October 24th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Hmmm, maybe I should change the title to “Where Have All the Gentlemen Gone?” because that’s really what I mean. But that’s neither here nor there. I like my title and it’s staying.

I realize I’m not the only woman who asks this question, but I had an experience today that gave me pause and I couldn’t resist writing about it.

In my office we have a soda fountain, similar to one found in a gas station. It has about six varieties of soda, the most popular of which is the Diet Coke. I may have mentioned my addiction to this amazing beverage of life - and it’s true. I’m totally addicted, but I’m trying to cut back to one a day. So, at about 2:00 this afternoon, I wandered into the break room to serve myself up my one delicious Diet Coke, and whattaya know . . . the machine is out.

This is fairly typical in my office. I seem to work with a giant group of helpless idiots. If there are no more cups on the counter, they will wander off, dejected, rather than reaching on top of the fridge to grab a new sleeve of paper cups. If the coffee is out, they will walk to the Starbucks two blocks away rather than make a new pot of coffee. You see what I’m getting at, right? Naturally, when the Diet Coke is out, people just wander away rather than doing the fairly difficult job of switching out the syrup (because the box of syrup weighs about thirty pounds).

But not me. Oh no not me. I need my Diet Coke.

Today, switching out the box was more complicated than usual because the Diet Coke was buried under the orange soda and the Dr. Pepper. And the space we have the boxes of syrup in is pretty tight so I had to move the other two boxes completely out of the space and into the middle of the floor in order to get the Diet Coke out. To add even more detail you probably don’t care about, today I was wearing these boots:Needless to say, my balance wasn’t quite what it normally is. As I was trying to grab the Diet Coke box by the flimsy cardboard handle, the handle broke and my feet slid out from under me and I fell flat on my back. Splat. Ow. Laughter.

Right about as I helped myself back up, wondering if our security cameras caught my moment of glory, two of our developers walked into the kitchen to get coffee. Now, lest you forget, I had two boxes of soda syrup spread out on the floor and another box I was trying to lift into the cupboard where we hook it up to the life giving veins of the soda fountain.

The two guys saw, and basically sat at watched me, in my pointy black heels and nice dress pants, struggling to lift the Diet Coke into the cupboard, then continued to watch as I attempted (in vain a couple of times almost causing the damage of the cute pointy toe of my right boot) to lift the other boxes back into their tight space. They just SAT and WATCHED. And it made me so mad!

Now, I am a pretty independent, tough kind of gal. I don’t mind lifting boxes, I don’t mind taking care of things like that myself. I grew up in a house without a father and until my brothers were bigger, Mom and I had to take care of a lot of that stuff ourselves. I can tile, operate a saw, a drill and other small power tools. I can do a lot of that stuff myself and I don’t profess to “need a man” to help me with things like that.

BUT - it’s really nice sometimes to have the help or at least the OFFER of help and there are jobs that I simply cannot do by myself. I lack the arm strength, despite my bulging biceps, and it seems less and less guys are being gentlemen in these types of situations.

I once worked for a man who once handed me a huge heavy box to take to his car and then walked in front of me all the way out to the parking lot talking on the phone, not even pausing to hold the doors open for me as I struggled to walk behind him.

Another man I worked for had me clean out a large room in his house and basically watched and directed me as I loaded heavy things into a truck then sent me off to the dump and storage units to unload the same stuff by myself.

I dated a guy for a very long time who had me do everything and would sit around watching. I did the cooking followed by the dishes. I would have to be with him when he went to the doctor and he’d have me fill out his paperwork for him.

Part of the problem is that I have a hard time asking for help and I’m a huge enabler . . . but I guarantee that if I really need the help, and someone offers, I won’t say no. However, in some cases, I really shouldn’t have to wait for an offer. There are situations where a manly man just needs to stop what he is or is not doing, or help.

Now, in contrast to the above, my husband is a great guy who always offers to do the “manlier” jobs himself, or to at least help me. I may not always take him up on that, but it’s SO great to have the offer of help with heavy boxes, hard jobs, etc. My Father and brothers would rather die before letting my Mom, Stepmother, sister or myself pick up a heavy box or whatever job they consider “manly.”

