Follow up: to addiction.

THE MAGNUM

Whomever came up with this idea is a genius. I literally picked it out of the freezer at the supermarket unconsciously. It was as if I was a zombie and Mr. King Ralph chief CEO of the ice chests called out to my subconscious to buy it.

Or maybe it was just my hormones.

It is a chocolate ice cream bar called Magnum....Double Chocolate. and the box's description is...

"Chocolate Ice Cream dipped in a Chocolatey Coating, Chocolatey Sauce, and Belgian Milk Chocolate"

HUH?????

Sex Bomb on a stick Tom Jones take that!

When women hear the infamous word Magnum they think....

H U G E.

Pain.

Only select few.

Many women never experience a Magnum.

But now every woman can.

A massive hunk of frozen deliciousness that will satisfy your ever desire.

When I first busted open the opulent package I danced around with one of the 3 Magnums inside....I held it between my legs and romped about as if I was a 13 year old with a dangling hose, or in reality a grown woman thoroughly embarrassing herself in front of her younger beau.

He had to tell me to stop.

I was so anxious and thrilled I could not help myself.

Finally a Magnum you won't gag on.

Addiction?

I had a thought today...could I be addicted to chocolate?
I love it. I have to have a little, or a lot every single day.
When I had a chocolate ice cream pop for dinner last night I decided I needed to take a closer look at my situation.
Today I pranced into my kitchen singing like Mary Poppins. I opened all of my cupboards and my fridge so that I could see just how much chocolate inhabited my home.

This is the result:

 Hagen Daaz, numerous types of Reese's, cakes,

Hershey kisses, cookies, Easter eggs, cake,

Junior mints,  Dove bars, Lions Bars, Susans,

Hob Nobs (British) etc etc etc etc.

Here's a closer look.......

Does it look more manageable from a different angle?

No. DRAT!

Basically I filled the entire counter space with sweets. HOLY MOLY!
I SHOULD be embarrassed. Operative word here is should.

And this was the healthy stuff in my fridge:

A half eaten avocado, cherry tomatoes and a lemon.
If the world were to end I could sustain myself and the village of Studio City, CA on chocolate.

Nothing is More Funner.

HUZZAH!!!!! Our Knight of the Joust, Britannia's Knight WINS for his wenches!
(So what he is closing his eyes. It was bright out. He still beat the other dudes)

The Renaissance Fair.
I suggest everyone go.
Immediately.
It is amazing.
I have been quite a few times to the Faire, Fair whatevers...in NY. Last weekend I went with friends to the one here in Socal.
We basically guzzled beer and cider, launched spears, threw axes, cheered, laughed, screamed, taunted witches, fed the geese, and ate enough meat pies for the village of Cornwall.
Anyone who dares to make fun of people that go to the Ren Fair are L A M E O S.

The Queen's Beer. Old Beer. Really Old.

Yes. My undies are pink. Now, Look at the damn spear!

Just casually chatting about the Reformation with a man in a dress.

Alas, the lady is sad the day is over!

GO TO THE RENAISSANCE FAIR. 

HUZZAH! Long Live the Queen.

Dear Diary, Who is Mr X?

I have had a request by a reader for more. So more I will bring you! (said with a British accent)

I was petrified that my mother would read my diary. I did NOT want her to see the salacious things I was admitting to.  Apparently I didn't think that putting a list of explanations or codes on the inside cover would throw her off the scent.
I clearly thought Vicki was a total idiot when I was 10.
I was the idiot because as I grew older I slowly learned that my Mother knew everything. Like EVERYTHING. She was freaking psychic.
She knew what alcohol I drank- even after I threw it up, who I was out with and what time I snuck out of the house.
Here is a photo of Karla's Brilliant Diary Key:

notice the beautiful cursive.

Yup- that says.....Mr X = domonic
My readers.....They are one in the same.
Like "Mr Big" before Carrie/the writers came up with that iconic term.
I was way ahead of my time.
It also describes how my diary broken up into 3 sections via page color was:
yellow- regular section/everyday
green- private
red (pink)- problems



AT 10, IN 1986 I HAD PROBLEMS. YEAH.
I also had stuff that was "private".
I also thought I may forget who I was referring to when I wrote about Mr X because with the plethora of  boys mentioned I may get confused.
Tramp.

