Monday, January 31, 2011

Fair Fights

I would just like to say up front that there could be some potential bitterness in the following entry. You have been warned.

So, lately, I feel like a lot of people are getting pregnant, and I have to admit, I have some mixed emotions about all the bundles of joy shooting down from Heaven. On one hand, I'm really happy for my emotionally stable and mature friends, who are bringing children into this world. On the other hand, I'm a little tired of opening my gossip websites and seeing the announcement of another moronic celebrity having a baby. Why couldn't they all just follow the trend of 2003 Angelina and adopt? Why all of the sudden are these celebrities, who at one time were addicted to some substance of some sort (Britney...uh, Nicole Ritchey) becoming so freaking fertile? I mean honestly, are we serious about sending children to these people?

Below is what I call my "Seriously You are Going to Be A Parent?!!"

Celebrity #1: Pink

Relationship Status:

Pink recently told Cosmo that she is making an effort to be nicer to Carey (her on and off husband). "I'm so dramatic ... and in the past, I've been really mean," she said. "Carey sat me down one day when we were fighting and said, 'Baby, when you call me names, it hurts my feelings. Please try to stop.' And I was like 'Wow, thank you for telling me how you feel.' Now I fight fair."

Kate's Thoughts: Where to begin? Um, the fact that she classifies her fights with her husband as now "fair," is slightly troublesome. What about, "Now that we are having a baby I've decided to love my husband and not cause him to have periodical interventions with me like first grade teachers have with kids on the playground."

Fate of Child: Prior to entering rehab, will see this picture and know why its Dad took his motorcross and drove off a cliff.

Celebrity #2: Mike Tyson and wife/girlfriend* had a baby

Kate's Thoughts: This would be totally cool in my book if it was 1987 and the only thing I knew about Mike Tyson was Nintendo's "Punch-out," and the fact that he was dating Darlene (Robin Givens) from Head of the Class. Unfortunately, it's 2011 and his greatest hits include a rape conviction in 1991 and biting a man's ear off. Model Dad? Probably not.

Fate of Child: Kids will be terrified of him on the playground, he'll most likely have a very high pitched voice, and whenever his father hugs him, he will most likely cover his ears.

Celebrity #3: Mariah Carey and Mr. Carey

Relationship Status: She still pays for everything.

Kate's Thoughts: Again, quite a doozy to discuss. I think my anger with this situation really stems from her MTV Cribs, where she changed about twenty times, and kept saying stupid things like, "blah, blah...because I'm a diva." Yes, that's exactly the maternal instinct we are looking for - a diva.

Fate of Child: He'll go on to host an exciting show about nobodies showing the world their hidden talents and becoming America's Got Tal...wait a second. Sorry, I was thinking of someone else. I think she'll have a girl* and she'll wonder why her Dad looks her age and is always asking her mom for money. She'll also have a terrible voice...because something in the world has to make sense to me right now.

Celebrity #4: Rachel Zoe

Kate's Thoughts: She is Skeletor's long lost daughter. How does she even have enough cells and blood to make a baby? How does bone create life? This one makes me the most mad. I haven't been on a bike for a few weeks just so I can maintain weight for a baby and Skeletor drank air yesterday and is now pregnant.

Fate of Child: Eaten of course.

Other celebrities that should have made the list: Kim Zolciak from Real Housewives of Atlanta, Baby Spice from the Spice Girls and Anna Duggar (the chick already has 1,000 children!)

* I wasn't capable of reading the article because all I saw was "Mike Tyson baby."

* Again, absolutely no real research went into this entry.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Oh, The Neck Strength

There are many reasons why I love Santa Monica. This would be #131.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Africa Needs Aid?

Last night Mr. Hip (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to venture up the 101 and see Amos Lee at The Music Box, which is a cool little club on Sunset. To start off the night, a man named Vusi Mahlasela opened the show with a very rousing set. I say "rousing" for two reasons. One, the man had some pipes. And two, between each song, that inevitably had something to do with Africa, he would go off on some political rally speech, that wasn't exactly well thought out. For example, he said, "You know I'm from Africa and it's a great big continent. We have so many people and lands - and we've given so much to the world in aid that I think it's time we start to receive some aid as well." Now, call me crazy, but what kind of "aid" has Africa been giving to the world? Does this guy really think that Africa hasn't received any aid? And how come a few idiots in the crowd started to clap when he said this? Do they too believe Africa has been sustaining the world? I swear, give a person a guitar, put them up on a stage and some idiot will follow any gibber that comes out of their mouth.

