Karen & Erik

As she mentioned here, I’m building K a desk. All that’s left now is the finishing:

The other day, a new visitor to our site asked me, “What ever happened to the Martha Stewart letter?” Well, here’s what happened…

I actually got a letter back… from her publicity department. Telling me to send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to this other address. And I thought, what the hell, Martha? I KNOW you have an extensive stationary wardrobe. You’re telling me you can’t front me an envelope? So the letter stayed on my desk at work for a while, and I’m not sure what happened to it.

Meanwhile, the fabulous Becky told me that her mom had a friend who worked with Martha, and she was totally going to get her autograph for me! How amazing is that? Some time went by and I asked Becky about the photo, and she said that she DID have a photo for me… but…

OBVIOUSLY, she must have sent me the photo that Dr. Mrs. Fitz requested. So Dana, do you have MY photo?

Becky is working on getting me a corrected one. But this photo will stay on the fridge for a while. Maybe I’ll gift it later on to someone who makes a donation to The Breast Cancer 3-Day. Or I’ll just send it to Dr. Mrs. Fitz so she can show it off to Caroline.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking of writing her another letter so I can include a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Maybe this time the letter will say,

Dear Martha,

You’re the greatest! I wanted to get your name tattooed on my ass, but I worry that when I start popping out kids, your name will look more like MMMMMMAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRTTTTTTTHHHHHHHAAAAAAA. So can I just get your autograph instead? Thanks!

Karen (not Dana)

Hi everyone! Did everyone have a good weekend? I hope so. Ours started with a hot date with Iron Man (OMG SO DOPE) and dinner with friends. On Saturday, we finally returned that stupid Pottery Barn desk at the mall. Instead of dragging it through SouthPark Mall, we went to the delivery entrance to meet the PB clerk. While we waited for him to bring the cart, we found ourselves surrounded by over a dozen puppies. It was as if I suddenly walked into some twee poster I might find on my 2nd grade guidance counselor’s wall. The Char-Meck Animal Control was having a pet adoption fair, and they were all waiting to use the service elevator. Despite my impassioned please (asking really nicely twice), Erik and his heart of steel would not relent. We went home puppy-less. My heart shed tears.

Later that afternoon, our neighbor came to visit and I was able to meet their new springer spaniel puppy, Roto. My heart exploded with puppy joy while Erik watched, probably thinking rational thoughts such as “we can’t have a puppy because we aren’t prepared to care for one, how are we going to walk it/check on it during the weekday when we are working?” Whereas my brain was screaming “PUPPY! PUPPY! PUPPY! PUPPY!”

This is a big difference in Erik and I. He is excellent with retaining rational thought, and thinking things through thoroughly. His thought process is wise and lucid. My thought process is likely covered in glitter and old Dorito crumbs. It has three settings: On, Off, and Opposite Day. Also, it probably resembles the monosyllabic thought process of a toddler. After all, as those who attended our wedding know, Erik is a THINKING person, and Karen is NOT.
Maybe instead of getting a puppy now, we’ll just play with Roto. That situation yields all of the cuteness, none of the poop. Meanwhile, we have had our friends with dogs bring them over in order to gauge the reaction of the cats. When confronted with a dog (or another cat, actually), Fred puffs up and makes a deep, manly yowl. So manly in fact that you’d think he still had his testicles. Holly runs away, which is surprising since she’s a certified menace to society. Either way, they’re going to have to get used to the fact that there may be a day when their pampered existence has a surprise visitor who will shake things up. Which sounds like the plot for The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Does this mean Will Smith is coming to live with us?

First off, don’t everyone chime in about that concert at once. Jerks.

Nothing much new here. Erik is gearing up for baseball season - he’s been doing team practices and scrimmage for a few weeks and soon will start the actual season. Meanwhile, I’ve been nagging him mercilessly to make me a desk. See, there’s a story behind this desk.

When we decided to have an office for both of us, we knew that we would have different requirements for our desks. He needs one that is L-shaped, able to hold multiple monitors and his laptop, and give him a place to put everything he needs to do work. I need a place to make pretty things! I wanted something more along the lines of a project table. Specifically, a Bedford Project Table from Pottery Barn.

