While I'm at it

MerryDrunkenChristmas, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I don't even know where to start here. The Elaine-like hair shelf partnered with the hot roller action? The also out-of-Seinfeld puffy shirt WITH shoulder pads? My dad's expression? The fact that I'm 16 years old and I look drunk out of my gourd???

The hair that ate the world

The hair that ate the world, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I've been doing some scanning this evening (might as well add maudlin to maudlin, right?), and I really think the blogging community would enjoy this photo of me all dressed up for the EIGHTH GRADE DANCE, BITCHES. That's 1990, natch.

I can't even imagine how much dried Aqua Net you're looking at right now.

The ying and the yang

Why I hate the world: Being new to this whole acne thing, I thought I was doing the right thing by going to the dermatologist and getting a professional opinion.

Uh, no.

I am sitting here a full $91 in the hole from a variety of prescription medications foisted onto me, creams and washes that of course do NOT come in a generic form. I can't vouch for the effectiveness of these magic FIFTY DOLLAR OINTMENTS, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my post-miscarriage hormones will continue to rage on (We like to party. We like, we like to party.) and will LAUGH at my ineffectual dabbings and washings. I might as well just dunk my head in a bucket of Sea Breeze every morning.

Why I love the world: My friend S. done had herself a baby girl today! Congratulations to her, her husband, and the little butterbean. Yay!

I'm two-toed, how about you?

Such a weekend of sloth you never did see as what went on in the Slav household for the past couple of days. We made it out of the house Friday night and saw In Good Company at the Studio Movie Grill. Nothing says good times like a middlin' movie accompanied by cheese fries and Shiner. Mmmm-mmm!

Saturday night we went to the Improv and saw a very spastic gentleman named Pablo Francisco. Please enjoy the following quote from the Improv web site:

Pablo brings forth strikingly authentic off-the-wall sound effects and brilliant impressions. He takes the stage with the confidence to improvise and has a talent that is undeniable.

Fuck yeah!

I also managed to churn through about 6 Alias episodes (almost done with season one!), and we watched The Forgotten (which gets an official Slav rating of "meh").

Sunday started off on a high note, featuring some dee-lighful waffles made by yours truly. We decided to go with the Joy of Cooking recipe this time around, as opposed to the Fannie Farmer version BK has been sticking with since we got the waffle iron (we rock the Hamilton Beach Flip 'n Fluff). Eggs were separated! Whites were beaten into stiff peaks!

The day pretty much went downhill from there. I plopped my ass down and watched the extended version of Return of the King, while BK escaped from the booming surround-sound Nazgul screeches and read comic books in the study. Soon the weekend was over, and all that was left was peering at Buster's last-walk-of-the-day poo to make sure that his intestines weren't being shredded to bits by the sharp, hard pieces of plastic that he gnawed off a contraband spatula Friday afternoon.

Wheeee!

Someone threw it away!

From: [redacted] BK
Sent: Friday, January 28, 2005 11:14 AM
To: Dallas Users
Subject: The Case of the Missing Muffin

On January 28, at approximately 7:25 A.M. I purchased a Very Blueberry Muffin at Starbucks, located in the lower level of Renaissance Tower.  At approximately 7:30 A.M., I arrived in the kitchen in our office.  In the process of making my coffee, I set my muffin aside.  At approximately 7:35 A.M., I left the kitchen and walked to my office, forgetting to take my muffin with me.  I soon became involved with work and did not remember that I had bought a muffin until approximately 10:55 A.M., when I realized I was hungry.  After a brief head-scratching (why am I so hungry?  Didn't I have breakfast?  Oh, right.  I bought a muffin.  Didn't I eat it?  Oh, right.  I left it in the kitchen), I returned to the kitchen.  THE MUFFIN WAS GONE.  After another brief head-scratching (did I leave it somewhere else? Maybe I ate it and forgot?), I asked passers-by whether they had seen an abandoned muffin in the kitchen that morning.  The muffin's earlier abandoned presence was confirmed.  I can only conclude that someone has taken my muffin, hopefully just for safekeeping.

If you have my muffin, please let me know and I will fetch it.  If you have taken it and eaten it, please feel a little guilty (but only a little, as it probably appeared abandoned).

Three unrelated items

Many thanks go out to Mr. Small White Dragon, who was kind enough to give me some CSS pointers yesterday when I was attempting to add a blogroll to my sidecolumn.

Also! I've printed a few CD inserts from iTunes recently, and the cover art mosaics are pretty sweet!

And finally, does anyone else watch The Apprentice? If so, you will agree with me, I'm sure, that last night's episode was psycho-riffic. Where do they find these people?

