tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43236669525418139272024-03-12T20:54:30.214-05:00Helena Inside-OutNot-so-literary musings on life, laughs and writing.
Equal parts truth, fiction and crappy photo editing.Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-36076530028255172832013-03-05T00:00:00.000-06:002013-03-05T00:00:00.587-06:00B-E-A-utifulI'm obsessed with beauty. I love anything and everything that promises to transform me from fugly to fab, and I fall for pretty much any gimmick I see.<br />
<br />
It's not a problem though, loveys. I love that I walk into Sephora and they know me by name; kinda like Norm on "Cheers," except my name's mispronounced 9 out of 10 times.<br />
<br />
Sure, I had to get a 2nd job to afford my frivolous Sephora sprees. But who doesn't want to spend all their free time in cosmetic paradise? Even the employees are gorgeous. It's pretty much the law there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-972pNKo4rfQ/UTVEZO8fC6I/AAAAAAAAAoI/hqFFKkzD8fY/s1600/blog+pic+-+Victor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jsa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-972pNKo4rfQ/UTVEZO8fC6I/AAAAAAAAAoI/hqFFKkzD8fY/s200/blog+pic+-+Victor.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Being paid to be hot.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the way, it's totally socially acceptable to photograph complete strangers while they're working, yes? I don't think he minded me taking his picture though. I mean, at first, I was a little unsure. But then he even called Security and asked them to make sure I made it out to my car okay. So we're cool.<br />
<br />
I truly do appreciate the artist's touch when it comes to makeup. The patience and expert application that goes into all the shading, blending, brushing, plucking, swiping, wiping and dusting is beyond fascinating to me.<br />
<br />
Makeup, when done correctly, is an incredibly powerful artform. One that I haven't by any means mastered, but I remain hopeful. I love watching YouTube tutorials on contouring facial features. I have no fewer than 6 books by geniuses such as Scott Barnes and my personal all-time fave, Kevyn Aucoin (R.I.P., lovey).<br />
<br />
I find myself staring at photographs of techniques I admire, but could never pull off myself, like this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1uyrprBrsrs/UTVHNg6QetI/AAAAAAAAAoY/jsetUR1iU6U/s1600/blog+pic+-+drag+queens.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" jsa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1uyrprBrsrs/UTVHNg6QetI/AAAAAAAAAoY/jsetUR1iU6U/s200/blog+pic+-+drag+queens.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>"Two snaps and twist around the world!"</em></span></td></tr>
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I'm infatuated with the color blue right now. I think it makes my brown eyes stand out even more, but I just can't seem to get it quite right. I've tried 4 different eye shadow palettes, 2 blue liquid eyeliners and 3 pencil eyeliners. I know I just don't have the talent to make it work the way I'd like, but that's just one of my mistakes. The biggest problem is that I fell in love with the look on one of the hottest chicks in existence:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MhpoZ4niYCY/UTVIYb2oG_I/AAAAAAAAAok/agsSiJ9GNgU/s1600/blog+pic+-+Rihanna.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jsa="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MhpoZ4niYCY/UTVIYb2oG_I/AAAAAAAAAok/agsSiJ9GNgU/s200/blog+pic+-+Rihanna.jpeg" width="142" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">That's beauty defined.</span></td></tr>
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I get it that Rihanna is an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10, while I'm probably at the higher end of a solid 3. Fine. But I've seen the miracles the right makeup artist can do, so I refuse to give up on myself.<br />
<br />
I have to believe that I too can rock this insanely gorgeous, eye-popping look. If I can't create it by my own hand, then I'll just ask the right artist to help me. I already tried asking my <strike>boyfriend</strike> beauty expert at Sephora, but the security guard keeps interrupting me every time I'm there begging him to do me.<br />
<br />
Finally my daughter offered her services. She's young, but I'm all about girl-power, and I highly encourage support of our girls' dreams. Not to mention, she's a pretty kick-ass artist in her own right. She's mature for her age, in the gifted program, and has a super-steady hand. <br />
<br />
"Fine," I told her. "Make me look like Rihanna."<br />
<br />
She took the photo I'd torn from my magazine and carefully studied it. She noted the blend of blue on the top lid and gray on the bottom, and complemented the way they intensified her eye color. I knew in that moment that I'd found my artist.<br />
<br />
I plopped down on the couch, closed my eyes, and sat in silence while she thoughtfully chose shades and expertly blended them with the variety of brushes on hand. And in no time, loveys, no time at all, I was transformed:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Me5XGNQOZwE/UTVKz8m1gyI/AAAAAAAAAo0/n9gIU_YoFak/s1600/blog+pic+-+me+after+Alicia's+makeover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jsa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Me5XGNQOZwE/UTVKz8m1gyI/AAAAAAAAAo0/n9gIU_YoFak/s200/blog+pic+-+me+after+Alicia's+makeover.png" width="125" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Behold the swan!</span></td></tr>
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Remember what I said, loveys. Support our nation's children! They are our future!<br />
<br />
So if anyone else wants to look like this on purpose, my 6 year-old is giving makeovers for 25 cents. The line forms on the left. And feel free to tip generously. 'Cause we're headed to Sephora!Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-87589496933013297022013-03-04T00:00:00.000-06:002013-03-04T18:50:39.201-06:00I THINK I'VE FALLEN FOR YOUHello, and happy March, loveys! I do hope the last half of February treated you well. Please do pardon my absence. I sometimes struggle to balance work, family and blogging while still finding time to eat, sleep and breathe.<br />
<br />
I was thinking of you guys, however, today when I miscalculated a step and nearly broke my butt bone in two. I've come to realize there is an ever-widening distance between me and that jackass called Gravity. It's not even because I'm old; nor because I'm probably legally blind. <br />
<br />
Typically I'm just walking along, minding my own biz, when out of nowhere, the freaking floor jumps up and bitch-slaps me in the face! It happens to the best of us, though. Same thing happened to Nicole Richie recently.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xW8nFLVjJLU/UTOcLxTKH5I/AAAAAAAAAmw/uz6LrCLNNZA/s1600/blog+pic+-+nicole+richie+falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xW8nFLVjJLU/UTOcLxTKH5I/AAAAAAAAAmw/uz6LrCLNNZA/s200/blog+pic+-+nicole+richie+falling.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">That ground came out of nowhere!</span></td></tr>
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The only thing you can do when it's your turn, besties, is laugh. You may as well laugh, because if I'm around, I'm sure as hell going to. (Unless you're legit injured. In that case, I'll likely have already started laughing before I realize you're hurt, but I swear I'll stop ASAP. Or at the very least, I'll walk away and not laugh where you can see me.)<br />
<br />
I mean, even Justin Bieber can laugh at himself: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqVqLN2jKsk/UTOdozzCzkI/AAAAAAAAAnA/bFNH5hAXb9o/s1600/blog+pic+-+justin+b+faceplant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fqVqLN2jKsk/UTOdozzCzkI/AAAAAAAAAnA/bFNH5hAXb9o/s1600/blog+pic+-+justin+b+faceplant.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Who the hell put see-through glass on this door?!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t1w6nw38Eck/UTOdk9WSD1I/AAAAAAAAAm8/g8pRgAfjvvw/s1600/blog+pic+-+justin+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t1w6nw38Eck/UTOdk9WSD1I/AAAAAAAAAm8/g8pRgAfjvvw/s1600/blog+pic+-+justin+b.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">It's all good if the hair's still okay.</span></td></tr>
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So I guess I'm not the only one who has floors and doors coming out of nowhere. It seems none of us are immune, loveys. Please do use extreme caution when going about your daily routine. I realize there are times that no amount of vigilance will protect us from the evils of gravitational pull though. Even royalty can succumb. <br />
<br />
I mean, just look at Lady Gaga; Minding her own biz, swaggin' it through the airport and rocking a super-sensible and appropriate travel look, <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fUmbURYI2k8/UTOfVXg1ZnI/AAAAAAAAAnI/YGpdzqjNEZ8/s1600/blog+pic+-+gaga+walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fUmbURYI2k8/UTOfVXg1ZnI/AAAAAAAAAnI/YGpdzqjNEZ8/s1600/blog+pic+-+gaga+walking.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Same look you or I might rock to the laundromat. No biggie.</span></td></tr>
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when out of nowhere the freaking floor gets all up in her face:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D9WC6KU4j8s/UTOfzPe8v1I/AAAAAAAAAnQ/YSnQyNQhTfI/s1600/blog+pic+-+gaga+falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D9WC6KU4j8s/UTOfzPe8v1I/AAAAAAAAAnQ/YSnQyNQhTfI/s1600/blog+pic+-+gaga+falling.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's funny, and it's entertaining. I get that. But loveys, when is enough going to be enough? <br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IgY1sfdti2c/UTOgzbuBlkI/AAAAAAAAAng/YJQBlS5vdDw/s1600/blog+pic+-+snooki+falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IgY1sfdti2c/UTOgzbuBlkI/AAAAAAAAAng/YJQBlS5vdDw/s1600/blog+pic+-+snooki+falling.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Leave our national treasures alone! </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><em>*shakes fist at gravity*</em></span></td></tr>
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I don't go down without a fight though, loveys. Believe that. Just like you see in the above fists of Bieber, and the smack of Gaga's palm, and the karate-chop of Snooki's tiny li'l hand, I always do my best to fight back. Like all the cool kids do: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXBhe5Ga-J4/UTOjLbA3NaI/AAAAAAAAAno/tyIH4AnRN8g/s1600/snooki+falling+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zXBhe5Ga-J4/UTOjLbA3NaI/AAAAAAAAAno/tyIH4AnRN8g/s1600/snooki+falling+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Hi-yah! Take <em>that</em>, concrete!"</span></td></tr>
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<br />
And I don't know about you, but I personally like to windmill my arms on the way down, for maximum embarrassment. Like this chick: <br />
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jU2HUcJQDMM/UTOjr2sK8EI/AAAAAAAAAnw/Q24JEwPQnp8/s1600/blog+pic+-+Jessica+Stroup+falling.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jU2HUcJQDMM/UTOjr2sK8EI/AAAAAAAAAnw/Q24JEwPQnp8/s320/blog+pic+-+Jessica+Stroup+falling.png" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">In case your fall was too discreet, flail </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">your arms like you're on fire, like we do. </span></td></tr>
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Even supermodels have been known to momentarily ditch being better than everyone else, in order to eat the ground. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4a0fGbtCSgg/UTOkrZGHIYI/AAAAAAAAAn4/JF4pFoIXpIw/s1600/blog+pic+-+elizabeth+hurley+falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4a0fGbtCSgg/UTOkrZGHIYI/AAAAAAAAAn4/JF4pFoIXpIw/s320/blog+pic+-+elizabeth+hurley+falling.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Oh, bollocks-pish-posh-and-fiddlesticks!"</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><em>(That's how I imagine an English model cursing.)</em></span></td></tr>
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We're all in this together, loveys. Don't let your guard down and keep your eyes open for poles, doors and floors that come out of nowhere. Because as ridiculous as these people look, chances are we'll still manage to look even worse. Vigilance is key!<br />
<br />
Yours in clumsiness,<br />
HelenaHelena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-47068358639983627542013-02-14T00:00:00.000-06:002013-02-14T00:00:10.891-06:00HAPPY HEARTS DAY!Well, hello there, besties. May I be the first to wish you a Happy <strike>Meaningless</strike> Valentine's Day.<br />
<br />
Big plans for this V-Day? Pehaps you'll join the crowds in some snazzy restaurant? Purchase flowers for 5 times what they'd have cost you this time last week? Offer chocolates, cards, or stuffed animals?<br />
<br />
None of that for me, loveys. No siree. I'm just not that gal. <br />
<br />
Bah, luvbug!<br />
<br />
It's just that I believe <em>every</em> day should be treated like Valentine's Day. Don't let me go. Most people forget that love has to be nourished, on the daily, or it wilts and dies. Kinda like those overpriced flowers you got.<br />
<br />
It's just not cool to forget I even exist on most days, then around mid-February shower me with heart-shaped candies and a card you got at the gas station on the way home, and think <em>That'll do, pig.</em> <br />
<br />
Suck it, Cupid!<br />
<br />
I shall stay home alone in protest, nuke my sodium-rich dinner for one, and possibly indulge in a boink-fest once the kids are asleep, if I'm still awake when my Valentine gets home.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of romance. I love the idea of real love. I mean, thinking someone out there could look at me and see me - I mean, <em>really</em> <em>see</em> <em>me</em> - and still love me in spite of my nerdiness, and embarrassing laugh, and huge sweatpants collection...Yeah, I want that. But I want it - no, I actually <em>need</em> it - every single day.<br />
<br />
