Time

The weekend was good, but I am so glad to be home and not have any traveling plans for the next few weeks. I need to retreat and relax.

I need to spend a little time alone, without the boy - so I am sending him to Kalamazoo for a few days next week.

Off you go, darling! No I insist. Yes, stay with your pals and enjoy yourself. Yes, take the credit card and don't forget to drink lots of water before you go to sleep or you'll have a hangover. I love you too...ok buh-bye.

I need the quiet hum of the refrigerator and a small crackling fire to warm my toes. Only my toes. By myself. Alone. Time to putter in my apartment, to eat my hor' dourves meals and read and sleep in the middle of the bed.

A night without anime squawking in the background would be nice too.

Annoying Halloween Photo Post

The Fiancé and I went to the old town for a friend's Halloween party. It was fun and there was no fighting or vomiting....as far as I know anyway.



The host: Disco Stu


The hostess: Sleazy lounge singer


A couple of those Travelocity gnomes chumming with Capitan Hook and Tinkerbell


My former boss doing the one thing he always wanted to do the entire time we've worked together.


Silent Bob and City Kitty


Myself with Disco Stu and Mick Jagger


The obligatory costumed dog


My acquaintance Mick Jagger did try to worm his way into my personal life for a moment. What a cad. I suspect he has some agenda, but really, who doesn't? My life has room for only one dark and tortured soul - and the position is currently filled.

Anyway it was a lovely time. There were about 30 other people there, but I don't know them and they don't mean anything to me, so I'm not posting any of their photos. I don't think I made much of an embarrassment of myself and the Fiancé didn't start any fights so we might even be invited back next year.

Cheers.

One of those times.

Sometimes it feels like it is all I can do just to keep myself from lying down and never picking myself back up again.

At times the only thing that keeps me sane is the knowledge that in less than 200 years, no one will remember my name. No one will know I've ever existed. And nothing I have ever done will have made one lick of difference one way or another in this world.

This is one of those times.

Mountains and Politics

The Fiancé has pointed out that my writing style has become sort of sassy and bitchy. My apologies dear readers. (both of you)

This weekend the boy and I took a little road trip to see our friends, Top and Bottom, in Kentucky. (Synopsis: They lived in Michigan, she took a job in Kentucky - then got fired and was stranded in the bible belt.) The drive into the Smoky Mountains was beautiful and Cincinnati looks like it would be a cool place to live, as far as Midwestern towns go.

Bottom had to work, but Top was so happy to see us, she entertained us relentlessly. We purchased Kentucky Amish pumpkins, visited a cat rescue, and watched "Coffee and Cigarettes." (which we all agreed was over rated) It was Top's birthday and because they live in a dry county we brought beer and vodka. We celebrated.

If pets resemble their owners, it is particularly true with Top. Top owns a 15 lb, fire orange, demon cat, Buttercup. (That's his name. Really.) Buttercup is basically an angry ball of fluff, claws and fangs. As we did the last time we visited, we cooperated to clip Buttercup's nails. It's a dangerous job, but with four adults we managed it. Bottom's cat, by the way, is a timid gray sweetheart who just wants you to like her.

On the way back I listened to national public radio and got rather depressed. Did you know that Walmart is building a store at the foot of pre-Aztec pyramid ruins? Yeah. Yes, yes, I know there are thousands of injustices going on every second of every day. I just fixated on this. Then I listened to more of the election business, which continued to depress me.

Luckily, I know people who like me and send me off to little areas of the Internet to make me smile. Normally I'm not a proponent of propaganda, but someone sent me this link to a clip of Will Ferrell impersonating Bush. It made my sides ache. Enjoy at will, but be warned - 1. This does not flatter the President. 2. People with my sense of humor seem few and far between.

Send all hate mail direct to my email. Thanks.

Crappy Superhero

What a day yesterday.

I was alone in the office because Mrs. Big Boss and her partner in crime business were out selling on the other side of the state. I was quietly mucking around as I do when the boss is away...when I get a call from a client. Dun Dun Dunnnn!

Red Alert! Someone backed out of their ad and the newspaper is offering the client a $2,500 spot for $500. He needs an ad from nothing STAT - full color, the works.

I haven't even had my coffee yet, ok?

Rapid fire, I get three more calls.

1. From a CEO I've been calling to survey - wanting (now - at the least convenient time) to talk and tell me all his secrets.

2. From a writer (::swoon::) demanding his writing samples back.

3. From Mr. Big Boss who wants to know if I've picked up his dry cleaning.

I scramble to put it all together (by myself) and I feel like a superhero.

Later, Mrs. Big Boss comes back to the office and points out that the logo on the emergency ad would be better at the bottom, and there is too much copy. Well, it's too late now because the deadline has already passed. I feel like crap.

Then I roll the dice and call the baker. She loves my mockup website and practically signs me on the spot. I feel like a superhero.

The Fiancé tells me he needs to go with me on the baker sales (barter?) call, because I can't sell the technical side of the webpage. I feel like crap. (and totally pissed.)

Then we decide to go for sushi. Oh how I love sushi. I drown all my issues in sake - which makes me feel like a superhero, kind of.

