Keep In Touch

I'm out like bathroom grout. Finally.

Best going-away present ever? The St. Petersburg Times will publish one of my essays this Sunday on the front page of the Floridian section. Look for it if you are so inclined.

Stay gold, peeps.

National Organizing Day

From the Florida Democratic Party:

The FDP will take part in the DNC National Organizing Day on Saturday, July 29th. In participation with this national effort, each county has been asked to conduct phone banking and/or door-to-door canvassing activities on that day. In three specific areas (North Broward/South Palm Beach, Pinellas/Hillsborough/Pasco and Duval Counties) the FDP will host larger organizing events.

We ask all of you to participate with this coordinated effort to support Democrats up and down the ticket. Your local Democratic Executive Committee will be in touch to provide details about events in your area. You can also sign up online at the DNC website or call your local party.

Take On Me

This weekend we're attending my husband's 20th high school reunion. Yikes. Are we that old? At my ten-year soiree back in 1997, everyone showed up in cargo pants and flip-flops. I wore this:

Becky and I looked like Romy and Michelle. Cute, but scary. That evening was a mess for several reasons and we made a pact to spare ourselves future aggravation by staying home during future reunions. Anyone care to put money on whether we'll be back when Chamberlain High Class of 1987 comes calling? That will probably occur shortly after my nip and tuck next June which means I should wear something even more revealing than a blue, see-through dress. Is there such an outfit? Could be interesting...

At any rate, this weekend is not about me. As a result, everyone will have fun. His tenth was a blast. Husband was one of those nice guys in high school, friends with everyone and an overall pleasure to be around. Still is. Back in 1996, while he worked the room, I sat with one of his closest friends, a Latter-Day Saint, and discussed the Book of Mormon. Good times. No one does religion and cocktails like I do. No one.

We're driving over to Melbourne tomorrow morning, boozing it up with the Eau Gallie High Class of 1986 for two nights before hauling ass in our Minivan of Love. Should make for a great weekend. And no worries about inappropriate attire. This time, when the invitation said Casual Dress, I paid attention. Wanna see my Daisy Dukes?

Superman Doesn't Suck

"I don't care if this movie is great or not, I'm just thrilled to be out of the house."

These were among my first words to new friend and fellow blogger, Lisa of Film Fan fame. I didn't think I'd like Superman Returns because the genre has grown stale. I looked around at the crowd that night and my suspicions only grew. Several men wore bright colored t-shirts adorned with the giant letter "S" and were clearly more excited than was socially acceptable. After lectures regarding the illegality of cell phone/i-pod fusion and an encounter with Mr. Security Man and his probing rod, we were allowed into the theatre.

At screenings, ever notice how people sell out their youngest kid and nearly all remaining self-respect just to get a free cup with 93 WFLZ written on the front? Lisa and I sat quietly and tried not to judge.

The movie was great. When that familiar theme music starts or when the new Superman (channeling Christopher Reeve) runs through the crowd, looking both ways, and pulls open his shirt to reveal the famous logo...Come on! Only a soul of steel would fail to get just a bit worked up. We're talking "childhood memories" here. I almost bought some Junior Mints and called my brother.

Coming Home

Back in March, when my husband left me and the children for fresh mountain air, I was sad to see him go. Okay, more like excited. For the first time in seventeen years, I’d be on my own. Yes, back in 1993 I did solo in a studio apartment for six months. However, Man of My Dreams came over to visit. A lot.

So this was going to be my time in the sun, so to speak. Woo Hoo! Let’s sow an oat or two, baby. Although I’d miss him terribly, I’d find a way to enjoy myself. Here's what I ended up doing instead. I:

- Rented In Her Shoes and Must Love Dogs. Why? Because I wanted to. Yes, I later came to regret such choices, but still, felt good at the time.

- Ate weekly pint of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream all by myself. Puppy Dog Eyes who always asks for “just one bite” but ends up eating half? 1600 miles away and can eat his own damn ice cream.

- Soaked nightly in Patchouli Oil Bubble Bath – which, turns out, is much more enjoyable without Half Naked Man walking by with clothespin on nose in protest.

- Thoroughly enjoyed not looking at dirty boxers on the floor, not asking grown man to get his hands out of his pants, and not begging for ten minutes alone with the porn tapes.

Okay, I’ll be honest. After about two weeks, I was done. First of all, dirty boxers aren’t that bad when the owner rubs my shoulders, makes me laugh and listens to complaints about Tony Snow without falling asleep.

Plus, that long line of hot men looking to entertain lonely wives only exists in Danielle Steel novels. All I got were horn dogs who lost their nerve once the alcohol wore off. Great. College all over again.

Yes, when all was said and done, I realized I could do this life gig on my own. What felt even better? Knowing I don’t want to. When husband comes home tonight, I think I’ll tell him that.

attention nurses: are you buRNed out?

This is Becky's website. She's a nurse. No, she's not naked. (Although I did tell her such a stunt might increase traffic.) She also rejected the idea of posing in a white cap and low-cut uniform because of something called "professional integrity". Whatever.

I give her six months before she's on the masthead yielding silver instruments and some lube.

Seriously, folks, pass this site along to nurses and other concerned citizens who are worried about the future of health care in this country. They're our only hope.

The Boys Club

When I first started making friends as a kid, I gravitated toward boys. They didn’t mind my bossiness or dislike for dolls. As I grew older, my mother would worry about me canoeing down Hillsborough River or watching Breakfast Club with groups of guys. For me, it seemed a natural fit. In college, the trend continued and today, it’s just more of the same. Wherever I go, I accumulate more males than females. Even with this site, more links connect to sites and more comments come from men than women.

This has never been the result of romantic leanings. Perhaps as a kid, I crushed on some buds, but they mostly hit on Becky and then cried to me afterward. No one even started rumors because the idea that I’d actually hook up with someone was too preposterous to consider. Wouldn’t happen. I just don’t send out “come hither” vibes and again, the trend continues today.

So, if it’s not sex, what is it? I think men and I get along so well because there is no sexual tension – or at least, very little of it. Their straightforward manner appeals to me and I appreciate the fact that none of them gives a sh*t what shoes I wear.

