Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Stalking Cat Osterman Part II

So, you think you can hit a softball pitched by a girl, do you?

be my guest.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Stalking Cat Osterman


Okay, so we're really NOT stalking Cat Osterman, but I thought it would make for a catchy title to this blog and after all my picture-taking, she was probably feeling a little stalked. Some of you are saying to yourself, "who the hell is Cat Osterman and why would anyone stalk her?" Cat is the pitcher for the Rockford Thunder Women's Professional Softball Team. "So what?" you foolishly ask. Well, she is only the BEST pitcher on the entire planet right now and somehow she found herself standing in the middle of Rockford wondering what the hell happened.

(Above): Cat Crying because she is stuck in Rockford, IL.

(If you really don't know who Cat is, go to her website at catosterman.com but go there only after you finish this blog. Hey--we have to have priorities here.)

We got to "meet" Cat & her teammates at a promotion this morning. One of our peers had the chance to take five strikes from Cat. I would personally have peed on myself if I had to do this, but our friend did us proud. She got a hold of a couple of those pitches and she's the only one of the five that made any significant contact. (Addendum to the Addiverse: There was the one foul ball that I neglected to mention during the original posting of this blog. My apologies to Anna, as she got a piece of the Cat with the bat and that is something I could never do....that most of us couldn't do. You go, girl! Apologies for missing you the first pub.) Of course, since the five celebrity batters only had a chance at five Cat Strikes, that left a lot of time for stalking and goofing around. I don't think Cat was amused by me but what the heck. I was excited about the whole thing and if I want to act like a deranged stalker, more power to me. Below is a photo facing the esteemed pitcher. She doesn't look scared but I'm guessing she is close to hyperventilating:

In case you don't know, Cat is TALL. Like, really tall. Like, I'm a short pee wee next to her tall. She's a lefty--all the more reason I am very glad to be in the stands and not in the batter's box. (Hey, it's been 23 years since I hit a fast-pitch ball. I'm not stupid. I'm not going near her.)

(Above): Lest you think only Cat matters, here are two other Thunder players smiling for the camera as they autograph some softballs. You go, grrlz! We promise to stalk you, too.

The Poor Rockford Thunder. Last thing they knew, they were in Texas, in a state-of-the art softball field. Now, they are in an embarrassment of a ball park where the dugouts don't even have cement floors yet, the bleachers are made of tacky plywood and the bathrooms are more like outhouses than not. I'm embarrassed for our town. What were the people who brought the Thunder to town thinking? This is big business, not some po-dunk gradeschool league. They are still working on the field and it needs a LOT of work. In fact, there is no way any of this is going to be done by tomorrow's sold-out home opener. The fields are okay for park district play but not professionals. I'm surprised the team didn't just get back on the bus after taking a look at the facilities. Cat probably needed a Valium and a raise after coming to the park the first time.

The good news is that Rockford will provide them something they didn't have in Texas: FANS. That's right. Rockford is a HUGE softball town. The opening game tomorrow night has been sold out for months. The place will be packed every game. The Thunder might not hate the field so much when there are all those screaming fans bursting out of the stands. That will be our only saving grace.

I have lots of questions for the Rockford Thunder but I figure I have the whole season to get answers. Where do they live when in town? What do they do when they are not playing softball, both during the season and off season? How the hell did they get to Rockford? Did they even know there was a Rockford? Will any of them stay in Rockford after the season is done? Why do so many of them have facial piercings? (This is a good thing in my book, but a question, nonetheless). Why do they wear make-up when playing softball? Do they have tattoos? Will they still love us even if their home field sucks? How much do they get paid? Do they get their equipment as part of the deal? Do they have to do their own laundry? Do any of them like Madonna, Xena and/or cheeseballs? Are they freaked out about having a 44 year old stalker? Are they scared by my hair? Do they wanna hang out in the Addiverse or with Pat? (That's Pat PAT to you.) What can we do to help them feel the love?

Help them feel the love: http://www.thunderprofastpitch.com/ Go out to a game. Buy some of their merchandise. Buy some cement for the dugout floor. Stalk Cat. In a legal, non-weird way, please. Until they get cement floors for the dugout, I'll be praying to St. Jude for a ballpark intervention and watching the neighbor dog try to climb our tree:

You think I'm kidding about this? We do not kid in the Addiverse. That is a dog climbing our tree. Happens every day. That should give Cat something to think about between innings: "why is that dog climbing a tree? Is this some weird Rockford thing? What the hell am I doing here? Why do I have to go where dogs climb trees?"

