One Trip, Two Trip, Good Trip, Bad Trip (but not as in ‘drugs’)

Last weekend turned out rather swimmingly, methinks. You don’t get to drive around downtown Atlanta every day. That is, if you don’t live in downtown Atlanta . . . and if you do, please accept my sincere deriding laughter. “Ha ha!”

We arrived in Atlanta for the symphony a little after one o’clock despite our initial confusement between Peachtree Street and West Peachtree Street, which were posted on really small road signs.

While waiting to be seated, I observed the menagerie of people about us. Some, like us, were rather well dressed. Others were slightly more casual, then some were really casual . . . as in nasty blue jeans and tattoos. Still others were dressed up in the latest of elvish fashion, complete with garland of sparkly twigs in hair and flowing robes. Always interesting to see how music can pull such a group together.

The music itself was incredible, of course. Howard Shore was quite entertaining to watch; very bouncy for an older gentleman. Steven and I also had fantastic seats; we were very close to the cellos. Someday, when I’m a bit richer and in a bigger city, I’d like to take violin lessons. I’ve already got the violin; might as well not let it go to waste. It does look like fun.

After the symphony it was off to dinner, which turned out to be mighty fine indeed. Now we all want a fondue pot to create our own (much less expensive) fondue experience. We also had a lovely bottle of wine, which was amusing to me since I’ve never ordered wine by the bottle before. Only two of us at the table drank any, though. Steven took over driving duties on the way home.

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Unfortunately, my trips between here and Auburn on the weekend were not so pleasant. I was headed down to Auburn on Friday with Renton and Hermione when a foul smell hit my nostrils.

“Hermione, did you fart?” She’s well-known for her global killers.

“Meow,” said Hermione.

It was reeking. I was hoping against hope that I had just driven by a cow pasture exactly when fifty bovines had a colon-cleaning orgy. That was a better thought than the possibility of cat poop in my car.

I was wrong, though. Hermione, who had been crying for over an hour, had released her spoils. When I got a chance to pull into a gas station to clean ‘er up, it got worse: my poor baby had tapeworms! Lord, no wonder she hasn’t been gaining any weight.

When we reached Auburn I went by a vet first thing. Thankfully, all she needed was one pill and some time for all the critters to vacate her colon. Apparently she felt better after that poop in Piedmont: she slept peacefully for the rest of the trip.

Heading back home after the weekend, however, her bowels struck again; this time in Roanoke. Sadly, she didn’t go to sleep afterward that time and wailed all the way to Fort Payne. At one point we came upon a thunderstorm, which had Renton crying along with her as I hydroplaned onto the interstate.

I told Hermione she’s banned from the car for life, though that remains to be seen. Places to go, people to marry.

However, I’m debating whether I should board them both at the vet’s this weekend to maintain my sanity and my nasal passages.

1,827 days

Five years ago, I was dreading a chemistry final. Only a few days left of my freshmen year of college, and I was looking forward to the chemistry-free summer. I wouldn’t have thought it that morning, but by the evening I would be someone’s girlfriend again.

Oh, to go visit that Carrie of five years ago. She probably wouldn’t know me from Madam’s housecat at first. And what would I say to this nutter who has no idea what’s in store for her?

Perhaps I’d start with, “Oh boogers, the next five years are gonna be the best of your life.”

She’s retort with something like, “Dude, you can’t be me. You’re skinny and wearing too much makeup. Crazy butt.”

Then I’d have to prove my identity by naming off old passwords, embarrassing stories, and that time when Tracy Bohannon got out the w–

BAM!

Old Carrie then would hit Future Carrie over the head with one of those Big Bertha cement blocks and go stuff her down in the basement of the dorm where the chapter room was, thus changing the best five years of her life to the last five years. She would then nonchalantly sit in front of the computer, where Steven will sign on AIM later.

Wow, that meeting did not go well at all. Remind me never, ever to step foot inside a time machine. My past self is vicious.

Happy anniversary, Steven! I think you’ll be able to remember our wedding anniversary better than this one.

kitty reports, with cheese

Renton and Hermione are slowly getting used to each other. For two nights in a row now, I have been on the couch with one cat, then the other cat comes and gets on my side and falls asleep, only to slide down right beside the other kitty without knowing it. At one point they had their arms around each other!

And there I was, covered in kitties and out of reach of my camera. So sad.

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I woke up this morning to the thump, thump of kitties in the second bathtub. It’s a morning ritual around here; Renton started it and has now taught Hermione the joys of (dare I say it?) tubthumping. (Laugh at my lame joke!)