Dominic was the new kid and I had to make him my boyfriend.  He had gorgeous black curly hair that had me in lust instantly. I love men with black curly hair to this day because of him.  Of course I NEVER let on that I liked the cocky kid. It would ruin my bad ass, tough girl rep. I wasn't going for the lesbian thing but friends tell me I was a bully and the "block protector" so I went with it.

Below is the excerpt from an event with Dominic:


June 2, 1986
Dear Diary,
Sorry I wrote so late but now I'm going to write in you every day. Even at camp.
Now to talk about more exciting things. 
A few weeks ago Mr. X winked at me and challenged ME, the fastest runner in the class
to a race!!!!
I just cannot believe that he didn't show up.
But neither did I.
Karla

So modest.
and so weird.
Who taught him to wink at girls? Probably Dominic's grandpa and it sure worked on me.

From a young age I was quite the athlete.  I am also an Aries with Leo rising and born in the year of the Dragon so I am INSANELY competitive. Probably the worst combo ever for a woman any man would ever want to be involved with hence the lesbian vibe.

I took Dominic's challenge.  At a later date we both decided to actually show up. We met after school in the parking lot and I beat his ass. Unfortunately besting my one true love in front of the entire 2nd grade wasn't the thing that was going to win his heart. I embarrassed him thoroughly.
I distinctly remember lunging down on the rough, hot blacktop. Placing my hands on the gravel preparing to fly through the alleyway the crowd made for us. I could hear my breathing... heavy because curlyboy was super close to me.
I was nervous. I was fast though. Really fast.
Running from the cops/gangs/ mean, older sister of my best friend Danielle honed my skills. 'Steal the Bacon' helped a lot with my training as well.
My muscles tensed....my converse were sliding and trying to grip the floor for take off.....Stray blonde hairs escaped from my headband and flew in my eyes obstructing my view of the chain link fence in front of me that I HAD to touch first.
I had to.
I had to impress him.
I had to make him finally see me as something other than a ponytail to pull. The surrounding kids cheered for their respective favorites. That's what we did in Queens, NY. We raced on foot for glory in the parking lot after school. I was challenged by a BOY.
One that I longed for....I had no choice, no other option.
I had to win.

I won the race.
I lost the boy.

Hiding behind a coy giggle was not my version of flirting.
Whooping his ass and emasculating him was.

Its okay. Don't fret.
Mr X eventually moved to Florida and John, the Greek came along.

The British Invasion

FORGET the royal wedding! My grandma is guest bartending! My little brother decided to make the above flyer for her big night tonight! Apparently the more people she packs in the bar the better her chances of winning the bartending challenge and the grand prize of 500 bucks. Clearly my Nanny, which we so adoringly call her, has a young spirit.

HIRE PEOPLE!

How can anyone think its okay to only have ONE person on duty for the overnight shift in an airplane tower?
The lives of thousands of people are in their hands....directing flights to land safely.
We have to pay to check a suitcase now and they have the audacity NOT to have a backup dancer in the tower?

Someone tell me where all of our money goes?
They want us to pay for a ticket. Then for a "preferred" seat. (meaning an exit row which used to be doing them a favor offering to lift the door)
Now we have to pay for gas, and food, and a movie...next for the toilet.
And they can't pay some dude a couple hundred bucks to keep the other sleeping dude awake?


Come on America. Let's get it together.

Anyone?

Okay....every now and then I have a brilliant idea. Less often than more often.

This popped in my head whilst spring cleaning my apartment spic and span ...and at the same time avoiding running into the murderer who was literally on the loose today in my 'hood'.  Now I live in the 'hood where 'ghetto birds' as my lovely neighbor calls them hover overhead for hours interrupting my cleaning playlist. Cher- "Strong Enough"....Celine, Babs, Liza...yup everyone thinks a gay man took me hostage and not the gang banger the cops can't get a hold of on Ventura Blvd.
Holy quotes Batman.

So...back to my idea. If the public will actually become obsessed with The Housewives of whatever city that lends a cute logo to the title then why wouldn't they be obsessed with my new show...
"The Unemployed Actresses of Studio City"?
Instead of fancy dinners at sushi restaurants the wives/actresses will have dinner parties at their respective studio apartments or 1 bedrooms they can't afford and serve Ramen noodles and Franzia wine.
For dessert they will dine on miniature snickers and Parliament cigarettes!
Easy to stay skinny when you can afford food!

