Re: cats and society

This blog may cause some of you to think less of me, but I'm okay with that. I might even lose a few friends... but again, I'm okay with that. And since there are only 17 people who read this thing, I'm really okay with it. I have decided to be who I am and say what I mean. Because those who mind, don't matter. And those who matter, don't mind. Or something like that. But since I'm right, I guess none of that really matters.

A little over a week ago, a good friend of mine, Lauren Cowling (holla), wrote a blog about cats and society. It just so happened that on that very same day, I had considered this topic as well. You see, I've never liked cats. Let me just put that out there.

Let me start from the beginning, because, well, that's typically a good place to start. My family had a cat once... I was 4... we called it kitty... it ran away... and no one cried. Why? Because we didn't trust it as far as we could throw it. And I use the term "it", because I legitimately don't remember its gender. And I didn't capitalize "kitty" because I don't think we ever actually named it. We just called it what it was. I suppose we could have called it "young feline", but that's a little lengthy. Because it was pointless. It did nothing. And after doing nothing, it did more nothing.

But what really inspired me to blog about this, was something I came across. Something I experienced first-hand. Something I saw with my naked eye. Approximately 3 hours before I stumbled upon LC's blog (while I was working incredibly hard, I might add), I caught a glimpse of something that one of my co-workers has chosen to publicly display on her door. For anonymity purposes, I can't say much more. Suffice it to say... it has to do with cats, their superiority, and their party habits... which I was completely unaware of.

That encounter really got me thinking about cats. I've always known that I don't like cats, but I didn't realize how deep these feelings ran until that moment. I don't think that I really need to prove that dogs are better than cats, but what-the-heck it's a Thursday night and The Office hasn't started back yet.... so here we go.

Let me break it to you gently, your cat sucks. Both of them. Or all 25 of them if you're what society would call a crazy cat lady. To put it lightly, they're a waste of space. And I'm not apologizing.

In case you're an idiot, let me clarify: I'm a dog person. My dog loves me more than anything in this world, more than any other person on this planet. In fact, at this very moment, she is standing next to me with her nose on my knee, looking at me with her puppy eyes, begging for me to pet her. Heck, I could come in after committing a heinous crime and my dog would still run up to me, open her mouth into her little doggy smile, and probably ask me what she should tell the police for my alibi. Do cats do that? No. The smug little thing probably wouldn't even know I got home. And then it would probably call the police on me.

Has anyone ever told you "ok I'll do it, but just because you gave me those kitty cat eyes?". I hope not, because if they have, you're a freak. And you're probably really awkward. And you should probably stop looking at people in general.

Have you ever heard of a rescue cat? A drug-sniffing cat? A seeing-eye CAT? Me either. Cats are egotistical. They don't care about you at all. They're out for their own interests. They wouldn't care about the person buried beneath the pile of rubble, the drug smuggler who was about to cross into U.S. territory, or the blind guy who is about to get hit by a car trying to cross the street. They'd probably let it happen. Encourage it even. That's because they're evil. And they want to rule the world.

For further proof, let's take a quick glance at the media: Famous dogs. I tried to search Wikipedia for "famous cats", and this is what I found. "you may create the page "Famous cats", but consider checking the search results below to see whether it is already covered." It wasn't. And in the words of Michael Scott, "Wikipedia is the best thing ever. Anyone in the world can write anything they want about any subject. So you know you are getting the best possible information." If it's not on Wikipedia, I don't trust it. There are no famous cats on Wikipedia. Therefore, I don't trust cats. It's really all about the math.

Honestly, I have never really trusted people who own cats, and I'm especially skeptical of people who love cats. They can't be trusted. Live by it.

In other news: Jon and Kate are still divorced and Michael Jackson is still dead.

Jinx

I'm not going to lie, I debated about whether or not to post about my hidden talent. I thought I might jinx myself, which would be tragic. Rest assured, my friends, that this was not the case. 

Category: Phrase

"_  _  L  _     _  _  _"

It would be nice to have that $30,000 in my pocket for solving this in the bonus round. Donations will be gladly accepted. 

I promise that this is the last time I try to convince you that I'm a genius. But I think I've made myself pretty clear.

My hidden talent

It's no secret that I have no hidden talents. I'm not double jointed, I can't draw with my toes (or fingers for that matter), I can't juggle chainsaws, I can't even roll my tongue... which I blame my parents for. But over the past few months, I have discovered a talent that has been hiding under the surface for the past 24 years, just waiting to come out. And I'm not going to hide it anymore. I'm just not.

