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

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

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

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"

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.

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!"

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!

Bi-otche the biggest be-otch ever found or known to man, be-otch to the max
Lady was a real bi-otche at the pool last week.