A Man of Few Words...

just called me to tell me that our Kia inspection is over and the car is ready to be picked up. Conversation goes as follows-

Ring ring

Me- Hello this is Katie.
Dude- HeytheKiasdone
Me- (after taking a milisecond to register what was said to me.) Oh, uh, okay, great. Thanks.
Dude- (Click)

Wise sage who saves his energy for more important conversations, or antisocial mechanic? You decide.

A Picture Can Say a 1,000 Tacky Things

Today’s life lesson- If you ever feel bad or down about yourself, check in on Awkward Family Photos. There is truly no end to the abuse of cameras. Any old Joe out there since photography was invented has thought himself a photographer. And their abuse of this artistic medium is now all on one convenient website.

Which brings me to my next thought- What do you think makes certain photographic trends popular? Is it that they really are great ideas and I am the one that doesn’t get it? OR, is it that the customers have poor taste and are just flaming the tacky photo fire?? Let’s ponder a few photography trends that I can’t get my head around…

Color Coding Families- Okay, I GET that if you’re all wearing the same color, you might think that it complements the photos because there is an association going on and everyone matches and the coloring is easy on the eye. This dude I briefly dated had a great example of this- a huge print in their living room showed he and his family, casually posed at the beach, ALL of them in white linen. The reason I hate this trend is this- 1- you look creepy, because unless you are a CHILD, you should not be dressing in the same outfit as your brother. 2- This actually makes the photo feel as unnatural as humanly possible. If you and your 40 year old brother showed up to a party in the same exact outfit, something tells me that you’d be a little, cough, weirded out and stay clear of eachother. That, or make it a photo op! Also, shouldn’t you all be allowed to express your own artistic outlooks on fashion? Why would you want someone to look back at said photo 50 years from now and go – wow, white linen was REALLY in fashion. But in a strange twist, I find matching outfits for little girls or boys adorable and charming. Even more-so if one outfit is slightly varied than the other? No words. I just squeak with the cuteness thrown at me.

Staging Graduates with their “Hobbies and Interests”- My husband was a victim of this trend. Granted, he was freakishly attractive at 18, so you really can’t say it’s a bad photo, but…he also has on a soccer windbreaker and is holding a soccer ball. Ok, so now I know he liked soccer. Duly noted. He also has a group photo of him and his bros with their guitars. So, if there is ever a nuclear fallout, at least the world would know that my guy took his hobbies seriously enough to constitute bringing them in for documentation. What about those poor saps who really don’t have a way of showing their interests?? I mean what would I have done? Held a book up like I just so happened to stumble upon a photographer as I pondered over Anna Karenina in the woods? Nope, I would probably be a “Tree Kid ” or maybe if I’m lucky, a “Railroad Tie Fence Kid”. You know exactly the poor saps I’m talkin about. The poor Tree Kid doesn’t even have a chance. I mean, what is that?? “ Hey, I am popping my head around this tree to scare you! P.S. I’m 18 and am old enough to vote and go to war. Tee hee hee” At least Railroad Tie Kid gets to look a little aloof and carefree by doing the side-lean on the fence. They got that going for them.

1980s Floating Head School Photo- Thank the LORD that my mother put her taste-foot down on 7 year old me. Go back in time with me to 1988 or so. Photos were taken of young classmates of mine, you know, your classic pose, showing the mid-torso and up, but then…there it is…this close up shot of a that same child’s head, just floating magically in the corner. Maybe the head is looking at its smaller self, maybe not. I’m not really sure if there is a message behind this kind of design, like, we are all our own gods, or maybe some dude in 1981 smoked a little too much while he was editing some photos and it grew like wild fire. I don’t know, but all I know is that I have my mother to thank for not being in possession of any of these creepy photos. She hated this trend. When I was a kid I couldn’t understand WHY she would shun such beauty. She even gave the smack-down to the laser beam back-drop and opted for the classic blue background. I remember even one instance where I was getting my holy communion photos and the photographer wanted to take some shots of me in this huge Basilica. It would have been me, but me praying in a pew with a upshot of this massive church behind me, me in the right-hand lower corner of the shot. My Mom wanted NOTHING to do with this idea. He was amazed at her scoff. The photographer, and me, didn’t get it. She did. So she told him. She wasn’t paying him because she wanted nice photos of a church, and moreover, a church she didn’t even belong to or have any affiliation with. She wanted shots of me, and ONLY me. Because apparently Big Cath will dare as she may with hair trends or clothing options, but she was, and is, a photographic purist. Bring on the kid, and only the kid. Nothing wrong with that.

