Happy "Festival Of Enormous Changes At The Last Minute and National Bicarbonate Of Soda Day." So tators, make a list of all things you want to change in 2009, (NOTE: You know you will try real hard the first month, and then start to slack off as February rolls around; we all do it; it's only human), next chug a soda (NOTE: May I suggest a frosty, refreshing Cherry Coke Zero; yummy!), and then think of some totally hilarious, and laugh so the soda shoots out of your nose and pours all over your list.
Well, tators, I hope you had a fabu Christmas, mine was very, very, interesting. As I reported in my last post; poor Carl-E threw his back out. Because his knee is not 100%, well it is not even 50%, he walks all catywhompus. So, trying to get ready for a day at the daily grind, his back went, "POP!" But being the trooper he is and a die-hard boss, he braved the pain and went to work anyway, only to come home a few hours later to lay in bed with his laptop and Blackbetty. God forbid he is not connected!
SO...
It is 4am on Tuesday, and Carl-E is trying to convince me that he can go to Florida for Christmas. Let me use my magic brush and paint the picture...
He is stilling in the living room chair with both legs sticking straight out in front of him, so that he appears to be a Ken doll that cannot bend at the hips; in other words he looks like a cadaver which rigamortis has set in. The grimace look on his face is not making me believe one word that was coming from his mouth. But, to give him props, he was really trying to convince me he was ok to travel.
However...
I was so not buying it! I put my wife foot down and said, "We are not going anywhere; we will stay here!" So, Christmas was put on hold until Carl-E's back is better. We had a nice day; I made duck and roasted eggplant. It was very yummy!
Now...
Let's talk about New Years resolutions. Normally, I do not make any, because if I fail, I'll be sad. And, nothing sucks more than being sad. But, this year is different. Because Carl-E and I had way too much extra time this holiday season due to Christmas being post-phone, he talked me into making a list. So, here it is; laugh away:
- I will be kinder to Mother Earth. I got a jump on this already. I purchased this adorable flower-print tote that folds into a tiny little square, and then slips into its own carrying case to I keep in my bigger LV tote, so I do not have to waste store bags! Also, I have a bizillon Publix re-usable bags, because every time I go and I am short by just one because I leave one at home, I buy a new one so I am not the only person in the store that gets the hairy eyeball from the rest of the shoppers because I am using the only plastic bag to carry out Carl-E's Special K waffles.
- I will recycle more. Nothing will go in my trash if it can be recycled. Even if this means I have to take out Carl-E using the straight arm or by sweeping his bad leg while he tries to toss out yet another Gator Aid bottle. I swear he bathes in that stuff; he drinks so much!
- I will sell more on Ebay. Hey, if I have not sported it in a year, why waste the space? I'll make extra cash and get more threads to fill the empty space!
- I will continue my exercise regiment. This is really not for me, but for Carl-E. If I do not exercise, I become nastier than a sale person at Neiman Marcus who would not locate for the mate of the adorable Fendi flat that I wanted to buy!
- I will try to save more money. Oh Hell, that's not going to happen especially with all those LV bags needing loving and caring homes.
With that tators, rock on!
Happy New Year and all that jazz!
"So the scissor leg; touch your heal, touch your toes!"
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Dec 23: Festivus for the rest of us!
Happy "Roots Day!" So, if you gots them dark roots a-rockin', break out the bleach and hit them bad boys! Sportin dark roots are so 1990's.
Wait a minute, maybe "Roots Day" isn't about hair, could it be about heritage?
Well, if that's the case, dig deep into your family closet and see what little goodies you discover, and then when you see your fam for Christmas, you use these little nuggets to really get the conversation going after everyone as dipped into the olde eggnog!
Oh the holidays...
Speaking of which...
Yesterday, I ventured to, WAL-MART! Now, all my life I have never lived closer than 5 miles from a Wal-Mart. And this, tators was totally by design. I love me some Target, but the Big W scares me. Maybe it is because the super stores are way too super; as in big. And, they sell too many things; no focus like Louis Vuitton. Well, what ever the fear, I try to stay far, far,away. The last time I stepped my Tory Burch clad size 6 foot in a Wal-Mart was to apply for funding for AARF (NOTE: AARF is a wonderful animal rescue here in Hot-Lanta that I volunteer for). Now, because I am a giving person, I did not mind doing it for AARF, but for my family it is a totally different story.
So...
The ride to Wal-Mart should of taken, oh 15 minutes tops. But, since it is Hot-Lanta, it took 3x's as long, because it makes perfect sense to turn a two lane road into one lane to do work in the middle of the day. So, I whip into the almost full-to-capacity parking lot, and bee line for the front door. With the agility and spped of a jungle cat, a grab a shopping cart, and start gliding down the aisles, grabbing wrapping paper, Coke Zero, cat food and toys (NOTE: The babies needed a gift for their stockins), and dish detergent. Lastly, I grab two gift cards, which was the subject of my Wal-Mart mission.
And then...
I get in line, take out my eco-friendly tote bag (NOTE: Because I am all about savin' the Earth) to put my treasures in, hand the cashier my two gift cards and say, "$50 each please." Well, after oh 10,000 tries, the cashier informs me that the cards are defective (NOTE: Well, duh!). Out of all the friggin' cards in the whole mega-store, I pick the two; the two that do not work.
Now...
I bet even you can feel the heat from the peepers of the people in line behind me. I tired to exudes holiday cheer and smile my mega-watt too-much-beer-grin, but my friendliness was returned by frowns! Can you believe?! Now, the line is growing longer, the manager has to void my whole transaction, take everything out of my pretty tote, re-ring everything, get two new gift cards, and re-pack everything. From start to finish, I was at the register for 20 minutes! I knew as I left, people were wishing I would get it by a car on the way to my ride.
Well...
You might be asking, "Why did you have to get the gift cards?" Well, they are gifts for Helen Ellen and my monster-in-law (NOTE: We also got Helen Ellen Chanel #5, and I think I'll refer to my monster-in-law as "Sponge-Cindy-No-Cash," because she is constantly sucking bank for me). And, I had to get the cards before we left for O-Town, which was supposed to be this morning at 8am.
Let's talk about that...
Well, Carl-E threw his back out. Pop!goes his knee! Pop!goes his back! Pop!my brain! He can barley stand, let alone sit. So, Christmas is on hold, until...
I feel so bad for him.
Maybe I'll spritz on some Chanel #5 and go on a shopin spree at the Big-W, since all my Christmas gifts are at Helen Ellen's casa.
And then, maybe NOT!
Ho, ho, ho, everyone!
"Snap for the kids, snap for the kids, snap in a circle three times!"
Festivus
n. An alternative to the crass commercialization of Christmas, typically celebrated on December 23. It involves The Airing of Grievances (telling your family and friends all the ways they have disappointed you during the year) and does not end until the Feats of Strength (pinning the head of the family) are accomplished. A plain, metal pole is used in lieu of a Christmas tree, because decorations (such as tinsel) is distracting from the true meaning of the holiday.
A Festivus for the rest of us! -George Costanza
Wait a minute, maybe "Roots Day" isn't about hair, could it be about heritage?
Well, if that's the case, dig deep into your family closet and see what little goodies you discover, and then when you see your fam for Christmas, you use these little nuggets to really get the conversation going after everyone as dipped into the olde eggnog!
Oh the holidays...
Speaking of which...
Yesterday, I ventured to, WAL-MART! Now, all my life I have never lived closer than 5 miles from a Wal-Mart. And this, tators was totally by design. I love me some Target, but the Big W scares me. Maybe it is because the super stores are way too super; as in big. And, they sell too many things; no focus like Louis Vuitton. Well, what ever the fear, I try to stay far, far,away. The last time I stepped my Tory Burch clad size 6 foot in a Wal-Mart was to apply for funding for AARF (NOTE: AARF is a wonderful animal rescue here in Hot-Lanta that I volunteer for). Now, because I am a giving person, I did not mind doing it for AARF, but for my family it is a totally different story.
So...
The ride to Wal-Mart should of taken, oh 15 minutes tops. But, since it is Hot-Lanta, it took 3x's as long, because it makes perfect sense to turn a two lane road into one lane to do work in the middle of the day. So, I whip into the almost full-to-capacity parking lot, and bee line for the front door. With the agility and spped of a jungle cat, a grab a shopping cart, and start gliding down the aisles, grabbing wrapping paper, Coke Zero, cat food and toys (NOTE: The babies needed a gift for their stockins), and dish detergent. Lastly, I grab two gift cards, which was the subject of my Wal-Mart mission.
And then...
I get in line, take out my eco-friendly tote bag (NOTE: Because I am all about savin' the Earth) to put my treasures in, hand the cashier my two gift cards and say, "$50 each please." Well, after oh 10,000 tries, the cashier informs me that the cards are defective (NOTE: Well, duh!). Out of all the friggin' cards in the whole mega-store, I pick the two; the two that do not work.
Now...
I bet even you can feel the heat from the peepers of the people in line behind me. I tired to exudes holiday cheer and smile my mega-watt too-much-beer-grin, but my friendliness was returned by frowns! Can you believe?! Now, the line is growing longer, the manager has to void my whole transaction, take everything out of my pretty tote, re-ring everything, get two new gift cards, and re-pack everything. From start to finish, I was at the register for 20 minutes! I knew as I left, people were wishing I would get it by a car on the way to my ride.
Well...
You might be asking, "Why did you have to get the gift cards?" Well, they are gifts for Helen Ellen and my monster-in-law (NOTE: We also got Helen Ellen Chanel #5, and I think I'll refer to my monster-in-law as "Sponge-Cindy-No-Cash," because she is constantly sucking bank for me). And, I had to get the cards before we left for O-Town, which was supposed to be this morning at 8am.
Let's talk about that...
Well, Carl-E threw his back out. Pop!goes his knee! Pop!goes his back! Pop!my brain! He can barley stand, let alone sit. So, Christmas is on hold, until...
I feel so bad for him.
Maybe I'll spritz on some Chanel #5 and go on a shopin spree at the Big-W, since all my Christmas gifts are at Helen Ellen's casa.
And then, maybe NOT!
Ho, ho, ho, everyone!
"Snap for the kids, snap for the kids, snap in a circle three times!"
Festivus
n. An alternative to the crass commercialization of Christmas, typically celebrated on December 23. It involves The Airing of Grievances (telling your family and friends all the ways they have disappointed you during the year) and does not end until the Feats of Strength (pinning the head of the family) are accomplished. A plain, metal pole is used in lieu of a Christmas tree, because decorations (such as tinsel) is distracting from the true meaning of the holiday.
A Festivus for the rest of us! -George Costanza
Friday, December 19, 2008
December 19: Perfect Gift???
Happy "National Oatmeal Muffin Day" tators! Now, I prefer an oatmeal cookie to an oatmeal muffin, but I prefer an oatmeal muffin to a muffin top. So, if you have any articles of clothing that create the slightest of mini-muffs, make it part of your New Year's resolutions and burn them babies, and go shoppin' for some new threads!
So, now that 2008 is almost to a close, let's slam the door on this bee-otch with a B-A-N-G!
Well...
Carl-E was guilted by Helen Ellen for us to take a vay-cay to the rockin' town of Bradenton. Now, I was not prepared for this journey, because Carl-E and I made a discussion way back in the day that we would stay in Hot-Lanta. So, when my other half dumped this bomb on me, let's say that I was not as happy as when I got my last LV!
Anywho...
Here it last Saturday, I have no list of Carl-E's wants for Ho-Ho Day, a trip to get ready for, and a really bad broken nail! OOCHY! But, rather than wallow in my sorrow or hold a private pity parade, I sprung into Wonder Woman mode.
1) I called the pet sitter, and begged her to take care of my babies. Because my kitties are the best in the universe, she could not refuse the opportunity to spend precious moments with them
2) I told Carl-E that if I did not get a list of wants by Sunday night, he would get a swift kick in the knee (NOTE: It's still swollen; poor baby!)
3) I got on line, and ordered The Honey Baked Ham and Carl-E's fav; the cheese cake sampler, wrote a list for my mother-in-law of other items I would need to whip up a Christmas feasty, signed a check to cover the costs, and dropped it in the mail to her
Come Monday...
I had all of Carl-E's gifts ordered and shipped to Helen Ellen's, and I thought I could kick back and chill the rest of the week.
Oh, but hellz no!
Monday evening, my beloved tells me that he needs gifts for his managers. And not just any gift, but a very specific gift; a wood case with wine implements, such as a cork screw, stoppers, etc. He wants 4 of the same and he needs them by...
WEDNESDAY!
The journey begins...
Tuesday I get up, cancel my pedi, go for a quick 10k, and then embark on my quest for Carl-E's perfect gift. So, I travel to a speciality store where I found lots of goodies pour moi, but not the goody that Carl-E wanted. So, I jumped back in the auto, and traveled to another store. Guess what? NADA! The next one; close but no cigar. The one after that; zilch! I began to think that Carl-E's gift was a myth, like anti-aging cream (NOTE: I know that we all want to believe that it really exists, but there is no such thing Virgina!)
Finally...
Three hours later,10 stores, and my spirits dampened; I locate the holy grail of corporate gifts at my last stop. There it was on the shelf, gleaming under the halogen lights; my foul language wails of desperation were answered! I was approached by a large but friendly store manager, who asked me if I needed help. I smiled a very large grin, and I pointed to the magical box, and said, "I'll take four of those, please!"
And then...
He said, "Sorry, that's my last one." My world suddenly crashed around my Burberry wellies, and this must of shown my face, because the manager-guy asked me if I was ok. Choking back a waterfall of tears, with hands flying, and speaking extremely fast, I blurted out my tale of woe. I know I looked totally pitiful, because he said to me, "Look I can give you this set (NOTE: Which was 20 greenbacks more) for the cost of the one you wanted." I was so elated, that I jumped up and down and clapped my hands like a total fool.
Never the less...
I came through once again for my man. I so rock, because that's how I roll, homey!
Have a fabu Christmas, Chaunukka, Kwanzaa, and every other winter holiday!
Loves ya!
So, now that 2008 is almost to a close, let's slam the door on this bee-otch with a B-A-N-G!
Well...
Carl-E was guilted by Helen Ellen for us to take a vay-cay to the rockin' town of Bradenton. Now, I was not prepared for this journey, because Carl-E and I made a discussion way back in the day that we would stay in Hot-Lanta. So, when my other half dumped this bomb on me, let's say that I was not as happy as when I got my last LV!
Anywho...
Here it last Saturday, I have no list of Carl-E's wants for Ho-Ho Day, a trip to get ready for, and a really bad broken nail! OOCHY! But, rather than wallow in my sorrow or hold a private pity parade, I sprung into Wonder Woman mode.
1) I called the pet sitter, and begged her to take care of my babies. Because my kitties are the best in the universe, she could not refuse the opportunity to spend precious moments with them
2) I told Carl-E that if I did not get a list of wants by Sunday night, he would get a swift kick in the knee (NOTE: It's still swollen; poor baby!)
3) I got on line, and ordered The Honey Baked Ham and Carl-E's fav; the cheese cake sampler, wrote a list for my mother-in-law of other items I would need to whip up a Christmas feasty, signed a check to cover the costs, and dropped it in the mail to her
Come Monday...
I had all of Carl-E's gifts ordered and shipped to Helen Ellen's, and I thought I could kick back and chill the rest of the week.
Oh, but hellz no!
Monday evening, my beloved tells me that he needs gifts for his managers. And not just any gift, but a very specific gift; a wood case with wine implements, such as a cork screw, stoppers, etc. He wants 4 of the same and he needs them by...
WEDNESDAY!
The journey begins...
Tuesday I get up, cancel my pedi, go for a quick 10k, and then embark on my quest for Carl-E's perfect gift. So, I travel to a speciality store where I found lots of goodies pour moi, but not the goody that Carl-E wanted. So, I jumped back in the auto, and traveled to another store. Guess what? NADA! The next one; close but no cigar. The one after that; zilch! I began to think that Carl-E's gift was a myth, like anti-aging cream (NOTE: I know that we all want to believe that it really exists, but there is no such thing Virgina!)
Finally...
Three hours later,10 stores, and my spirits dampened; I locate the holy grail of corporate gifts at my last stop. There it was on the shelf, gleaming under the halogen lights; my foul language wails of desperation were answered! I was approached by a large but friendly store manager, who asked me if I needed help. I smiled a very large grin, and I pointed to the magical box, and said, "I'll take four of those, please!"
And then...
He said, "Sorry, that's my last one." My world suddenly crashed around my Burberry wellies, and this must of shown my face, because the manager-guy asked me if I was ok. Choking back a waterfall of tears, with hands flying, and speaking extremely fast, I blurted out my tale of woe. I know I looked totally pitiful, because he said to me, "Look I can give you this set (NOTE: Which was 20 greenbacks more) for the cost of the one you wanted." I was so elated, that I jumped up and down and clapped my hands like a total fool.
Never the less...
I came through once again for my man. I so rock, because that's how I roll, homey!
Have a fabu Christmas, Chaunukka, Kwanzaa, and every other winter holiday!
Loves ya!
Friday, December 12, 2008
December 12: I could not make this stuff up! PART DEUX
Ok, tators!