Instead of lavish vacations to Cabo they can take their VW Jetta's to Venice Beach and flirt with men to score some drinks.
Shopping at Loehmann's and the Rose Bowl flea market instead of Barney's and Sak's.
I honestly believe it is way more interesting to watch hot chicks trying to figure out how to pay the bills than watch these overbleached, non-working, over the hill spoiled brats spend their ex-husbands cash.
Anyone with me?

This Cat is a Jerk.

Jerk

From now on I will call him Jerk. In my book "jerk" is a really bad word. As a kid if I called my brother a "jerk" I got soooo yelled at. "Asshole" was okay but "gaylord" and "jerk" were totally unacceptable in my house. It was the 80's people.....yes we used that strange word, gaylord.  I didn't know what it meant then and I still don't. But it was totally off limits and apparently highly offensive which I why I used it often.
Jerk, the black stable cat.
How sweet, how cuddly! The stable got a new kitten! After a lovely day of riding we all stood and watched the new kitty play.
There had to be at least 5 of us standing around chatting and oohhing and ahhing at the new fuzzball the stable had adopted.  Being that I was the only one in the group allergic to cats he naturally decided to make figure 8's rubbing and curling himself around my legs, all the while looking up at me all sweet and demure.
Instead of purring at me graciously because my boots were acting as his scratching post he decided to lunge his entire body from the floor onto my quadricep.  Like a broke Vegas stripper to a pole.  Like an exotic dancer....he had claws, but real ones- that hurt...not french tipped acrylic ones. His sharp claws sunk into my skin right through my jeans.

He hung on for a few good solid seconds while I mentally attempted to grasp onto what was happening to my soft skin underneath the denim. I usually like to brag that I have reflexes like a cat, not so much this time. Ironic.
After a few moments of pain I finally figure out I should probably shake the fucker off.

I did, furiously, as everyone stood around in horror that I was being so mean.... then they laughed at me. Apparently it was hilarious.
That was our first meeting.
I have avoided that bully since.

Every time I go to the stable I am usually with a few people. Today I was alone. Perfect for Jerk, fully grown now, to get close to me.
He did.
Except this time he was like Anthony Hopkins in the Silence of the Lambs...taunting me.
He wanted to break me down mentally.
As I was tacking up my horse he decided to bring me a present.
A dead mouse.
A really cute, grey and white, fluffy one. Like Despereaux but dead as a doorknob. Floppy and dead. In his mouth.
What a jerk, right?
See!!!! I told you he was a jerk.
At this point I fully expected this lunatic to fling it at my head.
Instead....he swatted it around...threw it in the air like a volleyball, whacked it with his paws, rubbed it in the dirt, launched it skyward like pizza dough. Poor little mousey.
(Don't tell anyone but I sorta threw some rocks in his direction...I swear I didn't hit him. I just wanted to make it stop.)
Stop he did not.
He ate it.
In front of me.
Well, he ate the head and left the guts.
He gnawed off the head I should say. Thanks Jerk! You really made my day.
This photo is Jerk cleaning his paws and licking his chops after the murderous rampage.
Why do people like cats?

Wild Mare

It has been about a month...maybe more since I went riding.  I finally got to the stable today for a long overdue lesson.  I usually ride once a week and have a lesson with the most amazing and patient teacher. I am re-learning to ride English.  As a child I was fearless and riding often. Not quite the same situation these days.

Even though I am an Aries, I am no longer utterly fearless.  I guess with age comes sensibility. Being sensible is boring and clearly holds me back from doing anything exciting and/or worthwhile.

Today the beautiful Selle Francais horse that I have the honor of riding was "high".... she had not been exercised very much the past few days because of the rainy weather.  So this resulted in a horse that was very, very excited and wanted to RUN.

Ya....scary.

She was a bit ornery with me even though I tried to butter her up with some peppermints and animal crackers. It's not her fault really. She was thrilled to finally get out of her stall and get some exercise.

I was quite nervous today. I thought she might actually throw me off this time.