Once Vusi was finished changing the world (and historical facts) Amos Lee came on and he was absolutely amazing. He's originally from Philadelphia, which in my book means you are already the coolest person in the room, and to boot, his voice was like butter. (Yes, I too, think I should be a critic of some sort. I mean, who would compare a singer to butter? Me.)

If you haven't experienced Mr. Amos Lee do so. And if you haven't given a dollar to Africa - do so.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Please Sir, I Want Some More

Before we begin, let me apologize for my misspelling in my last entry. Yes, it was "waist" not "waste" we were looking for. I do appreciate all your faithful readers, who caught the mistake and brought it to my attention. I'll admit, I wrote that entry in a rather sleepy state. I promise I will not write another entry or use heavy machinery without having my brain at full capacity again.

So, the other day I was sitting in the market area of our restaurant when a woman came in and asked to purchase the entire batch of oatmeal cookies we had made for the day. As soon as she made this request, a man behind her let out a soft whimper, and then ever so Oliver Twist of him, asked if he might be able to buy one of the 21 she was buying. She, without even a single moment of hesitation said, "No." At first, all of us other grown-ups in the market area assumed she was kidding, but when he asked again, and even included the fact that he had walked his fat ass all the way down from work just to buy a cookie, she again said, "No." Granted, this time she followed it up with a smile, but I think her message was the same. What was that message? Well, it was, "I'm a grown woman, who due to her parents lacking of parenting missed the entire first grade where they teach you on how not to be an a-hole AND how to share. So, I'm taking the entire 21 cookies and I don't care about your low blood sugar or strange addiction to an oatmeal cookie because I too have my addictions. I enjoy finding something people enjoy and taking all of it. I enjoy watching your face crumble in disbelief and disappointment as I hand over my credit card and take away the last piece of joy you had in this life." (I'm paraphrasing of course.)

Eventually, my co-worker couldn't stand the ridiculousness (again, you all can spell check me on this one) going on in front of him and said, "Really, you won't just give him one cookie?" I thought she might withstand the additional pressure to act normal, since she started with the "sorry sucker" smile, but she finally caved.

Is it bad that I secretly hope someone either stole all of those cookies, or at some point when she needs blood, Mr. Oliver Twist will be the only one who can save her, but when she asks for just a little blood, he'll tilt his head and while smiling say, "No?"

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

You Take Your Pants Off

Because of my current issue with not being able to create babies, I've been at the doctor's office quite a lot over the past two years. For those of you, who also frequent the doctor's office, you know that this is a strange place. It's strange because just when you are in the middle of a great article, in some magazine you would never buy (today I was completely fascinated by the benefits of breast pumps - did you know there is an actual magazine entitled Mom? Really, Mom? What marketing genius came up with that one? Probably the same company who brought us the thought provoking magazines entitled: Plants and Lamps.) I digress. What we were talking about? Oh yeah, so there you are engrossed in some bizarre magazine and then a nurse calls your name. Of course, you drop the magazine, thinking you are about to see the doctor, and then you find yourself in an empty room, on cold paper and nothing to read. I see ladies taking their magazines with them, but I always hope that, maybe just once, they'll be even cooler magazines in the room I'm going to. (So far I'm 0-11).

Second and definitely the strangest thing, is the whole, "Take off your pants and the doctor will be right in." Now, if I went out to dinner and the host said to me, "Just take off your pants and a waiter will be right out to take your order," I think I would find that a little strange. And yet, in a doctor's office this is completely normal. It's completely normal to be waste naked in front of a virtual stranger, who still calls you Katherine even though you have corrected them numerous times and encouraged them to call you Kate.* It's completely normal to shake someone's hand while you sit there waste naked. It's completely normal, after an exam, to remain waste naked and talk about the future. Waste naked isn't normal. Heck, it's not even the right phrase for it. And yet, I do it. I do it every time.

One of these days I'm taking a bundle of magazines into my exam room and I'm not taking off my pants unless someone else does. Well, not really. At least not until someone offers to buy me dinner.

*Even spoken in the third person to really drive the point home. For example, "So, then I said KATE, you just got to keep doing those shots."

