Klosterman column, I was reminded of his genius use of footnotes.  He manages to write amazing, thought-provoking material, while staying on point because all the off-shoot random details are included in footnotes.  You know who would benefit from this type of writing?  Kathy would.  I have the HARDEST time staying on topic.  I tend to write in a stream of consciousness.  See: Dave Eggers (I'm not comparing myself to Dave Eggers.  He is a genius.  I'm a random girl who people call the wrong name.)  Klosterman's use of footnotes is not in the lame bibliography way, instead they are in the "here's a supporting thought, and if you would like to know more about why I included that, please look at the bottom of the page," way.  Genius.  And as I write this, I'm remembering that in A Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers uses footnotes too.  I love footnotes!  I must find a way to use footnotes.  If I was using footnotes right now (but can't because Blogger.com doesn't have that feature) I would note that I managed to use the word "genius" four times in this paragraph, and that is super annoying.  Me and Rhianna. Two annoying girls just trying to make ends meet.

Danke Schoen

(**Editor's Note: My extended blogging hiatus has been due largely in part to the human that I created.  I don't know if anyone has told you guys, but babies are a lot of work.  I look forward to her hitting the three-month mark when she will become completely self-sufficient.)

As my Facebook timeline is filled with the "Today I'm thankful for..." status updates, I had an idea.  Why not just knock them all out at once? I thought about carrying out my grand plan on FB, but as you will see, my thankful things are filled with snark.  Snark is best left to the blog.  Don't want any of my almost 600 closest friends to think I'm making fun of their thankful things, I'm just taking a Kathy-like stand on the matter.  So here are my top 10 thankful things, I tried to come up with 21 and ran out of steam...

1. Tupac.  I'm thankful for Tupac Shakur.  There has never been a time in  my life when I heard a Tupac song that it didn't instantly improve my mood.  Kids these days don't appreciate the genius that is I Get Around, Dear Mama, and I Ain't Mad at Cha. Thug life, homie.
2. Cowboy basketball.  Went to the exhibition game the other night and man I'm happy that the season has started.  I love Cowboy basketball. I love being able to say things like, "You shouldn't get beat by an outlet pass," and Husband looking at me and saying, "The fact that you say things like that is ridiculous."  If by ridiculous, you mean ridiculously awesome, you're right.
3. My leadership class.  I'm part of a leadership class that runs from October until April.  It's filled with young whipper-snappers throughout the OKC community.  They do fun things like brunch and happy hour and community meetings.  Granted, I haven't gotten to participate in the fun activities due to the human I made, but knowing that it's a possibility makes me very happy.
4. My new car.  Or whip as the kids say.  Actually, I have no idea if people still call cars "whips."  They probably don't, which really demonstrates how old I am.  Sigh.  Anyway, I love my new car.  I realize that loving material things is shallow.  Oh well.  It's awesome.  It has so many bells and whistles, my heart is happy each time I get in.  The cup holders also light up...in orange lights.  When we got in at the dealership and were being told how to work all the 1,000 gadgets, guess what was playing on Sirius?  Ludacris.  Unedited.  It was destiny.
5. Sirius Satellite Radio.  I've never had it before and let me tell you, having it is like being an Amish person with an iPhone.  Mind blown.  They have a country station that only plays 80s and 90s country.  Holy Travis Tritt and Tanya Tucker, this station was made for me.
6. Election season ending.  Too much propaganda.  I can't imagine living in a swing state, because I'm sick of it and I live in a state that all the candidates forgot.  I'm also tired of a certain Congressional candidate calling our house.  I keep trying to break up with you and you don't seem to be getting the message.
7. The show Breaking Amish.   You should watch this show.  It's a train wreck.  In the most beautiful way.
8. Being able to say anything I want to my baby.  She's so young, I can just talk and talk and she'll never actually know what I'm saying.  Yesterday, I sang James Brown to her (Get on the scene!  You're a poop machine).  I talked to her this morning about the election.  And I sing the OSU fight song to her when she cries.  I am entertaining myself more than anything.  Conclusion drawn: I need more adult interaction.
9. Dark beer.  I got to drink one the other night after 10 months on the wagon.  My heart was all aflutter.  I am thankful for you dark beer, I really am.
10. The Chicago Bears defense.  Single-handily has saved my fantasy football season.  Hats off to you Brian Urlacher.

The End.  Thank you and goodnight.

Go State!

Football season officially begins tonight in our house.  Technically, it starts for everyone tonight, but this blog isn't about everyone, it's about me.  Focus, please.  Arizona State plays NAU tonight.  As you may or may not know, Husband and I are both ASU graduates.  The Sun Devils are my second favorite college team, but I have to admit, I have to rely on Husband to keep me posted on the goings on with the team.  For example, they have a new QB starting this year since that yellow belly Brock Osweiler abandoned the team.  For the record, Husband and I don't agree on Brock.  He harbors no ill will, I think he's a traitor and I will never consider him a member of Sun Devil Nation.  I tend to have more aggressive feelings about sports than Husband.  Anyway, there was a three-horse race for the starting job.  I was told one of the guys reminded everyone of Jake "The Snake" Plummer.  To which my obvious response was, "So he's smoking hot?" I guess that's not what they meant. They were referring to him being able to move/throw/escape a collapsing pocket.   Good news: the kid who is like Jake won the job.  His name is Taylor Kelly.  I guess I'll find out tonight if he is smoking hot.  God, I hope so.  I have a soft spot for pretty QBs.  Also, for anyone wondering at home, Jake Plummer is by far my all-time favorite Sun Devil.  Then comes James Harden.

Enough of this ASU talk, let's move on to the Cowboys.  I've typically written a blog every year before the season starts, sending up a multi-part prayer/plea to God/Jesus/Santa/the Universe to grant me my wishes.  This was last year's blog, if you are interested. All but one of the things I asked for came true. Most importantly, I finally got what I wanted...a BCS Bowl and win.  Obviously, there was one hiccup in the season, but like I've stated before, I refuse to acknowledge that the Iowa State game ever occurred.   I also got to witness, with my own eyes in person, a beautiful Bedlam beatdown.  I rushed the field.  I was 32 and rushed the field...and that makes me just a little more awesome than I was before.


