Serious Issue Here!

When is it ever okay to pick your nose? When there is not a Kleenex around (in the car, at the bedside, in the store)?

I have a sore in the upper corner of my nose. I get them every few months or so. They look like a little cut/slice and they hurt. I don't know if my nose gets too dried out, or if it's some sort of bacteria/fungus thing. All I know is that because it stings, I play with it. Not really fondle it, play with it, more like pick at it, play with it. I get the scab out only to realize that it's getting worse.

Soon the tip of my nose turns pink with either irritation or infection. Gross. So then I look like Rudolf with a possible obvious nose-picking issue. By deduction why else would the tip of a person's nose be red? I guess I could blame the weather. Though, if I am inside for over 15 minutes, there goes that excuse.

Yes I want your comments! Though, I am almost sure I will get no comments on this post because who is going to admit that they DO pick their nose for certain reasons or on reasonable occasions? Oh, but a few will comment to state explicitly that they HAVE NEVER and WOULD NEVER pick their nose. Yeah, and they probably don't masturbate, either. Whatever.

Anyway, my nose hurts. My finger will have to go up there to put the anti-biotic cream on it next. So, if you see me picking my nose, maybe just hand me a tissue.

God, this must be what confession feels like.

If We Are All Going Down I Might As Well Have Fun

If I believe the news today I may be on a sinking ship, similar to the "unsinkable" Titanic (or USA?). If so, I know I have a few options in taking on the imminent danger. According to the movie, Titanic, I can:

• Lie down on my bed. Masturbate. Or have sex with my husband if he is available. Wait - I don't think this option is in the movie, but it would be more fun than simply lying down, closing my eyes and drowning.
• Find a way to die before I die. Cuz that makes sense.
• Run. Did ya know that zig zagging is especially confusing to water?
• Hide. Another option. Maybe the water won't find/kill me if I hide in the bathtub. It has a drain y'all.
• Jump. Yeah, I might survive that free-fall.
• Count failures like sheep. Die in misery.
• Find a lifeboat. Try not to look into the eyes of the people that don't have a lifeboat. Sort of like the Republicans. Every man/woman/child for themselves. Richest people first. Gay? Good Luck.
• Help the others find lifeboats. Or at least help them find peace by continuing to play my music. (I dance to the tune of LOVE - if ya haven't caught on). You know like the quartet in the movie. Yeah, you get it.

It appears that only the lifeboats can potentially save my life, but at the expense of another's. Yes, that is how it is. I get that.

But how do the ship's officers decide who survives and who goes down with the ship? In the movie there is a definite class divide - the rich are more worth saving than the poor. The third-class passengers were locked away & didn't even have the choice- to run, hide, jump overboard or try for a lifeboat. Locked down in the lowest levels of the ship for fear that they would impede the survival of the elite. I agree that the children should be helped first. But not just the rich, (white, straight, smart) important kids. All kids. And to help all kids you sometimes have to help their family unit.

So, what would I do? Well, because of who I am, I would pick the last option. I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of being cowardly in order to survive. If and when I have the chance to share my music with people that are afraid, left behind, angry, or unsure, I will take it. Always.

BUT If I am locked down in the belly of the ship, with no one to share my music with - well then I will go out in ecstasy playing with myself.

Hot Damn Between My Legs & Various Other Stories from Wheatland

What a weekend! Wheatland never disappoints. You can guarantee you'll eat all the wrong (but yummy) foods, hear good music, drink good drinks, and watch your kids have fun. Here is a list of various funnies and warmies from the weekend. Enjoy!

• Kevin yelling "Amish!" every time we pass an Amish person on our drive out there. We pass a school and Amish children are playing on the playground (very sweet, really) and 9 year old says "Why are the Amish so short?" not realizing they were children (because they all dress like the adults).
• Cars line up to get in the gate. While waiting we are having a good ol' time. I crack a beer (we drove about 10 yards every 10 minutes) and sip my Hot Damn (cinnamon schnapps). KARK (m) says something about Hot Damn between my legs and we agree my blog title must be "hot damn between my legs". Thanks KARK(m)
• KARK x2's 4yr old daughter is singing to herself and when I lean in to listen to her she sings "I am singing a song... And my tunes all have love in them." This girl is so happy. She actually walks on her tippy toes or skips everywhere. Love her.
• KARK's 7 yr old daughter grabs my hand as I take her to the bathroom. Love her.
• My diet consisted of Greek Pizza, fried Potatoes and Gravy, walking tacos, an elephant ear, and beer/hot damn/coffee/gatorade. Talk about delicacies.
• Laughing with KARK(f) after we had a red bull and vodka. I'll try to remember why we were laughing and insert here:
• Listening to friend MK's son talk about a huge spider he had found: he said he didn't know if it was poisonous but if it bites him and he dies, it is.... (he LOVES bugs).
• Hearing the story of MK meeting her husband JK. He slapped her on the ass and said "do you want to make out?" She said no and declared him annoying. They are together over a decade later. So sweet.
• My 4yr old went into the porta-potty. I made sure he turned the green button to red by locking the door before I went in the next one. He came out first and wanted to know which one I was in. I banged on the side to show him and he said in his worried tone "MOM, you're not supposed to go in the red one's!!"
• Hearing Cheryl Wheeler. She's super funny and a good songwriter.
• The supposed 3-hour nap I took on Saturday. Thanks Kevin!
• KARK(f) reminding me that two years previous I was grumpy on the last day (Sundays are hard) and had told them before we left that "I am sorry I am moody. I haven't pooped in three days, I am tired, and I have dust boogers."
• I am happy to report, I was much less grumpy this time on the last day of Wheatland. I swear it was the walking tacos.
• My mom made awesome chicken salad, lent me her belt and put up with my eye rolling at her humming. (To tunes she had never heard - she was predicting the next note....but really, I'm sorry).
• My mom and dad impress me by coming to Wheatland even though they are "seniors", camping, and actually having a good time. They're so cool.
• I love Wheatland. It catapults me right into feeling fallish. It is good time spent with old and new friends. The kids love it, except for the "boring" music. I get a weekend outdoors.

