Super Issue Number 45!

I just remembered why I don’t use the internet at home, because it’s bragging that it’s connected at a mighty 26.0kbps. Yup. Pretty sweet. It’s got a hemi.

Alright, so hopefully you will get to read this and I’m not just complaining to Microsoft word, or more importantly, that little paperclip I despise. He thinks he’s so smart formatting everything into letter form or his stupid indentation suggestions. What a jerkface. What’s that paperclip? Jerkface isn’t a word? Would I like YOU to correct it for me? How would you like it if I bent one of your arms until it snapped off? HUH?! LIKE THAT?!? YES YOU CAN HELP ME… JUST DIE!!!

So, I hate series. They ruin everything. Once it’s collectable or continuing, there’s no way to escape it. It will haunt you for the rest of your days, it won’t let you sleep at night, and just when you think that you’re free from it, there’s something new, a twist, or the spring collection.

My Dad decided to get me a present. This is pretty rare, and more yet is the fact that it strays away from his ultimate goal of turning me into a girl. FYI he tried to pay for a manicure and ‘that girly stuff you should be doing’ on my mini-vacation. Instead I bought sushi and went test driving. Also FYI, never buy a mini. ‘Tis poo.

So on this rare occasion, he came to visit me at work, with a book. Not just any book, but Initial D. It, in short, is a Japanese comic about illegal street racing. Kinda cute, he thought, and it had a car on the front instead of some girl with really big eyes and a tiny little torso. It was all good at first, I read it, found it enjoyable, then somewhere along the way really began to care about Tak and his eight-six (Toyota Corolla) and all of his buddies. Now for those of you without addictive personalities this would not be a problem, you simply cast the book aside, yawn, enjoy the time you spent reading the first in a series that presently extends to nineteen, and be done with it. No. Now I need to find out if he’s able to use his panda Tureno to beat out K.T.’s RX7, FD. Curse you, Dad, curse you.

This is the problem with society. You buy something, all impulse like, and then they own you, it’s a need to continue the collection, to have a complete one despite the fact that there is no prize at the end but the cold and empty satisfaction that you won’t be able to get that time back or sell it for a tenth of what you paid for the whole lot.

It’s not only with books, though many of you are hooked on a little something called Harry Potter, Medicine woman. Or better yet you are into soap operas, collectable beanie babies, or Star Wars. Yes, whatever it is, humans get some kind of fulfillment of expanding their collection, to have more of the same thing, and to have more than everyone else. Why? Because we are suckers… but I’ll get to that in my next, special collector’s edition blog… GOLDEN HELMET AWARDS 2005!

Carly, Super-Genius

So I haven’t been keeping this blog dealie up-to-date over the summer. It’s hard being funny on a continual basis, and let’s face it – you are all mooches who just can’t get enough of the stuff. On the upside I do actually update, unlike some of you out there in tv-land, and am trying. Yes. That sounds plausible. Plus it takes me at least half an hour to get my computer going, and then a lot more to actually load up stuff, and I like to think that I have too much of a social calendar to be bothered. Needless to say that at nine thirty in the morning, things are still kind of slow. As such here is another thrilling episode, a brief glance into the jet-set life that is Carly… Lil’ Miss Know-it-all, a staged series of outcries for help.


Dear LMKIA,

Is that your real name? I mean who would actually make their kid Lmkia? I mean maybe if you threw a vowel in there somewhere, like between the L and m or even the m and k it may qualify but-

-EDITED FOR LENGTH-

-Sincerely, Francine Utlins, (Coronation, Kentucky)

Dear Francine,

What I’m hearing here is that you are an idiot. My name isn’t LMKIA, or even Lil’ Miss Know-it-all, in fact, it’s what some people call ‘an abbreviation’. For example, we could use it on your name and… oh. Hey, say I got a letter from Judy Edith, from Ridgedale Kansas. I could also call her ‘JERK’. It would be fun and demeaning. In conclusion, if I hurt your feelings, it was intentional.

