Kitty Litter

 
YEAH, THAT'S THE TICKET!

Smile :)

 
COMMON SENSE OR NONSENSE?

Whatever you may think of Howard Dean, you have to hand it to him: He's harnessed the reach out and touch y'all technology of the Net to his advantage. Reminds me of that General with the bad haircut, Perot. Imagine what ol' Ross could have done online! He relied on old fashioned letter-writing campaigns. Dean went 21st Century while others think he's just gone crazy. Will this be our next president?

 
HOW DO I HATE THEE?

OUCH! Love bytes! Become a celebrity and people line up to hate you. Googling the Stars produces love AND hate sites, and sometimes more hate than love. Type in "I hate Britney Spears" and you'll find 1,260 love sites ("personality of an angel") and 2,000 hate sites (a voice "like a frog's croak"). On the other hand, Johnny Depp's name generated 1,790 love sites ("cute" face) and only 62 hate sites ("he dresses like a crackhead").

Speaking of hating ... That Hollyweird braintrust, Cher, added her 2 cents' worth in US Weekly: "I would rather stick needles in my eyes than be a Republican."

Kinda takes the fun outta being famous.

 
LOOK AT DAT!

Little H used his potty chair for the first time today ... and it was his idea! Then, when Mommy G went to grab a diaper, Little H shut the bathroom door and produced a "calling card" on the floor. He was so proud, that is until G cleaned it up. THAT made him mad! All that creativity for naught, flushed down the drain.

 
ZIPPING UP THE ELECTION

No, this is not about Clinton. This is a bit of jocularity in Cody, Wyoming. You go, DOUG!

 
NOTHING SWEET ABOUT EMINEM

Drudge has posted the lyrics to Eminem's new rap in which he claims that he'd "rather see the president dead." Could this be a threat? A federal offense?

Back in the early 80s a man in Oneonta, NY, borrowed a book from the Huntington Public Library. Apparently he didn't think much of President Reagan because he wrote a threatening letter to him and, for whatever reasons, he tucked the letter into his library book. Did he mean to do this or merely forget it was there? Who knows? But he returned the book with the letter still inside, and when the librarian was shelving it the threatening letter fell out. Upon reading it the librarian immediately notified the authorities. Like carrion on roadkill, the Feds swooped down upon Oneonta and rushed away with the letter-writer, because, as we all should know, threatening a president is a felony. The fact that the idiot never mailed the letter is irrelevant; he wrote it.

And now Eminem is rappin' 'bout preferring the president were dead.

 
SHUT YER PIE-HOLE ALREADY!

I suppose it's an exercise in futility, but will someone puh-leeze tell Andrew Greeley ... again! ... to stick to proselytizing about God and not politics! Remember when he had nothing better to do than write about lusty loins and bursting bodices?

 
ON THE COVER OF THE ROLLING STONE ...

They said you made it when you got your picture of the cover of the ROLLING STONE. That's, like, so 70s, your granddad's rag. Nowadays it's PAGE SIX of the NY POST. Of course it really isn't on page 6 anymore ... more like page 8 or 10. Among today's juicy offerings:

Speaking of the ROLLING STONE, Bill Wyman is not an anti-war Bush-hater. He served in the UK military in the 50s. Wonder if he's a granddad?

No room at the inn? Seems the Dems' choice of Boston for their convention next year leaves them with little room ... and rooms. The Republicans, on the other hand, are finding NYC to be poi-fect, which has the Dems' knickers in knots.

Oh, B.S.! Barbra Streisand, tinseltown's current Norma Desmond, lost a $10 MILLION frivolous lawsuit against Kenneth Adelman. He had taken aerial shots of her Malibu home for a project on coastal erosion. Talk to the hand, Babs, cuz the ears ain't listening!

 
YOU BETTER SHOP AROUND ...

Except if you need a prescription that is. Who knew that "doctor shopping" was, what, illegal? Wrong? Not fair? A no-no? Frowned upon? Just ask Rush. The Palm Beach Brown Shirts are on a fishing expedition; they stormed his doctors' offices and seized medical records. On the list of drugs he supposedly took is niacin! HUH? Vitamin B3 requires a prescription now? Can't recall Robert Downey, Jr, ever flying on niacin. Whatinthehell is this anyway, Hillary HealthCare?

