Get Frank Underwood on the phone, the fix is in

How about a little Q & A session, a little "Get to Know this Blogger," a little multiple personality interview with myself?  Funsies for everyone, am I right?

Let's get started.

Q: You seem a little agitated, what's got you worked up?

A: Texas.

Q: The whole state?

A: No.  Just their dumb football fans.  Lord almighty, if I see any more complaints about the officiating of Saturday's game, I just might lose it.

Q: Care to expand?

A: I'd love to.  Thanks for asking.  They are all kinds of worked up because calls didn't go their way on Saturday.  And I'll be the first to admit, several were questionable, if not blatantly wrong.  But guess what?  That's not called a conspiracy or "a fix."  That's called sports. Bad calls are made in EVERY game.  It happens.  Shall I put together a highlight reel of all of the times OSU has been the victim of bad calls?  I would do that, but it would make me even more annoyed than I already am.

And I'm going to just dole out some hard-to-swallow news....when you are reduced to celebrating moral victories and blaming officials for losses, you are now the fan of a mediocre program.  I should know.  I'm an OSU fan.  So suck it up, will ya?

Q: Shall we move on?

A: Fine.  But for reals, I'm beyond annoyed by their outrage.  Dumb City, USA.  Population: Longhorn Nation.

Q: What about the teams you actually cheer for?  How have they fared so far?

A: Meh.  Somehow the Cowboys are undefeated.  I suffer from heart palpitations watching them play.  I find myself holding my breath for long periods of time, which in turn, makes me dizzy.  The ol' quarterback switcheroo game we played versus Texas seemed pretty dumb to me, but no one pays me to coach, so maybe it was genius and I'm just not at that level of understanding.

The Sundevils....well, sometimes they are hard to watch.  Do you remember those Faces of Death movies?  That's kind of what Saturday night felt like.  Like a punishment that I didn't deserve.  So... here's to hoping I've atoned for whatever horrible thing I've done in my former life and we can move on to happy football.  Husband is struggling too.  Seeing as the Sundevils play in the middle of the night because the desert is hot and everyone would spontaneously combust if they played when the sun was out, he can't even yell.  Because Tiny Human sleeps while ASU plays football.  Ergo silent rage.  On Saturday as we watched them turn the ball over on the goal line for a 96 yard return for a touchdown, he stood up and said, "I need to be by myself."  Hashtag sigh.  Hashtag pray for Husband.  Prayer hands emoji.

Q: Yikes.  Sounds pretty bad around your house.

A: Preach.

Q: Next topic.  Watch anything good on TV lately?

A: Well, I decided to join the new craze of Netflix.

Q: Seems like you might be a little late to the party.

A: I'm a laggard.  It's a marketing term.  Look it up.

Q: I'll get right on that.

A: Anywhoozle, I just finished watching all the House of Cards episodes.

Q: Oh yeah?  What did you think?

A: The show makes me feel extremely unsettled.  I've come to realize there isn't one character on the show I like.  They are all bad people.  All of them.  At first I was all, Frank Underwood, he's ruthless, but underneath he's a good guy.  Couldn't have been more wrong.  Oh, Doug Stamper?  Good guy.  Hard worker.  Nope.  Bad guy.  Hard worker.  Everyone is bad.  Everyone who has redeemable qualities dies.

Q: You know it's just a show right?

A: Is it?  Then explain John Boehner to me.

Q: Do you have anything happy to talk about?

A: I do.  My dog has stopped barfing on the carpet, so I'm pretty jazzed about that turn of events. The super blood moon did not disappoint.  And tonight I'm building a rocket ship with Tiny Human.

Q:  A rocket ship?

A: Yes.  We had a conversation about not wanting to go home, instead we were going to go to the moon.  I noted that that trip would require a rocket ship.  And so...we are building one tonight.  I assume this counts as STEM education.

Q:  I'm not quite sure that qualifies....

A: Honestly, no one asked you.

Let's talk it out

I'm back and fully rested and recharged from a vacation to Arizona.  109 degrees will do that for you.  It's like being at a sweat lodge, minus the crystals and meditating.  I'm sure you are just itching to hear my thoughts on the OSU game, but you'll just have to wait.  Later in the week, my pretties.

I thought I'd share with you a couple of conversations I had while vacationing in the desert.  It's a little peek into the way Kathy's mind works.  Fascinating stuff, for sure.

Husband and I dropped by a local sports bar to catch the Arizona State game.  They were playing Weber State, which I learned from Wikapedia is in Utah.  And that Damian Lillard went there.  And that's about all I know about the fighting Webers.  It's hard to really evaluate a game like that, because you start thinking, "My god, this is the greatest team on earth!  Oh wait, where is the opponent from again?  Have they always had a football program?"  Anyway, when games are a wash, I tend to focus on other things.  On Thursday night, I focused on the huge gentleman who came in and sat at the table right next to us.  He was no less than 6'5 and you could see his muscles through his shirt.  The following conversation ensued:

Kathy: Is he someone?  I feel like he is someone.
Husband: No idea.
*sits and stares at the back of his head*
Kathy: I just KNOW he is someone famous.  He's way too big not to be famous.
Husband: *shrugs*
10 minutes later
Kathy: You know, if you weren't with me, I'd go up and ask him who he is.
Husband: *shrugs*
Kathy: Sometimes I feel like you are holding me back from being the person I want to be.  And the person I want to be is the person who knows who he is.