Let’s face it; girls are a pain in the ass. I have no time for women who read Cosmo, complain about horny husbands, and define themselves by how their kids are doing. I consider myself fortunate to have a few terrific female friends, but even they are not typical chicks. Becky only appears soft – don’t let the blonde hair and perfect smile fool you. Beth, Lynda, Dorothy, Dalia, Elise, Ariana – don’t get me started on Sandy and Stacey – they’re all b*tches from time to time. And that’s why I love them so.

I just don’t know what to do with the other kinds of women. They confuse me with their stations set at Soothing Sounds for Senior Citizens, allegiance to Oprah and weekly scrapbooking cults.

DISCLAIMER: No, I’m not talking about you. You I like.

I annoy them as well. They wish I didn’t curse or refer to bj contests or talk about my equipment. With boys, no such boundaries exist.

I wish I liked women who wrote about a subject dear to my heart – motherhood and all it entails. Erma Bombeck rocked precisely because she told the truth about our noble profession. She never tried to pretend stretch marks or support hose were sexy. Cause. They’re. Not. Nowadays, if I read one more Mother’s Musing about how she relishes c-section scars and has learned to love her size 18 body, I might just hurl. She’s full of sh*t. Dance like no one is watching? Not if I’m watching, please.

Men make great dinner guests because they see the value in a well-reasoned argument. They don’t take tirades personally – Sunshine, not included – and seem to enjoy verbal tennis almost as much as I do. And they wouldn’t be caught dead at a Yanni concert. Not a real man, anyway.

On those rare occasions when my estrogen overloads – yes, I am a woman after all – it’s helpful to call on a sister for support. And as much as I love my brothers, I wouldn’t want to be married to any of them. Only the man who has promised to put up with me until forever ends gets that gift. The bonus is that none of them want to be married to me either. The underlying question posed by that great romantic comedy of the late 80s has an answer at least in the movie that is my life. Men and women can be friends. Thank God.

Last, but not least, I will miss...

You. Why? Because you:

- Tickle me.
- Lather me up.
- Publish my work and ask for more.
- Read my site and send encouraging emails.
- Work it, own it.
- Hauled your happy ass to Wesley Chapel just to say goodbye.
- Love my children like you love me.
- Care.
- Check in to make sure I’m okay.
- Wave when we drive down the street.
- Give politicians a good name. Plus your staffers are hot.
- Shared a part of yourself with me.
- Provoke. Provoke. Provoke.
- Trust me.
- Tell the truth.
- Flatter me with your presence.
- Flirt like a pro.
- Are the coolest kids on the block and welcomed me with open arms.
- Were my first. (Blog, that is.)
- Make me think.
- Entertain almost on a daily basis.
- Are tough as nails with a heart that might just swallow me up. Plus your husband taught me how to put dollars into women's garter belts.
- Remind me that friends who argue, care.
- Keep me posted.
- Said you’d hire me back in a heartbeat.
- Introduced me to Dave Andreychuk. Twice.
- Laugh at my jokes.
- Like the Beastie Boys almost as much as I do.
- Taught me how to shoot like a girl. A bad-ass girl.
- Allow me to influence your vote.
- Are my favorite drinking buddy.
- Post comments that boil my blood.
- Matter.

Thanks to my tenacity and the Miracles of Internet Use – we will keep in touch. After Friday, there’s just no longer the opportunity to meet, grab a bite to eat, hang out at your house or enjoy happy hour together. And for that I have tears in my eyes.

Take care.

"We keep a Kosher home, remember?"

Never ask the husband to purchase supplies for an intimate dinner party because he may come home with this:

Got 53 Minutes to Spare?

Many of us walk a fine line between doubt and belief, faith and reason. Here is someone who puts it into perfect perspective. Nobody has bigger balls than this guy. Nobody.

h/t to tiny

Don't You Forget About Me

***cross-posted at Sticks of Fire***

Next Friday, I am out of here. So it’s time I said goodbye and got on with it. For years, I would write letters telling loved ones all the ways I’d come to care about them. For one reason or another, that tradition slipped away. For one reason and another actually. Two six year-old reasons that need water and conversation in the middle of the night despite the fact that Mommy has needs of her own.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, I was caring for people. Last month, I started up again, sending perfumed note cards to my nearest and dearest, gushing about how I’ll miss them after leaving Tampa. These were well-written and properly punctuated. I thought for sure at least one asshole would respond with a similar “I love you too because…” but no. Discouraged and hurt, I thought about sending kiss-off-after-the-kisses cards, but thought better of it.

“Kate,” I said, “it’s better to give than receive. So f*ck ‘em.”

I am now ready to give Sticks of Fire my electronic love letter and show some appreciation to those who tolerate me and my rants. Here we go:

Tommy – When I walked into Blue Shark that night and you drooled over my pizza, I knew I had a friend for life. Thank you for allowing me to advance a liberal agenda and stress the importance of love toys at the same time. I enjoyed reaching out; connecting with my community in a way I never could have done without you. Plus you took me to lunch once and didn’t make fun of my hair. You also provided an endless supply of beer at Skipper’s, which is why I gave my number to anyone who looked at my legs, but I can’t blame you for that. My legs shine more than the moon and are therefore hard to ignore. Your award-winning site is a template for how Internet use can bring people together legally and empower citizens to get involved with local issues. Thanks for letting me contribute. It’s a tough act to follow. So are you.

To my fellow SOF contributors, especially those who’ve been seen with me in public – ahem – Brett (twice!), Wendy and Joel: I enjoyed our time together. Your extraordinary kindness when validating an opinion, supporting a position or providing a well-reasoned argument is deeply appreciated by someone who longs to contribute an appreciated verse. That also goes for those who comment and encourage a dialogue not available anywhere else. Tampa is a better place to live because you care enough to voice your concerns. I am proud and humbled to have been associated with you.

To special local readers like Gax, Port Tampa, Addison…I can’t name all of you or the many ways I’d like to personally thank you for encouraging me. You’ll have to check back later for that. However, a special shout-out needs to go to Jeff Houck because he uses “babe” in casual conversation and put me on the front page of The Tampa Tribune. Beat that.

