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?

I was going to blog yesterday.  I was going to, because I'd shaved the other leg finally, and I guess I wanted to announce it to the world, or like the solitary follower of this blog.  Whatever, I didn't.
And I had thoughts in my brain that were turning and humming and felt that some sort of New Year's Mystery Energy had moved in to make me a creative person again.
But I didn't blog and the thought went away.  They do that, It's like when you have to shit but you're too busy, then you get up and you don't have to anymore.  Thoughts come and go like shit urges.
Hmm.  So we ate at a little backwoods place Saturday, so far removed from civilization.  We ate there because I was on my eleven year old's Instagram and saw that someone had liked a photo of a beef brisket and tagged that place.  It looked beefy and I'd never had one, so I made it a goal.  One Saturday (because Saturday is the only smoked brisket day) we would go to the backwoods and eat brisket.
So we get there and I spied something on the menu I'd never heard of.
"What is pear salad?" I asked. Really, I envisioned cooked pears, maybe in a hot vinaigrette with some blue cheese crumbles, but that's the Aquarius in me. 
"It's a pear, cut in half, filled with mayonnaise, then topped with a slice of cheese." 

?   gasp.
 I'm not even sure I could watch someone else eat it, then I made it a FB status, and my precious amazing lil Patty commented how good it was.  This is someone in whose judgement I believe in, my smartest friend.  She's the friend that when I sit with her I can bask in the Smart-by-Association glow.  Sometimes I nod my head and pretend to know smart things I don't know to look smart.   I have other valuable friend qualities..I just can't list any just this moment.  I'm still working on Smart.
 There is no way I can even imagine her liking that.  So in that instance, I could watch...because she can ONLY be bluffing.
Pear salad should be like this-

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/roasted-pears-with-blue-cheese-recipe/index.html#!

I guess this is why I should blog when the brilliance takes residence.  Otherwise it's shaved legs, shit urges, and pears with mayo.  There really isn't much going on in this head of mine.

Happy New Year, sweet people.

It's almost winter.  Really It's felt like winter for awhile.  So cold I hadn't shaved my legs in a month.  They were so hairy, I could have looked tan from afar.  Or gray.  I don't know.  I bought a new pack of razors, and today I shaved one leg.  After that, I ran out of hot water, so I'll shave the other one tomorrow.  I guess I stood around in the hot water thinking too long.


Grinchy died.  We though we were gonna take him to McDonald's for biscuits and gravy that morning, but we didn't get to.  He died, and we found him naked on the floor by his bed.  I covered him with that red blanket and we waited.  The kids sat on his porch til I decided to walk them down the road.  It was a lot to take in.
Last year, my uncle took him up the mountain.  "Went up to see the bear waller!"  My uncle said Grinchy said he couldn't die til he saw it, so he took him up.  When my father got back from Vietnam, he went up in his convertible with a black waitress named Shirley L, and they didn't come down for a couple days.  Memories.  "I got to go again!" he said, "I can't die til I see the bear waller again."
There's so much to think and I wrestle with all of it in my mind still sometimes.  He was a loud and angry type, probably because his life didn't amount to what he thought it would, but you wouldn't think you could get mad at someone who was dead.
One day a month or so after the funeral, my mother was riding in the car with me talking.  She was talking about Grinchy's wife hugging her, crying at the funeral.  We parked in the Goodwill parking lot while she relived what happened.
     "How did you find out about her?" I asked.  She said to me that that day, she'd told him they were going to have another baby.  "Well, I'm seeing somebody else, and she's having a baby too, so this is your problem."
My mother didn't have that baby.  She didn't but she cried in the car telling that story, and then we got out, and I found myself flipping through the used shirts, mad.  I wanted to go back in time and whip his ass.  I said a silent request that my granny in heaven do just that on behalf.  Some people never get their due ass whippings.
    A few weeks later I got a little box from my aunt.  It contained a cd from the funeral, the ones they play with photos, and a copy of his will.  His children did well.  My sister got his house and the 35 acres, I knew already.  One brother got the house in Chicago.  The other two split an about 200 acre farm in Wisconsin.  My aunt got everything else.  'I'm okay with it,' I thought.  Then my eyes drifted over and I caught sight of the date the will was made.  That date was my birthday.  My blood boiled at what seemed like his beyond the grave attack, there I was, mad again.  Holding the thing in my hands, my mother pulled in the drive, so I put on my 'I'm Good' face and entertained her.  Doubtful I was entertaining.  It wasn't even unexpected.  I had already bought my own copy of the funeral cd...Now I have two.  I played it once.
Another day I found myself driving alone, and it was quiet so my mind drifted.  Somebody said as soon as Jesse got in the car, he got a sign.  The Great Pretender came on the radio, the very first song as he left from the funeral.  I don't know why that entered my mind then, but it did.  Then I started thinking about how my radio quit working the week he died, and how I would never get a sign, and there I was crying, driving down the road.  I cried, and then I said out loud, "I don't want a sign!  I don't want you to come 'round my house!"  And I didn't.  I didn't want him to share in my future joys or successes, because they were self created, and I didn't want him to criticize my weaknesses from beyond.
And it's strange what roller coasters people can put you on, and how you think you are okay then something will pop up.  Less than two weeks later Steven's father died too.  We were orphans telling stories, and not telling stories, and wanting the year to end.

