June 23: Label Whore!

I am a label whore. I love anything that screams “THIS IS A LOUIS VUITTON HANDBAG” or “YES, THESE ARE GUCCI SNEAKERS!” About a year ago, I read an article in one of those glossy mags that are chock full of advertisements for items that are stamped with every logo imaginable. The author of the article shook the preverbal “no-no” finger at wearing or carrying any item that displayed the companies name or logo. Basically, he/she stated that only rap stars wear anything that turns them into a walking build board for a brand, and that he/she thought was tres tacky.

After reading the article I began to reflect when my label obsession began. It started way back in the day, when I was nine and in the forth grade. Jordash jeans were the “it” jean and I wanted a pair more than I wanted a Barbie dream house. But there was one obstacle, my weight. See I was not the slimmest child, but I was not fat either. I was, well normal. However, my mother saw different.

The first time I could remember my weight became an issue I was in the third grade. I began to mature faster than the other girls. My white, starch-stiff, button down peter-pan, button down shirt pulled creating the dreaded “gapoisis.” My burgundy, navy, and gold plaid jumper was snug across my once non-existence hips. My gym shorts became daisy dukes with a permanent wedgie that put a damper on doing my jumping jacks.

When I came home with a note from the Sister Superior about my inappropriate fitting uniform, my mother hit the roof. She narrowed her eyes and glared at me. “Put your arms up,” she growled while grabbing my arms and jutting then in the air for me. She slowly circled me while mumbling to herself. Final she stopped in front of me, folder her arms and announced, “You are going on a diet!” “Ok,” I sheepishly replied while praying that I could put my arms down soon, because they were staring to cramp. “I know just the one!” my mother announced while opening the fridge door and pulling out a carton of eggs “You my daughter are going on the egg diet!”

Now this did not sound too bad; I liked eggs especially with Velveeta. But, I did not know that for the next 14 days that is all I would eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I ate them prepared every way; soft boiled, hard boiled, poached, fried (NOTE: In Pam of coarse), and scrambled. By day two, I was miserable, especially during lunch time. “Ill! That smells” the other girls would say when I took the lid off my reused margarine tub. “Why are you eating that?” one girl asked “Are you poor or something?” another said. I would only reply, “Eggs are good for you!”

By the end of the 14 days, I lost 8 lbs. My mother was thrilled, as she beamed at the scale with pure joy. However, as the weeks went on and I resumed my normal eating habits of an eight year old all the weight came back on and then some. And once again, I came home with a note stating the obvious; my uniform did not fit. But being a woman that sticks to her convictions, my mother flat out refused to buy me a new uniform. So everyday for the last three weeks of school I would place the pink colored paper that announced my inappropriance on the counter and she would crumble it up and toss it in the trash.

That summer we moved. While my mother was moving, I was sent off to summer camp for a month. The last thing my mother said to me was, “Do not eat too much!” A month later I was an inch taller and 12lbs lighter. Because we moved, I wasn’t attending private school. My mom was elated to buy me new school clothes for public school. She kept handing me heaps of clothes to try on and said things like, “Look how thin you look in that dress,” and “You look so tiny in that pant suit!”

I was very excited for my first day. I put on my new teal polyester dress with a pleated skirt and a white polk-a-dotted vest. As I smoothed the skirt over my legs I noticed that the pleats stuck out just a tiny bit. It did not bother me, but I knew that my mother would hit the roof. So, when she called me to leave for school, I cleverly covered the front of my dress with my new Charlie Angles lunch box.

After the first three months of school, my waist line began to expand. All my new clothes barely fit. I concealed this by wearing long sweaters to hide the fact that I could not button my pants anymore. By mid-November, I was wearing the same outfit over and over again; midnight blue velvet sweatpants, an oversized, cream fisherman’s sweater, and my lavender legwarmers with the silver threads running through them. The other kids began to call me “Crusty Carrie” because of my outfit. But, what they did not know is that I braved the creepy basement to wash my clothes everyday.