After he left, I turned to Husband excitedly.

Kathy: Will you be embarrassed if I get up and look at his bill to see who he is?
Husband: Sorry.  He paid with cash.
Kathy: GAH!  Now I'm never going to know who he is!  Thanks for nothing!

What I learned from this conversation:  Next time, I'm taking the risk of embarrassing Husband and just asking.  I could have made a famous friend.  I will not let that opportunity pass me by again.

The next day, I headed off to the nail shop to fancy up my fingers.  I knew it was overdue, but maybe not how much so, until Tom, the manicurist, set me straight.

Tom: Your cuticles.  Very tough.  VERY tough.  It means you're healthy, but very ugly to look at

Tom: Been a long time since you have manicure, yes?
Kathy: Yep, it's been a while.
Tom: That's an understatement.

Tom: Next time you get on the scale, you will be two pounds lighter.  Two pounds of cuticles, gone.

Tom: Just look at your nails.  They look so much better.  Your boyfriend, he will not run away from you now.  Because he was probably planning on running away from you before.  Now he will love you more.

What I learned from this conversation: If Husband doesn't love me now, I just don't know what else I can do.

As we arrived at the Phoenix Sky Harbor airport to head home, I had a bad feeling we weren't going to have a smooth travel day with the Tiny Human.  I knew this because when she was told that we were going to get on the airplane she had a total and complete freakout because it wasn't happening at that very moment.  Through tears and snot she yelled, "Airplane!  Airplane! Airplane!"  Then she dropped her pacifier on the floor and that caused what seemed to be the end of times.  And let me just say, I'm being paid back in full for all those snide looks I gave to parents with crying kids in my 20s.  The glares I receive are nothing short of death rays.  Sometimes I can feel my skin burn.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret...when my child bows her back and throws herself to the floor and screams, she's not doing it because I'm a bad parent.  She's doing it because she's insane.  Cut me a little slack.

Following the two epic meltdowns within 15 minutes, we made it to security.  The TSA agent gave me a "I couldn't be more annoyed with you if I tried," look and said the following:

Super Friendly Guy: Can she walk through?  Or do you have to carry her?
Kathy: Depends.  Do you want her to scream in your face?
*laughter from other passengers*
Super Friendly Guy (visibly irritated): It's up to you.
Kathy: Actually, it's not.  I'll be carrying her.

What I learned from this conversation: Not everyone thinks I'm funny.  Especially security personnel at the airport.  Their loss.

And that my friends, is how Kathy does vacation.  I wonder if I could put out a Craigslist "Missed Connection" for my sure-to-be best friendship.  I'll be sure to mention that my cuticles are in great shape, so I'm super lovable.

Bathroom Politics

It's been a hot minute since you last heard from me, and boy have I learned a lot in that time.  I'm easily 75% smarter right now than I was this time last week.  If I keep going at this rate, I should be a genius in approximately 12 days.

So I bet you are wondering, "Wow, what has Kathy learned?"  I'm happy to share.  Sharing is caring.

On the walls of the stall.  Recently, on my way to Tulsa for a meeting, I made a quick stop at a seedy rest stop.  How seedy you ask?  They had showers available for truckers.  As I looked around the not-as-clean-as-I-had-hoped-for restroom, I noticed the following conversation written on a stall for all the world to see:

Citizen #1:  I wish I was a dog and Obama was a tree
Citizen #2: What are you going to do when you get healthcare, idiot*? (*another word was used here, but this is a family friendly blog)
Citizen #3: Impeach Obama!

And this is why this land is so grand, y'all.  Talkin' politics on the bathroom stall.  America!

Key takeaway:   I wasn't aware there were any Democrats in Oklahoma, let alone ones who were willing to fight for the Affordable Care Act by way of a Sharpie in a Shell station.  Hooray democracy!

Spellin' be hard.  Thanks to the handy red squiggly line that popped up as I was composing emails, I learned I do not know how to spell pretentious or gallivanting correctly.  In case you were wondering, they were two separate emails.  Because who has ever heard of pretentious gallivanting?  That doesn't even make sense.

Key takeaway: I don't seem to be able to spell a lot of the words I use.  I think this means I was meant to be an orator, not a writer.  Thinking about setting up some fireside chats to enlighten the masses.  I'm gonna get all FDR up in here.  We'll call them, "Carrying a big stick."  Also of note: history's not really my thing either.

Google knows best.  Last night, I spilled a tray of paint on the carpet.  On an awesome scale, 1 being a sinus infection on vacation and 10 being a YouTube video of a cat wearing socks, I'd say it fell at about -44. Instead of being understanding of the fact it was an accident and not an "on-purpose," Husband seemed pretty annoyed by the whole situation.  I couldn't believe it.  Kathy would never react that way.

I asked him to google how one goes about getting paint out of carpet.  And what do you know, but those geniuses inside my computer gave us the right answer.  You douse affected area with water and use a  Shop Vac to suck up your mistake.  I, of course, already own a Shop Vac because 1. I am my father's daughter and 2. My life is really just a series of accidents, spills and messes.

Key takeaway: Gloating is palpable.  I could actually hear the gleeful thoughts going through Husband's head.  "And you think I'M the klutz!" I'm going to remember that feeling and think of it the next time he breaks something....and I will show no mercy.

