This is how we roll

If you ever wondered what it is like working in such an academically sound research institution with many highly educated and intelligent people all working for the betterment of today's trauma victim, look no further than this email I sent out to my fellow colleagues upon learning that our once sick co-worker would now be joining us for an intense day of research :

From : Carrie
To : Core Research Group
Subject : Josh will be in

Due to a miraculous recovery that can only be attributed to good health, proper nutrition and a hefty infusion of H2O and bacon, our brave Josh will now be joining us today.

While he will not be joining us at his regularly scheduled time, we can all thank each other for the well wishes sent his way that have assisted in his being brought back from the brink of death, just in the nick of time.

Congratulations on your speedy and efficient recovery Josh! If only the rest of us could hold dear just a little bit of the awesomeness that you possess.

Sincerely and with much shock and awe,


**And if you weren’t a believer before, you should now fully understand the wonderful healing powers of bacon, America’s favorite fruit. There really is nothing in the world better than bacon. Nothing.**

Carrie A. Awesomeness (not my real last name, but it sure as heck should be)

Clinical Research Assistant

CORE Research Group

R.A Cowley Shock Trauma Center

University of Maryland, School of Medicine

From : Allison
To : Carrie
Subject : Re : Josh will be in

Truly the world is not ready for the gifts that Josh possesses. We must keep his skills secret, safe, lest the petty jealousies of the ignorant masses steal him away to rend him limb from limb, to realize, all too late, that Josh’s gifts cannot be possessed by any other.


P.S. The first inkling of the coolness that is Shock Trauma was noted while shadowing Dr. Stein during rounds in October of 2006, when the team nutritionist began extolling the virtues of bacon ….


Happy 8th Birthday to my crazy little mutt.

My dog Lucy and I have been together for nearly 8 years now. That is longer than taking every crappy relationship (which is every single one up until the meeting of Mr. Hot Pilot) and rolling them into one steaming pile of relationship dog poo.

From the beginning, Lucy has adopted a role of being my unwavering life defender, protecting me against the likes of just about every other human being that walks on this earth. She has perfected the art of rigid tooth baring and deep internal growl that would scare any evil Mormon or Jehovah's Witness into submission.

Those kids walking by the house on their way home from school? They are secretly wielding machetes and other weapons of wrath that could potentially harm her mommy.

That nice lady from down the street who waves at everyone? According to my little dog, you can't trust anyone who is that friggin happy all the time.

Lucy's junkyard dog instincts don't only convey to those outside the home. While my dad thinks Lucy is the coolest dog that has ever walked the face of the planet, and tries as hard as possible to snuggle and cuddle and offer treats that any dog would roll over in submission for - Lucy just doesn't give a crap.

While sitting in his lap, she will growl at the slightest pat on the head from him. As he is showering her with words of adoration and apple slices, she will bare her teeth, all the while snuggled right up tight to him. Some may say my dog has borderline personality disorder. The only people she will show affection and sweetness to other than her treasured mommy are her granny, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. Try to come into my room with her either guarding the door or sitting on the bed however? Don't. Even. Go. There. Just avert your eyes and run to the safety of another room.

I love my little weirdo dog with all my being. I realize that her feelings of protection for me may just border on completely insane and slightly neurotic, but she is my dog. She has been through everything with me from divorce, to cross country moving, to living with two evil roommates to moving back in with granny and grandpa and adjusting to life with two other half-wit dogs with nothing more than walks and balls on the brain. I find Lucy to be eternally patient with all of the changes in her life.

So Lucy likes to show her dominance with a friendly ankle bite here and there? So what. She and I are a package deal. And I am lucky to have found a man who understands that.

Here's to you Lucy, aka - Looty Pie Jones, Poopy-head, Floofy, Loot Loot, Looty Lou.

Happy Birthday you crazy little loon.


One way to instill humility

Growing up, my parents instilled rather strict christian moral values in my brothers and I. I would like to think that I still hold most of these morals near and dear my heart, but look folks I am nearly 28. I have been married before. (Gasp! I know! Worse than my decision to buy a second blue Dodge Neon!) I had put a couple of not so great relationships under my belt before I met the more-awesome-than-he-lets-on Mr. Hot Pilot and my world was once again turned upright.

Now Mr. Hot Pilot and I share the same christian values and enjoy doing things the right way in order to ensure that we don't fall into the same craptacular rat hole that we both ended up in with our first marriages - i.e - he with the world's craziest blonde chick and I with the world's least self motivated guy. Let me tell you, he and I would forgo a rockin' honeymoon if it meant eternal peace, sunshine and not the slightest chance of a mental breakdown.

So I didn't think much of it the other day while I was at my annual chick appointment and my doc asked if it was ok for her to leave a message on my machine regarding my results. Of course I didn't care, and I went on my merry way.

Imagine my shock and surprise when I was sitting at the computer the other night and my mother went to play the messages in the voicemail, and I heard the cheery voice of my doc. "Hi there, just wanted to let you know everything is negative, and your pregnancy test was negative. Hope you have a great day!".

I began yelling "Oh my God! I know I'm not pregnant for crying out loud! It was just routine! Oh God! I already know I'm not because I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!".

Funny how even at 27 one phone call from the doc can entice such a feeling of utter humiliation.


My (angry) thoughts exactly

I don't make alot of money. I am just beginning to pay back my student loans and I have yet to really start my life. So when I heard about the furloughs being brought against Maryland state employees (of which I am one) I was ticked. Didn't they just pass a crapload of slots that were supposed to bring in a Donald Trump sized amount of money for education, healthcare, Sheila Dixon's kid's college fund and other things? First and foremost, I did not vote for slots. But the rest of Maryland felt they were necessary and now I still have to pay consequences.

When I found this cartoon on PolitickerMD.com, I thought I should just go ahead and share.

(you can find the original page here)


She's craf-tay!

This past week I have decided to try and save some money by creating my own christmas ornaments. I ended up spending nearly $200 on supplies. I really don't believe that Dave Ramsey would be proud of my attempt at saving money as I pretty much failed miserably. Despite my money saving efforts, I have saddled myself with several daunting projects. I'd like to consider myself somewhat crafty, but I often get either distracted or disinterested very quickly.

I have taken to painting wooden ornaments, painting wooden christmasy decorations, gluing paper strips to styrofoam balls and I even decided to fold oragami birds. I am finding the oragami to make my brain feel somewhat like mashed jello and am hoping maybe it is a good brain exercise which will keep me from the grips of alzheimers for maybe one extra year.

Little did I realize what a literal pain in the neck ornament painting would truly be. I woke up the next day with such a massive stiff neck I thought for sure I had meningitis. Until I realized it was nothing more than terrible posture which I'm sure my grandmother would chastise me for.

For tonight I am taking time off of my crafty ways and have come up with a new project I hope you will all enjoy : Really bad christmas lights. Christmas decor wrecks if you will. I will be scouring my local area each day at dusk for the most heinous acts of electrical expression in order to make each one of you feel just a little bit better about your decorating tastes.

Tonight I took the lazy way and found a picture online (as I learned the hard way that I should be taking these pictures at dusk and not under the blackened night sky whilst wearing my robber uniform of black clothes and panty hose over the face).

Enjoy tonights little christmas treasure and I will be bringing some of Marylands finest tomorrow.

(photo via Ugly Christmas Lights)


Censorship for kids!

When we were kids growing up, there were many things our parents put the kibosh on and kept us sheltered from : rap music, rock music, any music found on mainstream radio, The Simpsons, horror movies, crack smoking, swearing, vodka shooters and any movie with a rating higher than PG. Looking back I can certainly understand the extreme measures they went to to ensure that my brothers never saw a set of boobies before the age of 21 and I never saw a mans 'danger zone' until at least 3 years after I married.

I still remember going through the annual 5lb JC Penney catalog as a teen trying to find my style, and realizing that my mother had ripped out the 'lingerie' section in order to keep my brothers from fulfilling their curiosity by viewing middle aged women modeling granny panties or maternity bras. Very enticing.

When it came to movies and television, my parents were very guarded about what we were and were not allowed to watch. These rules lightened up quite a bit by the time my youngest brother was a teenager, but I had to live my younger years without the likes of "Roseanne" or "The Simpsons". Not good for a kid trying to be cool in the 5th grade.