It’s just magnificent. I love it. I want to wrap my arms around it and lay a big smooch on its desktop. Erik said, “Why the heck do you want to spend that kind of money on it when I can just make you one exactly like it?” But lo, I was doubtful that Erik would have the time to make it for me. He is a very busy and important man. He carries a Blackberry. AND a cell phone.
So I ordered it. And it finally arrived. With a giant hole in it. (I’ll post pictures later) Also, it looked cheap and was made of thin MDF. I was very upset. Erik said, “Well, you can return it for one that does not have a hole in it. Or you can just let me build you one, like I should have all along.” I agreed with my smart, attractive husband. He’s so wise.

Last weekend, we went down to St. Petersburg, FL to help E’s mom and Smitty clear out his grandfather’s house. It was good to see the family, but very good to get back to Charlotte. I never have much luck in Florida. While we were there, E’s mom gave us his grandfather’s bedroom set, some pictures, and about 2,500 records. E’s grandfather was a huge music buff, and E’s mom wanted to make sure the records went to a good cause, or at least were given to someone who would appreciate them. So tomorrow at the House of Garrett, we are having a Crazy Delicious Record Sale, will all proceeds going to the Susan G. Komen for the Cure Foundation and the National Philanthropic Trust for Breast Cancer Research. You know, for the boobs.

So if you’re in the Charlotte area and want to do some crate digging, or just stop by and say FNUR, email me at karenbgarrett (at) gmail (dot) com for the dirty details. I’ll take pictures of the sale and of the fun, and post them.
Also, you know what we have not had on this site in… possibly ever (too lazy to look)? A contest! I have a good one coming up. Actually contest is not the right word, so much as a prize package. So keep your eyes peeled for that.
Jack Bauer says hi, by the way.

Anybody want to go to see Kanye West/Rihanna/Lupe Fiasco/N.E.R.D. in Charlotte on May 8th with me? Seriously, I am dying to go to this concert but everyone either does not want to go or does not want to pay for it (cheapest tickets are $50).

(I’m skipping the episode where the redhead gets booted and they all do music photo shoots. Because other that Claire’s dance of joy and stank little “AT LEAST I HAVE A HUSBAND!”, I’ve already erased it from my mind. Delete! Plus, last week was a clip show, so I’ll just recap the last new episode.)

I am slowly weaning myself off of coffee. For a variety of reasons (what do you mean, it’s not healthy to have blinding headaches when I don’t have coffee?), but mostly because the coffee at work is absolutely terrible. I bring this up because a lack of coffee can make people irritable, and it definitely does in this episode. Lauren (the “punk”) is cleaning the kitchen and dumps the small contents of the coffeepress. Fatima comes in and asks where her coffee is. Did she make some, then go shave her armpits? DOUBTFUL to the last part. Anyway, Lauren gets all defensive, Fatima eggs her on, and Lauren starts cursing like a crazy woman, chugging her coffee out of a wine glass (sign of crazy behavior if I ever saw it), and ends with a very Newsies‘-ish declaration. “Ya lucky, ya know that? Ya f***in’ lucky.”  Somebody haul her ass down to Santa Fe! (Note: only two people reading this blog will get that joke, but it’s ok because they used to make me watch that movie.)

Go-see time! Already? It’s not time for them to do a crummy acting challenge, and then Fatima can claim she can’t learn lines because she has no labia? Geez. The girls are divided into two teams, and told to STAY POSITIVE! This is harder for Whitney when one of the designers pretty much call her a heifer. GOD Whitney, you and your gorgeous curvacious body that most women would kill for. YOU FATTY FAT FATTY! Stacy-Ann rocks it, Claire is weird looking, Lauren can’t walk,  Fatima is too skinny, Kaptain Kangaroo is gorgeous, Anya is invisible, Dominique has testicles. But you know what else we discovered? SHE’S MISSING A TOOTH.

DUDE! What the hell happened there? Did she think she’d look more womanly by impersonating Amy Winehouse?
“They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said I. HAVE. BALLS.”

The photoshoot.. well, I can’t talk about it yet. Because first I have to point out what Rich at fourfour so brilliantly spotted - JAY MANUEL’S MOOSE KNUCKLE.