Until next year, "Happy Wheatland!"

Talkin' To Your Kids About Sexy

My 7 year old daughter giggles her little heart out when she thinks about her mom and dad kissing. Somewhere along the way she learned the word "sexy". She often wonders if her dad and I have sexy? Do the people on TV have sexy when they kiss? What IS sexy?

I tell her sexy is like a grownup word for pretty. She asks if she is sexy. NO - ABSOLUTELY NOT, YOUNG LADY! You are forbidden from sexy until you are out of this house!

Explaining sex to your kids is a touchy thing. My oldest walked in on us when he was about 5. He has not forgotten that [scary] experience. Neither have I. Since then, he has puzzled together a limited understanding of what sex is. Last year he and a friend googled "big boobs" - he was 8. We sat him down and talked to him about viruses and trojans. You never know what those internet sites will pass to your computer! I DO think it's about time to talk to him about human viruses and Trojans, though. Another time we passed our local strip club and he asked what it was. I told him it is a place where girls dance without their clothes on, and though that may sound appealing, it is not. So there.

I just don't like to lie to my kids. Besides, I am a bad on-the-spot storyteller. I am not one of those mom's that makes up words for their children's body parts and functions. It's penis or vagina, people. Boobs, breasts, or tits. Butt or Booty. That is the vocab you'll hear in this house. So if they ask, I tell. Without making it sound too appealing, of course.

I don't have a lot of inhibitions in the honest about sex category. However, I am a little freakish about shutting and locking the door. Even if the kids are gone. That wide open bedroom door just seems to scream - come look at us!! It's one thing to talk about sex, another thing to be a live demonstration. Yes, they know what goes on behind the doors - or rather, they have some idea. Sometimes they sit and wait for us to open the door. My daughter giggles and asks "were you being sexy together?"

I respond "Yep. So, what should we do today?" I mean, is there a better way?

It's My Scandalicious Genes!

I am pulling a blogging no-no. Two posts on one day within minutes of each other. I am doing this for a few reasons:

• I might forget the story if I don't share, my short term memory is like that of a bird that keeps flying into the same window to say 'hi' to it's twin.
• It should be a short story.
• My mom is so funny, she deserves a whole post devoted to her.

So, today I was driving home from work and decided I had better call my mom to see what state my house was in. I was having certain dinner guests and they hadn't seen our house yet. Long story. It was spotless when I left it in the hands of my three kids and their wonderful sitter. I feared that during the day the kids would tear it apart, as happens most days. I felt the task of keeping the house clean too great a task for my sitter, as it is for me everyday. So, I called in reinforcements - my mom - to come check on the house towards the end of the day. So, I am driving home and I want to know the state of the house before I get there so I can mentally prepare.

Dial Mom's cell: ring ring ring ring.....

Mom: "Hello?" (giggle)

Me: "Hi Mom"

Mom: "Oh, Katie. God." (noise in the background)

Me: "What's wrong? Where are you?"

Mom: "I'm at BlahBlah Bistro. My cell phone was like a VIBRATOR! I am having dinner with NiceProper Lady and all of the sudden something started vibrating. I couldn't figure out what it was. It was my cell phone ringing on vibrate." (all said in a normal or above average speaking voice)

Me: "Uh, okay Mom. Hey I was just wondering if the house looked good when you stopped by."

Mom: "Oh, yes. The house looks great. They didn't need my help at all."....

I must tell you, I admire my mom's agility. She can go from saying vibrator to talking about vacuum's without flinching. Her friends know this about her. We, her children, know this. Soon her grandkid's will understand this. On we shall pass our genetic predisposition to talk about uncomely things in our honest and witty ways.