Now, you are probably wondering where my mother was during all this. Well, she was in love with a new boyfriend. She barely noticed my clothing and I was so grateful. In addition, I would leave the house as early as possible, so she would not see my outfit. When she questioned why I was leaving so early, I told her I was helping out with the classroom animals. However, I would sit on the frozen plastic seat of the swing set on the playground until the doors of school opened.

On Christmas morning, I awoke as the sun rose. I raced to the tree and spied all my gifts. I was so excited because I had a gut feeling that one of my present was a pair of Jordash jeans, because that is all I asked for. When my mother finally rolled out of bed around 10am I thought I was going to pop. After she got her coffee, I was allowed to finally tare into my gifts. I got a Rick Springfield record, a Strawberry Shortcake doll, new robe, and a new pair of dark blue Jordash jeans with the bright white stitching. I was so excited, that I ran to my room to put them on. I put both feet in and pulled up, but they stopped at my hips. I tried to wiggle them on by holding on to the belt loops and swinging my hips from left to right while jumping up and down. I lay on my bed and tugged, but they would not budge.

“Let me see how they look,” my mother yelled from the living room. I took them off, tears streaming down my face, and I slowly made my way to the living room. “What’s wrong, I though you wanted them!” my mother said through gritted teeth when she saw my face. “I love them, but they do not fit” I replied while hugging them close to my cheek. “What do you mean they do not fit; give them to me!” she said with her hand opening and closing like a claw. I placed my beloved jeans in her hand and she began to examine the tag. “They are a size 8, you wear an 8. Did you gain weight again?!” I just stood there with my head hung low and mumbled, “I do not think so,” knowing that I had. “Well let’s see,” she said while making her way down the hallway to the bathroom to get the scale.

She placed the scale at my feet and, pointed to it, and ordered me to get on it. My whimpers turned into full blown sobs, but she persisted. Slowly I placed my feet on the scale. “Oh my God!” she yelled “How the hell did you gain this much weight?” Now I was in full on hysteria mode; shoulders moving up and down and nothing but little whimpers coming out of my mouth flowed by sucking in air. “Well, those will have to go back and you will not get another pair until you drop some pounds!” she said in between sips of her coffee.

For the rest of the day I watched everyone enjoying the multi-course feast that my Aunt prepared, while I nibbled on lettuce, turkey (NOTE: White meat only; no gravy), and carrots. The rest of vacation I tried to drop my weight by walking around the block 10 times everyday, and by the end of the break I lost 3 pounds.

The Saturday before returning to school, my mother took me to return my jeans. As we walked through the mall I held the bag containing my jeans tight to me, ad wished I was thin enough to fit into my jeans. As we entered the kids section, I spied the Jordash section. I slowly walked over and ran my hand over their soft cloth. I began to flip through them and noticed that they made bigger sizes. I quickly grabbed a 10 and ran to my mother, “Look they make a 10, can I try it on?” “Oh no, you will not get them until you lose weight!” was her reply.

I was crushed. I wanted those Jordash jeans more than anything in my whole 9 years. I began to make my way back to the rack, when I heard my mother calling me. I thought she had had a change of heart. A smile spread across my face, and I ran to her with the jeans in my hands. “Look you need new jeans for school…” I could not believe my ears she was going to let me get them. “So, I want you to try on these!” and with that she handed me a pair of Cloud jeans. Who ever heard of Cloud jeans!

I took them and sulked my way to the fitting room. I was praying that they would not fit, but they did. On the way home I just stared out the car window thinking, how in the world did I wind up with Cloud jeans that fit and not Jordash jeans.

I dreaded going back to school because I would not have a cool pair of Jordash jeans but lame Cloud jeans. While walking to school, I made a promise to myself that when I had the money, I would buy anything with a label despite my size that I wanted. Almost 30 years later I have kept that promise, and that is why I am a label whore!