Or, maybe it’s more like a huge cameltoe for Jay’s GIANT vagina. Don’t be hatin’, Dominique!

Anyway, the girls are supposed to pose against these clear plastic screens with an inch of water in them and look all… I dunno, like they’re stuck in a washing machine? Claire breaks the ice by doing a belly flop on the plastic sheet - DESPITE Moose Knuckle telling her explicitly NOT TO. So, she nearly breaks her neck. Idiot. Everyone else’s shoots go fine, but then they all kind of look the same to me in this one - like fish flopping in a boat and gasping for air.

Elimination time! At panel, the judges take another opportunity to give a back-handed compliment to KappaKappaKappa. Paulina is all, “Her Eastern European tackiness is gone!” Well, Paulina would know. Isn’t Kajhagoogoo from BOSTON? SO what the hell, they’re making it sound like she rolled out from Ellis Island last week. THEY’RE JUST JELLUS. Dominique’s hair is sticking up like an erection. Fatima poses like a little teapot - literally. Tyra kills my last brain cell by saying, “H2O-no-you-didn’t-girl!”. Ugh. SO much hate. The best part is after deliberations, each judge takes turn saying a word from “We-have-reached-a-decision“, the last word belonging to Tyra and said in an overly-dramatic, arm-sweeping fashion. Nigel rolls his eyes to the camera, and I have spent the last 15 minutes looking for a screencap of that. Still looking.

Final two - Lauren and her lovable Tourette’s Syndrome, or Claire and her breast milk whiplash. Goodbye Claire! Sorry you have to leave your dream of reality show mediocrity and go back home to your less appealing option, YOUR CHILD AND YOUR HUSBAND.

I bet you thought I was pregnant, didn’t you?

Nope!

Instead, my news is that I’m going to ask you to again open up your wallets, purses and manbags in support of boobies, because I’ve decided to participate again in the Breast Cancer 3-Day. This year, I’ll be walking November 7-9th in the Dallas/Fort Worth event.
Longtime readers coming from my former blog, FNUR FNUR know that I did the 3-Day in 2006, two weeks before my wedding. Longtime readers also know that before my wedding, I was an idiot. (Now I am a married idiot). But I did raise over $2,300 for breast cancer research, education, prevention and treatment for men and women all over the world. It was an honest-to-goodness life-changing experience, and I still get choked up talking about it.

This year, I have a few things going for me that I did not have the first time. 1) I have one under my belt so I know what to expect. 2) I’m not getting married or participating in any other incredibly stressful/wonderful/intensive event any time near the 3-Day. And 3) Pizza is going to be walking with me! This is her first time doing the 3-Day, and I’m so excited that I can share this experience with her.

Of course, I’ll be posting updates on training, fundraising, blisters, random thoughts that occurred to us while walking, and desperate pleads to Dana to help me figure out why my knee is doing something weird.

Meanwhile, I ask you to dig deep into your Jack Bauer manbags and donate to show your support of breastesess. Whether you have them or just like to cop a feel, please support the fight to protect them. At the current rate of the disease, ten million women across the world could die from breast cancer in the next 25 years. Through funding and awareness, we can increase the number of survivors and eventually FIND A CURE. Thank you all so much for your support - whatever you can give is VERY appreciated.

DONATE NOW! 

We’ve been busy, you guys. It doesn’t seem as bad when I look at our calendar, but the fact remains - when I get home these days, I do not want to blog. I want to make dinner, sit on the sofa, and watch an appalling travesty of a television show with my husband instead of blog.

E is coming home today from a one day business trip. Last week, I was in Minneapolis, surrounded by several thousand librarians. Man, those chicks can keg stand! Not really. Now that we are back, we have some more work around the house to do. First and foremost, we really owe you guys some pictures. They’re coming, I promise. I’ll work on them this weekend.

I’ve been doing a lot of cooking this week, which is good for both E and me. E is happy that not only am I making tasty goodness and actually using the kitchen items we spent good money on, but we are not ordering pizza every night. I am happy because the recipes (most of which came from here) are turning out wonderfully. No more kicking the oven and screaming DAMN YOU TO HELL, STUPID LAMB SHANK for me! At least, not this week.