Oh, my dear children, I pass on a great legacy.

Some Like It Done Dirty

I am talking about the Dirty Martini. Silly goose. I like martini's, the cosmo put the fruity martini on the scene thanks to Sex & The City. Now it is a rare night at the local restaraunt/bar if you aren't handed a Martini Menu with about two dozen different martini's to try. Some add candy to the already sweet mind altering drink. Candy. Bright Colors. Alcohol. A girl's dream come true.

It wasn't until recently that I even fathomed trying a dirty martini. My sis-in-law drinks them as of late. When she ordered them, I only said "Yuck". The catch for me was the Dirty part. I don't like olives. I considered her more mature and healthy than me in the martini department. Give me the fruit and candy - you take the vegetable martini....

After two deliciously fruity-tini's at book club, though, I dared myself to try one. "Dirty Martini Please" I said. It came. I sipped. And I liked. I like the salty taste. With good vodka (yes, mine are vodka martini's - for now) all you taste is the light olivey flavor. It compares to having a payday for a candy bar instead of skittles. Both have their place on the candy rack for good reason.

Now, I am often craving a good dirty martini - extra Dirty. And I am beginning to like Olives better too. I even ate them on pizza, and ate one out of my drink. Someday I'll tell you about my transformation from a person who shudders at coffee flavored ice cream to a person who drinks my coffee black. Oh, I guess I just did.

So, I sit here at 5pm on a Wednesday night. Cooking dinner. Blogging. And drinking me a dirty martini.

Cheers!

Just Because My Mind is Open Doesn't Mean My Sex Life Is

It all started at book club. Crazy book club. Where suburban moms really let their guard down and talk about things. Like sex. And Bodily Functions. And Plastic Surgery. And Strip Clubs. And Celebrity Fantasies. Are you stunned? Intrigued?

Topic in June: Swingers. We were talking about the amazing multi-tasking, heroic, wife and mother that can find the time and energy have sex daily for years. A TV show about swingers came up. (And yes, we eventually discuss the book). Most of us had not seen the show. Moving on. Or so I thought. With eyes on me M said very seriously, "Katie, L (husband) and I thought you and Kevin were swingers when we first got to know you." Uh, WHAT? Laughter. Shocked looks. Laughter.

I begged and pleaded for an explanation as to what we had done that would give the swinger impression. M wasn't sure. She just "thought so". I was surprised but found it quite humorous. Out of all things I have considered (Brad Pitt in my bed is one) that was never on the list of things I would like to do before I die. I think most of the girls found it funny. No one else expressed their agreement that I give off a swinger vibe. Maybe they were just being shy, trying not to attract attention should I invite them over for a playdate....

I drove home that night asking another friend M (MK), "what makes a person seem like a swinger?" She said she thought couples that went to parties where they separated and mingled. And they were very friendly. Check. I go to parties. I don't have to stand next to or hang all over Kevin. I mingle. I talk to men and women. I even smile and show interest in what they have to say. Sometimes I even hug them goodbye - GASP!

July's book club came and we reminisced. Remember that time M thought Katie was a swinger?? Ha ha ha ha.... I laugh too. I do not take offense easily. Laughter at my expense is still laughter, which makes for a good night out with the girls. So we laughed about it again. Did I even think about clearing it up? No, I assumed it unnecessary. I shouldn't have assumed. A says, "Well, you never answered the question." Oh, I didn't know that I had to. So I did. No. I am not a swinger.

Three martinis later I arrive home. My wit and sarcasm were sharp. I was on fire. I jump on facebook to update my status to "Kevin and Katie are NOT swingers in case you were wondering. Stop asking.". I laughed at myself. No one, except my book club friends, would know what I was talking about. I waited. Suprisingly, my rhetoric drew only a few comments. Did everyone find this believable? Casually browsing other's status updates a day later, I noticed my name. A friend (unrelated to book club) used her status line to write "I don't believe for one second that Katie and Kevin K(full last name) are NOT swingers." Now all of her facebook friends were left wondering. Maybe they'll be calling... I was laughing the whole time. But I wasn't done wondering why I would be singled out as the swinging type.

So I turned to my friend N. In one of our email exchanges my status line came up. She mentioned that she could see how someone would think that. She went on to say she had never thought it but if she had learned about it she would not have been surprised. I knew she was the perfect person to ask why. She is always 100% honest with me and able to articulate her theories. Her answer? "I think you come off as very open. Not lewd or kinky. Just open."

Well, people THAT is why I wasn't offended. I am happy that I come off as open-minded. So now you know. If you are a swinger you are safe with me. I will not judge. I might study you so I can learn more about the personality characteristics of swingers. For now, though, my sex life is only to be shared (verbally) with book club.

No, I am sorry. We are not accepting new members at this time.