Happy Friday and "National Escape Day!" So if you are currently a prisoner and need to get out of Dodge; today is the day you have been waiting for; run, Forrest, run! Hey, your captures have to let it you, it is National Escape Day and all!
Well, many of my dear Tators sent me questions, concerns, and comments about last evening's post. So, I've decided to set the record straight, so you will not lose anymore Zzzz's worrying your pretty little heads off about my well being. Thank you so much for your concerns; you are all too kind!
1. Are an alcoholic?
Well...No, I, "hick-hick-hick" I think. Back in the day when I was kickin' it Jersey-style I would say "Yes!" But, now my lifestyle and liver could not deal with excess amounts of excess. I do not think you'll see me on an episode of "Intervention" anytime soon. However, I am known to enjoy an adult beverage once in a while, especially after climbing the highest summit in Europe; now that was a par-thay; Russian beer and belly dancers is all you need to know!
B. How much did you really consume before you were pulled over?
This is an easy one; two glasses of red healthy-for-your-heart wine over a 4 hour period. Now, according to my calculations done on my Hello Kitty calculator, that's about 3oz every hour; or 1.5oz every half an hour; not bad, not bad!
Trois. What did you get pulled over for?
Well, I was just at the right place at the right time, but the prize was not a pair of Christian Louboutin black patten, hidden platform, sling-backs; it was two yellow tickets! Yippy-F'in-Skippy! She just randomly ran my tag and her computer told her I was a bad, bad, girl that was rollin' without a valid licenses, no registration or insurance. But, the computer was WRONG-O! I made many of furious and feaverish calls the next day and the mistake is the City of Hot-Lanta. But, I still have to go to court, because "The Man" said so. They should be thankful that the CP was already empty, so I just penciled them in.
5. What about the fire arms?
I did not have them; Carl-E did. Georgia is a reciprocal state with FLA. Even if the lady-in-blue ran the serials numbers, there would of not been any problems. Hey, you gotts to pack heat when you are a cruise in the ATL, you just never know when you will have to pop a cap in someone's ass! That's how I roll, sucka!
C. Where able to drive home?
Oh yeah! Now, some people were very surprised by this because I had no ID. But, I just stepped up to the po-po and said, "Check this out chica, yous gonna let me drive my ride to my casa, cause my babies are a waitin' for their mama." Translation: I have no idea why she let me drive home, but she did.
6. Where you really texting while you were pulled over?
Oh, hellz ya! I now got this Blackcherry thingy down tight! How else was I supposed to communicate with my other half; who's best words of advise were "Eat Mints!". I assumed the blackberry pray position as soon as I shut my car off. I even posted to Facebook just in case I had to have someone wire me money to spring me from the slamma. But on the seriously tip, Carl-E do not have any fams in the ATL, so it we were hauled away to the big house, we would be screwed with a capital "SCREWED!"
Well, tators, I hope this 411 eases your mind. So, it is Friday, drink 'em if you got 'em!
And I out.
BlackBerry Prayer
The supplicating position one assumes when grasping the popular six-ounce wireless combination e-mailer/phone known as the BlackBerry between your palms and thumb-tapping messages on its QWERTY keyboard.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Jan 29: Pull-Over; It's Not The fahion Police!
Happy "National Cornchip Day," tators. Now, I because I did not indulge in cornchips today I am affraid that 5-O might come-a knock, knock, knocking on my door. Maybe I should pay homage to the oh-chip-of-corn by consuming its more tastier cusin, the potato chip. However, if I do that I might get a ticket for "Illegally Utilizing One Greasy Snack Food to Impersonate Another High Calorie Treat." Honestly, I do not think I can handle another tango with the poe-poe.
Now...
That the events of Monday night are behind me, like last spring's jelly shoes and I am totally over my self-induced frenzy, I can retell the story with a sense of humor. I am so happy that I have the ability to laugh at myself, because everyone else does, too!
So, here we go; hold on folks...
Carl-E and I had dinner with his girlfriend, Ron and another associate. We had a lovely time; I had the lobster special, the other three had shrimp and grits. Now, I do not like grits; I'm from Jersey it is oatmeal all the way baby. I believe it is made from the same material as a cornchip but like the parts that are not good enough to become a Fritto, kind of like how pieces/parts are used for chicken nuggets.
Anywho...
During my lobster feast, I part took in a few glasses of vino; a mellow Shiraz. Carl-E had his usual drink of choice; Ketle One and tonic. Now, tonic is whole other thing that I just do not get. By itself it tastes like nothing if nothing tasted really nast-ee!
Well...
After dinner Carl-E and I headed home. We had separate autos, because the restaurant is closer to his office than our casa. So, there I am zippin’ down the road singing my little heart out to Prince (NOTE: Hot-Lanata's radio station S-U-C-K big time; so I am reduced to listen to CD's because my IPod adapter; well that sucks too. Maybe it is time for a new ride so I can get satellite radio, HD radio, IPod plug-in thingy, and a CD player. I do have my eye on the 600 convertible or maybe I finally get my dream car, the car of heaven, the Carrera!)
So...
I am jammin to Prince, when I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror, and not like disco lights but the law lights. Like a law abiding citizen, I pull over so the officer can apprehend the criminal that is doing bad-bad things. But, to my super-duper surprise, the police car was behind ME! Automatically, my mind started to go into over drive; "Was I speeding?" (NOTE: This I know is impossible because I rarely go over the speed limit, because there is so much traffic), next I was like "Was my music too loud?" (Note: Do people even get pulled over for this anymore?). I had no clue what I did.