And it doesn't take much to please me, loveys. I'm super-simple. <br />
<br />
I absolutely adore a man who will surprise me with flowers, not because the calendar told him to, but because he wants to make me smile. They don't even have to be store-bought; hand-picked is a-ok for me.<br />
A random text just to say "I'm thinking of you." melts my heart.<br />
<br />
A dude who truly loves my babies, and would protect them without a second thought is irreplaceable to me.<br />
<br />
I need a man who doesn't need to spend a single dollar to have fun. We can sit at the kitchen table playing cards, or duke it out in the living room on Wii boxing (better let me win though), or we could just turn the tv off and talk and laugh and joke around. <br />
<br />
The simple things are what makes a Valentine for me, loveys. <br />
<br />
And you know what? I think I have that dude. He takes care of me and supports my far-fetched dreams. And for whatever reason, he loves me. I don't know what tomorrow brings, guys. But I do know that for me it will still be, in some way or another, just another Valentine's Day.<br />
<br />
xoxo, loveys!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-12955592128399034982013-02-12T00:00:00.000-06:002013-02-12T00:00:03.681-06:00LIFE IN THE POORHOUSESo I'm sitting here minding my own business, pretending to write but actually bouncing around the internet, when I came across <a href="http://finance.yahoo.com/news/first-person-had-no-savings-40-retired-60-180400536--finance.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">this story</span></a> of a man who built up his own comfy retirement in just 20 short years. He cut up his 13 credit cards, lived modestly and paid all his debts off extremely fast.<br />
<br />
Damn.<br />
<br />
My entire retirement fund at this point consists of the trash bag of empty soda cans in my trunk and the $20 in birthday money my mom will send me this year.<br />
<br />
<em>*shame-face*</em><br />
<br />
I've still got plenty of time though, right? It's like my bestie Buzz Lightyear says, "This is no time to panic."<br />
<br />
All I have to do is come up with a few cash-grab ideas, then simply <em>not</em> spend the cash I grab. Easy-peezy.<br />
<br />
Fund-raising ideas are all around us, if you look hard enough. Let's see here...<br />
<ul>
<li><strong><u>Wishing wells/or fountains</u></strong> - hold your nose, dive in, grab the coins and <em>Voila</em>!</li>
<li><u><strong>Cash in your gold!</strong></u> Teeth or fillings, that is. Face it, lovey. Nobody looks cute with a grill. Not even you, Nelly. Gold teeth are so 5 years ago. Trade your teeth! (It's not as hillbilly as it sounds, I swear.)</li>
<li><strong><u>Donate plasma</u></strong> - I can't do needles though, loveys. So donate some for me while you're there and we'll split it 50/50.</li>
<li><strong><u>Turn snitch!</u></strong> I saw a billboard yesterday offering "Cash for tips" from <a href="http://stlrcs.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Crimestoppers</span></a>. I blinked twice to make sure it wasn't a money-mirage of some sort, but it was indeed real. Just make sure the money you get is enough to get your ass outta town afterward, 'cause <em>"You in danger, girl!"</em></li>
<li><strong><u>Beg online!</u></strong> Post a pathetic Facebook picture of yourself holding a sign. Something like <em>"My grandpa said if I can get 1 million Likes, he'll pad my savings account."</em></li>
<li><u><strong>Become a model!</strong></u> I'm about 5 inches too short and 50 pounds too fat for the high-fashion stuff, but I could totally pose for something realistic, like store-bought movie theater snacks. Is that a thing? I'll go ahead and start on my portfolio, just in case:</li>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XbtlULozaaE/URgN19p3W2I/AAAAAAAAAmA/Lt_DqJo4cX8/s1600/blog+pic+-+preg+snack+belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XbtlULozaaE/URgN19p3W2I/AAAAAAAAAmA/Lt_DqJo4cX8/s200/blog+pic+-+preg+snack+belly.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Supermodel Step 1:</u> Work it and twerk it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M3cZhuNo-r0/URgOd88ZFrI/AAAAAAAAAmI/Sj6ErBhWD-Q/s1600/blog+pic+-+editing+preg+belly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" jea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M3cZhuNo-r0/URgOd88ZFrI/AAAAAAAAAmI/Sj6ErBhWD-Q/s320/blog+pic+-+editing+preg+belly.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Supermodel Step 2:</u> Sell that shit!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyvgAa3KtWU/URgOviEF9aI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/62mz6JfSv18/s1600/blog+pic+-+movie+snacks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" jea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QyvgAa3KtWU/URgOviEF9aI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/62mz6JfSv18/s320/blog+pic+-+movie+snacks.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><u>Supermodel Step 3:</u> Sign a contract for mills.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Refuse to sign autographs, marry a musician</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">and have an affair with my personal plastic surgeon.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: black;">Wow. I think I've just mapped out my own plan for a cushy retirement. I should be ready in about 5 years, by my math. Well, as long as I don't keep spending it like crazy.</span><br />
<br />
And that's where my FAIL ALERT starts blaring.<br />
<br />
Confession: Spending is my weakness. In fact, I braved a thunderstorm just to be at Target when they opened, in order to snatch up some of Prabal Gurung's collection on last Sunday's debut. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2zMOJ5CsG8Y/URgMUD604RI/AAAAAAAAAl4/F937HSnbSHI/s1600/blog+pic+-+Prabal+Gurung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2zMOJ5CsG8Y/URgMUD604RI/AAAAAAAAAl4/F937HSnbSHI/s200/blog+pic+-+Prabal+Gurung.jpg" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Clearly, they surpassed the "Want" category </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">and fell into the "Need" category. Loves it!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's totally okay though. I mean, I was extra-smart about it and only bought what I needed. (What I <em>need</em> may be topic for debate, but there's no time for that right now, loveys-we're too busy saving money!) Anyhoo, I was also careful to buy it in a size too small, because that's the practical way to lose weight, duh. I also only bought a couple of items so they could easily be stashed in my closet, carefully hidden among all the other dresses I've collected over the years that I still can't squeeze into.
<br />
<em>Not</em> spending is the tricky part, loveys.<br />
<br />
So now what? <br />
<br />
<em>*taps foot*</em><br />
<br />
Well don't look at me! I came up with all the ideas for bringing home the moolah so it's only fair that you come up with the ideas for saving our coinage. <br />
<br />
Just let me know when you've got some good ideas. I'll be over here on Zappos.com until then. Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-20789183873508181812013-02-11T00:00:00.000-06:002013-02-11T00:00:02.267-06:00MOVIE NIGHT!Hello and happy Monday, loveys! <br />
<br />
Weekend treated you well? <br />
<br />
Mine was fabulous, thanks. I had the chance to watch my current pretend-girlfriend, Melissa McCarthy, in her latest film, IDENTITY THIEF.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rt2qUUToB0o/URf6XvsLNHI/AAAAAAAAAkY/0daNbiQi2hw/s1600/blog+pic+-+IDENTITY+THIEF.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" jea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rt2qUUToB0o/URf6XvsLNHI/AAAAAAAAAkY/0daNbiQi2hw/s200/blog+pic+-+IDENTITY+THIEF.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Funniest-ever story of someone ruining another's life.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Oh. My. Gosh. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend that you do. I laughed my mascara off.<br />
<br />
And I learned so much! For example, my pretend-girlfriend is actually a runner. For serious. She could very likely kick our asses in a 50 meter sprint. Check out this action shot of my girl: <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ctuh6ZOalGI/URf7CAd1EgI/AAAAAAAAAkg/lNflTcQZvbM/s1600/blog+pic+-+Identity+thief1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" jea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ctuh6ZOalGI/URf7CAd1EgI/AAAAAAAAAkg/lNflTcQZvbM/s1600/blog+pic+-+Identity+thief1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Breathe in through the nose; out through the nose."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Also, a pretty good part of the movie is set right here, in St. Louis. <br />
Score 1 for the Lou!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2rsRj2OfxE/URf8vACJlJI/AAAAAAAAAko/gReUXLNTU3M/s1600/blog+pic+-+identity+thief5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" jea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2rsRj2OfxE/URf8vACJlJI/AAAAAAAAAko/gReUXLNTU3M/s1600/blog+pic+-+identity+thief5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Treat me in St. Louis.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Eric Stonestreet has a small, yet hysterical part in the flick, which causes the whole thing to overflow with awesomesauce.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JJUaz78aiGo/URf86SfsifI/AAAAAAAAAkw/mud8oGE0nbU/s1600/blog+pic+-+identity+thief4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" jea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JJUaz78aiGo/URf86SfsifI/AAAAAAAAAkw/mud8oGE0nbU/s200/blog+pic+-+identity+thief4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Foxhole is the safety word!"</span><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This entire cast is amazing. <br />
<br />
<em>*winks at the screen*</em> <br />
<br />
"What's up, T.I.?" <br />
<br />
<em>*crouches down to blow his short self a kiss*</em> <br />
<br />
But still nobody holds a candle to my girl Melissa. And can I just tell you how I'm absolutely infatuated with dimpled cheeks? (Sidebar: You ever notice how dimples can make even the biggest asshole project a sweetheart vibe? Super-smart con by all the dimpled assholes out there, by the way.)<br />
Anyhoo, that doesn't apply to my gal. She rules. I love her curls, her blue eyeshadow, and even her voice. <em>Adoration alert!</em><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9GlAzHXO9N8/URf961Ydd3I/AAAAAAAAAk4/z5EvRV8Cyns/s1600/blog+pic+-+identity+thief3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" jea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9GlAzHXO9N8/URf961Ydd3I/AAAAAAAAAk4/z5EvRV8Cyns/s1600/blog+pic+-+identity+thief3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">What's not to love?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now that you have a clear picture of just how much I heart her, you'll understand the degree of seriousness when I confess to you there's one person in this film I loved just a teensy-weensy-smidge more. <br />
<br />
It wasn't my fault though. I had no idea my future ex-boyfriend was in this movie. None. (Otherwise, I'd have worn an extra pantyliner and not gone to see the movie with my freaking brother.)<br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: #444444; font-size: x-small;"><strong>**DISCLAIMER: I must give fair warning to the atheists reading this, because what I'm about to show you will probably be all the proof you'll need to realize that yes, there is most definitely a God.</strong></span></em><br />
<br />
Behold, Morris Chestnut:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-abZpOBFa0r0/URf_glEGpMI/AAAAAAAAAlE/VOfq-BK69Ys/s1600/blog+pic+-+Morris+Chestnut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" jea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-abZpOBFa0r0/URf_glEGpMI/AAAAAAAAAlE/VOfq-BK69Ys/s200/blog+pic+-+Morris+Chestnut.jpg" width="172" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Oh, sweet Jesus!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Enjoy your week, loveys. And if you need a laugh, go check this movie out. You're welcome.<br />
Love,<br />
Helena ChestnutHelena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-90131235109655333152013-02-05T00:00:00.000-06:002013-02-05T00:00:07.683-06:00INDEPENDENCE DAY!!Today I was thinking about my old teenage days. Days when I literally counted down till I'd be grown-up enough to move outta my parents' house and finally - <em>finally</em> - be on my own. I was a senior in high school, ready to take on the world, and naturally, I knew pretty much everything. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
Ah, the sweet feel of independence was mine!<br />
<br />
I planned to live life to the fullest. <br />
<br />
<em>Party time!</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6lZ7CY20lBQ/URBLuQ9diII/AAAAAAAAAjY/RT73HaqDWBA/s1600/blog+pic+-+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6lZ7CY20lBQ/URBLuQ9diII/AAAAAAAAAjY/RT73HaqDWBA/s200/blog+pic+-+party.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Independence rules!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So out I went.<br />
<br />
Didn't take me too long to realize that independence can be a tad scary. I mean, it's kind of nice being totally on your own, but at the same time...Dude, you're totally on your own.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q4hN6oHeqpY/URBMXFAll6I/AAAAAAAAAjg/jUr-Qa6mD9s/s1600/blog+pic+-+Ramen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="135" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q4hN6oHeqpY/URBMXFAll6I/AAAAAAAAAjg/jUr-Qa6mD9s/s200/blog+pic+-+Ramen.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I'm eating Ramen noodles like it's my job.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Getting out there and doing things for yourself can be a scary thing, loveys. It takes guts and will and heart. That's why I so love our independent musicians, artists, and, my personal fave, authors. It's an extremely tough gig, spending months (or even years) writing one book, only to shop it around and have it rejected by agents or publishers. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IGMjGXmg9Ew/URBO7OUbLAI/AAAAAAAAAjo/OYUTI9zSrec/s1600/DSCN0789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IGMjGXmg9Ew/URBO7OUbLAI/AAAAAAAAAjo/OYUTI9zSrec/s200/DSCN0789.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"What do you mean you don't like my book?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It sucks cactus.<br />
