Wednesday, December 24, 2008

The Butt-nanas

The following disturbing (yet hilarious) video was sent to me by my dear friend, Red Diablo (which was sent to her by her coworker, ScavengerHunt).

video

This was the follow-up conversation we had about it.

Diablo: in the midst of convo, ScavengerHunt and i decided we were going to form a team for banana butt peelers
Me: hahaha
Diablo: and now we are trying to come up with a name and a motto
Me: hmmm
Me: The South Jersey Banana Splits
Diablo: so far we have: The Banana Smugglers: Our Grip on the Competition is Firm
Diablo: The Clinchers: We Keep the Pressure On
Diablo: and The Bruised Naners...but i dont have a motto for that one lol
Me: lol
Me: hmm
Diablo: I was thinking somthing along the lines of: The Bruised Naners: ironic that its the bananas that are bruised
Diablo: or The Bruised Naners: We Toughen the Skin
Me: ahaha
Me: The Bananadonks: not just a crack pot theory
Diablo: hahahahahaha
Diablo: i knew i could get some winners outta you
Me: hahah
Diablo: got any more?
Me: The Butt-nanas: More cushion for the shmushin
Diablo: O
Diablo: M
Diablo: G
Diablo: that is amazing!
Me: ahahaha
Me: thanks!
Diablo: i think that one might be my fav
Me: ahaha
Me: If there were a documentary about the Butt-nanas, it would be called "Cheek-to-cheek: a story of struggle, glory, and extra potassium"
Diablo: hahahahahahahaha
Diablo: seriously???
Diablo: where does this come from?
Me: I don't know!
Me: Unpeeled: The Butt-nanas story
Me: I dunno why I'm obsessed with making your team the subject of a documentary
Diablo: we may need to make a buttnanas doc now
Me: yeah I think you're right
Diablo: [From ScavengerHunt] Banan-stronaughts: Boldly putting fruit where it has never gone before.
Me: hahaha
Diablo: hahaha
Diablo: he's turning up the game obviously
Me: yes indeed
Me: The Banan-ditos: you gotta problem ese?
Diablo: hahahahahahaha
Diablo: [from SvavengerHunt] The Crocodile Bumm-dees: That's not a banana, This is a banana. Me: The bananzookas: weapons of ass destruction
Diablo: hahahaha
Diablo: omg, im like crying
Me: omg me too!
Diablo: ok, he heard me laughing and came in here lol
Me: hahahaah
Me: The Butt Pirates: get on the butt, the bannana butt
Me: ahaha
Diablo: hahahaha
Diablo: The 3 Buttskateers
Me: ahahahah
Diablo: i need a line though
Diablo: probably going off of one for all and all for one
Me: hmm
Me: thats a toughie
Diablo: yea i know
Diablo: dammit

*later that day*

Diablo: The 3 Buttskateers: All for bum, and bum for all!

Friday, December 19, 2008

freedom cheese

I want to share an IM conversation I had with my coworker about cheese, in regards to the sandwich special in the corporate deli in our building. I would try to summarize, but I think it is best left in its original format:

me: yeah that sounds tasty
me: what kinda cheese did you get on it
me: I'm usually a provolone kinda gal myslef
TheCoworker: i like to switch it up
TheCoworker: i went with the american yesterday
TheCoworker: today I'm feeling anti-american
me: these colors don't fade!
me: haha
TheCoworker: ahahahaha!!!!!
TheCoworker: that's the best!
me: it would be funny if you threw your shoe at the deli guy
TheCoworker: ahahaha
me: and then when he's like wtf? You're like oh sorry, I just meant I want provolone instead of american

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

To space boot, with love

Almost 8 weeks ago, I fractured my ankle at roller derby practice. For the last 6 of those 8 weeks, I've had an extremely stylish space boot strapped to my right leg. Since my time left in the boot is waning, I think I should write a letter to it, to recap some of the good times.

Dear space boot,

Hey, pal. I've made some amazing memories while inside you (hehe, ew), but it is time to say goodbye. I wanted to let you know how much I've appreciated our time together, so I've come up with a list of things I'll miss about you.

-I'm going to miss having to choose between skinny jeans that fit under you, or wide leg jeans that fit over you. Who needs lame middle ground boot cut jeans anyway? Certainly not me and my several, several pairs of boot cut jeans.
-I'm going to miss not being able to wear cute heels because you make my steps uneven and choppy.
-I'm going to miss your awesome air pump. You did things for the air pump that Nike couldn't dream about. Also, when I let the air out of you after a long day, you made the air around me smell plastic-y. Mmmm, carcinogenic.
-I'll miss the way you expose my toes. Having to wear black socks everyday has been a challenge, but it gave me an excuse to use my unpaired single socks that have lost their mates in the laundry. Also, my exposed toes have made me a stronger person, since I've essentially been wearing a giant velcro sandal in inclement November/December weather.
-I'm going to miss how, no matter how many times I rotate which left shoe I'm wearing, all of my left shoes are wearing out.
-I'm going to miss my scronny right calf. It's so cute and mushy--range of motion is so overatted.
-I'll miss the weird looks you made me get in public. "Is that girl wearing one single ugg boot? Oh, no, it's just one of those zany medical boots."
-I'm going to miss the way everyone at work hears me coming down the hall from a hundred yards away...*step, KLOMP, step, KLOMP, step, KLOMP...*
-I'll miss having to risk a ticket everytime I get behind the wheel, because you're too frusterating to take on and off every time I get in the car (but are illegal to drive in). You're a dirty, dirty temptress and I love it!
-Lastly, I'll miss how when you get wet, you make my steps sound like the squeaky hull of a pirate ship.