Here it is.... ahem.... I'm the shit at Wheel of Fortune. Excuse my French, but I feel like that's the only way to get the point across. My only other option was that I am "the bomb", but that's lame. 

Now, I've never considered words in general to be my forte. You might be saying to yourself, "but Carla, you're a Speech Pathologist. How can words not be your forte?". Well my answer is this: ummmm.... I'm completely aware of this. But I didn't know what to do with a Bachelor's degree in Mathematics. So Speech Pathology was the result of a couple aptitude tests, a deep look into my inner soul, and many conversations with my mom about how it's a recession-proof occupation. Which, I think, qualifies her for having some sort of psychic ability. Thanks, Treev. 

Ok, so here's how I got discovered, and I use that term lightly. When I was in Los Angeles, my sister and I were sitting at the Ocean Lodge Motel (it's as classy as it sounds) watching Wheel of Fortune. A puzzle came up, and this is how it read at the time. 

Category: Event

" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ N       _ _ _" 

Spoiler alert: I solved it.

And then today, it happened again. 

Category: Showbiz 

"_ _ _ _ S _ _ _ _       _ _ S S"

Spoiler alert: same as above.

And again...

Catgory: Phrase

" _ _ _ _ _     _ _ T     N _     _ _ _ _ _"

Spoiler alert: I think you get the point.

So today, August 12, 2009, marks the day that I have begun to DVR (when did that become a verb?) Wheel of Fortune, unabashedly I might add. I consider myself to be "in training", much as one would train for a marathon. Exactly like that, actually. Have I mentioned that I need some hobbies?

The purpose of this blog is three fold:

1. To brag

2. To see if anyone can solve those puzzles. 

3. To challenge anyone who can to a Wheel of Fortune Duel. 

I'm sorry, am I 85 years old?

Open Here.

I'm in an uproar. Time out: I don't know if you can actually be in an uproar, but if you can, I most certainly am. Actually, uproar has started to not even sound like a word I've said it so many times trying to figure out if you can be in an uproar. Time in.

Disclaimer: I am very happy to have a job. I am very happy to have a job that I enjoy. And I am very happy that I get a paycheck on the 15th and last day of every month. This post actually has very little to do with my job, if anything at all. But you can never be too safe, or have too many disclaimers.

I have a 9-5 job. To me, that means I work between, but not before or after, the hours of 9 and 5, respectively. Today, I got home at 7. When that happens I want two things... food and a couch. Scratch that 3 things. Food, a couch, and a new car. Had to throw that in because it's always on the "things I want" list. I'm hoping my mom reads this and is feeling generous. Here's to that, Treev. Anyway, I digress. I need food and a couch, in that order and quickly. So tonight when I got home 2 hours after I intended, I made my way to the freezer and pulled out one of my "I got home late and don't feel like cooking" purchases. Green Giant Garden Vegetable MEDLEY (I don't know why they got so excited about MEDLEY). "Simply steam in the bag!" it boasts. Easy enough, so I pulled out that bag, threw it in the microwave and starvingly (new word) waited 4 minutes for my meal to simply steam in the bag. By the way, 4 minutes is borderline too long to wait after working a 10 hour day, especially for a bag full of vegetables.

But anyway, I pulled it out and found the "open here" arrow, and as I've done so many times before, that's what I started to do. Then I kept trying to open it. And then I tried to open it some more. Then I saw another "open here" arrow right below the first one. And another one below that. And so on and so forth. This 5 inch by 5 inch bag containing 8oz of steamed vegetables had a total of eight "open here" arrows along with four more arrows labeled "pull". I frantically tried all twelve (I was a math major) areas which covered roughly every freaking square inch of this bag trying to open the darn thing not knowing if I'd ever get it open. I pulled and I tore, I dug my nails into the plastic, I even resorted to biting, Mike Tyson style. It wasn't pretty. And it wasn't classy either.

This bag was mocking me. I think it was trying to say "this is what you get for leaving me in the freezer until all the frozen pizzas were gone". And then it probably let out a maniacal laugh.

I decided that I was not going to lose my dignity by cutting this bag open with scissors. That would be taking the easy road, which we all know leads to nothing but destruction. So I jumped back on the straight and narrow and decided to fight to the end. To make a ridiculously long story even longer.... I lost. sigh. I.......... lost. shrugs shoulders while shaking head. I gave it my all, but it simply wasn't enough. Not even through Christ who strengthens me.