They

For some reason this blog draft was accidentally saved as “They”. I’ve decided to keep it. Just like that old lady from Poltergeist, it's both short and creepy, but I like it.

How many times do us regular folks get to utter “Well, if you don’t hear from me it’s because I’ll be out of the country for a few weeks.” Well, I finally did, and it was glorious.
Do you really care what my itinerary was? Probably not unless you’re planning on going there soon. I think if you’ve ever seen even one picture of Italy you can gather that it’s an absolutely gorgeous place. The climate is perfect, the views are stunning whether you’re by sea or landlocked, etc. SO, instead I thought I would highlight observations I took while there. The good, the bad, the Italy. Basically, a list of things that I found to be foreign to my American ways.

HISTORY- Sure, we got Ben Franklin and Pocahontas, but our country is the zygote to Italy’s middle aged man. They have some seriously impressive history. I walked on the same exact stones that pave the same exact road where Caesars walked 2,000 years ago. Or how about a rat pack of geniuses like Da Vinci, Michelangelo or Galileo, who brought the world out of the Dark Ages into the Renaissance years before we even got around to raping and pillaging the inhabitants of America. I mean for God’s sakes our country is actually named after an Italian.

COFFEE- If you ask for coffee, you’re getting espresso. That’s fine with me. But if you want what we consider coffee, it’s literally called “Café Americano”. Ha. However, amazing upgrade- They give you heated cream instead of cold H&H. Grazie Italianos. Stranger still- you don’t get your coffee to go. You go into a place, order it, and since it’s about a thimble’s worth of liquid, you just drink it standing at the counter out of a cup and saucer.

LANGUAGE- Anyone under 40 can speak fluent English. Many speak better English than most Americans.

TRAIN- We took a total of about 16 train rides, ranging in length from 5 minutes to 5 hours. Our tickets were actually checked about 6 times. I’m talking NO staff. I could have went on a bloody rampage through a few cars, and the conductor wouldn’t have been none the wiser. You are eerily on your own on Italy’s train cars.

As an added bonus, you can get really fancy and get first class tickets like we did at the suggestion of our travel agent. What you get in return is different upholstery and a #1 on the side of your train car.

BUS- Same goes for the bus. Italy has the dumbest concept of bus passes that I ever witnessed. You cannot use money on a bus. You need to buy a ticket at a Tobacco shop or a bus station. It gets better…upon entering the bus via a door in the middle of the vehicle, you are supposed to punch the ticket into a machine that time-stamps the ticket, to make the ticket unusable for future rides. By placing the machine away from the driver, people just pretend to punch it and can use the same ticket over and over again. Sorry Italian government, in a country where upwards of 30% of your residents don’t even pay their taxes, you’re just begging for it.

RULES-Everyone does pretty much whatever they want. Driving like they have blindfolds on, smoking in restaurants next to small children, graffiti is EVERYWHERE- You wanna graffiti that 2,000 year old wall that was so perfectly engineered that it’s stood strong, against all odds? Sure, do it Giacomo. God knows we need some kind of morphing between Italian and English curse words in hot pink bubble font. You’re so edgy!

SAVING THE PLANET- Italy doesn’t really dig this concept and it shows in their lack of recycling receptacles and their penchant for littering. I am sure many Italians would think it’s hilarious to know that there is an American out there calling them decadent and wasteful, considering you could fit 4 of their cars inside one of our SUVs, but there ya go, I said it! Italy also has a huge tourist population of Germans and Swiss Germans, who are known to be a very logical, level-headed people who see the efficiency behind recycling and oh, I dunno, not ruining the freaking earth. I’m surprised they haven’t started beating them with their weird German hiking sticks.

TOILETS- Italy’s got em, and if you want ‘em, you better pay up. This actually doesn’t bother me one bit, because it makes you feel a touch better about going into a public restroom since they always have an employee there and a lack of guys talking to the 10 people that live in their head. There are a few unattended free restrooms, and it’s a straight up hole in the ground. Picture a BathFitter material on the ground, with a whole in the center. Well, you hover and do your best to aim well. You then shiver with fear of what kind of illness you are collecting on your sneakers.