When I came out of my bedroom, freshly showered, I found that they somehow closed the bathroom door on themselves. I have no idea how long they were in there, but they seemed to be on good terms as they trotted out for their morning vittles. Renton even let Hermione rub on him for a half a second before jumping away.

Progress!

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This weekend shall be spiffy. We start off with a Friday evening at the theatre to watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. And if that isn’t enough to dance about, the next day we’re off to Atlanta with Ken and Lisa to listen to the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra playing the Lord of the Rings soundtrack with Howard Shore himself conducting. And to top this weekend extravaganza off, we will be off to dinner at The Melting Pot, a high-dollar, no hassle fondue experience.

Mmmmmm, may the cheese be drippy and warm for all.

wednesday musings

Things are slowly beginning to settle into place now. My sister is getting married in just four weeks, her fiancé just got a new job (“So now they don’t have to live at the Jimmy Hale Mission,” Mom says), and Steven will be a college graduate in a little over two months. It’s been a crazy-ass year, and I’m ready for it to be August.

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Earlier I was doing some exploratory research shopping online for my boss’ daughter, who will celebrate her first birthday in a few weeks. In my quest to find something normal, and yet unique, I came across the cutest baby blanket.

“Man, Cathy needs to hurry up and have a baby, so I can get her this blanket!” I mused. It’s definitely right up her alley, but I won’t go into too much detail on account of her faithful reading of this site.

So come on, Cathy, pop me out a niece or nephew so I can get you this blanket. Better yet, I’ll make it myself if I ever learn to sew. It can’t be too terrible hard, and now I have incentive to learn.

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If you ever contract someone to do some creative work for you, whether it be design, decoration, remodling ideas, or other things of that nature, do ’em a favor and answer the questions they ask you. If they want to know if you like or abhor a certain element, tell them so. Don’t wait until they bring the finished product to you to exclaim, “It’s nice, but just one thing: I hate azaleas.”

Uhhh, not that this has ever happened to me, of course.

It Followed Me Home

Ooh, I’m a bad, bad Carrie. I haven’t written anything in over a week! I’ve got a good excuse, though; a few good excuses, actually.

Steven was in between semesters at Auburn, so I got to experience what it’s like to have your husband with you every evening instead of just weekends. I quite enjoyed the experience, though it makes me wonder what will happen to this blog once Steven’s outta school full-time. I just might fall off the face of the earth.

Okay, second reason why I ain’t been writing. Well, in a nutshell, we saw this kitty. Come on, you know how the story goes from here: find kitty, bring him home, watch Renton kill us all . . . Well, not that bad; Renton has taken the situation quite well, actually. We followed the rules and introduced them slowly. Pretty decent experience.

And now to introduce the new baby. She’s an eight-month-old pastel calico whom we decided to name Hermione. Her intelligent-looking green eyes drew us to the name, which comes from a smart, sorta goody-goody character from the Harry Potter books. She’s a very loving cat and wants to rub her face all over every inch of everything. If rubbing doesn’t do the job, she might take a little nibble from your chin as well, so watch out.

She’s half the size of Renton, but right now she’s chasing him more than him chasing her. Renton has always been wary of things smaller than himself. Come to think of it, that’s beginning to be quite a lot of things; we have just realized he is absolutely huge! He weighs in at almost 13 pounds; need to tell his grandparents to stop giving him salmon.

And, true to my household, Hermione is already starting to gether a few middle names of her own (with Renton being ‘Renton Sid Vicious James Peter Bucky Williams). So far, her full name is ‘Hermione Nermel Fidget Itty Winking Puffs Williams — ‘Nermel’ from the annoyingly cute cat from ‘Garfield and Friends,’ ‘Fidget’ because she lays down and gets up and lays down again about twenty times before she’s comfortable, and ‘Itty Winking Puffs’ after a stuffed tiger accidentally named that by Seven. Uhh, long story.

She’s a skittish cat, too. I learned this firsthand, so to speak. There was an ill-fated event involving her, a blender, my hand, and $60 in antibiotics and a tetanus shot. My left hand is not happy.

That reminds me; I must go take that horsepill again. I’ll post some lovely pictures for later, but for right now, I’m pooped.

Hell No! Hell No! DSL Has Got To Go!