This level of writing genius is WASTED on a blog

"I don't know what's more disturbing: that these naked people are covering their meat ports with computer hardware or that it appears all these photos were taken at a technical school."

This one goes out to Richard, my favorite mexikid

Something remarkable happened when I went to the grocery store after work today. I was picking up some staples, lots of veggies to go in the rice-cooker/steamer that BK got me for Christmas (steaming RAWKS), and I picked up a 2 lb. bag of frozen shrimp that was on sale for 1/2 off the regular price of $14.98.

[I'd like to take a moment to reminisce about being in 2nd grade and thinking that a lb., which I pronounced "lib" in my head, was a completely separate unit of measurement. The shame that resulted when I was reading aloud about some dinosaur in class and said that it weighed 1,000 LIBS! GOD DAMN YOU, NON-ENGLISH SPEAKING PARENTS. GOD DAMN YOU TO HELL.]

So I'm at Albertson's (It's My Store) checking out, and as I'm rolling my cart out the door I look at my receipt to check the bottom line where they tell you how much you saved with your PREFERRED CARD. I'm disappointed to see I only saved $5.00, and then I stop because that can't be right. My savings on the SHRIMP ALONE should have been $7.50. So I look on the receipt (which is now helpfully organized into categories likes "meats" and "produce") and in the "seafood" category I see that I was charged THE FULL FIFTEEN BUCKS for the shrimp.

Well! You can bet your bottom dollar that I marched my little self right over to the customer service counter and demanded satisfaction. And then! And then the lady told me that Albertson's policy is that if the wrong price gets scanned, they REFUND YOU THE WHOLE AMOUNT. Score! That's $15 right back in my pocket.

When I told BK this story, in a move very unlike his usually goody-two-shoes-self, he asked, "So did you go back in there and buy another bag of shrimp? Because the wrong price will probably scan again and you can get another bag free."

SNAP.

Even lamer than Snoop

I've added Buster and Joshua Wanat to their respective 'sters.

Please, for the love of god, add your pet and select them as pals. Tell me I'm not in this alone.

He keeps a blue flag hanging out his backside; but only on the left side, yeah that's the Crip side

Well, it's official. Snoop Dogg officially has no cred left whatsoever, cameo appearances in Old School and failed MTV shows notwithstanding.

If Shannen Doherty and Tobey Maguire are caught throwing signs at your concert at Sundance, you are mos def not gangsta.

OH MY GOD I JUST MADE AN AWFUL RAP PUN DID YOU SEE IT?!?!

JIC Bill Gates is a loyal reader and is feeling generous today

Before you read today's post, please note that I fully comprehend how frivolous and materialistic it is. Understand that I am highly appreciative of my spoiled American life, and that I am cognizent of the fact that, world-wide, children are starving to death daily at an alarming rate. I am grateful for the heaps of food on my plate, the warmth of my 2000 sq. ft. home, and the thousands of dollars of ridiculous and unnecessary gadgetry contained within. WHO AM I to have the ability to record FOUR DIFFERENT TELEVISION SHOWS at the same time when there are people suffering so much misery and pain?

However.

The flesh is weak and I am a lothesome human being who knows these things but is too lazy to Do Something About It. I am not out there in the soup kitchens and Peace Corps where I would be Making a Difference. My Teach for America karma is all used up and now I can only sit, troll-like, in my living room and contemplate my place in this world as a fraud. And then when the self-flagellation grows tiresome, I can think about ...

More Useless Shit I Covet

If I had an extra $14.95 a month, I would move my blog to TypePad. I am under the impression that this would give me more street cred as a blogger. Ideally, I would just build my own blog using Movable Type, I know. But the thought of that makes me tired. But if I used TypePad, there would be categories! And TypeLists! And FOAF GENERATION! (I'm just kidding about that last part. I mean, it would be there. But I wouldn't know what the hell it was.)

If I had roughly an extra $1000 lying around, I would buy a digital SLR, mayhaps the Nikon D70. I have this fantasy going where owning a D70 would magically transform me into a master photographer and I would quit my job and slink around town in a beret taking really sweet photos of shit really close up and really far away, all properly focused and never blurry. Also, I would be able to take photos instantaneously instead of holding down the button for 30 seconds which is fine for Thanksgiving with the Family but not so much for anything, you know, cool.

I would not say no to a dvd player for the bedroom. This fantasy involves lounging about in bed watching Meg Ryan movies on a Sunday morning while the rain pitter-patters against the window. Since Sunday mornings in the Land of Reality involve waking up at 8:30 and vacuuming and doing four loads of laundry, I can pretty safely say that I'm not missing out on that much.