Any time we watched a movie, my mother would sit in her chair, poised with the remote control to scan forward in case a woman were to dance bare chested across the screen. There had been more than one occasion where we would be watching a movie as a family when a love scene would suddenly appear and out of the corner of our eyes a small figure clad in flannel kitten pajamas would move in slow motion from the side shouting "No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!" and block everyones view with her nightshirt. It was quite a picture.

Now-a-days we are used to seeing every movie imaginable with my parents. And I believe that they have become used to having grown children whom they don't have to censor movies for. It is because of this new and more grown-up life that we got caught in a sticky situation on Thanksgiving day.

As usual we were looking for a movie to go and see after Thanksgiving dinner. My dad suggested "The Four Christmases" with Reece Witherspoon and that guy that Jennifer Aniston once shouldn't have dated. I thought it looked funny and we decided to all go, Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin included.

We should have known something was amiss when we didn't see any other elementary aged children in the audience. Then Mr. Hot Pilot whispered "are you sure this is rated only PG?" to me as the rather grown-up previews flashed across the screen.

I hadn't even thought about what rating this movie was. I'm not accustomed to even thinking about it.

Then the first scene of the movie flashes up and after the two characters begin ripping each others clothes off in a bathroom, I realize we have trouble.

Without a second thought, Mr. Hot Pilot had Munchkin in a football hold and was racing down the steps and out of the theater. Looking back it was rather funny, although I was quite embarassed that we even went to see the movie with Munchkin.

Luckily we got our money back and all was right with the world again.

Maybe, just maybe, I will become the mom who will wear flannel kitten pajamas and ensure Munchkin never sees any womans bits and pieces until he is at least 35.


December is lurking

It is the end of November. This means a few things. A) I will need to be changing my masthead rather soon. B) Christmas is coming to rob me of all monies saved thus far. C) The end of NaBloPoMo is here and D) I will soon be turning 28.

And that just sucks.

In honor of the ending of November, I am going to take the night off, go to bed early and sleep in late tomorrow.

Until next time...


The Death of a Christmas Tradition

My family is a family of many traditions. Traditions that my mother and my father put in place in order to create a deep rooted sense of family, security and lasting memories.

As of yesterday, tradition is dead in my family. Officially DOA when I walked in the door last night from a long and un-eventful day at work.

For as long as I can remember, we have always bought a real christmas tree for christmas. And not just any live christmas tree, mind you. A lush, gorgeously scented Frasier Fir christmas tree. Each year after thanksgiving, my family would pile into the minivan or SUV and drive to one of two primo christmas tree lots to pick out our tree for the year. We would often stand out in the freezing cold (with the exception of one wacked out year when it was actually around 70 degrees - and unicorns were dancing through the backyard whilst singing show tunes from 'The Wizard of Oz') and walk through row upon row of deeply scented christmas trees in order to find just the perfect one. Not too fat and not too skinny. Certainly not too sparse or too short. It must be the right height for our living room. It was acceptable however to buy one with a nasty patch, as long as it could be hidden discreetly in the corner.

My mother and I would then walk up to look at the wreaths and pay for the tree while my dad and brothers made sure the tree was packaged up and trimmed to our specifications. It would then be tied to the roof of the car and driven home where it would sit in a bucket of water for a day or two to ensure no needles were lost in the process. Of course being a family of five with many opinionated and stubborn individuals, there were a select few years when I remember tensions were running high, and I especially remember the year that my mother told my father he didn't know his arse from a hole in the ground.

Funniest. Phrase. EVER.

When decorating day would arrive, my mom would be sure to set up a mini family party complete with egg nog (of the non-spiked variety) cookies and other treats. She would then turn on the christmas CD and we would all decorate the tree from our boxes of ornaments. It was great to see the 'Baby's 1st Christmas' ornaments from both 1980 and 1981 for myself. You see, I was born at the butt end of December 1980 and my parents had been CERTAIN I would be born before christmas that year. I however had different plans and celebrated my first christmas 5 days shy of my first birthday. How many of you can say THAT?

As we grew older, we grew less and less enthused about tree decorating. By the last couple of years my mom would have to guilt trip us into decorating the tree, or even make it a mandatory chore for my brothers and I. We would then balk at this and my mom would get mad and then someone would begrudgingly decorate the stupid tree. And then complain of how they were missing "The Office" or some silly crap like that.

So I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised when I came home from work late last night to find an intruder sitting in a box on the family room floor.

An artificial, pre-lit, 7ft tall FAKE AS FAKE CAN BE Frasier Fir tree.

As soon as I saw it I looked accusingly at my dad and said "Christmas is dead. You both have just killed it."

My mom then went on to say that it is our turn (us kids that is) to be buying the christmas trees for our own homes and that she wants grandkids. Like, today. Or else. Because she isn't getting any younger. And my ovaries are going to fall out soon, so "Carrie Anne you had better use those suckers to the best of your ability".

I'm beginning to see that maybe this whole fake christmas tree thing was just a sick ruse to get one of us to use our God given talents to produce grandkids.

Maybe christmas isn't dead after all, but just in a vegetative state for the time being.


Makes me, like, so happy!

Today was the day that I had to pack my boys up and send them on their way down south to Texas where the weather was sunny and warm with a chance of spontaneous rainbows and possible light shower of Skittles falling from the sky.

I know that they aren't going to miss me nearly as much as I will miss them. Especially after our conversation on the way to the airport.

Munchkin was in the backseat practising his whistle (he loves the 'cat calling' whistle, and I am just waiting for him to do this just as a buxom blonde walks by) and after remarking on his whistle, decided to fill us in on how he learned to do such a thing.

"I learned how to whistle one day while I was in the bathroom. I sat on the potty and taught myself how. I was, like, so happy!"

And, like, so am I.


If you can't cook, don't.

It's thanksgiving and once again I am mooching off of the cooking of another. I have never in my 27 years made a thanksgiving meal, let alone roasted an actual turkey. I plan on keeping that tradition alive as that is my favorite tradition. Eating what others have bestowed upon me.

In the honor of mooching, I have decided to provide you a link to one of my favorite blogs. Happy Thanksgiving!

From Passive Aggressive Notes


It all started with a little cat puke

Ok. I'm 11 minutes late with my post for Tuesday. I figure I can have some leeway however seeing as how I did in fact post twice on one day. I promise. Just look through my blog list. Also I was very busy today. Busier than my normal Tuesday which consists of sleeping until I can not sleep anymore, then waking up in order to loll through my normal routine, decide against wearing make-up because it would take too much effort, not even make any sort of attempt with my impossibly straight hair and then throw on clothes that make me feel least fat. Sigh.

Today was different. Today, my boys were in town and we had things to do! Things to see! Chick-fil-a to be eaten! Here is a play by play of my very awesome Tuesday :

1 - Wake up and suddenly realize I forgot to make the return home flight reservations for Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin.

2 - Decide to wake up Mr. Hot Pilot and inform him of this fact.

3 - Hide my face as Mr. Hot Pilot freaks out.

4 - Finally wake up and get myself ready in order to be met with a pile of cat puke outside of my door.

5 - Clean aforementioned cat puke.

6 - Cuddle with cat who puked because the puke cat is actually really awesome. P.S - don't let anyone know I actually said I like a cat. I will deny it to my grave.

7 - Get on the road Jack!

8 - Ate at Chick-fil-a. Had their peppermint chocolate chip milkshake. Am lactose intolerant. WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT.

9 - Head to Baltimore to show off the Maryland Science Center to my boys.

10 - Listened as Munchkin complained that his legs hurt/were tired. Told him I had no idea he was such an old fogie and mentioned an early bedtime perhaps? Strangely Munchkin agreed.

11 - Headed to work to pick up stickers I left behind. Munchkin was offered candy. Munchkin refused. Again, very strange.

12 - Arrived home with a suddenly lethargic and hot Munchkin. Munchkin wanted nothing to do with Ms. Terry's meatballs or the loving licks of our puppy Pepper.

13 - Munchkin had a fever of 101.4.

14 - Gave Munchkin Tylenol, Munchkin fell asleep in bed and Mr. Hot Pilot and I went out in search of Motrin.

