Trilogies

Trilogies;

All things come in threes.

Sometimes good things

Sometimes not.

Holy food trilogy

Perfect green

Cilantro avocado lime

Gas station taco rock my world.

Celebrity deaths

They always always

Except sometimes

You gotta look up some sort of barely

To make it work.

That weatherman in Ohio

back in the eighties,

he just died.

Dang, son! 

That make three.

Then I thought

Eyes just come in twos

They piped up on that third eye.

All seeing.

Maybe, I said

To be agreeable.

I’d rather have a taco

Than a celebrity

Unless it your momma

Then I’ll eat some cheetopuffs

And tell you how

with my mind eye

So your momma can live.

Trilogies.

Don't Mind the Gap.

Not much is new today but any wisdom I can impart I will try.
That new philly jalapeno cream cheese is very good in scrambled eggs!
I saw a thing on achieving a thigh gap on the aol news.  I've never heard of this before, but here is my take on the thing.  It seems to me that to have your thighs not touch at all, that person would have to have just an extraordinarily wide vagina.  Or like, the sides of the vagina would have to be very big.  And that seems like it would cause another problem, because your underwear would not cover your entire puss, but have the bandy elastic parts across hair, which would be uncomfortable.  While I appreciate when people have genetic mutations (Naomi goes to school with a girl with extra toes- how I would love to have an extra toe!) not an extra camel toe.  I am glad I don't have the genetically mutated extra wide vagina.  Too much drama for me.
I really don't have much else, I just know it's good for me to check in sometimes.
I just finished reading A Year in the Merde.  It was tolerable but not great.  
Hugs.

Also, another cheesy poem.

(Sorry, I'm updating my phone soon so I have to clean out all these phone notes!)

How Dare You            (by Kat Lee)

How dare you.
Make that face,
That shriveled face when I made
the most perfect cup.
You said you needed sugar
A brown demerara cube 
Bastardized the crema
I made with pride.

Two Nespresso Pods
One dollar thirty cents 
I have risen above the pot,
Though I fail to mention 
my rise to some
smart friends who narrow eyes,
I am personally starving babies
In Africa.

But my coffee tastes good.
Worth one million milkless tits
Worth drinking Unsweetened.
How dare you?
But Someone's eyes are always 
Narrow.

Keeping it Real 2014 & Woman of the Year Award

It's a new year, and I'm going to post more.  Possibly because my brain has kicked back into gear in the past couple months; I can't explain it, but thought processes are becoming more like myself, and I've started painting again as well.  Nothing great, but I'm not out to be great.  I'm not out to be great, I'm not out to be the best.  I'm painting because I like to, and sometimes it's more about enjoying something than being the best at something.  I tell my teenager this when she talks about Cross Country running.
   "I'm not sure if I should run or not.  I'm not really that great a runner."
   "You're a great runner."
   "Out of ten girls I usually come in fifth.  Or sixth."
   "That's great!  Most kids don't even run.  Do you like running?"
   "Yeah, I do."
   "Than run.  Don't run to be the best.  Run because you like it."

It's okay to have a hobby and enjoy it for that.  Wait, where was I?

Keeping it real 2014!  My brain.  Ah.  So I'm having brain chains that are concurrent with my old self, which is refreshing- basically when left in quiet my mind thinks of one thing, then pops over from thing to thing until it arrives at a conclusion of the thought that may not have anything to do with that first thought.  But is an Ah-ha for me, because I'd gone years without thinking much at all, just making lists of what I had to do, what times, and groceries.  So thoughts are good.

The Kat Lee Reader's Woman of the Year Award 2014 goes to Lena Dunham.
Congrats!

Have you ever noticed what an eerie resemblance Lena Dunham has to Joanne Woodward?

So.  Steven and I have watched every episode of Girls (great show), and last year, I taped Iconoclast with Lena Dunham and Judd Apatow.  It's been sitting on the dvr an incredibly long time- so long that with 6% remaining, it was on the 'Auto Delete' section at the bottom, along with Triplets of Belleville (I'm just going to have to cave and buy that one).  So today I decided to watch it.  

During the course of watching it, 1. I thought what a cute name Judd was and if I had a son I'd name him Judd and dress him in little green converse, tee shirts and suit jackets, and 2.  Lena Dunham's face has a strange likeness that of Joanne Woodward.

Okay, so not the best photo choices above, but if you actually look at her face, the resemblance is uncanny.  She is a rounder brown eyed version of Joanne Woodward.  Stick some weird blonde bangs on the girl and she could possibly remake The Long Hot Summer.  Which brings me to my favorite celebrity of all time, Paul Newman.  

Paul Newman was the sexiest man ever to make a film.  It is my belief that he was the sexiest man ever born.  And for 50 years, married to Joanne Woodward.  Joanne Woodward was pretty much thrown under the rug of what we considered the Hollywood bombshells- Elizabeth Taylor, Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Grace Kelly, the list goes on.  She's not even listed on AMC's Top 20.  Which is unacceptable, with her wondrous feline voice.  

Possibly it was because there was a funny glint in her eye, a tad bit of oddness with a smartness that the camera wasn't able to hide. She was and is completely stunning; but the humor/intelligence combo isn't something at that time people related to sex appeal.   (But  keep in mind she did in fact get and keep the Hollywood's hottest).

