Archive for October, 2003

An Apology

Monday, October 27th, 2003

I have an apology to make. It’s quite shocking, but I feel that once it’s out in the open, it will be better for all of us in the long run. Okay, deep breath, here we go . . . wait for it. . .

It’s Steven’s and my fault that Auburn lost to LSU on Saturday.

Yes, yes, I confess, we are to blame! I feel so ashamed. We didn’t mean for it to happen, honest. We would never want our Auburn to lose, yet it is our fault for the 40-something to 7 fiasco.

What did we do, exactly? I remembered to wear my Aubie pin, but Steven forgot to wear his orange gameday shirt. Ohhh, the shame; I feel so guilty. Steven’s worn his shirt every game this season (to the best of my knowledge), and since the first two game horrors, I’ve worn my Aubie pin. But on this crucial gameday, our minds apparently wandered, most likely because we were drawn into the Pillowfight Grudge Match that was Alabama versus Tennessee. We forsaked our team for five overtimes and a green shirt. We’re both going to Auburn Hell (otherwise known as Tuscaloosa).

Because of our actions, Steven and I both apologize profusely for our behavior last Saturday, and for causing all Auburn Tiger fans so much grief and shock. Believe us when we say we are truly sorry. We would also like to send our apologies and condolences to Tommy Tuberville, the whole football team and staff, and the guy that sent out all those postcards promoting Cadillac for Heisman. Sorry for the wasted postage.

Please forgive us. We’ll do better next week.

Saturday Rambling

Saturday, October 25th, 2003

GAMEDAY!!! An away game, though, so I shall have to watch it courtesy of ESPN. We’re playing LSU; very important game this year. We’re the underdogs in this one, so that works out good for us. Man, it is going to be some game!

But I cannot be at Baton Rouge, and I don’t think I’d wanna go if I had the chance. I heard the stories from the veteran band members of what happened in 1997. Nothing doing. So instead, we’re headed down to Birmingham for the day, gonna get some weddin’ stuff done. Yee-ha, road trip! I’ve been on so many road trips this week. . .

But I did come across something very interesting in Fort Payne this week. A used book store has opened up on the north end of town, right near my office! Ohh, the book gods are singing it’s praises. I found this great old book from 1920 about public speaking that I just had to get. In danger of sounding like an old fart, they sure don’t make books like they used to. The binding is still holding up well, the size and shape is perfect, and it opens up all the way, so you can hold it in one hand and it is perfectly willing to just lay prone and let you absorb the information. It sits in your hand just like those old pictures you see of the posed academic looking up from a book, like he had been suprised by the painter. That’s my kind of book.

40 things never said by southerners

Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003

I came across this on the internet today, and I was amused. It’s Fourty Things Never Said By Southerners. However, there’s quite a few of these I disagree with. I think they should change the word ‘Southerners’ to ‘Rednecks’ or ‘White Trash.’ I’ve posted it below, and I added some of my own comments.

