Poor Girl's Fantasy

I've got almost 800 bucks saved to get the Saab back on the road.

I'm trimming corners by having low key, inexpensive weekends (drinking cheap beer as opposed to my more high falutin' mixed drinks, and eating grilled cheese at Habits instead of sushi).

I've also been benefiting from the cheap $1.25 one-way Metro bus fare over my $25 bucks a week (or more considering prices just went up) gas budget.

And I'm not buying much, as in fewer groceries, no clothes, no nothin'.

All this lean living has my brain thinking about a day when I get to Live Large.

This is the biggest, most intense kind of savings I've ever had to weather. I had to save during a couple different spurts last summer to go to London, but that was different. $600 bucks here for a plane ticket. Few hundred bucks there for spending money.

But this streak hurts a little bit more.

So many words to describe how I feel during this period. Challenged. Oppressed. Frustrated. Determined.

Grateful - because I won't have to live like this forever.

With that in mind, I intend on buying myself a little prize once I get ol' Sabine the Saab back on on the open highway (does everyone name their vehicles? Gretta Jetta was the name of my previous car - maybe I'm just weird).

Two names jump out at first thought. Tiffany. Coach.

Tiffany doesn't post the price of this online, but I imagine it's a bit out of reach.

Then I start thinking about Sephora. Banana. Saks.

At $960 a pair, these shoes are a bit out of my range. But if I don't fix my car, I could have two pair...

Or fancy schmancy restaurants around town I've been dying to sink my teeth into.

But living poor puts a new perspective on things.

It makes me realize that yes, Dad, I should put some money away for a rainy day. Yes, I should be a bit more judicious with my freewheeling spending.

But maybe I can just pick a nice handbag out after the car's fixed...

Coach lasts forever.

P.S. My new credit card came in the mail yesterday. It's the first bit of plastic I've had in years (aside from my debit card). Experts say frequent, responsible use of plastic is one of the quickest ways to repair credit, so I hereby promise to use it wisely and sparingly. KtG

It's Written In The Stars

Sagittarius (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) - If you were to be annoyingly honest, you'd have to admit that your problem amuses you.

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

Campaign 2007:
Bring Back The Mustache


You know who you are

Monday's Random Musings

The weekend was a bit of a whirlwind and my stomach is still waging war on me because of all the days' treats.

Friday I wasn't feeling well so I stayed home and watched a movie - Kinky Boots. It's an independent film that any shoe-loving-drag-queen-appreciating chick will love. My love affair with the statuesque diva set started early. I remember talking to a high school friend (a drag queen wannabee) about what he called the Best Movie In the World: The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I loved the movie and even ordered the soundtrack through one of those awful BMG clubs that were always on the back of Sunday's Parade magazine in the 90s.

I've been mystified by drag queens ever since, perhaps its because they're just as flamboyant and dramatic as I am.

Saturday morning I had a charity event to attend with several work cohorts - a bowling tournament that included a healthy dose of beer. I'm not a stellar bowler but I did manage to throw out two strikes my first couple times on the pine. Over the course of the day I scanned the crowd to see if there were any Mr. Kate the Great candidates in the crowd, and I gotta tell ya, it was slim pickings. I shared my concerns with Mrs. Chocolate, a member of my bowling team, about how I'd likely struggle talking to, say, the likes of a Little Debbie snack truck driver.

And Mrs. Chocolate responded, "Yeah. What do you say, 'I like your cakes, but you can't have my pie'?"

We were all definitely in a rowdy mood after the beer.

Saturday night I had an All About Barbra movie viewing to attend - I had not seen The Way We Were yet, but was glad to take in Funny Girl again.

Sunday I felt like garbage. I don't really know why because I was in fine condition when I went to bed after the start of SNL (I couldn't stay up for all of Dwight Schrute, er, Rainn Wilson's show, but you can find clips here and here and here. ps. Rainn is so cute) but I woke up around 9:30 Sunday morning and felt real puny.

So I laid around and watched Babel (don't listen to the hype - it's not that good) and walked to the store to buy supplies for an Oscar party. That night I proceeded to gorge myself on Mexican food and margaritas.

And today I'm feeling the American version of Montezuma's Revenge.

Ugh.