If any of you are ever in Colorado Springs, please look me up. If you see me this weekend, stumbling around town performing my own Farewell Tour, say hello and goodbye at the same time. I will miss this wacky area and its residents more than you know.

I will not miss...

Humidity that messes with my head and turns perfectly good curls into this:

Will Work for Salvation

...this one's for Chase.

Teaching. I go back and forth. Sometimes I want to leave the classroom and return to the corporate world where I’d work with grownups and earn a decent salary. Other times I enjoy the challenges and family time teaching allows. Plus coaches are hot.

Just for fun, I checked the job scene in Colorado Springs. A few items seemed interesting. Imagine my surprise when, upon further investigation of one particular position, I discovered the following, listed under “Duties and Responsibilities”:

Must have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Is a consistent witness for Jesus Christ, maintains a courteous, Christ-like attitude in dealing with people.

Now, Jesus and I go way back, but no one would accuse me of having a “Christ-like attitude” with anyone. Still. I have it on good authority that SOG digs me. However, something tells me that this company ain’t interested in a witty Jew who talks to God while on the toilet. I found several job openings in the area with similar requirements:

Concern for the poor and needy people, particularly children, and sees our response to the needs of hurting people as a Biblical mandate.

Meaning you want to humiliate and punish the corrupt government officials who cause such hurting? Sounds Biblical to me.

Experience in relation to Christians and church leaders of all different denominational backgrounds.

I gotta family full of Catholics who barely tolerate me.

I know. I’m so screwed.

The Best Way to Blow Time in Front of Your Computer

And I know a thing or two about blowin' time. Check it out. Sing along with me – you know you want to! “Don’t gooooo- I’m beggin’ you to stay. PLEASE don’t go…”

h/t to kleo

The 17th Carnival of Feminists

This is another entry I find myself surprised to write because I normally 1) do not enjoy feminist rants - too angry; 2) deplore the vast majority of "mommy writing" as it can be boring; 3) avoid carnivals - just say no to consorting with the corn-dog crowd. However, this carnival of feminists is different because the host is local, funny, inspired and a fascinating read. That's right. Not a corn-dogger in sight.

From BL herself:

A quick run-down of themes covered:
1. The virtues of being mouthy, talking back, refusing norms of politeness,
etc.
2. Explorations of Carol Hanisch's original meaning behind the popular
phrase, 'the personal is political.'
3. Solstice Sex Positive Feminist Mini-Carnival, plus scattered notes on
the BJ Wars.

There are also beautiful, witty, and hilarious posts on motherhood,
reproductive rights, comic book fandom, movie and book reviews, violence
against women, critical readings of advertisements, body image, feminist
analyses of misogyny in rock music, and feminist takes on media and
culture, and more....

Okay, but don't let the high-falutin' subject matter scare you off. BL is a Tarpon Springs treasure and #1 alone is a subject close to my heart. (Plus I'd win a BJ war any day of the week. Or maybe I mean "contest"?) Check it out and enjoy.

She's Having a Baby

My baby sister is having her first baby. Here she is, thirty-three years ago, chomping on what our Nana called a "warshcloth".




Since she lives in Denver and I'll be forty-five minutes away in The Springs, the timing could not be better. We are already telling the boys about their new cousin and how he/she will be more like a brother or sister than distant relative.

"How did the baby get in Aunt Michi's belly?" Oldest asked.

Sh*t. Didn't see this coming. What do I tell a six year-old? "Uncle gave Aunt the ride of her life and, as a result, our family is growing!"

I stammered and said,

"The sperm and the egg meet inside the mommy's belly and that's how a baby grows."

"No," the kid shakes his head like I'm confused and says, "how does it get there in the first place?"

You know what they say - honesty is the best policy.

"Alcohol and eye contact."

"Is that how you got us?" he asked.

"Exactly," I said. "Now finish your dinner."

Serenity (Equality) Now!

Here's a sentence I never thought I'd write: Prepare for a good time this weekend at Tampa Pitcher Show.

Are you a fan of Serenity - the movie continuation of Firefly? Me neither. However, several people love this genre so let me break it down for you. Apparently, Firefly is a series created by the same person who gave us Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. Ring any bells?

Come on, green demons are kinda hot.

At any rate, Serenity will be showing at Tampa Pitcher Show this Saturday, June 24th at 1:30pm. Tickets are $10.50 and all profits go to the charity Equality Now. So if you're goth and into chicks - go wild with like-minded folks this weekend in North Tampa.

Make Meryl proud.

Take it Easy (and if it comes easy, take it twice)

Today is the six-week anniversary of double-hernia repair.

I'm fine, thanks for asking.

That means I may now return to the world of sit-ups, yoga, biking, and the like. I can no longer even think about this particular pose. However, at least I can do something besides sit around and listen to my waist expand. Watch me wipe the cobwebs off my equipment and ride them like the cowgirl I think I am.




(Some equipment not suitable to photograph because this is a family show.)

Who Knows?

Favorite friend Beth rented The God That Wasn’t There which made me want to rant for hours, days, weeks.

I know. Beth rocks.

The film explores four decades between Jesus’ death and when the gospels were written. The director also talks about Saul/Paul’s break with Judaism to found a new religion. Curious because Paul never met Jesus and only writes about three aspects of his savior’s life: death, resurrection and ascension. Either Paul was clueless about Jesus’ formative years or those formative years simply weren’t important. The director suggested that Paul considered Jesus a mythological figure instead of a real man.

Several characteristics have been used for thousands of years when writing about literary or mythological “saviors”. These include a virgin birth, dying and rising on the third day, sitting at the right hand of the father…there are plenty more. Jesus shares many of these traits. This implies that the writers of the Gospels understood a popular genre and used it to sell their own stories. What other explanation is there?

Several experts talked about their dismay when first discovering folklore similarities and inconsistencies within the Bible itself. Several came to the conclusion, rightfully so, that events like the Inquisition were not a gross misinterpretation of church doctrine like modern mainstream Christians insist. Even modern crusaders who call for the death of homosexuals are acting in a matter consistent with their faith.

Playing devil’s advocate, I pointed out that there are many passages in the Bible calling for love and understanding. This doesn’t prove the other passages wrong; just that those who literally interpret the Good Book are, for lack of a better word, insane.

