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.

G'night!

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.