www.reneecarol.com

that’s right.  knocking off two birds with one stone.

it’s that time again…i turn another year older, but i’m still as mature as a seven-year-old on blow.  and it just-so-happens that i am also moving out of state on 2/23/09 to arizona.  so what does this all mean?  PARTY.

here are the deets:

saturday, february 21 2009

whiskey’s steakhouse…yes, the same one that i used to work at.  need directions?  call ‘em 248-693-3700…but if it helps, it’s located in downtown lake orion.

who cares what time you get there?  just be there before closing time and it’s all good.

come say goodbye, wish me happy birthday, or tell me to eff off.  either way, i don’t mind.  i’ll be drinking like a damn fool.

let’s recap what happened last year:

whip cream lap dances, lots of drinks and a ton of birthday love.  that’s right.  i kissed everyone that night.  guys, girls, everyone in between and then some.  no wonder my throat hurt the next moring.  i just had too much love to keep to myself.

call me if you have any questions/complaints/deals on imported french show dogs.  i was only kidding on the last two.  i could really care less about your complaints and show dogs.

a guy came in to my store today wanting an application.  okay, fine.  but, if you are going out job hunting, please wear something else besides an over-sized sweat shirt and a “i just blazed the biggest joint” look on your face.  this is the brief interaction that took place:

guy: (walks in, high as hell) hey.

me: hi!  what brings you in today?

guy: i am looking for a job.

…okay, now what i said in my head and what i said out loud are two different things:

in my head: well, did you find one yet?

out loud: okay, great!  here is an application.  you can fill it out and bring it back if you want, or just fill it out here.

dude.  get blazed after you get a job.  not in the middle of hunting for one.  silly.

another random story that i don’t believe i have shared yet:

i was listening to the radio on my way to work the other morning and they were talking about bad first date stories.  well, i do have one, and yes, i already blogged about it on myspace.  but i got to thinking…i have a ton of great stories.  like the time i met a guy at a club in NYC with my roommates, was playing nice and talking to this guy that i had no interest in whatsoever, leaned in to hear what he was saying over the loud music, when all of a sudden he stuck his tongue in my ear.  LAME!  here is how this played out:

setting:  loud club, by the bar.

guy: hey…(lame chatter, lame chatter.)

me:  i’m sorry, i can barely hear you.  what? (i lean in closer to hear what useless thing he needs to mention.)

now, at this point in time, as my dainty ear is directed toward his pie-hole, he sticks his disgusting, wet, vigorous tongue in my unsuspecting auditory canal.

me: (look of disgust on my face.) okay, we’re done.

and i walk away.  at that point in my life, i wish my ear had fangs.  do not stick your tongue in my ear when:

1.  i don’t know you.

2.  i am not expecting it.

3.  i am not even drunk.

4.  you smell like stetson.

and lastly for the night:

i do not frequent the chiropractor.  but when my back was in a ton of pain a few years ago, i decided to break down and go see one.  i was still in college and covered under my parent’s insurance, so what the heck, why not?  well, here is why not:

setting:  chiropractor’s office, in a pateint room, waiting to see the doctor.  when he finally walks in, we exchange the how-do-you-dos and get to the adjusting.

doctor: okay, renee.  i am going to have you stand up, take off your belt, turn around and bend over.

renee: whoa, doc, it usually takes a couple of drinks first.

the doctor looks at me with no expression.  apparently, i found out the hard way that he has no sense of humor.

renee: okay, then.  (i immediately become submissive and do what he says.  what a way to start off a doctor-patient relationship.)

when it was all said and done, my right leg is 1/4 inch shorter than my left and he prescribes me a rubber pancake looking device to wear in my shoe.  great.  not only will i feel lop-sided for the rest of my life, but i have a non-edible pancake prosthetic that i need to wear in my shoe.

needless to say, i lost the pancake somewhere along the way and haven’t been back to see him.  i think we got off on the wrong prosthetic-heel-lifted-foot.

just thought i would share some funny stuff with y’all.  i think this stuff is hilarious, you will probably think i was not loved enough as a child.

funny if you like abusing women.  not so funny if you don’t.

funny if you dislike TGI Fridays.

funny if you like canadian white dude rap songs.  the roomies and i love this one.

funny if you like confusing the elderly.

everyone says, “oh, my life should be a reality tv show.”  i say it, too, but honestly, who the hell would watch my show?  i don’t do anything exciting, like run away with my boyfriend and elope on the beach in mexico. (thanks, heidi and spencer for stealing my thunder and every celebrity gossip magazine cover in the last eight weeks.  you two have invaded every facet of life.  even my mom and pop breakfast shop has the “heidi and spencer omelette.”  it’s a tasteless mess, but that’s besides the point.)

anyway, reality shows can only do well if they have three things: fake boobs, sluts and eliminations.  no wonder Rock of Love is still going strong.  unfortunately for me, i have none of those.  the slutty thing could be debatable, but if it were me competing against a whole tour bus of loose vagina for a prime time spot, i’d lose for sure.

so, the next time you say, “i should have my own reality show,” sit down and ask yourself, “why?”

i often ask myself the same thing, and here is a list with my answers:

1.  i’ve got some drama going on.  nothing compared to The O.C., but it’s something.  dramatical events include: having margarita mix but no tequila, getting dumped by the same boyfriend three times, getting fired from one of my favorite jobs, and dealing with the fact that i am an adopted, transgender midget with the dream of becoming a competitive sock model.  (i was only kidding on that last one…who aspires to modeling socks?)