15 - Bought aforementioned Motrin, then headed to Old Navy where I tried on a weird hat. Then headed over to Kohls where Mr. Hot Pilot took more pictures of me in weird hats and we bought Mr. Hot Pilot some snazzy jeans. The junk in his trunk looks good.

16 - Came home and suddenly Munchkin was better! And saying "Hi Mr. George! I'm playing and drinking apple juice now!"

17 - Munchkin was right as rain. Fever gone. Miraculous little Munchkin.

18 - Munchkin goes to bed for real this time.

19 - Mr. Hot Pilot and I watch this really stupid movie about a bunch of teens who stumble upon ancient ruins in Mexico - that contain people eating plants. Both wonder why they didn't just torch the place and head back to the beach.

20 - Bedtime. Gotta get up in the a.m to head to Staten Island to visit relatives of Mr. Hot Pilot.



In search of answers

Today instead of the normal crap that I might normally post, I have decided to use my blog as a vessel of sorts to try and bring to light an absolutely horrific crime that occurred here in Maryland over the past weekend.

Working where I work we often see very tragic stories unfold whether it be domestic violence, assault, gang violence or motor vehicle crashes. I work in research so our only chance to actually get to know a patient is if they happen to be enrolled in one of our many studies. Because of the nature of my work, I see each and every case that comes through the double doors to ascertain whether or not someone could potentially fit into one of our studies and help others later down the road.

I still remember my first week on the job and getting the opportunity to assist with administering chest compressions on a patient who was in arrest. I remember looking into their eyes and not seeing life. I remember looking at their arms all bruised and hooked up to I.V's. I also remember when they passed away and how deeply it affected me.

I came to learn to try and distance myself somewhat from the cases as some of them were just too tragic to comprehend. In just a few months I understood that hardened edge that many that have worked in the trauma resuscitation unit have come to adopt as their coping mechanism. It wasn't until Saturday that I was jarred back into reality and truly felt a sense of sorrow and a sense of wanting to be able to comprehend something so horrific and tragic as what happened to this young girl:

"Baltimore County police yesterday said they do not know why an unknown man walked up behind a woman in line at a Catonsville liquor store and slit her throat in a fatal attack Saturday afternoon.

The victim was identified as Aysha Dawn Ring, 24, of the first block of Chadnor Court, which is in a town house development west of Security Square Mall.

About 4 p.m., Ring was waiting at the cash register inside Charing Cross Liquors, in the 5200 block of Baltimore National Pike, when a man approached her from behind, police said.

The man grabbed her and cut her neck with an edged instrument, possibly a knife, and then turned and fled from the store, police said."
(See entire story here, thanks to the Baltimore Sun who sent me their link)

To see this happen to such a young person is gut wrenching. To know that there are people out there who love her and at that moment most likely had no idea what had just happened to her was heart wrenching. To think that this act could be completely random is thouroughly bone chilling and horrifying.

I am hoping that someone will come forward with information. Any information. I am hoping that those of you living in Maryland might be able to pass this along to friends and family members in hopes of finding SOMEONE who knows who did this. Any information is useful information.

If you know ANYTHING, please call county police at 410-307-2020.


The only mouse I like...

My boys are finally here, so I feel as though I have every right in the world to take a day off.

Instead of words, I will leave you with what I believe will be my newest obsession/collection and will certainly pass this info along to Mr. Hot Pilot for christmas options.

Head on over to The House of Mouse to check out the entire collection. Here are a few of my faves :


Heating things up

So tomorrow is the day that my boys will be flying up to the cold, arctic heart of Maryland. I must say that I feel badly, yanking them out of their 70 degree bliss down in the decrepit desert that is Del Rio, Texas to bring them up to a place where just standing outside for a few minutes will freeze your noobies off.

I reminded and reminded Mr. Hot Pilot to pack their heavy jackets, but for some reason I get the feeling that we will be making an emergency pit stop at the local Old Navy to outfit Munchkin in something heavier than "spring weight" cotton.

Oh and did I mention that Mr. Hot Pilot (and Munchkin too) is Puerto Rican (and a super hot one at that!) and hails from Tampa? And that he will turn the heat on IN THE SUMMERTIME if he deems it necessary? Yeah, he is going to die at my house.

I currently live with my parents (because I am a) too cheap too lonely to live alone; b) cheap loving my address; c) a raging freeloader not down with the economy and d) waiting patiently for a ring on my left hand not moving out until I marry Mr. Hot Pilot) who like to keep the temperature at a chilly 68 degrees.

Mr. Hot Pilot will attempt to physically harm me (and by harm I mean TURN THE HEAT ON IN THE SUMMER) if I dare accidentally, possibly, maybe fall into the thermostat on his wall and potentially hit a button that might or might not have lowered the temperature to 74 degrees. Yeah, its kind of like that. So needless to say, I had better drag up some blankets, quilts and an extra space heater for my boys, lest I find icicles hanging from their nose hairs in the morning.

I am, afterall, a fabulous hostess!


That Pun Was TOTALLY Intended

The war is back on between Mr. Hot Pilot and I. We are constantly going back and forth about who's town/state is crazier and I believe I have totally found a story that will pickle your beets when you read it.

Now Mr. Hot Pilot does not actually hail from Nebraska, however he spent his not so good years in Omaha while stationed there and I believe we should count all of the places we have lived in our war of weirdness. (I have lived in Maryland and Pensacola, Florida. He has lived in Florida and every other backwards city that side of the Mississippi.) I should also note that Mr. Hot Pilot still owns a house in Omaha, which has now been on the market for about 18 months. Why? Because who in their right mind would want to live in Omaha? (Commence the not-so-happy Pro-Omaha comments....now.)

Today's bit of weirdness includes butt humor. So if you can't handle a good butt humor story or were brought up to respect the finer things in life, then you are boring and might want to direct your attention here. Otherwise, the story goes a bit like this:

So there is some 35 year old guy in Nebraska who has found that normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill graffiti is just not his thing. He wants to express himself in a more elaborate way, experiment with a different medium. That medium is his booty and some lotion/vaseline. He then skips around town to local churches, stores and the occasional school to press his bunky cheeks up on the window for some poor sap to come across the next day and clean up.

(Read the rest of the story here.)

CharmCityChica = 2; Mr. Hot Pilot = 3 The war continues...


The Skies Are Alive With Rainbows and Fairies

Could it be? Is it really true? Have The Airlines heard my plea over ridiculous airfare? Have they read my rant and lowered their prices to accomodate the butts of not only Munchkin but Mr. Hot Pilot on their flight?

Highly doubtful. Ok, entirely ridiculously doubtful.

But for some reason, the clouds opened up, the birds flew back up from the south and started singing show tunes, a rainbow landing at The Hippo's doorstep swept across the sky, the fat man across the street put on a damn shirt and the diamonds encrusted on 50 Cent's chompers aligned. Air Tran dropped their crazy prices by about $180 bucks and my boys will now be joining my family and I for thanksgiving dinner.

Thank goodness for automatic emails sent directly to my inbox from every airline in the Eastern United States. One small victory for this girl.

Oh, and by the way?

Eat this, and You. Will. Die.


The Airline of Impending Doom

When one is in a long distance relationship, there are often times that really make you want to stand out on your back deck and scream to the high heavens about just how much the suckage is getting to you. If I knew I wouldn't be dragged away in a dingy straight jacket, that is just what I would be doing right now.

Mr. Hot Pilot and I have been working at this long distance thing for over a year and a half now. To be perfectly honest I have to admit that I am the luckiest girl on the planet to be with such a kind, sweet, intelligent, oh-so patient wonderful man who will occasionally let me vomit my emotional blatherings all over him. And then tell me how much he loves me.

My latest emotional upheaval was due to this little group called The Airlines. And they took a big massive poop on my day yesterday. You see, I often will travel every other week down to that dust bowl called Del Rio, Texas to visit my boys. My workweek begins on a Friday and ends on a Sunday (and yes I actually work 40 hours in those 3 days) so my only days to travel to and fro are on Monday and Thursday.

Thanksgiving week should have been one of those weeks when I would be packing my bags to be with my boys for some much needed bonding time. Unfortunately since I would be flying back home to Maryland on Thanksgiving day and since neither of my brothers would be able to make it to Thanksgiving at my parents house, I figured that I would just stay put in Maryland to kill two birds with one stone. So Mr. Hot Pilot began looking to see if it were possible to fly up with Munchkin to spend the holiday with my family and I and made the mistake of mentioning it to me.

