Me and my third world problems...

We're all familiar with my love of couponing, my insistence I get the best deal and a sense of competition I don't necessarily leave on the soccer field when the game is over, right? Well, I would hereby like to welcome myself to the frenzy known as "Parents Go Insane Trying To Get The Most Popular Toys For Their Precious Wittle Wonderful Ones (2011)." And if you think having a 15-month-old means I'm not vying for the really serious electronic stuff, let me remind you that I am a very popular aunt and intend to remain that way.

Hence, there have been some late night eBay sessions in which I put all my super secret skills to work (if the bids are climbing by 25-cent increments, I'm not above having my high bid end in .34. Oh wait, everyone does that? It's a not-so-secret strategy? Nevermind then.) And while I haven't stooped so low that I've pulled the pepper spray out of my purse and gone crazy on my competitors (uh, I mean "fellow shoppers"), I'm not above whispered conversations on my cell phone to confirm I just spotted *the* hottest toy of the season ("there's four of them. Should I buy all four?") (I didn't buy all four-- I let some old guy who claimed it was for his grandkids get in on the action).

And this is just the beginning. I have a kid at the age where he would love climbing into the box the toy came in as much as playing with the toy itself (if not more-- boxes are a big draw around here). Can you imagine what I'll be like when I'm doing it for real and the stakes are having a disappointed child shouting that he hates me on Christmas Day because I didn't get him whatever toy he and every other child in the United States wanted? Yeah, I'm kind of scared of me too.

Here's a tip: try smiling...

My unsolicited advice/vent for the day:
I've been a waitress and I know how tough it is to go into work happy each day and put up with all of the crap the entitled diners throw your way. And while I don't have personal experience with this, I can imagine your soul dies a little every time you have to put on a period uniform that includes shiny pantyhose and a weird little hat.

Still. If you're going to work in a restaurant that is attractive to families with kids (there's a train that runs along the ceiling for goodness sake!), you might want to show some sort of interest in kids-- parents love that sort of thing. And even if kids aren't your thing, try to put some pep in your step and even a small smile on your face. Immediately asking us what we want to drink without greeting us, answering our questions with the least enthusiasm you can muster without being downright rude and grudgingly wishing us a good day as you drop the check is not going to cut it.

We still tipped you, of course. Because I've been a waitress and I would never tip less than 15 percent. But since you did nothing to go above and beyond, neither did I. Seriously, try cracking a smile. Your job isn't that bad and smiling would do wonders for how you present yourself (and probably for your wallet, too).

Dude, five times in one night!

Back when SJ and I started this blog (waaaay back in aught five), that title would have been pretty self-explanatory. Either my crazy single self hooked up with that many guys or SJ (engaged at the time) was bragging about the number of shots she had done.

But, alas, it's been a busy four and a half years for us. Marriage, moving into multiple houses, dogs galore... oh, and that part where I got knocked up and SJ found herself with child. We've left behind those crazy girls nights filled with chocolate martinis, the random use of tiaras and some epic hangovers the next day (I learned my lesson the time I spent an entire funeral willing myself not to throw up in church).

Instead, we make mocktails out of juice and sip them out of martini glasses. And we discuss which pregnancy-related symptoms we have rather than which dude I should grant a second date to. And the only shopping I've been doing lately is for a cute outfit for the FunnyKid rather than cute shoes for myself.

And that title? Well, apparently, the FunnyKid thought my bladder made a nice, soft pillow and that's how many times I got up to pee last night. *Sigh* My, how times have changed.

Doesn't it suck when people post about their dreams?

It does suck when people post about their dreams, so I'll make this short. And I'm only doing it because it was funny (and in case parts of it come true). I dreamt I gave birth to a boy in a very quick and painless delivery. And the Pretend Husband and I were then trying to decide between two names: "iPod" and "The Pretenders." I never found out what we chose because, two days after I gave birth, and because the delivery was so easy, I volunteered to give birth to someone else's twin girls (not carry them, mind you, just give birth to them). And I kept talking about how unusual it was to give birth twice in two days. My sister was there, but I don't think the twins were hers; I think she was just there to visit little iPod (or little The Pretenders).

So guess all you want about what this means, but I'm warning you that one of us-- the one who didn't just have her 20-week ultrasound that confirmed only one baby-- will definitely not appreciate any insinuations that my dream is a prediction. I'm just sayin'.

Apparently he can only be romantic for so long...

The Pretend Husband went missing this weekend. But I wasn’t even upset about it because whoever took him replaced him with a similar looking model with the biggest romantic streak you’ve ever seen.

The PH surprised me with a trip to Boston this weekend for our second wedding anniversary. We ate good food, wandered around to a million different places, hunted out the best ice cream in the city, tried to buy cannoli in the North End (the PH: “what business doesn’t take credit cards these days?!?”), napped more than our fair share and just enjoyed the crap out of the chance to spend time alone with each other with nothing else tugging at our attention.