40 Things Never Said By Southerners

40. Oh I just couldn’t. Hell, she’s only sixteen.
*hahaha, it makes me laugh. I don’t do this sort of thing though. Sorry.
39. I’ll take Shakespeare for 1000, Alex.
*Shakespeare rocks. I just bought King Lear today; I’ve never read it. I swear I’m not lying.
38. Duct tape won’t fix that.
*I have to agree. Duct tape is The Tool.
37. Lisa Marie was lucky to catch Michael.
*I truly don’t care, which I think is the point that they’re trying to make.
36. Come to think of it, I’ll have a Heineken.
*Beer is gross. If I wanted to drink piss, I could get some for free.
35. We don’t keep firearms in this house.
*Nope, no guns here. Water pistols for Renton, but no guns.
34. Has anybody seen the sideburns trimmer?
*This doesn’t apply to me, for I have no sideburns.
33. You can’t feed that to the dog.
*This one is true. Dogs eat anything.
32. I thought Graceland was tacky.
*Actually, I did.
31. No kids in the back of the pickup, it’s just not safe.
*I only let plants ride in the back of my pickup.
30. Wrasslin’s fake.
*’Tis.
29. Honey, did you mail that donation to Greenpeace?
*Hahaha, yeah, I don’t know anyone around here that has to do w/ Greenpeace.
28. We’re vegetarians.
*Meat good. Vegetarian is an Indian word for ‘lousy hunter.’
27. Do you think my gut is too big?
*Well, Southerners are getting more health concious. I wouldn’t be suprised to hear some toothless guy wearing overalls say this nowadays.
26. I’ll have grapefruit and grapes instead of biscuits and gravy.
*See above.
25. Honey, we don’t need another dog.
*Dogs drool. Cats rule.
24. Who’s Richard Petty?
*Uhh, racecar driver? Or is he that singer, Richard Petty and the Heartbreakers? Too many Pettys around.
23. Give me the small bag of pork rinds.
*G.R.O.S.S.
22. Too many deer heads detract from the decor.
*Yes they do.
21. Spittin is such a nasty habit.
*Yes it is.
20. I just couldn’t find a thing at Walmart today.
*You can always find something at Wal-Mart, so I have to agree w/ this one.
19. Trim the fat off that steak.
*I do that.
18. Cappuccino tastes better than espresso.
*Of course not! Espresso is much better: just as much caffiene, no calories, fast consumption.
17. The tires on that truck are too big.
*I say that a lot.
16. I’ll have the arugula and radicchio salad.
*Huh?
15. I’ve got it all on the C drive.
*Nope. I’ve got some on CD-Rs, servers, there’s an F drive at work. . .
14. Unsweetened tea tastes better.
*Yes it does, if it is brewed right.
13. Would you like your salmon poached or broiled?
*Broiled, please.
12. My fiance, Bobbie Jo, is registered at Tiffany’s.
*Ehh, I don’t think many of us can afford that. There is a Saks Fifth Avenue in Birmingham, though. . . .
11. I’ve got two cases of Zima for the Super Bowl.
*I don’t watch the Super Bowl. Pro football is for boring cities with no cool college teams.
10. Little Debbie snack cakes have too many fat grams.
*Yes they do.
09. Checkmate.
*This is usually said to me. I’m not too good at Chess, though I try.
08. She’s too young to be wearing a bikini.
*I say that a lot. The stuff you see kids wear sometimes. Scary.
07. Does the salad bar have bean sprouts?
*They get stuck in your teeth. . .
06. Hey, here’s an episode of “Hee Haw” that we haven’t seen.
*I never cared for that show much.
05. I don’t have a favorite college team.
*WAR DAMN EAGLE.
04. Be sure to bring my salad dressing on the side.
*I do this at places that are known to just pour it on.
03. I believe you cooked those green beans too long.
*Hahaha, I think that sometimes to. Never say it though.
02. Those shorts ought to be a little longer, Darla.
*I only wear jeans.
01. Nope, no more for me. I’m drivin tonight.
*Ehh, I’m not one for the bar scene.

See, according to this, I’m not a Southerner. Maybe I’m just an Odd Southerner. Or a Southerner With Aspirations. Whatever. This Southerner is tired (been up since ten ’till five), and I’ve got stuff to do.

Busy Carrie, Nonfunctioning Carrie

Tuesday, October 21st, 2003

I’ve been either one or the other this week. Sunday through this morning, I was a malfunctioning Carrie, having woken up sick in the middle of the night Monday (dude, I actually puked! I don’t puke. . .I messed up my record. . .), then most of the day Tuesday I had a bitch of a headache, because I didn’t want to take my medicine for fear of reignighting my queasy stomach. I slept from 3:30 that afternoon to 6:10 this morning, with a few brief moments of conciousness. Then off to work, drove from here to Geraldine, to Crossville, then back the slow way through Geraldine to Rainsville with two big trees and a shrub in the back of my truck back to Fort Payne.

I got home a little after five, and I’ve been writing thank you notes ever since, cause w/ my not feeling good and all, I’ve fallen a bit behind. I’m on a roll now though. Go me go me go me. But I’m gonna have to go to sleep early cause I’m going to McMinnville, Tennessee early tomorrow morning, and I gotta get up at the butt-crack of dawn. So sorry folks, no amusing stories of little things in my life, for I am a Busy Carrie. Later, this Busy Carrie will relate the story of Renton vs. Callie, Part Deux. (Renton is a mean little scardey-cat, but an interesting mean little scardey-cat). I’ll also tell about the Cat Tree. Good stuff, but for another day.