But, as you can see from my other examples above, in my life, guys like my husband, Dad and brothers, seem few and far between. Don’t get me wrong, I know they still exist. One of them opened the door for me today coming out of a restaurant. Another picked up some papers that had fallen out of my briefcase. But overall, it feels like men have stopped being Gentlemen.

Trust me, I don’t want to go back to the days where men walked on the road side to prevent the women from getting dirty but didn’t allow the women to vote and I don’t want to turn back time to the days when men were “true gentlemen” and a woman’s “place” was in the kitchen (extreme examples, I know, but I hope you know what I’m getting at), but, I would really appreciate more men being more respectful. I would appreciate two strong men offering to help me lift thirty pound boxes rather than standing around staring. I would love to have more doors opened for me and not feel like I have to cause a hernia lifting heavy boxes or furniture. I like feeling girly!! I like pink and ruffles and roses and all of those girly things. But even if I didn’t, myself and every other woman I know deserves a little more respect from the general man population.

I wish I had a solution. I know my son(s) will be raised to behave like his/their father. The men in my family will be gentlemen, but I obviously can’t be the one to influence the world.

I just hope that my generation can help bring some of that chivalrous attitude back, because chaps and Wranglers or not, cowboys knew how to treat a lady.* Yipeeeai, Yipeeeay

——————
*For the record I am aware that not all cowboys were or even ARE gentlemen and some of them are/were disgusting. I’m purposely making generalizations here, mostly to tie my ridiculous title into the post. No judging. Thanks. Kisses.

October 8th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

First off, let me start my blog post the way I normally do . . . with an apology. Haha.

I apologize that I don’t have pictures for this post. In fact the post is almost pointless without pictures, but I had to post about it before I ran out of time. So . . . yeah.

So, this week we started moving stuff in to the new house. Correction: We started moving stuff into the garage and kitchen and that’s all. We have been taking over a trailer and two car loads of stuff every day and the third car bay of the garage is practically full of boxes. However, we have not moved over ANY furniture. So, recap. I have an empty house and a full garage. Per-fect.

Ooh ooh ooh but I DID (with the help of my amazing friend Rhonda) organize the entire kitchen. I am delighted to announce that I have WAY too many cabinets and drawers. I am a person of MANY, MANY kitchen things. The kitchen at the old house was bursting at the seams with stuff. I had about eight cupboards and four drawers. I now have four drawers and six cupboards on my ISLAND ALONE. I am full of bliss and excitement at the thought of a shopping trip to Williams Sonoma (someday when we have money again) to fill the cupboards with fun kitchen gadgets, serving platters and the like. Excellent.

We were also able to finally pick paint colors, thanks to a model decorated with exactly our color of carpet, tile, cabinets and counter tops, and as of Saturday afternoon, the living/dining room, nook, main hallway and kitchen are now painted. They messed up and put the wrong color on one wall in the kitchen, so I’ll be working on fixing that this week, but it’s not a huge deal. The house looks AMAZING. The colors are perfect. Now I just have to save up some more money to have the rest of the house painted. See, now I never want to paint again. I let the painters in at 7 AM and arrived at 2 PM to a finished product. Could it get ANY better?

The house selling negotiations are . . . well, going. This market sucks. S-U-C-K-S. I truly feel lucky to sell our house in this city. I went garage sale hopping on Saturday morning and I swear every other house on every street was for sale. There aren’t a lot of people selling their houses and we’ve been able to sell ours. But I won’t lie, we’ve been HATING it. We have been asked to do some repairs to the house that just seem utterly ridiculous, but in this market, we can’t fight too much about it. We just have to suck up and do it. Luckily, our Realtor has really come through for us and he’s handling all the repairs so I’m going to get a lollipop and stand by watching him spend our money. Who needs money right? I’ll just work Matt a little harder. Hehee.

Speaking of Matt, have I mentioned that I have the most amazing husband? The man works all day, then comes home and works some more and he still manages to pack, organize and move a load a day and help calm my craziness to boot. We’re both under a lot of pressure and it’s obvious who deals with it better. (Hint: it’s not me.)