I'm still working out the topics of my first fireside chat, but I think it will include a story about how Husband spilled paint all over the floor and I remained calm and came to the rescue. Because as we all know, storytelling isn't about details, it's about delivery.

Letters: Spurs, Shoes and Sad Eyes

Cheer up!  It's time for letters.  I should have written this on Monday, but I didn't.  So sue me...in small claims court, of course.

Dear San Antonio Spurs, 

Enough already.  I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we're tired of your schtick.  I have been cheering against Parker, Duncan and Ginobili since 1984.  Collectively, you are all 400 years old.  So hop on your Rascals and hit the road.  Oh sure, you play fundamentally sound basketball and are well-coached, but that's not what the people want to see.  And by people, I mean me.  Just let my team, who shoots ill-advised jump shots, win it from here.  And while we're in the business of wish-granting:  I do not like Manu Ginobili and I wish to never see him on my television screen again.

Amen,

Kathy

Dear Lost Box of Shoes,

The sadness I have over your disappearance cannot accurately be expressed by the written word.  I didn't even get to say goodbye.  I just packed up all of you, my summer sandals and such, and assumed you'd make the move with me.  But you didn't.  And maybe this was a sign from a higher being that I did in fact own too many shoes.  But isn't that for me to decide?  Who are you to say that seven pairs of Toms is too many? I've worked my way through the five stages of grief since the realization that you were gone: denial (if I keep looking in the same place, they are bound to show up!), anger (I will never stop being mad about this!), bargaining (I should have moved them myself, never trust other people), depression (I can't believe I'll never see those wedges again!), and finally acceptance (goodbye old friends, may you bring the same joy to a stranger you once brought me).  But I'm keeping the acceptance to myself, because as far as Husband is concerned, I am still in the second stage: anger.  

With great despair, 
Shoeless Joe Kath

Dear Oklahoma Allergens,

I hate you.  I hate you like I hate South American floppers in the NBA.  I cannot handle it anymore.  My left eye has been watering for seven days.  SEVEN DAYS.  In a super sexy twist, I was suffering from both pink eye AND mystery allergies.  The Bob Costas Olympic Conjunctivitis has cleared up, but my sad left eye continues to weep.  As Sheryl Crow once said, I can't cry no more...I really battled between quoting Sheryl Crow or the band Kansas here (Don't you cry no more).  I've also been working hard for the last 30 minutes on figuring out a way to tie in a Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes reference, to no avail.  As you can see, my weepy eye has led me to a state of progressive hysteria (<-- Def Leopard!). The sooner we clear this up, the quicker I can go back to referencing Mean Girls and pop culture.  I'm currently in a tailspin of 90's power ballads.  Make it stop!

Through my tears,
KHR

That's all for today.  If you need me, I'll be under my desk watching highlights of last night's game while wearing an eyepatch.  What music will be playing in the background you ask?  Cinderella, of course.  Because it's true, you don't know what you got, till it's gone.

A House Divided Will Always Love You

Greetings friends.  Good to see you again.  Talk about Mr. Unreliable...Kathy seems to have disappeared into blogging oblivion.  But I'm back!  I was inspired by a poorly written headline, and, well, the rest is history, suckers.

It's been a big sports week in the realm of real news.  Well done, universe.  What did we learn?  Racism is bad.  It never stopped being bad.  So stop doing it.  And stealing crab legs is frowned upon in Florida.  And frankly, I don't think Winston's punishment was harsh enough.  Seafood is a gateway food.  What's next?  Kobe Beef? Truffle Oil?  Fancy Mac n' Cheese?  Let's nip this in the bud and go ahead and suspend him for the first football game in 2014.  And Kevin Durant just needed a little kick in the pants to get back in rhythm.  For a minute, I felt like I was living in a big city like Chicago or Philly where media and fans turn against great players.  We got LeBron'd.  Big League City, indeed.

After watching the Thunder thump the Grizzles, I'm back to being the over-confident fan.  Good win, good win.  Blowouts are so much better than OT nailbiters.  When it's a blowout, I can get other things done during the game: clean, workout, facebooky fun, etc.  Close, what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-this-team and why-won't-they-drive-the-lane games?  Not so much.  And frankly, I can't handle any more Thundovers.  I gotta work the next day.   More taking control in the third quarter.  More Steven Adams.  Less Mike Miller.

So now that we all feel warm and fuzzy, I'd like to address a couple sports pet peeves with you.

I still love {insert losing team name}.  So it drives me a little batty when people feel the need to state after a very disappointing loss that even though the team ripped their heart out, they still love them win or lose.  Well you know what?  Kathy loves her teams a little less when they let her down.  I'll never stop loving the Cowboys.  But when they lost Bedlam (all of them) and the majority of basketball season, I didn't love love them.  I loved them like you love a boyfriend who shows up drunk to an important event.  Sure, the relationship will survive, but at the moment, I don't want to see their dumb face.  Don't call me.  I'll call when I'm ready.  So next time there is a heart breaker, you don't have to tell me you still love the team.  I know.  Sports are like family.  You'll always love them, you just don't have to like them all the time.  (In case any of my family is reading this, this doesn't apply to you guys.  I like you guys ALL the time, pinky swear).