Until we meet again (when I dig you out of the closet in a few months and try to sell you on ebay, because if you buy these things from the manufacturer they are $200!! I bet I could get $50),
Caroline

Updating life...

For some reason, I can't access my old blog. I tried to sign in and it won't remember me. I ended up re-posting my old entries from 2007 into this new blog. So, anything you've read on here previous to this post is not recent. Please disregard carolinemichelleincrazyvision.blogspot.com, and refer to this site. I'll hopefully be updating more regularly. Thank you.

Friendly neighbors are going to the dogs

My boyfriend, Steve and I recently became the proud "parents" of a long-haired dachshund puppy named Ruby. She is excruciatingly cute; everyone in our complex loves her. She's seriously the most popular mammal at Rivercrest Apartments.

Now, being a new dog owner, I was previously never privy to how CRAZY some other dog owners can be. For example, my neighbor came over to me one day with her Terrier when I was walking Ruby so that they could "meet" each other. We talked for 15 minutes before I even found out this woman's name. Why is that, you ask? Well, because the entire time we were "talking," she was asking me questions through Ruby in puppy baby talk, indicating to me that she was asking these questions in her dog's voice...such as, "and how old are you Miss Ruby?? Come on Max, say, 'I'm a little boy, I'm 2 years old'!" She knows that the dog can't answer, but is still asking her the question. Then I awkwardly reply in my regular Caroline-the-human voice with "She's 5 months," only for her to look at me in shock and disgust. She then rubbed Ruby behind the ears and said "I bet you're daddy's girl aren't you? Yes you are, say, 'yes I am'!"

A few days later, this same woman saw Steve walking Ruby. I think he described the situation best when he said "A stranger came up to us today and had a 10 minute long conversation with Ruby...I've never seen this woman before. I seriously thought she was going to ask her out for lunch."

This past weekend, Steve and I were playing with Ruby in the courtyard. We were playing fetch, but she was leashed. A woman walked by us with her two hugenormous dogs (I use the term "dogs" loosely...one looked like a Pumbaa from "The Lion King," and the other like White Fang). I'd also like to point out that both dogs were muzzled. Anywho...Ruby, who is 7 pounds and possesses a great deal of "little man" syndrome, sort of lunged at the two dogs. They lunged back at her, jumping about and snarling and snorting ominously like a couple of rabid monkeys. That is, if monkeys were big and fat with fangs and had to be muzzled. Ruby backed away and whimpered, while the crazy crack-addled behavior of the two beasts persisted. The woman gave both leashes a protective tug, huffed at us snippily, and said "Come on boys, stay away from her!" She shot me a horrified look, so as to say "Keep that wild animal in a cage!" At first, I was offended. Those dogs obviously would have had the upper hand in the situation...I mean, literally they could have ingested Ruby as well as both of us and gone back home to eat Alpo. Then I remembered that this woman was unfortunate all around: delusional about life, stout and spandex-clad, and she lives in a one-bedroom apartment with a wolf and a warthog. I laughed to myself and rewarded my brave "daddy's girl" with a toss of the old squeaky toy.

I think I need a word with someone at the Toyota parts and service department.

I was driving home from work yesterday in the rain. I was frustrated as it was, I knew I had to take the long way since the bridge on my usual route often floods. I figured I could suck up the extra 10 minutes and deal. The rain started to pick up a bit, so I turned the windshield wipers up a notch. Ahh, that was better...at least for a moment, until I heard an almost cartoonish mechanical malfunction noise (like what you would hear in a movie when someone jams a stick into the robot's gears and it dies).

"REEEeeaaaaarrrrrr" <--I think it went something like that.

Anyway, I looked over to the right of my windshield, and to my astonishment, the wipers had completely intertwined themselves. How the nut does that happen? They are two separate entities, on two life paths, each doing a separate job for the common good of clean and dry windshieldery. How is this even possible?? I couldn't pull over immediately to check it out. Apparently, in Rocky Hill, NJ, there are NO shoulders on any of the streets. I ended up practically parking in someone's yard. I turned off the wipers, got out and began the untangling process. Let me tell you, those bad boys were STUCK. I mean, really stuck together. One was wilting over and stuck through one of the openings in the other one. I don't know how it got in, because I couldn't wriggle the thing looser OR tighter. I felt like no matter what I did, I just kept making it worse. I'm also pretty sure I heard the wipers laugh at me.

Keep in mind, I was getting rained on...hard.