Friday, January 21, 2011

Someone is Taking Their Job Quite Seriously

So, a few weeks ago Mr. What's His Name (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I (well, I really didn't because I don't have to pay our bills) realized someone was illegally using our credit card at three different gas stations. To remedy the problem, we (this time together) called the credit card company and were directed to one, Carl. Now, either India is getting incredibly good with accents or we, by accident, called a backwoods cabin in the hills of North Carolina, because Carl (said with a drawl) was rippin' ready to help. As we told him about the fraudulent charges on our card he said, "Well, I do think someone is usin' the card illegally because (insert credit card uninteresting tracking information)." After we agreed with his assessment he then said, and I do hope that this was being recorded for quality assurance, he said, "Man, I wish someone would kill these people." Slightly taken aback, Mr. What's His Name and me started to laugh, and then we realized Carl wasn't kidding.

I wonder if after work Carl dresses up in some snazzy tights, a homemade cape and puts a lunch bag over his head (spaces cut out for his eyes, of course) and goes and finds these people he thinks should be killed? I think it would be pretty cool to have Carl, The Credit Card Avenger, out there fighting crime. I would think twice about using someone's information if I knew some crazy redneck was going to find me and tie me up to his Ford pick-up.

Just sayin'...

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Trash Talking

The other night I was collecting the trash around the apartment and I had a strange thought, "What would someone determine about me if they went through my trash?" I know, strange thought, but you know, what's the first thing detectives do on TV when they can't find their suspect? Yep, they go through the trash. And then all of the sudden, they find receipts for plane tickets, lab results for matching DNAs and pieces of bomb kits. Within 30 minutes their suspect goes from a "person of interest" to the perpetrator who blew his brother's house up and is now flying to South America. Folks, it's all in the trash.

So, here's what I deduced from my own trash. One, I'm not a cook. If anything, based on my trash, I eat a ridiculous amount of cereal, pizzas from Trader Joes and not a trace of vegetables or fruit. Two, again, based on my personal waste, I hate Greenpeace and anything associated with it. How do I know this? Well, because inevitably, each round of trash includes at least four Greenpeace reminders, six Save The Whales pamphlets and two Starving Children contribution notices that are all torn up and shoved in an empty cereal box. And three, if I was sifting through my own trash, I would conclude that a person living at my house has a terrible drug problem, due to the used syringes*, but is not completely out of control because of the inordinate pieces of used floss. (I think this last one would have really stumped NCIS.)

So, let's review what my trash has told us: I'm a poorly fed, drug abuser, who hates people or things less fortunate then myself, but makes time to maintain good oral hygiene. I think that sums it up.
So, what does your trash say? And more importantly, why is your trash talking?

* For baby making

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Something From the Church Mouse

So, I'm walking into church and my new high tech phone buzzes to let me know I have a new email. Innocently, I open my gmail and find an email from my mom. I figure, since it's my mom writing on Sunday morning, it must be important. The following is what I read:

I don't think a scripture could be as wise.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Alphabet Test

Questions: Why do you have to type a bunch of nonsensical letters in order to leave a comment on a blog? And why, are they difficult to read? Is their a problem with poorly seeing people leaving inappropriate comments on blogs? Does typing the random letters make you feel like your comment is more important because you had to jump through a stupid hoop to post it? Is someone getting a royalty check every time I do this because they thought of the dumb ass idea in the first place? Was there a time when you could randomly leave comments on blogs with no check of your typing and alphabet skills? Have you ever not typed the right sequence and felt like a total moron? Are you lying right now?

Anyone got any answers?

Friday, January 7, 2011

I Ain't No 007

There are few things in this world I'm not very good at. 1. I'm terrible at replacing the toilet paper. (Just ask my husband because he'll tell you. No, really, he'll tell you right now.) 2. Wearing my retainers at night. It's not that I don't enjoy straight teeth, I just loath the mocking I receive from the husband. (If I hear one more time, "Do you want to open mouth kiss?" when I decide to wear my retainers, I think I might commit murder.)

And 3. (yes, it's a short list) I'm not very good at gambling. (I know, you too, see the connection between toilet paper and retainers.) No honestly, I'm a terrible gambler. A few years back, Victim #1 (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I went to Vegas to see his friend get married by Elvis. While we were there we decided to play a little roulette. As we walked up to the table, I was asked by the pit boss to show some ID. I, being 29 at the time, thought his question was absurd, and responded, "Oh, it's okay I'm 29." He took one look at me, and said, "I don't care if you are 88 years old I need to see some ID." I started to laugh a little bit and then realized the man wasn't kidding. So, I went upstairs to my room, got some ID and walked back. Now, me being as cool of a number as I am, as soon as I walked up to the table (mind you, a game was in progress) I shoved my ID into the dealer's face and said, "See I'm 29." Immediately, Victim #1 grabbed my arm and apologized to the other gamblers.