A house divided.  Ugh.  Are you serious?  Those license plates make me so mad.  Yes, yes, I realize there are much more rational people out there who fall in love with people who went to rival colleges or cheer for rival schools.  Good for you, I suppose.  But I just can't imagine anything worse.  When the Cowboys lose, I do not need to be in the same room with anyone who might have any shred of joy about it.  Because that person, in that moment, is my enemy.  You guys saw Sleeping with the Enemy right?  Not a good idea.

All of that being said, this weekend marks a "house divided" moment in our household.  The Arizona State Sundevils are taking on the Cowboys in baseball.  As you might know, I attended both OSU and ASU. I'm so fancy.  You already know.  I married a Sundevil, cause that was a totally safe choice.  Also, he's really kind and good, blah, blah, blah.  But back to sports.  I suppose this is an even more complex situation, seeing as I am a woman divided.  I am Janus.  Oh, who are we kidding?  I will never cheer against the Cowboys.  Ever.  Unless Tiny Human becomes a Division I athlete and is playing against them.  And even then, I'm not sure.  We'll evaluate when we see what her role on the team is.  I kid.

So Tiny Human and I will be decked out in orange while Husband sports his gold.  We'll cheer for both  teams to play well, as long as the Cowboys win.  No wiggle room.  Sorry bro, this is what you married.  Embrace it.  And like I always say, even though the Sundevils lost, I still love them!  Go Pokes!

Yeah...that's not going to happen

You guys, I've really been on a roll lately.  You know how King Midas turned everything to gold?  I'm just like that, but opposite.  What's opposite of gold?  Rust? Tin?  Fool's Gold?  Everything I touch turns into rusty tin accented with fool's gold.

You know how I keep writing about how we are trying to move?  That was all supposed to go down on Friday.  But then it didn't.  Super.

Here are a few of the fun times you missed out on by not being me.

Finance/Shminance

Anyone who has purchased a house recently knows that the amount of documentation necessary is ridiculous.  I get it.  Because mortgage lenders were letting four year olds with no income purchase multi-million dollar homes, we are all being punished with having to provide every financial document ever produced.  After turning over every piece of information just short of the restaurant receipt from my parent's first date, we were ready to roll.  Until we weren't.  I now needed to provide a copy of my bank statements.  The following conversation ensued.

Kathy: I'm not comfortable providing you my personal information and spending history.
Loan Guy: We have to know where the money is coming from.
Kathy: You already know where it's coming from.  I provided all of that earlier.  If I had it buried in my backyard, would you need pictures documenting me digging it up?
Loan Guy: It's the law.
Kathy: Great.  Please provide me a copy of said law.  I need to see in writing where the government needs to know how much I spent at Anthropologie last week.
Loan Guy: *No response*
Kathy: I'm going to need to speak with someone else.

Lo and behold, they didn't need my bank statements after all.  Weird how that works.

Moving and Shakin'

The movers showed up  on Friday morning.  A lively bunch indeed.  One of them commented, "These are ALL dresses?"  Me: "Yes."  Him: "ALL of them?  They're ALL dresses?"  Me: "Yes.  I have a shopping problem."  He walks out of the room and yells to another guy, "Man, these are ALL dresses!"  Years ago, when we moved from Arizona, one of those movers told me I had  "more shoes than Patti LeBelle."  At least I'm consistent.

Then they told us they couldn't fit everything into the truck.  Sorry, Charlie, the rest is on you.  We decided the answer to this riddle was to take the extra stuff over to the new house and leave it on the back porch until we could get in in a few hours.  What could go wrong there?

More Ajar than Closed

I'll tell you what could go wrong.  An underwriter could make a mistake on filling out the 729 forms you must sign when closing on a house and therefore make the entire thing void.  And thanks to the Dodd Frank Act, nothing can be corrected for three days.  Three days.  Thanks Dodd.  Thanks Frank.  Neither of you are getting Christmas cards this year.  I will also not be contributing to either of your reelection campaigns.  You're dead to me.

So, at the end of the day, we didn't have a home.  Or any of our stuff.  Except for that stuff that was sitting on the back porch of a home we didn't have keys to.  It was basically the perfect day.

Here's the silver lining.  Because I didn't have to worry about the stress of unpacking my stuff, you know, because I didn't have any of it, I was able to fully enjoy Oklahoma State sports this weekend.  No guilt of watching sports when I should be doing other things.  The basketball team finally won, and it was glorious.  They were having fun again.  More importantly, I was having fun again.  I deserved it.

I hope by the next time I write, I will have a home.  And stuff.  And all my dresses.

They can take my stuff and my home, but they can't take my spirit.  Or maybe they can.  I'm still waiting for the loan guy to send me a copy of that legislation.

Christmas Letters

It's almost Christmas, and I've got some end-of-the-year thoughts I need to get out.  I hear snail mail is passe, so let me use this highly-influential blog to get my messages out, for I am a communicator of the future.

Dear Daughter,

You are by far, the most fun you've ever been.  SO much personality.   You are constantly on the move and I'm hoping that kick starts some calorie burning on my end, seeing as I can't stop eating cookies this holiday season. And while I find your mockingbird phase of repeating everything you hear to be fun, entertaining and a clear sign of your high intellect, you don't actually have to repeat EVERYTHING.  For example, when you are sitting with Mommy watching OSU basketball, and she yells "Damn!" after they lost the shooter on a ball screen, you don't have to yell, "Damn!" too.  It makes Mommy look bad.

