You'll know me by the drink in my hand...

I've mentioned my friend, Mrs. Cheech, before. She was in my wedding party and is my oldest friend. After I graduated from college and returned to my home state, I not only kept up my friendship with Mrs. Cheech, but became friends with her two older brothers.

One of Mrs. Cheech's older brothers used to tease me by introducing me to people as, "This is my sister's friend, KAT" even though he and I were friends in our own right. I saw him as a party this weekend and he said the same thing, just to bust my chops. So I feigned annoyance, then explained to the Pretend Husband how the older bro used to do that to me all.the.time.

Then the older bro said, "Yeah, the other thing we used to say was, 'Oh, KAT's coming to the party? Better get some more alcohol!'"

And if that wasn't bad enough, another friend told the story about how, shortly after a group of us went out for drinks and dinner about 10 years ago, he ran into my dad and said, "Hi, KAT's dad. I just saw KAT the other night." My dad's response: "Was it in a bar?"

Apparently, I had quite the reputation in my younger days (and didn't even know it!)

SJ's Letters to the Masses version 3.1: The Ren Faire Letters

Dear Man who attends Renaissance Faires to grope the actors,

You're icky, sir. And I realize that I may be dressed somewhat funny, and I realize that you find my outfit very pleasing to the eye, but come now. Would you want random men groping your sister?

Do I invite your groping? No, sir. I do, in fact, not.

Please back away.

Sincerely,
sj

*****
Dear Freecreditreport.com,

On behalf of all singers and musicians that perform at festivals while dressed in costume: Thanks. Thanks a whole freaking lot. My credit is just *fine* thank you.

I bite my thumb at you, sirs.

Unapologetically,
sj

*****
Dear People who laugh at me for dressing up like Heidi and singing at such festivals,

I get paid. And I look *fabulous.*

And little girls wish to be me. (It's cool though, parents. I totally warn them away from a life of singing sea shanties while wearing a corset.)

Yours in song,
SJ

******
Dear 22-year-old SCA enactor,

I'm sorry, but we are not "fated to be together" in this lifetime, or the next. My husband is both a history nerd *and* a hottie.

Not, in fact, yours,
SJ

When technology intrudes...

The Pretend Husband and I needed new phones right around the time the iPhone dropped to $100 (still more than I've ever paid for a phone...) He got one because he needs it for work and I got one because... I'm awesome, I guess. I think there was some sort of reasoning that I could use it to help the PH with his work, but I ignored that crazy talk because I was too busy picking out which apps to put on the phone.

I love it. I get email on it. I have a variety of games. My calendar and address book are stored on it. I will probably never have "just a phone" again. And I guess I talk about my love for the iPhone a lot because a friend said to me, "I've never seen you this excited about technology."

But I worry. Just a bit. I worry that it may be detrimental to my marriage. Especially when, instead of talking to one another, the PH and I lay in bed each playing a game or fiddling with our phones. Or, like last night, when the PH sent me an email from his phone in the dining room to my phone in our bedroom to tell me he would be coming to bed soon. Then, when I didn't respond immediately, he yelled up the stairs for me to check my email. Which means he could have just yelled up that he would be coming to bed in a minute. But that didn't stop me from sending an email to say I'd be waiting.

You know. Just the usual shenanigans that involve me dressing up like a pirate.

Hi everybody!

Sorry. Did you think I fell overboard and never came back from Vermont?

I only wish it were so. I've been terribly busy playing pirate, doing my actual regular job and working on a third job that I picked up because singing like a pirate and my regular job that takes 50-60 hours of my life a week weren't enough.

Actually, I figured if KAT could work 7 jobs, surely I could work 3.

I don't want to disappoint, though, so as promised, here's a picture of me dressed up as a Pirate, with my very good friend and actor David who was also dressed up as a pirate. This, of course, was all in honor of the New England Pirate Faire held this past weekend in Gloucester.



I'd write more, but I have to go find the notes that I wrote down of all the funny that happened to me since then.

Oh, you'll be pleasantly entertained, I think. And if not, I'll include more pictures of me looking ridiculous.

Hugs and kisses, Interweb!

sj

The PH: loving, caring and oh-so-sensitive

Yesterday's soccer game was a little rough on my-- ahem-- "older" body. I took a ball to the back of the thigh that was almost hard enough to leave the manufacturer's name imprinted back there. Then, with only a few minutes to go in the game, I was defending this woman who tried to take a shot on goal. I have a habit of turning my head at the last second when this happens in order to protect my face. And this time, it paid off. Instead of breaking my nose, the ball whacked me in the back of the head hard enough to send me to my knees and have me shaking my head to get those cartoon birds from flying around it.

On the way home from the game, I was telling the Pretend Husband that I felt fine, but what if it was just a delayed reaction... like the one that killed actress Natasha Richardson when she fell while skiing? And could he please tell my family I love them? And perhaps wake me up every hour overnight to make sure I was OK?

The PH-- tired of my dramatics, I'm sure-- said, "Maybe we should stop at the hospital on our way by and have them take a look at you."