I got overly excited.

I found what seemed to be the deal of a lifetime on Air Tran.com, where they were advertising $89 one way travel from San Antonio to Baltimore. I about wet my pants with glee. The site seemed to be giving me some troubles and I was unable to buy two tickets at once (I would pay their way up here and they would pay their way back) so when I went back to buy the second ticket at that shining $89 price, the monkey poop hit the fan. I was only able to find a ticket for $388. "This can't be right, there has to be some sort of mistake".

No mistake. After calling Air Tran TWICE about this I learned that I had not only bought the last ticket at that price (even though they were STILL advertising it!) but now I would not be able to return my ticket or change it unless I wanted to pony up a $75 fee. On an $89 ticket.

I was screwed.

By the time Mr. Hot Pilot and I did the math and tried to find a better plan, we decided in the end that it all was just way too much money, mostly due to that $388 blinger. We were able to find $89 one way travel back from Baltimore to San Antonio for $89 (bless you Delta Airlines) but that $388 just really dinged the whole deal. So now not only will I be spending Thanksgiving week in a nearly empty house (save for Thanksgiving day of course) but my boys will be left without any apple pie or snuggle time.

Oh yeah, and now I get to cat sit. Sweet.


Those kids at school — they tease you, Kenny. Because they['ve] never tasted hell. Today, we turn the tables!

I'm going to go out on a limb and admit something to you. I was a weird kid in high school. I know, I know I seem to be the epitome of normalcy and class nowadays but it is true. I was a weird kid and all of my friends fed right into the weirdness.

My friends and I have known each other since 1st grade. In high school we suffered together through the brutal torture that is known as marching band, learned how to drive together, hid our first crushes from each other and often wrote wacky stories about all of the kids we went to high school with. Let's just say those stories were our outlet for what we saw to be injustices in our lives. Instead of resorting to the normal ridicule or torment of our fellow classmates, we would often sit down and write a story about them in which we could inflict all sorts of humility and chaos in order to nurse our own personal wounds.

Often our stories focused on a set group of people (ourselves included) although no one was immune to being thrown into the fray. In fact our own parents would often be caught in the middle of our literary outbursts, often to our immense amusement. One example of this was when an email was sent to my dad from my friends regarding his "Star Trek" collection. Here is how this email went (I have included a picture of the original):

"Subj : This is what we sent to Carrie's dad at work

Want to join the Star Trek haters club?

1) Well first, we're gonna sue them for indecent exposure of the pigment (meaning their deranged faces). I mean, I don't want to look at that crap. Come on, this is TV!

2) We're gonna hire a hitman to kill all the main characters including your favorite "Captain Kurt (sic)". We're gonna check his wallet first to retrieve any personal photos of back when he may have been half-normal so we can see where he went wrong with his looks.

3) We will have a part and appear on the show. The ratings will be so bad that the show will sink with the Starship Whatchamacallit.

4) We'll set the roof of the studio where it's taped afire so Star Trek memories will be buried in the soot.

5) We will replace the show's former timeslot to show the movie "Outbreak".

6) We will track down ANY person or persons possessing Star Trek figurines and take the stuff and build a campfire for the boyscouts with it.

7) Finally we will donate the Star Trek official costumes to the homeless so the whole "DOWN WITH STAR TREK" theme will have accomplished something positive.

Write back and tell us if you would like to jump aboard our mission to erase Star Trek out of the hearts and minds of helpless pupils forever!!

Thank You"

My parents never really said anything of the email and nowadays will often remark about how amusing our "little stories" were. Looking back, these were things that brought my friends and I closer and helped us through that awful part of life called "the teenage years". Whatever it takes!


Got run over by a train and all I got was this dumb plastic leg full of cash

Ah yes, Monday. The only good thing about Monday's for me now is that they are like a typical working schmuck's Saturday complete with insane amounts of sleeping in and early afternoon news watching. No matter what time I wake up, I nearly always turn to my blackberry for the latest on what has happened in the world while I slept (for 10 hours). Today was no different. There were two special news stories that I would be a jerk not to share with you.

Man Robs Credit Union, Puts Cash in Prosthetic Leg

"Authorities on Florida's east coast have arrested a man in a wheelchair who they say robbed a credit union on Merritt Island and hid the money in his prosthetic leg.

Brevard County deputies say 45-year-old Christopher Warren Reed was caught Friday afternoon about 10 minutes after they say he robbed Space Coast Credit Union. Reed is a paraplegic who uses a motorized wheelchair.
Investigators say he came into the credit union about 4 p.m., told a teller he was armed with an explosive and demanded money. He left with an undisclosed amount of cash.

Reed told deputies that two people had threatened him with a gun, told him to commit the robbery and were going to take the money for themselves. He was charged with robbery, grand theft, threatening to use a hoax explosive device and aggravated assault."

The best parts of this story besides the ingenious use of a plastic limb? That there is actually a bank named "Space Coast Credit Union" and that he tried the old "they threatened me knowing about my kick ass leg and so I robbed a bank for them" routine.


Now I must ask one question. This man is a paraplegic right? So this means any limbs he might have he can't use right? So why in the world did he need a fake limb? Was it just to fill out his hot new pair of Wranglers or something?

My next story hails from the super-genius state of Alabama.

Alabama Man Survives Being Run Over by Eight Train Cars

Apparently this lovely 61 year old man decided to soak up the Alabama sunshine by laying his body over the train tracks. Because that is just the perfect spot don't you think? Little did he know that real live trains actually run on them there tracks. Who'd of thunk it?

My favorite part of the whole story was this line :

"Its unclear why Romine was lying on the tracks."


Shiny cat, shiny cat!

Yesterday I took a walk to the dirty, rotten food smelling, over-crowded, crack selling lovely Lexington Market in Baltimore City with a couple of co-workers in order to grab some cheap lunch.

I always go to this little chinese food restaurant (gotta go where the bubonic plague won't getcha!) tucked in the back between the pigs feet stand and the sushi that you can buy with your weeks supply of food stamps. I am fairly certain that my bourbon chicken is not actually chicken, but is cat. And I'm ok with that. If that is cat, it is DARN TASTY cat. So while perusing my blogroll this morning, I came across this picture which I just had to share.

If you gotta eat the cat, make sure it is a shiny cat that is bathed in a savory sauce. Enjoy!


No Promises, I'm Feeling Lazy

Saturday is not a day off for me. My entire work week consists of hovering over trauma patients on Friday, Saturday and Sunday with Monday - Thursday either being travel days or days I park my ever expanding booty in front of a computer and work from home for an ungrateful little pharmacy that really should have been punished more as a child and sent to bed early with no dinner instead of only receiving the requisite time out.

In honor of my brain feeling like mush from the rather hectic day (you mean just because someone smashed up their car on the road due to their drinking too many Vodka tonics I ACTUALLY HAVE TO WORK??) I have decided to post a couple of pictures from my latest trip to the wasteland that is Del Rio, Texas. If it weren't for the fact that the hottest Puerto Rican man on the face of the planet lived there along with his cute little sidekick, Munchkin, I would never venture that far south. Ever.

Hope your weekend is fantabulous!


Financial Security is for Losers

So only a few more weeks until it is officially December, the biggest sucker-of-cash month of the entire year. It's not that I have anything against December really - ok maybe I do.

This December will become one of the biggest money and self-esteem guzzlers of my life thus far. You see not so long ago (6 months to be exact) I finally graduated college, a feat 10 years in the making. Of course I had loans I had begun taking out for my education dating back to 2000, but I rarely thought much about them. Instead during all of those years that I lolly-gagged my way through school I would take out the maximum allowable for each semester and view that extra $2000 a semester as "money to live on". And by "money to live on" I mean money to blow on useless crap like clothing that is now sitting somewhere in a Goodwill bin, haircolor and cuts that are long gone, sushi dinners out with friends (including the Saki) and of course there was that really dumb move of paying off a credit card for an ex-boyfriend who claimed it "made more sense" to kill his own debt instead of mine.