Drum role please.......
78 mags!
The fav......
"Inches"
Dates.....
1990-1999
Boy, someone liked to get their freak on!
Drum role please.......
78 mags!
The fav......
"Inches"
Dates.....
1990-1999
Boy, someone liked to get their freak on!
December 12: I could not make this stuff up!
Ok, tators here is one for ya!
Let's back up a few days; no pushin' or shovin' in the time machine!
Ready! Set! Go!
Wednesday, the whole Atlantic ocean fell over Hot-lanta. And then on Thursday, the Gulf of Mexico.
O-Tay, back to the present...
Now when it rains, my basement gets water in it; not too much. So, today I decied to venture down and see what the elements did to my basement (NOTE: I also had to put away the climbing equipment that has been sitting on the laundry room counter since Carl-E got his boo-boo).
Well...
I descend into the basement and see more water than usual. Trying to find the source, I begin moving the extra table leaf, the plastic bins that contain God's know what, and Carl-E's numerous toolboxes that contain tools that I use more than him (NOTE: No; I am not bitter aboutt hat). As I was placing the toolboxes on the work table (NOTE: Where they belong!), I noticed a piece of paper curled up in the rafters. Of course curiosity got the better of me; I went back upstairs, got the step stool terrifying Godiva in the process (NOTE: She has an unnatural fear of it), went back down stairs, and proceed to pull it loose.
Well, guess what it was...
PORN! And not Playboy porn, but naked men pron. I had to chuckle because I instantly thougth that the previous owner who was an old Buckhead Betty, named Betty Bee (NOTE: No lie, that is what she went by) stashed them for a little-look-see when the hubby was out. But, then I noticed it was not for women, it was for men! So, maybe Mr. Betty-Bee played for the other team while she was having a bake sale at Peachtree Pres! Now it is total soft-core, men just displaying their junk with bad 90's hair cuts and that come hither look. Personally, I think the guy on the back is the biggest hoot; denim vest and total Magnum PI stash!
However...
Upon further inspection, there are more. So, many more are shoved in this space I cannot pull them out. I am dying to get them out to see what else is stashed up there.
And the icing on the cake...
Today is "National Ding-A-Ling Day!"
I cannot make this sh#$t up!
Check ya on the flip side, homey!
PS I discovered H&M; totally dangerous!
Let's back up a few days; no pushin' or shovin' in the time machine!
Ready! Set! Go!
Wednesday, the whole Atlantic ocean fell over Hot-lanta. And then on Thursday, the Gulf of Mexico.
O-Tay, back to the present...
Now when it rains, my basement gets water in it; not too much. So, today I decied to venture down and see what the elements did to my basement (NOTE: I also had to put away the climbing equipment that has been sitting on the laundry room counter since Carl-E got his boo-boo).
Well...
I descend into the basement and see more water than usual. Trying to find the source, I begin moving the extra table leaf, the plastic bins that contain God's know what, and Carl-E's numerous toolboxes that contain tools that I use more than him (NOTE: No; I am not bitter aboutt hat). As I was placing the toolboxes on the work table (NOTE: Where they belong!), I noticed a piece of paper curled up in the rafters. Of course curiosity got the better of me; I went back upstairs, got the step stool terrifying Godiva in the process (NOTE: She has an unnatural fear of it), went back down stairs, and proceed to pull it loose.
Well, guess what it was...
PORN! And not Playboy porn, but naked men pron. I had to chuckle because I instantly thougth that the previous owner who was an old Buckhead Betty, named Betty Bee (NOTE: No lie, that is what she went by) stashed them for a little-look-see when the hubby was out. But, then I noticed it was not for women, it was for men! So, maybe Mr. Betty-Bee played for the other team while she was having a bake sale at Peachtree Pres! Now it is total soft-core, men just displaying their junk with bad 90's hair cuts and that come hither look. Personally, I think the guy on the back is the biggest hoot; denim vest and total Magnum PI stash!
However...
Upon further inspection, there are more. So, many more are shoved in this space I cannot pull them out. I am dying to get them out to see what else is stashed up there.
And the icing on the cake...
Today is "National Ding-A-Ling Day!"
I cannot make this sh#$t up!
Check ya on the flip side, homey!
PS I discovered H&M; totally dangerous!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
December 10: And then there was light...
Happy or not-so-happy "Festival For The Souls Of Dead Whales." It depends if your the half glass full or half empty kind of person. So, put on your kamiks, white bearskin trousers, fox parka, roast some bear in your igloo, and do the dance of the mighty whale. I am not sure how it goes, but I would imagine it would look like the "Mashed Potato" or maybe the "Tootsie Roll."
So drink 'em if you got 'em for the might gentle giant of our vast oceans, the whale. Bottoms up!
Anywho...
So, I get home after running to find my house back in the 1700's; no electricity. What do you think the first thing I do is?
Try to turn on computer; duh!
Well...
I got to thinking, "When was the last time I went without electricity?" Well, it was 2 years ago in Tanzania. For 9 days on the mountain, we had not one kilowatt. (NOTE: Except for our headlamps, but they do not count because they are teeny-tiny and necessary to walk on a 19000 ft mountain in the dark) It was so nice, no phone ring-a-dingin, Carl-E spending time with moi not his mistress; Black Betty, and an excuse not to dry my hair (NOTE: Well, I could not wash it either, but that's neither here nor here).
Let's proceed...
So, when the lights came back on I decided to make a list of things I could not do without electricity and it brought both frown and a grin to my face:
- I could not flat iron my mane; I would have to live with a funky flip on the right-side of my head that drives me batty or wear a pony tail until my last breath
- I could not zap my java to get it to the proper consumption temperature after I forget about it for 5 hours after put it down on the counter to finish the laundry
- Hold the phone; I could not do the laundry because my Whirlpool would not go swishy and wishy; How would I solve the problem of icky-icky-poo clothing?; Bring it to the dry cleaners and let them deal with Carl-E's socks!
- I could not peruse my fav cyber shops, because I would have no internet, because I would have no cable, which means I have not DVR to record "Rock of Love: Charm School" (NOTE: What an inhumane cycle of torture!)
- My home phone would not ring; no more robocalls trying to sell me the sun, moon, stars, and a new water softener system that will help save me bank by using less soap in my laundry, but wait; I do not have to do the laundry anymore! (NOTE: I would still have my cell, but I can charge it in my car, see how I figured that one out!)
- My jacuzzi would not work; no more being able to un-knot my knotted back, guess I have to use the one at the pool with the naked ladies; ewwwww!
- I could not keep food in the refrigerator; oh well I guess it is either canned soup for an evening meal or dinner out! (NOTE: I'm in the mood for some bar-b-que!)
So, is electricity necessary?; "Hellz-to-the-ya!" The convinces outweigh the inconveniences more than the all the bail outs combined, and then times by 10. So, bring on the power I need to buy some shoes!
"Eye'z gotta bizounce!"
Lata tators!
Robocall
A prerecorded call that is sent to hundreds or thousands of telephone numbers. An automatic dialing computer goes through a targeted list of phone numbers.
So drink 'em if you got 'em for the might gentle giant of our vast oceans, the whale. Bottoms up!
Anywho...
So, I get home after running to find my house back in the 1700's; no electricity. What do you think the first thing I do is?
Try to turn on computer; duh!
Well...
I got to thinking, "When was the last time I went without electricity?" Well, it was 2 years ago in Tanzania. For 9 days on the mountain, we had not one kilowatt. (NOTE: Except for our headlamps, but they do not count because they are teeny-tiny and necessary to walk on a 19000 ft mountain in the dark) It was so nice, no phone ring-a-dingin, Carl-E spending time with moi not his mistress; Black Betty, and an excuse not to dry my hair (NOTE: Well, I could not wash it either, but that's neither here nor here).
Let's proceed...
So, when the lights came back on I decided to make a list of things I could not do without electricity and it brought both frown and a grin to my face:
- I could not flat iron my mane; I would have to live with a funky flip on the right-side of my head that drives me batty or wear a pony tail until my last breath
- I could not zap my java to get it to the proper consumption temperature after I forget about it for 5 hours after put it down on the counter to finish the laundry
- Hold the phone; I could not do the laundry because my Whirlpool would not go swishy and wishy; How would I solve the problem of icky-icky-poo clothing?; Bring it to the dry cleaners and let them deal with Carl-E's socks!
- I could not peruse my fav cyber shops, because I would have no internet, because I would have no cable, which means I have not DVR to record "Rock of Love: Charm School" (NOTE: What an inhumane cycle of torture!)
- My home phone would not ring; no more robocalls trying to sell me the sun, moon, stars, and a new water softener system that will help save me bank by using less soap in my laundry, but wait; I do not have to do the laundry anymore! (NOTE: I would still have my cell, but I can charge it in my car, see how I figured that one out!)
- My jacuzzi would not work; no more being able to un-knot my knotted back, guess I have to use the one at the pool with the naked ladies; ewwwww!
- I could not keep food in the refrigerator; oh well I guess it is either canned soup for an evening meal or dinner out! (NOTE: I'm in the mood for some bar-b-que!)
So, is electricity necessary?; "Hellz-to-the-ya!" The convinces outweigh the inconveniences more than the all the bail outs combined, and then times by 10. So, bring on the power I need to buy some shoes!
"Eye'z gotta bizounce!"
Lata tators!
Robocall
A prerecorded call that is sent to hundreds or thousands of telephone numbers. An automatic dialing computer goes through a targeted list of phone numbers.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
December 3: Only 22 more days until Chirstmas!!
Happy "National Roof-Over-Your-Head Day" Tatros. And the way the economy is going, we should enjoy that extra layer of protection while it lasts! If you have any leaks in your roof, well to put it bluntly "You're screwed!" Better start looking to live with a relative, oh like your Mother-in-Law. Lord help me if that ever happens! I rather stick hot pokers in my eyes, or be forced to shop at Wal-Mart for my wardrobe for the rest of my existence on this orb!
Well, I do not know where November went, but before I knew it, "Poof" it was bye-bye, gone, no-more! So, Carl-E (NOTE: HIs swelling is going down and he is back at his office; happy,happy;joy;joy!) asked me "What do you want for Christmas?" Well, duh, of course I would love a new neoprene LV. The colors are smokin'; naughty-lady hot pink and bright-n-happy tangerine with the logo lovingly imprinted on the fabric. And, I would be totally stylin' when I sport it with my wetsuit on the shores of the Great Barrier Reef. Well, that's when I finally get my diving certification (NOTE: February is the ETA).
Anywho...
Carl-E said, "No Way Jose!" (NOTE: He did not say "Jose" because he does not speak the Espanol, he actually said, "You do not need anymore LV's!") He said we are havin' a low-key Christmas; we have to be econnoisseurs. So, he set the budget for each of us, and I agreed. Now, I can keep in a budget, it's just that the items I would ask for do not fall exist in that budget universe. They reside in the luxury galaxy. After thinking, "What's a girl to do?" I decided to have a "Beauty Christmas!"
Now that your curiosity is peaked...
As a woman, I need the product parade in my bathroom. Mascara for my fluttery lashes, shampoo and conditioner for my glossy tresses, cream to keep my porcelain skin smooth and supple, (NOTE: I do not use La Mer; Philosophy does this girl just fine!), and my signature scent to keep them guessing, "What is she wearing?"
So...
I starting surfing the web to print out my needs (NOTE: This is how the Gillerts do their Christmas lists; we print out our desires, put them in a file folder, hand it over, and when Christmas comes, you do not know what items you'll get, but you will get things you want. It's genius; it was my idea!) I selected make-up, creams, shampoos, brushes, and threw in a pair of Tory Burch shoes just incase Carl-E wants to go over budget for his wonderful wife. I just might sneak in that LV for shee-ites and giggles!
Bye Bye Chicken Pie!
econnoisseur
One who insists on the highest quality at the lowest price.
Being an econnoisseur I bought the ten dollar chilean wine instead of the fifty dollar french.
Econnoisseur
One who insists on the highest quality at the lowest price.
Being an econnoisseur I bought the ten dollar chilean wine instead of the fifty dollar french.
Well, I do not know where November went, but before I knew it, "Poof" it was bye-bye, gone, no-more! So, Carl-E (NOTE: HIs swelling is going down and he is back at his office; happy,happy;joy;joy!) asked me "What do you want for Christmas?" Well, duh, of course I would love a new neoprene LV. The colors are smokin'; naughty-lady hot pink and bright-n-happy tangerine with the logo lovingly imprinted on the fabric. And, I would be totally stylin' when I sport it with my wetsuit on the shores of the Great Barrier Reef. Well, that's when I finally get my diving certification (NOTE: February is the ETA).
Anywho...
Carl-E said, "No Way Jose!" (NOTE: He did not say "Jose" because he does not speak the Espanol, he actually said, "You do not need anymore LV's!") He said we are havin' a low-key Christmas; we have to be econnoisseurs. So, he set the budget for each of us, and I agreed. Now, I can keep in a budget, it's just that the items I would ask for do not fall exist in that budget universe. They reside in the luxury galaxy. After thinking, "What's a girl to do?" I decided to have a "Beauty Christmas!"
Now that your curiosity is peaked...
As a woman, I need the product parade in my bathroom. Mascara for my fluttery lashes, shampoo and conditioner for my glossy tresses, cream to keep my porcelain skin smooth and supple, (NOTE: I do not use La Mer; Philosophy does this girl just fine!), and my signature scent to keep them guessing, "What is she wearing?"
So...
I starting surfing the web to print out my needs (NOTE: This is how the Gillerts do their Christmas lists; we print out our desires, put them in a file folder, hand it over, and when Christmas comes, you do not know what items you'll get, but you will get things you want. It's genius; it was my idea!) I selected make-up, creams, shampoos, brushes, and threw in a pair of Tory Burch shoes just incase Carl-E wants to go over budget for his wonderful wife. I just might sneak in that LV for shee-ites and giggles!
Bye Bye Chicken Pie!
econnoisseur
One who insists on the highest quality at the lowest price.
Being an econnoisseur I bought the ten dollar chilean wine instead of the fifty dollar french.
Econnoisseur
One who insists on the highest quality at the lowest price.
Being an econnoisseur I bought the ten dollar chilean wine instead of the fifty dollar french.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
November 25: Thanks and No Thanks!
Happy "National Parfait" day. It feels like decades, since I had a parfait. Does anyone even make them anymore, or has the sundae won the survival of the ice cream fittest? Maybe it's the whipped cream that gives the sundae the upper hand? One can only hypothesize...
Update!
Carl-E is not broke; yippy! This morning, we took a field trip to the Orthopedic doctor's office. The doc gave him the thumbs up and told him to to try to run in four weeks. I am so happy that I do not have to return Carl-E to the husband store. But, if I did have to return him, thank goodness he broke before the ten year warranty is up! (NOTE: My expires in May). I really do not want to train another husband; it is so draining!
Anywho...
While waiting to see the doctor, they was a VERY LOUD CELL PHONE TALKER. I now know more about her life than I do some of my family memebers. Let me share with my newly aquired knowledge with you:
- She is loaning her home to a friend to Thanksgiving (NOTE: Why, I do not know), and the friend's parents are sleeping in her bed for Thanksgiving
- She is lending out table linens to a different friends, because the friend does not have enough to set all her tables
- Her daugther is going through the application process of being excepted to summer camp, and she hopes that she gets in so she does not cry about it
- One of the Tunner (as in Ted) offspring did not grow up in a "green" house as she claims in a magazine article
- Another Tunner used to steal her ballet slippers when she was a girl
- She attend private school with the Tunner kids
- Her best friend appeared in local magazine and to her it appears her BFF was photo shopped, because she looks to "glowy"
- Two of her friends are algeric to morphine
- She is going to Dubai with her husband and another couple, and after a week the husbands are leaving and her and then friends get to play for a week
- She had her nails done because she could not stand the sight of her hands
Do not now feel complete?! Tonight you shall sleep like a baby and dream of unicorns frolicking in an enchanted forest while fairies sprinkling magical fairy dust, and gnomes play the pan flute.
Now, tators I hope you have a fabu Thanksgiving. Here a few things that I am thankful for; they are not the obvious, such as family, friends (NOTE: I am terrible thankfull for all of you), because I feel that the little things get taken advantage of. So, here is my 411:
- Advil
- Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back"
- Flat iron
- Gel ink pens
- Dryer sheets
- Fabreeze
- Cadbury cream eggs
- Coke Zero
- The color pink
- Rhinestones
- Stickers
- Bendy straws
- Plastic
- Lint rollers
- Flannel
- Prescription meds
- Adult beverages
AND...
LV!
And, that's how I roll!
Update!
Carl-E is not broke; yippy! This morning, we took a field trip to the Orthopedic doctor's office. The doc gave him the thumbs up and told him to to try to run in four weeks. I am so happy that I do not have to return Carl-E to the husband store. But, if I did have to return him, thank goodness he broke before the ten year warranty is up! (NOTE: My expires in May). I really do not want to train another husband; it is so draining!
Anywho...