Kate Undercover

Notes from Government Square

8:04 am. What's up with the dude who sits in front of me on the bus every day? He rocks and rocks and rocks away in his seat, almost as if the perpetual motion of the bus depends on his nervous tick. I wonder whether he's had too much coffee in the morning or if there are more clinical forces at work here. Bus 12x is a cornucopia of human study. There's the lady who daily wears a head of hair with three times her God given volume. I'm all about some big hair now and then, but her artful reconstruction of strands and hair spray makes me really wonder who was responsible for the Ozone crisis in the 1980s.

8:17 am. Children should save their booty dancing for places better than the downtown bus center. Government Square is always full of CPS students, many of them looking fly in their bubble coats and flashy shoes. I remember when I was in school - always trying to impress the masses. I guess I just missed that step when it progressed from Air Jordans to air humping.

8:20 am. Lady with a black wool, wide brimmed hat. She's got on a fur trimmed black poncho (hope it's none of that dog fur) and a few, kinky strands coming from her chinny-chin chin. At first glance, she looked like a big, curvy version of Fr. Guido Sarducci - toting along a multi colored sequin handbag and a cream colored leather satchel. I was dying to shout out Hey sister, where you goin' in such a getup?

8:24 am. I am really an equal opportunity kind of gal. I love people of all kinds, but I really don't know how to break it easy to one of the guys who continually stares at me while I'm waiting for Bus 39. This gentleman is probably in the neighborhood of 5'2", an unfortunate circumstance consider I tower over him at a lofty and flat footed 5'8". This little guy moons over me, trying to make eye contact with me but I intentionally stare over his head, eying the Dunkin' Donuts at the Fifth Third building. I unfortunately will never be able to tell this guy about the difficulty in bridging our differences - because he speaks Spanish. I only know how to say Hola - and Ciao.

Stay tuned for more observations from Kate Undercover.

Friday Fish Fry

From Friday's Feast

Appetizer
Where on your body do you have a scar, and what caused it?
I've got this strange dent above the small of my back.

One day I was rolling around in my bed (I was about 13) and I landed square on the foot of an upside-down, wooden foot stool that I made in shop class. It hurt like a b*tch, and I thought the dent would "pop out" but it never did.

Soup
What is something that has happened to you that you would consider a miracle?
There have been a couple times that I've narrowly missed being t-boned by an oncoming vehicle. The most recent happened last summer when I was riding with my dad and some dude ran a red light. It was like the movies - slow mo, I could even see the guy's face as he rapidly approached the driver's side of our car. We couldn't belive our luck afterwards, but looking back on it - I don't really know how much of it was luck.

Salad
Name a television personality who really gets on your nerves.
I cannot stand Rachel Ray. She has great recipes and is super cute but I cannot stand her expressions. Yummo! EVOO. Barf.

Main Course
What was a funny word you said as a child (such as "pasketti" for "spaghetti")?
Wagon station. "Enjoin yourself," instead of Enjoy yourself.

Dessert
Fill in the blank: I have always thought ______ was ______.
I always thought sidewalk grates were dangerous to walk on - and I still won't step on them.

Jonesin' On Ash Wednesday

Lent is here, and that means it's time for me to think about what I need to change in my life, and what one thing would be difficult to give up.

Where should I start? Is my first thought.

Alcohol.
Eating out.
Sweets.
Wasting time.
Television (although it would have to be a partial on this one because I can't give up my day job).

There's a bunch of stuff I do that could use a bit of temperance.

I mulled over the list and decided I'll be giving sugar the boot for Lent.

As a practicing Catholic, I am expected to make some sacrifice that will challenge me and help me reflect on the sacrifice Christ made for me on the cross.

You're probably thinking at this point, Who knew Kate was so Churchy?

My faith kind of ebbs and flows like an ocean. Sometimes I am rocking hard core, other times I am a little bit reserved. But it's always there, as reliable as the tides.

And so I am trying to make a little gesture to God to give thought to and thanks for all he's done in my life.

Anyway, back to the sugar...

I took a step back and looked at the situation, and immediately acknowledged that my muffin top is turning more into a pinched loaf, so to speak, and that this was a situation deserving immediate action.