I have been anxious the past few times I have ridden thinking each time that would be the day I was catapulted into the air like a piece of rogue popcorn who escaped out of the glass at the theatre concession stand.
I find myself anticipating it.
When I was a child the thought did not even cross my mind. Falling off was not an option. I do have terrific balance, if I say so myself.....but a Cirque Du Soleil tightrope walker couldn't stay on this mare if she was feeling randy.

I need to forget the fear.  Get on and ride. Concentrate on my lesson and stop the worry wart act that is running through my brain like a skipping record. If I do not, I will not make progress.

Kind of sounds like this could apply to most other areas of my life as well.
This wild mare is teaching me more about life than just staying in the saddle upon her tall back.
Merci Madame Selle Francais.

STOP INSULTING MY DOGS!

I love the dog park. I have an obsession with the dog park. It's my safe place. I go there to be one with the universe, even thought it's distracting because it stinks like dookie.
I probably go more for me than my dogs but they do really love it there as well.
At least I think so.
Regardless...every single time I go, there is some jerkwad who opens their big mouth, sometimes more than one jerkwad.
My dogs are Pekingese, and ancient breed of Chinese dog that is sort of rare around these parts. They have very long beautiful hair that has taken me years to grow. I mean, them years to grow.
My dogs are beautiful, especially the female....she is so darn pretty it hurts my heart to look at her sometimes.
It never fails that each and every time we go to the park that some douche has to blurt out that they look like "wigs", or "hairballs", or "rugs", or "walking pieces of furniture"- whatever that means.

They ask me things like "why don't you give them a haircut?"
or my personal favorite.....the real assholes decide to talk to the boy and say....
"you need a set of braces little dog."

At that point I want to kick them in the balls/vagina and let Jake lift his leg all over their face.
In my own sicko world he would whizz on their heads and exclaim "get yourself on a treadmill fatso and I'll run to the orthodontist."

I don't cut them into a lion cut or buzz their hair short because that would then ruin the integrity of the breed. Plus, I'm not a lazy cheapskate so I pay to groom them and brush their hair often so I don't need to shave an idiotic mohawk into my dog's heads.
People in LA think that's cool for some reason. It's not. It's lame.

Anyway.....It's mean to say things about people's dogs.
I wouldn't tell you that your kids eyes are too close together would I?
Or suggest that you not feed her/him carbs anymore.
If we were waiting in line at the supermarket I wouldn't yell out that your wife can carry the milk in her saddlebags now would I?
I wouldn't just blurt out that your husband looks like he has a thyroid problem.
I also wouldn't ask why you didn't encourage him to just shave his head instead of opting for the heinous plugs instead.

So jerk wads at the park....stop insulting my dogs.

Or we are all gunna pee on your head.

Really?

There is no one more annoying than the grown woman sitting beside me requesting the nail technician "be creative" with a design on her toenails.
First of all, she couldn't make up her mind or be "creative" enough herself to come up with a design to request.
Secondly she's pushing 40 and she wants flowers on her electric blue polished toe nails?
Really?
There goes my relaxing Saturday mani/pedi.

I truly wonder what things I do to people to warrant them writing a ranty blog. A plethora I'm sure.

Ex and the City

By far the best moment ever for 'Sex and the City'.

"Your girl is lovely Hubble"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyuCwCN78lA

I am going to rent 'The Way We Were' tonight and have a glass of red wine.....and eat the rest of my cookies. Babs and Bobby Redford........TLFE.

2 hours and counting

"This is America. We shouldn't be in this predicament,"  A lovely working class woman exclaimed on the 6 o'clock news tonight.
While those assholes in tacky, expensive suits bicker about our budget, our brave soldiers in camouflage thousands of miles from home are worried their families in the very country they are risking their lives for might get evicted and go hungry.
Is that a run-on sentence?
I'm sorry....I am really not well versed in politics but this is a little insane isn't it?

Long Distance Love

photo courtesy of The Silver Fox

Yearning. Pining, 

coveting you.

aching for you,

desirous of, eager for, passionate for,

I'm craving, dreaming of you,

a hanker, I have a crush on you. A Major one.

I have a yen for you. No one says that anymore.

I hunger for you, an itch I can't scratch,

languish, long, lust, I set my heart on you.

I thirst, want, wish for........You.