While waiting to see the doctor, they was a VERY LOUD CELL PHONE TALKER. I now know more about her life than I do some of my family memebers. Let me share with my newly aquired knowledge with you:
- She is loaning her home to a friend to Thanksgiving (NOTE: Why, I do not know), and the friend's parents are sleeping in her bed for Thanksgiving
- She is lending out table linens to a different friends, because the friend does not have enough to set all her tables
- Her daugther is going through the application process of being excepted to summer camp, and she hopes that she gets in so she does not cry about it
- One of the Tunner (as in Ted) offspring did not grow up in a "green" house as she claims in a magazine article
- Another Tunner used to steal her ballet slippers when she was a girl
- She attend private school with the Tunner kids
- Her best friend appeared in local magazine and to her it appears her BFF was photo shopped, because she looks to "glowy"
- Two of her friends are algeric to morphine
- She is going to Dubai with her husband and another couple, and after a week the husbands are leaving and her and then friends get to play for a week
- She had her nails done because she could not stand the sight of her hands
Do not now feel complete?! Tonight you shall sleep like a baby and dream of unicorns frolicking in an enchanted forest while fairies sprinkling magical fairy dust, and gnomes play the pan flute.
Now, tators I hope you have a fabu Thanksgiving. Here a few things that I am thankful for; they are not the obvious, such as family, friends (NOTE: I am terrible thankfull for all of you), because I feel that the little things get taken advantage of. So, here is my 411:
- Advil
- Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back"
- Flat iron
- Gel ink pens
- Dryer sheets
- Fabreeze
- Cadbury cream eggs
- Coke Zero
- The color pink
- Rhinestones
- Stickers
- Bendy straws
- Plastic
- Lint rollers
- Flannel
- Prescription meds
- Adult beverages
AND...
LV!
And, that's how I roll!
Monday, November 24, 2008
November 24: Pop Goes Carl-E!
Happy "Use Even If Seal Is Broken" day, tators! So, take that risk and dig in! Life ain't worth living if you do not live it on the edge!
Well, tators my husband is not the man of steal, I thought he was and this was proven this weekend.
So, let's dive right in, shall we?!
As many of you know, Carl-E and I rock climb both the plastic man-made walls that will never ever disintegrate and inhabit our landfills long after we are dust, and the natural walls so artistically sculpted by Mother Nature's own delicate hand. This weekend, Carl-E and I packed the x5 and headed to Tennessee to climb. We were so ecstatic because we were going to climb for a whole weekend. Last time we were scheduled to climb a whole weekend, Margerine decided to stay, oh an extra 6 days and that plan was shot to H-E-double hockey sticks!
Anywho...
It was colder than a witch's boobie, and the first route was murderous. The rock was frozen, as in ice, ice, baby! Now, when you climb, gloves are a "No! No!" because you need to feel the rock. But, I was not feeling much because my fingers were frozen like yummy-in-your-tummy cream sickles. Now, if this was how the day was going to go, I was not going to be a willing participant! Our guide must of sensed my displeasure (Note: Or, it could of been the fact that I kept repeating how I could not feel anything below my wrists!)
So...
We moved to a wall that was in the glorious sunshine! It was still cold (NOTE: It was only 32 out), but no where near as sub-zero as the other wall. We commenced to climb, and I did quiet well, I must say. We were on our next to last route; a real bee-otch! It has a really hard start and a dozy of a 20 foot vertical crack. I tried, but the wall kicked my Jersey tush! I went about 3/4 quarters of the way up the crack and ran out of go-go juice. Carl-E was next.
The light is near...
So, Carl-E is struggling to get past the first 15 feet of the wall. The start of this route is as mean as a pack of 13 year-old girls. At one part you have to stem the wall; in tator terms: Imagine, if you will, a corner were two sides of a wall meet, you put one leg on side of the wall, and straddle the other leg to the other side of the wall, so you look like you are doing a split. Now, Carl-E is not that flexible, and stemming is not on his list of fav things to do. But, tators I tell you I was so impressed with his stemming. I had never seen him so flexible, and then Carl-E fell like Humpty Dumpty!
Almost to the end...
When we lowered him down, Carl-E was yelling that he broke his leg. "Oh S*&T!" I was thinking. But then, we realized that his popped his knee out. It looked like someone put a grapefruit under his skin! Our guide popped it back in. Now, Carl-E is on couch duty for a week, and we cannot go to Helen Ellen's for Turkey day.
Well, I did not really want to go to her house, so if I look on the bright side of things, now I do not have to; YIPPY!
Whistle while you twork!
And, I out!
Oh, for thoes of you that will be consuming large amount of food with family that you loath more than the OBGYN, please do not get PRE-WASTED.
Pre-wasted:
Attempting to just have a couple drinks in the spirit of simply preparing one's self for a possible uncomfortable situation, but instead getting completely tankedbefore even leaving for your in-laws.
Well, tators my husband is not the man of steal, I thought he was and this was proven this weekend.
So, let's dive right in, shall we?!
As many of you know, Carl-E and I rock climb both the plastic man-made walls that will never ever disintegrate and inhabit our landfills long after we are dust, and the natural walls so artistically sculpted by Mother Nature's own delicate hand. This weekend, Carl-E and I packed the x5 and headed to Tennessee to climb. We were so ecstatic because we were going to climb for a whole weekend. Last time we were scheduled to climb a whole weekend, Margerine decided to stay, oh an extra 6 days and that plan was shot to H-E-double hockey sticks!
Anywho...
It was colder than a witch's boobie, and the first route was murderous. The rock was frozen, as in ice, ice, baby! Now, when you climb, gloves are a "No! No!" because you need to feel the rock. But, I was not feeling much because my fingers were frozen like yummy-in-your-tummy cream sickles. Now, if this was how the day was going to go, I was not going to be a willing participant! Our guide must of sensed my displeasure (Note: Or, it could of been the fact that I kept repeating how I could not feel anything below my wrists!)
So...
We moved to a wall that was in the glorious sunshine! It was still cold (NOTE: It was only 32 out), but no where near as sub-zero as the other wall. We commenced to climb, and I did quiet well, I must say. We were on our next to last route; a real bee-otch! It has a really hard start and a dozy of a 20 foot vertical crack. I tried, but the wall kicked my Jersey tush! I went about 3/4 quarters of the way up the crack and ran out of go-go juice. Carl-E was next.
The light is near...
So, Carl-E is struggling to get past the first 15 feet of the wall. The start of this route is as mean as a pack of 13 year-old girls. At one part you have to stem the wall; in tator terms: Imagine, if you will, a corner were two sides of a wall meet, you put one leg on side of the wall, and straddle the other leg to the other side of the wall, so you look like you are doing a split. Now, Carl-E is not that flexible, and stemming is not on his list of fav things to do. But, tators I tell you I was so impressed with his stemming. I had never seen him so flexible, and then Carl-E fell like Humpty Dumpty!
Almost to the end...
When we lowered him down, Carl-E was yelling that he broke his leg. "Oh S*&T!" I was thinking. But then, we realized that his popped his knee out. It looked like someone put a grapefruit under his skin! Our guide popped it back in. Now, Carl-E is on couch duty for a week, and we cannot go to Helen Ellen's for Turkey day.
Well, I did not really want to go to her house, so if I look on the bright side of things, now I do not have to; YIPPY!
Whistle while you twork!
And, I out!
Oh, for thoes of you that will be consuming large amount of food with family that you loath more than the OBGYN, please do not get PRE-WASTED.
Pre-wasted:
Attempting to just have a couple drinks in the spirit of simply preparing one's self for a possible uncomfortable situation, but instead getting completely tankedbefore even leaving for your in-laws.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
November 18: Lint 2
Greetings from the icebox that is my humble abode, tators! I am typing furiously to keep the blood flowing in my on the verge of frost bite fingers. I am about to go into my dirt cellar and break our my rated 0 degree down parka; it is that m-f'in cold. It is almost too cold to be cute! Can you beleive?!
Well, today is national Occult Day. So, burn some black candles, draw a pentagram on your floor, and put on some Sioux and the Banshees and do a little demonic dance! (NOTE: Please forgo the token animal, virgin, or small child sacrifice; it can be a bit too messy!)
Let's travel on...
Well, I have fabu news! After search the internet feveriously, combing throw page after page of Google results, I located Astrid! This is bigger than the finding the terra cotta warriers, King Tut's tomb, the holy grail, and Davey Jone's locker, all wrapped up and presented with a big, pink, organiza bow under my bed! Astrid is every thing and more. She is 7" tall of spotted fierceness, and comes with a bad ass jammy to put a cap in a poacher's ass! I L-O-V-E HER!
Speakin' of the boy king, King Tut...
I went to the King Tut exhibition today with one of my work-out partners. It was so phenomenal. But, I need to tell you about our greeter. He was by far, the hit of the exhibition.
So let me paint you a picture...
When you enter the exhibition, you enter a dimly lit room that has three flat screen tvs. Now, we went early, so it was only two of us in this vast room. Actually, I felt just a tad bit awkward standing in the middle of this large empty room. While waiting for the video, I began to do the uncomfortable weight shifting from leg to leg dance (NOTE: I know, you know which dance I am talking about!).
However...
Before the video began, a young man emerged from a dark corner, raised his arms in front of him in a "Welcome my friends" fashion. A spot light clicked on and illuminated his, big Kool-Aid grin face, and then he belted out, "Welcome ladies, to King Tut!" I almost expect for the sound of voices to sing that angelic/heavenly canned movie music, "Ahh Ahh Ah!" This guy was so into it, I would of swore he was going to slip in to a Shakespearean dialog from "Macbeth" or maybe a Abba tune from "Mama Mia" complete with jazz hands! He continue his dialog with his bright, gleaming choppers. When he finished, I wanted to do a golf clap, and let him bow. He was magnificent. I can imagine him practicing his form over and over again in his mirror! He had to be an out-of-work actor, because he performed as if his Oscar nomination was totally weighing on this one run through.
On the other side...
I swam today. Everyone was inside, oh because outside it was Antarctica cold (NOTE: Ya know opposite of Africa hot!). Now, I have no problem swimming in a group, but the "Lady" does. I knew there would be drama. However, your chickie sucked it up and decided that I would be a "the glass is half-full" gal and not let her ruin my workout with her bitching and moaning. After our warm up, and first exercise, we had to start our laps. There were four of us in the lane (NOTE: One of the people was Carl-E, but he has not graduated to a full work out; basically we all ignored him while we did our laps; poor Carl-e he's too slow!).
Anywho...
Let's call him "Dad;" he was our fearless leader. Next, was Lady, then your dime, and turtle Carl-E. Dad took off, then lady, and then me. Within a few second I was at her feet. Now, I know that I said I would be sugar, spice, and everything nice, but I could not resist; I hit her foot. And guess what? She went faster! Next time I caught up to her, I hit her foot again, and away she went. After the first 200, she was huffing and puffing and complaining about how she could not breath. Dad ignored her whining, and away he went to start the second 200.
Well...
Half way through the second 200, Dad fell short of breath, so he began to walk the lap rather than swim. Well, Lady stopped, causing me to stop, and Carl-E was way back lost in our dust. I ask her what was wrong, and she tares into a tizzy about how Dad cut the lane, was not a good leader, too many people were inside, blah, blah, blah. I just stood there while she ran her mouth. Finally I said, "Are we going to swim or stand?" And with that, she took off. Let's just say for the rest of the workout, I kept hitting her foot and kept her tush in motion!
Do an old school dance!
Catch you on the flip side!
Jammy
A gun; old school term
Well, today is national Occult Day. So, burn some black candles, draw a pentagram on your floor, and put on some Sioux and the Banshees and do a little demonic dance! (NOTE: Please forgo the token animal, virgin, or small child sacrifice; it can be a bit too messy!)
Let's travel on...
Well, I have fabu news! After search the internet feveriously, combing throw page after page of Google results, I located Astrid! This is bigger than the finding the terra cotta warriers, King Tut's tomb, the holy grail, and Davey Jone's locker, all wrapped up and presented with a big, pink, organiza bow under my bed! Astrid is every thing and more. She is 7" tall of spotted fierceness, and comes with a bad ass jammy to put a cap in a poacher's ass! I L-O-V-E HER!
Speakin' of the boy king, King Tut...
I went to the King Tut exhibition today with one of my work-out partners. It was so phenomenal. But, I need to tell you about our greeter. He was by far, the hit of the exhibition.
So let me paint you a picture...
When you enter the exhibition, you enter a dimly lit room that has three flat screen tvs. Now, we went early, so it was only two of us in this vast room. Actually, I felt just a tad bit awkward standing in the middle of this large empty room. While waiting for the video, I began to do the uncomfortable weight shifting from leg to leg dance (NOTE: I know, you know which dance I am talking about!).
However...
Before the video began, a young man emerged from a dark corner, raised his arms in front of him in a "Welcome my friends" fashion. A spot light clicked on and illuminated his, big Kool-Aid grin face, and then he belted out, "Welcome ladies, to King Tut!" I almost expect for the sound of voices to sing that angelic/heavenly canned movie music, "Ahh Ahh Ah!" This guy was so into it, I would of swore he was going to slip in to a Shakespearean dialog from "Macbeth" or maybe a Abba tune from "Mama Mia" complete with jazz hands! He continue his dialog with his bright, gleaming choppers. When he finished, I wanted to do a golf clap, and let him bow. He was magnificent. I can imagine him practicing his form over and over again in his mirror! He had to be an out-of-work actor, because he performed as if his Oscar nomination was totally weighing on this one run through.
On the other side...
I swam today. Everyone was inside, oh because outside it was Antarctica cold (NOTE: Ya know opposite of Africa hot!). Now, I have no problem swimming in a group, but the "Lady" does. I knew there would be drama. However, your chickie sucked it up and decided that I would be a "the glass is half-full" gal and not let her ruin my workout with her bitching and moaning. After our warm up, and first exercise, we had to start our laps. There were four of us in the lane (NOTE: One of the people was Carl-E, but he has not graduated to a full work out; basically we all ignored him while we did our laps; poor Carl-e he's too slow!).
Anywho...
Let's call him "Dad;" he was our fearless leader. Next, was Lady, then your dime, and turtle Carl-E. Dad took off, then lady, and then me. Within a few second I was at her feet. Now, I know that I said I would be sugar, spice, and everything nice, but I could not resist; I hit her foot. And guess what? She went faster! Next time I caught up to her, I hit her foot again, and away she went. After the first 200, she was huffing and puffing and complaining about how she could not breath. Dad ignored her whining, and away he went to start the second 200.
Well...
Half way through the second 200, Dad fell short of breath, so he began to walk the lap rather than swim. Well, Lady stopped, causing me to stop, and Carl-E was way back lost in our dust. I ask her what was wrong, and she tares into a tizzy about how Dad cut the lane, was not a good leader, too many people were inside, blah, blah, blah. I just stood there while she ran her mouth. Finally I said, "Are we going to swim or stand?" And with that, she took off. Let's just say for the rest of the workout, I kept hitting her foot and kept her tush in motion!
Do an old school dance!
Catch you on the flip side!
Jammy
A gun; old school term
Saturday, November 15, 2008
November 15: Observin' The Mating Ritual
Happy "National Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day," Tators! However, because I have to yet again conquer the laundry monster that has taken up residence by my Whirlpool washing machine, I cannot observe this day. But, since Carl-E will not, positively, absolutely, anytime, anywhere consume a left-over, my fridge is pretty much empty, except for Parmesan cheese, ketchup, chocolate chip low-fat cookies, six pack of Fosters, and a bag of spinach.
So...
Thursday evening, Carl-E and I attended a casual semi-work related function at a local cigar bar. I was very excited, since I had a hankering for a favored martini and I was jonesin' to got out and be social. When we arrived, the place was jumpin'. There were all shapes and sizes of cubical dwellers. We met up with some of Carl-E's employees, and began to chat it up.
Well...
About an hour in to the night, and one and half pear-berry yummy martinis, I was approached by this chickie. She grabs my arm, and whispers to me in her loudest, beer infused voice possible, "My friends want to meet your cute friends." Upon inspection and observation, I really doubt that her eyes were naturally crossed, and that she spoke with a slight slur. Or, maybe she was dropped on her head several times as an infant, your guess is as good as mine.
Anywho...
She was nice enough despite being a way too close talker, so I agreed to introduce everyone; except for Carl-E (NOTE: I explained in my best nice-Jersey girl wearing a large gleaming smile, that Carl-E was my boo and that if any ho' tried to spit game at him, they would get bee-otched slapped like a step-child) She got the hint VERY clear.
Next...
While everyone is conversing, I get pulled from the group by the drunk girl. She yells at me, "I need to talk to you, follow me." Before I could protest, she grabs my hand and, we go to the Ladies' room. She shuts the door (NOTE: It was one of those one-at-a-time jobs). Now that there is no noise, she whispered in a barely audible voice, "This guy came up to me and said, 'I think we would have great sex.' What should I do?" I quickly came back with , "Well, is he hot?" She replied, "No." To this I shared my infinite wisdom, "Then there is no problem." It was like light bulb clicked, she glared at me with those glassy, crossed-eyes and whispered, "You're so right!" and with that, she dropped trou and proceeded to pee. How do I get myself into these situations?
After...