So here's my wish list, by the Power of Greyskull, let them all come true:

1. I'd really like the team intro to be awesome.  A really good intro should make you want to punch someone and high five them at the same time.  Your heart should race, you should get excited all over again watching that big hit from last season, you should scream like a Bieber fan when they show a highlight of your player flattening the 2011 Heisman Trophy winner.  The music should be aggressive.  Everyone in Boone Pickens Stadium should be ready to knock someone out when the intro ends.  Last year, our intro didn't even have any words.  And it showed guys working out.  Ummm, watching someone do a deadlift doesn't really get me going.  Sit ups don't get me pumped.  I want big hits.  I want sideline shots of RGIII, Landry Jones and Andrew Luck looking like broken men.  Devastation...that's all I'm asking for.  Did I mention I tend to be a very aggressive fan?
2. Beat Texas.  I want this win...badly.  If you peruse the message boards, the Longhorn fans are cocky.  They are confident they are back, and their defense is going to be dominant.  Well, I remember putting 420 offensive yards on that dominant defense last year.  And ESPN/CBS/ABC  can show Manny Diaz all they want, but his good looks don't stop touchdowns.  I want to beat Texas in Stillwater.  I want someone to stomp on Mack Brown's face.  Okay, not literally, I actually like Mike Brown.  I'm speaking metaphorically.  Beat.  Down.  Leave Kirk Herbstreit speechless.  And for the record, I just don't see any way I'll be able to attend this year's OSU v Texas game.  And let me express how sad that makes me... I haven't seen OSU beat Texas in person since 1997.  Fifteen years.  I may never forgive myself for not waiting to have this baby until after this game.  Come on' Kath, priorities!
3. No big drop off.  I know we lost a lot of key components last year.  I know this.  But like those obnoxious people in the SEC say, we don't rebuild, we reload.  Then they slam a mint julep and show you their Bear Bryant tattoo.  Anywho, I really believe the Cowboys should be at that level.  We shouldn't just fall apart because we lost two first round picks and three offensive lineman and some key guys on defense.  There should be someone great, ready to step in and fill those shoes.  Someone who makes us all say, "Brandon who?"  Okay, that's not going to happen.  Weeden is a hero.  Hell, every time I type "we" into my phone, it automatically tries to write Weeden.  That probably speaks more to my level of obnoxiousness than his greatness, but that's not the point.  I think a 10-2 season is completely doable, and 9-3 is acceptable.  It wouldn't make me happy, but I would accept it.  But anything other than that, I've got a problem.  We can't fall back into mediocrity.  I've tasted greatness, and I won't go back...you can't make me.

And that's it.  I don't feel like I'm asking too much.

Go Pokes!

Cool sweater, brah

I was going to write a blog about all the stuff the Today Show taught me this week.  But as I reflected, it didn't really teach me much.  However, before I launch into my tirade about a story I saw yesterday, I'd like to quickly touch on the fact that Prince Harry seems like a lot of fun.  I mean, A LOT of fun.  Good for him and his Vegas shenanigans.  You won me over, sire.

Okay, on to the ridiculous story I watched yesterday...  A woman was featured whose claim to fame was the fact that she had not purchased anything new in five years.  Five years.  She sounds like a real blast, huh?  Apparently, this all started by her challenging herself to go one month and not buy something new.  Hey lady, if these are the crazy goals you are setting for yourself, you might be the most boring person on the planet.  Try chugging an entire jug of milk, engaging in a wrestling match with an alligator, or not watching Sportscenter for 17 days (I did that during the Olympics...talk about a challenge).  But not buying stuff?  That's just un-American.  I, on the other hand, am an amazing American.  Freakin' Uncle Sam style up in here.

My scowl grew deeper and deeper as I watched her story develop.  Don't think for a second she wasn't high and mighty about her non-consumerism.  Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about a bargain. And if you are good at it, thrift store shopping can  be quite rewarding.  I have a friend whose mother is the best thrift store shopper on the planet.  Seriously, this woman can find anything worth value and walk out paying $.50.  She should teach a class, it's impressive.  But this stupid woman on the Today Show...different story.

The final straw for me was when she was showing off all the great "deals" she had gotten from the thrift store and held up an oversized lime green  ribbed sweater and said, "This sells for $150 in the stores, I got it for $4." Liar! Ummm, it cost $150 in 1999.  You didn't get a bargain, you were probably overcharged.  Just because it cost that much at one time in history doesn't mean that is the actual value.  Need an example?  Z. Cavaricci jeans.  At one time, very expensive.  I owned a pair of forest green Z Cavs.  They were awesome.  I was in 7th grade.  I wore them with Cole Haan boots.  I was awesome.  However, I think it's safe to say Z. Cavaricci's have lost their value.  As has the ribbed lime green sweater.

And another thing, just because it was once in fashion, doesn't mean it still is.  Nobody else is buying lime green anything anymore.  That color is reserved for the 90s and post-it notes.  You know what else used to be in fashion?  Tricorne hats.  If you wore one today, people are probably going to think you are crazy.  Oh, who am I kidding?  18th Century hats are rad.  If I had one, I'd wear it while carrying a musket and yelling, "Hark!  Hark!" 

So the moral of my super judgy blog is this: your discount sweater doesn't make you a smarter consumer than the rest of us.  It makes you cheap...and dressed in a lime green sweater.  And that offends me.

Possums and bad decisions...Part II

Part II....

Onto a completely unrelated topic...bad decisions. Bad decisions have been on my mind a lot lately.  It started with reading this blog.  Totally hilarious.   The girl talks about some bad decisions she made including, "In college, I drunkenly convinced my frazzled roommate that she needed to let me sit up so I could do something really important and then proceeded to vomit into one of my rain boots."  That made me think, I could write a lot of blogs or even a book about all the bad decisions I've made.  It would be pretty hilarious stuff.  But then I thought about the shame it would bring upon my family.  Not so much my brother, he's pretty aware of the dumb crap I've done, but my mom would be pretty upset.  Then I thought about how important it is for me to develop a pen name.


Then I was driving today and listening to the radio and they were talking about Chris Ochocinco Johnson.  He's the second person in as many days that I've felt bad for regarding their bad decisions.  I always feel bad for people who make bad decisions.  I want to give them a do-over.  I'd love to say it's because I'm such a loving kind soul who believes in the best in everyone, but I think it has more to do with my penchant for my own bad decisions.  This especially comes into play when I can picture myself in the same situation.  For the record, that was not the case with Ochocinco.  I can't imagine myself as an NFL wide receiver head butting my new wife.  But I did like his show on VH1and thought he seemed like a pretty likable guy.  I would also like to say, that I don't condone violence when angry or in general.  The only people who are allowed to headbutt are The Bushwackers.  Because they are awesome.