<br />
But our independent authors have taken their work's fate into their own hands, by investing their own money (which can be <em>thousands</em> of dollars, by the way) in order to self-publish. They write, edit, format, find a cover artist or design their own cover art and build up their social networks. And <em>then</em> they have the arduous task of getting the word out and hopefully getting enough people to buy it to cover their costs. Something I'd never have the nads to try myself.<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how many independent gems I've found through networking on Twitter or searching Amazon, but there are loads. Authors whose work I'd have otherwise never found if I only relied on the bestseller lists or some retail store. Just to name one, there's this chick, G.P. Ching. My fave of hers is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Soulkeepers-Series-ebook/dp/B004RR1NZI" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">The Soulkeepers</span></a>:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZlB55ERFSY/URBQm6QdPAI/AAAAAAAAAjw/bEfIsjIwEFk/s1600/blog+pic+-+Soulkeepers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZlB55ERFSY/URBQm6QdPAI/AAAAAAAAAjw/bEfIsjIwEFk/s1600/blog+pic+-+Soulkeepers.jpg" /></a></div>
Crazy-good read right there. You should check it out.<br />
<br />
Today another author I know celebrates her release day. I haven't had the chance to read it yet, but I am still super-happy to share in her excitement. After all the hard work, all the time and money she's invested, I invite you to check out <a href="http://kizzykjohnson.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Kizzy Johnson's</span></a> book, Coffee Shop Therapist.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xK_8JUW59OY/URBRMmiqP9I/AAAAAAAAAj4/wPHE52cLPdU/s1600/blog+pic+-+Kizzy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xK_8JUW59OY/URBRMmiqP9I/AAAAAAAAAj4/wPHE52cLPdU/s1600/blog+pic+-+Kizzy.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Whenever you can, loveys, I encourage you to support our independent peeps. It means all the difference to them, I promise you.<br />
<br />
Some days I wonder if my books will ever get out there. I still remain hopeful, but most times that hope is smothered out by doubt. So I have to bow down and give major props to my author and artist friends who put themselves out there, claiming their own independence.<br />
<br />
<em>*extends hands* *offers major props*</em><br />
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-66766808314792209362013-02-04T00:00:00.000-06:002013-02-04T00:00:05.856-06:00HAPPY MONDAY?Well, hello there, lovey. Weekend treated you well?<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but my February has been super-duper busy. And to think we're only a few days in! Please excuse me while I try to catch my breath.<br />
<br />
<em>*breathes*</em><br />
<br />
Ah, that's better, thank you.<br />
<br />
I've even been fortunate enough to hire an assistant this month, but I'm still always in a constant state of breathlessness. What gives?<br />
<br />
And don't get me wrong; this guy's been awesome. Always here, fussing over me and nurturing my every whim and fake heart attack. Offering CPR when I complain of not being able to catch my breath. <br />
<br />
He's a total sweetie and I hate to be the bad gal here, but I think I'm gonna have to let him go, loveys.<br />
<br />
I'll never get anything done if I keep this guy around: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QvTeJ8Li_zw/UQ8HB6r0TTI/AAAAAAAAAi4/MDNDRJpjA_Q/s1600/blog+pic+-+assistant.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QvTeJ8Li_zw/UQ8HB6r0TTI/AAAAAAAAAi4/MDNDRJpjA_Q/s320/blog+pic+-+assistant.png" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"What can I do for you, boss?"</span><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You see? There it goes again. Back to being breathless. <br />
<br />
Have a great week, besties.<br />
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-73674926105046289832013-01-31T00:00:00.000-06:002013-01-31T00:00:10.928-06:00PLAY ON, PLAYA!I don't mean to brag, but I'm kind of awesome at games. I crush my opponents at Scrabble, checkers, and spades. And Battleship? <em>Psh!</em> Don't even try me.<br />
<br />
(I do suck at mind games though. Please don't try those on me, 'cause I will totes lose.)<br />
<br />
But if you, lovey, would like to challenge me to a friendly game of skee-ball or perhaps we could have a dance fight on the Xbox, I gladly accept.<br />
<br />
I will warn you, however, that I am a Black-belt gamer:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8a7URnUV5g/UQncXZq2yQI/AAAAAAAAAhg/-rsk4ImxrTQ/s1600/blog+pic+-+Wii+with+Alicia.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g8a7URnUV5g/UQncXZq2yQI/AAAAAAAAAhg/-rsk4ImxrTQ/s200/blog+pic+-+Wii+with+Alicia.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">All's fair in love and Wii.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's totally okay to cover your opponent's eyes, according to the rules I make up when it suits me. As long as you only do it <em>sometimes</em>, and as long as you don't do it to me. Then it's perfectly fine.<br />
<br />
No worries, lovebugs. My kids are used to my competitive side. Actually our entire family consists of champion fun-havers. Nothing like chillaxin' with a game after a long, hard day at daycare. Am I right, guys?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OzTQWUsKyig/UQnc-Lzm_LI/AAAAAAAAAho/Z25m2Rkr5J8/s1600/blog+pic+-+kids+playing+LeapPad.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OzTQWUsKyig/UQnc-Lzm_LI/AAAAAAAAAho/Z25m2Rkr5J8/s200/blog+pic+-+kids+playing+LeapPad.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A family that plays together, stays together.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My favorite games are the specialty ones, like the Monopoly-St. Louis version, or the chess game using Lord of the Rings pieces, or like this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5r_kasUD7ns/UQneB6LyBfI/AAAAAAAAAhw/3RqBeg0lwiU/s1600/blog+pic+-+dominoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5r_kasUD7ns/UQneB6LyBfI/AAAAAAAAAhw/3RqBeg0lwiU/s200/blog+pic+-+dominoes.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Bones!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But please don't let the sweet jewels fool ya, besties. And let's not twist my love for you when I tell you that I will thrash a challenger with my super-cute Dominoes. Believe that.<br />
<br />
I've learned a lot on my path to being self-proclaimed Game Champion. You know what's an invaluable part of kicking someone's butt in a game? The art of the bluff. Sometimes you can shake someone's confidence just by convincing them you've already won. They've half given up before it's even started. <em>Winning! </em><br />
<br />
And the face is essential. Anyone who's ever watched a poker tournament will tell you that. If you're not good at bluffing with the eyes, follow the pro's lead and rock sunglasses. Hide half your face with a baseball cap or hoodie. Just whatever you do, you've <em>gotta</em> master the face. When you get ready to play, you need to have your poker face on, or your game face on, or maybe even your "O" face on. Whatever it takes. Never let 'em see you sweat. No matter how hot it gets in that hoodie.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><strong>Exhibit A:</strong></u></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPJ3zE7Zuak/UQnfnYOsJkI/AAAAAAAAAh4/_B7x5XO6mTA/s1600/blog+pic+-+poker+face.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPJ3zE7Zuak/UQnfnYOsJkI/AAAAAAAAAh4/_B7x5XO6mTA/s200/blog+pic+-+poker+face.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>Poker face.</strong></span><br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You see? I could probably kick ass on one of those bore-me-to-death poker shows on ESPN. In fact, I think I will go ahead and enter myself. Right after I learn to play poker.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><strong>Exhibit B:</strong></u></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BF4y6MVBCCE/UQngMXQ1qjI/AAAAAAAAAiA/KFItZlXpZh4/s1600/blog+pic+-+Tic+tac+toe+face.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BF4y6MVBCCE/UQngMXQ1qjI/AAAAAAAAAiA/KFItZlXpZh4/s200/blog+pic+-+Tic+tac+toe+face.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>Tic-tac-toe face.</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You see what I did there? Because my game face is right on point, my opponent had no clue I was beating him <em>and</em> calling him a "ho," all at once. Mad skills.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><strong>Exhibit C:</strong></u></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fIh55Q4abXw/UQng_nK_d-I/AAAAAAAAAiI/YbKYBH07sZo/s1600/blog+pic+-+Memory+face.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fIh55Q4abXw/UQng_nK_d-I/AAAAAAAAAiI/YbKYBH07sZo/s200/blog+pic+-+Memory+face.jpeg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>Memory face.</strong></span><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And that, my friends, is how it's done. Give good face. Play like a pro. Win repeatedly, and then send me a commission on any gambling earnings.<br />
<br />
Play on, playa! <br />
<br />
<em>*Does the Sammy Sosa finger kiss, chest touch, peace sign* </em><br />
<em>*struts out*</em>Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-56099561527775702462013-01-30T00:00:00.000-06:002013-01-30T00:00:12.723-06:00GIRL POWER!You know what I love? <strong>Bad ass chicks</strong>, that's what.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_pu_04RpBEg/UQiQ9zSTsbI/AAAAAAAAAhE/fLbQ4hO1EyU/s1600/blog+pic+-+chicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_pu_04RpBEg/UQiQ9zSTsbI/AAAAAAAAAhE/fLbQ4hO1EyU/s200/blog+pic+-+chicks.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>Chicks rule!</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
What's not to love?<br />
<br />
Michelle Rodrigez, Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, Ugly Betty, Betty White, and Betty Boop? I heart all of those chicks. They're all hardcore, they're all hot, and they could all whoop Chris Brown one-on-one.<br />
<br />
You know, I remember the very first lady who really made me realize girls are indeed <em>way</em> better than boys. <br />
Picture it: I'm a mature 9 year-old, taking time out of my busy summer Atari-playing to dream up a grown-up job that wouldn't take too much time away from my future career as a model/actress/wife-of-Michael Jackson. That's when my insta-fave new show, "Hunter," came on, and I saw <em><strong>her</strong></em>. Dee Dee McCall.<br />
<br />
<em>*heavenly choir sounds here*</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgbYcptfPUI/UQh0eF6kLkI/AAAAAAAAAgI/dxOlYxhPefM/s1600/blog+pic+-+DeeDee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="152" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tgbYcptfPUI/UQh0eF6kLkI/AAAAAAAAAgI/dxOlYxhPefM/s200/blog+pic+-+DeeDee.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I've never been in roll call, but I'm sure it goes down like this:</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">80's hair? Check.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Extra eyeliner and lipstick? Check.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Dangly earrings and gold headband? Check.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><em>Alright, McCall, you're totes ready for badass chick patrol.</em></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From the very first time I watched that show, I quickly made up my mind to abandon my future life as a Hollywood glamazon. That super-gorgeous police chick made me do an about-face, and I had my mind dead-set, for about the entire next decade, on being a police chick also. For all of my young life, I never wavered from that goal. <br />
<br />
Well, until I went off to college as a Criminal Justice major and realized being a cop isn't as glam as I'd thought. Turns out, it's actually a wee bit dangerous. <br />
<br />
<em>*Mind-change!*</em><br />
<br />
That's when I turned to a life of crime. And by "crime," I mean moving back in with my parents in order to spend Saturday nights playing Scrabble with my mom. But it was still a life of crime, if you think about it. Being such a devout word-nerd is kinda criminal.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9QUgoApP5tI/UQiJZb_Or3I/AAAAAAAAAgk/wYpu14dDbtE/s1600/funny.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="140" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9QUgoApP5tI/UQiJZb_Or3I/AAAAAAAAAgk/wYpu14dDbtE/s200/funny.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><strong>Spelling is sexy!</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">(Can someone get me a shirt with that on there?)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Speaking of sexy spellers, my reigning badass girl I still crush on is this chick:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bpE4E4e-cEI/UQiKASjehlI/AAAAAAAAAgs/RXv11JEikno/s1600/Jennifer+Weiner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bpE4E4e-cEI/UQiKASjehlI/AAAAAAAAAgs/RXv11JEikno/s200/Jennifer+Weiner.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>Swoon!</em></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You guys know of my love for Jennifer Weiner. In fact, I just started re-reading "Then Came You" again last night. I can't think of any other author whose words yank me in like hers. And the way she champions for girls non-stop, no matter who the Goliath may be, is purely inspiring. I would never, <em>ever</em> have the guts, courage, or wit to stand up for women the way she does. I heart her so hard, if I was still in school, I'd graffiti all my notebooks with Helena Weiner. (I still do graffiti, but usually I just trace "Helena luvs weiners" in the dirt on my car.)