Were a few more hundred dollars to magically appear in my bank account, I would buy many items at the Posh Baby online store. Don't worry, it's not the grief talking -- I am fully aware that I am neither a mother nor with child. But hopefully I will be one day and in the meantime I could take out my brand-new, not-yet-pooped-on, diaper bag in Twirl out of the closet and pet it during the hard times.

Frequent manicures, pedicures, and eyebrow waxings got canned post-salary-cut. As a result, my husband now shrinks back in horror when confronted with the chipped mess that is my toes, and although I give my eyebrows a few half-hearted plucks every now and then, they're teetering on the brink of Teen Wolf. Sure, I could do my own fingers and toes, but that would require time and effort and I just got the next Alias DVD in the mail from Netflix so I couldn't possibly SPARE THE GEEDEE TIME.

Having now alienated all readers with my wretched display of commercialism, I am now going to quietly hate myself while enjoying a Sonny Bryan's frito pie.

Served best with sound

I don't know wtf this is, BUT I LIKE IT.

I think my uterus just swooned

lil' baldy, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

The nephew at three months.

The most shocking rose ceremony EVER

The Sunday after the 2004 presidential election BK and I went to the First Unitarian Church of Dallas. We were both pretty beaten down by the election's outcome and local poll results made us feel at odds with the vast majority of the city we now call our home. We wanted to gather together with like-minded folks and lick our wounds. I have friends who are members of UU churches, and BK and I had both emerged as budding Universalists when we took the beliefnet.com quiz. We figured, what the heck. At worst we hate it and never go back.

But the thing is, we liked it. So we joined. And today we took part in the new member recognition, where you shlep up to the front of the sanctuary and are recognized with a few words and a rose. Two notes:

1. I guilted BK into breakfast out this morning because he called me last night at ten to tell me he was done playing poker with his buds but was going to "go out" for a few more hours, "go out" being a thinly veiled euphemism for "look at naked ladies." Something I ate made me very, um, [stage-whisper]gassy[/stage-whisper], and I was convinced a big, nasty fart was going to escape from my tightly-clenched buttcheeks just as I stepped up to the front of the sanctuary. Thankfully, I managed to Keep It All on the Inside, and the congregation was spared the trumpeting of my angry bowels.

2. The ceremony was almost exactly like the rose ceremonies seen on The Bachelor. TO A TEE. You walk up to the minister, who is holding a long-stemmed rose, and he addresses you by name and says the same few sentences he's said to the 10 people before you. I was trying so hard not to laugh as I stood there gazing into his earnest face, totally expecting him to say, "Karo, do you accept this rose?" At which point I would say, "Of course!" or some other phrase I'd been cooking up all week to say in lieu of "Yes" and we would hug and I would run back to the rest of the new member group with a smug look on my face. Then Chris Harrison would appear and tell the people who didn't get a rose to say their goodbyes, and I would hug them and act all sad but would slowly and distinctly mouth "SUCK IT" to them when my back was to the cameras.

Official disclaimer: The above paragraph in no way indicates that I watch, or have ever watched, The Bachelor. And I especially do not watch the current season of The Bachelorette. Because that would be BAD. Just don't call me at 8:00 on Monday nights, ok?

Man v. Cat

I am a very sound sleeper. BK, on the other hand, is a delicate flower who wakes up at the slightest provocation. Throw in a cat who gets ravenously hungry in the middle of the night and has no qualms with telling you about it, and you've got the recipe for what I like to call:

The Old Vodka Glass and Flashlight Game

Here's how it goes down: Every night, somewhere between the hours of 2:30 and 5:30 in the morning, Joshua Wanat slinks into the bedroom and starts clawing at the bedskirt on my side of the bed. I of course sleep right through it, but BK is up and ready for war! He gets out of bed, and Joshua Wanat knows the game has begun, so he runs and hides. BK goes for the flashlight and vodka glass full of water that he keeps on top of the armoire in the bathroom, and ... THEY'RE OFF!

The object of the game, of course, is to find Joshua with the flashlight and throw the water at him, thereby scaring him shitless and ensuring that he will no longer come clawing at the bedskirt. (I kind of imagine Joshy hiding under some piece of furniture with his paw over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh and give himself away.)

In reality, though, things are a little different. First of all, J-Dub thinks playing hide-and-seek with one of the Big Cats is FUN! Second of all, he's a lot better at hiding than poor, sleep-addled BK is at seeking. (Except for that one time when Joshua forgot to tuck his tail in and BK saw it sticking out from under the armchair and Joshua got soaked and boy howdy I would have paid a lot of money to see that.) And lastly, the thing about kitties is that they have very small brains and aren't so good at Remembering Life Lessons, so even if BK manages to give Joshy a faceful of water every once in a while, I'm not sure that it's going to stick.