Obviously I was in dire need of a degree not in Health Science and Education but in 'How to spot a sketchy character in 2 minutes or less'. (In his defense, I was able to get my money back from that ex-loser boyfriend after months of nagging.)

What am I left with besides a brand spankin' new Bachelor of Science degree that is proudly hung on my bedroom wall? I am left with a student loan debt of around $50,000. Before you lose yourself in a state of shock and awe, I must remind you that there are plenty of folks out there in a much worse off situation than myself. For instance I always make myself feel better about the whole situation by eating a bowl of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and ruminating over the fact that my brother went to a college costing $31,000 per YEAR.

Because chocolate peanut butter makes everything better.

This fabulous chunk of educational debt will begin withdrawing funds from my miniscule bank account on December 7th. As in next month. As in instead of saving up for christmas, I will be saving up to keep Mario and Luigi from Citibank from hacking away at my kneecaps. Oh yeah, and I turn 28 at the end of the month. Hoo-frickin-ray.

I have decided to really take hold of my financial standing while I am able to and before it really gets away from me and rides off into the sunset on a train called Financial Disaster.

I had started listening to Dave Ramsey on AM radio while driving the 3 hours from San Antonio to Del Rio because otherwise all there was to listen to was Mexican talk radio. No choice really, I was a captive audience. But I really like the guy and he really has some sound financial advice. And he is hard hitting, which is what a numbskull like myself needs. A little financial violence never hurt anyone. (Unless you are being taken out Soprano style for failing to pay your gambling debt - then you are just dumb)

So I decided to go ahead and sign on to his Total Money Makeover Plan and set up a budget and a means to pay off my student loan debt ASAP. In all reality I am not that bad off. I don't have to pay rent or utilities, my car is nearly paid for, I only have one credit card to pay off and after earning my degree I got a job earning $10,000 more per year than I had been. But for some reason or another Target would call to me and I would make my way over to buy useless crap that I didn't need. Like these dog costumes for the christmas holiday.

(Oh don't give me that 'aww, poor little innocent doggies' crap. Trust me. They love this stuff. Plus, they got a bone for their modelling efforts.) So hopefully I will be able to report back to you in a month that I have finally reigned in the useless spending and have set myself on the path of financial security. We shall see.


Keeping watch over the tarmac.

Today I fly back home to Maryland to fulfill my adult duties of work and other obligations. You see, I often fly down to TX every other week to visit Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin and remind Mr. Hot Pilot ad nauseum that my ring size is 5 and a half. And did he forget that he mentioned he wanted to marry me? Because there is no ring on my finger. And that lovely picture of the princess cut micro-pave you requested? I sure hope you have that image burned into your mind. And oh yeah, Mr. Hot Pilot? My ovaries are not getting any younger.

I usually will spend my time here in the airport people watching (because YIKES, there are some weirdos here!) and often tweeting about it on my twitter account. (You know you want to follow me). I decided for the sake of not missing a post for NaBloPoMo that I would just blog what I would normally text as tweets. Enjoy the wonkiness.

1:18 PM - Bought gas for only $1.89 a gallon. This calls for a peanut butter cup.

2:03PM - Saw gas going for $1.66. Had I gone there I totally could have has a whole pack of peanut butter cups.

4:19PM - Just got thru security at San Antonio airport. After scrambling to get my stuff off of the butt kickng conveyor belt, I tried to get out of everyones way. One problem: a blonde diva lacing up her stiletto boots with her baggage directly in the walking path. I gently scooted it over with my foot and went on thru. Her boyfriend Guido says to her (rather loudly mind you) "hey, did you see her kick your bag?"

What I wanted to do? "I know you aren't talking about me Guido. Because if you are you need to think before you open your maw,Guido. If her crap hadn't been obstructing the path of EVERY OTHER PASSENGER Guido, then we wouldn't have had to scoot it out of the way. Clear things up for you Guido? Great. Have a nice day."

What I did? Gave the glare of death (which I doubt he even noticed) and kept on my merry way.

4:30pm- I hate waiting for planes.

4:31pm- Thinking of hunting down Guido and Diva just to give him the strong arm. Maybe ill just go and buy an entertainment magazine.

4:39PM - There is a middle aged man arguing with who could only be his father, that he adamantly did not want to go to Tae-Kwon-Do.

4:43 - A woman in the magazine shop was asking where she could buy a lollipop with a scorpion inside. This could be for one of three things:

1) For when the kids act up. Nothing shuts a tantrum up quicker than the threat of eating a sugar coated scorpion.
2) For her scorned lover.
3) Because that is just one of the creepy things San Antonio is known for. Their schtick if you will.

4:45PM- Bought 3 magazines. I left the last three I bought on the plane coming here. And really, as a magazine junkie, what is worse than leaving unread magazines behind? Buying a magazine and realizing you have already read it. And paid a sick newsstand price. Twice.

4:52PM- Want to hear something craptastic? Instead of automatically upgrading people out of the KINDNESS OF THEIR COLD, COLD HEARTS, Air Tran will charge you $49-$99 at the gate if you want a better seat in business class. Otherwise they just go empty.

4:53pm- Woman with the annoying "Jenny from the block" ringtone is unabashedly taking glamour shots of herself. Here. In the airport.

4:56pm- Per the overhead announcement. Woman driving the silver Impala? Parked unattended in front of the airport? You are dumb. Not sure if you have ever heard of a little act called "towing" or "parking in the parking garage like the rest of us schmoe's", but if you lose your car to a desolate tow yard, it's your own fault. (I can talk all that smack because I have been to a far-away, scary tow yard...in Newark freaking New Jersey)

4:59pm- Jenny from the block needs to settle on a ringtone already. And there is a guy with a rolling suitcase that sounds like a very realistic fart.

5:02pm- Hey dude across the room all dressed in a suit and looking all important and stuff? I can totally hear the Metallica pulsing through your earbuds.

5:06PM- Lots of people on their laptops. Wonder if any are blogging. Me? I'm blogging on my Blackberry. Talk about girl who needs a laptop!

5:13pm- weather report for Pittsburgh per the loud cellphone guy to my left? Tomorrow is nice. Rest of the weekend? Sucks.

5:14pm- There is a woman with a baggage tag the size of Kansas on her mini tote, with her entire address on it. Would it be weird to write her a letter saying "I saw you in the airport...boo!"

5:16pm- starving.

5:18pm- Woman across from me with knitting needles. Can't those be used as weapons of not-so-mass destruction?

5:39pm- On the plane. Smart enough to get a seat with no one next to me so that nothing (re-tomato barf juice) is spilled on me.

5:41pm- time to turn blackberry off for now lest I get bum rushed and thrown in a scary south texan jail.

5:45pm- so yeah. That thing I said? About having the seat next to me free? Haha, just joking. Instead I got an armrest stealer who sounds like he us two hacks away from losing a lung into his lap. Wonderful.

6:54- Decided to take a nap after reading about the love affair between Brad and Angie sent me into a comatose state.

Ever twitch when you fall asleep? (called a 'hypnic jerk' I have learned). I tend to do this except mine looks more like a hypnotized seizure on display at a mid-west seance. Rather twitchy. And rather embarassing when on display for an entire aircraft full of people. Mr. Hot pilot has gotten used to this with me, but even he gets freaked out every now and then. I did it the other night and he suddenly shouts "Holy Crap dude, are you alright?"

Yep. Sorry about that elbow.

7:01- That diet coke is lingering awfully close to the edge there buddy. Better rethink your placement lest you get an elbow to the lung.

7:03- Ok seriously. I don't want to be a jerk (a 'hypnic jerk') but I really hate any sort of contact with other passengers, even if it is only an elbow (or muffin top depending on your size). However I do plan on winning domain over the arm rest with Mr. Moldy Lung next to me. I show no mercy!

7:06- The foot stink is beginning to overwhelm me.

7:15pm- Showing no mercy with Mr. Tuberculosis lung. The armrest will be mine!

7:57pm- My arm is now asleep, but I am still inching my way to victory. His greatest defense? Those ripe and rancid feet. Barf!

8:24pm- Overheard from a dude behind me with a SERIOUS southern accent. "if you keel 'em early like a sack 'o taters too early, you gotta carry 'em around all day. But I just shot one clear through the heed and got the next one too". Wow.