Maybe that dog is looking for a cat. Ha ha. Get it? A cat? Cat? Never mind.....

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Muskrat Love...

The Year: 1976

The event: Eighth Grade Graduation

The Hair: Captain and Tennille

The dog: Rainy

The dress: Priceless.

Since it's that time of year (when young people process down the aisle, Pomping and Circumstancing or circumcising or whatever it is they do), I thought I'd give everyone a laugh by sporting a photo of me in my eighth grade graduation outfit.

Since my graduation was in June, I am assuming it was very hot to wear such a dress. Uuhhhhh-gah-leeeee! Let's face it--the dog looks much better than I do. Only worse than this dress is the fact that "Muskrat Love" was at the top of the charts in the mid-seventies. Who sings about Muskrat Suzie and Muskrat same and can make a zillion dollars while doing it?

Flashback: What was Tennille's first name? The Captain's?

On another subject, I forget that my mama (aka wild mama) used to be the queen of fast food soda-making. (Refer to previous blog about McDonald's coke products.) Um, my father, aka Taco Juan, was the king of soda making, too but since it's the mama that reads the blog regularly, all credit goes to her. Wild Mama writes, "Read your blog -- it's true, the colder the syrup in the lines is, the better tasting the soda will be. When I worked real early at the bowling alley and would go take some soda, no matter how much ice you used in the cup, it was really awful. Fill the bin with ice, let the lines get good and cold and you had drinkable cokes. At the mall we used to leave the bins filled with ice all night just so the lines stayed cold. The Macky Dee man wasn't just joshing them."

What the mama says, goes. So, ice your lines and drink your fill!

As for American Idol, the wife literally jumped off the couch and screamed "YES!" when Jordan was announced as the winner. Scared the bajesus out of me. The wife had a tear in her eye, too. It was a touching moment, but....

As for Dancing with the Stars, I am all about Apolo winning, although I was really pulling for my girl Laila. Sigh. She couldn't match what Apolo threw out there in the freestyle dance. My condolences to TV Mags who thought Ian would win. We were all wrong. BTW, Just so you know, Apolo stole my dance moves. Who do you think taught him all that? His dancing partner? Hell no! It was me!

And all this time you thought I was at work.....

....Finally......Toni and Darryl. But, you knew that.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Cheeseball Neighbor Gets Forked

Imagine our surprise when we woke up this morning to take the grrrlz (aka the dogs) for their morning walk & daily constitution....
when we see that Cheeseball neighbor has been toilet-papered, forked, shaving- creamed, gnomed and Shamu-ed.


I don't know about you, but I've never seen anyone get Shamu-ed before.

If you look closely in the photos, you can see the forks sticking out of the lawn. Genius!
The fork thing is kind of funny and sure beats getting a lawn-full of cheese balls--well, until you try to remove the forks. It sounds easy but it is not. I'm sure Cheeseball Neighbor will soon be able to confirm this.

As we walk, we see that toilet paper has traveled the neighborhood--it was windy last night and those squares of wipe-yourself-dry are blowing down the road without much effort. This makes us laugh, as it's rather like when we would walk the dogs and find cheeseballs along the way.


As you can imagine, the wife is VERY glad the toilet paper didn't find its way to our trees.

The wife and I are unaware of what the occasion might be--it's not Cheeseball Neighbor's birthday, it's not a national holiday, there was no wild party (that we know of--we did hear voices outside in the middle of the night but didn't think much about it and it certainly was not to the decibel of a good party), she hasn't gotten married or divorced, she didn't have a baby (although I did dream she got a puppy--does that count?), she didn't win the Pulitzer.....perhaps her softball season is over and her players decided to "bless" her with a toilet-paper thank you. Maybe it was just a boring Saturday night. Maybe it was a drunken, boring Saturday night. Maybe someone just had some leftover forks from an afternoon cookout and decided, "Hey! We should Fork Cheeseball Neighbor!"