And then...
My blackcherry starts a winkin' at me; it was Carl-E asking if I was pulled over. And then the next text, "EAT MINTS; CHEW GUM!" So, I start diggin’ in my LV, get the mint tin which proceeds to explode all over my seat, I begin choppin’ on mints while flicking the spilt mints off my seat and kicking them under my seat, because they are white and little, like oh PILLS! The officer comes over and asks if I know why I was pulled over, well in my head I was all sorts of attitude and like, "How the f*%$ should I know, bee-otch! You bests step off because I ain’t playin’" But, to her face I shyly whisper, "No, officer." And then she asked for my ID, insurance and registration.
But...
As Beyonce would say, "Do the uh oh, do the uh oh!" Guess who forgot her fabu lime green LV wallet in her gym bag? So, there I am with no ID, no proof of insurance, and no registration. Next, my minds starts to go; "I am wearing stilettos when I get arrested. Will they give me three-sixes-too-big flip flops to wear? Thank goodness I just had a pedi." "Will someone steal my LV while I am in the slammer and try to replace is with some broke-ass K-Mart blue light special handbag that has 'C's' and 'D's' instead of 'L's' and 'V's'?" "Will I have to wear that hideous orange jumpsuit, because I do not look in orange? Coral is much more flattering to for my complexion." While the movie of my arrest is playing in my head with NWA playin’ for the soundtrack (NOTE: I totally need gansta rap to set the mood), I see Carl-E.
Yippy-skippy...
Here comes my knight in a shinny x5! He gives the officer the copy of the insurance card and verifies who I is, but then a little light goes off in my head and it flashing in bright yellow, neon tubing; GUN! GUN! The duce-duce and 45 were in his trunk, because we were supposed to go to the range, but instead we did yard work. While the officer is doing whatever she needs to do on her computer, another officer pulls up. Now, I am starting to feel really sick. Mean while, Carl-E keeps textin’ me, "Eat mints!" And, I am textin’ him “The guns! The guns!” And he texts, “I got it” And I text, “I feel sick” And he texts, “Eat mints!” I really thought I was going to lose it all over my new Vince sweater.
And then...
We are asked to get out of our cars. We are told that our tags are expired (NOTE: They are not because the little sticker says 'June 09'), that we do not have insurance (NOTE: The card Carl-E had had both our names for both cars and the expiration date said 'June 09'). Now, was I stuck in a flash forward? (NOTE: That's for all my Lost-ees), because last time I checked it was only January, I mean they both start with the letter “J” but one has way more letters. Instead of pointing out that she was WRONG-O, I let it go. You have to pick your battles, ya know?!
In the end…
We are both were handed tickets; I got two because I had no ID. So, we both have to go to court, were the tickets will be tossed out, because we were right and the coppers’s computer was misinformed. But the upside to all of this drama, I need to purchase a wallet for every bag so I’ll never forget my 411 again. Wait until Carl-E gets that bill!
“Ladies you can call it a fitness pole, but at the end of the day it is still a stripper pole.”
Now...
That the events of Monday night are behind me, like last spring's jelly shoes and I am totally over my self-induced frenzy, I can retell the story with a sense of humor. I am so happy that I have the ability to laugh at myself, because everyone else does, too!
So, here we go; hold on folks...
Carl-E and I had dinner with his girlfriend, Ron and another associate. We had a lovely time; I had the lobster special, the other three had shrimp and grits. Now, I do not like grits; I'm from Jersey it is oatmeal all the way baby. I believe it is made from the same material as a cornchip but like the parts that are not good enough to become a Fritto, kind of like how pieces/parts are used for chicken nuggets.
Anywho...
During my lobster feast, I part took in a few glasses of vino; a mellow Shiraz. Carl-E had his usual drink of choice; Ketle One and tonic. Now, tonic is whole other thing that I just do not get. By itself it tastes like nothing if nothing tasted really nast-ee!
Well...
After dinner Carl-E and I headed home. We had separate autos, because the restaurant is closer to his office than our casa. So, there I am zippin’ down the road singing my little heart out to Prince (NOTE: Hot-Lanata's radio station S-U-C-K big time; so I am reduced to listen to CD's because my IPod adapter; well that sucks too. Maybe it is time for a new ride so I can get satellite radio, HD radio, IPod plug-in thingy, and a CD player. I do have my eye on the 600 convertible or maybe I finally get my dream car, the car of heaven, the Carrera!)
So...
I am jammin to Prince, when I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror, and not like disco lights but the law lights. Like a law abiding citizen, I pull over so the officer can apprehend the criminal that is doing bad-bad things. But, to my super-duper surprise, the police car was behind ME! Automatically, my mind started to go into over drive; "Was I speeding?" (NOTE: This I know is impossible because I rarely go over the speed limit, because there is so much traffic), next I was like "Was my music too loud?" (Note: Do people even get pulled over for this anymore?). I had no clue what I did.
And then...
My blackcherry starts a winkin' at me; it was Carl-E asking if I was pulled over. And then the next text, "EAT MINTS; CHEW GUM!" So, I start diggin’ in my LV, get the mint tin which proceeds to explode all over my seat, I begin choppin’ on mints while flicking the spilt mints off my seat and kicking them under my seat, because they are white and little, like oh PILLS! The officer comes over and asks if I know why I was pulled over, well in my head I was all sorts of attitude and like, "How the f*%$ should I know, bee-otch! You bests step off because I ain’t playin’" But, to her face I shyly whisper, "No, officer." And then she asked for my ID, insurance and registration.