Such experts, like the director, became dismayed and lost their faith. One professor, however, said that he recently began attending a Methodist church again. He appreciates the lessons learned in such parables and stories. He just no longer believes they actually happened.

The Torah is a collection of stories that chronicle an interpretation of how my religion and its people began. The Talmud is an extension and explores arguments from people trying to come to grips with what can be a confusing and contradictory book. I never took the stories as fact and, as a result, do not find fault with a man who suggests the same of the New Testament. Wow, though, don’t Christians freak out at the very thought that evidence might suggest anything other than what they were taught in Sunday school as a kid.

At the end of the movie, I posed this question to Beth: If you discovered evidence that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Jesus did not exist or, at the very least, that his story was exaggerated – would you reveal such evidence?

As much as I appreciate history and value the separation of fact from fiction, I would keep such a discovery to myself. The majority of our born again neighbors become so for a reason. Many millions do right because they are afraid of punishment from God. They acknowledge Christ and his laws because they don’t want to fry in a lake of fire. I appreciate the way Christianity brought monotheism to a previously barbaric world and wouldn’t want to go back. Thanks anyway.

I will miss...

Messy faces outside Bo's Ice Cream.

Anybody Home?

Saturday morning, I took the boys for their last lesson in political activism. Here in Tampa, anyway. The Davis Canvassing Event, rockin' neighborhoods since 1988, is where supporters branch out, knock on doors and tell sleepy-heads why Jim Davis deserves their votes. Then we come back together to complain about humidity and bugs while eating deli sandwiches. Or, in my case, bread with mayo and wilted lettuce.

When we arrived, several people came over to talk. One showed the boys how their picture is on the wall - making my sons feel important. Friendly hellos sounded from staffers who tolerate my opinions. A few folks made kind and totally undeserved compliments about this site. Even Jim chatted us up. At one point, Youngest turned to me and said,

"It's like I'm famous."

Sure, kid. Give it a month. Soon we'll be alone in the middle of the mountains wondering what we did to deserve our lot in life. Can't wait.

We were off after receiving marching orders and helpful advice like, "Don't approach attack dogs". Walking from house to house, I was a little concerned. Having had many a door slammed in my face over the years, at the very least I figured the boys would learn how to take rejection with a smile. Helpful due to the fact they inherited their father's nose and my mouth.

However, no one slammed anything. Hardly anyone even came to the door - perhaps these good Democrats were asleep, working or afraid of my hair. After walking around in 80 degree heat and magnified through the peephole, my mop looks frightening. Out of 50+ homes, only four opened up to discuss voting habits, leanings, and, in the case of one elderly voter, the odds our national party would do anything in 2008 other than "embarrass the sh*t out of us." Oldest looked surprised that someone besides Mommy mixes profanity and politics.

We returned to campaign headquarters from our morning mitzvah and said our goodbyes, so longs, and farewells. Jim was great - making the boys promise not to throw snowballs at each other.

"We won't say goodbye," he said to me, "because you returned after Boston and might come back again in a few years. Besides, we'll all keep in touch through the web."

First my mom and now the future governor of Florida. Better stop with all the profanity. Damn.

Some Sentiment I Can Get Behind

This Louis C.K. segment is my Father's Day gift - from me to you - because:

1) I laughed so hard soy milk flew out my nose
2) he's hot, but what red-headed, red-blooded male isn't? (hello? Eric Stoltz? Matt Thorton?)
3) he tells it like it is.

Nice combination.

I will not miss...

Displays of redneck racism. On cars, flags, and...




children.

Chubby Chasers

Toward the end of high school/beginning of college, I hung with a group of guys affectionately referred to as "Trouble". By my mother after one of them, Dumb Chuck, downed an entire bottle of Old Spice in her bathroom just to rid his mouth of beer smell and left the empty bottle behind as evidence. ("Catherine - you've got some explaining to do!") They were a good group. Two words: lotsa pot. One of them, we'll call him Shane (cause that's his name) had a girlfriend on the hefty side; her name was Carol or Kathy or something like that. Shane called her "Moped". One night, after sitting on a Treasure Island beach with too many apples and nowhere to go, I asked,

"Why do you call her that?"

Shane said, "What does a fat girl and a Moped have in common?"

I shrugged my shoulders. Shane leaned forward and said,

"They're both fun to ride until a friend sees you on one."

He dumped her two days later. I know. Nice guy. This story would be better if I didn't admit to dating him myself a year or two later. And by "dating" I mean "fending him off at keggers." I bring up this story to illustrate a point. Why is a chubby girl not nearly as attractive as a chubby boy? Before you yawn and call this feminist drivel, hear me out.

Men who pack it are hot. They are. My sister hates that I admit to drooling over the likes of Jack Black, Lewis Black, and every other pudgy Jew who makes me laugh, but it's true. Brother doesn't even need to be Jewish. I have a thing for guys who are not obese, but definitely a bit on the large side. (Stop it.) This was not always the case. I used to hang with guys skinnier than myself (Mom called them anemic). They usually "played" in a band (I use that term loosely) and wrote really bad poetry. Then I met my husband and fell for the charms of a smart, funny man who could nevertheless squash me with his hand. If he wanted to. That turned me off to skinny, pretty boys forever.

Why aren't larger women hot? It's not fair! Even I will officially become part of the problem next June when I return to Tampa in order to be cut up and rearranged by Dr. Berger. And I'm slightly thin! Why is it that only men can work a beer belly into something tasty while women with a slight pudge are discarded by everyone but those weird guys who dig fat chicks? Really. I'm asking. Who thinks Janeane Garofalo is smokin'? Would you still get it up for your woman if she gained ten pounds? How about twenty? Inquiring minds want to know.

"You talented, girl."

What does it say about my quality of writing when Post #1 and Post #2 remain my most popular? Sorta sad, really.

You've Got Me? Who's Got You?

I scored a free pass to see Superman Returns next Monday night. I know. Try to contain yourself.

