My Own Super Power

I knew it would happen eventually; it was just a matter of time.  I finally have my very own superpower. Ever since I was a little girl I knew I was destined to have some sort of super human ability. I fantasized about breathing under water like Mark Harris, the main character in a 1970’s TV show called Man From Atlantis.

Or flying through the sky like the Flying Nun.

(I think I just dated myself with those two references). As time went on, I discovered there were many more superpowers to be had thanks to comics and movies. The X-men came along and I had a hard time choosing if I wanted to control the weather, shoot fire from my fingertips, or travel inter-dimensionally. I knew I was destined for something special one day.

And now that day has come. No, my power is not quite as exotic as razor claws and regeneration abilities, besides, I have more of a Deadpool type of personality.

Wolverine and Deadpool

My heros

However, my power is nothing to sneeze at. I have acquired the ability to heat my body to scorching levels no mere human could possibly tolerate. They say a lot of women my age get this power, but truly, I think I have something exceptional going on. I can generate enough heat to maintain a small city indefinitely. The only drawback is that I have not learned how to control my powers yet. This causes a few problems. For instance, when I am lying in bed and I feel the heat revving up, I have to quickly throw back the covers and start fanning myself for fear that the bed might catch on fire. My poor husband is forever burning his hand whenever he tries to roll me over. (According to him, I have a second superpower – Super Sonic Snoring.)

Spill

Still, my new found power has some perks. Chilly grocery stores are no longer a problem for me, even after coming into the store drenched from a rainstorm. I can breeze down the aisles without a chill while others are shivering, especially in the frozen food section. Sometimes I generate so much heat I am afraid I might combust right there in the checkout lane. So I’ll stand in the frozen vegetable aisle with two doors wide open and contemplate climbing in, you know, just for a minute to ensure the other shoppers will be safe from the impending wave of heat my body is about to unleash. I might damage some of the frozen goods while doing this, but it is a small price to pay for keeping everyone safe.

Spill

OOPs. It happens.

I’m trying to figure out how to use my superpower after I learn how to control it. Perhaps I can save people from the chilly night air by offering my services as a human patio heater. I may not be as tall as a traditional patio heater, but I’m mobile. I can move around from table to table to make sure everyone stays warm.

super karen

A good use for my superpower

I’m also quite chatty after a few glasses of wine. Did I mention wine tends to jump start my heating abilities? (Note: I accept white and red as payment for my time)

I also need to think up a superhero name for myself. So far I’ve come up with Lava Lady, Caliente Gal, and Ignita Woman.  I need to do some more work on my super identity and perhaps a costume. Ahhh, Life! The fun you present me with!

Thanks for reading.

Heads up.  The title of the book I’m working on is “Don’t Drink the Coffee”. It’s a GMO thriller.

Chow for now,

Karen

Those “I’ll Never Tell” Cat Butt Moments


Picture this – You are cleaning out your purse or wallet and you come across a hidden pocket that you rarely use. You dip your fingers into it and pull out two lotto tickets. At first you feel kind of good. You have an extra chance to win buckets of money. Who doesn’t love buckets of money? Then you take a good look at the tickets and realize they are over a year old. Shit. That sucks.
Holy Shit
So what do you do?
Do you:
1. Check them to see if you missed out winning millions of dollars?
2. Do you give them to your spouse and tell him or her to look because you need to know but you can’t bear to look yourself?
3. Do you toss them into the garbage without looking and tell yourself that they weren’t winners because you never win? Besides, you wouldn’t want to know anyway. If they were winners, you would just die of… well… you would just die.

You guessed it; this happened to me. I have a party purse I don’t use very often and I was cleaning it out when I happened upon a small zippered compartment I forgot about. Low and behold, two lotto tickets, one Mega Millions and one PowerBall were tucked inside. Yes, they were very expired. So what do you think I did? Check them? Have my husband check them? Or toss them?Never Tell

First, you’ve got to be smoking some wacky weed if you thought I was even going to tell my husband. He thinks I am a scatterbrain as it is. Nope, not that choice. I didn’t want to check them either. Before I could think about it too much, I tossed them in the garbage. I knew going any further would just cause me grief. After I tossed them, I poured myself a nice tall glass of wine. You know, to celebrate my decision. (It certainly wasn’t to forget about the tickets.)