So, I settled on those sweet, crystalline grains of happiness. No more baked goods, no more candy, nary a pinch of sugar in my coffee (which isn't really a problem because I'm a card carrying member of the Splenda Nation).

It's going to be tough.

At least my family buys in to the philosophy that someone can do on Sundays whatever they give up for Lent.

Is that fudging it?

Little Signs, Little Omens

I knew the day was going to be a rough one the minute I hit the door.

I was in such a rush to get out the door and look presentable for work that I got dressed in a haste. Deodorant? check. Teeth brushed? check. Clean socks? check. Lunch packed? check.

In my rush to dot the 'Is' of the morning, I neglected to put on the right pants.

Every girl has a closet full of a variety of black pants. The too-small black pants. The tight-to- show-off-the-booty-going-out black pants. The dressed-for-Grandma's-funeral black pants. Longer-than-shorts capri black pants, and of course the Summer-just-hits-the-ankles black pants.

I didn't realize just how wrong my pants were until I made it outside, about four minutes from when my bus was to arrive.

The chilly (although way warmer than recent days) wind hit my hairy ankles with a force that made me regret my mistake.

All day long I was trapped in a struggle, scooch the pants down and make them just barely touch the top of my shoes (and model a wonderful example of muffin top) or sack up and wear the pants the way a girl's supposed to, the fluffy fringe of my wintertime neglect just millimeters away from plain sight.

Crap.

My own wardrobe malfunction, nagging and teasing me all day long, and I took it as a sign that the rest of my day would be pretty much effed.

I think we all operate on this premise. Life hands us little signs, little clues as to how a day's supposed to go. My mom swears she's in for good luck if she hears The Animals' The House of the Rising Sun on the radio. A couple times I got a major boost of happy endorphins when I crossed a passing breeze smelling like my long gone grandfather's cologne.

Don't you wonder what kind of sign, what kind of signal Britney Spears got to inspire her latest, bare-it-all hair style?

Despite all these figurative warning signs and hidden signals, I seriously question whether I should write the day off on the mornings I wear the too-short, ready for the flood black pants? Or is this an instance where God allows me to press the Easy button on my theological right of free will, a chance to say Woah! to the horses of fate and turn the wagons around for greener pastures?

Who cares if people might have noticed my High Waders.

Tomorrow I can get dressed again and put on a different pair of pants, and a different disposition.

Besides, it could be worse.

At least I didn't have to suffer with a load of bird poop from that pigeon that passed over me at Government Square this morning.

Weekend Update - Mixed Bag

Sorry, Norm MacDonald isn't here to do the nooz.

Friday I stayed in my snug, little apartment and cozied up with The Departed. Great flick. I love love love Martin Scorsese's flicks, no matter how violent they are (Raging Bull and Goodfellas are two personal favorites) so I was looking forward to the recent DVD release of his most recent movie.

I loved hearing a little bit of the Dropkick Murphys on the film (great Irish band that mixes Celtic tunes and raging hard rock) and I loved the Bahston accents. Damon/DiCaprio/Wahlburg and the rest of the crew made me feel like I was sitting on the first, second, third or fourth floors of Paddy Burke's enjoying a brew with the rest of Beantown. And I was glad that redemption became a "reality" in the movie (I don't want to say too much if you haven't checked it out), because MS certainly had me wondering whether it was going to happen.

This movie made me cry. A+ in my book.

Speaking of books, this weekend I also finished up an excellent worth-the-investment-of-your-money-and-time book, My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. This novel will challenge your beliefs on genetic engineering, the rights a person has over their own body and also just how far a family should go to keep a sick child alive. Picoult weaves an interesting tale all while switching the voice of the narrator between the main characters of the story. You hear accounts from the perspective of a mother desperate to keep her child alive, an attorney representing a 13 year old girl fighting for medical emancipation, the teen trying to assert her rights and a father who is afraid to voice his concerns. Picoult throws you for a total loop on this one at the end. I promise you'll be happy if you pick this book up.

And yes, this book made me cry. A+.

I also had a chance to watch The Matador, starring Pierce Brosnan and Greg Kinnear. In this movie, a hit man and a struggling salesman have an unlikely meeting in Mexico. The two are polar opposites and yet they're able to reveal their weaknesses and form a strong, surprising friendship. It's certainly not up there with The Departed but the flick amused me and I was touched by the closeness of their relationship.