P.S. WAR EAGLE we beat Miss State 40-something to 13ish. Yee-ha.

Renton 0, Callie 1

Saturday, October 18th, 2003

WOOHOO, IT’S GAMEDAY! I’m down in Auburn, and gettin’ ready to walk the campus. We’re gonna go by the bookstore and get some books (duh), and then we’re gonna go by the alumni tent, because I have access, and I’ve forgotten every time this year so far that I’ve got the privledge to take part of cheap hot dogs, watered down drinks, and some horrible music entertainment. But by graduating, I’ve gained the right. So I’ll try it out.

Renton had his first run-in with another cat last night. Our friends Katie and Lisa recently acquired a calico cat, a cute little six month old named Callie. So last night we all decide they should meet, they can play together and it’ll be so nice and cute. Uh huh. Well, at least one side wanted to be nice and cute. Callie seemed very willing to make friends. Renton, however, seemed very willing to kill each and every one of us. Except Callie; he seemed very threatened by this cute little ball of splotched fur that was half his size. He tried to attack us humans, though, who are seven times his size. Dude, this cat growled. He sounded like a Rottweiler. Yep, that’s my Renton: the anti-cat. He was one pissed off feline. After thirty minutes of hissing, growling, biting, and sulking, we took him back to Steven’s.

Granted, Renton was in unfamiliar territory, which gets him edgy anyway. After the game we just might try it again, but this time in Steven’s abode. Maybe Renton will be nicer. Renton! Nice! Hahahahahahahaha!!! No, really, we can have hope. . .

After we took Renton back last night, we had dinner and watched a movie. Callie was just jumping around from lap to lap, being all sweet. Steven played with her for a long time. Then he says, “This cat is much more fun than Renton!” What?! He later said he didn’t mean it, but I’ll never let him live it down. Renton is fun, you just have to wear leatherhide gloves. Hey, they’re fashionable.

And now, ’tis time to dry my hair, always a fun daily ritual. War Damn Eagle, let’s kill us some dawgs.

Mormon Names

Tuesday, October 14th, 2003

My Mormon name is Candri-Anne Paulshe!
What’s yours?

Christmas, A Grinch, And A Five-Finger Discount

Tuesday, October 14th, 2003

Over the weekend, my sister and I came up with, I think, an ingenious theory. Now, probably many of you have heard the oft-repeated theory about The Smurfs Are Communist. Well, this sort of resides along those lines, but we go after a different childhood cartoon, and in a slightly different fashion.

Ready for it? Would you like to hear our hypothesis; let our facts, thoughts, and conclusions shatter yet another seemingly innocent children’s tale? Of course you are. And here it is. . .brace yourself. . .

The Whos down in Whoville, the tall and the small, were stoned. . . which is why they didn’t care they had no presents at all.

And how could they have been stoned? Where’s the proof, you ask. Well, the proof is shown by a simple fact, stated clearly in both the book and cartoon movie (which is practically word for word, and it would have to be; Dr. Seuss doesn’t work in prose). The simple fact is, kids, is the Whos were in possession of Who Hash. We all know the line “. . .he even took the last can of Who Hash,” as The Grinch looks at the camera with a knowing smile and wiggles his eyebrows. Yep, he knows what he’s doing later: bakin’ special brownies.

To add to this amazing revelation, we even have concluded that there is evidence of the Whos being stoned that very night The Grinch came to steal Christmas. Evidence #1: None of the Whos (sans one, which I’ll discuss in a minute), woke up while the Grinch was trashing their places, stealing all their goodies. Surely there was one light sleeper in the bunch, some adult Who person who had had too much Who Egg Nog and really had to use the facilities, but no. Not a one was awake, and why? They were stoned off of Who Hash, and they all had collapsed into slumber a few hours before the Grinch made his little stop. Now there was that one exception, little Cindy Lou Who (no more than two), who needed some water. Now, with Cindy being no more than two, and even stoned Who parents have some sense, she didn’t get to have as much Hash as everyone else, but she did get a little. Just enough to make her thirsty, and to be totally nonplussed when she finds some weird green Santa Claus (wearing no pants, mind you), in their Who living room that doesn’t have a stick of furniture, stuffing their tree up the chimney, and obviously having a hard time of it. She was just stoned enough to buy the green man’s lame excuse of fixing a light bulb. Yep, hash’ll do that to you.