June 15: The Gray State

Happy "Smile Power Day!" Now I am not too sure what smile power is, but maybe if you smile all day you get rewarded with like a bizillion green backs or it rains Louis Vuittons. So, I will be flashing my pearly whites all day long. What is the worse that can happy, my face freezes in a permanent smile like the Joker.

Anywho...
Carl-E and I went to my homeland for my cousin's wedding. And not to disappoint, it was gray, gray, gray. Whenever Carl-E visits the Garden State it is never sunny; NEVER! He calls it the "Gray State!"

Well...
The wedding was wonderful, no drama; except...this little ditty!

Ok, here we go...
There were five grooms men; I believe three were cousin's of the groom. Well, one of the cousins is engaged. But, his fiance's sister was getting the same weekend that my cousin was getting married. Are you confused, yet???

Because...
the weddings were taking place in different states, they decided that each one should attend each wedding; so she goes to Texas and he stays in New Jersey. Well, because he is that tasty of a man (NOT!) he had to bring a date to the wedding.

Now...
we are not talking about a "friend" date, were talking a "booty call" date. But, it gets better. He insisted that NO, absolutely No photos be taken of him and this girl together, because guess what? He does not what to be caught!

So...
at the reception there is only one girl walking around as if she just stepped out of a strip club (NOTE: Not the high end ones, like in Vegas but those rat traps that are out by the airport; icky!).

Let's analyze her outfit..,
dress two sizes way too small, so to accentutate her paunch. Black satin skirt hiked up to mid thigh. Flesh colored bustier top that had her lady lumps spillith out all over the place. Those puppys could not be contained! And the icing on the outfit; strappy black platform glossy stripper heals (NOTE: At least she left the clear ones at home).

Now...
This chick is supposed to be a big secret, but the two could not contain their love or better yet lust for each other because they were walking around holding hands and smoochy-smoochy! I tried to snap a photo, but it did not come out. How 007 of me is I totally caugth their tryst on film!

I should of been a spy!

Later tators!

June 5: trail mix

Howdy tators! I hope everyone is enjoying this glorious Friday! It started out gloomy, but around noon it cleared up. So, I decided to ambush the weed brigade that declared war in my beds. Armed with an industrial size bottle of Round Up I kicked weed ass and took names! You would of been proud of your girl! Those little green meanies never knew what hit them, cause I am stealth like a jungle cat!

Speaking of cats...
I have three new kittens. Moma Cat and the Skillet Head have been very busy! But because Moma moved the new litter into my backyard I no longer see my Neptune (NOTE: Neptune is from the second litter). He now lives next door with his brother and sister. Yesterday, I tried to catch Moma but she totally walked around the trap, and then sat her fat ass down while the little gray kitten walked inside, and then "SLAM!" So, I caught the kitten and not Moma, she is too smart!

Speaking of smart...
A not so smart bug flew straight into my eye while I was running. OMG! I have never felt such pain in my life. That bug must of been going about 10000 mph and I know I was breaking the sound barrier, so when we collided it felt as if my eyeball flew into the back of head, and then bounced back. My eye is a bit swollen, but I will live.

Speaking of living...
I could never live in the Amway Arena; not enough elbow room. Carl-E and I got to go to one of the Eastern Conference Final games. To start, the seats are tiny, but when you have a man that needs his seat and YOUR seat in order to sit, it makes watching the game a tad bit difficult. But, I enjoyed the game despite the fact that I sat on a strange man's lap all night. (NOTE: Carl-E is going to game 4, luck ducky!)

Well tators, enjoy your weekend and I promise a story is on its way!

And I am out!

May 13: And the story continues...

Happy "National Leprechaun Day!" So Tators, locate your wee little friend, follow his rainbow to his pot of gold, and then knock his tiny tush out, steal the gold, and haul mad ass! Hey, there is a budget deficit out there, ya know?! And, gold is probably the only thing that is retaining its value, and what does a short man in a funny suit need a pot of gold for? Nada!