We decided we will never own a Sleep Number Bed after a too-soft bed the first night resulted in lower back spasms for me and a too-hard bed the second night was just uncomfortable for us both (but still better than back spasms).

He decided we will never live in Boston, even after we retire and have a couple million dollars laying around just begging to be invested into a brownstone on Beacon Hill. I’m still not entirely convinced it’s not a sound plan, but we have some time to argue about it.

And I think we’re both in agreement that I’m the better driver. Oh wait, no. The PH doesn’t necessarily think that, but agrees there’s a lot less arguing when I’m behind the wheel (I still say I wouldn’t be such a bad passenger if he wasn’t so bad about not braking until we’re practically in the trunk of the vehicle in front of us. I’m just saying.)

And I knew the honeymoon was over when, a few hours after arriving home, the PH insulted not just me, but SJ too! As we were telling friends about all our Setback playing adventures, I told them the PH and j always try to anticipate how we’re going to play our hands and act accordingly. But it often backfires because SJ and I aren’t exactly known for our logic when it comes to cards (We say, “You know what to do” a lot, but I don’t think either one of us takes that seriously…)

“Yeah,” the PH said. “You can’t outplay crazy.”

Oh, good. It appears my husband has returned.

Just in time for Halloween, a tale of blood and (a lack of) guts

You know those people who can give blood regularly, stopping in at a blood drive on their way to work and then spending the rest of the day in the office without fainting or otherwise embarrassing themselves? Yeah, that's so not me.

In high school, I was that peppy go-getter that was in a bunch of clubs, including the Student Council. And, as part of the Student Council, I was in charge of organizing the blood drive. So we got it all set up and, after doing whatever it is that made me in charge, I hopped up on the table to make my donation. And, although it's not the most pleasant thing to have a needle in your arm, I did fine.

Until I stood up. I took two steps and said, "I can't see anything." Although I was still conscious and could hear everything, I had blacked out. Which led to a red alert that involved throwing me onto a stretcher, force feeding me cups of orange juice and making me lay still for an hour before I was allowed to stand up only with an American Red Cross worker on either side of me.

That led to years of feeling dizzy and lightheaded in doctor's offices, and the realization that I will never be a blood donor. Seriously. I tried. I even got as far as going into a blood drive once before the smell alone made me lightheaded. Also, my poor brother, laying in the chair after waking up from wisdom teeth surgery, once had to tell me to put my head between my knees and breathe deep to keep me from passing out (and that was from the nurse just talking about blood!)

My history of being a total wimp when it comes to needles was brought back to me this morning when the Pretend Husband and I had blood work done in order to get life insurance. The nurse made me lie on the couch to have the blood drawn and took all sorts of extra precautions.

So I'm thinking the only way I'm going through childbirth is if they can pump me full of drugs without using a needle. Is that asking too much?

I should not be allowed to make promises before 10 a.m.

The wonderful Mollymoo at Exquisitely Wasted gave us this here award (I think it's because she thinks SJ and I are so demure and quiet about our lives and she just wants to know more about us). Also, I may have promised one of SJ's sisters that I would blog every day this week. I blame the fact that it was early in the morning and I hadn't yet hooked myself up to an IV bag of coffee. I wasn't thinking straight. (And SJ, I will cheat and not post if you do. How about we make it a "something gets posted everyday" week rather than "Kat posts everyday"? Good? Good.)

Oh, and just to make an incredibly long post even longer, I should explain that, although the rules of the award only say to share 10 things about yourself, I-- for some strange reason-- went with a job/career theme.

1. I have no desire to become a real estate agent (I don’t think I’d be great at negotiating deals), but I am positively addicted to real estate in general. I love going online and looking for houses for people (only people who are already looking themselves, I should add—I don’t try to persuade people to move). I may be freaking SJ out because every time she mentions a house she has seen or wants to see, I ask for the address and look it up online. The two of us may or may not have spent almost an hour on the phone recently going room-by-room through the photos of each of the five houses she had seen that day. I’m not admitting to anything.

2. I have never had any desire to be President. Or a nurse. Or have any career that would send me into the corporate world. Or do anything that involved science. Or be a flight attendant (I would not be able to keep a straight face in turbulence).

3. I spent a couple of summers and holiday vacations working as a waitress at a country club. It was a great job, for the most part, and it’s where I learned how to quickly and properly cut a wedding cake– a skill that has not really come into play for me since. The club members were all fairly cordial, but some of their kids were horrific and entitled. They liked to order the staff around as though we were their personal servants. I’m sure more than one of them was served an ice cream sundae that had been spit on (I never did it, but not all the wait staff were as classy as me…)

4. I have secretly considered getting my master’s degree and going into teaching. But not little kids. Perhaps at a college? Maybe someday.