Say it with me: This movie made me cry.

Something else to cry about: What the hell is up with UK? I made it out to watch the second half of Big Blue's match up against Alabama. I spoke to Big Blue Blood before I made it to the bar and she gave me a heads up that UK was in dangerous territory. I sat down at the bar at Habit's Cafe for a Blue Moon and a bite (fyi: their grilled cheese with bacon and tomato is great), confident that UK could turn it around. I remember back to my college days when UK was the reigning national champion - they were a Second Half team back then and I was under the impression that was the case for this season, too. Well, Big Blue just couldn't pull Saturday's game out of the fire. The Cats lost to 'Bama 72 to 61.

This game made me cry (on the inside).

I finished the weekend with a bite out with Mom and Dad. We went to one of my favorite low key spots in Cincinnati - Allyn's Cafe. This is a perfect place for a UK fan to hang, considering they serve up Gator on a regular basis. Sunday I was looking for a little seafood, and ended up getting the Catfish Platter. The fish was lightly breaded, none of that heavy gummy crap, but the size of the fish was a bit disappointing. The dish was set up with a dinner salad. The creamy jalapeno dressing I chose was awesome. The jalapeno had just enough heat, but the creamy nature of the dressing helped compliment the salad's flavor. And of course, I had to wash it all down with one of Allyn's awesome margaritas.

The fact that I only had one makes me want to cry as I write this.

All in all, an emotional weekend - but nothing this chick couldn't handle.

Cheers,
KtG

Plastic Dangers

I've steered clear of credit cards for a long, long time.

They sucked me in early, luring me to their sign up tables at a young and naive 18 or 19, waving t-shirts and water bottles and other trinkets to draw me in.

I signed up for a couple credit cards at a young age.

And it became trouble - the 300 dollar credit limit would get charged up, and then sit unpaid for months, accruing late fees, non payment fees and other charges.

Visa made a fortune off of a kid who signed up without a steady source of income.

I managed to pay off the card and extensive fees (there's something really wrong when you bill a college student $1200 for 300 bucks in charges) and cut those cards up for good years ago.

I've operated on a cash only basis ever since.

Trip to Europe - paid in cash. A nice wedding gift - paid in cash. A piece of jewelry to mark a special occasion - paid in cash.

There's some satisfaction in enjoying a trip, a meal or a piece of clothing knowing it's paid for.

The trouble is - I'm not really doing anything to build up my credit. What credit I do have (thanks to those bad credit cards and a few other indiscretions) is not so stellar, but I'm not really doing anything to turn it around.

My car payments are consistent - but that's all I've got going for me.

Until now.

I signed up for a credit card this week. It's a secured card (I had to put 200 bucks towards it to ensure they had some money from me) through the same bank that my auto loan is through.

My plan is to use this card frequently, but in small doses.

$50 bucks a month in charges - $50 bucks a month in payments.

Hopefully my consistent payments will improve my credit score, and thereby improving my credit limit.

So maybe next time I need two grand to fix my car - I'll have another option.

Hee Hee

1. YOUR REAL NAME:
Katherine Louise C

2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME:(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle.)
Katizzle

3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME:(fav color and fav animal)
Red Zebra

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME:(middle name, and current street)
Louise Markbreit

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME:(the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first)
Croka

6. YOUR SUPERHERO NAME:(Your 2nd favorite color, and favorite drink).
Blue Vino

7. YOUR IRAQI NAME:(2nd letter of your first name, 3rd letter of your last name, any letter of your middle name, 2nd letter of your moms maiden name, 3rd letter of you dads middle name, 1st letter of a siblings first name, and last letter of your moms middle name)
AOLUIBE

8. YOUR WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:(parents middle names)
Katherine Michael

9. YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Midnight

Random Cravings

I've dreamed about the following at one time or another these past few days:

A great grilled cheese. Texas Toast smothered with butter, filled with cheddar, bacon and tomato. Side of fries. mmm.

Margaritas. Like a big fishbowl-of-a-glass with a salted rim.