<br />
But you know what, loveys? I'll tell you about the chick that rocked my face <em>all-the-way</em> off. That lady was the gem I had the pleasure of calling my very own Grammy.<br />
<br />
Today would have been her birthday, and she would've likely cooked up some vile concoction nobody except my brother Jeff would eat. Ah, my Grammy. <br />
She was famous for her love of all things purple, for always having the best candies on hand, and for always making her best effort to look amazeballs, even through a tough fight with an asshole opponent named Cancer.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jtg-91rlVP0/UQiNHbfgKGI/AAAAAAAAAg8/rOm_bk5g8Go/s1600/Grammy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jtg-91rlVP0/UQiNHbfgKGI/AAAAAAAAAg8/rOm_bk5g8Go/s1600/Grammy.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Does this breathing tube make my butt look big?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's funny, the things you remember about people. <br />
Impressions are everything.<br />
For me, the impression was that she embodied badassness. One example? At the start of one of her many chemo rounds, Grammy took a quick therapy detour from the hospital to the beauty salon and had them dye her hair purple. Ha! That's a chick with moxie! <br />
<br />
If it were me, I'd sob myself into a stupor over knowing my hair would fall out. What a complete time-suck over something so stupid, right? <br />
<br />
Not this gal. She, (in her own sweet way), was kinda flipping cancer the bird and yelling "YOLO!" That's my homegirl.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tfk2nw3qQns/UQiMtSVW_wI/AAAAAAAAAg0/7n1TYgrFm8k/s1600/Grammy's+smile.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tfk2nw3qQns/UQiMtSVW_wI/AAAAAAAAAg0/7n1TYgrFm8k/s320/Grammy's+smile.bmp" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Purple hair, way before Kelly Osbourne. Trend-setter!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Impressions are everything, loveys. I hope I have made one on you. I won't be here forever, obvs, and I ain't leaving you jack, so that impression is all you'll have of me. <br />
<br />
I hope you will remember me as a girl who would do anything to make you smile, a girl who would do anything to offer needed comfort, and a girl who will go down in the books as being a bad ass chick.<br />
<br />
What impression will you leave?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: x-small;">R.I.P. <em>Helen</em> Inside-Out. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: x-small;">Love never dies.</span><br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-32897199665499782062013-01-29T00:00:00.000-06:002013-01-29T17:41:01.338-06:00LOU LOVEI've been feeling a little down lately, loveys. And not in the cool, "Girl, I'm <em>down</em> for whatevah!" kinda way. I mean the "I miss parts of my old Pacific Coast life" kinda down. <br />
<br />
I miss la familia I moved away from: <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-muRLz9sPTac/UQcdeNglf2I/AAAAAAAAAbU/J3-UTD-PuP8/s1600/08-08-2010+04;21;55PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" oea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-muRLz9sPTac/UQcdeNglf2I/AAAAAAAAAbU/J3-UTD-PuP8/s200/08-08-2010+04;21;55PM.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">It's okay. We're all family here.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tQs239YrpYE/UQcxgfucWWI/AAAAAAAAAeI/4Jlp7sVlZaE/s1600/L+Frost2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
I miss the friends I never see anymore. Those chicks are my family. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have a pack of friends like that again in my life, then I realize hell no, I won't, then I go eat my feelings.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6wu55nhH_Q/UQcd8QL9gYI/AAAAAAAAAbc/rlR7cSaWUaE/s1600/08-08-2010+05;20;37PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" oea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6wu55nhH_Q/UQcd8QL9gYI/AAAAAAAAAbc/rlR7cSaWUaE/s320/08-08-2010+05;20;37PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">What? A boob grab is like a handshake in our funky bunch.</span> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<em>*sigh*</em><br />
<br />
I never really know what to do about the bluey-blues, so I went back to bed. Just as I was pulling the covers over my head and screaming a promise to never come out, a photo on my nightstand caught my eye. <br />
<br />
A pic that reminded me my Missouri life isn't exactly Misery.<br />
<br />
This was taken last month with a couple of friends, one of whom I've known for about 20 years. (So I can only say nice stuff about her, 'cause she knows my whole rap sheet.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XO1dtOgIEqU/UQc85rg9xxI/AAAAAAAAAfc/Pm5tnBjP0fA/s1600/Me+Denia+Fabi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" oea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XO1dtOgIEqU/UQc85rg9xxI/AAAAAAAAAfc/Pm5tnBjP0fA/s200/Me+Denia+Fabi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Party over here!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not my smartest idea to wedge myself between the two models on either end, but nevertheless, that party was a blast. I had so much fun, it was only after I'd arrived home around 4:00 in the morning, that I realized I'd danced my feet into temporary paralysis. <br />
<br />
Score 1 for the Lou!<br />
<br />
You know what else? We also have great food here in St. Louis. Gus's Pretzels, Sweetie Pies and Ted Drewe's are legendary here. <br />
<br />
My personal fave, though, is this place, <a href="http://www.mile277.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">MILE 277</span></a>:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AWp9bD_XQ/UQcpPxY0EQI/AAAAAAAAAcE/QJPYEccVjbw/s1600/Mile+277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" oea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AWp9bD_XQ/UQcpPxY0EQI/AAAAAAAAAcE/QJPYEccVjbw/s200/Mile+277.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Don't go, unless you're ready for them to rock your face off.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not just because I have personally pranked every one of the kitchen and management staff there. <em>Allegedly.</em><br />
<br />
And not just because I worked there. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSyk8MGAaPg/UQcqn_oyrhI/AAAAAAAAAcg/SrdtMWuzOWs/s1600/Me+and+Denia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" oea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jSyk8MGAaPg/UQcqn_oyrhI/AAAAAAAAAcg/SrdtMWuzOWs/s200/Me+and+Denia.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Best waitress ever. No, for serious. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">My mom told me so.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But this place is just fun waiting to happen. The incredible food is just a bonus, really. I mean, they've got dancing, live bands, DJ battles, model searches, and Bike Night. <em>Yes, please! </em><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBLlieGErks/UQcrF2LSvqI/AAAAAAAAAc4/zKDHz3nZQNY/s1600/Mile+277+show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" oea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LBLlieGErks/UQcrF2LSvqI/AAAAAAAAAc4/zKDHz3nZQNY/s200/Mile+277+show.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Also a little reality TV show action going on at Mile 277.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Plus, they've got the best Jager-bombs, Irish car-bombs and even the best photobombs:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wZYd_UT8Bbo/UQctITcfRqI/AAAAAAAAAdc/q7OSyZbnDbk/s1600/Me+photobombing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" oea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wZYd_UT8Bbo/UQctITcfRqI/AAAAAAAAAdc/q7OSyZbnDbk/s320/Me+photobombing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Maybe the professional dance crew won't notice me ruining </span><span style="color: blue;">their </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">show for this shot if I blend in with a super-slick move of my own.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>*chuckles at her own buffoonery*</em><br />
<br />
I feel my spirits lifting at this point. Shall I proceed? Yes, I shall. <br />
<br />
So now I'm remembering why I came back home, to St. Louis, after all those years in Los Angeles. I have friends, I have fun, and most importantly, I have lots and lots of family. I even have my own makeshift fam of co-workers, people I just met, and childhood buds.<br />
<br />
And also the random stray I snatched, claimed as my own, and hid under my bed:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O4fIS_mfFhE/UQc71KonRqI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/457Ak0EHlB4/s1600/Me+and+Malachi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" oea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O4fIS_mfFhE/UQc71KonRqI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/457Ak0EHlB4/s200/Me+and+Malachi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">My precious...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Just kidding. That's my bud. My brother from another mother. And father. We're totes not related. But I seriously couldn't love him more if I'd created him myself. <br />
<br />
And can we talk about our local talent? Nelly, Cedric the Entertainer, the Cardinals...Duh. But we're also overflowing with talent you might not have ever heard of, like this kid, L.Frost:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" oea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tQs239YrpYE/UQcxgfucWWI/AAAAAAAAAeI/4Jlp7sVlZaE/s200/L+Frost2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Kid to the left, in the air. Bam! That's talent.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M9gwrrZDIKI/UQc1oROJyeI/AAAAAAAAAe0/PB54syOuXiE/s1600/L+Frost3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" oea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M9gwrrZDIKI/UQc1oROJyeI/AAAAAAAAAe0/PB54syOuXiE/s200/L+Frost3.jpg" width="136" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Just a little billboard he graced.</span></td></tr>
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You may have seen him in magazines, or on a billboard, or dancing with Chris Brown. Or if you stake out his house long enough, you can get a nice candid like this before you're arrested:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3GWnz8ARxc/UQcxkmgg9oI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/ERa4a7UI2QI/s1600/L+Frost4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" oea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N3GWnz8ARxc/UQcxkmgg9oI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/ERa4a7UI2QI/s200/L+Frost4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Security!"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
(Or if you're not as hardcore as me, you can just follow him <a href="https://twitter.com/MrLfrost" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">here on Twitter</span></a>, <strike>or in my sexy-time dreams</strike> or <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/lfrost.kidflash?fref=ts" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">here on Facebook</span></a>.) <br />
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Seriously, the kid's going places. Keep your eyes on the Lou, loveys. Artists galore here, I promise. </div>
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Okay, okay, okay. Pity party of the past is officially over. I'm glad and grateful to be right here, right now. :)</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hWKZjvlH58E/UQcoIkPEiHI/AAAAAAAAAb4/eE0m8Mh0kmM/s1600/St+Louis+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" oea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hWKZjvlH58E/UQcoIkPEiHI/AAAAAAAAAb4/eE0m8Mh0kmM/s200/St+Louis+love.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">My heart lives here.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
Thanks, loveys. <br />
You know who you are. <br />
Your sweet words, nice texts, and loving emails are really, really what keep me cheesin'. <br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-1625775180362843562013-01-28T00:00:00.000-06:002013-01-28T00:00:07.465-06:00SICK DAYSI've been sick this past week, loveys. <br />
<br />
<em>*cough, cough*</em><br />
<br />
And not just my usual Monday-itis. I mean, <em>for reals</em> sick. These flu cooties are totally kicking my butt. And I can never remember if Mom told me to feed a fever and starve a cold, or vice versa? So I just cover all my bases and gorge them both.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ISfU6gN2n78/UQViM38CwQI/AAAAAAAAAZw/UxKznCT0AY0/s200/20130127_104226%2525280%252529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Feed a cold, a fever, a boredom, a thirst...Whatever. Just feed it.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
At first, a day off work is ok. I mean, you can stay in your jammies all day, watch DVDs, and throw out the handy "But I'm sick!" excuse every time somebody asks for something. Woo-hoo!<br />
<br />
But then the next sick day comes, and the next, and the next, and it goes from Woo-hoo! to What-the-heck?! There's only so much <em>lazy-palooza</em>* I want to exhibit. <br />
<span style="color: #444444;">*lay-zee-puh-LOO-zuh: The act of being so lazy, you may as well be comatose. Ex: Not brushing your teeth for so many days, even the family dog (who ass-sniffs for recreation), can't stand the funk. </span><br />
<br />
There's only so much liver damage I can handle with all these OTC meds I'm abusing, and only so many prank texts I can send from my deathbed, and only so many times I can call and beg my boss not to fire me.<br />
<br />
You know I firmly believe the 3 very best cures to anything are: 1) Laughs, 2) Love and 3) Time. That's it. <br />
<br />
Now, they don't always work right that minute (that's where good drugs come in handy), but I promise you, they all work. I'll demonstrate:<br />
<span style="color: #20124d; font-size: x-small;"><strong>Disclaimer:</strong> I've never been to medical school, so I'm not a doctor, but when George Clooney was on "ER," I used to masturbate to his picture like twice a week, so I'm pretty qualified to dish on anatomy.</span><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><u><strong>Laughs.</strong></u> You should always try this one first, but I can't right now. My esophagus feels like I've deep-throated my nail file, so let's pass on this one for the time being.</li>
