Realizations, with a touch of dyslexia

When I was younger, there were thoughts I had to myself that I assumed applied to everyone. I found out the truths about these thoughts far too late in life…

For one, I thought it was widely known that Puff the Magic Dragon frolicked in the “Ottomiss.” Yes, I thought this was the name of the town where he lived in the land of Honnahlee. Like Ottomiss, Honnahlee, UK or some shit. This is the reason why I was 110% shocked at the age of 16 when I found out it was really the “Autumn Mist.” Say whaaa?

Secondly, growing up, I thought Princeton was a good representation of New Jersey…until I went to school in Northern New Jersey. Then, I discovered that not only is Princeton NOT a good representation of New Jersey, but that it is not a good representation of anything but itself. It is unique in all of its own good and bad ways. For 18 years, I truly lived in a bubble. “Schools have marching bands??” “Not everyone has to take 5 AP courses even if they don't feel totally qualified?” Yeah, these are realizations I came to.

And lastly, I used to think everyone was a little bit dyslexic. I remember saying to my sister once “You know when you look at a word and you see ‘Pastey’ but then you realize it actually says ‘Patsy?’ Isn’t that weird?” She laughed and rolled her eyes. I figured this was just because she was my sister and she’s allowed to tease me about stuff. So, I went on believing this falsity that everyone is a little dyslexic. Sadly, I only recently came to the realization that this is not true. I came across an online quiz that said something like “if you answer yes to 5 or more of these questions, you may be dyslexic.” I figured, what the hey, and took it….and I answered yes to 9 of them. Uh-oh. I figured I’d do a little searching to see if I couldn’t find more answers. I found another similar questionnaire, where it seemed I was clicking the bubbles next to the Yes’s on every question.
“Do you have trouble concentrating?” YES.
“Do you often daydream?” YES.
“Did you have trouble with word problems in school, but excelled at art and music?” YES.
“Do you make mistakes when writing cheques?” OMG YES (you don't understand how many cheques I've had to void through the years).
“Does your handwriting vary or is illegible?” SERIOUSLY, YES, GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
“Do you hold a pen or pencil unusually, or are ambidextrous?” YES, YES, YES!
“Do you often get confused with dates or are late to appointments?” SHUT UP, YES!

And so on.

So guys, I think I have a problem. How does one get evaluated for dyslexia? And more importantly, how did this slip by all my teachers and loved ones, who passed all these quirks off as “That’s just Caroline being Caroline?” And this friends, is how, at the age of 25, I found out that not everyone is a little bit dyslexic...BUT, I might be. Yikes.

Bring on the salmonella

So the FDA has issued a recall of several peanut butter products apparently. I recieved a voicemail today from ShopRite of a recorded message. It went something like this:

"Our Price Plus records indicate that you have purchased FDA recalled products recently. Jarred peanut butter for consumer use has not been recalled. For more information, please go to www.FDA.gov. Thank you."

So lemme get this straight. I get a voicemail, telling me that I've purchased poison, and they don't tell me what that poison is? Awesome. Good thing they let me know that jarred peanut butter is not tainted. Really, I'm sure most things I've eaten aren't tainted...but WHAT IS?? I think that's really the key piece of information for a call like this. They're like "oh, b-t-dubbs, some kind of grocery you bought, sometime in life at shop rite might kill you. Wellp, enjoy!" Why call me if you're not going to tell me what foods of mine are going to kill me?

The easy solution would be to dump the contents of the fridge, but here's the problem: we moved this weekend, and before we did so we avoided shopping and ATE EVERYTHING WE HAD. Yep, tainted pb crackers, and keebler cookies, and cliff bars and all. Here's the thing. Steve is a hypochondriac. Since he's the person that usually consumes the snacks in the house, I think I just won't tell him about this recall. I'll just wait for him to get sick, and then make him run around so he'll sweat it out. That's how you get rid of salmonella, right? Sweating it out? I dunno, I'm not a doctor. All I know is that my sister had salmonella once and it wasn't that bad. And by not that bad I mean she had crippling squirts for weeks and was hospitalized. But hey, she didn't have to go to work! High five!

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).

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!

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

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.