RESTAURANTS- When you arrive, you get a menu. They won’t come back for about 10 minutes, at which point you order everything you’re going to want for the meal. There’s no “bevving” the tables, and then coming back for the order. I think their system is a win/win. I don’t want to get too attached to you Paulo, so let’s keep our exchange to a minimum for the sake of my heart. Also, when you’re done eating, they consider it rude to give you the check unless you ask for it. Everyone’s had that night when you’re enjoying that last drink, the place isn’t waiting for others to sit down, but for some reason as soon as that check arrives you feel obligated to leave soon thereafter. Not in Italy. You take your damn sweet time.

ROOM TEMPERATURE- I don’t really believe in freezing to death indoors when it’s 90 degrees outside. If it’s summer time and I am putting a sweater on while indoors, it’s set too low. So, I appreciated Italy’s indoor climate setting set at a very temperate level. Just something bearable. Speaking of bearable, this brings me to my last observation…

DEODORANT- So, Europeans shower. They bathe themselves, and even have a special cleansing mechanism that Americans don’t even have for after you use the bathroom. So then, why, WHY is it so freaking hard for you to swipe on a bit of Deodorant? I’ve had people tell me that apparently they think it’s sexy or something to have your natural odor flowing. Um, sexy for who? The black bears living the woods that can smell you from here? And what’s even the point if you’re going to cover it up with a pint of cologne?

Cha Cha Cha Cha Change-ez!

(That's supposed to be a David Bowie-inspired title. Not sure how well it translates into print.)

Anyways, changes good and bad over the July 4th weekend.

Bad changes- Rammies the cat died in his sleep. That, or the real truth is that he probably knew what was coming for him and curled up to get ready. Animals definitely know things that we do not. Either way, my parents found him in his usual sleeping position. We are all a little relieved we didn't have to take him in to get put down, and as far as these things can go, he went peacefully. He's been a constant in our lives for a long time, and he will be sorely missed. RIP Rams.

Good changes- We painted the cabinets and walls of our kitchen all day yesterday. The good news...I felt we had accomplished something. The bad news... I didn't accomplish jack.

1- The finish on the cabinets is not even remotely as smooth and seamless as I had hoped, which means I need to try and put on a smoother, second coat on top. Yeah that whole "a paintbrush gives the smoothest finish" is a total crock. Just do the rollers. 2- We painstakingly painted the kitchen walls a pretty blue color. The problem? It's pretty, but it's also definitely not what I wanted. It's way darker than it looked in the store, and it's even darker than I had imagined in my mind for this space.

I never understood people who would put samples of paints on their walls. The entire concept seems rediculous and frivilous to me. It reminds me of something that only people in movies do when they were renovating a room. That or something you'd see on HGTV. Like seriously..the thought of going to a paint store, and actually spending my hard earned cash on a few little tiny pints of paint, driving home, dirtying multiple paint brushes just to swipe one stroke on the wall and stand there staring? That's absolute nonsense. I've painted many a room/object in my life and I have always just made a decision, and was always dead on...until now.
I take back my cocky tone towards those who do this process of painting one little patch of wall. Why? Because I've now learned that it's not as rediculous as painting an entire room, covering every little inch of it with paint with the greatest of care, then stepping back and thinking... Wow, I don't like it, which means I now have to spend more money on more paint, and do this ALL over again. AWESOMENESS. Pure awesomeness.

Andy thinks (and hopes) it will grow on me. Nothing yet. We shall see...

It brings me great sadness to pass along word that Ramses Dewees, name-rhyming renegade, will be moving on to that great cat-nip laden, treat-feeding, heated sofa in the sky. No, he’s not there yet, but while Rammies is still with us, I thought I would pay him tribute.
The Raminator has dropped some poundange recently. Usually you think that’s a good thing, but not in a cat whose 13 and has always been on the portly side. I think we all knew something was up when he stopped frequenting his favorite pastime…. Window stalking the cat that lives across the street from my parents. Said cat, who we call Bo Jangles, but whose real name is either Vinnie or Minnie, would saunter past Ram’s windows a few times a day, and it was Rammie’s favorite thing to follow its movements from window to window. For the past few weeks? No mas. This, with the weight loss, put up some red flags.