And while I’m talking about amazing people, my crazy Mom ran ANOTHER marathon this weekend. Naturally, I can’t get her to call me and tell me how she did, but I’m sure she did great. I think this is like the sixth marathon this year? I told you. CRAZY. Love her but she’s CRAZY. And skinny. Damn I wish I was that skinny. Without having to run a marathon . . . or six.

OK, thus ends the craziness of this random, stupid post. I promise pictures of the new house soon and keep you updated on moving progress.

Merry kisses to all and to all a goodnight.

August 27th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

So, I had an idea today and I’m trying to convince my husband to get on board.

Rather than me telling all of you what an awesome wife I am and the fun I had planned for Matt’s 32nd birthday, I’m trying to convince HIM to write and tell you what an awesome wife I am.

Apparently his shyness extends into writing as well, but I’m working on him.

But I had an idea to give him some motivation.

I’m about to do something he might just kill me for.

I’m giving all of you his email address so you can write him and beg him to be my guest blogger.

Hahahah, seriously he’s going to kill me but here you go! (Little hint, he doesn’t know I’m doing this so you might have to explain a little in your email!!)

matt.murphy@cox.net

If you think I’m a jerk for doing this, you can email me as well. A link to send me an email sits over on the sidebar.

Hehehehehe.

July 24th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Today is Tofutti’s 23rd Birthday. You can read my “Ode to Futti” here

But, I did have to embarrass her juuuust a little more.

Hugs and kisses. Loves you lots.

July 22nd, 2007 by Kateastrophe

OK so I suck at keeping up with all the cool stuff I promised to provide my readers. I’m really sorry. And I am also sorry that this post is going to be kind of lame. I would post something cool but today has been a bit of a debacle and tomorrow promises even less joy, so I guess I’m sort of just being lazy.

So, here is my flashback picture. This was taken last November in the Orange County, California area. It was the last time all of my siblings and I were all together.

Left to right: Meagan, Sean, Patrick and Me

Are we adopted? Is what you’re asking right now, right? I mean, we don’t look much alike. As teenagers, we were all standing next to each other in the bathroom once and Sean, the tall, dark and handsome one, said “Holy crap we look nothing alike. There’s got to be an explanation!” So, we came up with one.

I am the original, biological child, despite having parents who both have dark hair. I look enough like my Dad to get away with being related and my hands and feet are exact replica’s of my mother’s. I am also what they might refer to as the “Golden Child” being that the most trouble I really ever got into was sneaking out of the house to go over to someone else’s house to watch a movie. Seriously.

Sean (the dark one) decided he must be the son of the Mexican landscaper, as in the summer he gets so tan that he is often mistaken for someone of Hispanic origin. Also, because do you see that face? It’s like a rico suave latin lover!

Meagan, our tiny, perfect sprite, is the test tube baby, biologically engineered to receive all the ideal features of our family tree. (See how tiny and skinny and gorgeous she is? Hate her! Ok not really.)

Finally, Patrick, the giant blonde oaf, is like the Danny DeVito character in Twins, and somehow sort of ended up with all the leftover, genetically mutated “garbage.” (He thinks this is a hilarious version of how he came to be, for the record. He won’t be offended.)

So there you have it . . . a flashback of sorts. I wish there were a better story behind it or something cool to show, but there are my bruddas and my sist-o. Gotta love ‘em. NEXT time, when I can get my scanner working, I am going to show you the BEST picture of my parents EVER. Seriously. Circa 1978. SO AWESOME.

July 9th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

Today, boys and girls, we are going to talk about my sister. Well, I am going to talk about my sister. You are going to read. Or close the window and not read. Either way . . .

I have a sister named Tofutti - er, Meagan. I just call her Tofutti. And she calls me Tofutti. Originally she was supposed to be Tof and I was supposed to be Futti, but it never worked out and now it’s just Tofutti or Futti. (It’s from “Overboard” if you’re wondering where we got it. Great movie, you should watch it again if you haven’t seen it in a while.)