But...
As Beyonce would say, "Do the uh oh, do the uh oh!" Guess who forgot her fabu lime green LV wallet in her gym bag? So, there I am with no ID, no proof of insurance, and no registration. Next, my minds starts to go; "I am wearing stilettos when I get arrested. Will they give me three-sixes-too-big flip flops to wear? Thank goodness I just had a pedi." "Will someone steal my LV while I am in the slammer and try to replace is with some broke-ass K-Mart blue light special handbag that has 'C's' and 'D's' instead of 'L's' and 'V's'?" "Will I have to wear that hideous orange jumpsuit, because I do not look in orange? Coral is much more flattering to for my complexion." While the movie of my arrest is playing in my head with NWA playin’ for the soundtrack (NOTE: I totally need gansta rap to set the mood), I see Carl-E.
Yippy-skippy...
Here comes my knight in a shinny x5! He gives the officer the copy of the insurance card and verifies who I is, but then a little light goes off in my head and it flashing in bright yellow, neon tubing; GUN! GUN! The duce-duce and 45 were in his trunk, because we were supposed to go to the range, but instead we did yard work. While the officer is doing whatever she needs to do on her computer, another officer pulls up. Now, I am starting to feel really sick. Mean while, Carl-E keeps textin’ me, "Eat mints!" And, I am textin’ him “The guns! The guns!” And he texts, “I got it” And I text, “I feel sick” And he texts, “Eat mints!” I really thought I was going to lose it all over my new Vince sweater.
And then...
We are asked to get out of our cars. We are told that our tags are expired (NOTE: They are not because the little sticker says 'June 09'), that we do not have insurance (NOTE: The card Carl-E had had both our names for both cars and the expiration date said 'June 09'). Now, was I stuck in a flash forward? (NOTE: That's for all my Lost-ees), because last time I checked it was only January, I mean they both start with the letter “J” but one has way more letters. Instead of pointing out that she was WRONG-O, I let it go. You have to pick your battles, ya know?!
In the end…
We are both were handed tickets; I got two because I had no ID. So, we both have to go to court, were the tickets will be tossed out, because we were right and the coppers’s computer was misinformed. But the upside to all of this drama, I need to purchase a wallet for every bag so I’ll never forget my 411 again. Wait until Carl-E gets that bill!
“Ladies you can call it a fitness pole, but at the end of the day it is still a stripper pole.”
Monday, January 26, 2009
January 26: Creepy Factor
Happy Chinese New Year, Tators! It is the year of the Ox. If you were born in 1913, 1925, 1937, 1949, 1961, 1973, 1985, 1997 then you, speak little, and inspire confidence in others. You tend, however, to be eccentric, and bigoted, and you anger easily. You have fierce tempers and although you speak little, when you do you are quite eloquent. Ox people are mentally and physically alert. Generally easy-going, you can be remarkably stubborn, and hate to fail or be opposed. You are most compatible with Snake, Rooster, and Rat people.
So, sorry Oxens, I cannot play with you for I am a dog. Arf! Arf!
With that said...
G'Day Mates it's "National Australia Day" too! So, chat up your favorite bloke, grab a couple of Foster oil cans, and enjoy a bloomin' onion, some shrimp on the barbie, and a finish it all of with a chocolate thunder from down unda! No rules, just right!
Well...
Yesterday, my trigger finger was a itchin'. I wanted to go to the range really bad. I have not gone in a way-long time, so after my run I began to plant the seeds of a visit to the range. I figured that I would much more successful with this request than I was with the request for a new LV a couple of weeks ago; that was shot down faster than an ugly girl at the begining of a night at a bar.
While enjoying a yummy-in-my-tummy yogurt and a spicy but mellow cafe from Einsteins, I started droppin' subtle hints, such as "Hey let's go to the range today! and "You know what I would really like to do today, go to the range" But, Carl-E did not catch on, because he said, "Let's work in the backyard."
So...
An hour later, with a rake in hand, I am corralling old leaves into huge piles (NOTE: I did not have any large black bags, o the piles are still out there getting wetter and wetter with the rain). Carl-E was playin' Paul Bunyan and trimin' trees without the help of Babe. Thank goodness I had the company of those slamin' twins; Ying and Yang to help me overcome the boredom that was setting in from the manual labor. (NOTE: I do have a lawn guy; Glen. And, he is fabulous. And, we pay him. And, he normally does all the work we were doing. So why were we doing it? WHO THE HELL KNOWS! I'll have him pick up the pile; hee hee!)
Next...
I had the assignment of scrubin' the jacuzzi cabinet, and sweepin' the patio. After I completed my duites, I decided to go inside and get cleaned up, so I could go food shopin'. And doing so, I locked Carl-E out of the house. Now this was NOT done on purpose, maybe subconsciously because I really wanted to go to the range, but not on purpose.
While I was...
getting ready for my exciting exploration of the land of produce, Carl-E was frantically ringin' the door bell and knockin' on the door; none of this noise I hear. I was not ignorin' him, I just did not hear him. During his attempt to get in the house, our next door neighbor came over. I have spoke of Broke Back before. But, for those of you who do not know of him, let's have a recap, shall we?
He's does not play for the other team, but he loves shoes. Zappos is always delivering to his casa. He drives a Lamborghini that's very loud, very red, and very squashed looking, refers to women as broads, prefers bleach blonds over sneaky brunettes (NOTE: His words to me, and I am a brunette), does not Catholics because his ex-wife is one and they are sneaky (NOTE: That's two sneaky points for moi!), is from Jersey, and pretty much keeps to himself.