 
RUBBERS! ... tee hee hee
AIDS is back in the news again. HBO will be airing "Angels In America," which is about AIDS.
Linda Stasi, in the NY POST, on "Angels" (part 1):"The Mike Nichols-directed miniseries is a once in a lifetime TV experience."
Adam Buckman, also in the POST, on "Angels" (part 2): "a made-for-TV saga of such obvious importance that no critic dare dislike it."

Not to mention the still-clanging controversy over "The Reagans" and the myth that Reagan refused to even say the word. Deroy Murdock debunks that in his "The Big AIDS Lie" column.

AIDS wasn't nearly as difficult to verbalize as the "C" word. Y'know, condoms? We used to snicker over the word rubbers. The orthodontist had a little sign posted by his front door that read PLEASE REMOVE RUBBERS BEFORE ENTERING, I kid you not. Crack us up, it would.
"Tee hee hee!"
"What's so funny?"
"Nuthin' Mom." Tee hee hee!

But then came AIDS and with it a more serious, clinical approach to protection. No matter how hard people tried, rubbers just sounded funny. Prophylactic didn't catch on, either; it sounded like something Father Mulcahy would say on M*A*S*H, as in "Jocularity! Jocularity!"

So condom it was. Except everyone was just too damned embarrassed to say it. Plus the fact that those things were sold behind the counter at the drug store, which meant you had to ask for them.

So, in 1987, the very enterprising Carter-Wallace Company, makers of Trojan brand you-know-what, offered these credit card-sized cards free of charge to all those potential tongue-tied customers. The cards were gold with black lettering. On one side was the message: "May I please have a box of Trojan Brand Condoms?" On the back, Carter-Wallace listed all the varieties. Sweet. Just hand the card to the clerk and watch them blush.

I doubt they were ever needed, because the "C" word quickly became part of our daily lexicon. Even my mother learned to say the word ... right in front of me, no less.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I just got a bit nostalgic for the good ol' days when the word rubbers made us laugh. It still does, but I guess that's telling my age.

Myerskatt@aol.com

 
BUT WAS THE SEX GOOD?

According to Page Six in the NY POST, poor Nicole Kidman is being used by Lenny Kravitz to further his image. I know that I will be rushing out to buy whatever it is he does. Yeah, right! On the other hand, I'm not a fan of Nicole Kidman, either. As far as I'm concerned, she was playing herself in that biting film "To Die For."

And while I'm at it, I might as well go even snarkier and ask, Have you seen her lately? I know she's considered to be to-die-for gorgeous, but she's aaaaaaging! The face is a bit too tight (face lift?) and the makeup is a shade too bright. And check out her hands.

 
HOW MANY BLONDES DOES IT TAKE TO FILL MILK BOTTLES?

Good question. Apparently it is beyond the combined abilities of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie, those befuddled Beverly Hills blondes in THE SIMPLE LIFE on Fox Channel. Much to my surprise, episode 2 was tonight! (Memo to me: Check TV listings OFTEN!)

Ah, yes, when we last left the dipsy duo they had just completed their very first day on an actual farm in Arkansas. Their biggest problem then was learning there was only ONE bathroom for the entire family's use. That and a kamikaze fly in their bedroom.

Tonight they faced "The Employer." Their long suffering host family got them jobs on a dairy farm. Y'know, like cows? But before the farming fun begins, they first have to master the time clock. Tricky. Then it's on to shoveling shinola, cleaning teats, driving the "Polish pickup," and, of course, filling those milk bottles. Take hose "A" and insert into bottle "B" and turn knob "C." Yeah, I can see where that would be real challengin'.

Best joke: The host family invited some friends over to meet the girls, and a teenaged boy asked Paris Hilton if her name was Motel 6.

Reality: What a concept!

Myerskatt@aol.com

 
I SEE LONDON, I SEE FRANCE ...