9:03pm- An hour till my connecting flight. I'm gonna hit up Ben and jerry's. Then I might start a diet tomorrow.



The forerunner of yellow light history

Remember back a bit when I mentioned the story of little Ana Christina who decided it would be lots of fun to draw my Munchkin peeing on the ground? Well, little miss psycho pants has struck again.

My days are never at a loss for hilarious awesomeness whenever I am down here with my Munchkin and Mr. Hot Pilot. Fart jokes, skunk smell, and other sorts of bathroom humor abound. Monday when Mr. Hot Pilot and I went to get our Munchkin from school, he produced yet another stapled together book with hand-drawn pictures done by all of his classmates. This time instead of a picture of Munckin peeing on the ground, there was a picture of Munchkin looking rather cheerful holding the leash to our cat Twinkle, standing right near the house. But this was no ordinary house you see. Miss Psycho Pants decided to draw a bomb on the house.

Believe me when I say that I laughed, but it was a nervous "holy crap, this kid is nuts!" laugh. Apparently neither Munchkin nor the teacher caught this little terrorist gesture or I believe this girl would be headed down red light lane with no hope of another green light for years to come.

The only piece of advice I could offer my dear, sweet, skunk smell loving Munchkin is this. (You see his daddy, my Hot Pilot was married to Munchkin's mother for some time - Munchkins not-exactly-sane, often delusional, verbally abusive, needs to be locked in a mental institution for a very long time very mentally unstable mother.)

"If you ever find yourself attracted to this girl down the line and want to marry her? Don't."


Touch my Subway, you die

Yesterday I flew back down to Texas to visit with my Munchkin and Hot Pilot. It is always an interesting adventure seeing who will be travelling with you, and watching all of the other travellers who are in the same painful predicament that you are. I only say that travel is painful since usually I have to wake up about 3 hours BEFORE the crack of dawn. On this trip I did the same thing only to find that when I got to the airport they hadn't posted what gate I needed to go to, nor did any of the Air Tran gates have any information other than "Stand By" written on them. Sweet.

I finally sat down and turned to my blackberry for assistance. I found that my gate was D3 and proceeded to a gate that looked like a war torn country complete with wires sticking out of walls haphazardly and a few baby-faced military men. Indeed this was my gate. I then finally boarded the plane only to find that my window seat just so happened to be the only seat on the entire plane WITHOUT A WINDOW.

I had to change planes in Hotlanta where at my gate I was accosted by two toddlers while their mother (who by the way was wearing diaper-butted black capris with palm trees on the thighs and then completed this sexy ensemble with thick chenille socks scrunched down on her cankles and beat up black clogs. Classy.) gave me a smile like "aren't my children just DARLING?". Not so much. When the daughter tried to paw through my purse is when things got ugly. I bum rushed blondie, tackled her to the ground and shoved a copy of the latest Glamour magazine" in her face gave the woman the look of death (you know the one where you cut your eyes and slowly turn away in disgust - learned it from my mom) and she finally got the hint and proceeded to steal another un-suspecting woman's seat.

I finally then boarded the plane heading to San Antonio and was seated next to a rather chatty red-headed woman. About 30 minutes into the flight however while holding her cup of tomato juice (barf) she had a sudden attack of what can only be called narcolepsy and fell asleep, spilling the contents of aforementioned barf smelling tomato juice all over me. We both exited the plane looking like someone had hurled their lunch all over both of us. My boyfriend thought it was just super hot.

Hi honey, I'm home!


Stay away from my danger zone!

Today was travel day. One of many travel days I have gotten to have since meeting Mr. Hot Pilot. I am exhausted and today was one dumb thing after another. Let's just say by the time I got off the plane I looked and smelled like someone threw up on me.

And with that I bid you adieu for the night as I am going to snuggle with my sleepy man and watch Jon and Kate plus Eight before crashing like a soccer mom in an SUV for the night.

More tomorrow...


Beginning of a serious mental decline

I have alzheimers disease. Ok, so I might not have been diagnosed by a professional or anything but I do believe that after looking over the article "The Seven Signs of Alzheimers Disease" that I have found out what my issue is. Here are those seven signs :

1. Asking the same question over and over again.

I am great at this. Don't answer my question with an answer I like? I'll ask you again and again until you cave under the pressure and give me what I want.

2. Repeating the same story, word for word, again and again.

I do tend to do this - alot. Either I talk way more than the average female should (insert joke about female yappage here) and I just forget who I told my HIGH-larious stories to, or I genuinely just haven't paid attention enough to realize that I have told you that story about the time my dad tricked me into drying my face with a poop towel about twelve hundred times. And I will still be just as excited to tell you the twelve hundredth time as I was the first. (And don't be alarmed if I happen to refer to you as "what's his face")

3. Forgetting how to cook, or how to make repairs, or how to play cards — activities that were previously done with ease and regularity.

Ok. I totally have no idea how to repair that squeaky belt under the hood of my car; can't for the life of me prepare creme brulee or play a good hand of Texas hold'em. We all know how I used to leap tall buildings with a single bound with the ease of a Unicorn carrying president-elect Barack Obama for crying out loud. And now what? I can barely fix a decent bowl of cereal for Munchkin in the morning.

4. Losing one's ability to pay bills or balance one's checkbook.

Wait...I forgot if I ever had this ability.

5. Getting lost in familiar surroundings, or misplacing household objects.

It is a daily battle trying to locate my car in the parking garage after a long day at work. So many times have I gotten off the elevator at what I thought was the correct floor, only turn right around and step back on in order to ride the elevator up and down and randomly press my 'PANIC' button and try to follow the weak sounds of my car's alarm. And keys? Or anything else of remote importance? Lets just say the majority of my cardio workouts consist of me running up and down the stairs in a frantic search each morning before leaving for work.

6. Neglecting to bathe, or wearing the same clothes over and over again, while insisting that they have taken a bath or that their clothes are still clean.

Hello, I wear pink scrubs nearly every single day. Look in my closet and you'd think I was a cartoon character.

7. Relying on someone else, such as a spouse, to make decisions or answer questions they previously would have handled themselves.

Not sure if you want Subway or Quiznos? I am SO not the person to ask. When faced with being the one to make a decision I freeze on contact, my mind goes blank and I begin referring to you as "what's his face".

Ahh, the beginning of the end.


Emptied My SPAM Box and All I Got Was This Stupid Diet Pill

I am infinitely amused by the awesomness that crams my SPAM box. Thanks to Gmail, I don't have to sort through loads of crap in my regular email (save for the lovely "Fwd:fwd:fwd:fwd:fwd:You are my grrrl and I love you!-NOW FORWARD THIS BACK lest you be plagued with a thousand and two nights of night sweats, three years of constipation, ten years of poor eyesight and three stray cats" from that old high school buddy you haven't seen in 12 years).

Of course today is Saturday which to me means time to clean out the SPAM box. Here are a few highlights from the subject lines of my SPAM:

Shake all you want and nothing will ever fall out. (Even if I shake it like a polaroid picture?)

Wiping good off the shelves (lord knows we don't want any good hanging around our shelves. That is just bad housekeeping!)

Don't let your tiny male problem grow into a disaster

Cindy McCain cheats her husband (what is even better about this one is that the sender? Says "me".)

No Surgery! Enhance your PE by simply taking our new preparation! (Not too sure what my "PE" is exactly...)

Abbey National Online Banking - Identity Update (because I wasn't really sure who I was. No worries, they will give me the scoop.)

Did you know your breath can calm you down? (And by calm you down we mean knock your butt out with its onion-tuna nastiness)

Don't forget your enhancers when going to the party (Lord knows you don't want the ladies thinking you are a wet noodle)

Acknowledged Scotch knows Bag the telephone (Really? Well LA-DI-Dah! (Name dropper))

A Maslercard invitation (Oh? Why I feel so priveledged. I had heard of Mastercard but Maslercard? Must be my lucky day!)

Your RESUME passed the contest and we suggest you work for our COMPANY (Yeah...I think I'll pass thanks.)

And of course my favorite:

Diarrhea : Best treatment options

Now its your turn. What kind of indescribable lunacy fills up your SPAM box?