During the day...
BB always sits on his back porch, smokes cigars (NOTE: And other stuff!) and talks on his phone using speaker, because he works from home. Now twice a day, I go in the garage to feed Neptune, Saturn, and Biggin' Lily. And being the good mommy that I am, I talk in a baby voice to them, because we all know that cats understand baby-talk. We have full conversations about how handsome they are, how big they are getting, how much I love them, etc. etc. Anyone listing to me would think I am certified!
So...
Carl-E and Broke Back began to started to chat about our new neighbor (NOTE: She is 28, daddy is a big developer, he purchased the 1 million dollar home for her, and she put up a very high fence for security purposes because she is "someone" Her words to Broke Back while explaining the ridiculous fence). Next,they started talking about the kitties. BB told Carl-E that he likes having the babies around because they keep the rodents away. And then he said, that the cats would not come to him. Carl-E said that they only come to me. And then my neighbor says, "I can hear her talking to the cats and it must be her sweet voice."
Now...
I know I do not have a sweet voice, because if I did I would be making serious bank singin' "Tightrope" (NOTE: You have to watch "The Real Atlanta Housewives" to understand). And the only time my voice sounds even remotely sounded anything but loud and brass, was after a heavy night of partying and smoking, and then I got that sexy, whiskey, Kathleen Turner voice.
So...
When Carl-E told me all of this I began to fell icky, icky, and icky! He said I was being crazy and I should be flattered that someone liked my voice. I asked him what that was supposed to mean, and he just went in the house. Do you think he was trying to get me back for lockin' him out of the house?
Ok, I could not fit this def in my story because I have none of these, but for all the Baby's mamas, you will get a chuckle out of this. Actually, everyone will get a snicker:
Baby Goggles
A phenomenon where the parents of an ugly baby think their baby is adorable and no one else does.
Nancy: Here's our little bundle of joy! Isn't she just the cutest thing ever?!?
Lisa & Kate (after one look at Nancy's ugly baby): Ohhhh...! Yessss....
Lisa to Kate: I think Nancy has baby goggles - that's got to be the ugliest baby I've ever seen!
So, sorry Oxens, I cannot play with you for I am a dog. Arf! Arf!
With that said...
G'Day Mates it's "National Australia Day" too! So, chat up your favorite bloke, grab a couple of Foster oil cans, and enjoy a bloomin' onion, some shrimp on the barbie, and a finish it all of with a chocolate thunder from down unda! No rules, just right!
Well...
Yesterday, my trigger finger was a itchin'. I wanted to go to the range really bad. I have not gone in a way-long time, so after my run I began to plant the seeds of a visit to the range. I figured that I would much more successful with this request than I was with the request for a new LV a couple of weeks ago; that was shot down faster than an ugly girl at the begining of a night at a bar.
While enjoying a yummy-in-my-tummy yogurt and a spicy but mellow cafe from Einsteins, I started droppin' subtle hints, such as "Hey let's go to the range today! and "You know what I would really like to do today, go to the range" But, Carl-E did not catch on, because he said, "Let's work in the backyard."
So...
An hour later, with a rake in hand, I am corralling old leaves into huge piles (NOTE: I did not have any large black bags, o the piles are still out there getting wetter and wetter with the rain). Carl-E was playin' Paul Bunyan and trimin' trees without the help of Babe. Thank goodness I had the company of those slamin' twins; Ying and Yang to help me overcome the boredom that was setting in from the manual labor. (NOTE: I do have a lawn guy; Glen. And, he is fabulous. And, we pay him. And, he normally does all the work we were doing. So why were we doing it? WHO THE HELL KNOWS! I'll have him pick up the pile; hee hee!)
Next...
I had the assignment of scrubin' the jacuzzi cabinet, and sweepin' the patio. After I completed my duites, I decided to go inside and get cleaned up, so I could go food shopin'. And doing so, I locked Carl-E out of the house. Now this was NOT done on purpose, maybe subconsciously because I really wanted to go to the range, but not on purpose.
While I was...
getting ready for my exciting exploration of the land of produce, Carl-E was frantically ringin' the door bell and knockin' on the door; none of this noise I hear. I was not ignorin' him, I just did not hear him. During his attempt to get in the house, our next door neighbor came over. I have spoke of Broke Back before. But, for those of you who do not know of him, let's have a recap, shall we?
He's does not play for the other team, but he loves shoes. Zappos is always delivering to his casa. He drives a Lamborghini that's very loud, very red, and very squashed looking, refers to women as broads, prefers bleach blonds over sneaky brunettes (NOTE: His words to me, and I am a brunette), does not Catholics because his ex-wife is one and they are sneaky (NOTE: That's two sneaky points for moi!), is from Jersey, and pretty much keeps to himself.
During the day...
BB always sits on his back porch, smokes cigars (NOTE: And other stuff!) and talks on his phone using speaker, because he works from home. Now twice a day, I go in the garage to feed Neptune, Saturn, and Biggin' Lily. And being the good mommy that I am, I talk in a baby voice to them, because we all know that cats understand baby-talk. We have full conversations about how handsome they are, how big they are getting, how much I love them, etc. etc. Anyone listing to me would think I am certified!
So...
