To the loser goes the gift card

I had big plans for the blog today.  Big, big plans.  I was going to share with you about my amazing game show experience.  It was going to be my shining moment.  I had this blog outlined in my head, ready to write after my numerous victories.   But I lost.  And now I am le sad.  A big, sad, non-shiny loser.  Cue the sad trombone.

But you know what?  I'm going to tell you about the experience anyway.  For  my shame is transparent.  I tried out for a local trivia game show about a month ago at the State Fair of Oklahoma.  Yes, you read that sentence correctly.  While I officially competed against two other people in my tryout, I really only competed against one.  Junior didn't answer one question.  Not a single one.  He never used his buzzer.  His wife yelled at me later that she was pretty sure I was cheating.  If you call being brilliant cheating, then guilty as charged, lady.  So, last week I was notified that I was chosen as a contestant on America's newest game show: Wild Card!  I had an inflated sense of self confidence.  And then last night, I started to get very nervous.  What if they made the questions harder?  What if I froze when the red light came on, ala Cindy Brady? (I purposely didn't wear pigtails for that very reason).  When I got to the green room today, I started to get more nervous.  There were lots of knowledge bombs being dropped.  It became clear quickly, this was not a room filled with Juniors.

Here are the highlights of my first and probably last game-show appearance:

• I lost the ability to tell the difference between clubs and spades (twice).  I've always struggled with this.  I'm playing card dumb.  So, that wasn't my finest moment.  Luckily it was recorded by television cameras for posterity's sake.
• I got the one and only sports question right.  Obvi.  
• I was slow on the buzzer.  Tis the achilles of many a game show contestant.  Realizing I needed to make a move, I buzzed in to one answer before the question was complete.  I did not have any idea what the answer was, so I rambled on and on.  The answer was, "True."  Because it was a true or false question.  So if you are keeping score at home, I managed to look quite foolish three times, which is consistent with my daily average.
• I need to work on my frowny face.  Husband came to cheer me on and took several pictures. As I was scrolling through them, I noticed a consistent theme: Kathy has a frowny face.  I believe the scientific term is BRF.

My parting gift was a gift certificate to a restaurant in Choctaw.  So, I'm going to need to figure out how to get to Choctaw, I guess.

So that's that.  I lost and am pretty disappointed.  I'll probably bounce back, but who really knows.  I need a good case of game night where I can dominate my opponents and shove it down their throats to make myself feel better.  I believe the scientific term for that is Poor Sport.

Baby, you might be nuts

I would like to begin this blog by stating that I am aware that mental illness is a real problem in this country and no laughing matter.  It is an underserved community that leads to so many other social issues.  It has to be dealt with openly and honestly.  That being said, I think my baby might be crazy.  She is either suffering from bi-polar disorder, split personality, or becoming Two Face from Batman.

One moment she is laughing hysterically at things that frankly aren't that funny, like her feet, the fan, Wheel of Fortune, or rubber ducks in the bath, and the next she literally loses her mind.  How can you go from so happy to sunken into the depths of despair in 15 seconds?  How is that possible?  And how long can I anticipate the bowing of one's back and throwing the head back stage to last?  Is that coming to an end soon?  When do we start to handle upset feelings with maturity?  I'm hoping the answer is 14 months.  Because I find throwing yourself on the floor to express yourself to be a tad dramatic.

This morning we had a problem with spending time by ourselves while Mommy got ready.  I pose this question to you, dear reader, who is really the crazy one?  The child who had to have constant contact or she might perish?  Or me, who tried to reason with her by saying, "You have to allow me to put on pants.  They won't let me go to work without pants."  'Tis a glamorous life I lead.

In other news, I am starting to feel sports-overwhelemed.  Too many.  Too many sports going on.  I can't keep up.  If the World Cup qualifying games had been on TV last night, I might have just gone completely over the edge.  I don't know why I feel the need to follow them all.  I don't work for ESPN, it's okay to let a few go.  But no!  I must flip between eight different types of competition in case I'm called in as a guest on local sports radio.  As we are in the midst of the ALCS and NLCS, Husband and I have had the following conversations.  This is what it sounds like when two people who aren't really baseball fans, watch playoff baseball.