XOXO,

Mommy


Dear Travis Ford,

Keep up the good work.  As you know, since I know you are a faithful reader of My Name is Not Kathy, I'm a fan.  I'm aware you have flaws (who doesn't?), but I believe in what you are doing.  The game on Saturday was a big win in my eyes. It's important to be able to beat a top 20 team on a neutral court.  Even more importantly, it's key to be able to hold off a team who makes a late surge. Because come March, everyone is playing for their life.  Let's focus a little more on free throwing shooting over the holidays.  I'm looking forward to our Big XII title and Final Four run.  I can't wait for the both of us to stand up and address the crowd and yell, "I told you so!"  Then we should drop the mic and do the Kid 'n Play.  Or did you have something else in mind?  I'll have to watch The Sixth Man over the break to see if you have a go-to move.

Hugs,

Kathy

Dear Mike Gundy,

Well, it's been a rough year for us, Mike.  Lots of ups and downs.  I feel like our relationship should be stronger through all the trials, but I'm not sure I'm there yet.  I think we can all agree that no one respects Missouri.  I mean come on.  Sure, they had a great season...but the SEC East hardly put up much of a fight.  Remember how great it felt to stomp on Missouri's throats in 2008?  Remember how fun it was watching Chase Daniel's big sad face get more and more forlorn?  I do.  It was awesome.  Let's do that again.   Of course, I want you to take them seriously...focus, focus, focus.  But maybe go ahead and pull out the victory visor in the second quarter.

Sending you love, hair gel, and tucked in sweatshirts, 

Kath


Dear Facebook,

Where's your sense of humor?  Why so serious?  Can we all lighten up a little?  I saw a picture of an old friend today that showcased how lovely she really is.  Lots of praise was heaped upon her, and I felt the need to tell her that I found her cute and skinny self annoying.  Shove a cookie in your mouth like the rest of us.  Actually, I didn't write that last part, because for as funny as I find myself, unfortunately there are more people who don''t.  Your loss people, your loss. In 2014, let's try a little less serious duck complaining and telling people their kids are "stinking cute," and more sarcasm and humor.  The world needs more funny people. Do your part.

Happy faces,

KHR


Okay, readers. Now it's up to you to get my messages to the respective parties.  Act as carrier pigeons. Go Forth!

And most importantly, Merry Christmas to you all.  And if you celebrated Hanukkah, I hope it was wonderful.  But Hanukkah is over, you can't keep celebrating, that's against the rules.

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'.

Well, that's annoying

How funny is this picture?  I love Google image searching.  You just type something random in, and Google rewards you with a menagerie of jpegs.  I'm going to go ahead and state that Google is one of my favorite things in the world.  OSU sports, salt and Google.  Four thumbs up.

So remember how a couple of days ago, I asked you all for insight into what I should write about?  Well, no one responded.  And that's all well and good, but I must push on.  Onward and upward!  To Hell and back! You get the picture.

I'm dedicating Wednesdays to things that annoy me.  Lucky for you, the list is endless.  It's part of my charm.

So here's my short list for this week:

1. At my new job, I park in a parking garage.  The space are somewhat small, so I push that fancy button that folds the side mirrors on my car in each morning.  And every time I do, I am startled by my own reflection.  I instantly think someone is in the car with me.  Every.  Single. Time.  I have a master's degree.  I should be smarter than this.

2. This weather is so dumb.  Raise your hand if you are tired of me complaining about the weather.  Yes, you in the back.  You know how this could be remedied?  If the freakin' weather would start acting like spring.  Sun.  Shine.  Pull it together, Oklahoma.  Also, weatherpeople, I know your job is hard, because it's determined by God.  I get that, I do.  But can you bring the apocalyptic descriptors down a notch?  In case anyone was keeping score, there were no tornadoes, or monster hail, and no cataclysmic meteors.  I ended up wearing my tornado helmet to bed for no reason at all.

3. I woke up this morning tired and a little grumpy.  I was also super hungry.  On a total impulse move, I threw a tub of hummus and a bag of pita chips in my purse on the way out the door.  I'm sure you are thinking, how big is your purse, Kathy?  Pretty big.  It's kind of like luggage.  Three small forest animals could live inside it.  I don't typically bring side dishes/party food/appetizers to work to eat for breakfast.  But that's what I was in the mood for this morning.  I'm a trend setter.  Very mavericky. (<<---not a real word).  As I settled into my desk, I started to feel just a touch silly for having a large bag of pita chips and an industrial sized tub o' hummus.  I had about a 7 minute internal battle trying to decide if I wanted to actually go through with it.  Finally, I took a deep breath and decided to just embrace being the weirdo in the cube along the wall.  I pulled out the pita chips first (opened them under the desk to avoid immediate detection) and then fished out the hummus.  I was ready to embrace my inner Mediterranean.  And then I discovered the hummus was covered in mold.  No morning snack.  No smushed chickpeas. No bueno. Sad Kathy.

I blame the girl in the car with me this morning.  Obviously, she not only likes to scare me, but she also likes to crush my healthy snacking dreams.