Where was I?  Oh right, bad decisions.  I used to think everyone made them.  It was kind of a right of passage.  It's what I like to call your 20s.  But I'm starting to realize, that's not true.  Apparently, there are tons of people out there who are responsible and level-headed and walk the straight and narrow.  These people don't really take risks, are even-keeled, and for the most part don't make bad decisions.  These people are what I like to call fun-haters.  And they rarely have any good stories to tell.


So that's my new angle.  Every time I make a bad decision, I'm going to think of it as "material."  Material for a book I should write, or material for if I ever become funny enough to be a stand up comedian...so it looks like it will be material for a book.  I hear once you have a baby you have nothing but free time on your hands, so looks like now is the perfect time to start.  Great thinking, Kath!

And finally, as a show of my maturity, and maybe a sign that I've become a better decision maker, I found this picture when I Google image searched "bad decisions."  I thought it was really, really funny.  I was going to use it as the lead picture for this blog, but then thought, "No, Kathy.  You are getting ready to be a parent.  All your mommy friends on facebook will be upset/worried/concerned if you put that picture up."  So, I hid it down here at the bottom for those of you who have a sense of humor.  You're welcome.


I promise not to put my baby in a pot...at least not on the stove.

Possums and bad decisions...Part I

This was supposed to be one blog.  Then I started writing and it just kept going and going, so I split it up.  I haven't blogged in two months, consider this my makeup work.  If you are going to read one over the other, read this one....and then read the other.  What else do you have to do?  And if I weren't so deathly afraid of possums, this blog would have a picture of a possum at the top.  But I just can't do that, and I resent that you think  I should...

We have a possum.  He's not a pet.  He's not wanted, but he is there.  Lingering.  In our backyard and haunting my dreams.  A couple of nights ago, Husband let the dog out to take care of business.  The process was taking a little longer than normal, so I stuck my head out of the bedroom, only to be greeted by Husband with saucer-sized eyes and the warning, "Do NOT go out there!"  I was instantly intrigued.  "Why?  What's going on?" I asked.  "There is a possum out there," he shouted as he searched for a flashlight.  "How big is it?" I asked, starting to panic.  He held his hands about a foot apart.  I shivered.  "You can't leave the dog out there.  They are mean.  They attack.  THEY ARE MEAN!  THEY ATTACK!" I paced in the kitchen while Husband returned to the scene.  They quickly came back inside, and the dog was super excited.  Sweet little Bojangles, doesn't even know he came face to face with the spawn of Satan.

I instantly needed a detailed account of what happened.  I had to know what we were dealing with.  According to the report I received, the possum was up against the fence, and when the dog spotted him, he froze and opened his mouth.  (God, just typing that has upset me more than I can explain).  I told Husband that he probably could have left that detail out.  He got the dog inside, returned outside only to see the varmint climb the fence and escape to the neighbors yard.  They can climb fences.  How great for them.  Husband asked,"How do you get rid of possums?"  Me: "You shoot them...or you hack them to death with an axe."  He frowned at me and said, "I'm not doing either of those things."  Apparently, I married a pacifist.  How great for me.

So now, I can't enjoy my backyard at night.  The possum has ruined that for me.  He is a terrorist.  He has taken away my backyard freedom.  I explained to Husband, that he has to accompany the dog on all nighttime potty times, due to the danger in the dark.  "I can't do it myself, because I just can't take the risk of the stress a possum would put on me at the moment.  I'm just too fragile right now."  On a side note, there is a very good chance, our daughter might be a bit of a drama queen.

Sprinkles and Lighting Bolts

Okay, people...do you have Thunder Fever?  I just don't know how you couldn't.  It's overtaken the world...okay, maybe just Oklahoma, but we're on our way.  I'm officially entrenched in the mania.  I've worn the same shirt every playoff game for two reasons 1. It's the only one I have that fits and 2. It supports my boy James Harden.

So as we sit several hours out from a possible clinching of the Western Conference Finals, I thought I'd share my Thunder-related thoughts...

I don't know what "Thundering Up" actually is.  I assume it's similar to Cowboying Up.  I don't know how to Cowboy Up either.  I don't let my lack of understanding deter me from using the phrase on a regular basis.  You know, I just like to fit in.  Thunder Up!  I have to be honest, I don't officially start Thundering Up each year until after college basketball is complete.  My first love is Cowboy basketball, and yes it's been a little dismal lately, but you can't just breakup with your girlfriend because she gained a little weight.  She still has a great personality.  So maybe I'm fair-weather, whatever.  Labels don't bother me.  But I am Thundering Up...I'm pretty sure.   Our household is filled with lots of shouting during games, I throw my hands in the air when a long three goes in, and Husband and I spend lots of unnecessary time analyzing driving to the hoop, Scottie Brooks, and James Harden's basketball knowledge and vision.  I think that constitutes adequately Thundering Up.

Can I express to you how much I hate the Spurs?  I mean I hate them.  And I hated them long before the Thunder even existed.  Okay, not that long before.  Since 2003 when I moved to Arizona and started following the Suns.  I announced to my 2003 roommate that I hated Tim Duncan.  He informed me that no one hates Tim Duncan, because he has no personality.  Wrong.  Kathy hates him.  And I'd like to point out that my favorite memory of Tim Duncan was watching Big Country beat his Demon Deacons in 1995 on our way to the Final Four.  Loser.   And stop referring to him as the Greatest Power Forward of All Time...he doesn't play power forward.  He's a post/center.** 

My hatred of the Spurs peaked during the 2007 Western Conference Semi-finals...game 4. Dirty Robert Horry hip checked everyone's favorite Canadian Steve Nash, and I've never forgiven the Spurs franchise for it.  While watching the game with Husband (who at the time was Fiance) I jumped off the couch, charged the TV and screamed, "WHAT THE HELL!!!"  I'm almost positive that's the moment Husband knew he had a keeper.  Either that or my rage deeply concerned him.  He asked me if I was planning on getting in on the fight, I told him it was a strong possibility.

But mainly, I really, really hate Manu Ginobili.  He plays basketball like South Americans play futbol, and that makes him the enemy.  He has been flopping and shooting by way of bicycle kicks and trick shots for what seems like 84 years, and frankly, I've had enough.  I despise him.  He is my least favorite NBA player that currently exists on the planet right now.  Blake Griffin is probably number two.  Enough with the stare downs after dunks.  We get it.  That's your thing.  When you can make a 18 foot jumper or a free throw, then you can stare people down all you want.  Oh, and I'm not a fan of Jason Terry either.  You are not an airplane.  You are just an annoying human who plays basketball.  I've gotten completely off point.  I called Manu French the other night on Twitter, which is embarrassing.  I know he's not French.  I blame it on the fact I had taken Ambien and had just had a long discussion with Husband about the amount of time Tony Parker spends on his back.  I got my annoying foreign Spurs mixed up.  Whoopsie.  For the record, I don't like Tony Parker either.