Rammies took his first vet trip in over a decade. Yeah, he’s “that” cat that people would rather just allow to skip the shots because it’s that big of a headache and heartache to take him to the vet. So you know it’s bidnaz time when Raminator needs a vet run. Anyways, blood work shows that he’s got cancer. Where tis? No one knows, and none of us are interested in subjecting him to xrays and sonograms just so we can know what kind of cancer will eventually kill him. The vet suggested two choices 1- give him chemo or 2- let him enjoy his last few days/weeks/months until he either a) dies at home or b) stops eating and drinking, at which point that means he is now not feeling well and we put him to sleep. Since we all agree that choice 1 is a choice made by selfish people who are more interested in keeping an animal around for themselves than doing what’s best for the animal, we obviously chose option 2. Uh, this isn’t a human being we’re talking about here. Chemo? For a cat? Yeah, no thanks. Believe it or not people, it’s an option, and there are actually people out there that would subject a CAT to rounds of chemotherapy.

Ramses, if he wore clothes, would surely don himself in a tweed suit custom made for him on London’s Savile Row. In other words, he’d rather go out in a tuna- eating blaze of glory then mope around, sick-like. According to the vet, as long as he's eating, and drinking and wanting to do most normal activities (relentlessly hounding my Mom for more treats, getting pissy when you disturb him from slumbering on your lap, etc.) then he's oblivious to his pending doom and should be fine. So, Rammies will continue to live high on the hog, as he’s done for the past 13 years, until we feel he is…well, not.

Superstitious people like myself beware, Rammies defies the odds and even though he's A- a black cat, ominous creatures that people seem to avoid walking in front of, and B- now that his number's being called at lucky ol 13. For god's sake he fell 2 stories out of a faulty screen window in my bedroom at a few months old, and then about 4 days later, just casually walked in our backdoor, as we were leaving to look at a stray black cat that was reported to us a few blocks away. For being the runt of the litter that no one wanted, nabbing my parents as caregivers was probably the luckiest thing to ever happen to him. He’s had the most indulgent life a cat can have in the ownership of people who are not crazy. Sure, there are probably cats out there who have an even MORE indulgent lifestyle, but those owners are the type that leave pets in their will, kind of crazy. My parents are not, and this cat is treated like a Duke in the most reasonable forms.

Thanks for the memories Rammies. To me, you will always be that little tiny furball that could fit in the palm of one hand, my present for my 17th birthday. You will be enjoying a strange surplus of tuna and treats over the next few weeks, with no clue as to why. And, knowing Rammies’ privileged expectations on his behalf, he’s not asking “Why??”, he’s asking “It’s me. Why not??” We wouldn't want it any other way.

Desperado Decor

Ok, I took a blogging hiatus. I had an excuse. I was out of the country. That isn’t a fib like telling a guy you can’t come to the phone because you’re washing your hair. That one always cracked me up. Anywho, I’m back. I have a post I’ve been working on about our time in Italy, but that must now wait. I have more pressing issues at hand. I have a design dilemma... a piano.
For those of you who don’t know this or don’t remember, I played the piano, every day, for a decade. From 7 years old until I was 17, I practiced. Then one day, I just decided to stop. When I decide to quit something, it’s usually cold turkey. So, that was that. I literally have not played a single time since the day I quit. When I started, my parents bought their 7 year old a brand new, beautiful, Baldwin piano. It cost over $2,000. That was in 1988. $2,000 was a LOT of money for anyone, let alone my parents, who had two small children to raise. They could have easily bought me an ancient used piano, or nothing at all, but no, they bought me this lovely little upright cherry finish Baldwin. I loved it. I still love it. And I still appreciate that my parents invested their hard-earned pay into that piano. However, I haven’t touched it since 1998. It sits in their living room, like a relic of another time. It gets dusted, but the only action it sees is my husband’s rendition of Desperado. This piano is probably more sick of Desperado than we are.
In life, whether it be cigarettes, soda, or a sh*tty boyfriend, sometimes quitting can be the best move you ever make. Uh, playing a musical instrument? Probably never a good idea to quit. Sure, I’m no Van Cliburn. I actually read music horribly, but my fingers can commit pieces to memory after some practice. Long story short, I will never be a musician that brings joy to the public, but I certainly brought enjoyment and accomplishment to myself. So, I’ve been wanting to start practicing again. “My” piano has been a part of my parents’ home and décor for 22 years, and it’s not going ANYWHERE. Enter Andy. Andy owns a piano. It’s been on loan to a family member for the past 10+ years, but it was always understood that if/when he wanted it back, it was his to take. If I didn’t know where Andy gets his efficiency and work ethic, I do now. I casually mentioned to Andy’s Mom, ONCE, last time we were visiting, about how it would be nice to have that piano at some point in the future. Well, she spoke to the family member, they are fine with us taking it, and she even rented a UHaul for this 4th of July weekend and coordinated with her sons to make the delivery. She means bidnazz.
When it comes to our home (and life in general), my husband is all about function. If something serves a purpose, he’s all for it. Superfluous trinkets be damned. And while he appreciates my efforts to make our home look nice, he will always, ALWAYS, choose practicality and purpose over aesthetics. I get it. I really do.
So, naturally, he’s perplexed at my apprehension about the pending delivery of our piano. Have I not been asking for this same piano for how long now? But there are two things I’m worried about. 1- Our house is tiny. Pianos weigh a ton, so it needs to be on the first floor. So…that leaves the living room in front of the front window. So, I now must move my favored macintosh chairs that are currently in front of the window to….I have no idea. 2- The piano’s finish is super duper light (think blonde wood). Our living room is all dark woods. Those who know my sense of style know that I am always ready to embrace an eclectic mix of colors and things that don’t “match , but that’s with shoes and a top, not the furniture in my home. I mean come on. Anyways, how can I fix this? I mean…can you refinish a piano yourself? That seems like a really difficult project that I’m not sure I’m interested in undertaking. Maybe I can drape a dark brown runner across it so it masks the blonde just a touch? Should I just shudder every time I look at them together in the room? I’m grieving the look of our living room changing. The room is in need of some serious personality, but I was thinking new curtains and pillow covers, not varying woods. I like its overall look. I don’t want it to change. But I want a piano, and here is a FREE piano. Well you can’t have your cake and eat it too is I guess the lesson learned here. Maybe I should just shut up about the look of the room and let my innner-Andy take over, and just celebrate the functionality of the space? Any thoughts/ideas will be welcome.