<li><u><strong>Love.</strong></u> I don't want to give anyone else my cooties, so I'll pass on this one also. (And despite my husband's argument that he's safe from my germs if I just bend over and use my pillow as a SARS mask, I'm still keeping my distance. Plus, he's never <em>once</em> jerked off to Clooney, so he's not reliable intel on medical matters like me.)</li>
<li><strong><u>Time.</u></strong> Ah, this one I can roll with. But how to make time <em>not</em> crawl by when you're ill? </li>
</ol>
<br />
<em>*ponders* </em><br />
<br />
I've gone through the offerings at RedBox, eaten everything in the house that wasn't expired, and surfed every corner of the internet, thanks to the Wi-Fi I stole from my neighbor. <em>*looks around for ideas*</em> So now what?<br />
<br />
It just so happens that during my stolen internet time, I stumbled upon a flower. I fell in love with this flower, loveys. Not because I was delusional from all my meds. And not just because I'm a girl, and girls like flowers. It was because this flower was created by someone's hand, and is breathtakingly gorgeous. It's hard for me not to be jealous of such a God-given talent.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Behold:</u> </div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lavV17SLOIY/UQViHnj-OYI/AAAAAAAAAZI/TfXdJEdi2es/s1600/2011-05-29_02.15.04-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lavV17SLOIY/UQViHnj-OYI/AAAAAAAAAZI/TfXdJEdi2es/s200/2011-05-29_02.15.04-1.jpg" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">That's pure talent. <em>*bows down*</em></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You guys know I love artistry. I love talent and creativity. And the idea that someone drew something so beautiful, made me want it. I contacted the artist, but was out of luck--the drawing was taken. So I did the next best thing, and recreated it! All. By. Myself. For serious!<br />
<br />
Loveys, I want you to know that I have never had an art class, except the ones forced on us in school. I never even had a desire to draw. In fact, I think I've only watched that Afro-wearing white guy draw "happy little clouds" once in my whole life. <br />
<br />
But when I recreated this artist's work, I realized that I too have been blessed with The Gift! <em>*sniffle*</em><br />
<br />
Please have tissues and smelling salts handy. And when your eyes fall upon my work, imagine heavenly choir sounds. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Behold:</u></div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DGEYcnLMP3A/UQViLP5FObI/AAAAAAAAAZg/8kwZr4M-amg/s1600/20130123_190119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DGEYcnLMP3A/UQViLP5FObI/AAAAAAAAAZg/8kwZr4M-amg/s200/20130123_190119.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I should probably go work for Disney or something.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I know, I know. I'm wasting my time writing. I should really go into drawing. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-k8gHvKM90-A/UQViLphBoKI/AAAAAAAAAZo/HTgtb44m4XU/s1600/sleeping%252520gorilla-picsay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-k8gHvKM90-A/UQViLphBoKI/AAAAAAAAAZo/HTgtb44m4XU/s200/sleeping%252520gorilla-picsay.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">If you turn it sideways, it could just</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">as easily become a napping gorilla. Genius!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Someone get Hallmark on the line! <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xcuGygoUpDs/UQVqUt5XqMI/AAAAAAAAAaU/5GcvElv704c/s1600/happy%252520little%252520picture-picsay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xcuGygoUpDs/UQVqUt5XqMI/AAAAAAAAAaU/5GcvElv704c/s320/happy%252520little%252520picture-picsay.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Self-taught coloring. I'm like the Bieber of crayons.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'll do cartoons. The possibilities are endless really. No, wait. I've got it! I think I'll become the sketch artist for WANTED posters. Yes! Picture it:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><u>WANTED:</u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This flu cootie is wanted for assault and battery on Helena's immune system.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><u>REWARD:</u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The reward is knowing you did a good deed. Oh, and a cookie. I'll also give you a cookie.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gtbShFOC5eA/UQViG1pEBgI/AAAAAAAAAZA/I6rWDwdtSuE/s1600/20130126_172002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gtbShFOC5eA/UQViG1pEBgI/AAAAAAAAAZA/I6rWDwdtSuE/s320/20130126_172002.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Notice the artistry used in my colored pencils. Of course, I'm way skinny here, but that's just because the pencil takes off 10 pounds.<br />
And yes, flu cooties DO have handle-bar mustaches. <em>Duh</em>. How else will you know they're evil? Well, there is one other way to tell...<br />
<br />
The effing curly-toed shoes. <em>Eww</em>. Can I just tell you how much I loathe seeing a perfectly hot dude rocking these horrendous shoes? Please, somebody, anybody, make it stop! See how wrong it is?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DlUpfPFiJsQ/UQViIkDov-I/AAAAAAAAAZY/b6zXnNd8U-A/s1600/fugly%252520shoe-picsay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DlUpfPFiJsQ/UQViIkDov-I/AAAAAAAAAZY/b6zXnNd8U-A/s320/fugly%252520shoe-picsay.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Friends don't let men wear curly-toed shoes.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I know we all have different tastes, styles and levels of visual acuity, so allow me to break it down for you. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>You may see this:</u></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-BJERXsKgZYE/UQVqVJyR4pI/AAAAAAAAAac/km4S9DJFUfo/s1600/%252524%252528KGrHqJHJEUE914cuV%252521zBPow-0cR%25252BQ%25257E%25257E60_35.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-BJERXsKgZYE/UQVqVJyR4pI/AAAAAAAAAac/km4S9DJFUfo/s320/%252524%252528KGrHqJHJEUE914cuV%252521zBPow-0cR%25252BQ%25257E%25257E60_35.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">No, no, no!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<u>But all I see is this:</u><br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Cljrt5JMuPA/UQVqT__ASeI/AAAAAAAAAaM/znHR89Y-q1I/s1600/Mexicans-pointy-boots_t614-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Cljrt5JMuPA/UQVqT__ASeI/AAAAAAAAAaM/znHR89Y-q1I/s320/Mexicans-pointy-boots_t614-1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
No one, <em>and I mean <strong>no one</strong></em>, should wear curly-toed shoes, unless their first name is Genie. <br />
Or Elf. <br />
Or Wicked Witch. <br />
(Or if you need to emergency-slalom away from a really crappy date.) <br />
But that's it!<br />
Seriously, who thinks these look good? <br />
<br />
Just...just...don't.<br />
<br />
(I was going to use my newfound illustrator skills to draw these fugly shoes for you besties, but I wanted to show that they do exist in real life, and inform you that anyone caught wearing them should be strongly encouraged to burn them.)<br />
<br />
Well, I've dished totally legit medical advice, taught valuable time-wasting techniques, and discovered my new talent. So I guess I'll sign off now, before the codeine cough syrup wears off and I realize the embarrassment I've caused myself here. <br />
xoxo Lovebugs!<br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-20986488147148765912013-01-21T13:52:00.000-06:002013-02-02T14:04:15.091-06:00DO-GOODERS<br />
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I’ll never change the world like Martin Luther King did, loveys. Not even close.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But in my own tiny ways, I still set out to do good. I’ll admit, I am an extremely lazy do-gooder though. Sure, I’ll write a check. I will donate to the Salvation Army kettle on my way out of the grocery store. I’ll even egg the shit out of my friend’s cheating ex’s house. Pretty much just your charitable basics.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So on this day that we celebrate Dr. King, I got to thinking about what I can do to <em>really</em> make an impact on this world. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">*ponders*<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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WWAJD? (What would Angelina Jolie do?) </div>
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<br /></div>
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Immediately after this thought popped into my head, a tiny hand knocked at my door. And there stood my first answer.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<em>*snaps fingers* </em>That’s it! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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That knock came from a Girl Scout. <em>Aha!</em> My chance to do good! (Suck it, Brangelina!) Did you know that about 70% of the money raised by those cookies goes to the girls, some of whom also break off a chunk of change to other charities, and even to <a href="http://blog.girlscouts.org/2012/12/the-girl-scout-cookie-program-benefits.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">our troops overseas</span></a>? <br />
(The other 30% goes to the bakers, duh. Those tree elves don’t just work for free!) <br />
Aside from the obvious deliciousness, the impact of buying those cookies goes way further than just your hips, I swear. <br />
Go. Find the nearest Girl Scout and buy a box of every flavor.</div>
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<strong>I should also point out that recent studies show that eating Girl Scout cookies instantly makes you happier.*</strong></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Party in my mouth!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong>*That study was conducted by the University of MyMouth.</strong></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
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I truly think the easiest act we can carry out as do-gooders is just practicing gratitude. For me, the right words can give me a legit mood boost. I’ve learned that little things can really brighten someone’s day. Smile at people. Offer a compliment: </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">See? A little flattery goes a long way.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And for crying out loud, let’s remember to thank people who truly are out here bettering society. Let’s examine some of our most heroic and badass do-gooders, shall we? <br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Teachers</b>. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-R9WrraA1zo4/UP2LQ0wwMdI/AAAAAAAAAX4/UmeD73XGjLU/s320/007-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="272" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Hola, maestra. Gracias por todo."</span></td></tr>
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Not only do teachers have the thankless job of wrangling, coddling and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">intelligizing</i> our children, but now they also have to know defensive tactics in order to protect our babies in class!? And all for just enough pay to barely scrape by without welfare, if they’re lucky. (FYI - That word I just made up will make it into Webster’s one day. "in-TELL-i-jy-zing"; <em>verb</em>, meaning: to instill intelligence in people who would otherwise be total dummies... And I’ll have a teacher to thank for that too.) </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Firefighters.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Loveys, check out this pic from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BudweiserGunsAndHoses" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Guns N Hoses</span></a>. These are an awesome series of events, held in various cities, to raise money for <a href="http://www.backstoppers.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Backstoppers</span></a>. <em>Wow</em>. Something like this really rocks my face off. Here are our women and men in red and blue, taking time out from saving our sorry asses to train and fight, in order to raise money for other women and men in red and blue who sacrificed everything, saving our sorry asses. </div>
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(Go ahead and read that back. I'll wait.) Seriously. Please thank them.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-QdkQTWHpycM/UP2LSSzpNYI/AAAAAAAAAYI/6fwcsRXC7J4/s200/IMG_1565.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Let's wrap this up. Gotta get back to saving sorry asses."</span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Nurses. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Nurses are incredible! I’ve long believed there is nothing these ladies and gents can’t do. I think they’re just born with stomachs of steel, so I actually tested that assumption one night. I once had a nurse who – <em>in the span of 5 minutes</em> – rubbed my back while I cried like a newborn, held back my hair so I could puke, and wipe my butt when I was physically unable. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">And that wasn’t even at the hospital, you guys. No, I was just drunk in the bathroom of a nightclub. (Super-awkward way to meet someone, by the way.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Police officers.</b> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">You guys know that I always joke about how hot and sexy <strike>men in general</strike> cops are. I mean, even the puny ones look all buff when they're rockin’ the Kevlar. And the gun and badge are all I really need to overlook the occasional ticket. I mean, they’re just so freaking beautiful in that uniform, and so brave and extra-gorgeous when they get all <em>rescuey</em>! Ooh, and you <em>know</em> I just love a man who takes charge, and…</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Wait. What was I supposed to be writing about again? </span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">*taps chin*<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Where’s my train of thought? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">*looks around the room*</i> It was just here a minute ago...</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Oh, yes. Thanking Officer Friendly!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">One bit of advice though. When you go to thank a police officer, just don’t get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">too</i> overzealous. It’s kind of frowned upon. I don't know. Maybe they just have a hard time receiving <strike>stalking</strike> gratitude, but they get kinda pissed when you lay it on a little too thick. The details are fuzzy, but it's something about crossing over from grateful to “creepy.” </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GQjwY3Zmr_I/UP2LS9mAYNI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/1_NIsPtz1Aw/s320/occupy%252520love-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>My stalking conviction will eventually be expunged, but you, sir, </em></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><em>will still be dead inside!</em> (Sidebar: I think I just wrote Taylor Swift's</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">next heartbreak single there.)</span></td></tr>