Does Paris wear any underpants? Paris, as in Paris Hilton. Hilton, as in the vast fortunes of THE Hilton Hotels. We're talking beaucoup buck$, as in mansions and Porshes and servants.

In case you have not had a gossip column fix in a while, you may not have learned that Paris Hilton is the latest sweet young thang to have her homemade sex videos made public. (Kinda like that other ingenue, Pamela Anderson.) I give you this vital info up front in order to appreciate what Little Paris is up to now.

Paris, and her good friend Nicole Richie (daughter of Lionel Richie), for whatever reasons, are starring in a reality TV show called THE SIMPLE LIFE. The poor little fabulously rich girls are transplanted, via private jet, to an actual farm in Arkansas! (Did Clinton dream this up?) They will spend 30 days down on the farm with actual cows and bugs and Arkansans, and ... get this! ... no one will be waiting on them! No siree bubba! In fact, they'll have to WORK!

Mind you, I would have not known this show existed if it had not been for Linda Stasi of the NY POST. Linda highly recommends this show because, as she so succinctly explains (as a writer I'm pea-green with envy), "Chairman Mao couldn't have come up with a more compelling indictment of the rich. I felt like moving to Cuba after watching it."

So last night Dog Man and I watched Paris and Nicole try to start a pickup truck. Try to drive the pickup truck. Meet their host farming family (with teenaged son:). Buying pickled pigs feet. Run away in terror from a fly. And that was just DAY 1.

Check it OUT! Watch how many times Paris's hip-hugger jeans dip so low that the camera has to blur the area. (Let's face it, they're not really jeans, they're chaps.)

Tuesday nights 8:30 Fox Channel; check your local listings for other nights

Myerskatt@aol.com

 
And Kitty sayeth, "LET THERE BE LIGHT! ... please?"

When little ol' G bought her big ol' vee-hik-kl, "Yukon Jack," I bought her Blazer. I traded in my '93 rusty Subaru, with 147,000 miles, for a rusty '93 Blazer with 146,000 miles. The Subaru's exhaust system, the whole friggin' thing, was shot. Kaput!

There was a long, comical list of things in the Subaru which had ceased to work eons ago. Nothing which affected its drivability ... that is, until the exhaust system went on a 97* day last summer after I had exited Wegman's parking lot with TWO DOZEN ice cream bars.

The Blazer's exhaust system, on the other hand, was fine. However, the dashboard light did not work. And, as anyone who has had this problem knows, dashboard lights are cheap ... usually less than $1. It's the labor that gets ya!

During the summer, this was not much of a problem. I'd get out of work with enough daylight to see me home. But as the summer waned and fall approached, I began having a problem. So my wonderful boss, Boss, bought me a little flshlight which I mounted on the steering column using velcro. Works like a charm! Now that winter is here, I'm learning that I have to rip the flashlight off the steering column and bring it inside to keep warm. Dog Man says it's because the cold affects the batteries.

The fact that the store where I worked closed and that I'm now unemployed is beside the point. I can SEE! I can SEE!

Myerskatt@aol.com

 
FEEDBACK? ANYONE? ANYONE? ANYONE?

I've been forgetting to post my e-mail just in case anyone would like to comment. Unfortunately, this particular blog form does not allow readers to post comments. It is free, however. So, feel free to send your comments, but puh-leeze mention my blog in the subject line as I delete all e-mail I don't recognize. And thanks!

Myerskatt@aol.com

 
THANK HEAVENS FOR LITTLE GIRLS:

"OMAHA, Neb. -- An Omaha woman has given birth to a 14-pound, 3-ounce girl." Yes, ladies, it was a C-section ... thank God for modern medicine. Both mother and baby are doing fine.

Linda Tripp finally has some good news in her life. She's getting married! After saving Monica's gluteus MAXimus (and don't ask Monica who?) and battling the mainstream media AND the corrupt Clintons and then battling breast cancer, she's getting married to her childhood sweetie! My friend Blue has hopes of very possibly meeting Linda when Blue takes her annual DC trip next spring. Get PICTURES!