And the last thing I said to him was, "Maybe you should scootch in a bit, you're too close to the edge."
And the last thing he said was "Nag nag nag."

But rest in peace, grinchy.  I don't always think the worst of you.  I was not meant to be yours, just a friend to my mother, by way of you. I think you knew that too.  And I'll be okay without your stuff.
However your life went, slough it off life a cruel dead skin.  Find Shirley and go see the bear waller.  <3 p="">

the shirtless guy would be grinchy.

see http://thekatleereader.blogspot.com/2011/05/bah.html

   

People are Strange

People are strange.
And sometimes I don't know what I can blog about, and what would be considered intrusive.  I fear sometimes when I write that I'll offend people or that someone will think I'm a terrible person.  Often I let things stir in my mind rather than write it down.  For the people.
Screw that today.  So I have this cray story.  My mother, about to retire, has a mortgage that is higher than what she should pay for the place.  So I tell her, 'Let that place go and rent!  You could get a better house for less, and that would include yard maintenance.'  Wanting to give her examples, I pull up the Facebook page for property rentals, and scroll through.
I notice someone I went to school with on that list, but that person had deleted his facebook, so I clicked on his page, out of curiosity.  Then I noticed that person had no mutual friends.  All the friends were strange foreign friends...then I noticed wedding photos.  So (let's call this person Poo to fill in a name here) So Poo moved to a foreign land and remarried.  Bizarre.  Bizarre because his previous wife was probably the most kind- surely the most gorgeous person in our town.  And they've got kids- lots of kids.
But then my mother saw the wife in the grocery, and asked if she was still married.  So the wife says yes, her husband is in the store.  Even more bizarre.  So a few weeks later I run into her.  She mentions this husband and in my mind I think, 'Are they polygamists?'  Which totally isn't my business if they are; but then, also, if they aren't, Poo is a sad, sad case.  Steven says this isn't my business to say anything, so I made small talk and left.  But I felt bad, because this person is someone that's kind of my friend (but it could be I imagine that she's my friend, like when you are in high school and you have a project with the cool kid and you get to bask in the idea of cool friends) so I felt shitty about that.  But I hope things go as well as they can for her & send her good energy.
But while I'm on that subject, if you are doing something that is perhaps requiring discretion, and instead you maybe put this thing in the open with a few people, you gotta know those people might be uncomfortable with it.  Like that time Clank and Skeezy fed each other okra off their forks and laughed at the big table, and I sat across feeling uncomfortable for Skeezy's wife, waiting out of state for her husband to come back that night.  I guess what I'm saying is that all these Skeezy's and Poo's have a negative effect on the people that are around them and have to compromise their integrity when they want to tell them the what for.
Because at 40, I am losing the ability to withhold my mindspeak.  By 60, I'll be dangerous.  I know now the road to the sharp and sassy tongues of the grandmothers- and I look forward to it, maybe.
Anyhow, I think I'll return to blogging sometimes.  I still haven't told you about the time we went to the thing!  That's coming.  <3 p="">  

I've been a terrible blogger, for sure. 

 I've been gone ages- I didn't even check in when I got snowed in on my 40th birthday and ended up at an In Depth channeling of Arthur Ford that night.  That was freaky- and I didn't share.  So many things I didn't share this year.

And really, i don't have much to share today.  I looked up Nespresso machines today, then made myself some comfort food.  (for me, that was 1/2 cup cooked organic brown rice, completely covered in chili pepper flakes, then doused in fish sauce.  Yum.)

I wanted to see where you guys were coming from so I clicked on the Google stats.   You people are real pervs, yo.  I was so embarrassed on that page, I couldn't even read through to see what link would get you here.  Somebody's sad, and a bit skanky too.

40 makes me old as hell.  I can be crabby out loud though without reservation.  I enjoy throwing in a sprinkling of the word 'Cray' in front of my children, though, to make them feel I'm current and hip.   

"Oh my goodness, I cannot find the gluten free scones mix!  That is so cray."

See how that makes me look trendy?  

So I have mostly replaced you all with Pinterest, as well.  It's an ideal medium, as I can share what seems like my own ideas, without having to explain anything.  I especially like the Home pins, as I would decorate my own place exactly as many of those pins, so it's almost as though it's me decorating.  Look!  This is my imaginary house!  Addictive.  And oddly...influencial.  I have made so many Pin recipes, several are weekly staples now.  And with all those Scandinavian boards, I'm seriously enthralled with white.  White everything with a random light wooden plank thing, then a random gray fabric thing.  Perfect.  You throw a bunny in the corner or a giant window, even better.  My new imagination.  

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