As for the gnome, everyone needs a gnome, don't you think? They even left the box--perhaps in case she wants to return it or to give the gnome a home during those cold winter months. I know the wife wants a gnome for her yard (ha ha). I bet Ms. Keith Bischon, Master Gardener, would fight for a gnome.

Looking at the shaving cream, it appears the artists tried to depict some form of an object but at this point, we are unable to determine what the actual shaving-cream-art represents. It's kind of like an ink test--"What do you seen in the shaving cream?" Take a look (on the door, to the left of the gnome) and tell us what you "see." (Don't worry--although I'm an art therapist, I promise not to diagnose you in regards to your answer.) Perhaps your answer will be, "Looks like a drunken fool had a can of shaving cream."

My advice to Cheeseball neighbor: Make the gnome a "traveling gnome." It's kind of like "tag" for adults. The gnome has to travel from friend to friend, but it must be placed surreptitiously in the night. (Well, as long as it doesn't come visit us.) It's a lot easier (and more earth-friendly) than toilet-papering and it's good for a good gnome giggle...although it IS a lot less entertaining than cheese-balling your favorite friend's car/lawn/neighborhood....let's call it the GNOME ROAM.....

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Things go better with....

Things go better with....

.....A MEGA-GIANT-SUPER-COLOSSAL MC DONALD's COCA-COLA, that is.

Not a restaurant-made Coke. Not a tavern Coke. Not a Coke out of a can. A Coke from McDonald's, fresh out of the fountain, bubbly crisp, clean and orgasmic.


Yes, it's that time of year again--McDonald's has "brought back" their summer special of the biggest Coke on the Planet selling for pennies. Okay, so it's 79 cents for 44 oz of pure caffeinated, sugarified gold. ...that's almost like getting it for free. It's certainly bigger than your head.


How do I know it's that time of year again? Because I see the wife and three zillion other people toting around those gianormous cups of Coke with the golden arches on the plastic vats. If I can't find the wife, I just have to go to the nearest McD's and I'll find her in line refilling her nectar of the Gods. 

Personally, I think it's an addictive property and consumer greed that has led to her downfall.... and I think McDonald's is lacing that Coke with something that makes its consumers giddy with delight. Ask anyone who drinks Coke--diet or not--at McDonald's and you're bound to be the witness to a loving smile and a blank look off into the distance as if the person is having a Coca-Cola flashback. I've talked to friends and co-workers about this phenomenon. None of us really know what's going on but everyone agrees they LOVE (lust? crave?) coke from the McDonald's fountain.

One co-worker says it's because McDonald's cleans out the tubes from the cannisters to the machine every week with a special process. Other places only clean the tubes every month or so; meaning, that the syrup doesn't have a chance to "build up" at Mickey Dees.

I wondered about this, so I went to the internet. One source indicated that they pre-chill the syrup before it gets mixed and dispensed -- so straight from the fountain, with no ice, your soft drink is already quite cold. At other restaurants, room temperature soft drink mixed with a cup of ice is instant-watered-down-Coke. But at MickeyD's, it's perfect. Every time.


Hmm. I suppose that would make sense. But, I am still tied to my theory that Coke at McDonald's is tainted with some unknown love potion.
(Note to Ronald McDonald: Ronnie, I am NOT suggesting you are a drug dealer or that your company is doing illegal things like putting drugs in their drinks. This is a blog entry, tongue firmly in cheek. Please don't sue me for trying to be irreverent. I don't even know what I'm talking about; I don't drink soda although I did watch my father drink Coke for breakfast every morning when I was a kid. Of course, Coke USED to contain actual cocaine but that was in the 1800's so I'm pretty sure all those 79 cent Coke drinkers will past drug tests at work. Thank you. The lawyers of the Addiverse)


For those that like the sugar-filled as opposed to the chemically-laced diet soda, sources indicated that regular (not diet) cola products rush 10 teaspoons of sugar into your system, your blood sugar spikes, caffeine is absorbed, your dopamine gets going, your metabolism revs up, you have to pee and then you CRASH....crash....crash. Remember: dopamine production stimulating the pleasure centers of your brain.....and, this soda pleases your brain.....um...

....this is physically the same way heroin works.

See? I told you it was addictive. Maybe it's not cocaine--it's heroin! 


Ooooh, that'll get Ronald's undies all in a bundle. I'm not sure I should be messing with two of the largest companies in the world....

