Satan's Game

So, in a few weeks the husband and I will be traveling to South Carolina to celebrate my Dad's 70th birthday. While there, we plan on laying at the beach, eating ridiculous amounts of food, playing a little tennis and, if I'm ready, playing golf. Now, for those of you, who haven't had the opportunity of being tortured and belittled by a small dimpled ball, let me tell you a little secret - golf sucks. It sucks bad. It makes you question every coordinated day you've ever had in your life. It makes you wonder if anyone is up there in heaven or if Satan is really in control - and just to show his control he makes people play golf. It's such a hard sport, that even me, a rather strong willed woman, can sort of look past Tiger Woods' transgressions because he is able to hit this small ball into a hole. Honestly, people, his man can't be all bad.

So, why do I attempt to play this sport? One, because I once hit a hole in one and that's just too bad A to not continue. Two, people say you can play this sport until you die. (Sure, I think this sport will actually kill you, but we'll see.) And three, because after chunking 100 shots, slicing the other twenty and missing too many puts to count, you hit one forsaken good shot and you think, "This sport isn't all bad."*

So, wish me luck - I've got four weeks to master this game. And just so you know, if my golf lessons don't start producing some results I'm going the pre-Thanksgiving/scandal Tiger route. Don't judge, it's not love, it's just about being a better golfer.

*Lies, lies, lies.

My Memorial Day

What does Memorial Day mean to you? Is it about the selfless men and women who gave their lives to protect our country? Is it a day to barbecue, drink or drive to Santa Monica so you can overrun a beach that is already packed with foreigners and tourists? Or is it a day to visit cemeteries and remember those past generations?

Well, for me, Memorial Day will always hold the special memory I was given by a rather loveable customer today. No, he didn't give me a minature flag and say, "God Bless America." Instead, while balancing six tables' orders, he said, "Kate, come on be honest, do you have something to tell me?" I, thinking I had forgotten to thank him for his service in the Korean war, was about to say, "Oh yeah, thanks for beating down those Koreans. We wouldn't be the same without it," when he interrupted my thoughts and said, "You know, because you look really fat."

Now, granted this came from a man who smells like Irish Spring soap and someone who has been dead for two weeks, but I'll admit it, it sort of ticked me off. I mean, it's a holiday. Save that stuff for the middle of the week.

The Clydesdale and the Shetland Pony

This weekend The Man and I traveled to St. Jorge for a little family time andddd...to see two young men participate in a Triathlon. Here's a few pictures of the event.

I begin with this picture because I love The Man's uniform pre-event. It doesn't matter if he's running a marathon, biking a century or doing a Triathlon - jeans are always his choice of attire to enter the ring. I really think Levi should think about expanding its clothing lines into warm-ups suits for professional athletes.
Can you feel the tension? The male torpedo is just about to enter the water.
Once the male torpedo was off, The Man's bro (or The Clydesdale as we like to call him) got in line to enter the water. Unlike The Man's two layers of wet suit, rash guard and biking shorts, The Clydesdale entered the "widow maker," or the swim, a "little less clothed."

To the left The Clydesdale finishing the swim, to the right The Man coming in from the 20.5 mile ride and...












behind the camera one woman going insane with this kid rattling a cow bell for 45 minutes straight. (Yeah, I took her picture.)

After a mile swim, a 20.5 mile bike ride and a 6.5 mile run the Triathlon was over.













There are no words to accurately describe this.

$20.00 For A Baby?

So, as we know I've been trying to get pregnant. However, my constant judging of other people's babies, my tendency to swear and the occasional stealing from work has, in my opinion, probably impeded the process. So, today I decided to summon the karma gods and finally do something right. (I realize my alternative motive probably negated my effort, but I still tried.)

Anyway, there's a guy that comes in often, who I would describe as surprisingly grumpy and rather cheap. Last week after he left, I went to clean his table and found a 20 dollar bill left on the ground. Now, after two years of serving this cheap s.o.b., I knew this wasn't a forgotten tip. So, I pocketed the twenty and wrestled with myself for the next few days on what to do.

Finally, judgement day came. As I went to get his orange juice and bran muffin, I heard the devil say, "Kate, twenty dollars could buy a dram of fertility drugs. Don't do it." And then the angel, on the other shoulder obviously, said, "Kate, give him the twenty and that baby is as good as yours." What can I say, Momma's desperate.

But here's the thing...okay, I told him about losing the twenty and how I felt like he should have it back, but the guy didn't even say thanks. He took the twenty. Just took it. No reward for being honest. No high five for "The Server of the Year." Nothing. ANNNDD...the guy still have me a crappy tip.

So, what did I learn from this? One, like The Steve Miller Band says, "Take the Money and Run." Two, karma can't be bought off with $20.00. And three, I think I need to come up with other strategies to get a baby - this approach is costing me way too much.

I Don't Sound 32?

Tonight a representative from the LA Times called me to see if I would be interested in getting a subscription to the newspaper. At the time of the call I was making dinner, which consisted of a bowl of cereal, and wasn't fully speaking into the phone. Consequently, the caller asked to speak to my parents. This statement made me laugh, and while putting a spoon of cereal in my mouth, I said, "Um, I don't live with my parents." In retrospect, I don't know why I said this, but the caller responded, "Well, I'm not talking to you because you don't sound over 21." Again, I started to laugh and said, "Really? You don't think I sound over 21?" This only infuriated her and she said, "I'm going to call back when your parents answer the phone." My response, "Great! Talk to you then."

Who knew sounding like a moron or a ten year old would get rid of solicitors on the phone. I'm totally using this again. Thank you LA Times.