Carl-E and Broke Back began to started to chat about our new neighbor (NOTE: She is 28, daddy is a big developer, he purchased the 1 million dollar home for her, and she put up a very high fence for security purposes because she is "someone" Her words to Broke Back while explaining the ridiculous fence). Next,they started talking about the kitties. BB told Carl-E that he likes having the babies around because they keep the rodents away. And then he said, that the cats would not come to him. Carl-E said that they only come to me. And then my neighbor says, "I can hear her talking to the cats and it must be her sweet voice."
Now...
I know I do not have a sweet voice, because if I did I would be making serious bank singin' "Tightrope" (NOTE: You have to watch "The Real Atlanta Housewives" to understand). And the only time my voice sounds even remotely sounded anything but loud and brass, was after a heavy night of partying and smoking, and then I got that sexy, whiskey, Kathleen Turner voice.
So...
When Carl-E told me all of this I began to fell icky, icky, and icky! He said I was being crazy and I should be flattered that someone liked my voice. I asked him what that was supposed to mean, and he just went in the house. Do you think he was trying to get me back for lockin' him out of the house?
Ok, I could not fit this def in my story because I have none of these, but for all the Baby's mamas, you will get a chuckle out of this. Actually, everyone will get a snicker:
Baby Goggles
A phenomenon where the parents of an ugly baby think their baby is adorable and no one else does.
Nancy: Here's our little bundle of joy! Isn't she just the cutest thing ever?!?
Lisa & Kate (after one look at Nancy's ugly baby): Ohhhh...! Yessss....
Lisa to Kate: I think Nancy has baby goggles - that's got to be the ugliest baby I've ever seen!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Jan 21: Embracing my inner techy!
Hola, my chilly tators. It is bitter-er than an ex-girlfriend of your significant other because you are the one scorin' that fine ass and not her out there! Well, today is "National Hugging Day," which I have done numerous times with my Blackcherry. I bid a found adieu to my trusty red Razor as I laid it to rest in my phone retirement home (NOTE: It is not really a home, but a draw that also contains a rubber band ball; which I thought was both practical and cleverly designed; old keys to who-know-who's-house, five crusty tubes of Crazy Glue, a half a dozen of pencils that are either broken or missing an eraser, and assorted buttons, paper clips, and take-out menus.).
You might be pondering...
"If she was so happy, why did he give up her Razor?"
Well...
Carl-E is really to blame for this one. See he has Blackbetty, and she craves his attention 24/7. She is so needy, like a new puppy or a sister-n-law that constantly asks for money; hummmmm! Well, after she began to interfere with my dinners with Carl-E, I had to tell her to get to steppin' because my pimp hand is strong!
So...
Carl-E and I made an agreement, while we are eating she had to take the backseat. But, as soon as I would leave the room to get more H2O, a napkin, or a what-ever Blackbetty would be in my man's hands winking her red light seductively at him. Astonished but not surprised, I would fly into Jersey rage. I would be like, "You best be not be pushin that hoodie rat's buttons on my time!" And Carl-E would be like, "What are you talking about?" I would be like, "Oh so that's how it's gonna be, uh?! Well, you best be get to steppin and yous know I will take your sorry-cheatin-ass to court because you willz not deny my babies!" And, he would be like, "What ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" To which I would just stare until he gave up. After about, oh 2 of these episodes, he FINALLY got the hint and she never came out during dinner again.
Until...
A few weeks ago, Carl-E's knee injury must of traveled to his head and effected his memory, because during a delish dinner of saute spinach with tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil, turkey sausage, pasta, and home-made sauce Blackbetty surfaced. At first he did not notice that I was yakking about something-that-was-very-important-to-me-at-the-time-however-I-cannot-tell-what-it-was-now-but-at-the-time-it-was-Earth-shatteringly-important. At the end of my rattling, I provided the response pause (NOTE: For those of you who do not know what this is, this is when you are talking, talking, and talking, not giving the other person anytime to interject because you know that the interjection will screw-up your train of thought, so to be polite, at the end of your stream of conciseness, you give them an opportunity to respond.).
However...
He did not respond. So, as the fabu wife that I is, I gave my man a few extra tick-tocks of my Tiffany watch. Well, when no response filled the VERY empty air, I looked up to see him handling Betty! Our eyes met, and he began to quiver with the fear of category 10+ hurricane of pure Jersey rage that was about to hit him full force; yes he was ground zero!
Instead...
I smiled, and said, "I want a Blackbetty, too!" He blinked a few times, and said, "Ok." And that was that!
So...
On Monday, my version of Blackbetty arrived. But, my version is not the mom-jean-wearing, roots-need-of-dying, jugs-swingin-to-her-knees version. Mine is the 24-year-old-smokin-hot-cocain-skinny-trophy-wife-complete-with-silicon-implants-and-blond-hair-extensions (NOTE: Not the Britney-bad extensions, but the Jessica Simpson good ones). Mine has a roller ball, not some ghetto wheely-thingy on the side. Mine is not some scratched up faded-silver color, a deep succulent red, hence the name Blackcherry.
At first sight...
it was true love. But, Blackcherry did not understand that I was the boss and tried to man handle me. We fought, we bickered, we tussled, we scrapped, until I finally won. I am the mistress of this hee-ouse. Now, I have a submissive smartphone. And when I have to trade Blackcherry for a younger and hotter version, Blackcherry will spend the rest of its days in that junk drawer with the Razor, safety pins and old post-it note pads.
86 me 'cause I am done!
You might be pondering...
"If she was so happy, why did he give up her Razor?"
Well...