Finally, I'd just like to declare my love of James Harden.  Isn't he the greatest?  He's a Sun Devil, you know.  I love how he plays.  I love his smooth shot, and his ability to distribute the ball, and how he will drive to the basket when no one else will.  And I love the crazy eyes that he gets from time to time.  I heard someone call him a flopper yesterday.  Maybe he is, but I love everything about him.  I'm currently in the market for a beard for our baby.  Let me know if you have any leads.

So on that note I encourage you all to Thunder Up, Buckle Down...and wiggle from side to side.

**Husband has been complaining about this for years now, so I felt it needed to be included in the blog.  All credit for that comments goes to him.

You Don't Say

I felt like this was a really big news week.  Lots of fun and interesting things going on.   I love weeks like this.  From time to time, I really ponder why I didn't follow my instinct and become a journalist.  I guess for now, I'll just have to settle for scouring the internets at home while wearing a fedora with a little "Press" sign stuck in the brim.

Cannibal eats man's face off while high on bath salts.  To say I became obsessed with this story would be a gross understatement.  Seriously, what an insane thing to happen!  I had so many questions that I felt the media never answered.  Why did the victim have no pants on?  How hard do you have to bite to pull someone's flesh off? Why are people in Florida so crazy?  Every time a new story was released, I read it.  I discovered through my obsession there were pictures of the victim's face that was no longer in existence floating around the internet.  I, of course, began to search for myself.  I have no idea what is wrong with me.  I'm part of the downfall of society.  Oh well.

I would like to point out that I was aware of the dangers of bath salts due to my addiction to the show Intervention.  Last season featured a young man addicted to bath salts.  It was such an odd episode, I watched it twice.  I was disappointed to learn that bath salts aren't actually used while bathing.  I also learned this week that Grape Ape is not just a cartoon, it's a kind of marijuana.  There is so much about drugs I don't know.

Lil' Wayne not allowed in to Thunder game.  So, this made me laugh.  As Wes Welker tweeted, "Sorry bro, this ain't L.A."  I became very interested in the conspiracy theory of some lady named Trina being the ultimate cause.  Supposedly, this woman used to date Weezy, but then was dating my favorite Thunder star, James Harden.  So then what happened was Trina kissed Lil' Wayne at Mya's album release party (I can't remember if Mya was in the Lady Marmalade video or sang that song with Brandy in the 90s) and then Lil' Wayne professed his love for her at a recent concert.  So then, James Harden had beef with Lil' Wayne, because that was his lady and he wasn't feeling that.  And then Young Carter wanted to come to the Thunder game and Harden was all, "hells no!" so he was denied and said, "Go Spurs!" on Twitter and then we won.  No idea if ANY of this is true, but that was the story I pieced together from the world wide web.

Can we all focus on the fact that if this is true, Trina went from dating someone who was 5'6" to dating someone who is 6'5".  Almost an entire foot!  Talk about an adjustment.  And that's the angle I decided to focus on...

Oklahoma State football players break the law... twice!  Let's all agree it was a rough week for the Cowboys in the PR department.  And Twitter really takes crime reporting to a new level, especially from bloggers.  One blogger has now referred to both incidents as "felonies."  Neither are.  Another blogger wrote a very judgmental blog about Justin Blackmon.  Good for you and all your omniscientness and holiness.  And then there are the actual journalists/reporters who won't give you the good, juicy stuff because, you know, they are aware of libel laws.  It's a virtual circus of information out there.  Sometimes I think it's a shame that life doesn't work like Jeopardy!  You know, where people were rewarded for being right and money was taken away from them for being wrong.  Wouldn't that be great?  Imagine how much less obnoxious social media and sports/talk radio would be if people lost money every time they were wrong.  And people like me, who are always right, would be rich!

In regards to the young men associated with OSU who can't seem to make good decisions, a certain quote from Jim Carey from the movie Liar, Liar comes to mind... "Stop breaking the law!"  As for the rest of you hooligans, keep up the good work, I enjoy following along at home.

Where to start?

Someone told me they missed my tweeting the other day.  I wonder if anyone misses my blogs.  I decided that I would anoint June as my "comeback" month....but I'm bored, so lucky you, my comeback starts on May 29th.  Hooray!  Start the parade.

It's been so long since I've written, I don't really know where to start.  From time to time, I'll write stuff down that I should blog about.  I have scraps of paper in my purse, all over my desk at work and strewn throughout the house.  When I come back across these little gems days or weeks later, they never seem as interesting as I had originally thought.  For example, I was going to write a blog about bullying in society, in particular this mean bird that dive bombs Mr. Bojangles in our back yard when he goes outside to do his business.  Then that bird moved away... the story isn't that interesting anymore.

Since I've missed so much time, let's just start with current events, shall we? Here is what has happened in the last 48 hours.

1. Husband questioned my parenting potential because I spit out asparagus.  Ridiculous, right? I know.  We were enjoying dinner the other night and I was choking down asparagus.  I think it's gross, but I was being a good sport and eating all healthy and stuff.  I've never eaten the furry top part of asparagus before because frankly it is furry and looks like a plant, but decided to give it a go on Sunday night.  Husband always eats the furry part, how bad can it be?  Answer: pretty bad.  So I spit it out.  Apparently spitting out your food is frowned upon in this establishment.  I was then told I wouldn't set a very good example if I was unwilling to eat green vegetables.  I reasonably responded that I like green beans, celery, and cucumbers.  Husband told me that celery doesn't count.  Who the hell is making these rules anyway?  So I then informed Husband, "It's not my fault God made green vegetables gross.  Take it up with him."  I'm going to be an excellent parent.

2. We've decided that we are going to paint our house.  A total of five rooms are going to get a makeover.  The only problem is my indecisiveness.  Throughout our house are 4' x 4' squares of paint samples, like a quilt.  Maybe we'll just leave all the squares and people will think we are bohemian...or schizophrenic.  And can someone please back me up that a bright, screaming yellow guest bathroom is fun, not obnoxious?  I'm having a hard time convincing Husband.

3. On the way to work today, I followed behind a woman who was all over the road.  Curbs, left lane, right lane, she was out of control.  As I passed her, I looked over to try to determine the cause of her erratic behavior only to discover that it was caused by her smoking a cigarette that was approximately 3 feet long.  She also had a stethoscope hanging from her rear view mirror.  Why would you need a stethoscope in your car?  Was she a bad driving, smoking doctor?  Do doctors keep their supplies in their cars?  I, for one, would not like to have a hot stethoscope put on my skin.  Is the legislature still in session?  I'd like to draft something that forbids doctors from carrying their gear in their cars, especially in the summer.  Shortly after passing Dr. Feelgood, I swear I saw a bottle of True Blood on the side of the road. 