My confereance in the WC, I returned to my table. Not even five minutes back, when I feel myself being jerked towards the door by guess who. "OK," she slurred with just the right touch of spittle, "You see that guy over there" I think she was pointing at the skinny guy, in the very bad brown siut, but she kept wabbling and her finger kept moving like she was having an internal earthquake, "He stuck his tounge down in my mouth last week, now he thinks we are going home together." Once again, I let my knowledge flow from my mouth like sweet spring water, "Just tell him, 'So sorry, but no go.'" "You are so right!" she said, and took off in seach of a cigeratte.
I...
walked back inside and Carl-E said, "I see you made a new friend." And just as I was about to answer, there she was agin. This time she leaned over and yelled in my ear while pointing her beer at one of Carl-E's employees friends, "What his deal?" I just smiled, turned to the frind, and inquired, "What's your deal?" To this he answered, "I am not dating anyone serious." I turned back to her and said, "There you go!" Sometimes the direct approach is the best way to get the job done! They conversed, exchanged numbers, and from what I understand, they have a date; I think.
Now it is reflextion time...
Because Carl-E is the boss, we do not hang like we used to on Fridays. We used to go for happy hour every Friday, drink gallons of beer, and by the end of the night we would wind up at a club dancing until dawn. Oh the good times! But, as Carl-E moved up the corporate ladder, Friday happy hours became less and less because, well you cannot hang with the staff, because they would lose their healthy natural fear of their boss-man!
Because of this phnomenom, I totaly forgot how hard buisness people par-they! They are couped up in their cubes all week, crunchin' numbers, staring at a computer screen trying to sneak a peak at their Facebook page, eating bad microwavable food that has been in the communal fridge for over a year, consuming large amount of caffeine to stay awake (NOTE: We do have this in common), being yelled at by a guy that calls you, "Sweetie" because he does not even know your real name, meeting deadlines that cannot be met because everything is due last week, and trying to catch the Fed Ex man to get the color, spiral bound, 250+ page proposal to Canada by 6am the next morning. When they finally are freed; they go ape-shee-ite! I am extremely surprised that no one got on the table and began to shake their money makers! So, if you want to watch the mating rituals of the so-called white-collared, find a cigar bar, order a lip lickin' martini, sit back, and the fizzed up corporate-types. It is a total hoot!
It is so worth it!
And I am past my ETA!
Fizzed Up
When someone has gone extremely over the limits on alcohol.
So...
Thursday evening, Carl-E and I attended a casual semi-work related function at a local cigar bar. I was very excited, since I had a hankering for a favored martini and I was jonesin' to got out and be social. When we arrived, the place was jumpin'. There were all shapes and sizes of cubical dwellers. We met up with some of Carl-E's employees, and began to chat it up.
Well...
About an hour in to the night, and one and half pear-berry yummy martinis, I was approached by this chickie. She grabs my arm, and whispers to me in her loudest, beer infused voice possible, "My friends want to meet your cute friends." Upon inspection and observation, I really doubt that her eyes were naturally crossed, and that she spoke with a slight slur. Or, maybe she was dropped on her head several times as an infant, your guess is as good as mine.
Anywho...
She was nice enough despite being a way too close talker, so I agreed to introduce everyone; except for Carl-E (NOTE: I explained in my best nice-Jersey girl wearing a large gleaming smile, that Carl-E was my boo and that if any ho' tried to spit game at him, they would get bee-otched slapped like a step-child) She got the hint VERY clear.
Next...
While everyone is conversing, I get pulled from the group by the drunk girl. She yells at me, "I need to talk to you, follow me." Before I could protest, she grabs my hand and, we go to the Ladies' room. She shuts the door (NOTE: It was one of those one-at-a-time jobs). Now that there is no noise, she whispered in a barely audible voice, "This guy came up to me and said, 'I think we would have great sex.' What should I do?" I quickly came back with , "Well, is he hot?" She replied, "No." To this I shared my infinite wisdom, "Then there is no problem." It was like light bulb clicked, she glared at me with those glassy, crossed-eyes and whispered, "You're so right!" and with that, she dropped trou and proceeded to pee. How do I get myself into these situations?
After...
My confereance in the WC, I returned to my table. Not even five minutes back, when I feel myself being jerked towards the door by guess who. "OK," she slurred with just the right touch of spittle, "You see that guy over there" I think she was pointing at the skinny guy, in the very bad brown siut, but she kept wabbling and her finger kept moving like she was having an internal earthquake, "He stuck his tounge down in my mouth last week, now he thinks we are going home together." Once again, I let my knowledge flow from my mouth like sweet spring water, "Just tell him, 'So sorry, but no go.'" "You are so right!" she said, and took off in seach of a cigeratte.
I...
walked back inside and Carl-E said, "I see you made a new friend." And just as I was about to answer, there she was agin. This time she leaned over and yelled in my ear while pointing her beer at one of Carl-E's employees friends, "What his deal?" I just smiled, turned to the frind, and inquired, "What's your deal?" To this he answered, "I am not dating anyone serious." I turned back to her and said, "There you go!" Sometimes the direct approach is the best way to get the job done! They conversed, exchanged numbers, and from what I understand, they have a date; I think.
Now it is reflextion time...
Because Carl-E is the boss, we do not hang like we used to on Fridays. We used to go for happy hour every Friday, drink gallons of beer, and by the end of the night we would wind up at a club dancing until dawn. Oh the good times! But, as Carl-E moved up the corporate ladder, Friday happy hours became less and less because, well you cannot hang with the staff, because they would lose their healthy natural fear of their boss-man!
Because of this phnomenom, I totaly forgot how hard buisness people par-they! They are couped up in their cubes all week, crunchin' numbers, staring at a computer screen trying to sneak a peak at their Facebook page, eating bad microwavable food that has been in the communal fridge for over a year, consuming large amount of caffeine to stay awake (NOTE: We do have this in common), being yelled at by a guy that calls you, "Sweetie" because he does not even know your real name, meeting deadlines that cannot be met because everything is due last week, and trying to catch the Fed Ex man to get the color, spiral bound, 250+ page proposal to Canada by 6am the next morning. When they finally are freed; they go ape-shee-ite! I am extremely surprised that no one got on the table and began to shake their money makers! So, if you want to watch the mating rituals of the so-called white-collared, find a cigar bar, order a lip lickin' martini, sit back, and the fizzed up corporate-types. It is a total hoot!
It is so worth it!
And I am past my ETA!
Fizzed Up
When someone has gone extremely over the limits on alcohol.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Nov 11: The Human Maze!
Good afternoon, tators! I am happy to inform you that today is the first day in probably about, oh forever that I feel human again. I had the sniffly/achy/icky/just plain dog tired sickness. This rare but highly contagious virus comes from the perfect combination of; lack of sleep, too many activities, and nada downtime.
Today is Veteran's Day; please take a moment to remember our troops; both past and present.
Anywho...
Yesterday, while in my funk, I decided to venture out of my casa to Ikea. Now, I have never embarked on this journey to the land of Ikea. "Why?", you may ask, because I heard many horrific rumors of people never returning from the depths of Ikea. One that still haunts me is the one about a whole Brazilian tour group getting lost for days despite their leader waving the national flag, in the human maze constructive of self put-together, press-board, furniture and sleek, Swedish knick-knacks in the Ikea Orlando store. Despite this tale, I decided to push the vicious rumors aside, put on my brave face and venture into the Ikea-unknown. I mean, hell I have climb two of the seven summits, how bad could it be? To ready myself, I charged my cell phone, made sure I had a bottle of Coke Zero, a Zone bar, and told Carl-E where I was going just incase he did not hear from me by 9pm.
Why did I go to Ikea???
I finally moved into my office/studio space, and I needed a desk chair. Most of the office desk chairs that one finds at the office supply store are way too big. They are made for like people over 5' 2" which I am so not; not even on a hot day where my bones stretch and wearing my Christian Loubuton wedges. Ikea chairs are designed for small spaces; hence small people like moi.
So...
I pull into the massive parking garage, that is the size of the Grand Canyon, and follow the yellow "Entrance" signs. After walking 4 miles thinking the entrance was just around every corner, only to be physced out by just another "This Way" sign, and going up an escalator, I finally reached the "true" entrance. Waiting for me was a cheery young lady, dressed in a sunny yellow shirt that said, "Ikea" in navy blue block letter. "Welcome to Ikea; can I help you?" I told the her what I was looking for, and she pointed and said, "Right through there are the office chairs." Now, I was feeling very confident that I would find my chair, and check out lickity-split. Just like Dorothy followed the yellow birck road in the "Wizard of Oz", I followed the yellow arrows painted on the floor to the office chairs. Just for fun, I grabed a map, and away I went. However, just as I tok the first turn, I could of swore I heard an evil cackle come from the direction of that "nice" young lady.
Well...
After walking for over 30 minutes, I finally found the office section. But let's back up...
During the first part of my journey, I was so happy that this was butta, that I started to skip, hum a happy little Ludacris ditty, and gaze at all the cute little home set-ups. However, the displays never ended, and then I began to notice the other shoppers. They seemed zombie like. Their eyes were as big as saucers, blood-shot, had dark cicles, and their mouths hung slack. I swear I saw a woman drooling on herself as if she spotted the last limited mirror addition LV. Despite these sights, I pressed on while gulping my Coke Zero for an extra rush of caffeine goodness. However, the deeper I traveled into the deep, dank, dimly lit caverns of Ikea, fear began to gain on me. However, I had a mission, I had to get a pleather and plastic Swedish engineered, rolling, adjustable, chair!
Finally...
When I reached the chairs, the selection was too big. There were mesh backed chairs, chairs with and without arms, pink, blue, red, patterned chairs, rolling and non-rolling, and all different prices. I began to try out the chairs, only to become more confused; Did I want to recline? Did I need arms? Did I want to be able to roll around? The pressure was getting to me! Finally, I decided on a nice wheely, chair with arms and faux leather.
But...
I did not know where to get my chair. I looked for a sale person, but conveniently they were no where to be found (NOTE: I think they were behind the mirrors that are really-two taking pleasure in my bewilderment). Using my woman's intuition, I figured out I had to write down the number off the tag (NOTE: See Dad, all those years of college finally paid off!). Now, I had to find the way out. I followed the signs, and followed the signs, adn then found a sign that said "Short Cut To Check OUt." I decided against my better judgment to follow this sign. Well, tators your girl wound up right back where she started. I had to got through the whole maze AGAIN!
After a 1/2 an hour...
I finally made it to the area where I picked up my chair. Now, I had to get out of Ikea. After two elevator trips (NOTE: It should of been 1 but I missed my stop), and walking another 14,000 miles, I found my Beemer. as I drove out of the parking garage, I swore that the next time I dare to venture into Ikea, I need to know exactly what I want, get the number, and head for the exit, otherwise I may become the next Ikea missing-person legend.
I gots to bounce!
Today is Veteran's Day; please take a moment to remember our troops; both past and present.
Anywho...
Yesterday, while in my funk, I decided to venture out of my casa to Ikea. Now, I have never embarked on this journey to the land of Ikea. "Why?", you may ask, because I heard many horrific rumors of people never returning from the depths of Ikea. One that still haunts me is the one about a whole Brazilian tour group getting lost for days despite their leader waving the national flag, in the human maze constructive of self put-together, press-board, furniture and sleek, Swedish knick-knacks in the Ikea Orlando store. Despite this tale, I decided to push the vicious rumors aside, put on my brave face and venture into the Ikea-unknown. I mean, hell I have climb two of the seven summits, how bad could it be? To ready myself, I charged my cell phone, made sure I had a bottle of Coke Zero, a Zone bar, and told Carl-E where I was going just incase he did not hear from me by 9pm.
Why did I go to Ikea???
I finally moved into my office/studio space, and I needed a desk chair. Most of the office desk chairs that one finds at the office supply store are way too big. They are made for like people over 5' 2" which I am so not; not even on a hot day where my bones stretch and wearing my Christian Loubuton wedges. Ikea chairs are designed for small spaces; hence small people like moi.
So...
I pull into the massive parking garage, that is the size of the Grand Canyon, and follow the yellow "Entrance" signs. After walking 4 miles thinking the entrance was just around every corner, only to be physced out by just another "This Way" sign, and going up an escalator, I finally reached the "true" entrance. Waiting for me was a cheery young lady, dressed in a sunny yellow shirt that said, "Ikea" in navy blue block letter. "Welcome to Ikea; can I help you?" I told the her what I was looking for, and she pointed and said, "Right through there are the office chairs." Now, I was feeling very confident that I would find my chair, and check out lickity-split. Just like Dorothy followed the yellow birck road in the "Wizard of Oz", I followed the yellow arrows painted on the floor to the office chairs. Just for fun, I grabed a map, and away I went. However, just as I tok the first turn, I could of swore I heard an evil cackle come from the direction of that "nice" young lady.
Well...
After walking for over 30 minutes, I finally found the office section. But let's back up...
During the first part of my journey, I was so happy that this was butta, that I started to skip, hum a happy little Ludacris ditty, and gaze at all the cute little home set-ups. However, the displays never ended, and then I began to notice the other shoppers. They seemed zombie like. Their eyes were as big as saucers, blood-shot, had dark cicles, and their mouths hung slack. I swear I saw a woman drooling on herself as if she spotted the last limited mirror addition LV. Despite these sights, I pressed on while gulping my Coke Zero for an extra rush of caffeine goodness. However, the deeper I traveled into the deep, dank, dimly lit caverns of Ikea, fear began to gain on me. However, I had a mission, I had to get a pleather and plastic Swedish engineered, rolling, adjustable, chair!
Finally...
When I reached the chairs, the selection was too big. There were mesh backed chairs, chairs with and without arms, pink, blue, red, patterned chairs, rolling and non-rolling, and all different prices. I began to try out the chairs, only to become more confused; Did I want to recline? Did I need arms? Did I want to be able to roll around? The pressure was getting to me! Finally, I decided on a nice wheely, chair with arms and faux leather.
But...
I did not know where to get my chair. I looked for a sale person, but conveniently they were no where to be found (NOTE: I think they were behind the mirrors that are really-two taking pleasure in my bewilderment). Using my woman's intuition, I figured out I had to write down the number off the tag (NOTE: See Dad, all those years of college finally paid off!). Now, I had to find the way out. I followed the signs, and followed the signs, adn then found a sign that said "Short Cut To Check OUt." I decided against my better judgment to follow this sign. Well, tators your girl wound up right back where she started. I had to got through the whole maze AGAIN!
After a 1/2 an hour...
I finally made it to the area where I picked up my chair. Now, I had to get out of Ikea. After two elevator trips (NOTE: It should of been 1 but I missed my stop), and walking another 14,000 miles, I found my Beemer. as I drove out of the parking garage, I swore that the next time I dare to venture into Ikea, I need to know exactly what I want, get the number, and head for the exit, otherwise I may become the next Ikea missing-person legend.
I gots to bounce!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
November 4: OMG! I forgot
I know that many of you are either getting ready to pop the Crystal like a total P-I-M-P, biting your nails to the quick like a nerdy girl at a homecoming dance waiting desperately to be asked to dance, stuffin' your Sealy Posture Pedic with your Benjamins, because your bank with dwindle down to zero, doin' the happy dance, not the "Runnin'Man" around your tv, or just chillin' like a stone cold villin'.
I totally forgot to tell you what national day it was yesterday. Tators; your girl has been under pressure. Carl-E wants me to run for school board; can you believe?! I am dealing with bone-head contractors that cannot even install a ground wire; duh! And like some, this election is looming over my head like Hot-Lanta smog in August while I am consuming multiple adult beverages called "New Castle."
Anywho...
November 3 was...
Sandwich Day and Housewife's Day
My deepest apologies to all the housewife's for not recognizing their day. I genuflect in your glory to multi-task without breakin' a sweat, and bow to your Kitchen Aid mixer that aids you in creating the most yummy of surgery confections.
As far as sandwich day; not a big fan. I prefer salad day!
November 4 is...
Waiting For The Barbarians Day
Foreshadowing; hummmmm!
November 5 is...
Gunpowder Day
Just let your imagination run wild while you run through the fields of poppies!
G2G!
Me!
G2G
got to go
I totally forgot to tell you what national day it was yesterday. Tators; your girl has been under pressure. Carl-E wants me to run for school board; can you believe?! I am dealing with bone-head contractors that cannot even install a ground wire; duh! And like some, this election is looming over my head like Hot-Lanta smog in August while I am consuming multiple adult beverages called "New Castle."
Anywho...
November 3 was...
Sandwich Day and Housewife's Day
My deepest apologies to all the housewife's for not recognizing their day. I genuflect in your glory to multi-task without breakin' a sweat, and bow to your Kitchen Aid mixer that aids you in creating the most yummy of surgery confections.
As far as sandwich day; not a big fan. I prefer salad day!
November 4 is...
Waiting For The Barbarians Day
Foreshadowing; hummmmm!
November 5 is...
Gunpowder Day
Just let your imagination run wild while you run through the fields of poppies!
G2G!
Me!
G2G
got to go
Monday, November 3, 2008
November 3: New Month; New Obsession!
Happy Monday and welcome to November, tators! How many of you forgot to set your clocks back and got to somewhere way too early?! Not moi! Actually, I was up at 6am on a Sunday. Well, actually according to Carl-E it was really 7am, but it was 6am. All day long he would say things like, "It is 2pm, but it is really 3pm." By the time I went to la-la land I think it was 10pm or was it 9am...