Now, Evidence #2: they wake up, no presents, no furniture even, and what do they do? They go out into the Common Green, hold hands, and start singing! “Fa-who-la is Fa-do-la sing welcome Christmas Christmas time!” The story goes that they’re still happy and singing because Christmas came, just the same, without any presents at all. Uh huh, sure thing, man. If you woke up and found everything in your house to be MIA, wouldn’t you flip? I know the advertised point of the story is that material possessions don’t matter, but most of us would be upset on some level. It’s sad but true; I bow down to the person who can truly say they would not be miffed. But every Who in Whoville (the tall and the small), don’t even care? It’s a cover-up for the fact that they were all stoned out of their minds, so of course they wouldn’t care; they probably didn’t even notice. They just knew that they were feeling good, their houses seemed nice and spacious, hey y’all let’s sing. And what singing, too. Fa-who-what? Of course, if the Grinch hadn’t been fooled into feeling remorse for his actions and therefore had not brought back the goodies, those Whos would have been right mad once they realized that the last can of Who Hash had been lifted from their little druggie town. Green heads would have rolled all the way down Mount Crumpet.

And for the final evidence, I give you Evidence #3: they all had the major munchies. At the end of the cartoon movie, where the Grinch is carving the Roast Beast, everyone’s happy and gnoshing away. As the (cartoon) camera pans back, we see all the Whos going at their food like ravenous wolfhounds. Look at that Who with the corn-on-the-cob! You couldn’t tear him away from that thing. And that Who eating what looks to be mashed potatoes. That one never comes up for air. I guess after all the Who Hash, any normal Who would have the munchies. Even the Grinch, the Grinch himself (who carved the Roast Beast, don’t forget), probably had sampled some of the Who Hash as well; he goes at his roast with gusto. In fact, every Who man, woman, and child are munching away, the druggies.

So there you go; the truth behind How The Grinch Stole Christmas, as discussed by my sister and I. After thinking about all this, and having the realizations, it will make Thanksgiving Day a much more interesting event when they show the cartoon movie continuously for twenty-four hours, as is their custom. Maybe I will even find more evidence, either for or against our argument. I’ll have to remember to write it down, or at least mentally file it away, and I’ll post it here first. Unless I’m stoned. Then I just won’t care.

(two notes: I hate using the phrase ‘cartoon movie,’ but ever since Ron Howard tackled the Dr. Seuss classic, I have to make the distinction. The cartoon movie is much, much more than a mere cartoon. Second note, I hope y’all don’t think I’m a stoner. All of my knowledge on marijuana comes from popular culture, one testimonial from a weird acquaintance, and a story about a dumb cop from a fellow horticultural student. This, of course, makes me an expert.)

A Tired Last-Minute Post

Monday, October 13th, 2003

It seems that people are waiting, just absolutely dying for me to post something (probably about the game), so I shall do a quick post to whet your appetite.

Auburn won, woohoo, war damn eagle, 10 to 3, eat that Arkansas, we rule, just don’t vote for us in the polls. We are so GOOD as underdogs! woof

Catapult

Thursday, October 9th, 2003

I do enjoy my favorite cereal now and then; it’s tasty, sugary, and makes me forget I’m slowly turning into an adult. That is, until Renton spills it all over the floor. Then I miraculously change swiftly back into an adult, scolding Renton while throwing him out, and then bending over to clean up the now wasted rainbow of flakes. Never eat dry cereal with a spoon while having a cat in your lap, who is infamous for curiosity. It was really stupid of me, actually. Did I really think that I would be able to repeatedly hoist a spoonful of dry bits of cooked corn and sugar to my mouth with Renton not letting his curiosity getting the best of him? I guess it’s been a long day. It only took a few spoonfuls before he put his paw on the spoon handle, pulled back, and FLIP! The cereal was catapulted all around us, like so much colorful confetti. Sticky confetti. That crunches under your feet. From now on, I think I’ll kick Renton out while I’m eating my Fruity Pebbles.