A bright, ruby shimmering glass of Merlot. Balloon goblet. Thank God the wine tasting is two days away.

Brie. In a puffed pastry with a homemade chutney of cranberry and orange zest. French bread toast.

Wavy Gravy (which I just discovered was retired by Ben and Jerry's.)

A steak. With the family's secret marinade. Baked potato with sour cream and butter on the side. A beautiful green forest of asparagus.

A grilled portobello sandwich, with slices of zucchini and red roasted peppers. Fresh mozzarella.

Cheese sticks - the ones we were addicted to in college - with ranch dressing.

Aunt Kate

I have waited a very, very long time for this day.

By rights, I can be called Aunt Kate at this very moment. There's a tiny, itty bitty peanut out there in the world with a shred of DNA code similar to mine who will someday, God willing, be my niece or nephew.

A little creature the size of a sesame seed who will make me smile, make me giggle, make me proud.

So should I be aunt like ahnt, the way they say it in Connecticut? Or aunt like ant, the way I grew up saying it in the Midwest? Will this be Hannah Maeve or Liam or Emma or Collin Forbes (can you tell my sister has a thing for Irish names?)?

I would cross all my fingers and toes if I could on this one.

Miscarriages run in my family - so we're all kind of treading lightly.

But if things go right, I could have a beautiful baby to dote on by the beginning of October.

Cruisin' in the Queen City

I think I've written earlier about my strong affection for my Saab.

It's a beautiful piece of machinery despite my neglect of it's sleek interior and beautiful, titanium gray exterior.

My crush for the Swedish auto brand began years ago when my dad bought my sister, Bridge, and me an old Saab to bop around in during the high school/college years.

The hatchback style is super cute and drives like a tank - a perfect combo for safety and style.

There is a downside, though.

Every freakin' part costs a bazillion dollars, with the highest price tag in the frame going to the Turbo.

Even that word sounds brooding and troublesome.

Well, my car broke down last Saturday. The mercury topped out at a freezing 20 degrees that day, and I don't think it did well for my little Saab. I managed to make it about half a mile from my apartment when I noticed a bunch of smoke billowing from the rear of my car.

And a strange smell of melt wafting in the passenger compartment.

Wouldn't you know - it was my car's Turbo.

The whole job checks in at about $1,900 dollars. That's trouble when you live a sans credit card lifestyle and have $300 to your name.

The upside to this is I am a resourceful girl.

And I have wonderful friends.

*** *** *** *** ***
Sunday night I went over to my friend Lenna Lou's house. She and her boyfriend fixed a great dinner of homemade pizza and beer for the massive Super Bowl extravaganza.

Before the big game, Lenna, Jeremy and I explored the Metro website. This is the place where Cincinnatians are supposed to find clear information about routes, changing buses and arrival/departure times.

There we were, three college educated people, without a clue in the world as to how I would embark upon my crosstown journey.

I was pretty stupefied.

I can ride NYC's subways without a qualm. I've slayed Boston's T and I could do the Vegas monorail system blindfolded (but then, who couldn't, really?)

I've ridden public transportation in Paris, London, Bermuda, Munich and other far flung locations without a hitch (well, except for that one time when I peed my pantyhose), so I was pretty dismayed at the difficulty in finding a proper route for departing from my in-town apartment and arriving at my in-town place of work.

The great thing is metro has a hot line for all us idiots who can't figure out something as simple as hopping on a bus and getting to work.

I've now spent four days hitching to work on le bus, and I've realized the system isn't all that bad.

I love the moments I get to pleasure read. I've gone months without nourishing my brain with some quality literature, so I am using this whole bus period as an opportunity to get the synapses hungry for more pulp.

The other thing I love about riding routes 11, 12x and 39 - the chance to just sit and stare at Cincinnati's stunning architecture. Last year the National Trust for Historic Preservation put the downtown Over-the-Rhine community on a list of endangered places because of blight and demolition threatening to destroy rare, classic styles of architecture.

It's hard to appreciate the gorgeous, ornate moldings and detailed trim gracing hundreds of downtown buildings while behind a wheel, but my time on the bus has given me a chance to ooh and ahh over the truly spectacular pieces of property in Cincinnati.

I'll be hoofing it on the bus for a little over a month, and I intend on taking advantage of the situation.