Anywho...
It is Monday, and I know it is 8:37 am and I have a new obsession. Since the election is almost over; thank goodness! I need a new one! This new one costs a whole hella lot less coin than my LV infactuation, so my Carl-E should be doing the happy dance. When I shared with him my newest passion, he just shook his head and said I was loco.
Well, let me share with you...
As many of you know I loves me some Hello Kitty. She is sassy, loves pink, always looks fabu, and has the cutest friends (Note; just like my peeps; my tators!). However, I have a darkside; a gun-wieldin', mega-attitude, head-swivelin', teeth-suckin', eye-rollin', trash- talkin', Jersey girl. And to complete this side, I found I.W.G. "The Insurgents Wilderness Gruppo!"
These animals are so bad-to-the-ass! They are on the hunt to take out all poachers with missal launchers, traditional Japaneses swords (Hattori Hanzo Steel; no doubt!), AK-47's, boomerangs,and other kick-ass weapons of mass destruction. And not only do they go all Chuck Norris on all humans that do animals wrong, proceeds of the purchases of these enforcers goes to various animal organizations.
So...
Because I jumped on the I.W.G wagon late, I missed many cool figures. Now, I am on a quest for them. My fav is Astrid, a bad-mutha (Ooh! Shut your mouth!) of a big kitty; "Committed to recovering range lost to cattle ranchers and preventing rainforest destruction, Astrid often works alone in stalking and terminating human threats in her domain." She was one of the first, and very rare. I located her overseas, but I do not have the cha-ching to get her to the US of A. I have to save a bit; ya know times are tight!
If you feel the need to delve into my latest passion; check it out:
http://www.rocketworld.org/iwg/the_members.htm
Well, tomorrow night we will have a new President (NOTE: I know not really tomorrow night, but we know who will be takin' the reigns come 2-oh-oh-9!). Now when you are standing in line, if you did not take part in early voting or absentee balloting; bring a book, an IPod, phone, chaise lounge, blender, disco ball, and breath mints. Also, if you are single or just like to look; check out what's around ya! There might be some serious political hottie in your sights. Just do not get into any polical discussion because like Lit' Wayne said, "I'd rather be pushing flowers
Than to be in the penn sharing showers"
Latta tators!
chuck norris
v. to perform a totally cool and violent action, observable by peers
v. to judiciously kick a man, woman, child, or animal's ass
v. to maintain street credibility;
adj. for street cred
Did you see the way Stewart Chuck Norrised that fucking guy's neck? That's awesome.
Anywho...
It is Monday, and I know it is 8:37 am and I have a new obsession. Since the election is almost over; thank goodness! I need a new one! This new one costs a whole hella lot less coin than my LV infactuation, so my Carl-E should be doing the happy dance. When I shared with him my newest passion, he just shook his head and said I was loco.
Well, let me share with you...
As many of you know I loves me some Hello Kitty. She is sassy, loves pink, always looks fabu, and has the cutest friends (Note; just like my peeps; my tators!). However, I have a darkside; a gun-wieldin', mega-attitude, head-swivelin', teeth-suckin', eye-rollin', trash- talkin', Jersey girl. And to complete this side, I found I.W.G. "The Insurgents Wilderness Gruppo!"
These animals are so bad-to-the-ass! They are on the hunt to take out all poachers with missal launchers, traditional Japaneses swords (Hattori Hanzo Steel; no doubt!), AK-47's, boomerangs,and other kick-ass weapons of mass destruction. And not only do they go all Chuck Norris on all humans that do animals wrong, proceeds of the purchases of these enforcers goes to various animal organizations.
So...
Because I jumped on the I.W.G wagon late, I missed many cool figures. Now, I am on a quest for them. My fav is Astrid, a bad-mutha (Ooh! Shut your mouth!) of a big kitty; "Committed to recovering range lost to cattle ranchers and preventing rainforest destruction, Astrid often works alone in stalking and terminating human threats in her domain." She was one of the first, and very rare. I located her overseas, but I do not have the cha-ching to get her to the US of A. I have to save a bit; ya know times are tight!
If you feel the need to delve into my latest passion; check it out:
http://www.rocketworld.org/iwg/the_members.htm
Well, tomorrow night we will have a new President (NOTE: I know not really tomorrow night, but we know who will be takin' the reigns come 2-oh-oh-9!). Now when you are standing in line, if you did not take part in early voting or absentee balloting; bring a book, an IPod, phone, chaise lounge, blender, disco ball, and breath mints. Also, if you are single or just like to look; check out what's around ya! There might be some serious political hottie in your sights. Just do not get into any polical discussion because like Lit' Wayne said, "I'd rather be pushing flowers
Than to be in the penn sharing showers"
Latta tators!
chuck norris
v. to perform a totally cool and violent action, observable by peers
v. to judiciously kick a man, woman, child, or animal's ass
v. to maintain street credibility;
adj. for street cred
Did you see the way Stewart Chuck Norrised that fucking guy's neck? That's awesome.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
October 30: CPR, TLC, THC, ABC, 123...
Happy "National Candy Corn Day!" This is a day that I can celebrate until I puke, tators! I love me some candy corn; especially Brachs. It is made with really honey, ya know?!
It is the day before Halloween, and I am armed with almost 20, yes 20 bags of high-octain sugary snick-snacks for the princesses, ghosts, and tweens that should not be trick-or-treating (NOTE: The least they could do put on some sort of costume, or even clown make-up, not trick-or-treat in their uniforms!) . Last year I blew through 12 bags in 3 hours. Since, 'Ween falls on a Friday, 12 bags would probably get me through 1.5 hours. Carl-E said I need more, so it is off to Publix I go.
Anywho...
Your girl, that being me, passed her CPR class, yo! I am such asn Einsteinette! I got a 100% on my test; the only one mind you! I totally school it. Hey hate the game not the playa! I am so bomb-tastic! If you are having a coronary, chokin', or just want to be save, hit me on the hip!
Let's chat about the class...
My friend/trainer was the instructor-extraordinaire. There was supposed to be 8 of us, but three could not get off their lazy backsides to learn how to save a life (NOTE: I would not want to be around them if I had a heat attach, since they would not know how to fight their way out of a paper bag, let alone save my life!)
Anywho...
It was all females; including Annie. Speaking of Annie, she needs a fashion 911! The CPR method has been updated, but they left poor Annie back in the 70's. She is in need of a Juicy Couture-like tracksuit in a hip hue, such as a charcoal gray or deep plum, some cool sneakers; pumas maybe?, a hair color that does not make her look so shallow; maybe a light brown with caramel highlights and espresso lowlights, some eyelashes and blusher. That would so make her more appealing to suck face with for three hours.
Well...
There is Debbie, bless her heart, demoin' on washed out Annie, while one lady keeps askin' all sorts of questions (NOTE: I'll call her Drama Queen AKA Drama for short). Now, askin' questions is not stupid, but Drama was just not listening. Debbie would say something and then Drama would blurt out a question askin' the same thing. And then, as if Drama was fishin', actually she was fishin' for sympohy, she would say things like, "I am gonna fail," "I am never going to remember all this" blah, whine, blah, blah, whine, whine! In my mind, I was like, "Lady shut it and just pay attention! And if you blow it, oh well the person who needs help will probably be better off giving themselves CPR that you doin'it!"
Let's move on, so much more to indulge in...
As Drama was hostin' her "whoo-as-me" party, and the rest of us were forced to attend even though we did not receive one of thoes cute evites (Note: I would of defenitaly RSVP NO!), Debbie continued to conduct the class with the utmost graceful authority. We all had to take turns gettin' down and dirty with Annie. Now, the lady to my right, let's call her "Clueless" well, because she did not have a f&*$in' clue. Now, I do not know her on a personal level, but it was like she was attending her own class, in her own mind, perhaps a even in a differnt universe where fairies, unicorns, and gnomes live. When it was her turn to get to know Annie in the biblical sense, she did was so off I was wondering, "Is she afriad to kiss a girl?" Hey everyone has to try it atleast once, maybe twice, well...
Let's keep on walking...
After Clueless tried numerous times, she finally got the knack. Now Debbie brought out the AED (NOTE: I thought it stood for Aortic Electrical Device, but I was WRONG!) So, there is Debbie showing us how to use it, and I ask a question pertaining to moutain climbing, because I if Carl-E gets in trouble I want to atleast get him down the moutain, so I can have a body to show insurces so I can collect; chan-ching! (NOTE: I know that was horrible of me!) Now, Drama says, "Moutain climbers carry those phones, you know the world ones." I turn to her and say, "No, I am sorry not all do. And even if you do, they are not reliable." "Oh no..." Drama continues, "I saw it on TV; they all carry the phones." Now, by the looks of Drama, not only does she have less fashion sence than Annie, she has never climbed an ant hill, let alone a moutian. In my head, I pictured me taking my crampon and kickin her straight in the ass right down Everest.
We're walkin', walkin'...
So, it is test time. Debbie clearly says, "Do not write on the test." Yes, she does speak English, and very well. However, Clueless totally wrote the answers on the test; DUH! When Debbie asked who did it, oh it only took Clueless about 5 minutes to fess up. Debbie was a saint and deserves a gold star, high five, and a cool bookmark from the library.
"That ho's fine, but this ones a killa!" (Trivia question: What rap song is that line from?)
I gottas bounce!
Einsteinette
A nerdy ( intelligent ) female person.
That nerd, Vanessa is an Einsteinette
It is the day before Halloween, and I am armed with almost 20, yes 20 bags of high-octain sugary snick-snacks for the princesses, ghosts, and tweens that should not be trick-or-treating (NOTE: The least they could do put on some sort of costume, or even clown make-up, not trick-or-treat in their uniforms!) . Last year I blew through 12 bags in 3 hours. Since, 'Ween falls on a Friday, 12 bags would probably get me through 1.5 hours. Carl-E said I need more, so it is off to Publix I go.
Anywho...
Your girl, that being me, passed her CPR class, yo! I am such asn Einsteinette! I got a 100% on my test; the only one mind you! I totally school it. Hey hate the game not the playa! I am so bomb-tastic! If you are having a coronary, chokin', or just want to be save, hit me on the hip!
Let's chat about the class...
My friend/trainer was the instructor-extraordinaire. There was supposed to be 8 of us, but three could not get off their lazy backsides to learn how to save a life (NOTE: I would not want to be around them if I had a heat attach, since they would not know how to fight their way out of a paper bag, let alone save my life!)
Anywho...
It was all females; including Annie. Speaking of Annie, she needs a fashion 911! The CPR method has been updated, but they left poor Annie back in the 70's. She is in need of a Juicy Couture-like tracksuit in a hip hue, such as a charcoal gray or deep plum, some cool sneakers; pumas maybe?, a hair color that does not make her look so shallow; maybe a light brown with caramel highlights and espresso lowlights, some eyelashes and blusher. That would so make her more appealing to suck face with for three hours.
Well...
There is Debbie, bless her heart, demoin' on washed out Annie, while one lady keeps askin' all sorts of questions (NOTE: I'll call her Drama Queen AKA Drama for short). Now, askin' questions is not stupid, but Drama was just not listening. Debbie would say something and then Drama would blurt out a question askin' the same thing. And then, as if Drama was fishin', actually she was fishin' for sympohy, she would say things like, "I am gonna fail," "I am never going to remember all this" blah, whine, blah, blah, whine, whine! In my mind, I was like, "Lady shut it and just pay attention! And if you blow it, oh well the person who needs help will probably be better off giving themselves CPR that you doin'it!"
Let's move on, so much more to indulge in...
As Drama was hostin' her "whoo-as-me" party, and the rest of us were forced to attend even though we did not receive one of thoes cute evites (Note: I would of defenitaly RSVP NO!), Debbie continued to conduct the class with the utmost graceful authority. We all had to take turns gettin' down and dirty with Annie. Now, the lady to my right, let's call her "Clueless" well, because she did not have a f&*$in' clue. Now, I do not know her on a personal level, but it was like she was attending her own class, in her own mind, perhaps a even in a differnt universe where fairies, unicorns, and gnomes live. When it was her turn to get to know Annie in the biblical sense, she did was so off I was wondering, "Is she afriad to kiss a girl?" Hey everyone has to try it atleast once, maybe twice, well...
Let's keep on walking...
After Clueless tried numerous times, she finally got the knack. Now Debbie brought out the AED (NOTE: I thought it stood for Aortic Electrical Device, but I was WRONG!) So, there is Debbie showing us how to use it, and I ask a question pertaining to moutain climbing, because I if Carl-E gets in trouble I want to atleast get him down the moutain, so I can have a body to show insurces so I can collect; chan-ching! (NOTE: I know that was horrible of me!) Now, Drama says, "Moutain climbers carry those phones, you know the world ones." I turn to her and say, "No, I am sorry not all do. And even if you do, they are not reliable." "Oh no..." Drama continues, "I saw it on TV; they all carry the phones." Now, by the looks of Drama, not only does she have less fashion sence than Annie, she has never climbed an ant hill, let alone a moutian. In my head, I pictured me taking my crampon and kickin her straight in the ass right down Everest.
We're walkin', walkin'...
So, it is test time. Debbie clearly says, "Do not write on the test." Yes, she does speak English, and very well. However, Clueless totally wrote the answers on the test; DUH! When Debbie asked who did it, oh it only took Clueless about 5 minutes to fess up. Debbie was a saint and deserves a gold star, high five, and a cool bookmark from the library.
"That ho's fine, but this ones a killa!" (Trivia question: What rap song is that line from?)
I gottas bounce!
Einsteinette
A nerdy ( intelligent ) female person.
That nerd, Vanessa is an Einsteinette
Monday, October 27, 2008
October 27: The CP, baby; it's the bomb-diggy!
Happy national Sylvia Plath Day, Tators! This will be a new and fabulous addition to my blogs! I'll let you know what national day it is; sorry today's is so gloomy and doomy, but I do not make the days, I just provide them to expand your horizons (NOTE: That's the educator in me!)!
Anywho...
Let's get down on it! It is not a surprise to you that I do not have a "traditional" career. I work on my casa (NOTE: The backyard is coming along fantastic-a-licious!), volunteer for a fabu organization; AARF, run, climb, swim, and work out. In addition, I have to care for my babies, and that includes Carl-E. Despite the fact that Carl-E has not one, but dos assistants I still have to handle some of his scheduling, such as doctor's appointments, and coiffing sessions. Personally, I think these are better done by his right and left work-hands, because they know his daily-ins-and-outs better than I do.
So...
Evey week I have a routine. For example, Monday; I vacuum and mop the house (NOTE: I discovered the new Mr. Clean magic eraser mop; it kicks dirt's ass!), do numerous load of laundry, and make any appointments for Carl-E. I adore my structured days, it is the Virgo in me!
Well...
Last night as I am about to drift off to la-la land in my pink, flannel panda Nick and Nora jim-jams, Carl-E says, "What's on your agenda tomorrow?" Now, I hate the word "agenda." "Why does this little 6 letter bug her so?" you might be thinking. I'll tell you why! First of all, I am not Carl-E's employee, and the word "agenda" has that cold,cubical,every wall white,only Bic pens,business feel to it; B)The word "agdena" should only be resverd for meetings of the up-most importance and reverance; and 4) I am not his employee!
So...
I did not answer. Let me back up a smidge, Carl-E and I have discussed pertaining to my unbridled hatred for the word "agenda." But, he just does not get why it irritates me more than a wedgy when I am running (NOTE: I know too much info, but I really want you to know how beau coup it gets under my skin!). But, his memory to this discussion is like Teflon; everything I say just slides right off.
Let's move on...
So, he repeats himself again, and again I ignore him hoping that he will pick up on my non-verbal message or receive the numerious adult content words I am fliging at him with my mind. However, he is privy to either! Finally, I sit up and not say, not yell, but say through my teeth in a whisper, "I do not have an aganda!" (Note: When you receive the dreaded teeth-talking you know your ass is grass!) Because he cannot remember our last "agenda" discussion, he says, "What's your problem?!" That was the catalyst to laungh me into a 5 minute tirate about the coldness of the word "agrend"
Next...
Carl-E said, "What would you like for me to use?" With my back to him, as a hugged my pink-fuzzy body pillow while petting my pretty-pretty princess, Godiva, I told him to come up with something. After a very uncomfortable silence that was not bothering me because I was once again drifting off on the calm sea to sweet-dreams island, I was jolted by Carl-E yelling, "Carrieann Plate! That's what I'll call it, but I have one request, can I call it 'CP' for short?"
I agreed to "CP." It sounds so much more warm than "agenda!" My man came through; yippy-skippy!
Get crazy with the cheese whiz; tators!
I gotts to jet, hit me on the hip latta!
jim-jams
British slang for pajamas, nightwear.
I was going to go to the grocery store yesterday morning when I realized I was still in my jim-jam
Anywho...
