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.

Christmas Curiosities...

I very much like this picture.  I hope you do too...

Last time we talked, I was sharing with all of you the amazing photos I found on my top notch clip art/stock images CD.  Believe it or not, that was my most popular blog to date.  Who knew?  Less talky-talky, more pictures.  I'll throw a few more in for you viewing pleasure at the end of this blog, but I have a couple of quick questions in regards to Christmas for you:

1. What is the deal with this song Christmas Shoes?  If it doesn't make me cry, does it mean I don't have a heart?  I'm concerned.  I saw a friend tweet about it a couple of weeks ago, so I googled it.  I found a YouTube "original" video to accompany the song.  Worst video ever.  Horrible video The kids teeth are jacked, he's buying sneakers for his dying mom that look like they are used.  And I get that the sentiment is that he wants his mom to have new shoes to wear to heaven.  It's just a little over-the-top.  It's possible the video ruined the message of the song for me.  The Dreamlover video by Mariah Carey had the same effect on me....oh wait, I just don't like Mariah Carey.
2. The Lost Ogle blogged about this earlier today.  But I stand by the fact that I asked this just the other night, why is My Favorite Things now considered a Christmas song.  It's not about Christmas.  It's about a thunderstorm in Nazi-Austria when Liesl sneaks out and cute little Gretl is scared.  It wasn't even winter in the movie.  Somebody explain to me what is going on here.  If I decide that I would like Defying Gravity to be a Christmas song, can I just make that happen?  Who do I need to call?
3. How do parents explain to children how Santa comes into their houses when they have gas fireplaces that don't open.  I need to know, because Mr. Bojangles is getting old enough to be curious.  Does Santa just come through a window?  And do we just send our alarm code to the North Pole?  I mean, I just want to keep up with the times.

Enough of that, here are some pics I left out the other day. 

Another scary elf.  Yet to be determine where is he going.

You should probably just come up with your own caption.  Because I really don't know what is going on here.

Just because you dress in all red doesn't make you Santa.  Where's the belt?  The fur trim?  Where's your freakin' beard?  Fraud. 

So a sheep dog and a clown walk into a creepy old motel...

And finally, I know this isn't Christmas, but I really like this picture.  I think this might be Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater and his wife is inside there.

Happy holidays  everyone, I'll be back after I open all my presents.  I just know this is the year I get a Vespa.

A very special Christmas message

This summer, I purchased some clip art CDs.  I'm not really sure how the law reads exactly, but I know that it is frowned upon to just pull images from the internet and use them in publications.  Not wanting to get myself in trouble, I decided that it was probably in my best interest to invest in some clip art. I found a great deal.  More then 20,000 images for a mere $40.  How did I get so lucky?    I'll tell you how, the pictures are suspect.  I knew I was in trouble when I found the picture you see above in the "sports" folder.

Today as I worked on creating a electronic holiday greeting from everyone in the office, I went back to my trusty clip art CD.  Maybe, just maybe the holiday pictures will be better quality.  Not so much.  I've pulled a couple of my favorites for your viewing pleasure.  If these don't get you in the holiday spirit, nothing will.... enjoy.

Santa, minus the beard, plus dreads.  And of course he's grilling.

This picture was in the "holiday" folder.  I've yet to determine which holiday she is celebrating.



Hey, I've got an idea....let's just take pictures of things around the house and label them as "high res photos."  No one will know the difference.



Nothing says Christmas like a blurry, off-center picture of the front of a random office building.  'Tis the season, indeed!

Cucumbers, one pickle, a half-eaten cake.  Or as they say in the art-world: still life.

I don't know what is going on here.  I'm so confused I can't even come up with a witty caption.

Two obvious things to take away from this: the kid is wearing a sweet jacket and the man he is with looks like a serial killer.  Happy Holidays!



It was very difficult for me not to choose this picture for our office holiday card.  I personally think scary full-sized elves are really, really fantastic.



The End.

When I grow up...

... I want to type on a typewriter in my car, while driving on the wrong side of the road and wear a fedora.  At least that is what is indicated by this accompanying photo.

I stumbled upon an article about the Oklahoma City Thunder today on Grantland.  Here is a link to the story and here is a link to the site.  I of course loved it.  I then became sad.  Have you read Grantland?  It's awesome.  It also employs one of my favorite writers, Chuck Klosterman, so that was an instant selling point for me. 

I like to think that I'm not selfish, or self absorbed, but in all honesty, from time to time, I am.  Whatevs.    I volunteer a lot, that has to negate some of my bratty jealous moments, right?  When I read sites like Grantland I become instantly jealous of the people who get to write opinion pieces about sports FOR THEIR JOB.  Seriously, do these people know how lucky they are?  Coming from a girl who has an opinion about everything, the prospect of getting paid to be funny and opinionated makes me light-headed.    I decided, today at 1:45 p.m., that writing for Grantland would be my dream job. But fear not, friends, I've got a few other things I'm positive I would excel at:

1. An otter trainer.  I love otters.  They are funny and playful, and they like to swim.  Win, win, win.  That would be a fun job.

2. An English-speaking tour guide in Pompeii.  I have an obsession with Pompeii thanks to my high school Latin teacher, Mrs. Albert.  I will find a way to end up in Italy giving tours to Americans and Brits wearing fanny packs.  Last time I was in Pompeii, our guide told me I had real potential.  Grazie.

3. Butter chef.  You know, like Paula Deen.  How amazing would it be to be able to just cook everything in a ton of butter.  For your job.  I mean, come on.  Heaven on buttery, fat Earth.

I'm not sure how I would categorize my last dream job, but I think I would be excellent as a personal tour guide.  I would just go with you on your family vacations, take pictures for you, tell you all the random things I know about the places you are visiting, take you to great restaurants like Hard Rock Cafe, and basically become your best friend.  I would excel at that job.

That's all for now.  Back to my real job, where they unfortunately do not pay me to tell jokes or be funny.  Sigh.