Back to Dunham- I'm not saying that Dunham and Woodward have the same personalities at all; that was just a minor thought that society is more accepting of smart and quirky woman as sexy now.
This year's Woman of the Year was based on desirability. Lena Dunham, while not sexy in a commercial way, is completely comfortable with herself, which is a sexy quality.  Love yourself, and others will love you.  I see this in my own marriage- my husband laughs and twinkles at my awkward and random dancing.  He appreciates my ability to make fun of myself in public in small ways.  They'll see your self-love and be intrigued by it, whether you got the goods or not.  But she technically has the goods.  I almost rewrote this drastically after watching the episode where she spends the entire show in a green bikini, but later felt more comfortable in my own pudgy body in a shorts/tank top combo, so I'm sticking with it.

And Lena Dunham's facial resemblance to Woodward? A very similarly symmetrical face wooed the only hollywood actor who ever mattered.  The man who, when you die, you hope flies in on the back of a butterfly and tells you to hop on.  (Yes, Paul Newman is God's ushering angel to heaven.  If you think it, it will be ;)  I'm going to stick with that; it makes the idea of death seem less frightening. We went to this In-Depth Channeling event where Arthur Ford answered questions about the afterlife.  It was real interesting, but this isn't the place to go into it.  Maybe next time...but that butterfly thing was brought up).

(The Kat Lee Reader chose the sexiest face in history by deduction of proximity to Paul Newman, then the uncanny resemblance to that historical face to select this years' Woman of the Year.  Lena Dunham).  Woot!

But I have to end this post with Paul, sweet sweet Paul.

OmGersh, the cuteness...

I'm thinking of starting a second blog; one that sounds smart and important, maybe a blog about education or savvy foreign political undercurrents.  I will make myself out to be ever the intellect, never the ray of dorkshine that you see here.
Or maybe I'll create a new Facebook page for an elite group inclusive of only I and the most finite people can join.  Like, for example, People Allergic to Asparagus- that are also Left handed.  I think probably there would be too many with asparagus allergies to not include that second part.  But you, my one follower, can join...albeit you'll have to mind your utensil use and cough like a son of a bitch during the annual picnic.  Because the picnic will be loaded with Asparagus.  To prove you ain't lyin'.

What else.  I'm going to be surrendering my Blackberry with it's rotted off buttons soon, and so I'll be posting my random poetry before it goes; I have a Notes section and write when I'm in car rider lines and stuff.

Here's what you get today.  (It is an actual life event, completely true).

Soapy Ocean

Two unassuming teens watch from afar
Middle ages woman and small child
stop at candles.
Bamboo Flower candle.  Smell.
Pear Banana Cookie candle.  Smell.
Geritol Cherry Musk candle.  Smell.
Soapy Ocean candle.  Smell.
Teens eyes grow pale and in devilish
Whisper/Shout
Smell Another!

Yep.  That really happened.  Although I think I did smell more than four candles.  I think I smelled all the candles.  That is all.

What do you want?
What do you want, what do you want.  What?
Do I believe in life's purpose or some sort of ethereal energy that surrounds us to help us attain greatness?  Bah, probably not.  I'm not even sure I'm asking 'What are you seeking?' in some sort of new agey way to stir a 2014 enlightenment.
Just, What do you want?

We entertained an old friend for a couple hours last week, and his super cool girlfriend, and I caught myself talking about squirrels, and how I wished that I could find some sort of storm savaged squirrel nest; I could see myself with a little pet squirrel that sat on my shoulder while I shelled and fed it pecans.  Perhaps it would shake its tail in irritation at passers-by.  Okay, I didn't go into that much detail, but I did happen to mention a guy we met once that had a pet squirrel.  And I admired my new friends ability to nod and be polite at my talk of domesticating animals that should have every right to live in the wild, while not commenting that I was wrong or really strange.  Because they're park-service/hippie/biologists, and they could've created a debate.  Instead, they agreed that squirrels were cute, and I felt happy.  And then, later, I wondered if I said the wrong thing, as I often do.

So I guess I want a squirrel.  And I'm saving up for a sectional sofa, something in a nice gray, but not a new sofa, just a Craigslist near-new one.  But part of me wants new.  Part of me wants a new, free from other people's lingering energy, piss, and scabies sofa, fresh and delivered, peeled of the plastic by me, myself.
I shake that part of me off, because that's also the part that wishes I had more common sense.  The part that wishes I was smarter or better in some way and did something brilliant to a afford such a sofa.  I focus on the practical person who saved $280 in a box for a sofa I won't have to make payments on.  By summer I'll have $400, and a great deal from someone who's moving or getting evicted.
What else is new?  I fell asleep on New Year's Eve, due to a disastrous concoction that was supposed to be a homemade margarita gone wrong.  I fell asleep at 10:30, snoring on the couch, while my family watched It (the clown movie).  This week when we ate Mexican, I couldn't look at a margarita.  Not my friend.
I read Jane Hamilton's Book of Ruth.  The entire book was a terrible train wreck.  I love Jane Hamilton, she's great, but whoa.  And this one after reading Fall On Your Knees- also deeply disturbing. Now I've found a copy of Dear Cary by Dyan Cannon at the Goodwill store.  I need something frivolous and light for a change.
And maybe that's just right at the heart of it all.  What do you want?  Does the answer necessarily have to be something deep and meaningful?  Do some people just not have it in them to contain deep and meaningful answers?  Could it be that often people are looking for an exaggerated sense of purpose?  How do brains work; are some folks full of depth and life and meaning, and others satisfied by menial tasks, repetition, and squirrel-love?  Why do people think so much?