What to do if abducted by a UFO while on vacation

1. Keep your passport with you at all times.

2. Bring along a small inflatable pillow for your added comfort.

3. Dress in layers. At the time of the abduction, you'll probably be wearing pajamas, so grab a sweater and raincoat. Substitute comfy shoes for slippers.

4. Be a smart traveler. Check your purse or backpack for your sewing kit, Swiss army knife, camera with extra film and a postcard showing the name of your hotel. Remember your motion sickness pills - a must for any space traveler.

5. Ask the aliens about the weather where you're going. If still uncertain, bring both an umbrella and sun screen (minimum 15 SPF).

6. Call the hotel's front desk and cancel your early morning wake-up call.

7. Put your room key/card in your shoe to keep your hands free. (Always beware of pickpockets.)

8. Not knowing what sanitary facilities you might find at your surprise destination, a roll of toilet paper is a must to carry along on your journey.

9. Always have a few snacks with you - such as mints, nuts and fruit. Don't forget a bottle of water.

10. If this is to be your last night in the hotel, be very specific with the aliens about your check-out time.

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Visit Roberta's Cat Lady blog

Toothpaste Wars

When your shampoo is gone, it‘s gone. You can maybe trick it into one final watered-down curtain call by filling the bottle halfway with water and shaking. The results won‘t be appealing. Then that‘s it. The end of the bottle. That shampoo is out of your hair, your life - forever.

A tube of toothpaste refuses to finish. You squeeze it as flat as you can, only to discover there‘s at least three weeks‘ supply hiding under the cap. Toothpaste simply won‘t go away. The very morning you feel the urge to discard the tube, you can feel the contents inching its way around. So back to the medicine cabinet shelf the tube goes. There‘s an unwritten law stating you can‘t throw toothpaste away until it‘s empty.

And it rarely is. Hey, you bought it, it‘s yours. For life.

Chances are you've already noticed this, but all tubes of toothpaste contain the same quantity, regardless if marked “medium“ or “jumbo.“ This is a trick on the consumer and there‘s no way around it even if you decide to change brands or flavors.

Here are some possible ways to flatten a tube (with expected results indicated):
- Jump on it (poor results)
- Whack it with a hammer (not much better)
- Sit on it (not recommended)
- Tape it to the bottom of one of your shoes when you go jogging (as good as it gets).

The problem, of course, is even when the tube gets flattened to varying degrees, the toothpaste is still in there - waiting for you. Calling out your name.

I bought bubble gum flavored toothpaste by mistake, because it was in the display row where the mint stuff usually is. I‘ve been using this tube twice a day for 28 months and there‘s no end in sight. I've done everything but flatten it with a rolling pin, which is next on my attack list. (I realize the odds are against me.)

As always, toothpaste triumphs.

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Roberta Beach Jacobson (a.k.a. The Cat Lady) is an American humorist and author. In 1974, she left suburban Chicago to explore Europe. For all of these years, she's been wandering around, map in hand, scratching her head. Can someone out there please give her directions? She makes her home in a mountainous village on a tiny Greek island. It's the sort of remote spot where animals outnumber people, although some of the animals weren't actually invited.

Follow her Cat Lady blog:
http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/catlady/

Lies we all tell our dogs

Anyone who shares a home with a pooch understands patience is a top priority (and a sense of humor doesn't hurt either). To keep our canines content (and ourselves sane), we sometimes find ourselves bending the truth just a little.

Admit it, at times we've all been guilty. Here are examples of some half-truths we tell our dogs:

1. Bath day? No, we just want to take your collar off for a while.

2. I didn't clear out any of your old bones from behind the sofa. You must have moved them yourself.

3. Time to go out for a walk. You won't even notice the hailstorm.

4. No, we're not taking you to the vet. We're just going for a little ride in the car.

5. Stop complaining. Your doggy basket is every bit as comfy as our bed.

6. Must be your imagination. Who'd mix in vegetables with your dinner? Vitamins? Where'd you get the silly idea you have doggy vitamins hidden in your food?

7. An old sock is just as good a birthday present as an expensive dog toy from the pet shop.

8. It's exactly the same as before; your dog pillow didn't shrink in the wash.

9. I'm sure some beast didn't come into our yard during the night and steal your favorite squeaky toy. Don't worry - we'll find it.

10. What a beautiful doggy sweater Grandma knitted for you. I'm sure you'll be proud to wear it around the neighborhood.

11. Your new haircut looks even to me.

No need to count calories in Athens

Face it, it's easy to lose weight when you make your home in Athens, Greece. It can't be avoided. After you've huffed and puffed your way up to the Acropolis a couple of times, you've dropped at least three pounds.

Greeks love application forms and you get the benefit of shedding calories filling out forms for various authorities. You've completed paperwork for your residence permit and then hiked back there six months later for a renewal. You've been a regular on the work permit treadmill ever since your arrival - after finding out which address to go to. It took you two months to locate the right agency, the right building, the right department, the right desk. By the time you signed on the dotted line, not only were you entwined in red tape but you'd dropped another five pounds.

Every expatriate falls into a routine. Yours, every Friday morning since moving to the Greek capital, has been to dash over to the post office to ask if any post boxes are available yet.

The answer is always, “No. Try again later,” followed by a don't-take-it-personally shrug.

One Friday you find the post office door shut. They're on strike, the sign informs you. OK, no problem, you power-walk to your office, maintaining your cool. The work day seems endless, but finally you're set free for the weekend

You open the door to your apartment, knowing a home-cooked dinner will boost your spirits. You try to switch on the light and discover the electricity is out. Again. Forget coffee. Forget frying the lamb chops or boiling the potatoes. Another couple of pounds gone.

You amuse yourself Saturday morning by mingling with the tourists, examining the piles of rocks and rubble of the various archaeological sites around the city. As you clock in block after block, kilometer after kilometer, the inches are sliding off your thighs. The city buses are overflowing and taxis won't even slow down for red lights. You have to hike.

You're being treated to an average of 13.5 hours of sunshine every day in the Greek capital. Ouch! The sunburn keeps you awake. You pace around your bedroom and the calories continue to melt away the rest of the weekend.

When Monday arrives, you're groggy from lack of sleep. Stopping by the post office on your lunch break, you're surprised to finally be handed the key to your new post office box. Congratulations, they only kept you waiting seven months. Must be your lucky day.

You test your good fortune. After work you decide to do banking. Maybe they've finally set up the automatic debit for your telephone bill that you applied for weeks ago. The bank is not exactly a hop, skip and a jump away, but you go for it.

Oddly, you find the door locked. No sign either. A kindly passerby tells you they're striking. Does anything in this city function? You're an intelligent expat, so you don't blow your cool. With the agility of an Olympic hopeful, down the steps to the subway you fly. Exactly 341 steps, you've verified it many times. No pain, no gain.

Your jeans are starting to feel too large for your frame. You must have dropped half-a-dozen pounds just the past week. Your legs ache as if you're competing in a marathon, but still you must shop for dinner. You go into 14 grocery stores to locate the few six items on your list. One shop is sold out of butter, another has no tomatoes. In another they seem to have nothing at all. You're burning calories faster than you can possibly replace them. Your jeans start to inch their way downward.

Face it, none of your clothes fit properly anymore. By the time you raise your glass of ouzo to celebrate your first anniversary of living in Athens, you'll be half the woman you were when you arrived.