"That's nice of you to say," I replied. "But what about your family's picnic we have to attend this afternoon?"

"No problem," the PH said, "I'll just drop you off at the hospital and go to the picnic by myself."

Go ahead, dear readers. Remind me again why I am so lucky to have him...

Rhetorical questions (but feel free to answer...)

While I was walking the dogs this morning, one of them paused halfway through to vomit in the middle of the road three times. I may have made her finish the rest of the walk. Does that make me a bad mother?

The Pretend Husband just quit his job and is planning to open his own business. Despite all of the work I'm doing for it, he would agree only to name me "Director of Marketing." I may have traded in some sexual favors in order to be promoted to "Vice President." Does that make me a bad person?

One of the people who works for me, an older man, cannot ever say my name correctly (seriously, he's gotten it correct once in the five years he's worked for me). Let's say my name is KAT [Married Name]-- well, this guy introduced me to a group of high school students this morning as "Chat" [Maiden Name]. I may have interrupted to give my real name and followed up with, "so you're wrong on both counts." Does that make me a bad boss?

Stupidest argument ever...

So, I don't normally talk about my dreams-- vivid as they all are-- because I usually consider posts about dreams to be boring. You ran from a murderer?!? Then you had a shoot-out with the police?!? Oh my gosh! Oh, it was just a dream? Yeah, not half as interesting as it would be if it were true.

But I'm breaking my own rule because of how this dream turned into a serious discussion for the Pretend Husband and I. Last night, I dreamt the Pretend Sister-in-Law set me up on a blind date. I was at a restaurant, talking to my date, getting to know him, when he asked if I was going on the [My Last Name] Family Vacation. I said, of course and somehow the PH's name came up.

"I live with him," I said (just realizing it myself).

"I bet someday you're going to marry him!" said my blind date.

"Oh, I'm already married to him!" I said (again, not realizing it until that moment). Then I tried to come up with reasons why I was on a blind date while already married, but they all sounded lame even to me ("I was looking to make a new friend.")

The date got mad and left, calling me names under his breath.

So I told the PH about my dream after I woke up this morning and still tried to come out of it looking good.

"I can't believe your sister would set me up on a blind date when I'm already married to you!" I said indignantly.

The PH replied, "Uh, how about the fact that you're married and you went?"

"But I didn't know I was married until I said it," I replied, sounding lame even to my own ears.

And that, my friends, is how the PH and FunnyGal KAT came to agree that neither one of us is allowed to go on blind dates while we are married. The end.

"Did Uncle J come from your tummy?"

There have been some fantastic quotes this vacation, and that blog title? Yeah, that was just one of the gems that my four year old nephew E came up with this week.

e: Did Uncle J come from your tummy?
Me: No, he married me. He came from his mommy's tummy.

(that was the extent of my explanation. JAL was on her own after that.)

He had a few doozies over the course of the week. I can't capture them all here, because you're missing the gestures, looks and hilarious tone of voice he'd use.

e: "Mom, I wanna go fishing. Can we go... can we go... can Auntie Sara go? That's hot" (non sequitor brought to you by the piece of hot dog -- not a Paris Hilton influence, thank goodness)

Another thing about my nephew: He pronounces Lake Champlain as Sam Lake Sam Plane, marshmellows as smarshmallows - but he correctly knows that the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty is called "Maleficent."

I know that I've spent a good deal of this week laughing, a good deal of time fishing and a good deal of time relaxing. But somehow? It still feels like I'm going to need a vacation after this vacation.

I know! I know! I missed a day. I'm so sorry.

So much funny and so many censors in the next room reading what I write every day. (Hi, Mom!)

First, yesterday, it was rainy, so J and I went on an escapade over the border (not Canada, but New York). The lake looked more like the ocean with incredible white caps, etc. But the diehard fisherman were out in their raingear - or, as my mom likes to refer to them as their "costumes."

It was a relatively quiet day, with just a little bit of fishing, some exploring, some reading, and some movie watching. And lots of hilarity -- mostly due to my four year old nephew. He's cute and precocious, and incredibly good at casting. And only hit me with the pole/lure/rubber fish minimally.

I wish I had more energy to blog today, and to tell you all about the "smarshmellows" we had by the bonfire this evening, and to tell you how good black cherry vodka goes with pepsi. But that last thing is preventing me from sharing more today.

I promise more tomorrow.

Hugs and kisses, Interweb.

Love,
sj

It's Dad's Birthday. Otherwise, I had planned on sleeping in.

There's really no such thing as sleeping in when you're on a fishing vacation with my father. And by sleeping in, I mean "past 7 a.m." Really, your only hope is to pray for rain - even if just for the morning (I hear that tomorrow will be that day)- or cover the windows so he can't see the light.

Unfortunately, my father is too clever for all of that, and has an internal clock that ignores Daylight Savings Time and never runs out of batteries. He's been telling us for years that the fish eat breakfast early, but I'm fairly certain that a) they don't eat lures for breakfast, similarly to how we don't eat, say, hamburgers and b) I've never caught a fish prior to 10 a.m.