Carl-E is really to blame for this one. See he has Blackbetty, and she craves his attention 24/7. She is so needy, like a new puppy or a sister-n-law that constantly asks for money; hummmmm! Well, after she began to interfere with my dinners with Carl-E, I had to tell her to get to steppin' because my pimp hand is strong!
So...
Carl-E and I made an agreement, while we are eating she had to take the backseat. But, as soon as I would leave the room to get more H2O, a napkin, or a what-ever Blackbetty would be in my man's hands winking her red light seductively at him. Astonished but not surprised, I would fly into Jersey rage. I would be like, "You best be not be pushin that hoodie rat's buttons on my time!" And Carl-E would be like, "What are you talking about?" I would be like, "Oh so that's how it's gonna be, uh?! Well, you best be get to steppin and yous know I will take your sorry-cheatin-ass to court because you willz not deny my babies!" And, he would be like, "What ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" To which I would just stare until he gave up. After about, oh 2 of these episodes, he FINALLY got the hint and she never came out during dinner again.
Until...
A few weeks ago, Carl-E's knee injury must of traveled to his head and effected his memory, because during a delish dinner of saute spinach with tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil, turkey sausage, pasta, and home-made sauce Blackbetty surfaced. At first he did not notice that I was yakking about something-that-was-very-important-to-me-at-the-time-however-I-cannot-tell-what-it-was-now-but-at-the-time-it-was-Earth-shatteringly-important. At the end of my rattling, I provided the response pause (NOTE: For those of you who do not know what this is, this is when you are talking, talking, and talking, not giving the other person anytime to interject because you know that the interjection will screw-up your train of thought, so to be polite, at the end of your stream of conciseness, you give them an opportunity to respond.).
However...
He did not respond. So, as the fabu wife that I is, I gave my man a few extra tick-tocks of my Tiffany watch. Well, when no response filled the VERY empty air, I looked up to see him handling Betty! Our eyes met, and he began to quiver with the fear of category 10+ hurricane of pure Jersey rage that was about to hit him full force; yes he was ground zero!
Instead...
I smiled, and said, "I want a Blackbetty, too!" He blinked a few times, and said, "Ok." And that was that!
So...
On Monday, my version of Blackbetty arrived. But, my version is not the mom-jean-wearing, roots-need-of-dying, jugs-swingin-to-her-knees version. Mine is the 24-year-old-smokin-hot-cocain-skinny-trophy-wife-complete-with-silicon-implants-and-blond-hair-extensions (NOTE: Not the Britney-bad extensions, but the Jessica Simpson good ones). Mine has a roller ball, not some ghetto wheely-thingy on the side. Mine is not some scratched up faded-silver color, a deep succulent red, hence the name Blackcherry.
At first sight...
it was true love. But, Blackcherry did not understand that I was the boss and tried to man handle me. We fought, we bickered, we tussled, we scrapped, until I finally won. I am the mistress of this hee-ouse. Now, I have a submissive smartphone. And when I have to trade Blackcherry for a younger and hotter version, Blackcherry will spend the rest of its days in that junk drawer with the Razor, safety pins and old post-it note pads.
86 me 'cause I am done!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Jan 13: I see you; but you do not see me!
Happy "National Make Your Dream Come True Day and Blame Someone Else Day," tators. At first I was like, "Hummmm, these things are very different why would they share a day?" But then, my 130+ IQ kicked in and I realized they are like two peas in a pod; to make your dreams come true you just might have to stick it to someone else. So, when you are at clearance sale at Bloomies and you spy that last pink and orange PVC Tory Burch tote and so does some bimbo, charge her like a linebacker and do not stop if you hear a muffled "POP!" (NOTE: That's what insurance is for), take her down to Chinatown and ignore the perfume display that just crashed and splashed all over the floor, grab that dream bag and jet to the cashier. And if you are approached by store po-po about the carnage, just smile and say, "She just slipped, poor thing!" Ching! Ching! Jackpot!
Ok, let's get to the meat of this bloggy...
Well, this morning on the way to the gym to exercise my muscles, I was listening to a local ATL morning show. In honor of the premiere of "American Idol" (NOTE: I am proud to say that I have NEVER watch an episode, but I have NEVER missed an episode of "Rock of Love"!) each show member had to select a song from a former Idol winner to sing. Well, the first song selected was Clay Aiken's "Invisible" Now, not only have I never watched one episode, but I do not think I ever heard this song. Well, the girls on the show were going on and on about how creepy the lyrics were. So, I looked them up.
And...
Icky, icky, poo! Ok, Clay is creepy looking enough with his unnaturally smooth face, but the lyrics are the final push over a very steep, jagged cliff into the icy, cold drink! Here are some of the creepiness:
Whatcha doin tonight
I wish I could be a fly on your wall
Are you really alone
Who's stealin' your dreams
Why can't I bring you into my life
What would it take to make you see that I'm alive
Saw your face in the crowd
I call out your name
You don't hear a sound
I keep tracing your steps
If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
Now...
A ballot about stalking is not my idea of romance, but I guess to each is his own. So, while I was warming up on the treadmill I decided to take a look-see at a magazine. As I was flippin' through, I noticed an article about things to do in the new year; AKA resolutions. Since I am not a big fan of the resolution, I was just a tad bit curious of what the mag listed. There was the usual suspects; loss weight, eat right, exercise more, save money, blah, blah, blah.
And then...
I came to the last resolution. It said that you (NOTE: A woman) should buy a disposal phone, for the sole purpose of calling a man you just met. Now, I know you are scratching your noggin and wondering, "Why in the Hades would some woman do that?!"
Ponder...
Ponder...
Ponder...