Give Me Chili Or Give Me Death

Tuesday, October 7th, 2003

There are three basic maxims to follow when you’re cooking chili. Number one: make sure it is not hot outside. Number two: make sure you have all the ingredients. And Number three: make sure you’ve got a pot big enough to hold all of it. Well, I am proud to say that I am sitting here, typing, and enjoying a delicious homemade bowl of chili that I made, and I failed to follow all three of the above rules.

But why would you do such a stupid, dumbass thing, Carrie? Well, I’ll tell ya. Last week was a cold week here in Fort Payne. When it gets cold, I crave chili. One needs three things in Fall: cold, chili, and football. So, I had the cold, I had the football, I needed chili. Alas, due to my procrastination of other things, I didn’t have time to make it ’till this week. And this week, it has been warm. Just my luck. But I’m not gonna let ten degrees’ difference of heat stop me from makin’ my chili. To solve the problem, I just turned the thermostat down about five degrees, a simple action. First maxim solved.

Second problem wasn’t quite so easy; some ingredients missing from the pot can mean life or death for any chili, no matter what oddball recipe you’re using. Mine wasn’t that dire of an ingredient (or else I would not be eating yummy chili right now), but I’ve never made chili without it before. I was lacking tomato paste. I realized this before I left work, so it was my intention to swing by the Foodland (I don’t like to brave Wal-Mart after 5 pm), and pick up a can or two. Soon after walking into Foodland, however, I soon realized why it is that I shop at Wal-Mart, and not at this store. They had no freakin’ tomato paste! Not a single can. They didn’t even have any tomato sauce, which can be used in a pinch. Then, just ’cause I needed something to come out of my visit to this store, I try to find some of the canned cat food that Renton likes. Would you believe they didn’t have that either? Foodland. They should call it FoodDesert. Or Foods R Not Us. Or something like We Only Sell Batteries And Depends. Boogers upon them. So, still not wanting to go to Wal-Mart (it was Hell there yesterday, absolute Hell), I decide to wing it without the paste. I scrounged the pantry, looking for something tomatoey that thickens. Tomato soup? Why not, better than nothing. Better than a trip to Wal-Mart. Tomato soup it is. Now, I possessed all the ingredients I needed, more or less.

Breaking the third maxim was a bitch. Especially ’cause it jumped out from the empty cabinets and bit me on the ass; I was not expecting it to be a factor at all. I had a stockpot, once. I know I did, ’cause I have memories of cooking a chicken in it at Auburn, and storing all the paper birthday napkins that I collected over the years. I had a stockpot. Apparently it ran away and took my napkins with it; didn’t leave me a note or anything. Just imagine this picture: I’m in the kitchen, on the phone with my mom (using my cell phone, which doesn’t like to cradle all that well between my ear and shoulder), Renton is at my feet having a fit because I’m not paying attention to him 100%, I’ve got ground beef browning in a skillet, and I’m just finishing cutting up an onion into little tiny pieces. A multitasking Carrie; it is possible. I’m ready to mix up all the ingredients, everything’s coming together, I just need my huge pot. It’s at this point that I realize my pot is MIA. Oh bugger. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll rig up something,” Mom says. I’m so irritated at myself, but I am not giving up. I want my chili. Let’s see, skillets hold stuff, boilers hold stuff, let’s try using both! So now I was cooking two batches of chili, one in a skillet, and another in a boiler type pot thing. Double the fun. Double the stirring, the seasoning, the tasting, the reseasoning, the temperature adjusting, and even the mess cleaning. You name it, I doubled it. But I didn’t use a stockpot. I be a crafty Carrie.

So an hour and half a bottle of chili powder later, my creation of chili was ready, jerryrigged all the way. And it tasted fantastic. Probably not as good as I can usually make, and certainly not as good as my mom’s, but I made it, despite the obstacles in my path. Huzzah!

Now, a quick thought. Why in the world would I write so much about a stupid bowl of chili? ‘Cause, sadly enough, this was the most interesting part of my day. I suspects I need a bit more of a life.