I don't think so, buddy

Listen up, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, I don't want your ugly necklace. I'll be happy when Valentine's Day is over so you can stop monopolizing the television with your jewelry hawking.  Enough.  I don't care how many times you tell me that if I keep my heart open love will find a way in.  Your necklace looks like a cobra.  That doesn't make me think of love.  Cobras make me think of Karate Kid (put him in a bodybag, yeah!) and Rikki Tikki Tavi.  If Husband were to buy me an Open Heart Necklace for Valentine's Day, I wouldn't think, "Wow, he loves me so much!" I would think, "Why does he hate me?"  I'm not sure the jewelry of preference for women in 1867 Colorado Springs (I had to google Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman because I didn't know anything about it.  After reading the Wikipedia page, I feel like I probably didn't miss out on anything.  Lauren Ingalls Wilder owns you Dr. Quinn), but here in present day 'Merica, your necklace is dumb.

 

Side note: Blogger hates me today, and I can't figure out how to add this image as a thumbnail.  Urgh.  Technology.  I thought about leaving it out, but really, this argument needs a visual aid.

I've wanted to share my annoyance of the Open Heart/Cobra necklace for quite some time now.  Actually, I originally wanted to blog about it in December  (she makes a big push around the holidays too), but I was waiting for something else to complain about to round out the blog.  And then last week I found my other topic...

I was watching the Today show while I got the baby ready for her day.  Don't worry, once she's a little more aware, I'll put something on the television that is actually educational and valuable.  For  now, I choose to watch these yahoos on NBC and see what wacky situation Al Roker will get himself in next!  Zany!  Anyway, they had a reporter doing a story from Sochi, Russia, home of the 2014 Winter Olympics.  I don't remember exactly what the story was, other than they pointed out that it's a resort town with warm weather in the winter.  Don't worry though, the mountains surrounding Sochi have plenty of snow. Whew!  Close one.  The reporter then said, "They have a saying here in Sochi: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes." My head popped up and I informed Spencer that that was the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

Let me give you a little back story.  Please read the entire thing before you judge.  When I moved to Michigan, several people  said to me, "You know what they say about Michigan, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."  I found this ridiculous for two reasons 1. The weather in Michigan is pretty consistent.  Snow, snow, snow, snow.  Cloudy/overcast/40 degrees.  Snow.  Cloudy/overcast/40 degrees.  Sunshine for seven days.  And then snow again.  The weather isn't really their selling point.  Funny accents and hockey, that's where the money's at.  And 2. Everyone knows that Will Rogers said that.  And when he said it, he was talking about Oklahoma.    Geez, these northerners know nothing!

So, I had my pithy blog all ready to go.  I was going to point out how you can't just say, "we have a saying," when in fact, it's not your saying, you're just stealing it and applying it to your situation.  It's like saying, "You know what they say about Oklahoma City....whatever happens in OKC, stays in OKC."  Not applicable.  So I did a quick Google search, or as I like to call it, "fact checking," and discovered that it was in fact Mark Twain who said that and he was not talking about Oklahoma.  The exact quote is, "If you don't like the weather in New England now, just wait a few minutes."

Dammit!  I hate being wrong.  I mean, I really, really, really hate being wrong.  I basically get up each day knowing how right I'm going to be.  I feel as if I've been hoodwinked.  Someone, somewhere along the way told me this was about Oklahoma.  I probably just made up the fact that Will Rogers said it, because sometimes I embellish.  I don't even know what to do with this new found knowledge.  I feel like I should go back to Michigan and apologize to all those people that I snarkily (<-- new word I just invented) corrected.  As soon as the sun comes out up there, I'll get right on that.

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.

Gaaa, you're such a snob

Last week in a meeting, I was confronted with my least favorite type of person at the moment: a Twitter snob.  Believe me when I tell you, they are the WORST.  I was poo-pooed because of the number of followers I have.  In a meeting.  At work.  And then the following statement was said to me, "I spend all day on Twitter."  Um...do you remember this a work meeting, not happy hour?  Good for you and all your followers.  No need to snort your judgment at me.  Kathy does not approve.

There are all kinds of snobs out there, some I support, some I get very annoyed with.  So, in true Kathy fashion, I'll outline the worst kinds, and the ones I support.  You should know that the ones I support are the ones I agree with.  For I am a snob too.

THE WORST

1. Music snobs.  Seriously, we get it.  You only appreciate quality music.  You knew about that band way before they went mainstream.  Pop music annoys you, there's no musicality.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Got it.  I like pop music.  It's fun.  It's short for "popular."  You know who was considered pop musicians?  The Beatles.  And The Jackson 5.  You got something bad to say about Tito or Ringo?  No, I didn't think you did.  Just appreciate it for what it is.  
2. Wine/beer snobs.  We all know them.  They are annoyed by those of us who lack distinguished palates.    I didn't get to take Wine Tasting in college and I feel like that was my only shot.  Here is the thing, I actually applaud people who really know about wine.  But those of us who don't aren't losers or creetens.  We are from Oklahoma.  And our dad's drank Coors Light.  Beer snobs on the other hand reside in the north.  Where it always snows and the sun never shines.  Yes, I'm talking about Michigan.  If you order a Bud Light in Michigan, the record scratches and the room goes silent.  It's really quite ridiculous.  Michigan is apparently Miller Lite country.  Kathy stands firmly by her motto of "It's all yellow."
3. TV snobs.  I have had several friends who are TV snobs.  Or lack-of-tv snobs.  They say things like, "I don't have cable."  Or "I only watch Nat Geo."  Well good for you.  But I think that is dumb.  You aren't actually better than other people because you don't watch TV.  Frankly, I think it's weird.  Unless you are crunchy and granola and spend all your time outside with the squirrels.  In that case, you are better than me.  You'd be amazed what that magical box can teach you.  Embrace it.  Don't let all of Phil Farnsworth's hard work go to waste.