So, Green Giant Garden Vegetable MEDLEY. You may have won the battle. But believe you me, I will win this war.

Writer's block

Buying some time until I get over my writer's block. I need to encounter some stupid people... and quick.

1. I make lists all the time. And I put things on my list like "eat lunch" or "wake up" just so I can cross it off.

2. From the bottom of my heart I wish I could sing, and I honestly don't think it's fair that I can't. 

3. I will love the Razorbacks until the day I die, even if they cause me to do so.

4. I hate the words "hotcakes" and "cookbook". I'll slap you silly if you say them around me.

5. I took awkward to a new level in Jr. High. For example, my mom used to make my sandwiches on Hoagie bread. I was embarrassed that I didn't have normal white, square bread like everyone else, so when I ate my sandwich I held it under the table and pinched off bites.

6. My dad called me Snarla when I was in a bad mood.

7. My favorite part of the day is brushing my hair after it's been up in a towel wrap after taking a shower.

8. I was invited to 17 weddings in 2008. That's got to be a record of some sort.

9. One time when I was out in Fayetteville, someone stole my shoes. Literally stole them off my feet. I went home barefoot and angry. I may or may not have called the police. 

10. It's been May 2005 in my parent's house for the past 4 years because that month is a picture of my brother pitching in the Hogs sports calendar.

11. My closet is color coded and arranged from tank tops to long sleeves within each color. Everything faces the closet door. It's the only way to do it.

12. Everytime I do laundry, I lose a sock. Every single time. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why this happens. I take both socks off, I put both socks in the hamper, I put everything in the hamper in the washer, I put everything in the washer in the dryer, and still... I come out with an odd number of socks. It's a mystery that may never be solved. 

13. I have a recurring dream that my teeth fall out. 

14. I was in the commercial for the University of Arkansas that always aired during football and basketball games. It was a shot of me walking across the stage during graduation. No autographs, please.

15. I was born on February 8, at exactly 8:00am, and I weighed 8lbs 8oz. You can't make that up.

16. My dog's name is Ozzie... as in Smith, not Osborne. I picked out the name before I got her and refused to name her anything else, even though she's not a boy.

17. On April 1, 1995 my family's car was stolen while we were at my brother's baseball tournament in Memphis. The following week during prayer-request time at school, I asked my class to pray that the people who stole our car opened up my backpack (teal, Jansport), got out my Bible, read it, and became Christians. I'm going to ask God about that when I get to Heaven.

18. If I was a boy my name was going to be Stanley Wallace Sawatski. I don't know what my parents had against me.

19. If you've met my sister, you've met me. And vice versa.

20. I love math. I was a math major until I couldn't understand my teacher's accents anymore. I still do Calculus problems when I get bored in class just to see if I can still do it. I haven't stumped myself yet. 

21. I got in trouble in SonPower because Elizabeth Baker and I put too much powder in the lemonade. I still remember that lady's name, and I think about that everytime I see her. It was worth it, the lemonade was good.

22. In first grade, Sarah Phillips and I used to go to the bathroom and bang our heads on the sink so that we could get the gelly ice-packs. Mhmm.

23. Having a dog has taught me that I'm nowhere near ready to be a mother. You can't just give a kid a rawhide. 

24. I used to think I was going to marry Devon Sawa from Little Giants because his last name was the first 4 letters of my last name. 

25. One time I lied when my brother asked me if I had played his video game. He thought I had because it wasn't put back the way that he usually did it. I insisted that I didn't play it. Two hours of interrogation and one "family discussion" later, he finally dropped the subject. I never told anyone I lied. Jay, I played your video game. And I think I won.

Sorry if you just read that for the second time hoping there would be something different than the one on Facebook. There wasn't.

Jack of all trades.

Grandfather: Professional athlete
Grandmother: Professional singer
Father: Professional athlete
Brother: Professional athlete

With my genealogy, I would expect that I would be either an outstanding athlete or an immaculate singer. I am neither. In my days at Pulaski Academy, I played my fair share of sports. I did not excel at these sports. My singing was worse.