Let's get down on it! It is not a surprise to you that I do not have a "traditional" career. I work on my casa (NOTE: The backyard is coming along fantastic-a-licious!), volunteer for a fabu organization; AARF, run, climb, swim, and work out. In addition, I have to care for my babies, and that includes Carl-E. Despite the fact that Carl-E has not one, but dos assistants I still have to handle some of his scheduling, such as doctor's appointments, and coiffing sessions. Personally, I think these are better done by his right and left work-hands, because they know his daily-ins-and-outs better than I do.
So...
Evey week I have a routine. For example, Monday; I vacuum and mop the house (NOTE: I discovered the new Mr. Clean magic eraser mop; it kicks dirt's ass!), do numerous load of laundry, and make any appointments for Carl-E. I adore my structured days, it is the Virgo in me!
Well...
Last night as I am about to drift off to la-la land in my pink, flannel panda Nick and Nora jim-jams, Carl-E says, "What's on your agenda tomorrow?" Now, I hate the word "agenda." "Why does this little 6 letter bug her so?" you might be thinking. I'll tell you why! First of all, I am not Carl-E's employee, and the word "agenda" has that cold,cubical,every wall white,only Bic pens,business feel to it; B)The word "agdena" should only be resverd for meetings of the up-most importance and reverance; and 4) I am not his employee!
So...
I did not answer. Let me back up a smidge, Carl-E and I have discussed pertaining to my unbridled hatred for the word "agenda." But, he just does not get why it irritates me more than a wedgy when I am running (NOTE: I know too much info, but I really want you to know how beau coup it gets under my skin!). But, his memory to this discussion is like Teflon; everything I say just slides right off.
Let's move on...
So, he repeats himself again, and again I ignore him hoping that he will pick up on my non-verbal message or receive the numerious adult content words I am fliging at him with my mind. However, he is privy to either! Finally, I sit up and not say, not yell, but say through my teeth in a whisper, "I do not have an aganda!" (Note: When you receive the dreaded teeth-talking you know your ass is grass!) Because he cannot remember our last "agenda" discussion, he says, "What's your problem?!" That was the catalyst to laungh me into a 5 minute tirate about the coldness of the word "agrend"
Next...
Carl-E said, "What would you like for me to use?" With my back to him, as a hugged my pink-fuzzy body pillow while petting my pretty-pretty princess, Godiva, I told him to come up with something. After a very uncomfortable silence that was not bothering me because I was once again drifting off on the calm sea to sweet-dreams island, I was jolted by Carl-E yelling, "Carrieann Plate! That's what I'll call it, but I have one request, can I call it 'CP' for short?"
I agreed to "CP." It sounds so much more warm than "agenda!" My man came through; yippy-skippy!
Get crazy with the cheese whiz; tators!
I gotts to jet, hit me on the hip latta!
jim-jams
British slang for pajamas, nightwear.
I was going to go to the grocery store yesterday morning when I realized I was still in my jim-jam
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
October 23: Love Em' Or Hate Em'
Bon Jour, tators!
Well, I have a new obsession. And, I have my friend/trainer to thank for it. Now, I know you thinking that it must be fantastically healthy, positively soul-cleansing, and fabulously mind-expanding.
WRONG!
She got me addicted to "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" on Bravo. Now, I absolutely love hard-core trashy reality TV, such as "Rock of Love" and "Celebrity Rehab." I love to have a good chuckle at other people expenses. This might sound very non-christian of me, but oh well so I might spend a few days in purgatory when I leave this orb.
However, TRHA (NOTE: That's what the hip kids call it) is an hour of pure vapidness, over-the-top opulence, and no-ruler-can-measure self-centeredness. My trainer was telling me about the LV that one of these "housewives" brought her 11 year old daughter for her birthday (NOTE: The whole party cost 18,000 green backs; and no that is not a type-o it was 18,000 bills; now that's some mad cheddar!) while I was doing pull-downs. Because the little girl got a LV, my curiosity was peaked. I did not get my first LV until I was 30!
So, when I got home I went on the Bravo site and watched the clips that were available. OMG, Tators! These women are so ridiculous, that I thought it has to be fake. But, the more I watched the more I realized that these women are so far removed from the rest of the world, that if you asked them to name the current President, they would stare at you with a dopey blank stare from their false-eye lashed rimmed eyes, but if you asked them to name all the high-end store in Lenox Mall, they could do it standing on their heads; wait that might rip their weaves out. (NOTE: I can name all the high-end stores, too. But, I do know who the Preseident is; Bill W. Carter Sr.! I kid; I kid!)
Anywho...
I has to see more, so I DVR'ed the first two episodes of the show. The next day, I sat down with a hot cup of tea (NOTE: It is chilly here in Hot-Lanta) and I was glued to the TV for over an hour (NOTE: The show is an hour, I fast-forward through the commercials.) It was like looking at a car crash; I could not look away no matter hoe ugly these women acted.
Let me give you examples:
- One woman has three kids, and her husband is a Baller (Note: That's Basket Ball), her house is over 15,000 square feet, and she feels like she is a single parent because her hubby is away for 6 days a week (NOTE: this is only for the season), she need a nanny, governess (Note: What the f&^k does a governess even do?), chef, house maid, a personal assistant, and a make-up and hair stylist (NOTE: The hair stylist and the make-up artist make her up EVERYDAY in her at-home salon) to help her, because she cannot do it all herself
- Another woman is going through a divorce from her Football husband, she keeps repeating that she wants a 7 figure lump sum to maintain her lifestyle(NOTE: Oh yeah, and the kids, too), she has a stylist, a shoe stylist (NOTE: That brings the shoes to her house), a personal assistant, and a publicist (NOTE: She is not famous at all; well in her own mind she is)
All these women are friends (Note: I use this term very loosely). They talk smack about each other to the camera constantly. They are always trying to one up each other with their clothes, bags, shoes, jewelry, cars, houses, and egos.
Today, I watched episode three and once again I was glued. It's like crack; I cannot get enough even thou I totally despise these women (NOTE: One I do like, because she seams more "real;" like her and I could totally hang out and talk smack about the other women; oh wait that would make me just as catty!)
So, the question is "Am I a hater?" I am proud to say that I am; kind of. I hate them for being self-centered and try to make like their situations are more important than the rest of the world. Oh poor baby, she cannot find a nanny so she has to dress her kids and take then to school, boo f'in hoo, bee-otch! I hate the fact that they put materials things in front of everything else, like when one of the woman's daughter's need help getting into a car, but mommy could not help her because she would mess up her shoes on the dirty driveway! I hate the fact that they think they are more important than everyone else, so what if you get invited to fancy-pants parties, I rather drink a beer, play darts, and hang with people who like me for me, not my bank account. If I ever acted like these women, my father would come down from his heavenly boat filled with blonds and beer and pimp slap me up-side my head. I would like to drop off their asses in some of the villages I saw in Africa and see how they do with no electricity, no running water, a mud hut, 50 heads of cattle and 5 other wives. Now that would be a cat fight!
So, will I continue to watch; YES! Will I continue to hate; well, YES!
Hey they opened the door, so I am steppin' on in!
Peace out, mo' fo's!
Chedder
A large amount of money
I cashed my check so, I could have some chedder
Well, I have a new obsession. And, I have my friend/trainer to thank for it. Now, I know you thinking that it must be fantastically healthy, positively soul-cleansing, and fabulously mind-expanding.
WRONG!
She got me addicted to "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" on Bravo. Now, I absolutely love hard-core trashy reality TV, such as "Rock of Love" and "Celebrity Rehab." I love to have a good chuckle at other people expenses. This might sound very non-christian of me, but oh well so I might spend a few days in purgatory when I leave this orb.
However, TRHA (NOTE: That's what the hip kids call it) is an hour of pure vapidness, over-the-top opulence, and no-ruler-can-measure self-centeredness. My trainer was telling me about the LV that one of these "housewives" brought her 11 year old daughter for her birthday (NOTE: The whole party cost 18,000 green backs; and no that is not a type-o it was 18,000 bills; now that's some mad cheddar!) while I was doing pull-downs. Because the little girl got a LV, my curiosity was peaked. I did not get my first LV until I was 30!
So, when I got home I went on the Bravo site and watched the clips that were available. OMG, Tators! These women are so ridiculous, that I thought it has to be fake. But, the more I watched the more I realized that these women are so far removed from the rest of the world, that if you asked them to name the current President, they would stare at you with a dopey blank stare from their false-eye lashed rimmed eyes, but if you asked them to name all the high-end store in Lenox Mall, they could do it standing on their heads; wait that might rip their weaves out. (NOTE: I can name all the high-end stores, too. But, I do know who the Preseident is; Bill W. Carter Sr.! I kid; I kid!)
Anywho...
I has to see more, so I DVR'ed the first two episodes of the show. The next day, I sat down with a hot cup of tea (NOTE: It is chilly here in Hot-Lanta) and I was glued to the TV for over an hour (NOTE: The show is an hour, I fast-forward through the commercials.) It was like looking at a car crash; I could not look away no matter hoe ugly these women acted.
Let me give you examples:
- One woman has three kids, and her husband is a Baller (Note: That's Basket Ball), her house is over 15,000 square feet, and she feels like she is a single parent because her hubby is away for 6 days a week (NOTE: this is only for the season), she need a nanny, governess (Note: What the f&^k does a governess even do?), chef, house maid, a personal assistant, and a make-up and hair stylist (NOTE: The hair stylist and the make-up artist make her up EVERYDAY in her at-home salon) to help her, because she cannot do it all herself
- Another woman is going through a divorce from her Football husband, she keeps repeating that she wants a 7 figure lump sum to maintain her lifestyle(NOTE: Oh yeah, and the kids, too), she has a stylist, a shoe stylist (NOTE: That brings the shoes to her house), a personal assistant, and a publicist (NOTE: She is not famous at all; well in her own mind she is)
All these women are friends (Note: I use this term very loosely). They talk smack about each other to the camera constantly. They are always trying to one up each other with their clothes, bags, shoes, jewelry, cars, houses, and egos.
Today, I watched episode three and once again I was glued. It's like crack; I cannot get enough even thou I totally despise these women (NOTE: One I do like, because she seams more "real;" like her and I could totally hang out and talk smack about the other women; oh wait that would make me just as catty!)
So, the question is "Am I a hater?" I am proud to say that I am; kind of. I hate them for being self-centered and try to make like their situations are more important than the rest of the world. Oh poor baby, she cannot find a nanny so she has to dress her kids and take then to school, boo f'in hoo, bee-otch! I hate the fact that they put materials things in front of everything else, like when one of the woman's daughter's need help getting into a car, but mommy could not help her because she would mess up her shoes on the dirty driveway! I hate the fact that they think they are more important than everyone else, so what if you get invited to fancy-pants parties, I rather drink a beer, play darts, and hang with people who like me for me, not my bank account. If I ever acted like these women, my father would come down from his heavenly boat filled with blonds and beer and pimp slap me up-side my head. I would like to drop off their asses in some of the villages I saw in Africa and see how they do with no electricity, no running water, a mud hut, 50 heads of cattle and 5 other wives. Now that would be a cat fight!
So, will I continue to watch; YES! Will I continue to hate; well, YES!
Hey they opened the door, so I am steppin' on in!
Peace out, mo' fo's!
Chedder
A large amount of money
I cashed my check so, I could have some chedder
Monday, October 20, 2008
October 20, 2008: The Battle of the Ballz!
A happy Monday from Burr-Lanta! It is ice, ice, ice baby out there! Carl-E and I are getting our backyard did. However, it is not going as smooth as a baby's tush; if anything far from it.
Let's go back, way back...
Carl-E wanted a pool. However, being that we live "in-the-city" we have a decent size backyard, but it tiny-weeny compared to our O-Town backyard. We could fit a pool in our backyard, oh if we want to have our porch steps leading in to the H2O. So, after getting numerous quotes, I finally convinced Carl-E that it was not worth the $45,000 greenbacks to get a pool. (NOTE: Despite our lack of green space, I actually had pool guys tell me that we could fit a full size pool. I want to know what they were smokin')
So...
Carl-E finally decides he wants a jacuzzi and "Yippy!" I say! So, I start interviewing landscapers. They must be smokin' the same wacky-weed as the pool guys, because the costs were insane-in-the-membrane! They had good ideas, but with about 60 extra hours a week, a back-ho, and a cement mixer I could do the work.
Finally...
I found a guy that came in at a good price, seemed nice enough, and would not take us for a ride. Now, this was way back in the end of MARCH! We were supposed to start in August, and then September, and then the start of October, and finally things started to get dug up last week.
Let's come to current day...
Since, I am the one that is home, I am the foreman! I oversee everything! What I say goes (NOTE: At least I thought so!)! And then, I woke up by Carl-E's yells. Being that he gets home way after the sun goes down, he cannot see the war zone that is our backyard. Everything was fine, until the brick was delivered. And, he only saw that because it only takes up the whole driveway and we are forced to park in the street.
Now...
I have to admit, I was not 100% sas-ified with the brick. But, he was LIVID! He came into the house with a brick in each hand,and said, "What is this?!" I replied, "Two bricks." (NOTE: This obvious answer was not appreciated). Steam was coming out of his ears, his eyes became large and bulged out of his head, his muscles stared to rip his shirt, and his skin turned a shade of pea-green. He was not happy. So, I suggested that he have a chat with the landscape guy. (NOTE: There is a method to my madness; I have to deal with the landscape guy on a daily basis and for me to totally piss him off would not make a good positive environment for me and I totally thrive better on positive vibes, so I decided to make Carl-E the bad guy! I am so tricky!)
On Saturday...
The it was down like Charlie Brown! Carl-E walked into the backyard with that "I-AM-THE-KING-OF-THIS-CASTLE-DESPITE-WHAT-MY-WIFE-THINKS-SHE-IS" walk. I stayed on the porch and tried to eavesdrop the best that I could. The facial expressions told me everything; landscape guy=not happy; Carl-E=not happier.
In the end, Carl-E won,and the brick is going back, as it should, and I still look good as I should!
And, I off to look at new bricks!
Later!
Now, I never received this call, have you?
CUDDLE CALL
a phone call (or a text) to arrange an immediate cuddle date. Not a booty call but similar in the call for satisfaction nature of the behavior.
"Hey Baby. What's going on?"
"Hi. Cuddle Call?"
"See you in ten minutes"
Let's go back, way back...
Carl-E wanted a pool. However, being that we live "in-the-city" we have a decent size backyard, but it tiny-weeny compared to our O-Town backyard. We could fit a pool in our backyard, oh if we want to have our porch steps leading in to the H2O. So, after getting numerous quotes, I finally convinced Carl-E that it was not worth the $45,000 greenbacks to get a pool. (NOTE: Despite our lack of green space, I actually had pool guys tell me that we could fit a full size pool. I want to know what they were smokin')
So...
Carl-E finally decides he wants a jacuzzi and "Yippy!" I say! So, I start interviewing landscapers. They must be smokin' the same wacky-weed as the pool guys, because the costs were insane-in-the-membrane! They had good ideas, but with about 60 extra hours a week, a back-ho, and a cement mixer I could do the work.
Finally...
I found a guy that came in at a good price, seemed nice enough, and would not take us for a ride. Now, this was way back in the end of MARCH! We were supposed to start in August, and then September, and then the start of October, and finally things started to get dug up last week.
Let's come to current day...
Since, I am the one that is home, I am the foreman! I oversee everything! What I say goes (NOTE: At least I thought so!)! And then, I woke up by Carl-E's yells. Being that he gets home way after the sun goes down, he cannot see the war zone that is our backyard. Everything was fine, until the brick was delivered. And, he only saw that because it only takes up the whole driveway and we are forced to park in the street.
Now...
I have to admit, I was not 100% sas-ified with the brick. But, he was LIVID! He came into the house with a brick in each hand,and said, "What is this?!" I replied, "Two bricks." (NOTE: This obvious answer was not appreciated). Steam was coming out of his ears, his eyes became large and bulged out of his head, his muscles stared to rip his shirt, and his skin turned a shade of pea-green. He was not happy. So, I suggested that he have a chat with the landscape guy. (NOTE: There is a method to my madness; I have to deal with the landscape guy on a daily basis and for me to totally piss him off would not make a good positive environment for me and I totally thrive better on positive vibes, so I decided to make Carl-E the bad guy! I am so tricky!)
On Saturday...
The it was down like Charlie Brown! Carl-E walked into the backyard with that "I-AM-THE-KING-OF-THIS-CASTLE-DESPITE-WHAT-MY-WIFE-THINKS-SHE-IS" walk. I stayed on the porch and tried to eavesdrop the best that I could. The facial expressions told me everything; landscape guy=not happy; Carl-E=not happier.
In the end, Carl-E won,and the brick is going back, as it should, and I still look good as I should!
And, I off to look at new bricks!
Later!
Now, I never received this call, have you?
CUDDLE CALL
a phone call (or a text) to arrange an immediate cuddle date. Not a booty call but similar in the call for satisfaction nature of the behavior.
"Hey Baby. What's going on?"
"Hi. Cuddle Call?"
"See you in ten minutes"
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
October 14: Follow The Rules Or Feel My Rath!
Happy Tuesday, tators!
Well, I am pleased to announce, that I am visitor free! I know that this sounds very horrible of me, but after 9 days of having family in your house, the first day of silence is like a little slice of heaven on earth.
