catheroominations

…when you can fit into jeans you haven’t been able to wear in 3 years.

The jeans you haven’t been even been able to put on in 3 years without grunting, inhaling, pinching or shoving skin, or lying on the bed to zip. And even then, you can’t button them.

The same jeans that today allow you to sit in a chair, and not be forced to plop rigidly at a 45-degree angle, as if there is a piece of plywood attached to your backside.

The jeans with no lycra, the magical substance offering a nice fit if you squat, do splits, or otherwise contort your body to force the jeans into stretchy submission.

(Now, could someone help me find my boobs? They seem to have gone missing in the transformation.)

Because I think the day after “Spring Forward” needs one.

Did anyone get up on time Monday? I didn’t. I was completely disoriented when the alarm went off at o’dark thirty. And then, last night, I was up until the wee hours of today.

I hereby recommend that the U.S. implement Daylight Savings Time as a holiday. This would be a holiday that even Lou Dobbs would like; he wants us to celebrate our similarities, not our differences, doesn’t he? And we’re all in the daylight-savings time mess together. Well, except for Arizona. But they like to be difficult where national holidays are concerned and don’t observe Martin Luther King Day either. So, let’s just not tell them about this one.

Think of the marketing possibilities!

T-shirts, buttons, and statics for your car
“Frankie Say: Set your clocks!” (I just dated myself there, didn’t I?)
“I heart DST”
“Hate DST? Move to AZ”
“WWJD? He’d change his clocks, the first Sunday of April. Amen.”

Celebrity recorded phone messages
Simon Cowell:
“If I’m being honest, this changing clocks is absolutely horrendous. It’s completely atrocious and utterly abominable.”

Donald Trump:
“This time change is yoooge. But not as yoooge as my success. Don’t forget to change your clocks, or you’re fired.”

Martha Stewart:
“Changing your clocks before bed tonight is a Good Thing. My former bitches cellmates in prison wish they had a clock to change. Let me teach you how to make your own clock. First…”

Beavis and Butthead:
Butthead: Hey Beavis, we’re supposed to set our clocks ahead one hour tonight.
Beavis: Huh huh. You said cocks.
Butthead: No I didn’t. I said clocks, dumbass.
Beavis: OK, but you said head. Huh huh.

Tom Cruise:
“Shhh, keep it down and make no sudden movements when you change your clocks tonight. Oh, and don’t take any sleep aids. Medications don’t work.”

Nicole Ritchie and/or Lindsay Lohan:
“Oooh, we set our clocks forward tonight. That’s one less hour of starvation for us.”

Napoleon Dynamite:
“Change my clocks tonight? Maybe I will, Gosh!”

Store sales

“Daylight Savings Time means savings for you! 80% off on our entire inventory, when the clock strikes 2.” Because it won’t.

Theme parties
Like NYE, celebrate with each time zone!

Parades
Start time 1:59 a.m. End time 3:01 a.m.

So, how do we make this a reality? Petition? Letters to our state representatives? Can we just claim to our bosses it already is a holiday and skip work?

Oh, and of course with this holiday comes the complementary “Fall Behind” day off six months later. It’s imperative to our health, as we must properly adjust our eyes to the morning light.

Last night I dreamed that I was one of the 10 remaining contestants on American Idol. In my dream, I forgot that I can’t sing. In fact, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Tone deaf, I believe is what they call it.

Anyway, I was America’s Sweethart, and I dressed as such. For my performance, I wore a white GunneSax-type dress. You remember, the ones with the poofy sleeves, and half-round faux pearl buttons that graced the center of the lacy bodice. The shoes were sandals, I believe my mom’s old white Yo-Yos. With suntan hose, of course. My hair was longer and blonder and curlier. Oh, and I had big boobs that I kept glancing down at in disbelief (not while onstage, of course).

I can’t remember the song I sang. Some ballad, perhaps by Mariah Carey, who makes my ears bleed I don’t care for so much. It was so realistic when Ryan Seacrest greeted me after I sang, asking how I thought I did. I replied “Awesome! I tried to make it my own.” (Boy, did I.) I don’t remember the judges’ reactions, nor whether the audience greeted my performance with raucous applause, or the silence of a funeral home. But I shaped my fingers to signify the number eight as Ryan recited the phone number to call to vote for me.

As I watched the TV broadcast a few hours later, I thought “Holy crap! I suck wax fruit! Why the hell am I even still on this show?”

Then it dawned on me.

I ran to check the website responsible for keeping Kevin “Chicken Little” Covais on for so long. My fears were realized when I saw this.

I did some gardening this weekend.

I’m going to the jeweler’s to get my NEW engagement ring sized!

Pictures and scoop later. I’m too excited to gather my thoughts right now!

Woohoo!!!!!

UPDATED: Checkout the ring!