The Bolshoi Blimp is back on her toes. Seems that a Russian ballerina had a bit of a weight problem. She stands 5'6" and weighs in at a hefty 110 lbs. Has the Bolshoi considered Jacko? He could probably use the $$ and he has his own makeup.

On the personal front:
I watched Little H again as G was completing requirements for her student nursing job in PA. Yesterday she had to be fingerprinted, which Little H did NOT like a'tall! He screamed bloody murder, especially at the Chief of Po-leece, whom I personally think is a @#$%. Today G had to be fitted for a respirator.

And to Blue: Tell Mr. Big tough noogies :)

 
Hey, Nortzman!

SuperShoe Managers RULE! But mothers of student nurses call the shots:)

Can you hear it now?

 
Her Royal Clintoness: Wallflower?

I choked up watching our troops in Baghdad swarm around President Bush as he made his way from one end of their mess tent to the other. Shaking his hand. Having their pictures taken with him. Chatting with him. Everyone with big ol' goll-lee grins. HOO-AHS reverberating throughout.

And then there was Her Royal Clintoness sittin' by her men at a mess table in Afghanistan as troops as walked by to say hello. Prim. Proper. Aloof as ever. The contrast was startling.

Then it was on to Baghdad for Her Royal Clintoness, after President Bush warmed up the crowd for her. However, it seems that there were few military types who wanted to meet with Her Royal Clintoness. "In fact so few U.S. military personnel volunteered to meet and sit with her, that military leaders in Baghdad had to designate enlisted personnel and junior officers to spend time with the New York senator." Bushwacked again:)

 
the SKINNY on JACKO

Am I the only one having a difficult time believing that Jacko weighs a mere 120 lbs? At 5'11"? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, cameras add a ton of weight. But, c'mon.

Okay, so his cheeks look like they've been strip-mined for his fillings. But look at those hands of his. They're big and meaty, not bony and frail like a man that tall would have to have at that featherweight. Recent videos show a thin, even slim, Jacko, but hardly an anorexic Jacko. At 5'11" and 120 lbs, he'd resemble Calista "I'm with Grandpa Ford" Flockhart, and Jacko doesn't.

Speaking of Ally McBeagle, here's a thought: Dieting hurts your brain! Hey, I do NOT make this up! If it was posted on Lucianne.com you can believe it. Check out those responses! I love L.dotters.

 
KITTY LITTER, you say?

Since my name is Kitty, I always thought that I'd like to write a column and call it KITTY LITTER. Just what was ever on my mind. And I thought I was oh-so original!

After I birthed this blog earlier today, I bookmarked it, then I logged on several times. Click! Click! Click! Click! Then I Googled "Kitty Litter."

It looks like I'm not alone.

 
"To blog, or not to blog ... that is the question"

Well, why not? I was reading another blog, Jeremiads, and I saw the link to create my own blog. So I thought, Well why not?

I was reading a couple of book reviews on Jeremiads ... murder mysteries, actually. I was pleased to learn that Jeremy, who was recently hired by The American Spectator as assistant managing editor, reads murder mysteries instead of a steady diet of Will Shakespeare. I mean, an editor of The American Spectator reading murder mysteries? Personally, I have an added respect for Jeremy knowing he reads them as the genre is my escape. In fact, I read almost nothing else.

I've tried other books. A biography or two. I read Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes" and cried my way through the entire book. I did read Dreiser's "Jennie Gerhardt," though I haven't read his "Sister Carrie." Add to the list: "1984," "One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich," "Sweet Thursday," and Lenny Bruce's quintessencial "How To Talk Dirty and Influence People." There have been others, but it's the murder mystery which I crave.

My husband used to read nothing but philosophy. I'd chide him about it. Every night I went to bed with Dog Man and his book ... something bone dry and deep which would put me to sleep.

One night I asked him if he ever read anything "just for fun?"

"Y'mean like romance novels?!?"

"No, I don't even read those. I mean like, y'know, novels. Maybe something sci-fi."

He must have given it a great deal of thought because months later, as I slid in next to him, he very proudly held up his reading material and asked, "See what I'm reading?"

He was reading Dante's "Inferno." For fun.