Ansewer...
So that the man does not know it is you! So stalker-ee; so creepy; so mucho loco! What bad, bad, bad advise (NOTE: But I am sure that some crazy-ass bee-otches have already thought and implemented this action on some poor lowly, lowly, male).
Next...
I am driving to pick up my meds (NOTE: Yes, I am on lots; some of those little wonders that make me very, very HAPPY!). And, on another radio station, they report that technology has increase stalking by more percentages than the national bailout! And because technology grows faster than laws, there is a great big gray area when it comes to what they anointed "cyber-stalking." Imagine one of your ex-holes 20 years later in a dark, dank room, with only the glow of his PC to illuminate the room while Googling your name while gazing at your big-haired high school photo that is now framed with a big, red Sharpie marker that he loving and painstakingly drew over and over again.
Now that I have made you feel all icky, I gotts to jet.
Shake what your mama gave ya!
Ex-hole
your a**hole ex-husband, ex-boyfriend or just plain ex. a phrase used to refer to that person you used to date that you can't stand.
"Yeah, my ex-hole wants to get back together, but there is no possible way."
Ok, let's get to the meat of this bloggy...
Well, this morning on the way to the gym to exercise my muscles, I was listening to a local ATL morning show. In honor of the premiere of "American Idol" (NOTE: I am proud to say that I have NEVER watch an episode, but I have NEVER missed an episode of "Rock of Love"!) each show member had to select a song from a former Idol winner to sing. Well, the first song selected was Clay Aiken's "Invisible" Now, not only have I never watched one episode, but I do not think I ever heard this song. Well, the girls on the show were going on and on about how creepy the lyrics were. So, I looked them up.
And...
Icky, icky, poo! Ok, Clay is creepy looking enough with his unnaturally smooth face, but the lyrics are the final push over a very steep, jagged cliff into the icy, cold drink! Here are some of the creepiness:
Whatcha doin tonight
I wish I could be a fly on your wall
Are you really alone
Who's stealin' your dreams
Why can't I bring you into my life
What would it take to make you see that I'm alive
Saw your face in the crowd
I call out your name
You don't hear a sound
I keep tracing your steps
If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
Now...
A ballot about stalking is not my idea of romance, but I guess to each is his own. So, while I was warming up on the treadmill I decided to take a look-see at a magazine. As I was flippin' through, I noticed an article about things to do in the new year; AKA resolutions. Since I am not a big fan of the resolution, I was just a tad bit curious of what the mag listed. There was the usual suspects; loss weight, eat right, exercise more, save money, blah, blah, blah.
And then...
I came to the last resolution. It said that you (NOTE: A woman) should buy a disposal phone, for the sole purpose of calling a man you just met. Now, I know you are scratching your noggin and wondering, "Why in the Hades would some woman do that?!"
Ponder...
Ponder...
Ponder...
Ansewer...
So that the man does not know it is you! So stalker-ee; so creepy; so mucho loco! What bad, bad, bad advise (NOTE: But I am sure that some crazy-ass bee-otches have already thought and implemented this action on some poor lowly, lowly, male).
Next...
I am driving to pick up my meds (NOTE: Yes, I am on lots; some of those little wonders that make me very, very HAPPY!). And, on another radio station, they report that technology has increase stalking by more percentages than the national bailout! And because technology grows faster than laws, there is a great big gray area when it comes to what they anointed "cyber-stalking." Imagine one of your ex-holes 20 years later in a dark, dank room, with only the glow of his PC to illuminate the room while Googling your name while gazing at your big-haired high school photo that is now framed with a big, red Sharpie marker that he loving and painstakingly drew over and over again.
Now that I have made you feel all icky, I gotts to jet.
Shake what your mama gave ya!
Ex-hole
your a**hole ex-husband, ex-boyfriend or just plain ex. a phrase used to refer to that person you used to date that you can't stand.
"Yeah, my ex-hole wants to get back together, but there is no possible way."
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Jan 7: Trying to do good!
Happy 2009, tators, and happy "National Old Rock Day." So, break out those LP's and the Hi-Fi's, tye-dye tee's, bell-bottoms with the happy face patch, s[port some rose colored glasses while you gently sway to the rhythm of Led Zep's "Stair Way To Heaven" or any other oldie but a goodie that you want to jam to. GET THE LED OUT!
Ok...
For 2009, I gave in and made a list of resolutions. Now, I know that I stated previously that I would not do this, but Carl-E kept on me like white on rice until I caved. My will power is fading with my beauty...
So...
One of my resolutions was to recycle more. This is one that I did post in my last bloggy, and at first it was ha-ha-funny, but I got to thinking. I nourish four cats with two cans of the most delectable feline delights each twice a day, Carl-E consumes enough seltzer water and Gator-Aid to fill the Atlantic ocean, and we receive so much junk mail despite asking kindly "Take us of your damn list!".
Well...
Like a responsible resident of the City of Atlanta, I ventured to their web site to uncover what is acceptable and what is rejected like the ugly child (NOTE: Every city is different, so I wanted to do it right!). A whole new world was open before my eyes; cereal boxes (NOTE: If broken down), directories (NOTE: The yellow pages are so 90's), and magazines (NOTE: My "In Touch" will find its way to the bin, only after I complete the Suduko) all got the thumbs up in addition to the old faithfuls; plastic bottles, tin cans, and paper.
Movin Forward...