When I think about all this activity happening in the middle of the night, it really tickles me that I'm lying there asleep, completely oblivious to the whole Man/Cat power struggle that's going down right there in the bedroom.

The matter of the meat

A couple of Saturdays ago when BK and I were both at home waiting for the new furniture to be delivered, there was a knock on the door. I was in the middle of vacuuming, so BK answered the door and I only turned off the vacuum cleaner long enough to ascertain that it was a salesperson. Assuming BK would quickly deal with whoever it was, I kept vacuuming.

Imagine my surprise when I turned off the vacuum cleaner ten minutes later and found BK in the dining room with the salesman, examining boxes of MEAT. Apparently this man goes door to door selling MEAT. And instead of telling him politely that we are not interested in his wide array of MEAT PRODUCTS, BK invited the man into our home where he proceeded to launch into his spiel of Why You Need To Have a Freezer Stocked Full of Beef At All Times.

Well, friends and neighbors, not only did BK invite the Meat Man into our home, he also purchased steaks from him. So many steaks that we had to take them out of the decorative packaging (because as we all know that is a sign of a quality meat product) and stuff them into the freezer individually. BK's reasoning for buying Scores of Steaks was, "Well, sometimes I want a steak but they're expensive." Riiiiiight. So we remedy the expense by blowing an entire month's pay on MEAT?

That night we settled down to have us a good, old-fashioned meat-and-potatoes kind of meal. I made some AWESOME mashed potatoes with the KitchenAid mixer (oh how I love thee, KitchenAid mixer, let me count the ways) which may or may not have involved copious amounts of butter. There was a green thing which escapes my memory since the green things often do, unless they are drenched with a sauce involving the aforementioned butter. And there were the newly aquired steaks, prepared by BK.

After gorging myself with mashed potatoes for a few minutes, I cut myself a piece of steak and popped it in my mouth. I chewed. I chewed some more. And then I opened my mouth and let the "steak" fall back on the plate, because I'll be DAMNED if I was going to eat something that disgusting.

You know that episode of Friends where Monica gets hired to create recipies using Mochlate? It's like that.

MOCHLATE:CHOCOLATE::DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMAN STEAK:REAL MEAT

Dudes, this steak was so bad and rubbery that I couldn't even eat it after dousing it with A1. AND THAT'S BAD.

On the bright side, everyone I know will be receiving a homemade Mixed Meat Gift Basket for Christmas this year!

Please enjoy

Two funny animated gifs: a) first this one, b) and then this one.

When I win the lottery I'm placing a full-page ad in the local paper

Drivers of Dallas, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The majority of you appear to have been granted driver's licenses without grasping the fundamental rules of operating a motor vehicle. Fear not! Karo is here, and will help you avoid debilitating car accidents with a few Tips for Driving:

• Tailgating: This needs to stop. F'real. There is no excuse for you driving your Escalade three inches behind my back bumper. BACK OFF, YOU 5'2" BLOND SHE-DEVIL.
  
  
• The turn signal: This is controlled by the little level coming out of your steering wheel. You do not appear to be familiar with it. Please, please use it. Also, for those of you who do use your turn signal, but only when you're halfway into my lane -- YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT. The turn signal is supposed to alert me to your future actions. If you're already in my lane, I'M ON IT.
  
  
• The pedals: Dallasites, I'm here to tell you that 75% of our traffic woes could be remedied by clearing up the misconception that your foot must be depressing a pedal at all times. Believe it or not, this is not true! You don't need to be accelerating or riding your brakes at any given time. Sometimes, JUST GIVE YOUR RIGHT FOOT A BREAK. This will cut down on the tailgating and the ...
  
  
• Merging: We really need to work on this. When a car is approaching on the on-ramp, take your foot off the accelerator. Please note I did not say, "Slam on the brakes." I also did not say, "Ignore the other car." Take your foot off the GODDAMN ACCELERATOR AND GIVE ME SOME FUCKING ROOM.

Five failures and one wobbly success

You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you're going to do something or not do something and then for a while you do or don't do it and you're all proud of yourself but then you slack off a little and before you know it it's like you never made that promise to yourself and MY GOD THE GUILT?

Yeah, me too.

So I present to you Karo's List of Recent Failures:

• Putting dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher instead of on the counter/in the sink. I cannot comprehend why this is so difficult. It's just one extra step. And yet.
  