Snow Storm '06

The roads sucked.

I didn't have to suffer out there like most other folks because a) I didn't leave work in the afternoon and b) I didn't drive to work yesterday.

Some of the crazy-ass stuff I've heard since the Doom of the White Death:

One of our anchors was trapped in his vehicle for four and a half hours yesterday - and he lives about 25 minutes away.

Interstate 71 (which runs by my neck of the woods) was a blacktop parking lot for hours and hours and hours - with cars stalling, spinning out and running out of gas.

I even heard a rumor that one guy spent hours biding his time in his car while he traveled from Downtown Cincinnati to West Chester (about a 35 minute drive).

It was a kind of day I would have prayed for as a kid.

Perfect, packing, Snowman making snow. Wet, fluffy stuff that messed up the roads and closed hundreds of schools (I know because I stayed behind at work for several hours to take those calls). Perfect Snow Cream making snow... The kind of snow that fluttered and whipped through the air like a gauzy winter blanket getting fluffed out across the city.

I remember putting on my hot pink, White Stag winter coat and matching snow pants, trudging out to the backyard for hours and hours of sledding. My sister, Bridge, and I would walk out like little abominable snow girls, headed for a massive hill covered with knotty walnut trees and overgrown weeds. I'd carry along my red plastic sled and she'd tag along with a yellow disc, anxious to see who could go faster, farther, closer to the cliff at the edge of our neighbor's yard.

I was always the daredevil.

A smile plastered across my rosy-cheeked face and bits of snow trapped in the wrists of my coat, I'd fly down the steep hill, sometimes sitting straight up - other times head first, testing out new techniques to outdo my last trip town the slope.

My heart would beat as fast as a rattlesnake's tail every time I sailed down the hill.

I was afraid I'd get hurt. Afraid I'd fly off the cliff and into forest of trees between the edge and the creek at the bottom of the ravine. Terrified I'd lose control.

But nothing ever happened.

A few close calls, but I always made it. Everything always came out right in the end.

And I guess that's the way it is these days, sailing down the steep, scary slope of life.

ABCs Of Me

1. A is for age: 30
2. B is for beer of choice: Magic Hat
3. C is for career right now: Television Producer
4. D is for your dog's name:I've never had a dog
5. E is for essential item you use everyday: My cell phone
6. F is for favorite TV show at the moment: The Office or Desperate Housewives
7. G is for favorite game: Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture edition
8. H is for Home town: Cincinnati OH and Madison CT
9. I is for instruments you play: My vocal cords
10. J is for favorite juice: Bloody Mary mix. Especially with the vodka.
11. K is for whose butt you'd like to kick: I'm more of a pacifist.
12. L is for last place you ate: Lenna's house
13. M is for marriage: Someday
14. N is for your full name: That's on a need to know basis
15. O is for overnight hospital stays: Yes, 30 years ago...
16. P is for people you were with today: My work peeps
17. Q is for quote: Today's nugget "Why are you looking up something on the gangsta life?" (I have a hearing problem and am notorious for misinterpreting words/phrases.
18. R is for Biggest Regret: There are a couple out there...
19. S is for status: Single
20. T is for time you woke up today: 6:50 am
21. U is for underwear you have on now: my favorite kind. Wouldn't you like to know...
22. V is for vegetable you love: Potatoes but I guess they don't really count. Asparagus rocks, too.
23. W is for worst habit: Worrying and being too emotional
24. X is for x-rays you've had: Teeth, chest, liver
25. Y is for yummy food you ate today: Progresso Chicken & Rice Soup
26. Z is for the zodiac sign: Sagittarius

What to blog, What to blog

I was looking for some inspiration today. I thought perhaps a random question generator out there would give me a jumping off point for today's topic. No such luck. I searched other blogs hoping to glean a nugget that would lead me to an opine I felt compelled to share.

Nope.

So I went to Yahoo Answers. This is basically a place where other random folks answer whatever you care to ask.

The thing that tripped my trigger? Raven Simone.

As in the cute little kid from the Cosby Show who has turned into a queen of Saturday morning programming.



Yeah, her.

This chick drives me crazy.