So, when Futti was born I was SO EXCITED to have a sister, since I had been cursed with a brother before her, and Mom was adamantly told to “PUT THAT BABY BACK and bring back a sister.” Mom didn’t listen, but a year and a half later, Meagan arrived. Yahoo. I loved her with all of my four year old heart.

Then . . . well, then I grew up a little and we were that wretched four-years apart where she wanted to be like me and I wanted her GONE. So for about ten years, I was not a fan.

Meagan is our sensitive sibling, as well as the runt of the family. She cried more than we liked, and she didn’t put up well with the teasing that runs rampant in the blood of both sides of my family. My two brothers and I tortured and tormented her because a) we were awful and b) isn’t it awesome when you can get a sibling SO MAD they turn into a raving lunatic and go totally ape s***??? OK . . . mostly because we were mean siblings. And we were pretty awful to her. Unfortunately, she was just such an easy target! I am not a “small” girl by any means at 5′7 1/2″ and of not skinny form, and my brothers are 6′2″ and 6′3″ and built like houses. Tiny Meg-o is 5′3″ and weighs about four pounds. Beating up on her was like flicking a feather for us oafs. I’m honestly not sure how she survived. She’s totally scrappy, I’ll give her that!

Well, obviously, survive she did and finally, the horrible sister hating years passed us by, and now, I love my sister more than words could describe. She is my Futti. She makes me laugh constantly. She and her husband live in Utah, so she’s far away from me. It is very sad. But we keep each other entertained long distance.

Yesterday, for example, she left me a message on my cell phone that contained no spoken words, just her singing “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” as low as she could sing it (SpaceBalls style.). Hilarious. I listened to it like five times.

A few weeks ago, I left her a message that was nothing but me squealing one note at the top of my lungs for as long as I could hold my breath. She called me laughing so hard I think she was snorting and crying.

We are pretty much goofballs all the time now, doing whatever strange thing we can find to do to each other to make the other one laugh. This might include a painful bra snap, a wedgie or super-wedgie, a pantsing, a wet willy . . . you name it, we’ve tried it in the name of laughs. We even have our own dance called the Booty Shake, which was invented when we were trying to see if we could shake our butts without getting any of the rest of the body involved. It’s horrible looking but it makes us laugh until we fall down.

See below for examples of our craziness:

Us? Take Wedding Photos Seriously? HA!

Now my Futti is moving to New Orleans with her husband (who for the record is only an inch taller than her, so can you just imagine the midget babies they will have?!?! OH so tiny and cute) so he can go do nursing school things. She is sad to move even further from me and far away from the world she knows and loves. I am excited for her to have a new adventure and meet new people in that strange, other planet called “The South.” (No offense to any Southerners. I love it there. It’s just a different world!) I told her that if a hurricane comes she needs to give it the bird and yell at it to go away. Then, run as fast as she can for the North. This will be hard for her as she loves the rain and wants to dance in it at all times. Her hair is naturally curly and I can’t wait to see the crazy things it does when faced with the humidity. She sort of looks like Strawberry Shortcake when her hair gets humiditized. (Don’t get mad Megs. JOKING. Sort of.) I just know she’s going to have the time of her life and I’m dying for her to come back with an accent. I always wanted a southern drawl . . . now I can live vicariously through hers.

So, here is a little note to my sister that I am making public so you all can see how awesome I am. HAHAHA. Just kidding. I just want this to be public so she can look at it any time she’s feeling low or like she’s going to die from humidness.

Futti-pants, I miss you all the time and I’ll miss you even more when you’re not in Utah when I go to visit. Thanks for being my #1 sist-o and best buddy. Even if I do hate you for getting the tiny, skinny size 2 genes. Beotch. I love you and couldn’t ask for a better sister. I’d have picked you out even if you do look like Strawberry Shortcake and make me look like an ogre. LOVES YOU and your tiny self!! Kisses and a butt smack for good measure. Mwah.

July 7th, 2007 by Kateastrophe

This is my Mom and I when I was (obviously) less than a year old. If my assumptions are correct, she was already pregnant with my little brother Sean. Isn’t she beautiful? And isn’t it funny how she and I look NOTHING alike?

I seriously have the most amazing mother ever, and I’m grateful for her every day.