Okay, there's an update on my life.  You can see why I haven't written in a while.  In the blogging business, this is what you call "thin material."

This is a Stick Up!

I've been meaning to write this blog for about a month now, but for one reason or another I keep getting sidetracked.  But it's Tuesday and I would like share a story/some advice with you.  You are so very welcome.

About a month ago Husband and I were being good suburbanites and went shopping at Home Depot.  It was time to freshen up the landscaping in the front.  It was an absolutely BEAUTIFUL day outside, which I have learned translates to Home Depot be hoppin'!  We, however, seemed to be the only people not in a major hurry to get our soil, rakes and plants.  As we walked toward the garden center, a very tiny woman of approximately 4 feet 11 inches raced up behind us.  She was in a hurry. A  big, big hurry.  Instead of using the 7 feet of open aisle on our right to pass, she increased her speed.  She was tailgating and I could feel her hot breath on the small of my back (you know, because she was short and I'm not).  At no point did she back off, there was only one clear solution.

And so, I decided to treat dramatic behavior with equally dramatic behavior.  Sometimes it's the only way to get your point across.  I stopped suddenly, threw my hands in the air and turned to the side so she could pass.  See the kitten pictured above?  I looked like that, except I'm not furry and I was being accosted by her rudeness, not a gun...although guns can be very rude.  I hadn't run my plan past Husband before acting, so the look of surprise on his face was equal to the small woman's.    She was instantly embarrassed.  She muttered, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," as she scurried away.  Point made.  Kathy wins.

Husband stared at me and asked, "What WAS that?"  I simply stated, "She was in a hurry, so I was getting out of her way."  Then I smiled wide.  I proceeded to explain that sometimes you have to act ridiculous in order for others to recognize their own ridiculous behavior.  The only downfall to this strategy is that sometimes you embarrass the people you are with...and that is a risk I'm always willing to take.

Well, that was rude...

I chose Tuesday to announce on Facebook the big news that Husband and I are going to be parents to more than a furry, attitude-filled dog this September. I battled back and worth as to whether to announce it at all on the Book.  The Book is weird, and voyeuristic, and I tend to be a dramatic worrier, so I wanted to get through all those first hurdles before I went on the interwebs to explain my fatness.

I tried to justify to myself that I didn't need to announce anything on Facebook, because this was our personal/private news.  Whatever.  I wanted the attention.  I think that's a symptom of being pregnant, or a symptom of being Kathy, either way, I secretly wanted the accolades.  No need to lie about it.

So, I announced, and I was overwhelmed with the kind words and many congrats.  Yay Kathy!  You are virtually loved!  Or so I thought.  At the end of the day, I noticed I had lost three "friends."  Hmmmm, that's pretty strange.  So I decided that the reason these three people unfriended me on the day I announced I was going to be a first-time mom had to be one of the following:

1. They hate babies.  It's true, there are people out there that hate babies.  They also hate puppies.  And rainbows.  And sunshine.  And otters.  They knock ice cream out of little kids hands.  So now that I am on the cusp of having one of those squishy tagalongs, they can't be my electronic friend.

2. They hate the idea that I will be a mom.  While not very nice, I get it.  I'm scattered and dramatic, like to drink dark beer, and have been known to cuss once or twice year.  I may not be the ideal parent, this is true.   But Husband is gentle and kind, so he should balance out all my bad qualities.  And besides, I will teach this little girl all about sports and shoes and politics, and most importantly, the fine art of sarcasm.  Obviously, these three people just don't believe in me.  Their loss.

3. They hate me.  Merely by coincidence, three people made the decision, "I just can't take anymore of Kathy's nonsense.  She is no longer my friend.  We are done. She is dead to me!"  And then they threw the plate with my name on it into the fire (Joe Schmo Show anyone?) Granted, I don't believe in coincidence, so this isn't a realistic option.

Losing Facebook friends is a very strange feeling.  My inner 16-year old wants to write them a note and ask them why we aren't friends anymore.  But the realistic version of myself figures, since I'm not even sure who the three former friends are, we probably weren't that close anyway.

Thursday Afternoon Insight

I don't know why I feel the need to start every blog with, "I know it's been a while since I've written."  Yes, we ALL know.  So let's skip that part and get to the good stuff.

Did you guys watch Frozen Planet?  So awesome.  I love me some reality tv, animal style.  Great programming.  I decided that maybe being a seal out in nature isn't so great.  Sure, you are cute as can be with your big eyes and whiskers, but everyone wants to kill you.  And you have short little arms, so it's hard to get away.  And the orcas work like a gang of bandits to knock you off the ice.  All in all, I think the best place to be a seal would be the zoo or Sea World.  A seal in the wild is a marked man.   My other observation is I really love penguins.  At this point, it's a total toss up as to who I love most: otters or penguins.  They are both hilarious.  I would like to have a group of penguins as pets.  I would make them wear bow ties and fill my living room with ice.  Good times for all.

Along the same lines, who else loves the new Prius commercial that is a parody of the Game of Life?  I can't quite figure out why I think this commercial is so hilarious, but I literally can't hold it together when the Asian guy twists his pretend mustache and says, "When I do this, it means I'm a chef!"  When I see commercials like this, I feel a  little sad that I didn't stick with Advertising, my major in college, and go work for an agency.  How fun would it be to sit around a room and bounce ridiculous ideas off each other?  I would be very good at that. 

Instead, I've someone become the head of HR at my current job.  This is what you call "I work at a small non-profit, so I technically do eight jobs."  We are hiring a new events person, and applicants are supposed to send their resumes to me.  I was wondering if it was okay if I throw out the applications addressed to Kathie.  I mean seriously, MY NAME IS NOT KATHIE/KATHY. I have thought about responding to said applicants and saying, "I'm sorry to inform you that you are no longer being considered for this position because you called me Kathie and that's not my name.  Best of luck."  I don't though.  Because as I've learned as the head of HR, you just have to rise above.  Act like a freakin' professional.