So, let embark on the rest of my Roma adventure...
Oh, one thing I forgot to tell you that Romans love are hot dog dogs. And, there hot dog dogs are not the teeny ones, they are super sized! I think the hot dog dog is the offical dog of Roma; I think.

Ok...
So, on day two, Carl-E and I are off to the Sistine (NOTE: Not the Sixteen Chapel) and Vatican Museum (NOTE: I cannot tell you how many ignorant English speaking people call the Sistine Chapel the Sixteen Chapel; it made me cringe each time). Well, the line was about 2 and 1/2 hours deep. Carl-E instantly said, "No Way!" which triggered my boo-hoo face (NOTE: Ya know the face; pouty bottom lip and weepy, pleading eyes).

And then...
before I turned on the water works to get my way, we were approached by a young lady that asked us if we wanted to take an English speaking tour for 50 Euros each, and with the tour you get to jump the insane line. Before Carl-E could utter a word, I said, "YES!" So, off we were with 18 other English speaking people and our guide. I had to chuckle when we cut everyone in line, because they had to wait, SUCKAS!

When...
We were inside a couple of guys started to give our a-bit-to-long-winded-but-nice-enough guide a hard time and point-blank told him to "To Stop Talking and Get On With The Tour!" Now, we all had head phones that linked to our guide, so everyone heard the guys comments; can you say uncomfortable silence?! Our guide did not miss a beat and basically told them to shut it in a high brow way.

As we...
Are walking though the galleries getting tidbits about this painting and that tapestry the same guys decide to start giving our guide a rash once again. After another exchange of words the guys decided to leave the tour. As they walked off I gave a the silent cheer (NOTE: Carl-E thought I was swatting flies).

After...
2 and half hours of tour, we were finally released back into the city. Now, it was time for SHOPPIN! I could not wait to get me some new shoes. I was so excited to find the Pucci boutique, I was giddy. But to go shoppin, you have to go to the Spanish Steps.

OMG...
I thought Carl-E was going to explode with all the people. It was so crowed that I could of wedged myself between two people, had my feet lifted off the ground, and carried around. I knew my time was limited, so I grabbed Carl-E by the hand and headed to the "side streets" were the high end stores are. Well, after no luck locating a Pucci store, I headed to Chanel. Well, there was a line that stretched way down the block. I have never had to wait in a line to enter the Chanel store in Orlando. So, I jigged left and then right avoiding the crowds to the Louis Vuitton store. Well, there was a line there too! I never had to wait in line in Hot-Lanta. So, I said forget this (NOTE: While wearing the pouty face once again!)

Sad...
that I got no new shoes, I decided to drown my sorrows in gelato. Oh, it was so yummy, I almost forgot about those fierce Pucci sling backs that I had been dreaming about since we landed in Roma; almost!

Time to hit the gym!
I am out!

May 8: Second Post of the Trip

Hola, tators! Well, I am sitting in my inferno of a house while my A/C is being fixed. Although there is no sun (NOTE: I think it is in New Jersey for some bizzar reason)it is hot as Hades. I am waiting for the devil himself to sit next to me on the couch and watch the season finally of "Tough Love." (NOTE: I think he would totally approve of the show because of all the naughty-naughty behavior!)

Anywho...
So, Carl-E arrive in Roma after a 8 hour flight, get to our hotel, and crash for a couple hours. After a refreshing nappy-nap (NOTE: Yes, I finally was able to nap, but it took staying up all night and three glasses of wine!), we headed out to the Vatican. Now, according to the hotel's website we were only a hop-skip-and-a-jump away.

Well...
We got so lost; we jigged when we should of jagged (NOTE: This will not be the only time we got lost; thank goodness I had good walking shoes). What should of taken a twenty minutes max took over an hour. After consulting three different maps, the position of the sun, and the way the wind was blowing, we finally figured out the right direction.

When...
we got to St Peters, we toured the church, and then headed to the museum. Well, when we finally go there it was closed! May 1 is Italy's Labor Day. I was so bummed; but have no fear I had a back up plan: visit the castle.