  
• Waking up five minutes earlier and making coffee at home. I am one lazy mofo. And Atlanta Bread Company and Starbucks are reaping the benefits. And the thing is, I don't even have the excuse I did in D.C., where the hazlenut coffee at Bread and Chocolate was far superior to anything I could make at home. I'm just LAME.
  
  
• Not letting the dog get on the furniture. IF YOU WERE FACED WITH HIS BIG BROWN EYES OF COWERING SORROW YOU'D GIVE IN, TOO.
  
  
• Taking a daily multivitamin. Now, if you could get pregnant from not taking a multivitamin every day at the same exact time, I'd be all about that shit. But healthy insides? Fuck that.
  
  
• One word: treadmill.
  

I have, however, managed to keep the armchair in our bedroom completely clear of clothing. Granted, the pile that used to be on the chair is now on the floor of my closet, BUT STILL. The clean chair is a SUCCESS.

Doth mine eyes deceive me?

Four words: Bill Gates. Tiger Beat. I am so not kidding.

First, some notes about movies

Gooooood morning, chickadees. I hope that everyone had an enjoyable weekend. Mine was a delightful three days of not having to come to work, and I even left the house a few times! First I forced BK to see Sideways, and then yesterday he forced me to go see Million Dollar Baby. Throw in a little red carpet Golden Globe action on Sunday night, and you've got fucking Cannes in Dallas. Kinda.

Sideways was enjoyable, although I made the mistake of really building it up in my head ahead of time, so by the time we actually went, I'd heard from many people how it's the best movie ever, blah blah, so then you're sitting there expecting an out-of-body experience, and when all you get is a movie, it's a little disappointing.

I had the opposite experience with Million Dollar Baby. I am not a fan of men, let alone women, beating one another senseless and therefore not a fan of boxing (and hockey*), so I was really digging my heels in. HOWEVER, BK was chomping at the bit to see it so I gave in, and I gotta say, that was a hella good movie. Check it out when it comes to a Theater Near You.

Which brings us to the Golden Globes, or as I like to call them, the 2004 Golden Globes: Tits on Parade. I swear to all things holy, every actress out there on the red carpet was one stiff breeze away from a wardrobe malfunction. I stared in horrified fascination at Lisa Ling's right breast, which was COMPLETELY EXPOSED up to a millimeter of her nipple when she stood sideways to interview the glitterati. I gaped in awe at Paula Abdul, who appeared to be high as a kite on prescription painkillers and who was wearing a mammogram as an evening dress. And I marveled at how cold Mariska Hargitay must have been when she accepted her award. THE "GOLDEN GLOBES" WERE TRULY ON DISPLAY SUNDAY EVENING. Ha. Ha. Ha.

* Perhaps one day I will share with you just how disgusted I am by hockey fans, how frightened I am by the individuals who jump up and down in the front row, beating on the plexiglass divider Just. Like. Chimpanzees, hooting and screeching in excitement as grown men attempt to club one another to death on the ice.

Taxi. Look into it.

Dear Person Who Just Emailed An Entire Local Yahoo User Group Asking for a Ride From the Airport,

You are an idiot.

Sincerely,
Karo

Say it like Marvin the Martian

I bought a RF modulator on eBay recently, a little gizmo that allows you to hook a DVD player up to an older tv that only has a coaxial cable input. FedEx delivered it yesterday, and I opened up the box and took it out. The packaging had been ripped open and then taped back shut, and it was awfully basic -- didn't even have an S-video input. So I'm standing there at the kitchen counter with the RF modulator in my hand, and my thought of course was:

"Christ, how drunk was I when I bid on this piece of shit?"

Thankfully, I then checked out the auction listing and learned that I had not been drunk -- instead, I was getting SCREWED. I had bid on a brand-new CRF910, but instead had received a mauled CRF900. So I fired off an email to audiowrx demanding satisfaction, and now we wait. Hopefully I will not have to resort to leaving the dreaded negative feedback.

Update: Have received the following email:

You were shipped the wrong item. I will send you a crf910.

NICE.

A letter to our country from myself

Dear America,

I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you are guilty of egregious overuse and misuse of the word "myself." For example, the sentence, "My husband and myself have two children" just ain't right. I don't get why this is confusing, since I never hear you saying, "Myself has two children."

Also, while I have your attention, can we discuss the pronoun "I"? I know you think you sound smart when you swap it out for "me," but believe it or not, sometimes "me" is right! That's just between you and me.

Love,
Karo

The best IM I've ever received

"i could blog about how my childhood belief that manatees mated for life was crushed and i found out that a herd of man manatees gang bangs one female manatee"

My husband, the wit

I caught The Neverending Story on HBO this evening. Man, did that ever bring back some memories. That's some scary shit, yo! I'm not sure how I made it through that as a kid. And when Atreyu's horse dies? Oh man.