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And there you have it, lovebugs. My super-easy plan to change the<strike> immediate vicinity</strike> world. One small gesture at a time.</div>
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-28319425992795331302013-01-17T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-17T17:19:38.130-06:00THE STRUGGLE<br />
I'd never make it in Hollywood. <br />
<br />
For one thing, I don't have any of the cool vices required. I never smoke cigarettes or do drugs. I don't even drink alcohol more than a few times a <em>year</em>. (Lame, I know.)<br />
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What I do struggle with, though, is sugar. It's not as sweet as it sounds, besties. <br />
<br />
<em>*solemn head shake*</em> <br />
<br />
I swear it's an actual addiction. You wouldn't know it though, by the shamefully low number of sugar-busting rehab facilities or outreach programs for gluttons like me. Where's <em>my</em> help? <em>Psh!</em> More tax dollars at waste.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, since there is no Lick-erette patch to ease my cravings or any insurance coverage for my withdrawals, I am forced to kick my habit on my own. Cold turkey. <br />
<br />
But if you think my journey is any easier than Lohan's, think again.<br />
<br />
It happens, as so many addictions do, with temptation...wanting to belong, or be comforted, or some other excuse I come up with. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="124" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-fBmzkAPmTrE/UPXyQCUDudI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/OXKHGRH7gZ8/s200/chocolate-cake-slice-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Love at 1st bite?</span></td></tr>
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And sometimes it's not even my fault at all. Like when you're driving somewhere, then mentally drift off - just for a sec - then arrive at your destination not really remembering the drive. It happens to all of us. I can't really be <em>faulted</em> here. And more times than not, it's really like my utensils have a mind all their own. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-R5dpTkIPlX0/UPXyRootYXI/AAAAAAAAAWg/PZYlrVhqGSo/s200/spoon-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Well, hello there, sweetie."</span></td></tr>
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You see? Clearly, she has a mind of her own. So she typically works up the courage, psychs herself up, and after a deep breath, decides to approach the yummy dish. <br />
<br />
Innocent, right? No different than, say, me at a <strike>bar</strike> buffet.<br />
<br />
So without any conscious effort, I eat the dessert(s). And also whatever was left on the plate by my husband. And anything my kids didn't finish. And/or my co-workers, friends, and the people at the next table over. Just so I don't waste. 'Cause that's bad for the environment, or something like that.<br />
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And then, the shame of my overdose, combined with the embarrassment of the overhang around my waistband, rears its ugly head and makes me feel all the more like crap.<br />
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Ym8rAUvkoNs/UPYDMBrvACI/AAAAAAAAAXA/3ero--Hj5Hc/s200/20130115_164943-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Shut the fork up, damsel in diabetes!"</span></td></tr>
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So what happens next? You guessed it. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xOUrC5Zj8Cg/UPXyQ_gusiI/AAAAAAAAAWY/PyqLaSpnw8g/s200/sad%252520spoon-picsay.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"I only wanted to spoon."</span></td></tr>
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I go and eat my feelings.<br />
<br />
It's a vicious cycle. But one that I am now ready to break. This time for serious. The first step is admitting my problem, loveys. <em>Hi, my name is Helena, and I'm a <strike>sweetheart</strike> sugarholic. </em><br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-18155643859090552752013-01-16T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-16T02:00:20.755-06:00My hump, my hump, my hump (Day).Happy Hump Day, loveys! Here we are, smooshed inside the middle of another winter week. Just gotta get over the hump, and then we're off to our weekend.<br />
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You know, whenever I hear the word "hump," I immediately think of two things: 1) A dog in heat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-NgaukQfrrZg/UPXGsUEG2OI/AAAAAAAAAV4/xBejjkswrjo/s1600/IMG_0749-picsay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-NgaukQfrrZg/UPXGsUEG2OI/AAAAAAAAAV4/xBejjkswrjo/s200/IMG_0749-picsay.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"I like it bloggy-style."</span></td></tr>
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And 2) Digital Underground. <br />
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'Memba them? "Watch me do the Humpty Hump." Man, those were the days!<br />
<br />
I apologize to any of you who didn't have the privilege of rockin' out to Digital Underground way back when; long before they were known as "the dude in the nose" and Tupac's humble beginnings.<br />
<br />
You young whipper-snappers really missed out, not only on a dance even the elderly could do, but also an incredible fashion statement. Eons before Lady Gaga ever had Little Monsters, Digital Underground had Little Humpers. See?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-nTJvZe8tCYg/UPXEm5Dgr3I/AAAAAAAAAVY/csIP2BrHbQg/s1600/542905_2950701362433_2045851868_n-picsay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-nTJvZe8tCYg/UPXEm5Dgr3I/AAAAAAAAAVY/csIP2BrHbQg/s200/542905_2950701362433_2045851868_n-picsay.jpg" width="122" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I once got busy in a <strike>Social House</strike> Burger King bathroom.</span></td></tr>
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Then, of course, The Black Eyes Peas gave us yet another glorious reason to make every day hump day:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JTHdZvnYW4c/UPXEmPasyWI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/gxOSstp__OE/s1600/hump.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JTHdZvnYW4c/UPXEmPasyWI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/gxOSstp__OE/s200/hump.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Get you love-drunk off my hump!"</span></td></tr>
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<br />
I swear, ever since that song came out, I'm super paranoid about someone busting me out for staring at their humps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WfXQdPdXUGk/UPXEnvP1c_I/AAAAAAAAAVg/CeHoCozFBMo/s1600/camel-lo.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WfXQdPdXUGk/UPXEnvP1c_I/AAAAAAAAAVg/CeHoCozFBMo/s200/camel-lo.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Hey, buddy. My eyes are up here!</span></td></tr>
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<br />
I know what you're thinking, now that you've read this blog post. <br />
<br />
"Well, there's two minutes of my life I can't get back." <br />
<br />
And you're right. (Three minutes if literacy isn't your strong suit.) But the silver lining? You're two minutes further over the hump!<br />
<br />
Have a great 1/2 week, guys! :)Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-82783484395948573132013-01-14T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-14T05:35:42.991-06:00PLEASE GIVE ME THE SHIRT OFF YOUR BACK.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know me, lovey. I don't ask for much. But you also know how much <a href="http://helenacarlo.blogspot.com/2012/10/friday-faves.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">I love stuff</span></a>. </div>
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So it should come as no surprise that I come to you now, asking for help with my obsession. </div>
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I'm no hoarder. Not even much of a shopper, or yard-saler. No, what I covet most in my random collection of must-haves are items that someone else has. I tend to want something owned by my nearest and dearest loveys. You know you've done it too; someone else has something you never even noticed before, and now, you <em>need</em> it. (It doesn't matter that you haven't done that since elementary school. Now, back to me.)</div>
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I don't ask for much. But I would like to have the shirt off your back. </div>
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See this t-shirt? It doesn't matter that it's a size XXL, and that it could fit you and me at the same time. What matters is that I only had to beg my brother for it for about a half-hour before he caved. <em>Score!</em></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CELd4ebauS8/UPHJ3ab8xqI/AAAAAAAAAUw/KIqjlM7w4TQ/s1600/20130112_133930-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CELd4ebauS8/UPHJ3ab8xqI/AAAAAAAAAUw/KIqjlM7w4TQ/s320/20130112_133930-1.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Funny graphic tees are my weakness!</span></td></tr>
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My latest score is a coffee mug from a co-worker. There's nothing special at all about this mug, guys. Except for his inexplicable tie to it. He carried it around like it was physically attached to his arm. Anytime he left his desk, so did the mug. Either he was way too attached to it, or he was deathly afraid of being roofied if he left it for 5 seconds. Whatever the case, I <em>helped</em> him with his addiction, and asked him if I could have it. That mug is happily sitting in my kitchen, now bedazzled and renamed Snoop Muggy Mug. I know, I need help.</div>
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I also like to trade my super-scores. Like this nifty Power Balance bracelet, for example. I'd just gotten it in black from my lovey Miguel, when I saw someone else with the exact same bracelet in red. Yes, please! </div>
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(Sidebar: This bracelet gave me no power whatsoever. I fully expected a full-on He-Man transformation when I put it on. I may sue.)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">He-Man voice: "<em>I have the power!</em>" </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Except it didn't go down like that at all.</span></td></tr>
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And then there's this little gem, taken right from my big sister's kitchen:</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Lost a wing during the trip, but still cute as can bee.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">(Ha! See what I did there?) </span></td></tr>
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Remember back in school, the crappy art project we had to make, only to bring them home and have Mom "accidentally" drop it so it smashed into fragments, and had to be thrown away? No? Oh. I guess that was just me.</div>
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Anyhoo, this was something my little brother Nim made: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5QwW630iBzE/UPHJ57taniI/AAAAAAAAAU4/_EUt3UUPxT4/s320/20130112_134956.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Nim's pal Dan dabbed brown paint on there. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Just in case it wasn't already fugly enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">No, not when he was 5 years old. He was like 17. And both his hands work just fine, thank you. So you can see the level of effort involved. Didn't matter to me though. He made it, I coveted it, and here it sits, in my family room, on top of the bookshelf, behind the candles and under a stack of books. Proudly displayed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'm not denying I have a problem. Not at all. Actually, that's why I'm here now, asking you for help. I can't do this alone, loveys, and that's where you come in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Remember, I don't ask for much. So I need you to step it up, and really have my back here. Almost like an intervention, except an <em>outer</em>vention is what this situation actually calls for.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">What I really need...what will totally quiet the beast that is my Stuffaholism, guys, is this hat:</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3Zusml0IXfs/UPHJte0Gw4I/AAAAAAAAAUM/iQIaO8XmLZ4/s1600/Bruno%25252BMars%25252BGRAMMY%25252BNominations%25252BConcert%25252BLive%25252B010aDAv9cEjl.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3Zusml0IXfs/UPHJte0Gw4I/AAAAAAAAAUM/iQIaO8XmLZ4/s200/Bruno%25252BMars%25252BGRAMMY%25252BNominations%25252BConcert%25252BLive%25252B010aDAv9cEjl.jpeg" width="154" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"I make this look good," said Bruno's hat to Bruno's face.</span></td></tr>
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Not a hat similar to that. And not a hat from some crappy designer fedora line he's promoting. <em>No</em>. What I want; what I <em>need</em> is that. very. hat. <br />
Now is that so much to ask?<br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-91621577822536004312013-01-11T05:05:00.004-06:002013-01-11T05:05:56.371-06:00FRIDAY FAVESYou know what I'm loving right now? Twitter.<br />
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Twitter has become better than satellite tv. For 1 thing, it follows me everywhere in my phone. If I need a laugh, or inspiration, or to view an NSFW pic in a hot second, <em>Boom!</em> There it is, at any time. TV never showed me that kind of dedication. <em>Pfft!</em><br />
<em><br /></em>And the entertainment options are completely without limit. Find your niche, anything that interests you, and follow tweeters who adore the same, and <em>Bam</em>! You're practically in love at 1st sight.