I considered asking around for anyone who might be interested in joining me. Think about it - a sneak preview that will no doubt attract those who frequent comic book conventions. And county fairs. And their kids. Doesn't that sound like fun? I can just hear my mother fainting right about now, worried that her daughter is soliciting for company via the Internet. (What will people think?) However, I'm not much of a draw and any of the few who frequent here would make delightful dates. Even the ones that like comic books and carnival rides.

Then I got a better idea - maybe I'll use this pass to get into the theatre and sneak off to The Break-Up (cause Vince Vaughn is hot) or The Da Vinci Code (even though Tom Hanks isn't) instead.

Superman fans - does that get your tights in a wad? Tell me all about it.

I will miss...

Fun and games at my parents' house.




(Can this be considered a musical lesson? I am a teacher, after all.)

It's All Happening

Saturday morning, I will be dragging the boys out for one last canvassing effort on behalf of Jim Davis. Honk if you see us - just don't throw anything. The last time I canvassed door-to-door in a Tampa neighborhood was for Dukakis in '88. Scariest. Job. Ever. This time I'll have two cute kids with me so hopefully people will not curse as we interrupt World Cup Soccer to rally progressive support. Afterwards the Davis people invited us to a barbecue. What are the odds they have veggie burgers? We'll see.

Other events of interest:

--For those in the Sarasota area: Keith Fitzgerald's campaign for State House is having a Headquarters Grand Opening celebration, this Saturday, June 17, from 5 to 7 PM. Stop by to see the office, visit with Keith and the campaign team and enjoy light refreshments (read: no beer). The office is located at 5119 N. Tamiami Tr., Suite 4, just south of University Parkway.

--According to the Pasco County Democrats - all two of them: Your time, whether it be signing a single petition, or spending an hour or a day helping collect signatures, is THE most valuable contribution you can make to our Democrats at this point during the 2006 election season. Check out these candidates and do your part -

Stephen Gorham; Florida State Senate; District 10
Chris Hrabovsky; Florida House; District 45
Carl Zimmermann; Florida House; District 48
Donovan Brown; Florida House; District 61
Nikki Deg; County Commission; District 4

If there is anything else going on this weekend, political, social, or otherwise, feel free to leave a comment or send an anonymous e-mail. As my time here draws to a close, I'm lovin' those invites...

"Funny, Charlton Heston doesn't look Jewish."

10 Things I Hate About Commandments

Why Doesn't Anyone Want Me?

I'm serious. My owners are leaving two weeks from today whether a new owner or renter is secured or not. I have such a warm and welcoming vibe - despite Internet rumors to the contrary - it's hard for me to go on feeling so rejected. Be honest. Is it my thighs? Do dazzling displays of color induce flashbacks...



or make you jones for a hit?





Too many latrines to clean?







Does the size of my equipment make you nervous?



What do I have to do to make you love me? I mean, come on. If these particular walls could talk...



Wait a minute! What if I told you some stories? I'll even name names. What do you say? Oh, right. This is a family show. See?



I'll even remove all traces that a liberal lived here.




You want to go outside? Okay, but pay no attention to the scenery behind our backyard fence. It doesn't concern you!




Damn. Lost another one.

If it's free, it's for me.

Are you looking for maternity clothes, a plumber's snake or sassafras? Look no further!

Freecycle is a nationwide grassroots movement that seeks to give away one person's trash for another to treasure. They are changing the world one gift at a time. This is a recycling movement everyone can get behind - liberals love it because it helps reduce waste. Neocons will love it because free sh*t gets them hot. Everybody wins so check 'em out. Now if only I could find someone to take these Elmo party supplies off my hands...

Kids Love the Potty Humor

For the first time ever, I left a Jack Black movie feeling un-aroused. And no, it's not because I was with my children. Please. I'm a professional.

Maybe it had something to do with the movie itself. Normally, Mike White and Jack Black team up and the result is comedy heaven. A sure thing, no? No. Last night, I scored free tickets to their newest collaboration because my children think Jack Black is hysterical and I think he's hot. At least the boys were satisfied.

I'm not a critic, but I will say this: Nacho Libre is lame. My children loved the physical humor, fart jokes and poop gags. Watching them laugh was worth every second of the horror that is wasted talent. However, if the packed theatre full of laughing mouthbreathers was any indication, this flick will be a hit. Won't be the first time I miscalculated the American audience. Look at Napoleon Dynamite.

The funniest moment of the evening came before the movie even started. I said to my oldest, "Are you happy to be here?" He smiled and said, "That's nacho business, Mom. Get it? Nacho business!" I laughed for about a minute. Look out Jackie. My boy's gaining on you.

I will not miss...

Love bugs.

Good Talk

I enjoy thought-provoking conversation like Southerners enjoy fried food. Even Bono recently told Rolling Stone that talking is poetry - like music. Who disagrees with that? No really. I’m asking.

Friends have said I talk more than most people breathe. (Okay, Cathy said that, but several others concurred.) That’s fine, I suppose, since conversational skills are part of my charm. And if a chat turns into a well-reasoned argument? Better than sex! I want to grow and think and learn and that only happens when relating to others. You and I don’t even need to be previously acquainted. I’ll still talk for hours. I learned the art of discourse while sitting at the grown-up table during family gatherings. I also learned how to yell and curse and appreciate tapped beer. However, unlike the old days, modern conversations don’t have to be face-to-face. The Internet provides for great at-length convos and at least one local authority endorses the idea that I’m fun on the phone. So there.

As kids, we talked all night long. What happened to us?

Topics that remain taboo for some, like religion and politics, are my favorite. Firmly held beliefs are what make people tick. Contrary to popular belief, I do not surround myself with like-minded liberals. Although I love my peeps, I dig for differences. Nothing is gained from someone who shares all the same tickings.

At Dunderbak’s, the boss would ask that I stop discussing current events because it sometimes caused trouble. “Customers,” she said, “want you to serve beer with silence and a smile.” No way. If I had kept opinions and questions to myself, I would have never known that my favorite customer was really anti-Semitic or the creepy old guy who always ate alone was a well-known philanthropist. Besides, a quiet waitress wouldn't have a “Spike Lee and Branford Marsalis" story. But that’s for another time.

My name is Catherine and I’m a talker.