I will tell...
you that personal space does not exists. While in line I think I has relations with 5 people. Everyone was sooooooooooooo close; way too close. And in line for the castle is where I spotted it! The first scrunchie! It was practically touching my nose, and to add insult to injury, it was florescent pink! And then I looked down and saw a pair of red Crocs too; UGGGGG! It took a full 15 minutes for me to get over the shock of this horrific sight.

After...
the castle it was off to have dinner at a restaurant recommend by a friend. Well, guess what?! It was closed. So, we headed to another one. Sitting next to us, was the most sappy of sappy couples; except it was so one-sided. She called him "honey" and "cupcake" and "bunny" and all sorts of names that made me want to up chuck my pizza all over the table. I thought they might of been on their honeymoon because of all the cooing, but she was not sporting any rock of any size. If they are just dating, he needs to run quick and far, far away. If I had to deal with all that sugary-speak I could not be responsible for my actions. Icky!

Well, I am off to stick my head in the freezer before I melt into a puddle.

And I'm out!

May 7: I'm Back

Hey tators!
I am back from my Roma vaycay. Carl-E and I had a wonderful time hangin with the Romans. But, before I embark on our trip, I need to tell you what the Romans L-O-V-E

1. The Puff Vest - Most days hovered around 80 degrees; pretty darn warm I'd say. But, despite the centigrade, the Romans wore puff vests. They came in all sorts of colors, but the neutral khaki seemed to be the favorite. Just looking at them made me so hot! By day three, I wanted to rip off their vests and toss it into the Tiber River.

2. Boots - Does not matter the style: tall, slouchy, ankle, over the knee, heels, wedges, flats; they loves them some boots! The cowboy boot was the hands down favorite. I kept wondering how bad their feet must hurt from walking on cobble stones all day. They must spend beau coup dollas on pedis to help treat those sore tooties.

3. Scrunchies - WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! All of the scrunchies in the world should be burned! The joules they produced would end our energy crisis. They are an abomination to the classic hair style; the pony tail!

4. Scarves - Like the puffy vest, no matter how hot it got, they had a scarf tightly wound around their necks so the ends could not freely flap in the breeze. This I did not mind because scarves are very in vogue right now.

5. Crocs - Yes, tators, your eyes are not playing tricks on you, I wrote CROCS! As the scrunchie is an abomination to the pony tail, crocs are to the fashion foot wear world. When not wearing boots, they are sporting crocs in all colors; pink, green, blue, and red. And they stick those thingys in them, too! With the scrunchies; Crocs should have a funeral pyre.

Stay tuned; more to come!

april 30: and we're off

Ciao tators! Carl-E and I are off to Roma. Right now we are waiting for our flight to Newark. I am enjoying a nice ice coffee while Carl-E is reading a book about frozen dead people on a moutain.

So...
While in the wayyyyy toooooo looooong security line I encountered Mrs TB (note: TB stands for her tory burch flip flops; which I have two pair but mine are last summer; boo-hoo)

Anywho...
I do not think Ms TB travels much because she was takin foreva to decide what to put in her zip lock baggy; in went the lipstick, out came the hairspray (note: not regulation size) back in went the face cream. By the time she decided to put the hairspray in the bag I had stripped off my new puma flats (note: did you expect not to travel in style), my CandC jacket and placed my fun and fashionable LeSportsac backpack in my bin.
Ms TB still was not makin any progress nor any friends and the line was gettin really behind me; I could hear the huffin and puffin from the people behind me, so I deceided to go around her.

She did not like this because as I did she whispered to her plaid clad, pop collar polo wearing boy toy "no patients" Just before I said "who the f' do you think you are" the security lady yells to me "you go girl; you go!"

I turned to Ms TB with a big smile and said "See! I was not the only one who thought you were slow!" Hee Hee!

I saw only one face maskin wearing fool so far and a prisoner; never saw one in the airport before; cuffs but no bright orange jumper!

Ciao!