Do you have a dream job? I have a list. Don't get me wrong, running katclothing.com and working in the fashion industry rocks. But, it's fun to dream. If life were different, here's what I'd do:
--NASCAR driver. One look at my driving record and you'd believe it. I enjoy going fast. Also, the movie "Talladega Nights" is one of my faves. That dinner scene is hilarious.
--Lancome make-up lady. Honesty time: I don't want to give other people makeovers, I just want the free samples.
--Photographer for Sports Illustrated. I love sports. All of them. Sans golf. I want to be on the sidelines capturing the cover shot.
--Professional swimmer. It's the one sport I wish I'd never quit. For cryin' out loud, I'm 6'2. One stroke and I'm halfway across the pool. Plus, I could eat a lot.
--Talk show host. You mean you'll pay me to talk? Done.
--Chef. I don't like to cook but I heart "Iron Chef America." I want to be a chef just so I can be on that show. And, so I can chop vegetables really fast.
Fess up, friends. What's your dream job?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
When Glam Girls Camp
I subscribe to the "pamper not camper" school of thought. A night under the stars with crickets? Gag. Four star hotel with spa? I'm in! But, a recent family hiking trip to the bottom of the Grand Canyon stole the girliness right out of me and made me a full-fledged park ranger sans the moss green outfit.
My sister and sister-in-law, two other self-professed girlie-girls, were also on the trip. During the course of our three-day, 105-degree excursion we found ourselves doing things we'd never do at home, such as:
--Tolerating it when the guide says, "Nice jugs!" and he's not referring to the water bottles around your waist.
--Using my brother's Pert Plus shampoo. (I honestly think If my hair could talk, it would have freaked out.)
--Using soap from a public dispenser on our faces. (I'm sure it's anti-aging.)
--Wearing so much sunscreen we looked like recent graduates of clown college.
--Engaging in public urination and the practice of "drip dry."
--Carrying my dad's dirty "drawers." (Don't ask. The therapist said it's best if I don't talk about it.)
--Saying, "Cool! A rattlesnake!" (I still can't believe I said that.)
--Eating summer sausage and liking it.
--Pouring creek water over our heads. (No germs there!)
Since returning home, I've had to continuously remind myself that it's not okay to wear dirty socks. And, I still find myself thinking, "That would be a good bush for...."
My sister and sister-in-law, two other self-professed girlie-girls, were also on the trip. During the course of our three-day, 105-degree excursion we found ourselves doing things we'd never do at home, such as:
--Tolerating it when the guide says, "Nice jugs!" and he's not referring to the water bottles around your waist.
--Using my brother's Pert Plus shampoo. (I honestly think If my hair could talk, it would have freaked out.)
--Using soap from a public dispenser on our faces. (I'm sure it's anti-aging.)
--Wearing so much sunscreen we looked like recent graduates of clown college.
--Engaging in public urination and the practice of "drip dry."
--Carrying my dad's dirty "drawers." (Don't ask. The therapist said it's best if I don't talk about it.)
--Saying, "Cool! A rattlesnake!" (I still can't believe I said that.)
--Eating summer sausage and liking it.
--Pouring creek water over our heads. (No germs there!)
Since returning home, I've had to continuously remind myself that it's not okay to wear dirty socks. And, I still find myself thinking, "That would be a good bush for...."
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Super!
Today I received some super news. And, I mean super!
My husband revealed that he now weighs less than me. Isn't that super!?
That little bombshell prompted the following internal monologue:
"I must be preggers...or, I bet it's that new weight routine. Yes, yes, it must be all muscle. And, I'm really big boned....Or, I need to take my shoes off when I weigh. Yes, and my jeans. And, all my jewelry and my socks....Why did I eat five cookies last night? @$%&!"
The ol' self-esteem took a little hit after I learned my feet were bigger than his. But, after a few sessions of talking to myself in the mirror saying, "I'm good enough. I'm strong enough and gosh darn it, people like me," I was able to move on.
But now here I sit shoving almonds in my mouth jealous of the fact that he spends 30 minutes on an elliptical machine, eats an entire medium pizza and abracadabra, he's 20 pounds lighter. While, Saint Me works out 6-7 days a week, eats right and still doesn't have to carry a spare tire in my trunk because there's one around my waist.
Super!
My husband revealed that he now weighs less than me. Isn't that super!?
That little bombshell prompted the following internal monologue:
"I must be preggers...or, I bet it's that new weight routine. Yes, yes, it must be all muscle. And, I'm really big boned....Or, I need to take my shoes off when I weigh. Yes, and my jeans. And, all my jewelry and my socks....Why did I eat five cookies last night? @$%&!"
The ol' self-esteem took a little hit after I learned my feet were bigger than his. But, after a few sessions of talking to myself in the mirror saying, "I'm good enough. I'm strong enough and gosh darn it, people like me," I was able to move on.
But now here I sit shoving almonds in my mouth jealous of the fact that he spends 30 minutes on an elliptical machine, eats an entire medium pizza and abracadabra, he's 20 pounds lighter. While, Saint Me works out 6-7 days a week, eats right and still doesn't have to carry a spare tire in my trunk because there's one around my waist.
Super!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Do the Dew
As I ordered my third Diet Coke at lunch with a friend this week, I had to listen to the dreaded lecture on the evils of diet soda.
Eye roll. Sigh. Can't I drink my beloved carbonated goodness in peace?
I workout. I don't smoke. I've never done drugs and I rarely drink. (The uncontrollable crying is apparently a turnoff.)
So, I don't care if soda makes you crave sweets. I don't care if it breaks down my bone density. But, I do care if Sonic has Route 44s at half price during happy hour!
Did somebody say diet cherry limeade?
Eye roll. Sigh. Can't I drink my beloved carbonated goodness in peace?
I workout. I don't smoke. I've never done drugs and I rarely drink. (The uncontrollable crying is apparently a turnoff.)
So, I don't care if soda makes you crave sweets. I don't care if it breaks down my bone density. But, I do care if Sonic has Route 44s at half price during happy hour!
Did somebody say diet cherry limeade?
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