E has been working very hard on the house. In the past couple of weeks, he finished the tile floor in our kitchen and utility room, set up his workshop in the garage, replaced the downstairs lighting fixtures, and has been all-around studly. Now it’s my turn to do work. He has tasked me with replacing the doorknobs and locks on our front, back and side door. I have absolutely no idea how to do this. Not only that, I must ensure that they are all able to be opened by the same key. Is this possible to do without calling a locksmith? I can’t seem to find an answer on The Google or DIY. In addition, I’ll also be painting our guest bedrooms soon to make room for our guest bedroom furniture (being picked up in a few weeks). Next time you’re in the Charlotte, NC area and looking for a place to pass out, think of “The Garretts” for all your slumber needs.

Back to work. I do have another thing to update everyone on, but it’s not ready yet. Deal with it, Fitz. What’s new with everyone else? Leave your happenings in the comments.

ETA: HA we ordered pizza tonight. So much for that.

ETA2: NO, I am not pregnant, that is NOT the news.

(Yes I know I am behind. Deal with it. I’ve been in Minneapolis.)

From 2 weeks ago - Dominique!

Dominique is stepping up her game! It’s been broughten to another level, people. A new level of Dominique! So her poses and attitude is even more hidden penis-alicious! What’s better, she gets in a really stupid fight with Whitney (honestly, they were both being bitches and it was an incredibly stupid fight) and calls her racist! Petty drama is what Dominique is all about! Wanna know what Whitney is all about? Using that old white girl gem, “How can I be racist - my best friend is black!”

….

The greatest part of that scene is how Marvita is just chilling in the back, drinking a water bottle with her sunglasses on, avoiding conflict. But the non-expression on her face says it all. Dominique ends it by saying Whitney looks 30 but acts 12. Whitney misses a GIANT opportunity for rebuttal there. I have several in mind but none of them are blog-safe.

Moving on - they keep showing interviews with this contestant whose name I have totally forgotten. Seriously people, what’s the name of the red head?

Moving on even more, it’s a mudda-fudding POSE-OFF! Dominique and Claire pose by showing off their crotches. Lauren is confused by the taunts of the gay men, and Marvita does the Roger Rabbit. Blond Whats-Her-Face is a spider or something, and Stacy Ann does Jane Fonda workouts! Fatima shows off her armpits and circumcision to Whitney, who does a split! Redhead just about dislocates her shoulder, and Kazjagoogoo does not impress me with her outfit, seriously. But that’s cool because Claire crotch/Roger Rabbit/Jane Fonda/Splits win, you guys! They win some swag and Marvita is super excited that it’s not even knock-off! (It’s still ugly). Claire wins a trip to Bora Bora, and Whitney screams FOUL, I DID A SPLIT YOU GUYS!

Back at the loft, Marvita and Lauren get drunk on 40s! It’s so awesome I can’t even joke about it. I want Marvita to come to our next party.

The photoshoot is boring - ladies are covered in paint! I fall asleep during this part. But it yields interesting results - Fatima doesn’t shave her armpits, y’all. Is it because she is traumatized by razors? Seriously, I think that would be a good excuse. Instead she just tells the judges, “oh my bad, I’ll go home and shave!” and the judges try to eat her alive. Unfortunately, she’s all bones so Tyra spits her back out (look out, Whitney! Your rump roast is next!). Also, Kakakaka has a great picture and Tyra & co. still insult her. What the hell? Did she spit on Tyra’s pork ribs?
Did you know that honest-to-goodness former supermodel Vendela now hosts “Scandanavia’s Next Top Model”? My god, that saddens me.

It suddenly occurs to me that I want Whitney to win this show because she would crack me up in the “My Life As A Cover Girl”. She could bring her black best friend to the Cover Girl factory in Baltimore! WOOO!

Marvita is kicked off. Oh, Marvita, Marvita, light of my life, fire of my loins, milk in my shake. You were far too awesome for this show, and much too fabulous for that mullet. You know you were too fierce for Tyra to comprehend. I shall miss thee.