So, now that I am family-free, I can get back to my work-outs. Today, I went back to the pool. I was excited and ready to hit the H2O. There was a plethora of us in the slow lane. However, being adults and mature and all, the large quantity of bodies should of not of made a difference.
But, to think that you would be WRONG-O!
Well...
We started out on the right foot. Everyone was swimming in sync, and then one person decided to f&^% it all up! When you swim laps in the slow lane, the rules are the following:
- You stay in the order you start
- If you have to pass the person in front of you; you tap their foot and pass at the end of the lane
- Do not cut the lap short (That means turn around before you get to the end of the lane and cut in front of another swimmer)
- If you need to stop; stop at the end of the lane, and then join the group at your same spot on the next lap
So...
There we were; all 7 of us swimming in perfect harmony like ebony and ivory. Then, we'll call him Earplug Man (NOTE: Because he wears earplugs), decides to cut the lap short. Now you might be asking yourself, "Why would he do that?" To answer your questions, I have no f*&^in clue! It was not like he was swimming like a supersonic missile, and to had pass all our slow-as-a-snail asses!
Now...
By Earplug Man cutting the lap short, our order got all foo-barbed! So, when another swimmer decided to take a break at the end of the lane, she got back into the group at the wrong time. Now, two people were out of order, and the leader started to cut the laps short, because who the hell knows.
So...
The leader decides to go all postal on the rest of us, because she noticed we were out of order. Now, I tried to explain to her why this was, but she was not having it. She reiterated the rules once again, and took off to start our next part of the work out.
Once again...
Earplug man cut the lap short, and once again we got all jumbled up. When we completed the 300 meters, the leader began to spit her swimming knowledge once again. I tired to point out what was going wrong, but either I speak a different language or she can only hear the frequency that her voice is on.
However...
One other swimmer shared my frustration, and shored me that it will work itself eventually. By the end of the workout, I felt like I just stepped out of a dryer; all tumbled and rumpled up. I guess it is the Virgo in me, but I like order. Throwing a wrench or cutting a lap short totally disrupts my chi. Now, I know this is my problem, and I have to deal. So, next time Earplug Man cuts a lap short he is going to get bee-otched slaped by my Jersey hand! And my perfect swimming harmoney will be restored!
Here is one for you visual peeps:
The latest trend to do in the women's lockerroom at the pool is Porky Piggin' It. Read the def below and be perpared to shutter:
Porky Piggin' It
Wearing only a shirt, no pants AND no underwear, ala Porky Pig, who did not wear anything below the belt.
There were a few women in the locker room totally Porky Piggin’ It after their swim, while having an conversation about the up-and-coming bake sale at their kid’s school.
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Thursday, October 9, 2008
October 9, 2008: This, That, and a Few More
Well, tators I am still feeling puny. So, I thought communicating to my beloved tators will make me feel better.
Here are some observations/comments:
- The words "vagina," "penis," and "rectum" should never be in a rap song; they are way too clinical
- People who are the most negative never admit that they are, in fact they insist that they are more positive than most positive people
- Coke Zero tastes way better than Diet Coke
- Antibacterial soap is the biggest sham
- Cotton shirts should not be "dry clean only"
- Never purchase stamps that have the current price on it; buy the "Forever" stamps; Guess what? they are good forever
- Lycra is the best invention for jeans
- Sell everything you no longer want on EBay; you'll make a small mint
- When buying a sofa that has slipcovers, make sure that the design is not going to change EVER, because you'll be SOL when you want to buy new slipcovers
- Sleep is underrated
- You should be able to buy candy corn all year round
- When it doubt, go to Target; they always have it
And, I am off the finish a book about the life of cadavers....(NOTE: I bet you did not know that cadavers had lives, and actually they are more interesting than most alive people's lives)
"Pop that, pop that, jiggle that fat!"
Here are some observations/comments:
- The words "vagina," "penis," and "rectum" should never be in a rap song; they are way too clinical
- People who are the most negative never admit that they are, in fact they insist that they are more positive than most positive people
- Coke Zero tastes way better than Diet Coke
- Antibacterial soap is the biggest sham
- Cotton shirts should not be "dry clean only"
- Never purchase stamps that have the current price on it; buy the "Forever" stamps; Guess what? they are good forever
- Lycra is the best invention for jeans
- Sell everything you no longer want on EBay; you'll make a small mint
- When buying a sofa that has slipcovers, make sure that the design is not going to change EVER, because you'll be SOL when you want to buy new slipcovers
- Sleep is underrated
- You should be able to buy candy corn all year round
- When it doubt, go to Target; they always have it
And, I am off the finish a book about the life of cadavers....(NOTE: I bet you did not know that cadavers had lives, and actually they are more interesting than most alive people's lives)
"Pop that, pop that, jiggle that fat!"
Sunday, October 5, 2008
October 5, 2008: Swim This Bee-otch!
Happy Sunday, Tators! As many of you know, I have been taking swimming lessons. In about 6 weeks, I went from splashing around like a total spazz, to gliding through the water like a sleek yacht.
Because of my fabulous progress, I graduated from the indoor pool to the outdoor pool. The outdoor pool is were the "big" kids swim. These are serious swimmers yo; they do not front! I was as nervous as a prepubescent girl wearing the most heinous double-knit polyester orange pants suit that her mother picked out for her on the first day of 7th grade.
So, on the day that I was to embark on the next chapter of my swimming life what did I do? I totally chickened out! I let the fear get my goat. When my coach got to the pool, she was like, "Why are you in here?" And, I was like, "Because." And, she was like, "Because why?" And, I was like, "Because." I was hell-bent about not getting out of the water, so I was willing to keep the game going forever and ever. Either because she is really nice or I wore her down, she let me stay inside. However, I had to promise to go outside the next time. I agreed with my finger crossed behind my back.
Well...
The next day I psyched myself up to going outside. I repeated over and over in my head a little diddy of a cheer "Be aggressive, B-E aggressive!" When I got to the pool, I was pumped up, full of pep, and ready to swim my tush off! I was introduced to the "lane leader" and another swimmer. (NOTE: I was not swimming with the swimming-god and goddess, I was in the Granny lane. ) I jumped in and so did the other two swimmers (NOTE: The other two were supposed to go outside the same day I was, but I think they were intimidated too, because they stayed inside with me).
So, we began with our warm-up, and then we went on to our work out. At first, I was flustered, and swallowed a ton of H2O, but then I remembered my cheer, and began to pick up speed. After the first part of the workout, ten 100's, I was ready to go, go, go!
Let me back up a bit...
When we were introduced to the lane leader and the other one, the lane leader told us new-bees that when your foot is touch; swim to the end of the lane, get in the corner, and let the person lap you.
Well...
During the second part of our workout, I began to catch up to, let's call her "Lady." Well, I touched Lady's foot to tell her, "Move, get out the way!" Well, when she got to the end, she looked at me, and then continued swimming. So, I touched her foot again, and she did the same thing. I began to think that she had a problem with her short-term memory, because she obviously did not remember what the foot touch meant.
So...
After our 2nd 400, Lady turns to me and says, "Can you see under the water?" "Yes, why?" I replied. "Well, you keep touching my foot." I was thinking, "So shee-it Sherlock!" And before I could answer her, she turned in to a total bi-otche and embarked on a tirate of how this was not a race, and I need to pull back, and the whole part of being outside is to perfect our form, and blah, blah, blah! I just looked at her like she lost her f'in mind! When she finally finished, I said, "OK I'll back off." I figured it was better than going back at her, because it was obviouse that she was totally PMS'in.
Well...
She came at me again, because maybe I was not giving her the reaction she desired. I rensurred her, that I understood her and got her point the first time. And, as if I was living a Goundhog Day, she started at me agin. This time I raise my hand to her to stopped her mid-sentance, looked her straight in her eyes, and said firmly, "I got it, you do not need to repeat it again." I do not know if she saw the flash of Jersey in my baby-blues or she always repeats things three times, but she stopped.
When finished our workout, and Lady was fine. She even high-fived me, becasue we made it through our first outside workout. This confirmed my hypothsis that she does suffer from short-term memory loss, or she is just loco.
Pat your weave!
And, I am out!
Because of my fabulous progress, I graduated from the indoor pool to the outdoor pool. The outdoor pool is were the "big" kids swim. These are serious swimmers yo; they do not front! I was as nervous as a prepubescent girl wearing the most heinous double-knit polyester orange pants suit that her mother picked out for her on the first day of 7th grade.
So, on the day that I was to embark on the next chapter of my swimming life what did I do? I totally chickened out! I let the fear get my goat. When my coach got to the pool, she was like, "Why are you in here?" And, I was like, "Because." And, she was like, "Because why?" And, I was like, "Because." I was hell-bent about not getting out of the water, so I was willing to keep the game going forever and ever. Either because she is really nice or I wore her down, she let me stay inside. However, I had to promise to go outside the next time. I agreed with my finger crossed behind my back.
Well...
The next day I psyched myself up to going outside. I repeated over and over in my head a little diddy of a cheer "Be aggressive, B-E aggressive!" When I got to the pool, I was pumped up, full of pep, and ready to swim my tush off! I was introduced to the "lane leader" and another swimmer. (NOTE: I was not swimming with the swimming-god and goddess, I was in the Granny lane. ) I jumped in and so did the other two swimmers (NOTE: The other two were supposed to go outside the same day I was, but I think they were intimidated too, because they stayed inside with me).
So, we began with our warm-up, and then we went on to our work out. At first, I was flustered, and swallowed a ton of H2O, but then I remembered my cheer, and began to pick up speed. After the first part of the workout, ten 100's, I was ready to go, go, go!
Let me back up a bit...
When we were introduced to the lane leader and the other one, the lane leader told us new-bees that when your foot is touch; swim to the end of the lane, get in the corner, and let the person lap you.
Well...
During the second part of our workout, I began to catch up to, let's call her "Lady." Well, I touched Lady's foot to tell her, "Move, get out the way!" Well, when she got to the end, she looked at me, and then continued swimming. So, I touched her foot again, and she did the same thing. I began to think that she had a problem with her short-term memory, because she obviously did not remember what the foot touch meant.
So...
After our 2nd 400, Lady turns to me and says, "Can you see under the water?" "Yes, why?" I replied. "Well, you keep touching my foot." I was thinking, "So shee-it Sherlock!" And before I could answer her, she turned in to a total bi-otche and embarked on a tirate of how this was not a race, and I need to pull back, and the whole part of being outside is to perfect our form, and blah, blah, blah! I just looked at her like she lost her f'in mind! When she finally finished, I said, "OK I'll back off." I figured it was better than going back at her, because it was obviouse that she was totally PMS'in.
Well...
She came at me again, because maybe I was not giving her the reaction she desired. I rensurred her, that I understood her and got her point the first time. And, as if I was living a Goundhog Day, she started at me agin. This time I raise my hand to her to stopped her mid-sentance, looked her straight in her eyes, and said firmly, "I got it, you do not need to repeat it again." I do not know if she saw the flash of Jersey in my baby-blues or she always repeats things three times, but she stopped.
When finished our workout, and Lady was fine. She even high-fived me, becasue we made it through our first outside workout. This confirmed my hypothsis that she does suffer from short-term memory loss, or she is just loco.
Pat your weave!
And, I am out!
Bi-otche
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| Lady was a real bi-otche at the pool last week. | ||||
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
September 30: Make It Rain?!
Well, tators to take a break from the beautiful disaster that is our economy, I decided to paint the family room. I am on day 2, and so want to be finished. However, I do not see the shining, white light at the end of the tunnel, because; uno) I am not dying and 2) I still have the crown molding, base boards, and the ceiling (NOTE: I am dreading this part, because I always get a nasty crick in my neck. Could this be because I am way below the height minimal requirement for painting ceilings?)
Anywho...
If you have not heard the word around the block; here is the 411; Hot-Lanta is low on petrol. I use the fancy-pants English term, because I said to my dermatologist when she asked me how my day was, and I replied, "It's good, because I have gas!" She looked at me awkwardly, and then the light bulb went off in her blond head ans she chuckled, "I thought you were telling me you had to fart; not talking about gasoline!" I must of made her day, because through the whole examine she could not stop chuckling. I bring a ray of sunshine to every one's gloomy day!
Except, a Ragein' Asian!
Read on...
Well...
I had no clue that Hot-Lanta was low on Petrol. Carl-E could not fathom this because it was on all the news channels. I told him that they must of talked about the shortage while I was speaking to heads of state, finding a cure for cancer, or scoping out my next LV! (NOTE: He defiantly did not believe the first two excuses!)
So, there I was on Friday, in a manic-panic search for petrol, because I only had, oh 6 miles left to go before I hit zilch, na-da, nothing, empty! After going to six stations, I finally found one. It was a total mad house, worse than the wedding gown sale at Feline's Basement (NOTE: If you never witnessed this in person, you need to. It's a hoot and a half!). So, the guy in front of me was talking and texting causin' a total blackberry jam (NOTE: This is my Urban Word of the Day).
I put the peddle to the metal, hauled tush, and got into the other line. Well, out of no where, well not really no where, comes this hideous purple mini-van right at my Beamer. I laid on my horn, and the driver came to a sudden stop, rolled down her window, and shouted, "I here first; you let me first!"
Let me describe the she-driver that has no taste in automobiles; Asian-descent, super short orange hair (NOTE: I could not decide if it was orange on accident or she was going for the hip new citrus look that is all the rage in Japan), about 500+60 years old, and pretty-cute looking cat eye glasses with teeny-tiny rhinestones at the temples. She continued to verbally berate me, even though I was telling her she was 100% wrongo-0 (NOTE: I was tempted to ask her where she got her glasses, but I held my tongue, because I figured I was not going to kill her with my intense kindness)! However, she was either deaf or stupid, because she continued to yell at me.
What did I do?...
I politely waved at her, smiled a huge Kool-Aid grin, and pulled up to pump my gas. She continued to inch her van of doom towards me, screaming, "I here first, you get behind me!" as if that would make me give up my spot. Hey, I only now had 4 miles until I was out of gas. In the end, I got Petrol. I always win!
So, it is now Tuesday and I still have almost a full tank of gas, I mean Petrol. I am limiting my cruisn' so I will not have anymore ugly encounters and Carl-E will not have to bail me out of the big house. Hopefully, Hot-Lanta will have fuel at every station soon, until then...
I'll leave you with this...
The best suggestion to bail us out of our money-woes:
A man suggested that all the women of the country go out on the street, start strippin' off their clothes, while the President flys over in a helicopter as he makes it rain "Big-Pimpin' W" style with hundred dollar bills (NOTE: I really wish I could take credit for that, but some guy on a radio show called in with the idea. Isn't just geniuses?!)
Oh, this would all be available via live feed on the Internet.
Off to make the world, or at least my family room a more colorful place,
ME
Blackberry Jam
Anywho...
If you have not heard the word around the block; here is the 411; Hot-Lanta is low on petrol. I use the fancy-pants English term, because I said to my dermatologist when she asked me how my day was, and I replied, "It's good, because I have gas!" She looked at me awkwardly, and then the light bulb went off in her blond head ans she chuckled, "I thought you were telling me you had to fart; not talking about gasoline!" I must of made her day, because through the whole examine she could not stop chuckling. I bring a ray of sunshine to every one's gloomy day!
Except, a Ragein' Asian!
Read on...
Well...
I had no clue that Hot-Lanta was low on Petrol. Carl-E could not fathom this because it was on all the news channels. I told him that they must of talked about the shortage while I was speaking to heads of state, finding a cure for cancer, or scoping out my next LV! (NOTE: He defiantly did not believe the first two excuses!)
So, there I was on Friday, in a manic-panic search for petrol, because I only had, oh 6 miles left to go before I hit zilch, na-da, nothing, empty! After going to six stations, I finally found one. It was a total mad house, worse than the wedding gown sale at Feline's Basement (NOTE: If you never witnessed this in person, you need to. It's a hoot and a half!). So, the guy in front of me was talking and texting causin' a total blackberry jam (NOTE: This is my Urban Word of the Day).
I put the peddle to the metal, hauled tush, and got into the other line. Well, out of no where, well not really no where, comes this hideous purple mini-van right at my Beamer. I laid on my horn, and the driver came to a sudden stop, rolled down her window, and shouted, "I here first; you let me first!"
Let me describe the she-driver that has no taste in automobiles; Asian-descent, super short orange hair (NOTE: I could not decide if it was orange on accident or she was going for the hip new citrus look that is all the rage in Japan), about 500+60 years old, and pretty-cute looking cat eye glasses with teeny-tiny rhinestones at the temples. She continued to verbally berate me, even though I was telling her she was 100% wrongo-0 (NOTE: I was tempted to ask her where she got her glasses, but I held my tongue, because I figured I was not going to kill her with my intense kindness)! However, she was either deaf or stupid, because she continued to yell at me.
What did I do?...
I politely waved at her, smiled a huge Kool-Aid grin, and pulled up to pump my gas. She continued to inch her van of doom towards me, screaming, "I here first, you get behind me!" as if that would make me give up my spot. Hey, I only now had 4 miles until I was out of gas. In the end, I got Petrol. I always win!