Some creative IMDBing as I was watching yielded the following information: The Neverending Story was directed by Wolfgang Petersen, who's directing a movie version of Ender's Game, to be released in 2006.

Another movie I loved as a kid was The Last Unicorn. Apparently, they're making a live-action version of it, also to be released in 2006. Interestingly, it stars the same people who did the voices for the 1982 animated original.

BK got home from a business trip while I was finishing up The Neverending Story. I had paused the TiVo and the child-like empress' little cherubic face was on the screen. BK asked, "What's that?" I said, " The Neverending Story! Have you seen it?" To which BK replied, without missing a beat, "I tried, but it was too long."

Badum-ching.

How cute were my parents?

snuggling, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

circa 1957

Nobody puts Karo in a corner

On Friday BK finally succumbed to the cold he's been fighting off for the past week, and I followed suit yesterday. I managed to do quite a bit of housework before I became completely useless, but for the past 24 hours I've been wasting away on the cushy chair, only moving when absolutely necessary. I've managed to watch 5 (five!) movies this weekend, including:

• Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
• Murder is Announced
• The Rainmaker
• Confidence
• An Angel at My Table

None of them stunk, and all allowed me to wallow in my sickness, blowing my nose pathetically and moaning quietly when it occurred to me. I wish I could stay home from school tomorrow -- I could fall asleep on the couch and my mom would bring me a sliced up apple and hot tea to cheer me up. Hrmph.

Signed,
Princess Fussypants

The Incredible Journey this is not

Last night as we were falling asleep, BK and I had the following conversation:

Me: Do you think that if Buster and Joshua got outside at the same time they would stick together?

BK: No.

Me: You don't?

BK: No, I think Buster would run off and Joshua would slink around the house. Or maybe Buster would chase Joshua off.

Me: No, no, I mean like if they got dumped off together miles and miles away from home. You don't think they would stick together?

BK: No.

Me: Whyyyyy? (I'm almost in tears at this point, thinking about Buster and Joshua, both lost and so horribly ALONE.)

BK: I don't think Joshua could keep up with Buster.

Me: But Joshua is very fast!

BK: Goodnight, smoochy.

Why I can't ever be left alone

Sometimes when BK is OOT* I like to indulge in a little vino. Sometimes I like to indulge when he's sitting right there, too, but that's neither here nor there. CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK ON TOPIC?

Ok.

So last night I was polishing off a bottle of Rioja (I open it WENDESDAY, I'm not a DRNK). Imagine me, if you will, in sweatpants and my Oxford, Mississippi sweatshirt, sitting in the cushy chair with the iBook in my lap, glass of wine precariously waving around as I tell the television quite sternly that Committed is Not At All Funny and NBC needs to check itself before it wrecks itself.

Then Buster barks v. v. v. fiercely, in a desperate attempt to protect me from the psychopath, knife-wielding squirrel which I'm sure was scampering across the front lawn. And I, in my tipsy state, completely freak the fuck out as if my five-year-old son had just jumped out of the closet and shrieked SURPRISE! at me, and I sloshed half the contents of my glass onto the open iBook.

I don't think I've ever moved as fast I did at that moment. I gently placed the iBook on the ottoman and sprinted to the kitchen for a dishtowel. I ran back to the iBook and started to dab at it lovingly, and mid-dab I realized I was APOLOGIZING to the computer, a kind of frantic "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry" mantra.

Oh, and also, I might have gone online after that incident and searched the Northern Virginia match.com and Nerve listings for STEVE.

* That's Out-of-Town for those of you lucky enough to never have had to spend hours attempting to book a block of hotel rooms for OOT wedding guests.

The post in which I mention my unmentionables

I don't like thongs. There. I said it. However, I don't like VPL*, either. This makes me very selective in my underpant selection. Last year I found an underpant called the Modern Brief, made by Jockey. It's good stuff, kind of like a modified boyshort. I went to buy some more on their website last week (Buster got into the laundry again, natch), but they don't make the ones I like any more! All they had was the saggy, hang-off-your-ass plain cotton version, of which I am not a fan.

I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Yup, I went straight from jockey.com to eBay and bought me some underpants. They do not appear to be used, so I am a satisfied buyer. I will be leaving positive feedback.

* That's Visible Panty Line, for those with external genitals.

I'm on a roll

Ok, one more thing that is making my blood pressure skyrocket this morning:

This idiot is suing Fear Factor for $2.5-million, claiming that the episode in which contestants ate rats mixed in a blender made his blood pressure rise, resulting in being dizzy, lightheaded, and vomiting. Because he was disoriented he ran into a doorway, "causing suffering, injury and great pain.''