ACCEPTABLE SNOBBERY

1. Travel snobs.  I'm a travel snob.  I openly admit it.  It really comes out when I fly Southwest.  Why is lining up in numerical order so difficult for the general population?  They are numbers.  They go from smallest to biggest.  Someone should have taught you this in kindergarden.  The only way it could be easier is if your name was written on a piece of tape on the floor.  But if you haven't heard, times are tough, and we can't afford that.  So every single Southwest flight, there are people wandering around super confused about where to stand and where to go.  And these people always seem to cut in line.  You aren't allowed to cut.  No cutsies.  You should have learned that in kindergarden too.
2. Sports seats snobs.  Okay, here is the deal, this specific snobbery was hatched in the fact that I have been very lucky to be born into a family that loves sports and has season tickets to everything.  Yay family!  So when you get used to sitting close enough to hear the coaches cuss at the players, it is almost impossible to adjust to far-away seats.  Kathy has tried, and Kathy just cannot sit in the nosebleeds.  It causes her soul to die.  True story.  So I have a certain standard, and I refuse to give in.  There is only one small flaw in this snobbery... Kath doesn't have the funds to support such tastes.  Damn my champagne tastes on a Bud Light diet.  I tried watching my Cowboys once at a bar, but when I yelled, "Stop juking and just run forward!" loudly, everyone stared.  Even the bartender.  Whoopsie.  While Craigslist can be scary (see Lifetime) a bargain shopper such as myself can find a good deal on tickets.  Until I do finally win the lottery (fingers crossed) tracking down affordable good seats via the internets is in the cards for Kathy and Husband.  The only time I waiver on this standard is when I'm attending sporting events in which I could care less who wins.  I cheer for the home team with the locals.  Good times.
3. Shoe snobs.  Everyone should be a shoe snob.  It's what God would want.  Ugly shoes are bad.  Crocs are bad.  Shoes are the one thing in your closet that are guaranteed to fit, and that should make you feel good about yourself.  Unless you are victim to a growth spurt.  I keep hoping that I'll have another growth spurt.  I even measured myself in my office today.  I was waiting for my computer to update itself, I was listening to Adele and bored out of my mind (this was after hours so no need to report this to the authorities).  So I used my tape measure....still 5'8 1/2" I want to be 5'9".  I think I can then officially refer to myself as tall.  I'll keep you posted on my progress.  And in case you forgot what my original point was, it happens, shoes are important.  It's important to care about them.  Caring is sharing.

So there you go.  I ask this of you during National Friendship Week (it's not really National Friendship Week, but let's just all pretend) when someone doesn't know as much as you or like the same things you do, remember that they aren't wrong.  They are just different.  Different isn't bad, it's just different.  Maybe instead of hating on Twitter novices, you could just take them under your wing and be helpful.  Help those baby birds fly.  See what I just did there?  Twitter? Wings? Baby Birds?  Genius.

Are you going to Newark?

Kathy is back in America.  It is now acceptable to begin your celebrations.  I'm stuck in the Washington Dulles airport, working on hour 7 of a 9 hour layover.  Yes, nine hours in one airport.  I have so much to share with you, readers, I don't really know where to start.  So here is how it's going to go.  I'm just going to write/blog until one of three things happens: 1. I fall asleep 2. My computer dies  Or 3. I get on the plane.    I should share with you though that I am surrounded by MANY distractions.  A man with a handle bar mustache, those have always distracted me; a person sitting directly across from me that I cannot identify their sex, and a guy who is sucking food out of his teeth.  He is the devil.

I would like to briefly touch on the subject of how much I hate the double standard of airport etiquette.   I've touched on this before, but Kathy has a real problem bad customer service.  Typically, I let people know how I feel about their inability to carry out their job...to serve the customer.  But in airports, you can't lose your cool, because then you are a security threat and risk getting tasered.  So you have to endure being spoken to as if you are the stupidest person they have ever had to deal with...in their entire life.

As Sophia on the Golden Girls used to say, picture it, 2011 Washington Dulles Airport.  I had just come off an 18 hour flight from Johannesburg.  I was carrying a duffle that was serving as a carry on.  It weighed approximately 424 lbs.  Under my other arm was a 3 foot African mask wrapped in bubble wrap.  As I shuffle down the customs line, that actually is more like a three-leveled ramp, a woman who works at this fine institution leans over and starts to yell at me about my African mask. This is how the interaction went,  what I was thinking is in parentheses.

Angry Airport Woman: Tell her she has to pack that away or they will take it away from her

Me: (who is she talking to?  And what is she talking about?)

AAW: You'll have to put it away!  They will take it away!

Me: Okay

AAW: Look, I'm not trying to be mean, I just know how it works.

Me: Okay (why is she still yelling at me?  what does she want me to do about it at this moment?)

AAW: I've worked here 10 years.  I know how it works...they will take it away from you!

Me: *silence* (if I don't say anything back maybe she will stop yelling at me and everyone will stop staring at me)

AAW: THEY WILL TAKE IT AWAY FROM YOU!