The first week went as smooth as the finest cocoa ganache enrobing the most decadent, moist chocolate cake with sweet raspberry filling. This week, well kind of lumpy like rice pudding with raisins. Monday night, I rolled the bin to the curb and the next day; the recycle man was MIA. I conducted some recon and realized that no one's bin was emptied. So, I left it out another day just like everyone else.
Let's Leap Foward...
Today, was a Winnie-the-Pooh day; I noticed as I dusted the living room that we never use. And then, it happened! Two boys came walking down the street, eyed my recycling bin, and kicked the lid off like a pimp kicks a ho! And before you ask, "Oh no they didn't"! I will answer, "Oh, yes they did!" Paper started flying out of the bin and began to tumble down the street. It was like A shredder threw-up after indulging in one too many reams; paper everywhere.
Now...
One of my resolutions is to be more positive. So, the old Jersey me would of ran out there and verbal assulted the boys with expletives until they cried. But now it is the new me, I took a few deep breathes, open my door, and said to the boys, "Excuse me!" To which they both turned around. I proceeded to ask them, "Why did you kick my bin?" They both began to giggle, turned their backs to me, and started to walk away. Ok, now I felt the Jersey start to rear it's head. However, I surpressed the demoness and began to quickly pick up all of the junk mail that was still blowing out of the bin, and on to my neighbor's yard, and the next neighbor's yard that needs a desperate mowing, and the next neighbor's yard (NOTE: I told you it was a very windy day).
Next...
Before I know it, a lady that I did not know from Adam, walks by me while I am frantically trying to grab all the paper and repeating over and over again to myself that they are young boys and they do stupid things, etc. etc. As she passes me, our eyes lock, and she starts to chuckle and continues walking. That is when then I notice she is carrying two backpacks. Now, I have reached my limit. So, I yell out, "Hey!" She turns around and gives me that "How dare you talk to me in that tone of voice" look with a hand on her rather large hip. And to that I walked up to her until I was about 4 feet away, and said, "Teach your kids some F*&%in' manners and remember Karma is a bitch." And with that, I turned, walked away, and continued to pick up my papers. No, way am I blow my resolution to recycle. I mean it is all about Mother Earth, ya know?!
"Mission four:
Got the vintage Rolls
Drop a couple hundreds tell him leave it at the door"
Ok...
For 2009, I gave in and made a list of resolutions. Now, I know that I stated previously that I would not do this, but Carl-E kept on me like white on rice until I caved. My will power is fading with my beauty...
So...
One of my resolutions was to recycle more. This is one that I did post in my last bloggy, and at first it was ha-ha-funny, but I got to thinking. I nourish four cats with two cans of the most delectable feline delights each twice a day, Carl-E consumes enough seltzer water and Gator-Aid to fill the Atlantic ocean, and we receive so much junk mail despite asking kindly "Take us of your damn list!".
Well...
Like a responsible resident of the City of Atlanta, I ventured to their web site to uncover what is acceptable and what is rejected like the ugly child (NOTE: Every city is different, so I wanted to do it right!). A whole new world was open before my eyes; cereal boxes (NOTE: If broken down), directories (NOTE: The yellow pages are so 90's), and magazines (NOTE: My "In Touch" will find its way to the bin, only after I complete the Suduko) all got the thumbs up in addition to the old faithfuls; plastic bottles, tin cans, and paper.
Movin Forward...
The first week went as smooth as the finest cocoa ganache enrobing the most decadent, moist chocolate cake with sweet raspberry filling. This week, well kind of lumpy like rice pudding with raisins. Monday night, I rolled the bin to the curb and the next day; the recycle man was MIA. I conducted some recon and realized that no one's bin was emptied. So, I left it out another day just like everyone else.
Let's Leap Foward...
Today, was a Winnie-the-Pooh day; I noticed as I dusted the living room that we never use. And then, it happened! Two boys came walking down the street, eyed my recycling bin, and kicked the lid off like a pimp kicks a ho! And before you ask, "Oh no they didn't"! I will answer, "Oh, yes they did!" Paper started flying out of the bin and began to tumble down the street. It was like A shredder threw-up after indulging in one too many reams; paper everywhere.
Now...
One of my resolutions is to be more positive. So, the old Jersey me would of ran out there and verbal assulted the boys with expletives until they cried. But now it is the new me, I took a few deep breathes, open my door, and said to the boys, "Excuse me!" To which they both turned around. I proceeded to ask them, "Why did you kick my bin?" They both began to giggle, turned their backs to me, and started to walk away. Ok, now I felt the Jersey start to rear it's head. However, I surpressed the demoness and began to quickly pick up all of the junk mail that was still blowing out of the bin, and on to my neighbor's yard, and the next neighbor's yard that needs a desperate mowing, and the next neighbor's yard (NOTE: I told you it was a very windy day).
Next...
Before I know it, a lady that I did not know from Adam, walks by me while I am frantically trying to grab all the paper and repeating over and over again to myself that they are young boys and they do stupid things, etc. etc. As she passes me, our eyes lock, and she starts to chuckle and continues walking. That is when then I notice she is carrying two backpacks. Now, I have reached my limit. So, I yell out, "Hey!" She turns around and gives me that "How dare you talk to me in that tone of voice" look with a hand on her rather large hip. And to that I walked up to her until I was about 4 feet away, and said, "Teach your kids some F*&%in' manners and remember Karma is a bitch." And with that, I turned, walked away, and continued to pick up my papers. No, way am I blow my resolution to recycle. I mean it is all about Mother Earth, ya know?!
"Mission four:
Got the vintage Rolls
Drop a couple hundreds tell him leave it at the door"
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