We've tried keeping him awake late, but that doesn't work. Dad seems only to require a few short hours, his dog, some really strong coffee and a really good breakfast to get going.

I require Starbucks.

(I haven't found one within a 10 mile range. I'm fairly certain that I'd have to drive 40 minutes to Burlington to find one. And I wouldn't survive the ride each morning.)

But for Dad, we woke early, we fished... then we fished some more. And then I made cupcakes, and then we fished.

And now? Now we sleep. And we hang black tarps outside of Dad's windows so we can trick that internal clock of his. (Just kidding, Dad! I just drugged your cupcake. No, just kidding about that too... kind of....)

Here's to you, Dad. On your birthday. Thank you for always taking our pike and pickerel off and for teaching us the finer points in fishing - and life.



As for our four year old fishing buddy today, we did indeed fish with my nephew. He did indeed catch fish... including a toothy creature (more on that fun tomorrow).

My sister and I: 0 Pickerel: 4

Just so it's clear, my sister and I are not huge fans of fish that have teeth. So when it comes to things like pickerel and pike, we are, frankly, scared of them.

So you can just imagine how much fun it was to see just the two of us catch not one but five toothy creatures.

The first one took us both by surprise. It hit my lure particularly hard.

JAL: What is it?
me: I don't know! You tell me! (I was, at the time, fighting to bring it up to the surface, and it happen to be right in front of her.

We both saw the long skinny belly at the same time.

JAL and Me (together): Oh, crap.

That began a string of expletives not fit for electronic publication. It also began a streak of us catching things that could bite our fingers off. Or mangle them, at minimum.

But today was practice, really. Because tomorrow, my sister and I will be joined by a certain four year old who thinks all fish are cute, and likes to pet them.

Tomorrow should be fun.

Day One: Ah the olfactory experience of Vermont. Cows and Fish.

As promised, today begins our vacation at the lake, and thus my daily report to you, our faithful readers.

So I'm sitting here, on the double bed that my husband and I will soon pass out on, and there are these little mosquitoes all over my screen. I've been coming here for... nearly every year since I was 7, and yet, every year I forget about the insane bug issues.

Anyhoodle, my sister and I are not currently bonding, as she is on her boat still. One assumes. It's 10 p.m. and we haven't heard from her. So either she's taken the boat to Canada (a realistic possibility, as it's about 20 minutes from the border), or she's too busy catching fish to answer her phone.

What's that? Why yes, I did bring my blackberry on the boat. How else would I have taken these great pictures for you?

First, this is my new friend. I've named him Herbert. It seems a good name for a turtle.


Next, this is how amazingly beautiful it is. It's almost pretty enough to ignore the mosquitoes.



Funny. I don't remember taking pictures of the bugs. Oh wait. They're just *all over my screen.*

Okay, but really. Besides the bugs, it's perfect. Wish you were here! (but kind of not. because that'd be kind of creepy, and you'd hog my fishing spots. but you know. you're here in spirit.)

Remember back when I used to blog? That was fun.

Yada yada, excuse about not blogging, yada yada.

I realize there's a formula to my posts, so I'm going to try to mix it up a bit. Kind of like how I mix up my work wardrobe by wearing black one day, black another day, then black with red shoes and then black and white.

It's about that time of year when I take off with my family for vacation. Like I do every year. And every year it's full of hilariousness. Hopefully this year will be no exception.

So as I gather my St. Croix rods, Pfluegger reels, Mepps lures and peep toe pumps (because nothing says bass fishing like fancy footwear), I am also grabbing a digital camera and my laptop. Because I vow to our reading public to blog from Vermont *every single day* with the events of the day.

Besides, when my sister and I get together on a boat and there are fish with teeth involved, it's always a good time.

Particularly because her boat has a cooler. And I think I will make Cosmopolitans in a thermos. I just hope that we don't accidentally store the vodka in the livewell. That would not be good.

How to know your blog has arrived...

The Pretend Husband never reads this blog. Every once in awhile, when I think I've been particularly witty, I'll read him my post. But I don't think he would even know how to find it.

But he thinks about it. A few months ago, he "forbid" me from posting anything about him (quite randomly and in the middle of an argument about something else entirely). I kind of let his declaration pass without comment, didn't write anything about him for a week or two and then subtly brought up how I had posted about something that involved him. Luckily, he didn't have a problem with it because, let's be honest, the PH and his shenanigans (or the PH putting up with mine) comprise at least 80 percent of what I talk about.

Last night, the PH and I were discussing some stuff related to his career after I had designed some materials for him. We went through the different designs and talked about what he liked about them and what changes he wanted made. Then, as he was walking out of the room, he looked back at me and said, "And no, you can't post them on the blog to ask people's opinions."

So, I'm curious... does your significant other read your blog? Do they ask you to limit their presence on it or ask for any restrictions such as not using their name? Do they even know what a blog is?