Birthday probe

Nearly one month ago was my mom's 2nd 26th birthday. As usual there was dining out, gifts and cards to be enjoyed by her. When you have had to raise three awesome and crazy kids and one husband who needs to be raised right along with them, you pretty much deserve an awesome birthday each year.

My mom's health insurance company thought so too.

I came downstairs this morning to find a "happy birthday" of sorts sitting on the kitchen counter from Kaiser Permanente. I saw the words "Happy birthday" and "birthday month" which of course made me think "wow, what a cool insurance company". Then I saw the true reason for the festive correspondence.


Wow. What a way to poop on your birthday month. What a way to ruin all the joy and festivities you enjoyed.

I had toyed around with scanning the document in and posting it here since it really would have made your day, however there is this little federal law called HIPAA which tends to ruin fun things like leakage of personal protected health information. Whatever.

I then thought back to other fun things that have happened on peoples birthdays. Including my last birthday.

It was the first birthday I had spent with Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin. I was down in Texas enjoying what seemed to be a somewhat normal afternoon. Normal that is until Munchkin decided it was time for his daily constitutional, and by constitutional I mean losing half his body weight down a plumbing-challenged toilet. I heard the multiple flushes but didn't really think anything of it. It wasn't until I heard the little voice calling "Daddy? I need help..." that I thought maybe something might be up.

Then I heard Mr. Hot Pilot yell as though he saw a poop monster half eating our little Munchkin.

I stayed put. I'm no dummy.

Apparently my sitting perfectly still on the couch, not so much as BREATHING didn't do much for hiding myself. I should have jumped in the car and headed to Wal-Mart (no where else to run to really). Mr. Hot Pilot promptly sent Munchkin to his room and asked me if I might come and assist him in cleaning up a mess. A poop mess. (There seems to be a theme of poop going on here in my posts...I should look into that).

I walked into the main bathroom and there before me was a sea of toilet water flowing into the tub room, around the bend into the master bathroom and directly into the master bedroom. Sweet. Mr. Hot Pilot then proceeded to pull every towel, blanket and comforter out of rooms and closets to sop up the mess. I sort of stood there for a second and did the only thing I could possibly do.

I laughed my birthday booty off. Seriously, grow up in my family and anything having to do with a bodily function will elicit that exact reaction.

For the next hour or so we mopped and sopped while Munchkin was keeping watch of things from underneath his bedroom door. Every so often I'd see part of a Transformer or a little 6 year old finger poke out below as if to remind us he was still in captivity.

Finally we called maintenance to come in with an industrial poop sucker-upper (aka- a wet/dry vac) and pretty soon all was well. Munchkin was sprung from his prison and I was left with the question by Mr. Hot Pilot

"So what are you making us for dinner tonight?".

Happy birthday.


Complete with tears of joy and prancing unicorns of justice

Because I have been a little bummed over the past couple of days following the election of Barack Obama as our next president, I decided to give myself a day off of my shopping moratorium and go and turn my hard earned money into things I really don't need at my local Target.

On my way there I was listening to the radio when I heard a report about a nudist group down in Florida that are pressing for a nude voting precinct in their area. Because that is super important and stuff.

My boyfriend and I have a long-standing debate over which state has the weirdest and scariest news stories occurring - his home state of Florida, or my home state of Maryland. So far I believe that I am winning by an Obama-esque landslide complete with tears of pride from people who are "finally proud of their country". (Excuse me while I go throw up a little)

So the news story goes like this:

"People at the upscale, clothing-optional Caliente Resorts off U.S. 41 want to establish the first clothing-optional polling place in the country. Most voters who live at Caliente exercise their rights at a nearby subdivision, where clothing isn't optional.

There's no concrete data on how many nudists live in the area, but state Sen. Victor Crist has estimated that Pasco County has 12,000 "nude votes."

The resort wants to make it easier for Caliente residents and members of the surrounding nudist community to vote, said Caliente spokeswoman Angye Fox."

(So I take it it is exponentially difficult for these nudists to throw on some clothes in order to go and vote...an action that takes place ONCE EVERY 2-4 YEARS.)

"State law wouldn't prohibit a clothing-optional polling station, said Jennifer Davis, a spokeswoman for the secretary of state's office.

"That would be up to the local supervisor," she said.

Corley has more pressing concerns these days, though – such as preparing for Tuesday's election."

Who do you think these clothing-avoidant folks voted for?


So Obama won....

But this is what made me happy.


The 80's are back, just in time for the election!

I came across these gems while perusing ebay looking for crap that I don't need.

As of right now, Sarah Palin is fetching $9600 while that hot old man, Joe Biden, is only fetching $710. Imagine that!

Here is snazzy Joe Biden sporting his wannabe VP best :

And how could you make such cool dolls of the veeps and completely forget about the celebrity presidential hopeful Mr. Barry himself :

And last but certainly not least, here is Sen. McCain looking decidedly dapper and just about the best he has ever looked :

**Update - 11/8/08 - In case you were wondering (and you know you were) Mrs. Palin ended up going for around $19,000! That is freaking CRAZY. Also, all four dolls were won by the same person. Hmm...wonder if they are going to "spread the wealth" around maybe?**

Maybe kitten kicker was a bit much

When asked by a "youth" why Obama isn't the best choice, I told him "Because, Obama kicks kittens".

Ok. Maybe this was a bit much. Besides, my efforts were not even directed in the appropriate direction as this "youth" can't vote. As in he has about 10 more years until he can vote. Sigh.

Instead I should have sought out an on-the-fencer of appropriate voting age, and when asked "Why is Obama the most ridiculously wrong choice it is laughable not the best choice for America?" I should reply in this manner.

Because Obama will kick your bank account until it cracks open, spilling its wonderful contents, and then proceed to spread it around.

**It is sad that I have to say this, however if you are going to comment, I need you to identify yourself. Anonymous comments WILL NOT be accepted. If you have a strong enough opinion on what is going on, you should be proud to stand up and support your ideas no matter what they are. I am interested in opinions from all sides. Thanks! -Charm City Chica**


Everyone loves a free ride

So tomorrow is the big day for many...election day! While I am both nervous and excited (seems to be the way I feel about alot of things recently) about what the outcome might be, at least I can take a trip around town and collect some lovely freebies before I am taxed to the point of having to find a comfortable refrigerator box to live in on the streets of Baltimore.

Here are a few of the awesome places trying to sweeten the deal on voting :

Come into any Starbucks on November 4th and let your fabulous barista know that you voted (for McCain) and they will "proudly serve you a tall cup of coffee...on them". Not into coffee? Well then I'm fairly sure you must be into doughnuts right? Lucky for you, you can instead head on over to Krispy Kreme!
Be sure to don your "I voted" (for McCain) sticker in a visible area (your forehead should suffice) and at participating locations (re - the one you have to drive furthest to) will give you a free doughnut. So now you have your free coffee and doughnut...but what about dessert? Well just head your fine self over to Ben and Jerrys between 5pm and 8pm and you will receive a free scoop of ice cream. I of course would suggest something of the chocolate and peanut butter variety, but of course this is a democracy (or at least will be unless Obama sucker punches his way into the oval office) and you can choose what you prefer. Of course my favorite is the free Chick-fil-a sandwich for voting. If your local restaurant is participating, head on over to pick up a free original chicken sandwich on November 4th. Again, be sure to wear that spiffy sticker you get for voting (for McCain).

I do hope you all get up bright and early and go vote. No matter who you vote for - the dude who will pick your pockets dry or the dude who will protect our military - it is one of the most important things we can do as Americans.


What all women desire during nights...

I was clearing out my spam box today when I came across an email with the subject "Update Request" and the line "What all women desire during nights". Instead of risking the healthy (re - actually functioning) future of my computer and clicking on the attached site, I decided to ponder just what it is that I request and desire during nights. (Right about now my mother and father who both frequent this blog are probably doing one of two things : 1) hitting the back button as quickly as they possibly can or 2) turning bright red, looking around and reading further out of morbid curiosity).

No worries though. I have a cleaner perspective on what I desire out of my night. And here they are :

1) My dog is weird. I think we have established that here and here. On occasion in the middle of the night, Lucy will wake me from a dead sleep with high pitched crying and kicking (yes, KICKING) of the wall for a drink of water. Recently however she has been wanting more and more water so that after I have gotten myself back to sleep, she wakes me up again with both the kicking, crying AND tossing of water dish into the wall. What a baby.