I don’t have cable. I used to about a year ago, but I decided that fifty bucks a month on top of my phone/DSL bill was a shitload of money, and something had to go. Naturally, internet was my top priority, then cable, then the landline phone. Unfortunately, the DSL needs a landline to work, so the cable got the boot. My BellSouth bill was still nuts (about one hundred smackers a month, and that’s without long distance), but I saw no other way around it; cable internet doesn’t come down this road.

Thankfully, I was only hooked on two shows: Six Feet Under and Friends. Ken usually gets me copies of SFU and my mom keeps me up to date with Friends, plus I’m able to catch reruns when I visit home. With the very last episode of Friends coming up this Thursday, my plan was to watch it over at my office; a practice usually reserved for Auburn away games during the fall. However, I got to thinking about cable again; after all, I’ve only got three more months of middle class poverty.

I humored my wild idea with some quick research, and lo and behold, cable internet is now offered in my area. “Hmmm,” I thought. Granted, DSL is probably faster and more reliable, but cable sure is cheaper! I do some quick calling and find that I can get digital basic cable plus cable internet for, get this, thirty bucks cheaper than my current phone/internet bill! Hell yes, sign me up!

It will all be installed tomorrow afternoon, just in time for the Friends finale. I had to call BellSouth to arrange to get my service cancelled. There was a lot of joy in that action, let me tell you.

Annoyingly happy customer service rep guy: “Hi, this is [annoyingly happy customer service rep guy], thank you for calling, how can I help make your BellSouth experience more incredibly stupendous today?” (I’m serious, he really said this).

Me: (stifling laughter) “Uhh, yeah, I’d like to cancel my services.”

Annoyingly happy customer service rep guy: “Awwww . . .”

I love how at the end of cancelling all of your services with BellSouth, they still say, “Thank you for using BellSouth.” It reminds me of a time when my dad was on the phone with those people trying to work out some nutty phone problem. By the end of the conversation, Dad was pretty annoyed, and when the rep said, “Thank you for using BellSouth!,” Dad shot back, “I have to use BellSouth!,” and hung up.

So, summing up, for those of you that really know me, you’ll only be able to reach me by my cell phone, which is all I’ve been using lately, anyway. I am free of the BellSouth Nazguls, or at least I will be come Tuesday.

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Heehee, I bet after this post, anyone that googles the word ‘BellSouth’ will get this blog at the very tip-top. BellSouth, BellSouth, BellSouth. There. And if you’re really easily amused, this is what my friends and I think of the mighty, mighty BellSouth.

let them eat dinosaur cake!

Last weekend was very amusing; we had a lot of parties. First was my sister’s wedding tea in Columbiana. It went very well, plus they had those tasty little cucumber open-face sandwiches like at my tea, so I was happy. I am partial to cucumbers.

We had my birthday dinner on the same night at Steak & Ale. I am also partial to filet mignon. ‘Twas a lovely dinner, and it had a great surprise at the end. My parents earlier had asked me the annual question, “What kind of cake do you want?” to which I had replied, “Uhhhh, a dinosaur one.” No reason, really; just wanted something different, something ‘not normal.’ I once had a dinosaur cake when I was at that age where inviting all the kids in your class (whether you knew them or not) to your birthday party was the cool thing to do, and it was quite a nifty cake. Oh, to be seven again.

Okay, back to dinner. “Okay, Carrie, close your eyes . . . . Carrie, put that camera down and close your eyes!” So I do, then I hear some rustling, and Steven exclaims, “Oh, my God!” Then it’s “Open your eyes, Carrie,” and this is what I see:

It was truly a bonifide dinosaur cake, 3-D even! It could have been a scene from Steel Magnolias, except with extinct reptiles. Waiters from other areas of the restaurant came by to take a gander. Steven then pulls out some candles he found that burn colored flames, like blue, pink, purple, you get the idea. It’s a continuation of a lighter gag joke. They sure did have a high flame; we made my mom extremely nervous.

As hard as it was, I eventually had to cut the cake. Steven chowed down on some snout, while I nibbled on some eye. Jason wanted a piece of tail, but after a few bad jokes, we didn’t cut that end. However, half the ass is presently in my fridge.

‘Bone’ appetit.

April 32nd

Just wanted to write something so I can go back later and think, “Woohoo, look, that’s what I wrote on my birthday!”

So that’s what I’m doing.

And this past weekend was very amusing, but it’s way too damn late for me to use any mental capacity to write it all down. I’ll consult the muses tomorrow.

But for a vague preview, just know that it involves dinosaurs.