Then, once the game, that I disrupted, was over, Victim #1 and I started to randomly place our chips on the table. At this point, things were beginning to look up until I decided last minute to change one of my bets. (Mind you, once again, the game was in progress, and as I went to move my chips, the dealer bellowed out, "Don't TOUCH those chips!" Again, Victim #1 apologized and I looked down at the floor.

I wish I could tell you that, even though I was a complete moron, the white ball fell in our favor and we won millions of dollars. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and turns out 30 seconds of stupidity cost me $20.00.

Now, you would think that after this experience I would stay away from the gambling world, but last week we traveled to Vegas for an anniversary celebration, and before I knew it, I found myself in a casino. However, this time I decided to approach my gambling weakness from a different angle. I decided to approach the Black Jack table just like James Bond. I decided I would sit down with an air of confidence/cockiness, I would bet high, read my opponents and maintain an aura of mystery at all times. Unfortunately, my plan backfired as soon as I tried to smoothly and mysteriously look at my cards. I don't know why I thought hiding my cards would be a good idea, but in my attempt to be 007, I managed to completely bend them. Immediately, my cover was blown, and Cindy, the middle aged dealer, looked at me with disgust and said, "You can't bend the cards honey." No dry martinis could save me - I was exposed.

So, gambling will remain one of my weaknesses. At least it's not heroin.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Saving Dolphins

Yesterday, I was blessed with a worthless trip down to the airport courthouse to fulfill my civic duty as a public juror. For three and an half hours they made us sit in a cold room while they explained, in the most laborious way possible, all the ways we could get out of jury duty. I learned that if you are 70 years old and just don't want to be a juror you are excused. I have to admit I'm not a fan of this cut off. How come 70 year olds are excused? All they are going to do is rush back to their recliners and scan the obituaries for their friends and sad stories. (Sorry Beba) How come 30 somethings aren't excused to go, oh I don't know, work, help the economy, produce products our society needs etc., etc.?

I also learned that being poor is not a recognized "hardship" for being excused from jury duty. Now, this attempted excuse was repeated almost ten times, which made me wonder, "Is this really the 'go to' excuse when you don't want to be a juror?" How about, "I have a heart that might stop at any moment?" Or exclaiming, "I think all murderers should be released!" Why tell the court yous poor? If anything, if you are poor you should be on jury duty because you get paid 15 dollars a day (yeah, you read that right) and the possibility of getting a free lunch.

The other strange part of the juror orientation was the fact that after spending 180 minutes explaining all the ways we could get out of jury duty they then showed us a five minute video of testimonials of how cool it is to be a juror. I really think someone in the courthouse PR department should think about the conflicting messages they are conveying - 1. Hey, get out of jury duty, everyone is doing it. (Unless you are poor) vs. 2. Jury duty is right next to saving a dolphin out of a tangled patch of seaweed. So, do it.

Lastly, I must admit, as I sat there freezing to death, I started to strangely replay Runaway Jury in my mind. All of the sudden I became a reincarnated John Cusack (minus the trench coat and boom box) and started to calculate who I would be able to manipulate into voting my way. I had pinned down about four clueless people, when a courthouse worker announced we were no longer needed.

Civic duty - check. I really think I could have owned that jury if given the chance.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The Cardinal Rule of Christmas Cards

Disclaimer: This entry is not the result of any of MY friends' Christmas card.

So, the other day we received a Christmas card from one of my husband's friends. (Yes, you are getting two entries in a row about Christmas cards - tis the season.) It was your typical 30 something Christmas card - Costco printed, short wish of a Happy Holiday and a well posed picture. Unfortunately, this well intended card forgot one of the cardinal rules of Christmas cards - if you recently had a baby and you are, either still overweight from the pregnancy, OR if your newborn is...not cute - SKIP THIS YEAR or SEND A NOTE.* Honestly, this child was seriously killing the card.

I now leave this train of thought and ask you all: Do you think these thoughts I have sometimes about not cute children is the reason I'm barren? Yeah, me either. Some kids are just not cute.

I know there are many of you out there who wanted to see the Christmas card I'm referencing...sorry. Please enjoy this awesome one I found on the interwebs.

*Which really should be a brief explanation of your inability to lose your baby weight, or the fact that your husband was too an ugly baby, but grew out of it in high school.