That was that. The end of the story, right? Ha! No, of course not. At about 3:00 am in the morning, guess who was digging in the trash trying to find the tickets.trash digYep, not knowing was too much for me. I couldn’t sleep until I donned a pair of latex gloves and dug around all the stinky junk in the garbage can. It took me about 10 minutes and a lot of mess, but I found them. They were a little damp and one corner was stained by coffee grounds, but still very legible.

With some hesitation, I pulled up the lotto website. First I checked the Mega Millions. The potential winnings were only $50M, so if the numbers came up as winners, I wouldn’t be too disappointed. Anyone knows that you shouldn’t even bother buying a ticket until it reaches $100M. Still, with one eye closed, I peaked at the readout. It was a loser. Next I looked up the PowerBall. This one was worth well over $120M. I might shed a tear…. and some blood if this one won. I tapped the keys on my keyboard and checked the numbers. I realized I could not see the screen with both eyes closed. I slowly opened one eye and then the other. I read the numbers on my ticket and compared them to the numbers on the screen. Not one single number matched. Yeah! I’m still a big fat loser!
loserIt’s the first time I’m happy about having the big “L” on my forehead. Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to stay a loser, but in this instance, losing was just like winning.

So, with a heavy sigh of relief and a quick shower, I climbed back into bed at about 4:00 am. My husband woke up and asked me what I was doing. “Nothing,” I said. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

He still doesn’t know and I am not telling. Shhhhhhhhhhh.secret

Night, night and sweet dreams.
Karen

Trading One Cat Butt For Another

Who doesn’t love side effects from taking medication? Everything, it seems, has some sort of side effect. Have you ever listened to those medication ads on TV? Yikes! side-effects

But sometimes, we have to take the medication so we must deal with the consequences. As it is with me… I got new meds and a slew of new experiences.

My doctor gave me the medicine and a pamphlet of all the possible side effects and said, “You will probably be OK. Most of the side effects are rare.”

“OK,” I said. I took the prescription and had it filled.

I really don’t want to take the medicine, but I know if I don’t, my husband is going to bury me in a box somewhere. Well, maybe that is a little harsh, but I have been difficult to live with. I am not sure which is worse, the nightmares or the headaches. Poor John. I wake him up in the middle of the night with either screaming fits from the nightmares or retching sounds from the headaches. John needs his sleep just as much as I do. In addition to that, I’ve been kind of a downer. You know, kind of disheartened and disconnected.

cat-freud-therapyI saw a therapist for a while because I really didn’t want meds. I thought she might be able to figure out the source of my malaise and head pain. After a few sessions, she had the answer. She said my work was stressing me out and I should either find another job or get meds. So, here we are. On the meds.IMG_0493

I’ve been taking the “Don’t Be a Crazy Person” pills for about two months now. At first I didn’t feel much different, but then the side effects started up. I guess the pills are working because I really don’t care about the side effects at all.

I mean, the horns are barely noticeable if I poof my hair up a little. I have to be careful with hats though. I ruined my Wicked Weed hat last week (kind of ironic, right?) Maybe I can patch it.

I am still getting used to the tail. It’s only about three feet long and has a little furry tip at the end that my cat likes to chase. Just what I always wanted, my own built in cat toy. You have to admit, that is pretty cool.Devil Karen

Even though I am feeling a little bit better, my husband says I should increase my dosage. My nightmares are not completely gone and my stress level is starting to creep back up as are the headaches. I am considering it. Who knows, I might get a pair of leathery wings to go with my horns and tail. Won’t that be a hoot!

If you can’t kick the cat butt, just put horns on it and call it a day.

Karen

 

 

The 50 Year Old Cat Butt

I thought that turning 50 deserved a well-written, well thought-out blog post. My intention was to share 10 pithy nuggets of wisdom I’ve gleaned in my 50 years of life on this earth. I was well on my way to posting these little nuggets of knowledge when I got caught up in a memory – more like an epiphany – from the very distant past that has stuck with me all my life.