Game 2 of ALCS, Detroit vs. Boston.

Kathy: You remember the movie City of Angels?

Torri Hunter & Cassiel the Angel

Husband: With Nicholas Cage?
Kathy: Yeah.  Remember the guardian angel?
Husband: Ummmm....
Kathy: Well, he's playing outfield for the Tigers now.
Husband: I don't think I remember what he looks like.
Kathy: You don't have to remember.  I just told you.  He looks just like Torii Hunter.
Husband: Weird.  You think he'd still be playing for Anaheim.




Game 4 of NLCS, St. Louis vs. Los Angeles

The two John Jays

Kathy: Sheesh, John Jay is having a tough series.
Husband: Who?
Kathy: John Jay, the center fielder.
Husband: Oh, he was also a founding father of our country.
Kathy: He's held up remarkably well.
Husband: True.  I'm going to let that dropped ball slide, he's done a lot for our country.


And that ladies and gentlemen is your brief history/pop culture lesson for the day.  I just got all Alex Trebek up in here.

I usually try to wrap up each blog by tying everything together.  I've sat here for 10 minutes and I just can't.  The key takeaways for you are 1.Living with my baby is what I assume living with Andy Kauffman was like.  Hilarious moments, lots of physical comedy, crashing into things, and unreasonable emotional reactions to running out of goldfish crackers.  And 2. Husband and I's conversations sometimes resemble bad stand-up comedy.  Kind of like the Smothers Brothers.  Thank God we have each other.

You are getting on my nerves

Before I get into this blog I have to share a quick story with you.  Last week, I turned to my personal assistant, Google, to tell me how often I was supposed to rotate my tires.  Thank God for Google, it keeps me functioning.  As I was typing, "How often do you..." Google autocompleted the question for me.  And do you want to know how they finished the question?  "How often do you need to change your bra?"  Seriously, I'm not making that up.  That's a question someone turned to the internet to answer. And apparently it's asked so often, Google just anticipated I needed to know too.  I fear for this society.  After I discovered that you are supposed to rotate your tires every 5,000 miles, I went back and checked what the answer was to the bra question.  Fear not, I'm doing it right.

Moving on...

I'm starting to think I might be more irritable than normal people.  Do you ever have one of those days where every thing that happens gets on your nerves?  Well that day lasted 96 hours for me last week.  It started with the government shutdown.  I think we can all agree that most problems can be traced back to John Boehner.  And for the record, that was a joke.  I have not the energy to argue politics with you.

I often dream of the day I'm old enough to just say whatever comes to my mind.  You know how old people just tell it like it is?  I love that.  I'm counting down the days when I can just walk up to a stranger and tell them, "Those pants look ridiculous on you."  But after several encounters last week, I think I might have crossed over into senior citizen status.  Bring on the polyester!  I had to tell three different people off last week.  Three.  I mean, come on, what gives?  If I keep these numbers up, I will be the most hated person in Oklahoma City by January.  I hope there is some sort of ceremony at least.

I used the following phrases last week:

• "You are providing poor customer service and I no longer wish to work with you."
• "I will not tolerate being bullied.  You owe me an apology, which I'm sure I won't get."
• "Hey!  I'm one of those idiots you're talking about!"

It really is exhausting being me.  Always fighting for the little guy. 

Speaking of being the little guy, in an attempt to get back to my birth weight, I've been doing Jillian Michael's workout DVDs.  She is the meanest person on the planet.  She comes up with the craziest moves known to man.  It's like she thinks, "how about I make them do squats while doing a one-handed push up."  And then screams, "MAKE SURE TO USE YOUR ABS!"  She's just making stuff up.  These aren't actual workout moves, it's just a bunch jumping in the air, doing a flying sit up and landing in plank.  And then she gives them cute names like burpies, rockstars, and moguls.  Just call them what they are: torture moves.  I refer to them as waterboarding, draw and quarters, and the assassin's bullet.  I'm just keeping it real.

Keep it up, Jillan and you just might be the next person to feel the wrath of Kathy.  

Side note: Kathy's Wrath sounds like a good strong drink.  It could literally be liquid courage.  As Drake says, you only live once.  Might as well go out guns blazin'.