My favorite part of the article: "Asked why he didn't shut off his television before the rat-eating segment, Aitken said he couldn't do it quick enough."

And while I'm at it

This news about the film adaptation of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass ALSO pisses me off.

Currently about to have an aneurism over ...

Virginia House of Representatives Bill 1677

I seriously think my head is about to levitate off my neck and start spinning around.

The Mysterious Affair at Mississauga

A few posts back I made a somewhat cryptic reference to my father having fallen in with a Polish neo-Nazi cult in Toronto. Because I know you've been hanging off the edge of your ergonomically correct office chair since then, here's the poop:

(Background info you need to know is that once upon a time my mother shared with me that my stepmother -- an old family friend -- is an anti-Semite. So that's something I've had stored away in my little acorn brain for years.)

Here are Four Clues:

1. The second day BK and I are in Toronto, everyone's eating breakfast and conversation turns to Iraq. During this conversation my father and stepmother start talking about The Jews. Things walk a fine line for a few minutes -- nothing negative is said, but lots of "they run the world's banks and the entertainment industry"-type comments are made. My body is all tensed up and I'm ready to pull the trigger the second one of them steps over the line, but thankfully conversation soon turns to other things (most likely the weather or the price of gas, the Stanimal's two favorite topics).

2. Later that day my father shows me and BK a 9-11 DVD he's borrowed from some friend. It's a "documentary" called In Plane Sight, and he's really excited that we watch it. We get through about 1/2 of it and we just can't stomach it any more -- it was chock full of ridiculous conspiracy theories, and I couldn't find a single reputable online source that so much as referenced it.

3. The friends from whom my dad had borrowed the DVD were vacationing in Cuba over the holidays, so after we watched it, we went with my dad to water plants at their home. So we get there, and BK and I just kind of stand around uncomfortably as my dad overwaters plants. As we stood around, we spied numerous other conspiracy DVDs, as well as more Hitler biographies than you could shake a stick at.

4. A few days later, my dad and stepmother take us to the home of another couple. In the time we were there, we learned:

a) There is no way those planes were hijacked.

b) "I told my son that if he ever brought home a colored girl I would shoot them both in the doorway." (followed by uproarious laughter)

c) The world is being run by a small, shadowy group of people whose goal is to create Zion throughout the entire Middle East.

d) The Masons are one of the arms of this group, and both of the candidates in this year's American presidential election were Masons because they were both in Skull and Bones at Yale, and everyone knows that's the Masons.

e) Homosexuals should not be allowed to get married or adopt children.

Um ... yeah.

Completely unrelated factoid of the day: Miscarriages can cause acne. REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD ACNE. My face has looked like a nuclear testing zone for weeks now, and I'm REALLY FUCKING SICK OF IT.

Word of the day, followed by synonyms I enjoy: TETCHY: Peevish; testy: “As a critic gets older, he or she usually grows more tetchy and limited in responses” (James Wolcott). [syn: cranky, fractious, irritable, nettlesome, peevish, peckish, pettish, petulant, testy]

Some things you need to know about me

1. The people who came to install our second DirectTV TiVo receiver (this one goes out to you, Tom Wanat!) this morning might have been the biggest hicks in the world. And people, I've spent gobs of time in MISSISSIPPI. I honestly could not understand what the woman was saying half the time. And the man had a cold and kept making that horrible loogie-making noise every five minutes. I really wanted to push them out the door and connect the damn thing myself, but you know, they're "professionals."

I KNOW I AM A BIG SNOB AND I DON'T CARE SO SUCK IT.

2. BK is in Pascagoula doing document review. He forgot his rubber finger, which, though it looks like a gerbil condom, is apparently a very important tool in the document review process. Hang in there, BK! Power through sans finger!

3. I have signed the Slav household up for Netflix again. We had Netflix in DC, but BK cruelly cancelled the service. APPARENTLY the same three movies lying there on top of the TV for 6 weeks was a Waste of Money. WHATEVER.

I think I've realized that the reason I was not a successful Netflix user in the past is because I really need to be feeling a movie to sit down and watch it. Sometimes I am in the mood for something heavy, sometimes I'm in the mood for, say, Dodgeball. And if one does not monitor one's QUEUE (am I the only person who gets a delicious thrill of excitement every time I type "queue"?) properly, one runs the risk of being stuck with Schindler's List, The Ice Storm, and Saving Private Ryan all at once. And then you're screwed if you're not in the mood to shoot yourself in the head.

4. I lost my wallet yesterday, in a shameful display of not being on top of things. Luckily, someone turned it in to the campus police. PHEW!