Her facial expressions are way over the top on that show of hers. And now she's the star of some Saturday morning Saved-by-the-Bell wannabee franchise called The Cheetah Girls.

This chick just needs to let go of her Cosby Show glory days and go to college and get a normal job like the rest of the child star set.

Sorry, folks. That's the best I could do today.

Just like your favorite dance club dj - I am taking requests.

It's Five O'clock Somewhere

It's Friday evening and I have a massive craving for a margarita and some chips and salsa. Not the cheap crap like Kroger's watery piquante stuff, I'm talking the chunky doubles as a dinner stuff.

Add some lime flavored Tostitos and I would be in Friday heaven.

Here's a top secret recipe that I don't share often. I promise you'll love it (as long as you love tequila).

Tequila-Makes-Her-Clothes-Fall-Off Margaritas
(That's a tune by Joe Nichols, for you non-country types)

1- 12 ounce can of limeade from the freezer case.
12 ounces of tequila
12 ounces of water
1- 12 ounce can or bottle of cheap, American beer

-Dump the frozen stuff out of the can and into the pitcher.
-Fill up the can with tequila (I prefer Quervo Gold, but whatever floats your boat) and pour that in, too.
-Fill up the can with water and toss that in the pitcher.
-Pour one can or bottle of American beer into the pitcher. No Blue Moon. No Guinness. Just the cheap stuff like Miller or Bud (or the light variety).

Give it a stir and then pour it over the ice that's eagerly waiting in your glass.

Drink.

Repeat as needed.

30 on 30

I've become increasingly focused on my skin care regimen.

Perhaps it's because I slammed the door shut on my 20s two months ago, perhaps it's because I'm stuck in that no-man's-land that involves the one-two punch of pimples and wrinkles.

Lucky me.

Well, I wanted to pass on this fleeting nugget that I've heard not once but twice in the past week.

First: I went to a health care lecture given by two plastic surgeons (confession time: I chose this particular session because I wanted to hear about boob reductions etc., so I opted out of the accupuncture and OBGYN talks) who fleshed out everything one needed to know about fillers and gummy bear implants and tummy tucks.

The biggest takeaway of the night? Wear SPF 30 on your face. Every day. Under your make-up. Even in the winter time.

The MD said 30 is the best defense to protect from the dangerous rays that can cause skin cancer. She also said two fifteens don't make a thirty. As in, SPF 15 in your moisturizer and SPF 15 in your foundation doesn't cut it. That's just two layers of 15. The doc said women must seek out the 30 and stick with it for the best protection.

Second: Last night I had a JLC meet and greet opportunity.

One of the women there is in R & D for a major firm that makes personal care products. This woman repeated the Wear 30 mantra, stressing how important it is to put SPF 30 around the nose, on the ears and neck.

She sold me.

I went out and bought a basic product at the supermarket for about 13 bucks.

Small price to pay to fight cancer.

The Headlines - She Knew How To Write Em'

There are so many easy targets these days.

How about those crackpots in Boston who decided to test the waters of Homeland Security with those cute little light up promos for the Cartoon Network?

Then there's that tasty little nugget from Miss USA/Kentucky native Tara Conner Okay, guys. You got me. I'll try anything once and, yes, I was totally wasted one day at school when I was 14. Busted.

And what's up with Delaware Senator Joe Biden sounding like a total ass practically seconds after he declared his candidacy for the presidential race?

Yes, there are a million little sparkling nuggets just begging to be cracked on.

But I think I'd rather pay tribute to an amazing wordsmith this world is sore to lose.

Molly Ivins was a fantastic columnist. Unabashedly Left, Ivins had a clever way with poking fun at her political foes including our fine president. No matter your political inclinations, readers couldn't help at chuckle at Ivins' Southern spun euphemisms and her astute observations of life in the U.S. of A.

Ivins passed away Wednesday after a seven year battle with breast cancer.

Like Molly Ivins, I've had a long, firm belief in the power of words. The difference between two similar words can impart a world of meaning, and Ivins knew that. She also knew how to string her words together into sentences that roused rage, pride and reflection in readers across the country.

And I guess that's the sign of a great writer.

It's a special thing when your words can incite emotion in another human being.

Here's to Molly Ivins, and the million words we'll miss out on with her passing.