And finally, I would like to take this time to apologize to Husband.  Last week, he made delicious jambalaya.  And even though the bowl was seriously steaming, he went ahead and shoveled a big ol' spoonfull into his mouth.  His eyes grew quite wide and he said, "oh, oh, oh, oh, that's one hot tomato."  There was a cuss word in there too, but I'm a lady and don't repeat such things.  He didn't spit it out, he just look horrified.  I, of course, couldn't control myself and burst into laughter.  I guess when people burn their mouths, they don't like for other people to laugh at them.  Who was to know? It was so funny though.  And every time I think about it, I start laughing.  And I may or may not have been imitating him since then.  So, I'm really sorry, Husband.  I should be nicer.  I promise I'm working on it, it's just so hard.  I, am, however positive that I wouldn't laugh at/mock Husband if I had a pet penguin.  I could focus all my laughter on him. Problem solved.

Sincerely,

Kathie
Director of Communications/Head of Human Resources/Problem & Riddle Solver Extraordinaire

There's Probably a Story Behind That...

Today has been a very strange day. I mean, my days are usually pretty strange, but is just a little out of the ordinary. Please let me share with you how the day has transpired.

7:30 am -- I wake up because Husband ran into the bed. I found this super annoying. I stated, "You don't have to run into the bed!" He apologized. And rightfully so, because I think we all know he did it on purpose. I think I was actually more upset about the dream I had just woken up from. In my dream, Husband, myself and my mother were all out some where. A person approached us and told us he had a free trip to Costa Rica to give away, but it was only for one person. We all agreed that Husband is most deserving of the vacay, so off he went. Feeling a little uncertain about sending my better half on a random vacation set up by a random man, I decided to check with airline as to when he was returning. They had no record of Husband. And so, he was gone. I hope that the dream version of my husband didn't choose to leave me. Because let me tell you something, if Husband ever fakes his own disappearance, Kathy's gonna be pissed.

8:15 am -- As I collected my belongings and self in the kitchen, Husband said, "You look cute today. But I don't usually see you fix your hair like that." It was in a very messy bun on the top of my head. Me: "Well, this isn't how I'm wearing it, I haven't fixed it yet. Does it look terrible?"
Husband: "No, not terrible, just not fancy."
Me: "Fancy? It's usually fancy?"
Husband: "Yes. You're a fancy girl."
Me: "Oh my, God."

I'm curious if "fancy" is code for high maintenance. We've been together for more than seven years and married for almost five, and he's never called me fancy.  Frankly, I just don't trust this compliment.  I'm almost positive there's more to the story.

1:30 pm -- As I got lunch today I found an animals' toenail in my car. It resembles an eagle's talon, but smaller. I would put a picture up, but it's gross. This nail did not come from Mr. Bojangles. His claws are black and are never pointy. So, how in the world did another animal get in my car and lose his toenail? What is going on? Did a small bird land inside and try to claw his way out? Did it hurt? Because if so, this could be an angry bird. Do I have ANOTHER angry bird after me? I mean how much can a girl take? I just want to know WHY there is an animal toenail/talon/claw in the backseat of my car. I'm so beyond disturbed I can't even explain.

This kind of crap does not happen to fancy girls!

No Girls Allowed? Kathy don't play that.

Hey, hey people!  I hope this blog finds you well.  I am currently suffering from "it's so nice and pretty outside, I just don't think I can motivate myself to be productive" syndrome.  When it's 76 degrees on the first day of March, there is very little one can do about such circumstances.  Don't you worry though, I have amazing will power, I've accomplished a lot today.  *Pats self on back*

But let's get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?  As I watched a Twitter interaction unfold today between several people I follow, I got more and more annoyed.  What you'll read below is what I like to call a rant.  I shall warn you, I'm a tad braggadocious, but that's what one has to do when standing up for themselves.

 Frankly, I'm a little fed up with the blatant sexism that exists on Twitter at the  moment.  There are three Oklahoma State "bloggers" I follow who are constantly talking about OSU related topics.  I won't name them directly, but their handles involve guns, riding for free and Pokes.  From what I can tell, they all seem very knowledgeable about OSU and the goings on with my alma mater in regards to sports.  They tweet a lot, and I can only assume they get a lot of responses.  Now, while I do not run an OSU blog, I do think I have some credibility.  Yet, when I tweet responses, comments and/or questions, I'm often unanswered.  Oddly enough, they answer each other, and answer most men, but not Kathy.   The only one who regularly answers me is @CowboysRFF

So what gives?  Is it that I don't know what I'm talking about?  No, I don't think that's it.  I'm a member of the Football Writers Association of America. I don't know all of these bloggers' names, but I know one in particular who almost always ignores me isn't a member.  I work in sports, I help choose one of the top college football awards in America, and most importantly, I've been attending Oklahoma State sporting events for 25 years.  I'm at football, basketball and wrestling every season.  I also attend as much baseball as I can manage.  I'm a fan.

Is it that I don't run a blog about OSU?  Because if that's the case, you should put a disclaimer up that you only respond to media members or people who have OSU blogs.  Save the rest of us some time. 

But I honestly, I think I'm being ignored because I'm female.  I've run into this for years.  How can she know about anything?  She's a GIRL!  She has a pony tail and wears high heels and likes purses.  She can't know ANYTHING. Usually, on message boards, I don't identify myself as a woman, I keep it gender neutral.  Idiots on message boards only respond to men, and apparently such is the case for Twitter.  To all of this, I say: It's 2012.  I know what I'm talking about.  I'm too proud of a person to get into a conversation unless I know my facts.  Ask all of the poor souls I've left in my dust with my random sports knowledge.  And yes, I'm a girl who likes pretty things and puppies, but I also like a dominating three-and-out performance, a fade-away jumper, and cussing at basketball officials.  This isn't freakin' Mad Men.  Answer my questions, let a girl sit at the table...you might just learn something.

I'd like to remind you that you run your blogs for the fans.  And there are, if you can believe it, female fans.  Women are allowed to be sports fans.  We're also allowed to vote, speak before spoken to, and wear pants.  Times, they are a changing!

And that's all I have to say about that. *Steps off soapbox*

Excuse me, I think you have something in your fur

You know what really gets on my nerves?  The phrase, "so stinking cute."  I don't know what it is about that phrase, but I despise it.  I mean, when I see it, it kind of makes me angry.  I realize that this a completely irrational response to a meaningless phrase, but I'm just being honest.  I noticed the popularity of this phrase about a year or so ago, and it's almost always in the comment section of pictures on Facebook of adorable babies wearing knitted hats and shirts with catchy phrases. For every cute picture of a child, you can take it to the bank that some friend will write, "OMG she is SO stinking cute!"  Or,  "he is so stinking cute, I can't stand it."  The thing is, I bet you can stand it.  You liar.  Just kidding.  But seriously, can we phase out of "stinking cute."  I just can't handle it anymore.  And I don't really think it's a compliment.  Stinking things are bad.  I find it comparable to saying, "your child is rotting adorable," or "he is decayingly precious."  I don't think decayingly is an actual word, but I'm going with it.  So stinking cute fits in the same category as "LOL" with me.  I acknowledge neither.