I had to muster up every ounce of strength I had to untangle these things...which may have been too much strength, because I nearly broke them apart. I noticed one of the blades was now bent and loose on the end, but the wipers themselves looked pretty much normal. So, I got back in the car and re-powered the wipers. The good news is that they were no longer stuck together. The bad news is that they were now at completely different speeds. I had the wiper power on medium-slow. The left wiper appeared to be doing turbo mach 3 speed, and the right one was like watching an elderly woman run a 400 meter dash: sluggish and confused (and sexy). Oh, and remember that robot noise I told you about earlier? Yeah it was back. Only this wasn't the "robot dying" noise, it was the "holy shit, someone messed with the robot control panel and now its blood-thirsty and heading for the orphanage!" noise. I ended up turning the wipers off altogher, and almost died several times on the (long) way home.

I think windsheild wipers are the kind of thing where you don't know what you've got 'til its gone. Only, I did know what I had before it was gone, and loosing it sucked as much as I expected it to! What are the odds that yesterday gave us the only rain of the season...anyone?

They write blogs!

You know what really kills me? The "they're just like us" section in Us Weekly. If you're not familiar with the section, it will have pictures of celebrities doing normal things. I know that the point of the column is to show the average Joe, that celebrities are people, too. Some of them are interesting...like when Brad Pitt is pumping his own gas and the caption read, "They pump their own gas!"--because in that situation, you may think "Oh, wow, I thought he might have a chauffer or something that could do that for him." But honestly, there was a picture of Gwyneth Paltrow with a water bottle and the caption said, "They drink water!"

*pause to reflect*

No shit! Last time I checked, humans needed water to live. Are people THAT dumb, that they wonder if celebrities drink water? Guess what guys, they also breathe! I'd be willing to go out on a limb here, and say that they probably occasionally use the bathroom, too.

I hear the secrets that you keep (na...na na) when you're talkin' in your sleep

I love when people talk in their sleep. This was an exact recount of what happened when I came home last night and Steve was already in bed asleep...

Me: (whispering) Hi Babes.

Steve: (also whispering) Who is that?

Me: Its me!

Steve: Me?? Hey, I don't want any trouble!

Me: I'm not going to give you any trouble...its just me!

Steve: Oh, ok....Listen, I have to go to work. *rolls over and begins to snore*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or who could forget the time I fell asleep on the couch and my sister tried to get me to go to my bed...

Suzanne: Caroline! Go to bed.

Me: I can't...that's where the cat sleeps.

Suzanne: What? What do you mean?

Me: Watch out for Gill Road.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have a friend that used to talk in her sleep all the time. We would make getting her to talk in her sleep the main focal point of sleepovers. We would try to spark any conversation we could...

Us: Are you ready for breakfast?

Friend: German Waffles??

Us: Sure...German waffles.

And sometimes she would just hand us material...

Friend: Here, hold this cup.

Us: What?

Friend: I made it for you. Now, its time for you to hold it.

WTF is a necktie anyway?

One morning, I was watching my boyfriend, Steve, get ready for work when it occured to me: what the fuck is a necktie? Like, seriously...what is that? I mean, as a woman, I'm confident in saying that we do some crazy things solely for cosmetic purposes...don't get me wrong. I just want to know who came up with the idea for a tie. When did that start? What came first: the collared shirt, or the tie? Was someone like "I came up with this great idea to put decorative silk around my neck, but it just doesn't fit with this regular, collar-less shirt." Or were they like, "This collared shirt would be great...if it only had the perfect accessory. *puts on the tie* Ahhhh...NOW, I'm ready for work."It is just amazing to me how we fall into fashion trends, and how some of them hang around--to the point that they become timeless, like the tie. I just thank my lucky stars everyday that the "Dickie" never stuck.

This post is brought to you by "Viagra"

I used to make fun of blogs. What the hell is a blog anyway? And now, here I am. I guess I find myself to be more creatively productive when I'm writing regularly. I've seen how simply writing down stories and thoughts on an electronic piece of paper can gain someone tons of exposure (not to mention the free upgrade of gusto), so I figured what the hey, you know?

Anyway, there is something I want to talk about. Why don't we see more celebrities doing commercials for obscure products? Example: last night I saw Betty White doing a commercial for a Pet Medicine delivery service. Before last night, I didn't even know Betty White had a dog! Why should I know that anyway? In any case, it was refreshing to see that. It brought me back to the days when Wilford Brimley did commercials for Diabetes medication...or when Florence Henderson promoted densure adhesive. Do those people really use those products? The possibilites are so exciting for me! I'd like to see more of those commercials, but with fresh faces.

"Hi, I'm Katie Holmes. You may remember me from the WB smash hit, 'Dawson's Creek.' I want to talk to you about erectile dysfunction. There are many factors that cause some men to experience ED; old age, medications, fatigue, or simply not being attracted to women. My husband, Tom, is gayer than Christmas, yet we were able to concieve a child. It is all because of Viagra. So ladies, if having sex with your gay husband seems like 'Risky Business,' pick up Viagra, and turn your 'Magnolia' into a 'Top Gun!' Thank you."