Ye Old Cat Butt

Ye Old Cat Butt

I think I might have been around 10 or 11 years old when this thought crept into my head. It was the notion that everyone (every single individual on this earth) has some sort of God-given talent that is unique to them. Some of the talents are very overt and widely appreciated, like singing, dancing, acting, drawing, and so on. Other talents are a little subtler and barely noticed by others, but they still exist and are important. For instance, what sort of talent does an old lady, nearly toothless, with no education to speak of, living in the swamplands of Louisiana have? It is hard to say, but it could be something like being a phenomenal cook who can whip up a water moccasin stew to rival anything Wolfgang Puck can make.

One Bitch'n Cook

One Bitch’n Cook

Ever since I had this thought, I’ve been trying to discover everyone’s talents. Sometimes people’s talents are readily apparent and other times, they are somewhat hidden, but I always manage to figure them out. Well, all except for one – my own.

It isn’t for a lack of trying – I just can’t seem to figure it out. I know it isn’t singing. When I was in choir in grade school, the choir director said, “Karen, just move your lips. You don’t actually need to sing.” This wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order.cat sing

I’ve tried arts, sports, academics, crafts…. You name it, I’ve tried it. Some things I just plain suck at, and others I’m OK with, but never really achieve more than an average level of accomplishment. I think my quest to find my talent might be the reason why I try so many different things. “One of these days, I will find my God-given talent,” said the old lady signing up for classes on woodworking, archery, paddle boarding, and glass blowing.

Bruce has the same agenda. Should I be worried?

Bruce has the same agenda. Should I be worried?

Although, sometimes I wonder if a grand imagination can be a talent. That is something I certainly have, almost to excess. I think I might have to count that as a possibility, because if I don’t, I might be Shit-out-of-Luck in the talent department. Still, trying to find my talent gives me good excuses to keep trying new things. The fun will never end.

Hey. I’m curious. What is your talent? I know you have one. Everyone does.talentcat

What’s life without yet another cat butt?

Opposites Attract – A Cat Butt Valentine’s Day Story

Today is Valentine’s Day and more importantly, a Saturday. This means John and I can enjoy a leisurely morning together reading before we start our day. Here’s how this morning went:

John and I are sitting on the love seat in our sunroom, each with an iPad in hand. Our little gray cat, Zoey, is wedged between us purring like she is extremely pleased with life.

I’m absorbed in the story I’m reading when John starts cussing. He is jabbing his finger on the iPad screen. He yells at the iPad, “I can’t get his goddamned thing to work!”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Frustrated, he shoves the iPad in my lap. He says, “I am trying to login so I can finish reading The Bible, but it won’t accept my password.”

bible

The Bible

He harrumphed and continued to poke at the screen. John subscribes to a site that takes him through daily Bible passages and offers insightful tips. He rarely misses a day, and being such a creature of habit, it irks him when something goes awry.

He continued to jab at the screen for a minute or so, muttering intermittent curse words to himself. Finally, he gives up and exclaims, “I can’t get it to work. I guess I won’t read The Bible today. Screw you, Jesus!”

angry

Yes, he makes the hand gestures

At this, I look up and say, “Really?” I pause. “Screw you, Jesus? That seems a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

Most of his anger abates and he smiles. “That is a bit harsh. But I can’t get this website to work.”

I say, “Perhaps it isn’t you, maybe it is the website. They have glitches from time to time. Just try later.”

He thinks about if a second, picks up the iPad and tries again.

A pleased look comes over his face and he declares, “I got in.”

“Good,” I say and return to my book. But a few seconds later, I hear cursing again.

“Son of a Bitch!” I’m 98% through The Bible and I can’t find my place! This is fucked!” he exclaims.

Without missing a beat, I deadpan, “And you don’t think the ‘Screw you, Jesus’ comment had anything to do with you losing your place?”

At this, he burst out laughing. “Perhaps it did,” he agrees. “By the way, what are you reading?”