Tonight as I was on the phone with my mom chatting away about odds and ends, I was putting away my stockpile goodies from Sam's.  I love Sam's.  I have a complete lack of recognition of my actual lifestyle once I walk inside those sliding doors.  For example I had a serious Lincoln-Douglas debate with myself as to if I could justify buying the 3 pack of spreadable Laughing Cow cheese.  I mean, come on Kathy, you don't eat that much cheese.  You should, but you don't.  Sadly, I passed it up.  What I did not pass up was the 48 pack of toilet paper.  Husband doesn't really get my obsession with paper products from Sam's, but just like true crime TV, I'm obsessed and you aren't changing my mind.

So as I was packing the toilet paper away in our bathroom, I looked at those Charmin bears and wondered, "Why do they have such a problem with toilet paper sticking to their fur?"  Who is this actually a problem for?  Is this happening to me and I just don't know?  I was not even aware of this phenomenon until these bears appeared on the scene.  I mean, is this widespread?  Because after conducting an unscientific survey, I have found the only people suffering from this are these bears.  And if I had to guess why this keeps happening to them, it's because they are covered in fur.  You don't see Mr. Bojangles with TP stuck to his fur.  He knows his limitations.  I also think if this is truly a problem, you should put on pants.  Have some decency.

You know what I think?  I think getting TP stuck to your fur is the only appropriate time to refer to a situation as stinking cute.  Because it probably is, especially if it's baby bear cubs.

She lives!

Have you heard the good news?  Kathy has risen....she has risen indeed.  After five days of the worst flu of my life, I am back amongst the living.  Barely.  It's 8:15 p.m., and as soon as I finish this blog, I'm probably going to bed.  But my head is no longer in the toilet, so I think it's okay for us all to rejoice a little.

It's been so long since I've blogged, that I don't even know where to start.  I find that when I don't write about things as soon as they happen, they aren't as funny or as interesting as I thought they were.  That either means I've totally mastered the "timeliness" aspect of reporting the news as I see it, or what I blog about isn't that great.  Either way, I'm not going backwards, you can't make me.

I'll just catch you up on how I deal with being sick and a few other odds and ends.

I don't know if you've picked up on it, but there is really nothing on TV at the moment.  Stuck in bed for five days, I was scanning the guide for some entertainment.  Left to his own devices, Husband will watch hours and hours and hours of food shows.  Guy Fieri and his stupid hair, reruns of Chopped, Andrew Zimmern eating dirt and rat poop, and Iron Chef.  Never anything that could be applied to our lives, just random shows about food.  It drives me crazy.  I think one day I'll just come home with 45 watermelons and say, "Okay smarty, make something out of these." I, on the other hand, choose to watch programming that makes me more well-rounded: Dateline on ID, 48 Hours on ID, and Lockup: Raw.  I have no idea what my obsession with true crime is, but it's there and I can no longer ignore it.  I logged no less than 20 hours of Dateline and 48 Hours during my infirmary stay.  I also watched three hours of Lockup: Raw, which is a disturbing show on MSNBC where they go inside prisons and talk to crazy inmates.  It's fantastic.  I will just tell you this, it will take a pretty sneaky person to pull a crime over on ol' Kath... I've seen every trick in the book by now.  In an effort of full disclosure: I also watched a day-long marathon of The Game on BET.  See how well-rounded I am?

Moving on... On Sunday, I pulled myself out of bed and we went to Stillwater to watch wrestling.  I would have stayed home, but it was a huge match.  This was a bad decision for three reasons: 1. I was still sick, felt terrible and the excitement of screaming/stomping feet/ jumping out of my seat did very little for my overall well-being.  2. During the second match, the child who sat behind me was super annoying.  And 3. We lost.  Boo.

I tell this tale, knowing that parents out there of young ones might be upset with me.  But let me say this: I have no issues with kids.  The fact that he was a kid wasn't what annoyed me.  I'm sure your child isn't annoying, but this one was.  This is not a commentary on children in general, just this particular kid who never stopped talking, sucked on hard candy for an hour and 45 minutes and asked no less than 87 questions.  And I have no doubt, when I have a child, that child will ask questions ALL the time.  I ask questions all the time, it will be in his or her genes.  I'm just saying, on this particular day, I wasn't in the mood for the Congressional hearing that was going on behind me.

I tweeted the following: "Wish this little kid behind me would learn the rules of wrestling.  Too many questions, kid."  It was a joke...kind of.  And then this exchange happened:

Stranger on Twitter: Or maybe you could admire him for being a fan and being there.  Don't hate.
What I wanted to say: Um.. Are you serious?  No one admires me for being a fan.  And since he's 8 and clearly doesn't understand wrestling, I think calling him a "fan" is a stretch.
What I actually said: I choose to be annoyed.  Thanks.
Stranger on Twitter: We are so spoiled.  There are bigger problems in the world, believe it or not.
What I wanted to say: Yes, I'm aware.  I vote.  I read the newspaper.  I pay my taxes.  I volunteer in my community.  I'm a feminist.  I'm an environmentalist.  I believe in civil rights.  I believe in human rights.  I donate to worthy causes.  I go to work.  I'm a good citizen.  And I'm a sports fan who has an annoying kid sitting behind me.
What I actually said: This has been super fun, but I don't know you.  So I'm going to go ahead and block you.  Peace and love.

And that is how sick, annoyed Kathy interacts with her "fans' on Twitter.  I'm a real gem, huh?

Finally, today, on my way home from work, I pulled behind a man who had a dreamcatcther hanging from his rear view mirror.  I'm very familiar with dreamcatchers, as I used to live in Arizona.  Dreamcatchers, Kokopelli, havalinas, and crazy politics: Arizona taught me all about these things.  Why would you hang one in your car?  Are you sleeping in your car?  Are you having nightmares in your car?  Are you asleep right now?  I thought about honking, just to wake him up, but decided not to be an aggressive driver today. Maybe the dreamcatcher was there to catch daydreams.  Although,  I thought daydreams by nature were happy and good, and there is no need for them to be filtered by dreamcatcher.  And frankly, I'm not comfortable with you daydreaming while driving, that's a very dangerous practice.  Whatever the reason for the dreamcatcher, I'm almost positive, it's suspicious.  And possibly dangerous.  And like the guy on Twitter told me, there are bigger problems out there, and I think we all know this one is at the top of the list.