My Mom is Better Than Yours

Being that is it Mother's Day today, I thought I would take a moment and express my love and admiration for my mom. I know people say it, but truly I have the best mom. Why? Well, here's 5 reasons:

1. Look at the woman, she's hot. 60+ and she has still got it.
2. She's hilarious. Tell her a dirty joke, or anything that involves farting, and the woman will be laughing. How can you not love that?
3. She knew that the husband was the one before I knew she was the one. So, she's smart is what I'm saying.
4. She is an AMAZING cook. (I wish that was hereditary.)
5. She always puts us kids first.


Barb, I love you. Thanks for having me and sorry about the 28 minute wait....

Unusual Brain Activity

Today, for fun* I got a MRI of the brain. For those of you who haven't had the rare opportunity of being locked down inside a little body capsule, while a loud beeping noise somehow takes pictures of your brain, let me give you some tips and insights into the process. (Because, sadly, this was my second MRI of the brain.)

Tip #1:
When the technician asks you what types of head traumas you've had to warrant your first MRI, just stick with your first answer of, "I started having migraines and they wanted to know what the cause of them were." Don't add, "And sometimes I talk back to my husband." No one will laugh, at least, mine didn't.

Tip #2:
When the technician asks you if you would like to close your eyes or watch a nature video on animals, choose closing your eyes. (Yes, there was a video inside my little claustrophobic chamber.) All of the sudden I'm watching a polar bear with her cubs, and then I'm watching a wolf chase down Bambi and slaughter it. I wonder what activity they'll see in my brain as I'm screaming out, "RUNN!"

Tip #3:
Don't try to read the face of the technician after the procedure. I couldn't tell if I have six months to live or he has indigestion. Maybe he was all torn up about Bambi also.


*And when I say "fun" I mean fertility.

Stellar Police Work

Dear Local Police Force,

Thank you again for my $234.00 ticket. I really appreciate the time and effort you put into turning your siren on, pulling me over like a reckless outlaw and teaching me about breaking the law.

Oh, and I also wanted to thank you for keeping my community so safe. Just the other day I saw a car being broken into and when I called to tell you, you not only didn't respond in a timely manner, but managed to call once the car was pulling away. And there was the stealing of my bike from my own garage. I'll admit I had that coming. I mean, that bike could run more stop signs. Thank goodness that got stolen. And then how I look back on fondness, the time we found my husband's car broken into and my Ipod stolen. How you dusted that car for fingerprint....oh wait. And now, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you again, for all the hard work you put in. I mean, sure on Monday night my Thule bike and surf rack was stolen, but I'm sure again, someone who runs stops signs on their bike doesn't deserve a rack to carry the dangerous bike! No!

So, thank you again, and thank goodness that at least one real criminal (me) is being punished for breaking the law.

Kate

NASCAR and CBS

According to Wikipedia: NASCAR holds 17 of the top 20 attended single-day sporting events in the world, and claims 75 million fans who purchase over $3 billion in annual licensed product sales. So, who, I ask you, are all these people flocking to these events? And if there are so many people who are fans of NASCAR, and who buy items attached to NASCAR, why is there such a stigma attached to the sport of cars going round and round? I mean seriously, how come admitting you like NASCAR is like tweeting about Osama Bin Laden and saying, "@dkeller23 We’ll never know what really happened. I just have a hard time believing a plane could take a skyscraper down demolition style." (To read about this actual dummy check out this article) You just don't do it.

In addition to the mystery of NASCAR, I would like someone to explain to me, or tell me, who are all the people who watch CBS? I couldn't name you one show I've watched in entirety that airs on CBS, and yet, almost every single show in the top ten of viewership is from this network.

So, here's the only conclusion I can come to: The same mysterious people who show up and watch NASCAR, must be the same idiots who think Two and Half Men is one of the funniest shows on TV, and (insert city) CSI is just plain brilliant.

Who are you people and who is leading you?

Dentistry and Waterboarding

Today, I went to the dentist. I hate the dentist. Why? Well, for one I hate the accusatory looks and questions. Like, "Well, I see you have some receding gums (which I'm already sensitive about) do you floss?" To which I answer, "Yep, every night." To which they reply, "Every night?" I then say, "Yes, every night." And then they say, while getting out the torture towel and bucket of water, "Every night?" What do these people want me to say? "Okay, there was that one Friday night when I got strangely involved into a Lifetime movie and decided swishing warm water in my mouth was going to be my nightly cleaning." Seriously.

I also hate the entire cleaning process. I hate the suction tube that always gets left in my throat, I hate the cool air on my teeth, I hate the chipping away of my tartar, and I hate the different levels of "opening one's mouth" we are all supposed to know. Like how am I supposed to know that "Please open your mouth" actually means tilt your head back and show me the inside of your esophagus? And yet, "Please open your mouth" can also mean, just slightly release your jaw muscles so I can look at your first molar. There really should be signs.

And lastly, I hate the up sale at the end. Today's up sale: some stupid scrap that removes all the bacteria that accumulates at the back of your tongue, which causes bad breathe. As I sat there telling them politely no, I started to think, "Do I have bad breathe and that's why they are trying to sell me this?" I swear this office gives me a complex every time I leave. They either convince me I have early signs of pyorrhea (google it) and if I don't start wearing a full facial head gear I'm going to lose all my teeth, or my teeth are so yellow that it's almost a crime I haven't broken down and gotten them bleached. Why can't they just say, "Teeth are still there. You can still chew. Here's a toothbrush in a little bag?"

I hate the dentist.