Limbus, Inc.,” I reply. It is about monsters, demons, serial killers, Satanic cults…. You know, the usual stuff I read.” Then I add, “And my iPad is working just fine.”

Limbus, Inc

Excellent book. You should check it out.

He gives me a kiss on the forehead and says, “This only goes to prove that opposites really attract.”

“Yes they do,” I say.  “Yes they do.”

Happy Cat Butt Valentine’s Day!

Karen

“Supposed To” Cat Butts

I was supposed to post my New Year’s resolutions agenda at the beginning of the year. I was supposed to do a lot of things. Yet, I didn’t. But that isn’t failure; it’s just a change. It seems that I’ve started the past few years with all the best intentions only to get sidetracked by uncontrollable events. Thus, my momentum wanes; I get angry at my imperfections; I beat myself up for not being all I can be. This year was about to start that way again, but SCREW THAT!New Year

No, I am not giving up. I am just going to go about things a little differently. You might ask, “Why the change?” Well, it isn’t anything life altering, or even one of my famous (infamous) epiphanies. It is more of an observation of several events that led to a slow realization. I doubt you would want to read about all of these observations, so I will expand on one such event. Here’s how it went:

I came home to find my husband sitting in his office drinking a very potent vodka martini. When I walked in, he didn’t look up; he just sat there staring off into the corner with a strange look on his face. His handsome brow was crossed with anger, frustration, disappointment, and, dare I say – a faint touch of mirth.

Maybe it wasn't quite like this

Maybe it wasn’t quite like this

“What happened to you?” I asked

“I didn’t get to yoga practice,” he scowled and took a long sip from his drink.

“I can see that,” I replied. After a pause he didn’t continue, so I asked, “So why didn’t you get to yoga?”

I was a little afraid of the answer, but I knew I had to ask (was expected to ask).

He didn’t answer right away. He took another sip from his drink and I saw the anger fade a little as he launched into the past events that led to his vodka martini pity party.

He sighed heavily and said “When I got home, I had plenty of time to change for yoga. I was getting everything together when I noticed that Cally had gotten sick all over the floor.”

Cally is the oldest of our three cats. She has been very ill lately and prone to vomiting and diarrhea. In this particular instance, it had been some pretty fierce projectile vomiting.

My husband continued. “By the time I cleaned it up, I really had to get going. I was loading my yoga gear into the trunk of the car and realized I forgot my towel. I went to run back inside the house, but the door was locked. So I reached into my pocket to get my keys, but they were not there. I figured they must be in the car. I looked in the driver’s seat, the ignition, and inside the trunk, which was still wide open from loading the yoga gear. Nothing!” He paused for another drink. I could tell his anger was dissipating by now and the tone of his voice foretold of his annoyance, not with what happened but his reaction to what had happened.

“Go on,” I prompted.

“Well, I couldn’t find the hidden spare key when I looked the first time. I was cussing so much I missed it. I finally found it and got into the house. My keys were nowhere to be found. I was so @!#$%!#* pissed. I knew I would never make it to yoga, so I went outside to retrieve my stuff. As I shut the trunk door, guess what I found?” he said with a slight upward glance in my direction. I could see a little shame flushing up his neck and his anger was entirely gone, replaced by a little self-loathing mixed with the kind of humor that comes from realizing he was acting irrationally.

“Your keys were in the trunk lock, weren’t they,” I stated rather than asking. Our old Honda is exhibiting some wear and tear; recently the auto locks have been fading in and out of working condition. Sometimes the key fob works, and other times, we have to use the actual key.homer-simpson-doh-400x288

This is a funny story, but it is a good metaphor for the way my New Year’s resolutions tend to work out. I end up throwing my hands up and not doing what I really want to do.

I can’t stop the obstacles, but I can find ways around them. One way is to not make grand declarations at the beginning of the year. Instead, I am approaching this from a side angle. I am just going to improve a little each day. Nothing specific, just improve on one thing each day. In all likelihood, no one will notice except me. It doesn’t matter what it is either. It can be giving an extra effort to listen to someone, or giving the cashier at the grocery store a genuine smile instead of the obligatory one. If I keep improving the little things in my life, I am pretty sure it will transfer to the bigger things, like writing my novel or learning to play the guitar.cat_upsidedown-512

 

So far, it seems to be working out. The best part is, there are so many things to improve upon. I don’t think I will ever run out.