5. I WILL flip a house someday. Although hopefully not one I’m living in at the time since I’ve done that and it’s not as fun as it looks. But how awesome would it be to turn something outdated and run down into a beautiful home? And maybe this time I could actually even turn a profit (the only flaw in the plan the last time around…)

6. My job in middle school and high school was as a soccer referee. I did it for seven years and made mad money. In fact, I worked weekends during the spring and fall and was able to take the summer off. I sometimes wish I had stuck with it (summers off sound nice…) Is it possible to become a professional town league soccer referee?

7. After almost two years of marriage, I still sometimes introduce myself with my maiden name. I blame my weekend job because I use my maiden name on the radio. It’s confusing for me. The other day, I introduced myself to a group of people as Kat Maiden Name…… Married Name. So it sounds like I have a hyphenated name—with a very long hyphen.

8. Although all our babysitters growing up were cool and let us stay up to watch television until the moment my parents pulled into the driveway (and sometimes we even got away with it), when I was old enough to babysit, I was the mean babysitter who made kids go to bed at whatever bedtime their parents gave me. I think I was just really stuck on the concept of following the rules at that age. That, and it was impossible to raid the cabinets if the kids were awake and watching.

9. My worst job was the summer between high school and college, when I worked in the kitchen of a restaurant (I had wanted to be a waitress, but the only position they had open was as the salad bar stocker). I was really ill that summer, but had recovered by my final day of work—the day I was required to peel and chop 20 pounds of carrots and then, as a finale, de-vein 40 pounds of raw scallops. It was the most disgusting job ever and my hands smelled like seafood for days. I swore up and down I would never work in a restaurant kitchen again (it may also have to do with why I don’t cook too often either. Ok, probably not, but I may have to plead “Post Traumatic Disorder” if the PH ever questions it…)

10. I’m living the dream, people. I recently found a cassette tape (and then found something that could actually play it!) that had my young voice playing the part of the DJ in between my favorite 80s hits. Even as a kid, I wanted to be on the radio. Then, as I grew older and worked for newspapers in high school and college, I wanted to be a journalist. Look at that! I’m a journalist on the radio! It’s nice when a plan comes together.

I think I'm supposed to "tag" people but I'm not going to put you on the spot. If you have a blog and want to spend a lot of time coming up with a huge list of things about yourself, go for it. If you don't want to, how about everybody leaves a story about their best or worst job in the comments and we'll call it even? Good? Good.

If you're still sad about any of the celebrities that died last week, you should probably skip this post

I've gone back and forth on whether to write about this topic because of the whole don't-speak-ill-of-the-dead thing and all. But it keeps rewriting itself in my head and I figured the only way to get it to stop is to actually put it down. And I'm curious to hear if people agree, disagree, could care less, think I'm a terrible person, didn't hear this news until just this second, etc.

So, a bunch of celebrities passed away in the past week. It's too bad and it's always sad when someone loses their life. But, honestly? I don't really care. They weren't my friends, I'm in no way related to them and I'm about as far from the person who gives up their day to stand outside Michael Jackson's house and cry while laying flowers at the gate as you can get.

I'm absolutely fascinated by the MJ story in terms of how the media has covered it. I couldn't believe how many people said, "We will all always remember where we were when we heard Michael Jackson died." Really?!? That's how much he means to you? His death is a life-changing event for you? Because it's not for me. I will remember where I was on September 11, I still have a clear memory of watching the Challenger explode and I can recall even the most minute detail from my mom's last day alive. But a washed-up pop icon with a questionable criminal history? Eh.

One article I read last week was titled, "For Generation X, A Really Bad Day." And it quoted a 38-year-old man talking about how MJ's death is a defining moment for Generation X and the moment that finally turned that generation into adults. Really?!? He's 38 years old and just getting around to becoming an adult? His wife must be so proud.

Was Michael Jackson a star? Yup. He did a lot for the music industry in his day and he was a heck of an entertainer. Was he also just a person with a whole lot of issues? Yes he was, and that's the part that seems to be getting lost in the shuffle. His death is sad, yes, and particularly terrible for its effect on his children (although I also question the effect his apparently daily drug use had on them...) but it's not the end of the world, the worst thing that's ever happened to me or a reason for the media to hype it into more than what it is. Let's all keep it in perspective, shall we?

Important Work Memo

Note to self: The word "pooch" sounds an awful lot like the word "cootch" so you might want to think twice about yelling at the man at work who just asked you how your cootch is doing in case he really said pooch. I'm just sayin'

For the record, I did think twice and stopped short of describing my last visit to the gynecologist to some random dude. But, seriously, perhaps next time he could just say "dog"?