<br />At least I was, after following several tweeps. It goes down like this: 1) I see someone's timeline, 2) I laugh, 3) I star and retweet (so you can love them too), 4) I list, and 5) I try to find out where they live, so I can stalk them in person too - it's a really beautiful thing. <br />
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If you're not big on Twitter, I will hold your hand and personally lead you to some of the greats.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><u>Fair warning:</u> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #674ea7;">My interests are writing, laughing my jowls off, and lots of inappropriateness for work. What I find funny, you may find offensive...And that will only make it 10 times funnier to me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://twitter.com/VAGivens" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">V.A. Givens</span></a> is a tweeter that will make you laugh, but also make you really think about her words. I love her long time!<br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/VaguelyFunnyDan" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Vaguely Funny Dan</span></a> is way more than vaguely funny. He's actually <em>laugh-till-you-pee-yourself</em> funny.<br />
<br /><a href="https://twitter.com/Mi_SSbehaved" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">SS</span></a> - she says things I'd be too scared to think, much less say aloud, and even much less to tweet out to the world. Gotta love a girl who's smart, hilarious, and has nads of steel.<br />
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Just start there, loveys. <br />
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Read. Laugh. Repeat.<br />
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Happy Friday, guys!<br />
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-52760504739505595612013-01-09T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-09T02:00:17.832-06:00FAILURES CAN BE FUN.I love a good fail, besties. <br />
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Not all fails, mind you. The <em>letter-from-my-teacher</em> kind of fail sucks cactus. <br />
The <em>sorry-your-car-didn't-pass-inspection</em> kind of fail hurts. And the worst, the <em>we're-just-not-meant-for-each-other</em> fails, are nobody's friend. <br />
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Epic failures are the opposite of sunshine. They effing <em>blow</em>. <br />
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But the little <em>Oopsie!</em> fails? Now those rock my freakin' face off. <br />
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<a href="http://www.damnyouautocorrect.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Damn You Autocorrect</span></a> is comedic genius to me. Should be called "<strong>Thank</strong> You Autocorrect." Thank you for making me laugh after a craptacular day. Thank you for allowing me to take delight in someone else's mortification. Thank you for making me laugh so hard, I get a halfway decent ab workout. Some much-needed smiles are always welcome, but more so now, in the midst of winter blue season. Right?<br />
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Let's see here: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="294" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-AuqLcw4rTzM/UOzM77zi8kI/AAAAAAAAATk/pA3Fn6fnyVc/s320/77057_546539245356318_60523806_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">You're Goddonut right I wanna bang tonight, motherducker.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Stopped moo-ing just before the tears come. </span><br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qzVeqA0MzT8/UOzM6B6FmLI/AAAAAAAAATU/crdiqOyHi3A/s1600/moo-judi1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">"Mmm...manginas," said Rupaul to anyone with ears.</span><br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xsUfTLiouPA/UOzM817lGLI/AAAAAAAAATs/6lcVEa_zbdk/s1600/9-love-hate-relationship-mjw1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xsUfTLiouPA/UOzM817lGLI/AAAAAAAAATs/6lcVEa_zbdk/s400/9-love-hate-relationship-mjw1.png" width="266" /> </a></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">"<em>Dear!!!</em>" she said, tossing the shovel back into the garage.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">This is why I don't even bother asking him to help with laundry anymore.</span></td></tr>
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Thanks, Auto-cucumber. I ducking love you.</div>
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-26619583867217660402013-01-08T05:22:00.003-06:002013-01-08T05:22:35.933-06:00WELL? Now that we've had 1 full week of 2013, I just thought I'd check in with you. How are those resolutions working out for you? <br />
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Are you really cranking out your word counts? <br />
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Sticking to your new health kick?<br />
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New leaf still turned over?<br />
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Yeah, me neither. Oh well. 51 more weeks to get this crap together. <br />
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I guess what it comes down to is this: There's nobody in our way but ourselves. Let's do this, lovebugs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">I think I can, I think I can...</span></td></tr>
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-28241551153991608162013-01-07T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-27T15:20:37.082-06:00Eww, winter!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
The Christmas decorations are down, New Year's Day is history, and I have no more work holidays to look forward to for months. Ugh, the bleak remainder of winter is here, loveys.</div>
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*<em>ponders</em> * </div>
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What to do? What to do?<br />
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In years past, I'd simply trudge through the crappy, below-freezing months, with nothing to look forward to except the fat-hiding layers of clothes, <strike>dry-humping</strike> cuddling for warmth, and being able to grow my body hair out like this: </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Winter layers</span></td></tr>
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But not this year, besties. No. This year I'm gonna use winter to my advantage. It's like the old saying goes: <em>When life gives you snow, make snowball daiquiris!</em><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>Cheers to winter!</em></span></td></tr>
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I love you guys, so I'm gonna share a treasured heirloom recipe, handed down by generations.</div>
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<u>Snowball strawberry daiquiri recipe I just made up:</u></div>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">2 cups of snow (It has to be clean snow though. At least until you get too drunk to notice.)</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">double-shot of rum (more or less, depending on your own tastes and level of alcoholism)</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">1 cup of frozen strawberries, thawed and smooshed well with 1/4 cup of sugar</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mix it, stir it, or blend it all together, and <em>Voila!</em> </li>
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(No, wait. First, call me to come over, so you don't look pathetic drinking all alone.) </div>
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And <em>then</em> Voila! </div>
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You did it!</div>
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You have taken winter, grabbed it by the snowballs, and shown him who's boss. I'll drink to that.</div>
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-16290009678640352492013-01-04T05:42:00.001-06:002013-01-04T05:42:53.234-06:00FRIDAY FAVESAh, a shiny New Year. Welcome, welcome, 2013! Please take your coat off and do come in; You'll be here awhile.<br />
<br />
You know what I love most about a new year, my loveys? <br />
<em>Promise</em>.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="147" id="yui_3_5_1_1_1357299538193_458" src="http://ts3.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4934037766015278&pid=15.1" style="height: 146px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; width: 219px;" width="220" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Hopeful.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm a sucker for optimism, and I also don't mind the clean-slate I feel we're given every January 1st. Thanks, Universe!<br />
<br />
I also have a few choice reasons to welcome 2013 with open arms.<br />
<br />
Let's start with Melissa McCarthy. I couldn't love her more if I'd birthed her myself. She's my reigning girl crush, and I will be there on opening day, <a href="http://helenacarlo.blogspot.com/2013/01/lets-get-rich.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">candy hidden in my purse</span></a>, to see this:<br />
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-U5uIgGvrqCg/UOZGPYQVlVI/AAAAAAAAASM/QPrKCqwPz5I/s1600/MV5BMTY3NzM5MTk2Nl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDQ4MjQ3OA%252540%252540.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-U5uIgGvrqCg/UOZGPYQVlVI/AAAAAAAAASM/QPrKCqwPz5I/s200/MV5BMTY3NzM5MTk2Nl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMDQ4MjQ3OA%252540%252540.jpeg" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">February 8, 2013. Any volunteers to be my date?</span></td></tr>
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<br />
I am also very-much looking forward to summer. (Anyone else hearing Phoebe from "Friends" asking in her British accent, <em>"So, where do you all summah?"</em> No? Just me?) Not that I have a super-active summer planned out or anything. It's just that it's currently 19 degrees here. I had to dunk my hands in my coffee this morning, in order to thaw my fingers out enough to type. Need I say more? <br />
<br />
One book release that I'm crazy-excited for this year: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="The Shining Girls" height="200" src="http://www.hachettebookgroup.com/_b2c/media/cache/92/f3/92f33ac6b06f9de88c8b0d7f68f75c5b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="The Shining Girls" width="128" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">June 4, 2013</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">In Depression-era Chicago, Harper Curtis finds a key to a house that opens on to other times. But it comes at a cost. He has to kill the shining girls: bright young women, burning with potential. He stalks them through their lives across different eras until, in 1989, one of his victims, Kirby Mazrachi, survives and starts hunting him back. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Finally, I cannot wait for this year's wedding of one of my nearest and dearest besties. Not only in the hopes of seeing her in a dress for the 1st time in the history of our 12 year friendship, but also due to the fact that it's taking place in Hawaii. Aloha, loveys!!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="70381d1314086814-hawaii-hawaii-pictures.jpg" class="thm" data-pos="6" height="110" id="yui_3_3_0_1_1357299425029569" src="http://ts2.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4936520265893307&pid=15.1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="182" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>You are here</em>, said the map of Hawaii to Helena.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
I am always renewed in spirit and faith with the dawning of a new year, so I have hundreds of things to look forward to, in addition to the above, and so do you all. <br />
<br />
Ah, <em>promise</em>. My kinda happy.<br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-24557374353980141202013-01-03T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-03T02:00:08.986-06:00LET'S GET RICH!It's time for some real talk, loveys. Let's have a serious heart-to-heart about my 3rd and final resolution for 2013: <span style="color: black;"><strong>Make some money, honey!</strong></span><br />
<br />
I can't be the only writer out there who thought, surely by now, I'd be writing for a living. I'm not expecting J.K. Rowling money here, but is it too much to ask to be able to "make it rain" every now and then? <em>Pssh</em>! I can't even make it <em>mist</em>. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aZNxoRKdctI/UOTmURRbnEI/AAAAAAAAAR0/SvR1Le3aSAk/s1600/blog+pic+-+empty+pockets.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aZNxoRKdctI/UOTmURRbnEI/AAAAAAAAAR0/SvR1Le3aSAk/s1600/blog+pic+-+empty+pockets.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">What can I say? Writing isn't quite as lucrative as I'd hoped.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Well, no more, guys. I have researched extra-deep, and come up with 3 ingenious (if I do say so myself) ideas for us to make/or save extra money this year.<br />
<br />
<u>Let's-Get-Rich Tip #1:</u> <br />
Go to this <a href="http://www.fanstory.com/index1contest.jsp" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">website</span></a>. They have an insane amount of totally free writing contests, (which is unheard of in itself), and a lot of inspiring success stories. Submit your work, sell your manuscripts, and thank me in the Acknowlegements page. Preferably before your agent.<br />
<br />
<u>Let's-Get-Rich Tip #2:</u> <br />
Start sneaking in your own refreshments for any and all entertainment venues. I know you sneak your own candy into the theater. It's okay. We're family. I won't tell. And I've actually <em>seen</em> you hide sodas in your diaper bag at Six Flags. It's alright, lovey. I'm not judging you. Nor am I suggesting you stop going out on the weekends. Never that, my friends. We're not dead! What I am doing, however, is telling your cheap ass to take your old-hat frugality up a notch. Or five.<br />
Sneaking your own liquor into the club - now <em>that's</em> what I'm talking about! Let's face it, you're spending like 10 times more money on alcohol than you are kiddie concessions. <em>That's</em> where you need to invest your best sneakery.<br />
Everyone else is already drunk, so it's likely they won't even notice. If they do, offer a quick shot and keep it movin'. It's quite simple, really. Just act natural. <br />
Here, I'll demonstrate. You take notes: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eUfFaRCsyO4/UOSz1UkOtTI/AAAAAAAAARM/y62yBImWi1c/s1600/Me+blog+pic-vodka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eUfFaRCsyO4/UOSz1UkOtTI/AAAAAAAAARM/y62yBImWi1c/s320/Me+blog+pic-vodka.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">You see? The Grey Goose just blends right in to it's natural habitat, in the special place near my heart. </span></td></tr>
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<br />
And don't bother with airplane-sized bottles, lovey. You'll have to bring like 15 of those, strap them to your inner thighs, and run the risk of sounding like a walking marimba. (Not that <em>I've</em> done that, mind you.) <br />
I'm just saying. Go big or go home.<br />
<br />