Orange you glad it's Friday?

I officially have 423 things on my to do list, hence why I've completely abandoned my blog.  I'm sorry blog.  I'm sorry Internet friends.  I promise to rededicate myself to writing blogs about nothing in particular soon.  I have lots of topics to cover, such as why does Ann Curry dress like a 12 year old, and of course, my new nemesis.  But for now, I just want to briefly talk about my first love, Cowboy basketball.

Today is the 11 year anniversary of the plane crash that took 10 Cowboys from us.  This day always makes me sad. I suppose it always will.  I remember exactly where I was when I found out.  My mom and I were in the Denver airport coming back from Arizona.  I bought a paper and it was on the front page.  I burst into tears immediately.  The more I read, the harder I cried.  I instantly wondered if my friend was on the plane, since his father often flew the team.  My friend was not, but his father was.  For some reason, I felt like losing Bill Teegins was like losing a member of my family.  He was just so familiar...I felt like I knew him.

I have loved Cowboy basketball for as long as I can remember.  My first memory of going to games was when I was eight.  Our seats were at the very top of Gallagher Iba, when it still had those octagon windows you could open if it got too stuffy inside.  I've been hooked ever since.  I've always felt like I've known the team.  You can see their emotions, you learn the rotation, you know who your sixth man is, who the sharp shooter is, who the emotional leader is.  You can see it on their faces.  There is nothing like it.  So when the plane crash happened, I felt like something happened to my friends.  When my friends hurt, I hurt.

Sure, it's silly for me to think of them as my friends.  But I think silly things all the time.  It's kind of my "thing."  I tweet with players on this year's team, and I have no doubt they think, "Who is this middle aged lady who keeps tweeting us?  Does she even know who Lil Wayne is?"  For the record, I do know who he is.  I'm down.  I'm hip.  And it's no secret that "becoming best friends with Eddie Sutton" is close to the top of my bucket list.  Cowboy basketball is part of who I am.  It's in my soul.

On Wednesday, I debated about whether or not to drive to Stillwater for the game.  I honestly didn't really have time for it.  But the inner irrational fan in me pushed me into the car.  As I said to Husband, "Do you know how angry I will be if we win and I'm not there?  I'll never forgive myself."  So we went.  And I yelled so loud I got light headed.  I booed the officials so loudly, the child in front of me was frightened.  I'm a very good boo-er.  I jumped out of my seat no less than 15 times, and I threw my arms up in excitement after every three-pointer, five times to be exact.  It was so loud.  It was awesome.

As Husband and I drove home to OKC, I said, "I know I say this every season, but there is nothing I love more than Cowboy basketball.  I really, really love it."  Husband said with a smile, "I know you do."  Then I said, "You know, when it's loud like that and we get a big win, there is just nothing better.  There is nothing in my life that makes me happier than that....nothing in our marriage compares to Gallagher Iba Arena."  He burst into laughter, which made me feel okay with my statement.  Because let's be honest, it's true.

Okay, I'm off to be productive.  Go Pokes.

And now for the Sports Report

Howdy Doody, party people!  Try not to get too distracted by this amazing photo I've chosen to accompany this blog.  If you recall, I am privy to some pretty stellar pictures due to a smart purchase I made last summer.  This picture was found in the "sports" folder.  I was unaware goalies wore eye black.  There is so much I don't know.

College football is over.  Sigh.  Granted, it's been over for me since the Fiesta Bowl came to an end and the Stanford band quit playing.  Wait just a second...I'm getting word that they are actually still in Glendale making noise. Anywho, once the Cowboys wrapped up a victory and my brother and I Tebowed in celebration, the season, as far as I could see was over.  But there was the obligatory "championship" game played last night.  Here are my simple observations:

1. When you don't have more than TWO offensive playmakers between the two teams, it isn't fun to watch.  I don't care what you say.  BOR-ING.  I'm not even sure that either team fields wide receivers.  That is not Big-Boy Football, that is Makes-Kathy-Sleepy Football.
2. Kirk Herbstreit, you are crazy.  Cray-Cray, as the kids say.  I mean, for real.  Are people putting you up to saying the things you say?  They have to be.  You can't honestly say, "I've been really impressed with A.J. McCarron tonight," with a straight face.  At the time of the statement, the guy had no touchdowns, and hadn't gotten his team past the LSU 30.  That's not impressive.  I'm guessing with that criteria, you were also impressed with my quarterbacking skills.  You are such a silly goose.
3. Next year, I propose the BCS sticks with "conference champions" playing for the title game.  Sure, it's not fair to the SEC team who thinks they should be there, but as my father told me when I was eight years old: Life isn't fair.

Moving on...can we all get behind the Cowboy basketball team, please?  It may be hard for some of you to believe, but I actually love basketball more than football.  It's true.  It's my first love.  Then of course comes Husband, and Mr. Bojangles.  I suppose my love for basketball stems from the fact that I actually played at one point.  Granted, I was terrible and my career was short lived, but that's not the point.  I learned this week that you can identify yourself with anything you used to do.  For example, I used to take ballet until I was in 4th grade.  I shall now think of myself as a former ballerina.  I also used to carry around a Fisher Price tape recorder and make my own radio show.  The name of the show?  KMH, Rockin' with Hits.  You can now refer to me as, Kathy: former ballerina, radio host, and  basketball All-Star.  Sheesh, talk about well-rounded.

Anyway, I encourage all of you to get behind this team.  They are fun to watch, most of the time, and I've learned that if you scream, "REBOUND!" often enough, they start to listen.

And finally, let's chat just a second about wrestling.  It makes me borderline irate when people who don't know anything about wrestling try to tell me Iowa is the best wrestling program in the nation.  On more than one occasion, I have actually been scoffed at when I state that, in fact Oklahoma State is the best.  Scoffing at Kathy is a BAD idea.  I then rattle off factoids and pummel said offenders with my words.  Just take my word for it people, Oklahoma State is King, Iowa is Prince.  But not Crown Prince, just Prince.  Like Prince Harry. 

We watched this Saturday, via the internet as OSU took on Iowa in Iowa.  Kudos to those fans, what a great environment.  Made it that much sweeter to walk away with a win.  I will say this, watching wrestling stresses me out.  My heart literally races, and not in a Remington Park feel-good sort of way.  More like a, "how can two minutes seem like an eternity and why can't he escape and I think I'm going to pass out" sort of way. You should check out a dual this season, this team is VERY good.

That's all for now, back to you Herbie.