Ernesto

My Dad was cool before "cool" was cool.

Hipsters of LA, you have been schooled.

C is for Cookie

Dear Vons Cookies,
Why are you so delicious? Why do I feel the need to eat one, or two, or three of you after each and every meal including breakfast?
You're kind of breakfasty right?
No.
You are delectable though! If I could marry a cookie I would marry you.
No prenup. Promise.
Karla

Dear Vons,
PLEASE STOP selling these delicious cookies. I BEG OF YOU!
I am gaining 4 lbs a week purely because of these treats.
I bought 2 boxes this past trip. I live alone.
Many thanks,
Karla

Dear Karla,
CONTROL YOURSELF!
Karla FattyBoBatty

Yes, my friends. This was my dinner tonight. The most delicious Cookies on Earth and a giant glass of cheap Chianti.

Dear Diary

June 2, 1986.....

My first entry in the Diary above. I have been recording my thoughts, feelings, happy moments and crushing heartbreaks in some sort of journal since 1986.
Inside you can see plenty of little sparkly stickers.....love notes from random testosterone filled boys, candy packets pressed flat from years between these pastel pages.....blue pen, purple pen, pink ink...tear smeared writing,  excited teen tummy butterflies as well as teen angst,.....loving my parents..and two pages later hating them. I even attempt to create some sort of code so that if my Mother happened to find my beloved confidant she wouldn't be able to decipher my mysteries.
Except the code wasn't all that elusive. It was downright easy to figure out once you look on the back cover to find the "key". Silly girl. What was my 10 year old self thinking?! You are smarter than that Karlita! Argh.
Okay, back to the boys thing. Yes I had love notes from boys when I was 10.  I'm flirty now, I was flirty then. In fact I was quite a tease leading to endless pages of a distraught teenager desperate for Phillip to come back to her, among others.

You see....good old pimply faced Phil dumped Karla because she didn't french him at the roller rink. I swear people. It is written in baby blue ink right on these pages.

Jerk.

As I go through the thousands of pages in journal after journal I learned my lesson from that situation. Easy became my middle name. Thanks Phil.

JOKE. geez. Don't get your Thursday panties in a bunch.


I cannot thank my young self enough for being so diligent about writing each and every night. I would have zero memory of my childhood had I not.
It drums up so many emotions going over my old scrawl.  It is quite amazing how hurtful things can be at 12 years old. How 1 event can change the course of your life for the better or worse. How 1 snotty blonde popular girl can ruin your 11th birthday party by telling the entire 5th grade not to go, then only a year later end up as your best friend for the next 20 years.

My favorite quotes from my My Melody Diary...

"11/5/1985
I like this kid in my class his name is Dominic. He likes me too. What should I say to him? He has black hair, brown eyes, nice teeth, but a very stinky personality."
Well that explains a lot.

"6/2/86
I'm so glad that I'm going to camp cuz my bratty brother won't be there to bother me...plus I want to meet some guys."
Yes, I literally wrote those words. I was 10 people.
Madonna was my idol so I guess this is not surprising.




My personal favorite....
"6/3/86
Mr. X likes me because in class he always gets yelled at for staring at me. I feel so embarrassed when he does that."
Embarrassed? Yeah right.  Holy ego Original Batman Show.


Oh and there are soooooo many more where those came from. Please comment if you would like to see more.

I have slacked on my Diary writing  the past few years.  I guess blogging is sort of a journal, right? Thing is......a true Diary is not meant to be read by anyone else. A diary is meant to be private so I feel as though I was more honest with myself than I could ever  be with the rest of the world. Precisely why the writing was so pure and unself-conscious. (yes, that's a word.)

All this blogging, and twittering is so narcissistic really. We all think we are so witty and clever. So funny and irreverent. Its so self serving in a way. It has not much to do with sharing our thoughts with others but to make ourselves seem interesting.

I digress.

Yes....the photo above includes a TELEGRAM. Or what was supposed to be a telegram.
Yes, I'm ancient.  At Mineola Middle School On Valentines Day students sent Pink telegrams to one another to express their love and affection.  We didn't have texts, or emails, or twats...well we sorta did have those. We didn't have immediate gratification. We had lined paper and pink telegrams. We had Hello Kitty Diaries. We had pens.....and paper and heartbreak.