<u>Let's-Get-Rich Tip #3:</u> <br />
Do it all yourself! And I mean <u>all</u> of it: Polish your own mani/pedis, cook your own Big Macs, and even do your own roofing. And with every penny you save, stash it. <br />
Now, I don't want to shame your tiny stashes, guys, but I'm gonna show you mine. <br />
Please don't feel bashful that yours may pale in comparison. I've been chasing Tyler Perry's spot on the Forbes list for a while now, so you can't expect to be as rich as me. <br />
It's okay though. I mean, you've gotta start somewhere!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N4Qv1CZNjGI/UOS1tW5bvTI/AAAAAAAAARg/abSt3ZwYR-s/s1600/Coin+jar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N4Qv1CZNjGI/UOS1tW5bvTI/AAAAAAAAARg/abSt3ZwYR-s/s200/Coin+jar.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Suck it, Tyler Perry!</span></td></tr>
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You see? I'm practically ready to retire after following my own super-<strike>foolish</strike> foolproof Let's-Get-Rich tips! And all it took was a little dedication, cushion-diving, <strike>kids' piggy bank raiding</strike>, can-recycling, working two jobs, cutting my own hair, and the occasional pick-pocketing!<br />
<br />
Feel free to use any <strike>none</strike> one of my tips, loveys. We're no doubt in for an incredibly prosperous 2013. Your wealth may come today, or in 5 years from now, but I'm sure it's coming.<br />
And if you beat me to the Forbes list, keep an eye out, because I'm right behind you. No, seriously, I'm right behind you.<br />
Who else am I gonna pick-pocket? Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-56566202887073362562013-01-02T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-02T02:00:00.511-06:00RESOLUTION #2: MIND OUTTA THE GUTTERAfter yesterday's post, you know that I have resolved to stop letting myself go around any longer looking like an ogre. That's all fine & dandy for what's on the outside, but what about what's on the inside? That's what really counts, right? <br />
<br />
Confession, loveys: I have a dirty mind and a sailor mouth and the sense of humor exactly what you might expect of, say, a 14 year-old boy. So my 2nd resolution of 2013 is to tweak that, just a bit. I have started exchanging my curse words for perfectly innocent words, and trying not to end every simple statement with "That's what she said."<br />
<br />
But please let me explain. You see, I wasn't always this way. It all started, as most corruptions do, with a boy:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k7pXLxUc1CI/UONDtnG3EuI/AAAAAAAAAQM/NyYzFhYbSo4/s1600/Carlos+corrupting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k7pXLxUc1CI/UONDtnG3EuI/AAAAAAAAAQM/NyYzFhYbSo4/s200/Carlos+corrupting.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Not so pure.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
However, effective yesterday, I'm acting super-mature and totally grown-up. So when my son lost Bullseye today and used a make-shift horse for Woody, I snapped a pic. Not to post on Twitter, mis amigos, but as evidence of my growth:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hw7-XfYn8Tc/UONEFDKC0DI/AAAAAAAAAQU/m6t5gv8eyRA/s1600/Woody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hw7-XfYn8Tc/UONEFDKC0DI/AAAAAAAAAQU/m6t5gv8eyRA/s200/Woody.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Where in the <em>helmet</em> is Bullseye when you need him?</span></td></tr>
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<br />
Do <em>you</em> also need a mind-scrubbing? How about a little test? Hmm...let's see here. Aha! Take a good look at the pic below. Depending on where your mind drifts upon viewing this image, you too may want to join me in my perversion purge.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0OostizzdU/UONFPgW1sgI/AAAAAAAAAQk/A8P5nB4_Tb0/s1600/Angel+fail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0OostizzdU/UONFPgW1sgI/AAAAAAAAAQk/A8P5nB4_Tb0/s200/Angel+fail.jpg" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">What the <em>funhouse</em>?!</span></td></tr>
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<br />
And finally, I offer you this test in visual acuity, blog fam. What do you notice in this shot of Shemar Moore? Anything just kinda...stick out?<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n9q4uMYXkLY/UONGYWjGHOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/_NT4oyWvBWA/s1600/Shemar+Moore.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n9q4uMYXkLY/UONGYWjGHOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/_NT4oyWvBWA/s320/Shemar+Moore.png" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>Must...look...away...</em></span></td></tr>
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<br />
Beautiful scenery, yes. Girly-looking glasses, I agree. But wait. Is that? Why yes, I think it is. My, those shorts are a simply beautiful shade of <strike>boner</strike> blue!<br />
<br />
See? I'm a changed person. Big things in 2013, loveys. Big, beautiful, bulging things in 2013.<br />
<br />
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-81954600261817329972013-01-01T02:00:00.000-06:002013-01-01T08:41:02.695-06:00HAPPY NEW YEAR!I'm not big on resolutions, loveys. No, siree.<br />
<br />
Oh, but I <em>am</em> big on making promises to myself I'll never keep. I'm fantastic at listing them out on the prettiest paper on hand, writing down the last detail of my new exercise regime, and creating shopping lists for the ingredients I'll need for my latest, sure-fire diet plan. I am even a regular "pinner" of something of-the-moment that strikes me as brilliant.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm at super-duper at planning to take my level of awesome up a notch. <br />
<br />
It's the execution part I suck at.<br />
<br />
You know what <em>really</em> sucks though? Vacuums, vampires, and algae fish.<br />
<br />
Wait, I digress. (You guys <a href="http://helenacarlo.blogspot.com/2012/10/friday-faves.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;"><strong>know</strong></span></a> my attention span is gone in a blink.) What was I talking about again? Oh, yes. Actually carrying out something I intend to do. <br />
<br />
This year, no grand plans or fancy-pants ideas for me. Nope. I will <u>not</u> vow to lose 30 pounds in 2013. I'm not promising myself to travel Europe this year. And I <em>refuse</em> to marry Nelly, no matter how much he begs! (Well, unless the ring is massive, like Khloe Kardashian sick.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XBm8qxnz19c/UOI1QQI48II/AAAAAAAAAPI/HYLJu6m5kUg/s1600/Nelly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XBm8qxnz19c/UOI1QQI48II/AAAAAAAAAPI/HYLJu6m5kUg/s1600/Nelly.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Eww! Am I right, ladies?</span></td></tr>
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<br />
This year, I will simply tell myself, "<em>Self, we're gonna try harder</em>." <br />
<br />
That's it. <br />
<br />
Not kill my body with some ridiculous P90X, or deprive myself of less than 4,000 calories a day. <br />
I'll just try a teensy bit harder.<br />
<br />
<u>First step to a Kick-Ass 2013:</u><br />
<br />
<strong>Look more presentable.</strong> <br />
<br />
Loveys, I have no issue running around town with no makeup on, or wearing uncombed hair pulled into a bun, and rocking the same sweats I wore throughout my last pregnancy 4 years ago. I don't mind a bit. However, recent events have made me rethink my firm position of complete comfort despite looking like shit.<br />
<br />
1) I realized I'm ugly enough to scare small children.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p2EMPfiiCps/UOI_6g206CI/AAAAAAAAAP4/Ek-fZ5wKSg8/s1600/Bella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p2EMPfiiCps/UOI_6g206CI/AAAAAAAAAP4/Ek-fZ5wKSg8/s200/Bella.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">A face that could put scarecrows out of a job.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
And <br />
<br />
2) I actually ran into Nelly not long ago. I am saddened to report it wasn't really <strike>lust</strike> love at first sight for him, loveys. *<em>wipes tear</em>* I don't know if I came on too strong, <strike>or because I couldn't get through his bodyguard</strike>, or if it had more to do with me looking like this: <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iJZng_eMszw/UOI9alQyivI/AAAAAAAAAPc/USsZA16z_BM/s1600/Me+crazy+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iJZng_eMszw/UOI9alQyivI/AAAAAAAAAPc/USsZA16z_BM/s200/Me+crazy+face.jpg" width="104" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">'Swimfan' all over again.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Baby steps, fam. Baby steps.<br />
<br />
Let's rock these next 365 days, loveys. Happy New Year!Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-63779419716383231562012-12-31T02:00:00.000-06:002012-12-31T02:00:12.719-06:00GOODBYE, 2012!<span style="color: black;">So here we are, loveys, nearly at 2013. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">We've survived like 3 different 2012 Doomsday predictions, yes? We made it! <em>Whew!</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">This was a good year for me, I'd say. Can't complain when I have a family that is still healthy, still here, and still intact. </span><br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: black;">*quick head count, just to be sure*</span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">Yep, all here. Welp, nothing more for us here to do to ring in the new year, except: 1) Make our resolutions, (and resolve not to break them in the 1st week), 2) Get our tax-crap together for Uncle Sam, and, oh yes - 3) Get <em>chocolate wasted.</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">I don't know about you loveys, but in my household, we're pretty hardcore:</span> <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z--RFv6_E-I/UODxPfI7faI/AAAAAAAAAOY/s2ZXuFO8dwI/s1600/Alicia+choc+wasted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z--RFv6_E-I/UODxPfI7faI/AAAAAAAAAOY/s2ZXuFO8dwI/s200/Alicia+choc+wasted.jpg" width="160" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">Here's to 2013!</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black;">Is there any other way to ring in a fresh, optimistic, shiny new year?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zc4MeV475-E/UODy7081lcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/SV6Rfd8qnl8/s1600/Carlitos+choc+wasted.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="198" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zc4MeV475-E/UODy7081lcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/SV6Rfd8qnl8/s200/Carlitos+choc+wasted.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Cheers, my ninja!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">Of course not! But that also means there's only one way to ring <em>out</em> the old, see-ya, <em>way-over-it</em> last year:</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sPtJJbElvUQ/UODzWiD5U6I/AAAAAAAAAO0/EvJqXYdfUwI/s1600/Carlitos+in+toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sPtJJbElvUQ/UODzWiD5U6I/AAAAAAAAAO0/EvJqXYdfUwI/s200/Carlitos+in+toilet.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue;">Porcelain prayers and promises...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">Yikes! </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Be safe out there, all you revelers. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Don't drink and drive. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">And if you <em>must</em> break curfew, call your mother. Well, unless she's asleep at that hour. In that case, the decent thing to do is just sneak in before she has time to panic.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: black;">Happy New Year, loveys!! May 2013 be your very best yet.</span></strong> <br />
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Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4323666952541813927.post-15450971413371043912012-10-24T02:00:00.000-05:002012-10-24T02:00:05.312-05:00HOW I WRITE<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Here I sit, de-stressing by way of my netbook. Sure, it’s a little cramped in the front seat of my Toyota, but the shortage of wiggle room is barely noticeable once I get going. I’m parked in a strip mall with the car idling and the heater blasting in defense of the freezing temperature outside. </div>
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<em>Confession</em>: I’m playing hooky from work today. Just taking a “mental health” day. I needed a day to relax with my coffee, my computer and my words. A cherished, if stolen, block of time I need to write without being interrupted by my young children. </div>
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Every night my sleep is disrupted by my son's cries for a toy that's fallen from his bed, or by my daughter’s fear of a shadow in her room, or even by my barking dog. Point is, I haven’t slept soundly in over six years, and I can’t punish my body even more by staying up any later at night or getting up any earlier in the morning. Not even for the therapeutic act of writing.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I started working on a story last month, scribbling down snatches of ideas here and there, on any materials handy. That story has been transcribed from thoughts I hurriedly jotted down in crayon on a phone bill, and from memories I'd scrawled on a paper towel, and on a borrowed page from my toddler’s coloring book. Whatever tools I found nearby. You know how puny my attention span is, loveys. I can't--</div>
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<em>Ooh, look - something shiny! </em></div>
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<em> </em>Never mind. It was just a gum wrapper. Anyhoo...</div>
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I'm sorry. What were we talking about again? Oh, yes. My office.</div>
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I don’t have the luxury of spending hours at a time concentrated on writing, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My babies inspire and motivate me. I’m grateful to God for them. But I still have a dream and a relentless tug from my creative spirit that begs for nourishment. So I still write.</div>
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Sure, my husband shakes his head at me for the occasional day of hooky, but he would never dispute the healing power of my pen. And yes, my daughter may protest when I ask to tear a page from her coloring book to jot some lines on, but eventually she’ll appreciate the inheritance of detailed journals I’ve recorded for her. I write for my family as much as for myself, and in the end they’re my biggest motivation. </div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Tomorrow I’ll rise early and trudge to the job that helps pay the mortgage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Tonight I’ll hit my pillow by eleven, and maybe, <em>maybe</em>, even get to sleep soundly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> But right now, I will stay scrunched up in my car, hiding out in homespun tales on the page. Because that is how I write.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
Helena Carlohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16857055504285215017noreply@blogger.com0