Maybe I should join the McD's Coke Cult but I'm afraid of the withdrawal I'd have to swim through at the end of the summer...


"I'm addicted to my Mickey Dee's giant diet Coke and my life has become unmanageable....."

Friday, May 11, 2007

For this I went to College?

You "regular" visitors to the Addiverse (and I mean regular in the regular sense, not in the you-poop-on-a-daily-basis kind of regular) know that I often talk about and admire poop. Well, today I am going with a different bodily function: Urine (pee, pee pee, Number One). Apologies to those of you who just don't want to hear about me smelling like urine yesterday.....

... Yes, you read that right. Yesterday, I REEKED of urine. Not my own, but a client's urine. (I'm not sure if it's better to smell like your own pee than someone else's pee, but either way, it's not good.)

I usually don't write about "recent" client events because I like to put a little distance between actual event & writing about them so there is some semblance of complete confidentiality, but in this case, I must make exception.

After all, it's not every day I smell like pee.

I wasn't literally peed on, so that's a good thing. It's just that I ended up cleaning volumes of urine from a bed-ridden person and such urine tends to gravitate toward me and my clothes. By the time I was done cleaning the floor, the bed mattress, his clothes, the furniture, I definitely had an "ode de la pee pee" going on.

Now, this really wouldn't be that bad of a thing because part of my job really is disgusting and I'm used to it. (Yes, I am a master-degreed-licensed counselor, but part of the job is working directly with clients in a not-so-counseling-type manner.) The problem with the pee smell was this: I had to take another client to court and I didn't have time to shower or even change my clothes before this court date....and, I didn't realize how badly I smelled until I got in the car. I was sitting there thinking, "god, does he smell like urine or what?" I kind of looked at him out of the corner of my eye as I was driving, trying to figure out why this guy who usually has good hygiene smells like urine. That's when it hits me--it's not him, it's ME.

It's too late to do anything about it. I make fun of it with him (after all, I KNOW he can smell it, too), open the windows and pray that I will air out by the time I get to court.

I do not air out and pray that the persons involved in the case think it's him, not me.

I drop off the client and go visit MJagger. I tell her "I'm sorry--I reek of urine." As I tend to be one that exaggerates, she doesn't really believe me and tells me she doesn't smell anything. She turns around to resume typing on her computer when....I can see it on her face.....she turns back to me and says, "You really AREN'T kidding--you stink of urine!" Her face scrunches in horror. "Told you I smelled like pee," I chirp back. I leave her office, sure that I have "marked" her territory.

As I know the wife will NOT be amused by my new odor, I call her to warn her I will be coming home and stripping in the garage, followed by a direct trip to the washing machine, shoes and all. I can tell by her voice she is already not amused. I open the car windows because I can't stand the way I stink.

I get to the house, strip as planned, barely say hello to the dogs and sprint for the washer. I avoid the wife at all costs, run by the open front door while naked (hot damn! Who opened that door?!) and throw myself into the shower. I am filled with instant relief. It is only now that I can safely say hello to the dogs and the wife.

I gotta ask, "for this I went to college?" I don't remember sitting in my doctoral-level classes thinking, "gee, I'll probably stink like pee on some days." The real world really isn't like what they teach you in school. The real world is much more odoriferous and colorful. Some day, I am going to write a book about what REALLY happens in the world of mental health treatment and I will include chapters such as "You and Bodily Functions of Others," "Mania for Dummies" and "Why Bobby Only Changes his Undies Once a Week."

It'll be a best seller, don't you think?

I gotta go. I have to find out from the wife how to get the pee smell out of the car. Maybe I can have Freckles Warrior Pee-er go in there and mark her own territory. Then, at least it will be a very familiar pee smell......

Monday, May 07, 2007

Hair We go Again...

MJagger had her husband (Officer Friendly) talk to Harry, my personal hair goddess, when he was in for his most recent hair doings. Officer Friendly did a great job relaying the hair-inspired comments from his lovely wife, telling Harry that I was in need of looking like Jackie Warner, Queen of L.A. Lesbian Chic.