Give 'em the Slip

I went to visit our friends Sarah and Todd last night, and their seriously gorgeous babe. Maksim is one good-lookin infant. Even Andy, who is convinced that all babies look like aliens until they’re a few months old admitted that he was a cute lil bundle of joy. He then also asked Sarah if the bones in his hands were tough enough yet. Sarah invited him to shake hands with Maks, and I am pretty sure Maks showed Andy what’s what with that grip he gave to Andy’s finger.
So, on to the less important things in life, like….

SLIPS. I got a thing for ‘em, and I think any woman stepping foot out of the house in a skirt or dress should have a thing for them too. Here’s a little info that non-slip wearers don’t seem to get; as soon as you step foot outside of your house into the natural daylight… the entire free world can see through your dress/skirt. Thighs, what kind of undies you’re wearing, you name it. Oh, it’s a black dress? Unless it has a lining, sorry, we can still see through it. If you hold it up to a window, place your hand behind it, and see ANY shadow…you’re giving the community a free show.
If any men actually read this blog, which they don’t, they would be cursing me right now to STFU. Men love the non-slip wearers because of the obvious perk of getting to see the goods without having to buy beer, hot wings, and use a few dozen one-dollar bills without wifey knowing it.
Non-slip wearers fall into 3 categories-

The Ignorant- They seem to have NO clue that everyone can see through their skirt. I mostly just feel bad for them, because there is no way anyone is going to tell you the truth, unless you happen to run into your Mom or a best friend in the middle of a work day.
The Informed Exhibitionist- Of course there are those who are fully aware, but think it’s sexy. I’m not really sure how having the clothing equivalent of broccoli stuck in your teeth without your knowledge is SEXY, but that’s just me. Okay okay, I know I sound like a granny, so I will give the college-age gals a reprieve from this section. If you don’t want to wear a slip, then go for it. The ages of 18-22 are most likely the only time you will get away with it and you won’t look like an a-hole.
The Indifferent- I have talked about this a few times over the years with friends who don’t necessarily think it’s zexy, but the answer I seem to get is “I just really don’t care or want to be bothered wearing a slip.” I don’t get that. How can you not care that if you’re outside with someone, oh , like say your BOSS, or your DAD, they can see your junk? How does that NOT bother you?

Am I alone on this front? Am I like the undergarment equivalent of the polar bear? Are we short in numbers? I'm not really sure I get it. Slips can be adorable, like the one pictured. A strong wind comes along? Well the slip will probably save you some serious embarrassment. Why are people so terrified of these beauts?