Luv, LMKIA



Dear LMKIA,

AAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

-From George

Well George,

Your wife isn’t sleeping around. Actually she’s taking dance classes late at night because she knows you’d sooner go bowling with your buddies and doesn’t want to bother you. That gentleman you saw her with is her dance partner who is also teaching her football basics, so that she can go to games with you and understand what’s going on without having to interrupt your beer drinking every few minutes. Your daughter isn’t pregnant, that stuff you found was from a sex-ed course that she was pretty embarrassed about having to take. In two weeks she’ll ask you about your job and what you do, not because she doubts that you do nothing, but instead because it is part of the class as well. Enjoy the time you spend together and if it’s done right, you may even be able to get her to follow in your footsteps. Your son is just going through a rebellious phase, but in all honesty, some people just don’t like jam on their toast and would sooner just stick with butter. Your dog, did in fact, get hit by a car, but it was quick and painless rather then only getting his leg nicked and dying due to a painful and drawn-out infection months later. The car was filled with cats on the way to a kitty spa and as soon as your dog was hit, the driver swerved and tipped the car, it caught fire and blew up, killing all of the cats inside, it’s the way that Fido would have wanted it. Finally, you aren’t going to be fired. The talk that’s going around the office is that it’s your twentieth anniversary with the company and they are trying to throw you a surprise party.

Finally, claim that you were just out for a walk and step back from the ledge.

Luv, LMKIA


LMKIA,

My boyfriend thinks I’m fat. Should I go on a diet?

From Bertha


Well Bertha,

I hate to judge by the name alone, but eating healthy is always a good idea. Most advice columnists would tell you to be happy with who you are, to love yourself first, and worry about guys after, but I’m not most advice columnists. Quick and simple, if you are in fact not fitting into things you used to be able to slip easily into, like jeans, or your car, it might be a good idea to cut back at fatty burger. Try a carrot, or rabbit, which is like at least a thousand compressed carrots into a tiny little package. Mmm, rabbit. Yes, so eat more furry creatures.

Luv, LMKIA

Hey, I’m bored. So until next time, this is Carly, knower of all, saying… give me money.

FINE!

My title is actually two-fold today. That’s right, you get two rants for the price of one. But wait, order now and I’ll throw in a free horoscope. Yup. A $1,000,000.00 value all for the low low price of 100,000,000 installations of one penny! I should really get paypal.

Alright. So what am I yelling about today? Well despite the two separate topics, the nitty-gritty of the whole thing is my effort to avoid technology seeing as how it doesn’t really save time, money, or effort, but in fact will cost you dearly in these categories. Woohoo.

You may be a long time reader and are already familiar with a common theme that I’ve developed over the duration of this blog, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with the whole thing. First off, I’m a geek. I don’t want to be, but I know I am. Like intelligence I believe that there are several types of geekiness. For example, VanGogh, DaVinci, and Gretzky (Augh I hate MSWord, it doesn’t recognize VanGogh or DaVinci as words but it doesn’t question Gretzky, sick), anyway there are all comparable in terms of intelligence. They may not all have a high IQ but physical and artistic intelligence are just as valued, and as such all are quite gifted in their own way. This is my way of saying that I’m no ham radio grocery store variety geek, I do fall into the car geek area, but unfortunately, more and more, I’m becoming a run of the mill geek. Yup, you got it, rant number one: I’m updating my blog.

Not only that, I’m also checking my email, although no one really mails me, and I’m subscribed to online type radio dealies. It’s bad, I know. Not only do I worry about one blog, I have many, too many really, but being paranoid, I find the encouragement to continue in the slim chance of anyone checking out what I have to say. I mean I really don’t have anything else to do tonight, but I should still be sleeping, as I’m fairly tired from pimpin’ out a Neon at work today. It’s a tough job being the token female.

So yes, that was rant numero uno. It was short, but I think I’m in a short mood today. Oh, I also tried on bathing suits and discovered that I’m not tall in the slightest. It was pretty depressing and I can’t wear a bikini, but now it’s over, and on with the show…

Rant ni: (this means ‘two’ in another language. Really. It’s Japanese I think.) I was excited about an FM transmitter. For those of you how are now lost, as my father was when I had to explain the technological contortionist-like maneuvers I would have to procure to score a cheap MP3 player in my car… you plug a yoyo-shaped object into anything with a headphone jack and BINGO – it plays on the radio. Not every radio, just ones that are close by. Okies, not a big deal, well until I thought – hey, Carly, you know what would be spiffy? Using this on your Palm Pilot. Then you can watch Civic commercials with surround sound and listen to the 500ish songs on your card. Hmm, that would be pretty spiffy but would bring you dangerously close to putting tape on the nose bar of your glasses…

And as we all know, this wasn’t enough. My Palm pilot, as much as I love the lil’ guy, likes his power, so then I needed a car adaptor, and then something to hold it so it doesn’t fly around the car while I’m driving (hey – it could happen) and then batteries for the FM dealie, and songs that don’t suck (which is what I’m still hard at work with). So here I am, in front of a glowing white screen, loving the things that make my life extra miserable and even going so far as to contemplate signing up for the rest of my courses this year. No, we just aren’t on good enough terms yet.