Basketball: I'd call basketball my "good sport". I wasn't bad, wasn't bad at all. In fact, ahem... I was named Most Valuable Player for my Junior High, District Championship winning basketball team. Please, hold your applause. That, unfortunately, was the peak of my athletic prowess. The very next year, when we moved to the Sr. High team, Jana Derlikowski, Alison Tussey, Jenny Hardin and I formed a revolutionary group called The Four Corners. What we did was.... well, we sat on the end of the bench. We refused to uncross our leg, stomp our foot twice, and recross our leg the other way when our teammate made a freethrow. We hit Jana, made fun of each other, made fun of other people, and received countless "stop that" glares from our beloved upperclassmen. What we didn't do, was sweat... thus making our motto "No Sweat... because we don't".

Softball: I'm a Sawatski. I did this because it was expected of me. I mean Jay's good at baseball, Carla must be good at softball, right? To me, it was just something to do after school. And let's be honest, I really wanted one of those jackets. I learned so much during my softball years. I learned what "moxy" means. Ok, no, I really didn't... but I had to act like I did because my coach always asked me "Carla, is that moxy?". I'd always reply with "probably not". I learned what it felt like to have a fan club. Mine consisted of approximately 6 people including my parents, but they brought signs, which made it legit. I learned what it felt like to lose... a lot. I also learned that you shouldn't skip a game to get your hair done for prom. Woops.

Soccer: I came home from school one day and enthusiastically told my dad "I'm going to play soccer this year!". He looked at me blankly, and then began laughing hysterically. I wasn't kidding. And that was the year that I forced my dad to sit through the excruciatingly boring game of soccer. I'm not sure he ever forgave me.

Pep club: This is something I never wanted to admit, especially in a public forum, but yes, I was in pep club. It was as awkward as it sounds. I proudly wore the gold mock-turtleneck, the pleated skirt, and of course, the Asics... the mark of any official cheerleader in the 90's. Plus, I got to perform the world-renowned Pulaski Academy cheer that every cheerleader (or semi-cheerleader) that has ever gone to that school has performed. "Bruins in the front, let me hear ya grunt...". I think you know the rest.

Track: actual conversation between me and my basketball coach --
coach: "hey, do you want to run at the state track meet?"
me: "no, I do not"
coach: "you get to miss a day of school"
me: "what time does the bus leave?"
That day was the beginning, and the end, of my track career.

In my early years, I also experimented with piano, swimming, golf, gymnastics, tennis, and karate.

I think, I THINK, I have justified my qualifications to be a Jack of all trades, one that excels at nothing. And then I got to thinking, "what AM I good at?". And then it occurred to me... math. I'm good at math. Really, God? Math? You had those genes to work with, and you gave me MATH? Good one.

This entry is far too personal and insightful. Won't happen again.

Reasons I'm not ready to be a mother (cont.)

8. I currently drive the same car that I did when I was 16 years old. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say, it barely has room for one able-bodied passenger... much less a kicking, screaming, terrorizing child (which I feel that I will have).
9. Moms are supposed to be able to answer all the "how", "when", "who", and most importantly "why" questions that a child will undoubtedly have. I don't have an iPhone with the power of Google to retrieve those answers quickly and report them to my child so that he (I'm having boys) never has to tell his friends that his mom didn't know the answer.
10. I rely on Google to answer life's most important questions.

Tennessee's Most Wanted: Taylor

In my final days in Memphis, I've been the victim of a heinous crime. Now, I don't mean to frighten anyone, but this criminal is still at large. He is believed to be armed and dangerous. I'm conducting a nation-wide search to find and convict said criminal.

The crime occurred on Saturday, May 9, 2009 at approximately 2:15 a.m. Here are the details leading up to the crime.

1:00 p.m.: I arrive at FedEx Forum
2:00 p.m.: The graduation ceremony begins
2:08 p.m.: I graduate
4:45 p.m.: The last person graduates.
5:00 p.m: My family celebrates my graduation, Mother's day, and my brother's birthday with dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. We're very efficient.
10:30 p.m.: My friends and I arrive at The Flying Saucer.
2:00 a.m.: Hunger strikes.
2:01 a.m.: Jim refuses to make us Chili con Queso, and instead, brings Lauren Lee and I our tabs and politely asks us to get the heck out.

The next hour is a blur. We had no idea what was coming next. Here is the sequence of events as I recall.

Lauren Lee and I were leaving the Flying Saucer when we happened upon a boy, who may or may not have been dead, sitting by himself at a table by the door. I woke him up, checked his vital signs, and determined that he was alive. When he asked where we were going, we informed him that we would be dining at the Blues City Cafe (the scene of the crime), just one block away. We invited him to join, saying "Taylor, come with us, you'll make a good story". Not accustomed to being wrong, we were right.... but we didn't know just how right we were. Grateful that I had saved his life, he followed us to the Cafe. And then things got awkward.