Oracle of Starbucks

When I got my results I laughed so hard I actually snorted.

Behold the Oracle's wisdom:

Personality type: Asshat
You carry around philosophy books you haven't read and wear trendy wire-rimmed glasses even though you have perfect vision. You've probably added an accent to your name or changed the pronunciation to seem sophisticated. You hang out in coffee shops because you don't have a job because you got your degree in French Poetry. People who drink Americanos are notorious for spouting off angry, liberal opinions about issues they don't understand.

Also drinks: Any drink with a foreign name

Can also be found at: The other, locally owned coffee shop you claim to like better.

I suppose I've done all of these things at one time or another. Except the degree in French Poetry thing. I just wish I could tell people something like that. Oh, and now I'll have to insist on everyone calling me "Carrié", ok? Note the accent mark over the 'e' to enhance the sophistication factor.

Amuse yourselves darlings, if you care to:

Oracle of Starbucks

Diners

I can't help but romanticize them. I'd like to walk into Edward Hopper's painting, order a coffee and ask the fella in the fedora if he could be so kind to light my cigarette.



But I don't smoke anymore.

My first job was at a diner. I was a dish bitch at a cafe' just a few miles from my home. It was like any other - dark and dingy and sort of charming. The smokers gave the place a nice hazy effect and the coffee... oh the coffee.

I was a waitress once. It was later in life and it didn't last long. I hated most of the drunks who came in to talk to me.

"So what are you going to study when you go to university? Psychology? That's great - you can practice on me tonight sweetheart."

How original you dirty old dweeb. Like I haven't heard that three nights already this week. Yeah and sorry - whatever you just ordered...well we're fresh out. Fresh out.

That's when I was young and idealistic. I think I could do much better these days. Just give me a tray, a little hat and an apron. I'd be raking in the tips.

"How's that hon? Matches for your cigarettes? Well sure I'll get some for you, but I'll tell you what - as soon as I saw you walk in I knew you'd be trouble. I used to study psychology you know."

A stroke of brilliance. If I do say so myself.

Note: If the reader is the type who likes horse drawn carriages, dove releases or floor length veils - evaluate:
1. If you are over the age of thirteen and not a royal descendant, get a hold of yourself woman.
2. If you are under the age of thirteen - log off. This blog has not yet been rated.

I never thought of myself as a "wedding" sort of person. I've always poo-pooed the merchandising bridal madness that seems to overcome the young and the female. Even as a kid at girl scout camp - at night, when my cabin mates would all sit together on one bunk bed and describe their wedding fantasies, I couldn't relate. I ditched those popular girls for the nerds who were telling dirty jokes and daring each other to do various exhibitionist acts out in the woods. Never looked back.

Yesterday, however, I received a marketing piece for a wedding cake baker and I'm a little smitten. She looked like she had a pretty good thing going and her cakes look lovely. The envelope had a logo, inside was a personal note, a business card and a brochure. Now, I had already decided that I wasn't going to have a cake at my wedding, mostly because of budgetary reasons. But because of my stroke of brilliance - I just might get to have the sugar monstrosity that I never thought I wanted.

The baker has no web site. I have no wedding cake. Humm.

I spent three hours or so mocking up a website that went with her current marketing theme and wrote her a letter offering free web hosting and design in exchange for one "lemon buttermilk layer cake with mixed berry compote filling and cream cheese icing" (sounds divine, doesn’t it?) It would be an exchange of $400 in talent approximately. Keep your fingers crossed, and if this pans out - I may start doing the rounds.

I'm a little ashamed of what has become of me. What ever happend to that little girl telling dirty jokes?

Autumn

I've decided to try to be on speaking terms with autumn this year - mostly because a friend warned me that I may grow old and bitter before my time if I continued to hate astrological occurrences and other eventualities of life.

Not that I won’t eventually become bitter. Plenty of time for that.

This time of year, I simply find myself yearning to get completely drunk and crawl under something. A table. Or the covers. Or my desk. The smell of the air in fall makes my conscious mind want to retreat to the back of my skull where I look out of my very own eyeballs like the windows of someone else’s house. Also I end up eating too much. The dialog goes like this, "It doesn’t matter if I eat this brie or not. I'll still be a big fat fatty in the end."

For me, the impulse to do this is as strong as it is for the geese to fly south in a "V" formation or squirrels to gather their nuts (or whatever the hell they are doing out there in the yard. god i hate those things.)

But not this year. Not willingly anyway.

This year I'm going to appreciate the Autumn. I am going to enjoy the colors. I am going to go to a rowdy Halloween party and get drunk and not crawl under any furniture.

Not this year because hating Autumn is like hating the ocean waves or the moon cycles. It's pointless. And it will probably give me wrinkles and an ulcer.

Just what I need. Wrinkles.

The Lesson II

Because we were so humiliated at the dance class The Fiancé and I practiced our asses off all week. Our sincere goal was to have someone in the class to acknowledge our improvement at the next lesson.

Tonight was the lesson.

After all the couples have gathered in the class room, The Instructor starts the music and stalks up to us to bark "Show me."

We give it our honest best. Instructor stands with his hands on his hips, he glares at us. We shrink.