I know that one day we’ll all be slaves to our evil computer overlords when we fully surrender independence and forget how to breathe on our own or maybe we’re just too lazy too. But hey – we’re still in the ‘friends with money stage’, you know the one, everyone really hated little Ralph but we all hung out with him and his sister Heather because their parents bought them go-carts and a pony, but one day they’ll both realize the truth and hire hitmen to take care of some childhood chums, but until then, meh, may as well enjoy the free ride while it lasts.

The Family Reunion Da Da Dummmmm

It’s that time of the year, as KFC would tell us it’s a time of picnics and BBQs where all of your family will join hands and sing together completing the great circle of life… but I think that we all know that somehow this magical description of what every family should be excludes every family. Yes, that’s right, it’s the family reunion.

I’m sure that everyone out there has been to at least one, and from experience most people could tell you that it’s a mosquito infested drunken fest put into place to give people a reason to not feel guilty the other 363 days a year that they spend cautiously avoiding any family connections they may have. It’s a good chance to see Uncle Bill between his rehab sessions and pray that this doesn’t affect your future chances at politics, or to see Aunt Nancy’s hellion children who seem to be powered on some kind of fuel consisting entirely of caffeine and evil. You get to see all of those cousins who are ‘excelling’ in every way and of course, are better than you, as well as all of the grandparents who have the bizarre gravitational pull to pinch your cheeks. Yes, ‘tis a magical time, maybe KFC is right.

For those of you who aren’t aware of my situation I have two sides to my family, evil and good. Fortunately this reunion was with the good side so it wasn’t as painful as it could have been. You see once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was going to be wooed by a handsome prince from Egypt with lots of money and a King father in the oil business. He sent her many presents and tried to get her hand in marriage. The Princesses’ best friend got married and she got to meet his brother, a pauper in comparison to the rich prince. The two fell in love and to the anger of the King and Queen, they were married. They had two children, an awesome princess and a special little prince. The two children were happy, and then one day the evil queen asked the awesome princess to move away from home, and not talk to her father or brother, but she would get everything she wanted. The princess was so awesome that she was all, “in yo’ dreams, talk to the hand,” and then kicked her cousins in the teeth, because sometimes people needed to be kicked in the teeth. She then laughed and did a little dance, bestowing her awesomeness to her people, jumped on a dragon and pulled a Rockefeller, which was hard to do on a dragon. The evil Queen was so wacked by this act that her head exploded into a million evil things like spiders with only seven legs, and now she only sees the awesome princess once a year to bestow enchanted K-days tickets to the girl. But this is not about them.

This is about the Good King’s family, who all rock, well mostly. They aren’t all evil and stuff, or at least they’re cool evil, not stupid evil. Anyway, so they all came over to our house as part of a semi-sleep deprived scheme my Dad dreamed up a year ago. But it was good, and I even drank. That’s right, I’ve become a boozehound. It’s pretty bad actually. I had two Mike’s hard lemonades over the three days. My Dad kept bugging me to drink a lot of water in between sips so I didn’t get a hangover. I told him to cram it. It was pretty great. Oh, and I had, get this… TWO DAYS OFF IN A ROW! Yuperonnies, two whole days off. It was incredible. Little sleep was to be had between a new baby and my Dad’s infatuation with Apollo 13 (long story), so much coffee was had, and food. Ugh, too much food, and bocce (I hate bocce ball).

As usual I’m kinda weird and need Carly time, which required careful disappearing acts, so that no one can trace you to your hiding space, having a car helps. Oh, and I got a hat. It’s a great hat, looks like a lampshade and it’s made out of grass.

I guess that’s about the largest disconnected string of ramblings I can piece together this morning. Go out, hug a family, even if it isn’t yours. This is guaranteed to stave off the guilt you may feel for blowing off your own, even if it’s only temporary until your next family reunion.
Off to get me a Mike’s…. just kidding, I need coffee.