I kind of like this Cat Butt idea.

14522188006_40da90513c_cGo get’m!

Karen

Stan Lee, Nuns and a Box of Chocolates


When you were young, did you look at old people and automatically assume they were:

  • Boring
  • Slow
  • Passé
  • Uninteresting

I have to admit, when I was young, I thought this way. But holy wrinkles, Batman! Was I wrong!  If you doubt it, just look at Stan Lee. He’s got it going on.  He is loving life and having fun. He is one of those people who may look old on the outside, but has more imagination and heart than some 20 year olds I know.

Stan Lee, my hero

Stan Lee, my hero

My mistake was that I assumed all old people were the same. However, my experience with older folks was a little limited. My “elderly” world was comprised of distant relatives and the Catholic nuns at school. (I did eight years of parochial education, nine if you count kindergarten.) Even the young nuns seemed old. Of course, all the nuns, young, old and ancient, lived together in the same house, so that may have had something to do with it. Nobody really knows what goes on in a nunnery.

nuns

I am not sure why I formed my opinion about all old people being afraid of change or why I perceived them as sedentary.  It certainly wasn’t from being around my relatives. No matter what their ages, they were always up to something.  Well, when in doubt, blame the nuns. I don’t mean that as harshly as it sounds, but I did pick up that they were a bit immovable in their attitudes toward the evolving world and I think I equated this with age. I found this to be somewhat of an unattractive lifestyle and vowed never to grow old.  How is that for a youthful know-it-all declaration?nun

Ha! That declaration came back to bite me in the ass! Well, the physical part did anyway. Aging is inevitable. I saw first-hand evidence when I looked (really looked) in the mirror recently. My face has permanent laugh lines, which aren’t all that funny. My eyes have so many crow’s feet that I’m considering calling the National Audubon Society to have them studied. I believe I’ve discovered a new crow species that treks across my face when I sleep.  Even though I exercise daily and eat good food, parts of me are doing the “shake, sag, and roll” no matter how hard I target them. But that isn’t the worst part….CrowsFeet copy2

The younger people are judging me based on my appearance. Ah, Karma, you got me, didn’t you. They don’t see me as someone who is actually drawing breath. Just recently, I was at a function with a mixed crowd, young and old. Even though I was sitting directly across from a 22 year-old, his gaze passed straight through me. He considered me pretty much nonexistent in the span of a nanosecond and I subsequently became invisible to him. Whenever I spoke, he looked annoyed as if his mother had just told him to take out the trash. Too bad,  I might have told him that he had cheese on his chin, but I had to find some entertainment somewhere, so I didn’t. He got to wear that little glob of queso all the way home, curtesy of yours truly.

I can’t really blame the younger crowd. After all, I did the same thing until I realized that older people are pretty interesting. They may look old on the outside, but they are still young on the inside, like me. They’ve done things, been places and have great stories that are quite extraordinary. I guess I’m going to sum it up this way:

Old people are like a box of chocolates. Some of them may look a little old, but the inside is still fresh; you will be glad you sampled them. Some of them may look old and tired, and they are, so you lose on those. And some of them are just mysterious; they are well preserved, but it is a crap shoot on what you get (hard and crunchy, gooey and moldy, sweet and spicy – you just never know.my_momma_used_to_say_life_is_like_a_box_of_chocolates_you_ll_never_know_which_one_you_ll_get-976173

I have to say that my shine has worn off a little and I might be a little squishy around the edges, but the inside is still prime stuff. When I look out of my eyes and see the world, I am still looking at it with excitement and wonder. You may not see me, but I see you and I don’t miss a beat.

So, if you happen to look into the mirror and see and old person peering back at you, remember, you aren’t past your expiration date unless you believe you are. It is what’s on the inside that counts so do something with it.

It also helps to stay away from mirrors when possible.

You are never too old to kick some cat butt.

Karen