Okay, I think it's abundantly clear that this woman wants me to know that "they" will take my African mask away from me.  What I never quite understood was how she wanted me to solve this problem?  Was I supposed to fly back to South Africa and return the mask?  Should I put it on my head?  Should I put it in my luggage that I had yet to claim?  Why was there a need to yell?  I don't know what she wanted out of me, but I know I didn't appreciate her delivery.

After that debacle, we had to recheck our bags at the United counter.  Super, super helpful people manning those stations.  They must go through special training to provide such amazing assistance.  We get to the counter and I check us in.  Then I hit a snag...can't check bags until 4 hours prior to flight.  It was only noon.  I had 3 hours to go...  Drat!  I ask for assistance.  Woman walks up to me and says, "Four hours, four hours, four hours."  And then she walked away.  That was her attempt at helping me.  I started to walk away only to realize that the two other couples we were traveling with who were on our same flight back to OKC both had their bags checked.  I went up to a new United employee and explained that I needed to speak to someone about checking our bags early.  Here is our interaction:

Super Helpful Lady:  They can't help you with that here

Me: But they just helped our friends 

SHL: Well they can't help you with that here

Me: But they just did

SHL: You need to go around the corner, that requires special assistance

Me: But they just helped our friends, right here

SHL: No.  They can't.

I see we don't agree on the way things have occurred.  I gave in.  Off we went to the super secret double probation counter.  As we wait in line, the man at the counter yells, "Are you going to Newark?!"

Me: No.

Nice Guy: Houston?

Me: No.

NG: WHERE are you going??

Me: Oklahoma City

NG: Through Newark?

Me: No.

NG: Then you need to leave this line.  This is Continental.  (points to sign)

Me: We are directed to Number 10 from the other counter.

NG: THIS is number 12.  Please leave this line.

So here is my question for you, you arrogant jerk, why do you have to be so mean?  There was not  one other person in line.  Just me.  What was with the condescending tone and pointing?  Necessary?  I think not.  Why don't you do everyone a favor and turn that frown upside down, pal?

After we moved lines, the guy behind me kindly pointed out that the Nice Guy was available to help me.  I turned and told him, "That guy has already informed me that he has no intention of helping me unless I am going to Newark.  I am not going to Newark.  But if you are, knock yourself out."

The good news is that our bags did get checked in at the secret counter and I still have my African mask.  I still have one eye open for the people who will take it away from me.  I'm curious if it will be a temporary thing or if they will take it away forever.  I wonder if I'll have visitation rights...I did carry it across the Atlantic Ocean after all, doesn't that count for something?

Keep the Change, Pal!

I've adopted a new policy in my life.  I'm going to start calling people, "Pal," when making a point.  It really gets my message across.  Strong.  Powerful. Pal.  For example, next time I'm dealing with customer service, I'm going to say, "Listen, pal..." or when someone is being rude for no other reason that it's a Tuesday, I'll say, "Calm down, pal."  I like the irony in the fact that a word that is synonymous with "friend" actually is quite hostile.

So, I am not adverse to change.  I almost always embrace it.  You can often overhear me condescendingly telling someone, "If you don't embrace change, you will be the one left behind."  Oh Kathy, she is SO wise.  But I will admit, there are a few things I am really struggling with accepting. 

First up?  Summer Armageddon.  Remember when The War on Terror began and President Bush used fun buzz words and catch phrases.  Unlawful combatants.  Suspicious Behavior.  Weapons of Mass Destruction.  Axis of Evil (that was a good one).  And my personal favorite, Smoke 'em Out of their Hole.  I currently feel like the state of Oklahoma is trying to smoke me out of my hole, but with extreme heat.  Seriously, enough already.  Husband and I left Arizona to escape torture heat.  Why did it follow us?  Go home.  Go back to your hot home...I'm done with living on the surface of the sun.

Kath's second struggle has to do with "virtual keys." Up until last week, I owned a phone with a real keyboard.  It was kind of like a sidekick, ala Paris Hilton, but not as big.  I fit the role quite well.  I could type like a mad man on that thing, all the while pulling my little dog around in a suitcase (see picture).  But alas, that old phone died, and I was forced to upgrade.  I don't have AT&T or Sprint, so no, I don't have an iPhone.  I don't drink coffee.  I've never read Harry Potter.  I'm different than you, I'm sorry.  Anyway, I'm have a VERY difficult time adjusting to this virtual keyboard.  And predictive text.  I send texts that come across that I am either 1. Intoxicated...heavily 2. Very, very dumb. Or 3. English is not my first language. Well, technically English isn't my first language, jive is.  But that's not the point.  The point is that I may have to put my fingers on a diet, they seem to be too fat to type words correctly.  How sad is that?  Poor, Kathy, and her fat little sausage fingers.

Finally, I'd like to address what no one will...the no-merge policy on the highways of Oklahoma City.  Seriously, what is wrong with you people?  Where does this aggression stem from?  I will let you in on a little secret, me trying to merge has nothing to do with my personal feelings toward you.  I am not mad at you.  I don't even know you.  And running me off the road and not allowing me to enter the highway isn't very neighborly.  Have you not seen the signs, "Drive Friendly" ? It's not a suggestion, I'm almost positive it's the law.   I cannot adjust to this angry attack.  In the year and a half that I have lived here, I have been run off the road no less than six times while trying to merge.  The official title of what I am on is an "on-ramp" which means I need "on" the highway in which you are currently driving.  Ease up.  Smile.  And let me over, pal.