Good night, y’all.

mmmm, cakey

The clothes are in the washer, Renton has been bathed and is now sulking in a corner . . . it must be Thursday! Thursdays have become chore days around here recently since two out of three Fridays I’m bookin’ it to Auburn or Alabaster for the weekend. I’d rather get stuff done now so I don’t come home late on Sunday and think, ‘Oh my God, I’ve no clean clothes to wear! And what is that funky smell coming from the garbage?!” I speak from experience here.

Today was a rather amusing day. Mid-morning I got to visit a residential construction site in one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. The first story framing was up along with the floor for the second level, which we were able to walk upon. I felt like King of the Mountain; we were very high up and had a wide view. I tell ya, it’s not every job that you get the chance to walk to the edge of a level three stories up, look over, and have your stomach do a few gymnastic moves just to remind you that, yes, you will go ‘splat!’ if you fall off. It’ll wake you up in the morning, just like a double-shot of espresso.

Ooooh, I need coffee now.

Later on that day, I was surprised by my co-workers, who threw a surprise birthday lunch for me, complete with homemade barbecue and cake! It was tremendously cool for them to do that for me; I didn’t even think they knew my birthday was coming up. I feel so loved.

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I’ve only been surprised for my birthday once before; for my 19th back in college. Wow, that’s been almost five years now — I feel so old. It was near the end of my freshmen year when Jennifer Frank was my roommate and I was dating that other guy, M-something. I was going to M-something’s apartment for dinner that night and Jennifer was going to watch movies w/ some sax buddies, but when we get to M-something’s place and he opens the door, all these people jump out and yell, “Surprise!”

I truly wish I had seen the look on my face then. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. Sure, I’d had birthday parties and get-togethers, but no one had ever gone to so much trouble before. All the friends that I had made over that first year in school were there, mostly a mix of band and Prattville people. We had an absolute blast that night; dinner and movies for everybody; lots of fun.

And yeah, later on that month M-something and I broke up, and a year later Jennifer and I could barely stand each other, but I certainly don’t regret any of my friendships with them all. How could I? M-something was the first guy that liked me more than a friend-like; the first guy I kissed (not counting that guy in kindergarten), and Jennifer was the best girl friend outside my family that I ever had. After that first year, though, we all changed, as teenagers are wont to do.

It sorta sucks that we all could not stay the same, but oh well, shit happens, especially in college. Thankfully, most of my memories are of the ‘good shit’ kind.

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salad ratios

Stupid Foodland strikes again; they ruined my salad! I ran by there earlier today to pick up some vittles and they had their fresh chef salads out, which I had tried once before and was pleasantly satisfied. On today’s batch, the composition was much shoddier. First, they forgot my cheese, that good, squishier white cheese that melts in your mouth like M&M’s, just cheesier. Second, they used the nasty, cheap onions that leave a horrendous aftertaste in your mouth no matter how many gallons of Listerine you swish with later on. Last time they had the little round, green onion things which are actually pretty good. On this go they had used the decidedly stinkier, purple onions, chopped so small that I couldn’t snag them all to be hoisted outta my salad. Third, and what really sucks, is I didn’t notice the absence of cheese and low quality onions until I got home and began gnoshing away.

What a barfy two bucks to waste; I could’ve gone to the Peking Gourmet and gotten some white rice and an egg roll instead.

Even Renton didn’t want any.

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On a happier note, I get to go to two parties this weekend, woohoo! First, on the first, is my sister’s wedding tea. Second, on the second, is my birthday, so let the cake-eating commence! But not too much cake, I wanna fit into all those dresses I get to wear over the coming two months.

My Lord, who’d’ve ever thought there’d be a day when Carrie would say, “Ooooh, not too much cake for me, I’m watching my figure; I wanna fit into all my girly dresses and be frilly!”

Not frilly, just older and a bit more sexier, or at least I try to be. The guy at J.C. Penney thought I was 16. That’s an eight year difference! (ratio = 1 : 1.5)

On my 18th birthday, the waiter at Olive Garden guessed that I was 13. (ratio = 1 : 1.38)

So, it seems that the older I get, the ratio of my age verses how old people think I am gets bigger. Every year adds 0.02 to the ratio. Therefore, at age 40, the ratio will be 1 : 1.98, and people will guess that I am almost 27. Oh, the gods are good.

Unless I have the despairingly bad luck of going prematurely grey. So far, so good, though.

Ohh, the fun with numbers, as long as it’s not a required practice. In algebra class, it’s much different.