If it counts for anything, I’m a listener as well. And I can’t think of anything better than sharing a bottle of wine with someone for a marathon chat session that lasts all night. Can you?

Poll This

Go ahead and vote today - for Jim Davis.

Dirty Words

Have I been without my man too long or are some passages in children's books inappropriate? Check it.

"Today I'm confused, my life's getting hairy.
Sam says he's my boyfriend but he also likes Mary."
- Today I Feel Silly

"'It's getting late,' Oswald said to Weenie."
-A Little Nap

"I think I can - I think I can - I think I can."
- The Little Engine That Could

"I never knew it could grow so big."
- Jack and the Beanstalk

"Our emperor is naked."
-The Emperor's New Clothes

"But it isn't too good when a moose and a goose
Start dreaming they're drinking the other one's juice.
Moose juice, not goose juice, is juice for a moose
And goose juice, not moose juice is juice for a goose.
So, when goose gets a mouthful of juices of mooses's
And moose gets a mouthful of juices of goose's,
They always fall out of their beds screaming screams."
Dr. Suess's Sleep Book

Okay, that's hot. See if you can find any on your own and bedtime stories will never be the same.

Republican Behavior

Over at C's site, he wrote: There's nothing more Republican than cutting taxes. Is he kidding? Those neocons don't know from humor. Come on, we can do better than that.

There's nothing more Republican than..

--having the same facial expressions at funerals and parties.
--muttering "Let's bomb those sons of b*tches" on the way to church.
--dancing all night long to Hootie and the Blowfish.
--answering: "What's your favorite color?" with: "Tiger. That guy can swing."

There Goes the Neighborhood

Seeing How the Gentiles Live

I went out last night and was not struck down. Well. Not by God I mean. I arrived at Skipper’s Smokehouse armed with only my wits and a working cell phone connectable to the outside world and capable reinforcements. Immediately tense, I watched the bar fill with deadheads while I looked like Erin Brockovich. Then I realized my mother was right - “whorish attire” is better suited for a strip club. However, the bouncer smiled and I felt more at ease. See? Boobs are a wonderful thing.

I’ve said it before – meeting people who read my sh*t is sometimes scary. Between hate mail and surprise phone calls, someone might throw a copy of Ann Coulter’s latest book at me. Meeting writers whom I read and admire is unnerving as well. That’s why I’m happy to report that the people with whom I hung last night are delightful. Wendy is normal and down-to-earth; you’d never know she was a Cornell graduate and published novelist. Joel made me smile, his wife laughed at my jokes, and Brett lavished me with attention I don’t deserve. As always, Tommy is a doll you want to take home and cuddle. And I don’t think he let me pay for a single drink all night. Best friends for life!

The musicians rocked even though they were only twelve years old. Okay, they were more like sixteen. When they played an excellent Doors’ cover, I almost spit beer in Brett’s open mouth. The drummer of Roppongi’s Ace looked just like a student from my third period class last year who slept through second semester. ‘Having a gig the night before’ turned out to be true. Who knew? These kids commanded an impressive following, dozens of teenage girls stood transfixed by their every move. Either the music was great or the drugs weren’t. When I was their age, I followed around a local band - Saber. However, Saber only played fields in Plant City or backyards in Lutz. These guys were at a real venue playing instruments not held together with masking tape. Good for them! I was struck by how life has changed since last I swayed at Skipper’s. Ten years ago, I’d flirt with the band. Now I’m wondering if they’re getting enough vitamins and sleep at night. Rubber City Rebels, the grown-ups in the group, came on and blew us all away. Terrific show, Tommy.

Hell. You know I’m having fun when someone puts a Budweiser in front of me and I actually drink it. If I didn’t embarrass myself or say anything rude (what’re the odds?) perhaps we can do this again before I leave at the end of the month. Porneoke on Wednesday nights? I mean, I have plenty of whorish attire...

I will miss...

Walking Bayshore with my boys while they discover bugs and ask important questions like "What happens if you try to ride a bike in the water?"

Today is the Day

UPDATE: The battle is over in the House as they sneaked in a vote last night and defeated our efforts. However, the Senate is still up for grabs. Make your voices heard before it's too late.

H/T to Gax.

The US House of Representatives will vote on Net Neutrality today. Let’s get on it people!

In less than five minutes, you can call your US Representative to help stop Congress from handing over control of the Internet to the nation's largest telephone and cable companies. Find his or her phone number here.

Urge your Rep to support the Markey-Boucher-Eshoo-Inslee Net Neutrality amendment to the larger communications bill called the COPE Act (H.R. 5252).

The COPE Act is riddled with problems, the biggest of which is the lack of genuine Net Neutrality protections. Tell your rep to oppose any telecommunications law that doesn't contain meaningful and enforceable Net Neutrality.

Do You Believe in Miracles?

Sanity is rare these days, therefore this deserves a mention and relieved smile. Common sense triumphed so bask in it for a moment, enjoy and breathe a sigh of relief.

As you were.

Fusing With Your Fellow Teacher

How many of you have envisioned this humpin' and bumpin' scenario?

Come on, be honest. He's at the podium talking about jingoism. She's working the transparencies like a pro. Of course, you'd cover the window completely, right? Personally, I could write a book about horn-dogs I've encountered in the classroom. In fact, I am. Ahh, well. Let this be a lesson to educators everywhere: Get a motel room.

Kids always talk.

Day in the Life of Acting-Single Parent During Summer Break

7am- Feel tickle, brush away, and curse Florida bugs.

7:02am- Feel tickle again, open eyes and see two smiling six year-olds. Mutter “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me with this 7am sh*t.” Roll over.

7:05am- Hear “Mommy, can we snuggle?” and give in because kids might play major-league ball one day. Pretend interrupted x-rated dream wasn’t so great after all.

7:30am- Watch neighbors in power suits leaving for work while wearing slippers and oversized t-shirt. (Mother’s Day gift. Cause I’m hot.)

7:45am- Take shower and ignore occasional “If you tell, I won’t be your best friend!”

8am- Husband calls sounding well-rested on his way to important power breakfast. Burn cereal and wonder aloud why I never developed a taste for coffee. Or heroin.

8:15am- Clean house while singing Futile is Fun in case someone actually requests a showing.