The three amigos sat down for a nice, quiet dinner on the corner of Beale and 2nd street. This was the last night that any of us would dine together. I decided on the chicken strips, Lauren Lee requested a double order of chicken strips along with tamales with chili (this is a whole nother story), and Taylor..... sigh....... Taylor ordered "The Best Meal on Beale". You heard me. Ribs, catfish, and chicken tenders included. All for the bargain price of $18.95.


Once we'd given Millie our order, we began chatting and learning about our 3rd amigo, Taylor. We discovered that he is a Sig Ep at The University of Tennessee by way of Clarksville, TN. We learned that he attended a wedding that evening (I'm assuming open bar). We also discovered that he felt the need to steal 5 cups from that wedding. We observed that Taylor speaks with a lisp. And finally, we found out that Taylor likes to try to bite people. And he doesn't give up easily. This information is not all-inclusive, but it's all we have.

Our food arrived, and it was everything I expected it to be and more. Taylor felt the same way. He polished off his chicken fingers, catfish, and most of his ribs before informing us that he needed to use the restroom. And that's when it happened. Faster than you can say "Best Meal on Beale", he vanished. And by vanished, I mean we watched him walk out the back door. After the shock wore off, I decided to chase him down. After all, what are the three amigos with just two amigos? But it was to no avail, Taylor was gone. Did I mention he forgot to pay? And by "forgot", I mean knowingly ordered the most expensive meal on the menu, ate it until he was satisfied, claimed he needed to relieve himself, and walked himself and his credit card right out that back door. The classic dine-and-ditch.

If anyone knows the whereabouts of this criminal, please request $20 to cover the cost of his meal, and then give it to Lauren Lee Favreau. Because I didn't actually pay for it.

And that's how I saved a criminal's life. No good deed goes unpunished.

Click on the picture. Now.

Attention Adam Lambert

Dear Mr. Lambert,

When you're on a live, nationally televised talent competition (as you are), and you are asked to choose between two groups to which you may or may not belong based on your performance (as you were), you're never supposed to actually choose a group (as you did).

Have you ever seen American Idol, Adam? And by that, I mean are you a living, breathing human being? It's the oldest trick in Seacrest's bag. Splitting the contestants into 2 groups and asking the remaining contestant the infamous question, "so, whoeveryouare, which group do you think you belong in?". This is the first time in my years of watching American Idol that I've actually seen someone answer that question. And I'm glad it was you, Adam. Because I think you suck anyway.

This, my dear, is what you're supposed to say. "Oh my gosh, Ryan, I can't answer that. Both groups are so talented. Why are you putting me in this position? I can't choose. I just can't. I love them all". And then you just stop talking. All while smiling and laughing and looking at both groups for an equal amount of time. And when the host attempts to cut you off and get to the point (as he did), you definitely don't cut him off in order to choose your place. It's called tact. And if you don't know what that is, please refer to my previous post entitled "tact" (My creativity is astounding).

I hope this is a lesson learned. And I hope that it goes well with you.

I mute the show when you sing,
Carla

p.s. I'm looking to buy some new eyeliner, any suggestions, Adam?

Reasons I'm not ready to be a mother

I was thinking today about just how many of my friends have babies. It seems like everyone and their mother has a child (no pun intended). So I was trying to picture myself with a baby, and this is what I saw..... cricket.......cricket.......cricket....... nothing. Couldn't do it. Not without keeping my sanity.

So here's my on-going list of reasons I'm not ready to be a mother. And hopefully, someday, years down the road, I will be able to change this list to "why I'm going to be the best mother that ever lived". Until then.... in no particular order*....


1. I don't wake up to loud noises.
2. If I did wake up to loud noises, someone would need to stand in between me and that loud noise for the good of everyone involved.
3. I look better with long hair.
4. I drink excessive amounts of Diet Coke. It's not something I can do (or am willing to do) in moderation. I've tried.
5. I spend the majority of my time coming up with new greeting cards so that my sister and I can make millions one day. (This is not a joke).
6. I lock up my dog for important occasions including (but not limited to) American Idol, Lost, and Wii sporting events. The verdict's still out, but I don't think you can do that with a child.
7. I watch entirely too much reality TV for my child to grow up to be a normal, functional (or semi-functional) human being.

*This list is not all-inclusive. More to come, I'm sure.