"Gurrr. Better."

Mission accomplished.

Shameless Merchandising

Bows! Tulle! Rhinestones! Pearls! Hearts!

I have to take a minute here to comment on the ridiculous wedding crap I've been seeing advertised lately. I can't even believe this garbage that is being toted as "Wedding Essentials," and I am flabbergasted that anyone would want to be seen with this at their wedding - let alone actually pay for it.

The 10 Tackiest Things You Can Actually Buy For Your Wedding

10. Ugly Garter: Just look at this thing, could it be any more obnoxious? Yes, darlings, it could. When you press the middle part, it plays the wedding march.


9. Enormous Tiara: This rhinestone encrusted monstrosity just screams "I'm a princess, damnit! It's MY day and if I want the Cinderella Carriage I'm going to get it."


8. Multi-Tiered Cake: Now, if you don't have at least 3 tiers to your cake, everyone will think you are cheap, worthless trash. Oh, and the more candied flowers, fondant and fruits you have piled on it the better.


7. Obligatory Serving Set: Of course you have to have a decorated serving set that you will use only once. And after cleaning out all the frosting and cake from the engraving on it, you can pack it neatly away to treasure forever.


6. Cow Cake Topper: An explanation would be overkill.


5. Heart Shaped Guest Book: In the case that you didn’t get enough hearts with the heart ring bearer pillow, the silver heart shaped frames, and the heart candleholders, here we have a guest book in the shape of a heart. Covered in pearls. Yay.


4. Heart Shaped Rice: You know, ‘cause you got that heart shaped candy, and that heart shaped unity candle, and the heart shaped bow on the ass of your dress. It’s called a theme people!


3. Plume Pen: No wedding is complete without the oversized, fake plume pen. Uh, you know that’s just a white bic on the end there, right?


2. Pear Shaped Salt And Pepper Shakers: “And this adorable little silver plated favor will remind your guests that you are definitely the perfect pair!” Seriously folks, it’s fine to think of a pun in your mind. It’s not ok to say it out loud or otherwise impose it on others.


1. Dog Collar/Ring Bearer Pillow: For those who simply must include their dog in the wedding party.

Friend's Wedding

I just got back from a friends wedding. She looked beautiful, as brides usually do. He looked very sharp - a tux will do that. Cider beer, vodka, champagne, pucker and red wine (in that order - ugg!) was flowing. I made my self totally drunk per my regular mode of operation. Danced a little in that circle of people that always seems to form in public dance settings. My own fella spun me around the dance floor a few times. It was a very nice, very humble, normal wedding.

Then The Fiancé provoked a fight. Sigh. Yes.

I was busy bumping my glass over and making an ass of myself at a table with my friends, (Who, I am sure, are sick of my weak alcohol tolerance and obnoxious behavior...I doubt I'll be invited to any more weddings with them.)
when the Irish Chef walked up to announce that The Fiancé was outside with his sleeves rolled up, $5 on the table and trash talking to a navy seal. Truthfully, Irish Chef is a bit of a blow hard and my immediate reaction was to shrug my shoulders. Irish Chef''s wife, however, went right outside to do something about it.

God.

So I went. I went because I don't want anyone spilling their thin blood at this wedding where I am hours from anywhere and I don't know my way and I couldn't drive if I wanted to.

The Fiancé and the navy seal guy are standing together, drinks in hand (of course) and talking in slightly elevated voices. Navy Seal Guy tells me that, as his better half I'm supposed to be the voice of reason for The Fiancé. The Fiancé is telling everyone that has gathered that he wasn't trying to be a bully. I listen in uncomfortable silence for a minute while everyone tries to calm tensions and let this continue to be a nice celebration of love and union. I unroll The Fiancé sleeves and say "We're going. Now." He gets my coat, we start to leave, because, what else do a couple of assholes at a party do at this point?

There were some half hearted "Oh, leaving so soon?" I try to be graceful and not make a scene. The Fiancé, for some reason, wants Navy Seal Guy's contact info. Uh...ok. We go back and try to make nice. Navy Seal Guy asks me where I'm from. (This isn't unusual. People ask me this frequently and it's sort of a joke among my friends. I look vaguely foreign and could easily pass for Russian, French, German, Israeli or whatever.) Sometimes I tease people and tell them I'm from some other country, even though there isn't a more plain vanilla person than me out there. Obviously, if I do this party trick it is ALWAYS among friendly company.

I laugh and tell Navy Seal Guy that I'm an American. The drunk Navy Seal Guy softens and smiles kindly. "Wow, that's so great. That's real patriotism right there, you know? Most people will say that they're 'Spanish American' or 'Latin American' Wow, that's great."

Then The Fiancé actually tells Navy Seal Guy that I'm Egyptian. As a joke of course. To The Fiancé, I am so clearly Midwestern and white, that to say I am Egyptian is just an absurd, hilarious joke.

Navy Seal Guy's eyes widen. "Whoa! That's really cool. Can you speak or write the language at all?"

We are all a little confused and a lot drunk. And instead of trying to explain this complex misunderstanding, I just shake my head and say good evening and split dragging The Fiancé into the parking lot.