8:45am- Hustle kids out the door “cause we’ve got a life to lead.”

9:30am- Arrive at MOSI or Lowry Park Zoo. Once in a while hit up a local business giving away free movie passes, the library for story time or (personal favorite) a friend’s house for playdate fun and free alcohol.

Noon- Feed kids organic homemade lunch. Incur wrath of Zoo Keepers or docents who insist no outside food. Explain children have special diet. “Special” means “healthy” – leave out part about yucky $7 pizzas.

1pm- Call husband to see if he misses me. Call gets dropped again.

2pm- Drive home yelling at Rush Limbaugh.

2:15pm- See empty house. Curse realtor, bad luck, St. Joseph, and chocolate cookies now waiting to move from counter to mouth to thighs.

2:30pm- Answer 900th “I’m bored” with sunscreen and orders to get lost until dinner.

3:30pm- React to daily emergency. Perhaps an open wound requiring stitches. Maybe a lost garden snake that wants to play or the always fun and exciting allergic reaction. Straighten house again before rushing off to emergency room. Remember realtor’s advice. Put away communist literature and lock Grownup Closet because “incredibly lifelike” toys can scare off potential buyers.

4:00pm: If home, teach kids to play Battleship or other violent board game that only allows two players so Mommy can get back to important things like hating Oprah.

5:00pm: Doze off trying to understand 1776 while kids read silently for ten glorious minutes. Wake up to arguments over computer games and threaten children with physical violence.

5:30pm: Thank God for tubby time and PBS Kids. Call family members and friends for grownup conversation. Two words: lotsa voicemails.

6:30pm: Feeding time at the Robinson Zoo. Insist foreign slave traders would pay top dollar for two little white boys.

7:30pm: Read latest Harry Potter book out loud, using different voices for each character, only to hear complaints from pint size Ebert and Roeper.

8:05pm: Husband calls to say goodnight. Kids turn into angels for first time since morning phone call. Then Husband tells me about a party or gallery opening he's attending that night. I tell him about grownup toys.

9:00pm: Continue love affair with both Ben and Jerry. Pretend to miss exercising.

9:30pm: Hear taps against window, get excited, look outside and curse Florida bugs.

11pm: Fall asleep watching All in the Family reruns. (Cause I’m hot.)

I Got Jew Babe

Most of the time I'm allergic to sticky-sweet sentiment, especially over the Internet (which is only good for anonymous cybersex) but today I just can't resist. I look at these eyes every day on my children...




Happy Birthday.

I will not miss...

Conversations like this almost everywhere I go. (Happens when you grow older in the town you grew up in.) With few exceptions, Blast From the Past and I relive our youth, determine how we know each other and leave me wondering if I'll ever run into someone on a good hair day.

"You look familiar. What's your name?"

"Catherine..."

(blank stare - I try again)

"Or Katie."

"What school did you go to?"

"Adams, Chamberlain, USF."

"No, that's not it. Where'd you work during school?"

"Let's see: McDonald's, Showtime Video, Chess King, Little Caesar's, JC Penney, Video Show, Beyond, Ernie Haire Ford, Creative World, Skyline Chili, some retirement home, Mr. Dunderbak's, Tampa Woman's Health Center, and I was also a nanny for about a year."

"That's some resume. Where've you worked since college?"

"Here in Tampa? Hillsborough County School District."

"That's not it either, geez, they'd never let me work with kids. Ever a regular at any clubs?"

"Long time ago....El Goya, Masquerade, Traxx, Volley Club, DNA, 911, The Hub."

"Man, I know you from somewhere. Ever been on t.v.?"

"When Kathy Fountain had her own show..."

"Who?"

"Perhaps you slept with one of my friends. That's usually it."

"Did we sleep together?"

"No."

"Wait a minute. Ever been to Paradise Lakes?"

"Yes! That must be it."

"Yeah, wow, you've changed. A lot."

Awkard pause.

"Cute kids. They identical?"

A Recap

I'd heard about this slip-up and subsequent cover-up last week, but Keith Olbermann summarizes with just the right mix of fact, outrage, and passion.

So hot.

Divide and Conquer

Come on, a gay marriage amendment? That's so 2004. Besides, I thought illegal immigration would be the divisive item of choice, used to rally the neocon faithful during midterm elections later this year.

Oh, wait. The Bushies came out all reasonable-like and blew that plan to hell. So it's more with this blast from the past: attack same-sex families. The amendment won't pass the Senate, but it might just take some of the focus off truly important issues long enough for those responsible to retain power. Ronald Brownstein nails the issue and questions an agenda focused on fighting rather than governing.

"Whatever else Americans may think about gay marriage, few consider it one of the country's most serious moral challenges. By elevating it so prominently, this week's debate is likely to deepen the sense that Washington is fixated on the preoccupations of ideological minorities while slighting most Americans' day-to-day concerns."

My question is: will it work again this time?

Come Say Goodbye

This Friday, June 9th, Rubber City Rebels, Hat Trick Heroes and Rappongi’s Ace will be playing Skipper’s Smokehouse. And so will I. Of course, they'll be playing music and I'll be playing the part of a bar fly. Sounds fun, no? The show starts at 7pm and I’m looking forward to a night out with grownups where I don't have to cut up anyone's dinner.

I know you’re thinking – Katie, boozing it up on the Sabbath? Well, I committed to the show, and slightly serious sin, before realizing said show was on a Friday night. Yes. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Still. I'm a woman of my word. I'm sure the Lord understands just this once.

Tommy over at Sticks of Fire is sponsoring this concert with Downtown West Events and asked contributing writers to attend and look alive. Since I only have a few weeks left in town, why don't you come out and say goodbye to me? I’m hoping at least a few liberals will drown out any potential boos and hisses I might incur. Of course, jeering would be better than indifferent shrugs and resounding, “Who’s that chick with the hair?”

Can hardly wait.

You Don't Need a Weatherman To Tell Which Way the Wind Blows

Charlie Crist, the man who would like to be Florida's next governor, is yelling about Citizen's Insurance and all the problems rising premiums are causing around the state. However, he's trying to lay blame at Tom Gallagher's feet without stepping in any of it himself. The St. Petersburg Times calls him on it.