5. My love for Colin Firth was drastically decreased upon viewing him as greasy-haired Vermeer in Girl with a Pearl Earring. Luckily, I'd watched Pride and Prejudice and Love, Actually over the holidays, so he didn't fall out of favor completely. But Colin's now barely clinging to the top three, after Hugh Grant and George Clooney. Will Smith is RIGHT THERE, buddy. One more stringy-haired performance and you're HOSED.

And lastly, here is a non-comprehensive and completely random list of movies coming out this year that I'm excited about:

• The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe
• Hitch (this could be awful, but, WILL!)
• Bride and Prejudice
• Batman Begins (only cause I can't wait to see BK pee on himself in public)

To dream the impossible dream

I almost never remember my dreams. The rare times I do are usually when I'm really well-rested. Towards the end of the holiday break I had a doozy:

I'm pregnant again, not too far along, and I'm at the doctor's office. Suddenly the doctor tells me that I'm about to miscarry again and that the only way to possibly save the baby is to get it out RIGHT NOW. So she gives me a shot and then SLICES into my abdomen. I'm lying there thinking, "Please cry, please cry, please cry." No dice. I don't see the body, but the doctor tells me that it had two sets of arms, like one of those Hindu gods.

Then things got all crazy, as they often do in dreams, and I do get to see the fetus -- it looks like one of those vestigal twin tumors that get removed from people, all full of hair and teeth.

(I'll pause here while you yak discreetly into your cubicle's trashcan.)

So THEN they tell me that I'm going to miscarry every baby I ever conceive. Just in case you're rubbing your dry little hands together in glee, having psychoanalyzed my subconscious fears of having another miscarriage, go ahead and add BLAMING MYSELF to the mix, because THEN the doctor tells me that the reason I'm doomed for miscarriage after miscarriage is

BECAUSE I'M TOO FAT.

Communist terry-cloth shorts

seaside, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

That right there is some three-year-old Karo goodness.

A love letter

Dearest Public Library,

I am writing to you in hopes that you will forgive me for the shameful way in which I've treated you since we broke up. I forgot how you stood by me for all those years I moved from place to place, knowing no one and leaning only on you for support. I traded you in for younger models, the flashy amazon.com and others of his ilk. Sure, they were shiny, wealthy and new. But Public Library, I'll be honest with you -- dating Jeff Bezos' love child was an expensive endeavor. We are now just friends, and I've come to beg for your forgiveness. Please take me back. You have everything a girl could ever hope for -- wide selection, online renewals and requests, and best of all, you are free. I love you, Public Library. Let's be together forever.

Love,
Karo

Come on over and sit for a spell

Our living room will be completely empty no more, cause we done bought this couch!



And two of these here chairs!



AND THEN! We can disassemble the contraption BK rigged to be able to see the tv over the top of the treadmill (Rubbermaid storage container perched precariously on top of low tv stand), cause we ALSO got:



Please note that every "we" above should actually be read as "BK." Husband, I am eternally grateful that you will allow me to rest my bunz on the furniture you, in all your benevolence, purchased for Our Home.

My Velveteen iBook

I keep hoping that putting off posting in the blog will somehow magically extend my holiday break. Sadly, this doesn't seem to be the case as my alarm clock went off at 6:30 this morning as usual, and I'm sitting here in my cubey with a sky as dark as it can possibly be and still be daylight outside my window.

I really need to apply myself at winning the lottery.

Happy New Year, everyone! Can you believe it's 2005? Doesn't it seem like just yesterday that we were all cowering in our underground bunkers, surrounded by cases of Dasani and Ensure, trembling in fear of the apocalypse that was to be Y2K?

My new year was supposed to have started on an all-new low -- the right speaker on my iBook was acting up and the computer sometimes wouldn't wake up from sleep, so I was going to be sending it to Apple today to get fixed up before my warranty expired at the end of the month. CAN YOU IMAGINE?!?! Days, even WEEKS, without my iBook! Sure, I have an iMac at home sitting in the study, but that's just not good enough. I want to surf the internet from the COUCH.

So yeah, I was backing up my hard drive last night in preparation for the, *sob*, separation when I accidentally double-clicked a song in iTunes, and whaddya know! The speaker is back to normal. And no powering up from sleep issues recently, either. I bought Apple Care today just in case, cause you know that shit's gonna break again the day after the warranty's up. My first use of Apple Care was to order a new keyboard, cause the letters on my A and E keys have completely worn off. I may not install the new keyboard until my iBook and I part ways via eBay when I upgrade, though. In a way, I like the worn keys -- they're very Velveteen Rabbit:

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."