So, it is now Tuesday and I still have almost a full tank of gas, I mean Petrol. I am limiting my cruisn' so I will not have anymore ugly encounters and Carl-E will not have to bail me out of the big house. Hopefully, Hot-Lanta will have fuel at every station soon, until then...
I'll leave you with this...
The best suggestion to bail us out of our money-woes:
A man suggested that all the women of the country go out on the street, start strippin' off their clothes, while the President flys over in a helicopter as he makes it rain "Big-Pimpin' W" style with hundred dollar bills (NOTE: I really wish I could take credit for that, but some guy on a radio show called in with the idea. Isn't just geniuses?!)
Oh, this would all be available via live feed on the Internet.
Off to make the world, or at least my family room a more colorful place,
ME
Blackberry Jam
A traffic jam that occurs in subway tunnels, bus stations, and any other highly occupied area. Caused by inconsiderate workaholics walking or driving too slow while their noses are glued to their Blackberry device.
I was late for work because there was a Blackberry Jam getting out of the A train.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
September 24: Jersey Never Disappoints!
I returned alive from my trip to my old stompin' grounds; Jersey. I had a total blast and par-tayed like I was 21 again! But, when you spread the adult beverages over an 11 hour span, the next day is not that bad as long as you have Dunkin Doughnuts ice coffee to put a bit of pep in your ass draggin' step!
Anywho...
While waiting for my ice coffee sportin' my Gucci shades (NOTE: I put a nasty scratch on the lens, so I am now checking out a pair of Tom Ford shades that are so hot!) the dad behind me and his son had a few words. Actually, the dad had many words and the son just whimpered.
So, this is how it went down...
The son and dad were on their way to his football game and decided to get a snick snack before hand. While waiting their turn to order, the dad asked his son what he wanted to eat. To this, his son replied, "The bagel with sausage and egg." Well, I am not sure which word was the dad's trigger word, but he went total Jersey on his ass. Ya know, talking through his teeth just loud enough for the people closest to him to ease drop.
Well, he told his son that he was "Out of his f$%&in' mind" Now, I did not know that wanting a sausage and egg bagel was a sign of mental insanity. Maybe DND should not offer that breakfast choice. Next, the dad told his kid that "He pushed his f&%*in' luck and now he would get nothing." The story did have a happy ending, the kid got a doughnut. So much healthier; fried dough with sugar; nothing does a young body good!
The other incident...
I spent the night at my cousin's house. I was totally crashed out on the sleeper sofa, when I awoke to flashing lights. My first thought was, "Oh crap, someone died!" I peeked out the window to spy a flatbed tow truck. My cousin came down the stairs to join me. In front of her house was some young chicky pacing up and down. What was the flatbed tow truck doing?
Well...
It was depositing a mass that used to be a VW in my cousin's neighbor's yard. This was very odd, since when a car is obviously totaled to bring it to some one's yard instead of dropping it off at a garage. The neighbor saw my cousin and told her that his girlfriend recked her car (NOTE: Well, DUH!), and that everyone was ok. With that, we went back to bed.
And then...
Next the girlfriend's mother showed up. If Hell had a voice, it would be this woman's. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, "What are you doing here you are supposed to be in Florida at school!" OOPS! The daughter was busted! The mother continued to yell to her daughter that she found out by looking at her Face Book page (NOTE: You never post where you are going if you do not want anyone to find you, that deserves another DUH!) . The mother continued to berate her daughter on the sidewalk calling her a filthy, filthily, filthily liar over and over again.
By the 2 million fifthly liar, I was so tempted to tell the mother to take tramp daughter and go home! But, I did not want to get involved because she probably would of choked me out. So, I hunkered down until the mother dragged the daughter home.
Anywho...
While waiting for my ice coffee sportin' my Gucci shades (NOTE: I put a nasty scratch on the lens, so I am now checking out a pair of Tom Ford shades that are so hot!) the dad behind me and his son had a few words. Actually, the dad had many words and the son just whimpered.
So, this is how it went down...
The son and dad were on their way to his football game and decided to get a snick snack before hand. While waiting their turn to order, the dad asked his son what he wanted to eat. To this, his son replied, "The bagel with sausage and egg." Well, I am not sure which word was the dad's trigger word, but he went total Jersey on his ass. Ya know, talking through his teeth just loud enough for the people closest to him to ease drop.
Well, he told his son that he was "Out of his f$%&in' mind" Now, I did not know that wanting a sausage and egg bagel was a sign of mental insanity. Maybe DND should not offer that breakfast choice. Next, the dad told his kid that "He pushed his f&%*in' luck and now he would get nothing." The story did have a happy ending, the kid got a doughnut. So much healthier; fried dough with sugar; nothing does a young body good!
The other incident...
I spent the night at my cousin's house. I was totally crashed out on the sleeper sofa, when I awoke to flashing lights. My first thought was, "Oh crap, someone died!" I peeked out the window to spy a flatbed tow truck. My cousin came down the stairs to join me. In front of her house was some young chicky pacing up and down. What was the flatbed tow truck doing?
Well...
It was depositing a mass that used to be a VW in my cousin's neighbor's yard. This was very odd, since when a car is obviously totaled to bring it to some one's yard instead of dropping it off at a garage. The neighbor saw my cousin and told her that his girlfriend recked her car (NOTE: Well, DUH!), and that everyone was ok. With that, we went back to bed.
And then...
Next the girlfriend's mother showed up. If Hell had a voice, it would be this woman's. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, "What are you doing here you are supposed to be in Florida at school!" OOPS! The daughter was busted! The mother continued to yell to her daughter that she found out by looking at her Face Book page (NOTE: You never post where you are going if you do not want anyone to find you, that deserves another DUH!) . The mother continued to berate her daughter on the sidewalk calling her a filthy, filthily, filthily liar over and over again.
By the 2 million fifthly liar, I was so tempted to tell the mother to take tramp daughter and go home! But, I did not want to get involved because she probably would of choked me out. So, I hunkered down until the mother dragged the daughter home.
| skita | ||
| Swift Kick In The Ass Wow, that dad in Dunkin Doughnuts was being a real tool, he deserves an nice hard SKITA. | ||
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sept 18: The Naked Lady
There is a naked lady at the pool. Every gym/workout place has one. Actually, there are many naked ladies, but they dress themselves in a timely manor. Usually, The Naked Lady prances around with her goodies on display, takes part in long group conservations (NOTE: Sometimes with one leg propped of casually on a bench), and blow drys her hair in her birthday suit.
Now, I am comfortable with the naked body being an art connaisseur and all. But, when things are swingin' and bouncin' constantly in your line sight it is hard to divert your eyes. Sometimes I think she has a twin, because once when I turned to my right to avoid a visual collision with bits and parts The Naked Lady was right in front of my face. I quickly dropped my gaze, muttered "Excuse me, " and proceed to rub my eyes feverishly to remove the image from my rods, cones, and cornea.
On theory is that is that The Naked Lady is allergic to clothes. If any remnant of a woven fabric, whether it be sisal cloth from the Congo or the finest silk from hand raise worms from a remote mountain village in Japan her skin begins to bubble and dissolve into a thick goo. Another one is she was forced to sell her wardrobe on EBay because she needs to buy gas to get to work (NOTE: I would not doubt this one, especially the cost of gas. My shoe fund as been drastically been reduced since I had to have petrol to get Carl-E's dry cleaning and run other various earns). My last theory is that a swarm of clothes eating moths had a all-you-can-eat buffet in her closet and she cannot afford new clothes because she as to pay for her gym membership (NOTE: Being fit and health maybe a priority in her life; you never know!).
I know she is not allergic to non-Egyptian cotton, over-bleached gym towels, because she wraps her hair in it. Maybe she is afraid of catching a cold or she's embarrassed that her gray roots are showing. One day, The Naked Lady dropped her towel in front of me. The sight that I witnessed has scared me for life. Now, I suffer from night terrors and have an extreme phobia of white cotton towels.
Maybe The Naked Lady suffers from Ground Hog Day syndrome (NOTE: Ya know repeating the same day over and over again.)
Naked Day
A day when you are the only person who turns up to work (e.g. a public holiday, graveyard shift, or similar), and no one else is going to be around, so you decide that it's safe to declare the whole day clothing-optional. Can be done for reasons of heat, humidity, & comfort; or out of sheer apathy.
See ya later tators!
Now, I am comfortable with the naked body being an art connaisseur and all. But, when things are swingin' and bouncin' constantly in your line sight it is hard to divert your eyes. Sometimes I think she has a twin, because once when I turned to my right to avoid a visual collision with bits and parts The Naked Lady was right in front of my face. I quickly dropped my gaze, muttered "Excuse me, " and proceed to rub my eyes feverishly to remove the image from my rods, cones, and cornea.
On theory is that is that The Naked Lady is allergic to clothes. If any remnant of a woven fabric, whether it be sisal cloth from the Congo or the finest silk from hand raise worms from a remote mountain village in Japan her skin begins to bubble and dissolve into a thick goo. Another one is she was forced to sell her wardrobe on EBay because she needs to buy gas to get to work (NOTE: I would not doubt this one, especially the cost of gas. My shoe fund as been drastically been reduced since I had to have petrol to get Carl-E's dry cleaning and run other various earns). My last theory is that a swarm of clothes eating moths had a all-you-can-eat buffet in her closet and she cannot afford new clothes because she as to pay for her gym membership (NOTE: Being fit and health maybe a priority in her life; you never know!).
I know she is not allergic to non-Egyptian cotton, over-bleached gym towels, because she wraps her hair in it. Maybe she is afraid of catching a cold or she's embarrassed that her gray roots are showing. One day, The Naked Lady dropped her towel in front of me. The sight that I witnessed has scared me for life. Now, I suffer from night terrors and have an extreme phobia of white cotton towels.
Maybe The Naked Lady suffers from Ground Hog Day syndrome (NOTE: Ya know repeating the same day over and over again.)
Naked Day
A day when you are the only person who turns up to work (e.g. a public holiday, graveyard shift, or similar), and no one else is going to be around, so you decide that it's safe to declare the whole day clothing-optional. Can be done for reasons of heat, humidity, & comfort; or out of sheer apathy.
See ya later tators!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
September 16: Put in a 911 to Emily Post ASAP!
Good morning, tators!
Well, I attended a very interesting wedding this weekend. What made it interesting?
-The 5 star chef flown in from France that prepared fresh fioe gras by magically removing the liver from the goose that laid the golden egg without out harming a feather?
NO!
- The fabu guest gifts were limited addition Hermes mini Burkin bags with hand-painted silk scarves precisely folded and lovingly placed inside
NO!
- Dinner entertainment was Pavarotti, who was manifested from the world beyond just for this joyous event
NO!
What made it interesting was the dress code; there apparently was none.
Before I get to the dressing, Let's talk about gifts...
Last Monday, Carl-E reminded me that we needed to buy a wedding present. Now, being the shopping diva that I am, you would think I was on it like white-on-rice. However, with all of the running, swimming, cat herding, climbing, and clothes washing I got just a teeny-weeny bit side tracked.
Now, we never received an official wedding invite (NOTE: The excuse was it went to the wrong address. ). Anywho...I emailed Carl-E to find out where they were registered. Carl-E email me back and said, "No where." I was like, "What the f*&%! Who does not register for gifts?" So, to make sure Carl-E heard right, because his hearing is VERY selective, I rang him up. And to my surprise, he not only repeated what he was told via email by the groom, he forwarded the email. Basically, the groom wrote, "We did not register; we just want cash." Now, what I wanted to know is how in Hades did they put that in the invite? Did they include a fluorescent green post-it note written in pencil that said in every invite that read, "No gifts; just CASH!"
Ok, let's move on...
So, since it was an evening wedding, I assumed that it was dressy (NOTE: Remember to never assume!). I wore a light weight, wool-blend, charcoal gray shift dress, and to add a touch a pizazz I paired it with chocolate brown fishnets, and chocolate brown alligator peep-toe platforms pumps (NOTE: I know that fishnets are not the "in" thing this season; it's pattern tights, but I wanted to buck the fashion system and make my own statement. Plus, patterned tights look stupid on my short legs.) And, Carl-E wore a very stylish pinstripe charcoal gray suite.
So, we enter the room were the ceremony was and my mouth hit the floor. Men had on jeans! Not dark-wash fitted jeans, but faded out, crotch draggin', ass-saggin' jeans. And to top off the style outfit untucked button-down oxfords with their nasty t-shirts showing. Now, this was not the only fashion faux pas. One gentleman had on Billabong black cargo pants, with a tucked in black t-shirt, black studded belt, and military boots. Actually, this man was one of the few that actually put some thought into matching his attire. Any color combination went, and I doubt that they were all colorblind!
Oh, and the women were no better. Low-rise, 2001 Britney-style, ass-crack showin' jeans with back fat oozing over the their belt loops and thong straps. The top? Well, low-cut cleavage revealing, belly shirts with sequences and rhinestones to add that dash of flash. Or, too short dresses that had to be constantly tugged on to cover their hoo-has! And the whole-tuggin' idea went out the door when the dancing commenced. There were more flashes than at the Oscar's red carpet, if you get my drift?!
Now, I know that dressing properly is an art, and not everyone can be me, but COME ON! IT IS A WEDDING! Take your ass-saggin' ass to Wal-Mart or better yet Target, buy a pair of khakis, tuck that shirt in, discover something called a "belt," and invest in shoe polish. It is not that difficult, son!
And for the ladies, Target now has some of the world's hippest designers creating clothes for them. Buy one dress and pair it with any shoes that are not flip flops (NOTE: Yes, they made an appearance too! Actually, on of the bridesmaids had DYABLE flip-flops to match her dress!").
Emily Post is spinnin' like crazy in grave!
Urban word of the day:
Well, I attended a very interesting wedding this weekend. What made it interesting?
-The 5 star chef flown in from France that prepared fresh fioe gras by magically removing the liver from the goose that laid the golden egg without out harming a feather?
NO!
- The fabu guest gifts were limited addition Hermes mini Burkin bags with hand-painted silk scarves precisely folded and lovingly placed inside
NO!
- Dinner entertainment was Pavarotti, who was manifested from the world beyond just for this joyous event
NO!
What made it interesting was the dress code; there apparently was none.
Before I get to the dressing, Let's talk about gifts...
Last Monday, Carl-E reminded me that we needed to buy a wedding present. Now, being the shopping diva that I am, you would think I was on it like white-on-rice. However, with all of the running, swimming, cat herding, climbing, and clothes washing I got just a teeny-weeny bit side tracked.
Now, we never received an official wedding invite (NOTE: The excuse was it went to the wrong address. ). Anywho...I emailed Carl-E to find out where they were registered. Carl-E email me back and said, "No where." I was like, "What the f*&%! Who does not register for gifts?" So, to make sure Carl-E heard right, because his hearing is VERY selective, I rang him up. And to my surprise, he not only repeated what he was told via email by the groom, he forwarded the email. Basically, the groom wrote, "We did not register; we just want cash." Now, what I wanted to know is how in Hades did they put that in the invite? Did they include a fluorescent green post-it note written in pencil that said in every invite that read, "No gifts; just CASH!"
Ok, let's move on...
So, since it was an evening wedding, I assumed that it was dressy (NOTE: Remember to never assume!). I wore a light weight, wool-blend, charcoal gray shift dress, and to add a touch a pizazz I paired it with chocolate brown fishnets, and chocolate brown alligator peep-toe platforms pumps (NOTE: I know that fishnets are not the "in" thing this season; it's pattern tights, but I wanted to buck the fashion system and make my own statement. Plus, patterned tights look stupid on my short legs.) And, Carl-E wore a very stylish pinstripe charcoal gray suite.
So, we enter the room were the ceremony was and my mouth hit the floor. Men had on jeans! Not dark-wash fitted jeans, but faded out, crotch draggin', ass-saggin' jeans. And to top off the style outfit untucked button-down oxfords with their nasty t-shirts showing. Now, this was not the only fashion faux pas. One gentleman had on Billabong black cargo pants, with a tucked in black t-shirt, black studded belt, and military boots. Actually, this man was one of the few that actually put some thought into matching his attire. Any color combination went, and I doubt that they were all colorblind!
Oh, and the women were no better. Low-rise, 2001 Britney-style, ass-crack showin' jeans with back fat oozing over the their belt loops and thong straps. The top? Well, low-cut cleavage revealing, belly shirts with sequences and rhinestones to add that dash of flash. Or, too short dresses that had to be constantly tugged on to cover their hoo-has! And the whole-tuggin' idea went out the door when the dancing commenced. There were more flashes than at the Oscar's red carpet, if you get my drift?!
Now, I know that dressing properly is an art, and not everyone can be me, but COME ON! IT IS A WEDDING! Take your ass-saggin' ass to Wal-Mart or better yet Target, buy a pair of khakis, tuck that shirt in, discover something called a "belt," and invest in shoe polish. It is not that difficult, son!
And for the ladies, Target now has some of the world's hippest designers creating clothes for them. Buy one dress and pair it with any shoes that are not flip flops (NOTE: Yes, they made an appearance too! Actually, on of the bridesmaids had DYABLE flip-flops to match her dress!").
Emily Post is spinnin' like crazy in grave!
Urban word of the day:
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