"Attorney general since 2003, he has been a member of the Cabinet with the same level of responsibility for insurance oversight as Gallagher, the chief financial officer. And his one specific idea for shoring up Florida's insurance market - requiring companies writing auto policies to offer homeowners - has been rejected as unworkable by politicians and industry leaders alike."

Convenient that as hurricane season starts and premiums go up, Crist wants to capitalize on voters' impending sense of doom. However, he forgets that he's part of the problem. Or maybe he's hoping the rest of us will forget. He points a finger at his Republican opponent, but needs to realize four more fingers are pointing back at himself. Crist has done very little to address this issue affecting so many Floridians.

Why?

Perhaps he can't relate. The man doesn't own a home and, therefore, homeowner's insurance doesn't concern him. Tell me - how can he feel our pain when he's so far removed from the same concerns? Jim Davis spoke out about this issue long ago and other Democrats are also involved in finding answers. Not Charlie, though.

If Charlie Crist doesn't even accept the part he's played in the problem - how can he be trusted to find a solution?

I will miss...

Hudson Beach sunsets.

What do you say to men who invade your personal space?

At the firing range I met a woman who, rumor has it, gives the best blue jobs in town. She also has a way with words. In front of a World War II-era firearm, she placed this sign.

I'm thinking about making this my own personal slogan, replacing other lines I've used to ward off touchy-feely bar patrons while slamming tequila shots:

"Hands where I can see 'em."

"Don't touch what you can't afford."

"Look, I require more time and tenacity than mortal men are inclined to give. So save everyone some trouble and simply move along. Thanks though."

"You break, you buy."

Husband didn't heed that last bit of advice and is now stuck with me for life. The rest of you have been warned.

Just One Cock and She's Ready to Blow

"But ain't nothin sweet 'bout how I hold my gun
I got 99 problems but this b*tch ain't one - hit me."

First of all, don't let anyone tell you differently - the men who work your friendly neighborhood firing range are polite and charming. Sure they have buzz cuts and tattoos that, if you squint, look slightly racist. And they take the NRA way too seriously. Otherwise, though, they're hot.

Speaking of hot, Shooting Sports is at least 90 degrees and louder than the first row of a Tesla concert. Two booths down stood a couple on a real date, the kind that involves sex afterward, and I couldn't help but wonder if a movie and dinner wouldn't have been a better choice. The ear muff/eye goggle combo alone is a libido kill not to mention millions of micro-particle gun powder all over skin and clothes. Add in smoke from smoking guns and my fro was out of control even before sweating began. So not hot.

Still - one hell of a good time.

Even while shaking and shutting my eyes, I'm a damn good shot. The ever-popular "Osama bin Laden" target paper didn't stand a chance. Not to brag or anything, but I totally smoked his camel-biting ass.



Check O's face - if I were stationed in Afghanistan, this guy would be toast.

I did feel slighty sick after picking up a weapon and firing it several times. Powerful stuff and scary how something so small could end a life so easily. Then I got over it and eventually graduated to a 45 magnum. Make my day, motherf*cker.

Excuse me, where was I? Oh yes, guns are bad, bad, bad...

While firing round after round I mentally "talked to" my many victims. Osama played several different roles, but they were all variations of the same theme. An intruder whose ass I had to bust a cap in. "Freeze!" "Reach for the sky!" "Your ass is mine!" I was like a modern day Cagney. Or Lacey - whichever.

All in all, a good night. Favorite Hunter says next time we'll do a course where the targets pop up and I'll blow them away with semi-automatic weapons. Like Rambo. Good times - vigilante style. Maybe summer vacation won't be so boring after all.

Storming Mad

Homeowners' insurance rates are sky high and Democrats have a plan to fix the problem. An excerpt:

Florida’s property insurance market is in crisis. The 2006 Republican-run Legislature knew they had the responsibility to head off the impending disaster, but did they address the problem? Of course not. Republicans had a choice to make between homeowners and insurance companies.

Your insurance bill indicates exactly who they sided with.

Republicans chose to ignore the needs of everyday Floridians and prevent an insurance market meltdown, refusing to make hurricane insurance available and affordable for Florida homeowners. Sure, Republicans passed a bill dealing with insurance, but even some Republicans freely admit that it does absolutely nothing to provide long-term relief for our homeowners.

At the same time, Republicans failed to even look at the Democrats' common-sense solution, which called for the creation of a Florida Hurricane Insurance Fund (HB 1209/SB 2664) patterned after the federal flood insurance program. The plan was validated by authoritative, independent experts who agreed it had the potential to stabilize the market and even reduce premiums.

Floridians deserve affordable hurricane insurance. It will only take one more storm to put Florida in the path of destruction. Visit http://www.stormingmad.org/ to learn more and take action today.

It Starts

Already I'm done with summer vacation. I so envy those of you who are "too busy to talk". Each morning, my eyes get misty as I sip green tea and watch professionals head out for work.

How I wish I had somewhere fun to go!

Oh, sure, on some level MOSI and Lowry Park Zoo are a barrel of laughs. I'm just one of those former careerists that liked mixing it up with similarly-minded suits who are probably running the company by now. During school, I can pretend to be part of the machinery. I dress the part. I walk fast. During summer, I feel like an at-home mom.

I've got three full weeks in which to fill with activity before leaving for Colorado. During the day, I'm dragging the kids along. At night, I'm not above dropping them off with my parents to get out and talk. to. someone.

Case in point - guess what I'm doing tonight? Go ahead and guess. An anti-war rally? USF lecture series? As if! Tonight I have a date with my favorite hunter - he is going to teach me how to shoot a gun. That's right, peeps. Do you think this will get me kicked out of the "We Are the World" club? Oh, well. There won't be a defenseless animal in front of me or anything. Besides, I never claimed to be a pacifist.

Hunter Friend is going to start me off with a 22 and we'll work our way to a 44. (I have no idea what that means, I just want to look like Angie Dickinson.)

My point is this - I must keep busy or I will go insane and take two six year-olds with me. After tonight, I'll be one heavily armed liberal searching for cocktails and conversation. Now what's not fun about that?