On Many Subjects

I read over some recent entries and I realized my blog used to be far funnier. But what happened was this: First one person then another got their knickers in a knot because they thought I was poking fun at them. Well, I was. So, someone gets their feelings hurt, then I stop blogging about them. A friend once (or more than once) accused me of being too nice and maybe he was right. Me! The greatest proponent of free speech, the First Amendment, self expression, non-conformity and freedom in journalism, EVER. Me! The outspoken and irreverent Kay Four bowed to the wishes of all those people who think they are too precious to be mentioned in my blog, because, OMG! I may say something that makes them take a good long look in the mirror when they should be saying to themselves, "Yes, I do have a stick rammed up my arse," and smile at my harmless humor and by extension, themselves. I am declaring war! I am no longer going to bend to the wishes of the masses beacause, hey! ...

Me: What is that on the radio? CoWorker: It is Lily Allen singing Alfie Me: It sounds like a polka. CW: It does, a little. I'm not digging it. Me: It is a polka. You only hear polkas at weddings... right after everyone does the chicken dance. CW: My nephew announced that he learned the chicken dance and the Macarena. Me: He was bragging about that? CW: He is five. I told him he was all set when he gets married. Me: Who ever decided that the chicken dance and the macarena were great wedding dances? Or the polka for that matter? CW: I dunno. Me: When we get married again, we should insist on no chicken dance. CW: We get married? Me: That wasn't a proposal. Besides you are still married to your husband. CW: Well, the way you said it... Me: .... CW: You did say it like you and I were getting married. Me: But, I didn't mean it that way. CW: Maybe we should get married. Me: Yeah, maybe we should. We are far less trouble than men.

OK. I confess. I joined a dating site with the hope of finally (a long last) meeting the love of my life. I have to admit. The bastards won. I was in contact with a man who seemed to be very interested and exchanged several emails with me...he was educated, an art dealer, seemed classy from his emails. Then, he asked me to send him money. LOTS of money. We had not even reached the stage of talking on the phone when he asked me for money. I don't mean to get on a rant here and most people who read my blog know that I do not rant very often, but... I am thoroughly cheesed off by this character for a number of reasons. First, how could someone actually attempt to take advantage of someone like this? Worse, how could he assume that I was stupid enough to fall for his crap? What does this say about our world that a person (presumably a man) could be so greedy they would try to scam someone. Obviously, if I had sent him the money he asked for, he would do one of two things... hang on to ...

This is the funniest thing I have read recently and it is extremely valuable information, as in, I wish I had known about this when I was a teenager. Or even better, I wish I had known this when my kids were teenagers. How to argue effectively By Dave Barry And not by Stuart J. Williams, Attorney at Law I argue very well. Ask any of my remaining friends. I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of their great respect, they don't even invite me. You too can win arguments. Simply follow these rules: Drink liquor. Suppose you are at a party and some hotshot intellectual is expounding on the economy of Peru, a subject you know nothing about. If you're drinking some health-fanatic drink like grapefruit juice, you'll hang back, afraid to display your ignorance, while the hotshot enthralls your date. But if you drink several large martinis, you'll discover you have STRONG VIEWS about the Peruv...

Special Note to the guy driving down Virginia Beach Blvd. in the white pick-up truck during lunch time rush hour: Chicks will not think you're special if you continue to try to pop the zit on your forehead with your head hanging out of the window so you can see yourself in the side-view mirror while you are waiting at the stop light. The only way that whole scenario could be worse was if you were playing Oingo Boingo very loudly at the same.

I have been having trouble decided what to blog about because so many subjects have become off limits as a result of first one thing then another. I am like, HEY, PEOPLE, THIS IS FREE JOURNALISM. This is the first amendment at work. Free speech! Why can't I write about what I want to write about? OK. Two things are on my mind, right now. I joined this dating club in hopes of meeting THE guy who will make my life complete... then, I discovered several things. Namely: The. Men. Actually. Want. To. Meet. Me. Now, I realize that is the purpose of dating. Meeting new people. Seeing if you click. Seeing if there is chemistry. Finding out if love at first sight is real. On the other side of the coin, I am wondering... do I really want a guy mucking about in my life? I mean guys are a lot of trouble and I have been without a guy since my divorce 21 years ago. Sidebar: My definition of a guy is a man who is married to me. On the one hand, that is not a bad thing. I get to make...

It was a first for me. The Divine Miss M and her mom had a sleep over at my apartment on Friday. We made pizza and spinach dip. We ate ice cream and cookies. We watched Aladdin. We put on our jammies and went to bed. Miss M is a very precocious 2.5 years old and very talkative. For example, here are a few classic phrases: "Grammie, I am very happy to be here!" "I made some eggs for you." "Be careful, Grammie! It's very hot!" "I love painting at school." "I have the best mommy, ever." We three climbed into my bed that is full size. Mom was quickly asleep, as was Miss M. But, Miss M likes to take up a lot of room on the bed and spreads out. I had scooted as close to the edge as possible and even risked falling out of the bed and fracturing one or more bones when I hit the floor. Finally, unable to get comfy enough to sleep, I went downstairs and slept on the futon in the livingroom, giving Miss M all the room she needed to sleep sound...