MJagger and the wife had both previously suggested that "your hair can do that!" and so I was ready for a big change. (I hate talking to my hair lady about my hair--after all, I pay her to be in charge of it--so, it was a big relief that MJagger and hubby had taken care of this before I even got near the salon.) By the time I was sitting in the chair, Harry was all a-glow, ready for hair styling for the rich and famous. "We're going to go much lighter," Harry sings out with glee. I am all for this, as I love hair change and since Lisa Rinna hair is SO yesterday. Before I knew it, I was sporting the Jackie-do, complete with expensive hair products and phenomenal abs. (Okay, so I lied about the abs. I still look like a flabby chicken. But, the hair looked awesome).

The photo of Jackie (the one with the black bra)
illustrates how my hair did indeed look.

(And, no--I cannot do this exercise being demonstrated by Jackie but I do own a set of weights, so that should count for something.)

I go back to work with my fabulous new hair and it begins. I work in a town not used to anything but mullet-sporting lesbians and straight girl highlights. You'd think I'd be used to people staring at my hair (after all, I've done everything from the blonde Mohawk to the 12 inch tail), but I'm out of practice. No one stares at Lisa Rinna hair, but they sure do stare at Jackie Warner hair. At work, it's easy to see that people (1) don't know what the hell to think, and (2) that they do not like this scary hair. (Well, except MJagger, who professed her love for the 'do.) It doesn't stop me from being giddy with delight. The mentally ill clients are blunt (which I love and prefer) and say things like, "what the hell happened to your hair?" and "Why does your hair stand up like that?" Co-workers just stare and try to talk to me without mentioning the hair, but their eyes keep going up to the swoop. Like I don't know!

Forget work--let's talk about going out to eat. The wife (who likes the hair) and I decided to try out a new Mexican restaurant in town. I forget that I have this "weird" hair, so I'm kind of confused at first when I see people staring at me. I'm thinking, "Do I have spinach enchilada on my face?" when it dawns on me. It's the hair! This warms me to no end. I am delighted and smile through the rest of the enchilada. Happy Cinco de Mayo, indeed! You go, Harry! We have succeeded! (Well, you succeeded--I just walk around looking good.)

(For illustration purposes, I've included this photo of Jackie working with a lucky client, as this is what my hair looked like during the Mexican food consumption, albeit not so blonde. Delightfully messy and chic. Growl!

I pay a lot of money to look like this, so, when you see me and my new swoop, go ahead and stare. It's all good. If I ever get a body like Jackie's (after all, I'm only like 7 years older than her and 4 years younger than Madonna), I'll include photos of my rockin' abs. Don't hold your breathe, though. I may just stick to eating enchiladas and walking the dogs a half-mile twice a day and buying copious amounts of hair products. Take that, you mullet-sporting lesbians! L.A. Chic Addi is on the move....and out to save you from your mullets.....

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Snakes in the Grass

I got my "hair did" today, but my Jackie Warner hairdo will have to wait until next time, as these photos are hot off the press....

What do we do in the Addiverse for fun and enjoyment? Well, let me show you via this photo bonanza!

Yesterday, I went to visit my sister's family in the suburbs. Imagine my surprise when I find them all sitting and staring at the garage:















I'm not making this up. They were watching the garage. Why? Because snakes were slithering across the yard and making their way up into the siding of the garage. Niece #3 pointed out how they get into the siding:














"They go in here!" she says, as she points out the small space at the bottom of the siding. I learned that the snakes crawl up in the wall and then out the top so they can sun themselves during the day. Yikes! Not only were they watching the snakes, Captain Biceps was spray painting the snakes so he could tell if they were the same ones returning or if they were all new ones day after day.

(What? You don't sit in your back yard and spray paint snakes?)

Lest you think these are giant rattle snakes or something, let me reassure you that the snakes look like this:














This one was photoed BEFORE being spray painted.

If that isn't enough fun for one day, how 'bout scooping crayfish out of the man-made water way in the back of the house--here's Captain Bicep fishing out a big crawdad using a tennis racket:














And, here is the prize for his efforts:

Say hi to Crabby Crawdad!

This critter was NOT entertained. He had a death grip on that racket and was making weird, gurgling sounds.

Thankfully, no one was hurt in the process and no one fell into the water. I suppose it would have been more entertaining if someone had fallen into the creek or if the crayfish grabbed on to someone's nose, but none of these events came to be.

THAT is how we have fun in the Addiverse.