So what do I desire on these nights? An automatic water dish for my spoiled little dog.

2) I like my bedroom cold at night when I sleep. I love to snuggle under my squishy down comforter and find all of those super cold spots in the sheets. There is a problem with this however. My boyfriend is a supremely hot (temperature and otherwise) Puerto Rican who likes to keep the temperature in the house near 80 degrees. On the weeks that I am down in the third world country he calls home, we tend to have thermostat wars - and by wars I mean I sneak the temp down to 74 and then he catches me and cranks it back up to the point where it is so hot I can barely breathe. In other words, he always wins. ALWAYS.

What is it I desire on these nights? A cold bed and warm man.

3) I have gotten myself used to sleeping with the white noise of a fan for quite some time now. It all began back when I lived in a noisier part of town and was used to all of the traffic driving by my bedroom window at night. Strangely enough, when I moved back in with my parents I had trouble sleeping in their extremely silent house. I remedied this problem by running a fan at night - giving me both a colder room and the white noise I needed.

Back to my super-hot Mr. Hot Pilot.

Mr. Hot Pilot is a pilot (hence his name). His sleep is obviously quite precious to him, especially on the eve of a day of flying. Mr. Hot Pilot has gotten quite used to a supremely silent room at night. So while he has no problem falling asleep, I have a huge problem doing so. And so here is our solution (seriously, I kid you not...here goes...)

What do I desire during these silent nights? My hot pilot to snore.

I know. I can't believe it either, but sometimes in relationships you must compromise.

I'm fairly certain that had I opened that saucy message that not only would I have been taken to a world of clothing challenged folks who know "just what I want" but I would have also infected my computer in the way that a freshman girl looking to make lots of "friends" infects her latest victim.

So what do you desire "during the nights"?


Day 1 of NaBloPoMo

Today is the first day of writing one blog per day for a month. I'm both excited and slightly intimidated by such a prospect. Am I excited? Yep. Am I nervous? Heck yeah! Did I eat all of the Reece's peanut butter cups out of the halloween candy bowl? You'd better believe it!

Some days may be boring and useless blurbs, while others may be humorous, fascinating or downright anger inducing. You be the judge.

As for today, I am going to leave you with a belated halloween photo of a rather awesome pumpkin from up in the TRU.

Consider this a happy belated halloween or the earliest Happy Halloween 2009 of the year.


Really people....

It is certainly one of those days here in gloomy Baltimore. I have the next few days off and to be perfectly honest, I don't really know what to do with all of that free time. I know half of people out there would give their left kidney to have four days off in a row, but REALLY PEOPLE. When I don't go to Texas where I have plenty to do (clean, go to soccer with Munchkin and Mr. Hot Pilot, cook, chase the useless cat around the house in hopes she will run away..) I am often left bored out of my gourd.

I came downstairs this afternoon after doing a whole lot of nothing upstairs and found my dog Lucy staring rather listlessly out the front window. The picture above illustrates just how I feel.

Come back spring/summer...this fall crap is for the birds.


Listen all y'all, its a sabotage!

As I have mentioned in the past, I am part of a long distance relationship. Mr. Hot Pilot is a military officer who lives far, far away in (what seems like) a third world country complete with border jumpers, questionable water and absolutely no Target store within a 150 mile radius. Because of this long distance, I frequently (as in every other week) fly the friendly skies to spend time with him and Munchkin. I am lucky enough to work a job where I only have to work 3 days per week, and then have the remaning four days to do with as I please - lounge in bed until all hours of the afternoon, workout (HA!), work from home for my old job, shuttle drugs back and forth across the mexican border and spend time with my boys. On the weeks that I shuttle drugs back and forth go to visit my boys, I try to maximize my time with them by flying out of BWI as early as humanly possible on Monday and flying back in as late as possible on Thursday in order to drag my butt back into work on Friday morning.

In addition to my maximization of time, I must also note that I am a master procrastinator. Because of my earning a higher education in procrastination, I tend to leave my packing to the night before or the morning of my flight.

On my most recent trip to the little border town Mr. Hot Pilot affectionately calls home, I woke up before the butt crack of dawn could even be seen, and began getting myself ready. Now I don't live in an old house by any measure, but sometimes even in the most well maintained houses, you run into plumbing issues.

My plumbing issue was with my toilet.

I'm sure you would love to hear a story about how I clogged the toilet and caused serious carnage, however this is not the case. Instead I just gave the toilet a slight sideways glance complete with an early morning yawn and the darn thing overflowed.


Being that it was too freaking early in the morning for me to drag out a mop and clean the mess, I decided to do the next best thing and throw my used towel onto the toilet water that had collected on the bathroom floor and call it a day. I then shoved the towel behind the toilet to collect any straggling water and left for my flight.

I had a fab four days in Texas with my guys complete with high-larious moments with Munchkin and lots of smooching with Mr. Hot Pilot. I then returned home late Thursday and crashed in bed.

The next morning I awoke to get ready for my weekend at work and noticed my fresh and clean towel that is normally hanging on my bedpost was missing. I walked into the bathroom to see if I had left it there prior to my trip and found a similar towel hanging neatly on the towel rack. "Ok" I thought, "someone must've hung my towel up for me, sweet!" When I got out of the shower, I took that towel off of the rack and began drying off my face and body. And then it hit me like a homeless redneck hits their crack pipe.

The Funk.

This was no ordinary neatly hung towel. The funk eminating from the towel told me as much. This was the towel I had used just four days earlier to mop up TOILET WATER. I had been drying my face with TOILET WATER. And I don't care what state of clean the toilet that that water originated from is...all toilet water to me means one thing.

Poop water.

And I knew the culprit to my poopy facial. My dear old dad.

I quickly jumped back into the shower for a scalding, soapy, de-contamination and then ran like a fool downstairs to confront the evildoer. I discussed the present situation with my mother who found it to be all sorts of insanely funny.

She then passed the word on to my dad who told me that he just thought that I must like to RANDOMLY LEAVE CLEAN TOWELS ON THE FLOOR and hung it up for me. (Turns out my mom had taken my previously fresh towel and thrown it into the wash while I was away.) I was sure I had been set up.

When I pressed for a bended knee promise to pay wads of cash for pain and suffering an apology, this is what I got:

Dad : "Sorry, but if its any consolation, I read somewhere that people are paying big bucks for bird poop facials".


For your culinary delight

It was a lovely fall afternoon so I decided to take a walk to my favorite burrito joint "California Tortilla" as I have previously mentioned here with regards to a near neck stab. While I was waiting for my beyond awesome burrito to be crafted, I decided to peruse the vast array of hot sauces that were available. Because I do have a rather interesting sense of humor (to say the least) I found these which of course just made my day complete :

If of course you happen to be just as intrigued as I was over these culinary masterpieces, you can find ordering information via the following links :

1 - See Dick Run (also available in See Spot in Heat)
2 - Rectal Rocket Fuel
3 - Ass in Space



It's that time of year again. The time of year when those of us who don't have any biological children of our own decide to lumber over to the local mass-production department store in search of something for which to adorn our little dogs, cats or any other furry warm body we can find. Its time to dress up our defenseless family members in the most ridiculous get-up we can muster and parade them around until they are ready to plan your death late in the night when you are sleeping and they can get a good hold on your juggular.

Now of course I have Munchkin now however unfortunately I will be up in frigid Baltimore while he and Mr. Hot Pilot do the halloween thing down south without me. Sigh. So I have to attack the next best thing with my slightly twisted sense of humor and dress up my dog, Lucy. Last year I hit the mother-lode with a Princess Leia costume, complete with the Cinnamon bun hairpiece and white robe. She hated it.

I wanted to come up with something to top the awesomeness of Princess Leia and saw online that there was a Princess Leia "slave girl" (from the Jabba the Hutt movie) but alas it was unavailable in any stores near me.

So dear readers, the moment you have been waiting for....

And of course since no one in their right mind wants to be caught wearing a freaking chicken costume, when someone comes outside to investigate the rather large sqwak-ing dog, violent measures must be used in order to preserve one's place in the food chain :

And there it is...the look of "I'm going to put a pillow over your face and cut off your air supply while you sleep" :