2.  i guess i really don’t have a ton of extremely good-looking-yet-conceited male model-like friends that live off of their parent’s money. Laguna Beach really trumps me there.

3.  i do like inappropriate things.  i can relate a ton of things to the female and male genitalia. pecans, stalactites, a kleenex box…nothing is safe.  i guess i do have a dash of erotic creativity.

4.  my family is normal in a not-so-normal kind of way.  imagine if The Osbournes had a threesome with Hogan Knows Best and Howard Stern.  if somehow all three of them produced one baby, it would be my family.  and the reason i throw Mr. Stern in the mix is because he’s jewish…and my brother could totally pass as a jew.

5.  there would be partial nudity.  i can’t seem to keep my breasts in my shirt.  i am taking pictures of them with random cell phone cameras, showing them to my mom for whatever reason, talking to my roommate while disrobing…i mean, there’s bound to be a national nip slip.  as for the money shot of the cooter, well, i’ll let lindsay lohan keep the gold medal on that one.

6.  my show would be action-packed.  those actions include: sleeping, eating, working, and falling down when drunk.  i have a scar on my right knee the size of a dime to prove that last one.

7.  i don’t have a special skill or trade that sets me apart from the average joe.  i don’t build choppers, and i definitely can’t grow a kickin’ fumanchu like Paul Sr., either.  the only thing that i can do is pat my head and rub my belly at the same time.

8.  i also don’t have men competing for my affection.  not too many guys are lining up for this piece of work, believe it or not.  i mean, who wouldn’t want a woman that can burp the ABCs, make farting noises with her armpit and blogs religiously on her mediocre website?  you would have to be crazy not to want me…or just have standards.  either way.

9.  i do, however, have some quirky comments.  entertaining others is my main mission in life.  i am always good for a laugh when your dog dies, you fail your drivers training exam or when you find out you’re preggers.  offering to push your friend down a flight of stairs works every time.

10.  i have issues.  all reality tv shows have people with issues.  Flavor of Love had New York, The Apprentice had Omarosa, America’s Next Top Model had Janice Dickinson, Celebrity Fit Club had Daniel Baldwin…the list could go on and on.  no, i don’t whore myself out for heroin or anything, but i’ve definitely considered letting someone feel me up in return for some food stamps.  and no, i am not an alcoholic…but i could so play one on tv.

“i’m competing for who?  get the fuck out of here.  where’s my agent?”

so, i guess i have been tagged online with a “meme.”  i still have no effing clue what it is…but i am supposed to repost this chain letter type thing, and leave some links to other’s blogs at the end.  for a better explanation of what a “meme” is, check out bill’s page to see if you are understanding something that i can’t.  i don’t know what my problem is, but some concepts i just can’t get…euchre, this meme thing and why julia roberts ever married lyle lovett.

here we go:  seven things you may not know about me.

1. although i am short, little people freak me out.  there’s something about people that can bite off your kneecap in one swift lunge that scares the hell out of me.

2.  i played with barbies until i was about fourteen.  no joke.  i still would, so get off it.

3.  i hate talking on the phone.  weird.  i have so much to say, but i can’t stand verbalizing it over the phone.  unless i am drunk.  and you better bet that if i have your number, i will be calling.  your best bet is to not answer when i try and get a hold of you at 3AM.

4.  razors give me the creeps.  i still use them, but i get a shiver every time i see one without a cover on it.  it all goes back to me slicing open my thumb on one when i was little.  boy, was i dumb.

5.  when i eat chicken nuggets, i have to take a mini bite out of each one, and then decide which ones i am eating first, and put them in order.  back when mcdonalds used to have light and dark meat in their nuggets, i had to find out which ones were white meat, and save those for last.  hey, it killed some time while i was trying to decide what to do with the human heads in my freezer at home.

6.  my right armpit sweats more than the left.  as long as we were getting personal, i figured i would share that one.  now, who finds me attractive?!?

7.  i do a lot of gross things like put money in my mouth and eat things off of the floor.  i am so not a lady.

Here are the rules for my fellow bloggers:

• Link your original tagger(s), and list these rules on your blog.
• Share seven facts about yourself in the post - some random, some weird.
• Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
• Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs and/or Twitter.

seeing that i don’t have many friends, let alone know people with their own webpage, i can only list bill here.  so, check his shit out, it’s wayyyy cooler than mine.

marriage, engagements, wedding planning, blah, blah, and more blah.  while sitting in the waiting room at the dermatologist’s office today, i picked up a magazine to help pass the time.  there wasn’t a vast selection of magazines, so i settled on metro detroit bride.  huge mistake.  i open it to see a newly engaged couple that i went to high school with.  and they happen to be a year younger than me.  herf.  what is with this trend?  are people planning to get married due to lack of other extra curricular activities?  you know what guys?  i am going to start a new trend, myself, and see how it catches on.  crystal meth.  let’s do it.  and let’s stop asking stupid questions like, “will you marry me?”

i am referring to me, of course.

let me do the important disclaimer before i write this: i love my friends.  all of them.  even the level-headed ones that seem to be getting married all the time.  i am only writing things like this because they make me feel better on the inside about being an asshole/loser.  you all know i have a horrible sense of humor.  and this post should guarantee that you won’t be asking me to write  a speech for your wedding.

an engaged friend of mine asked me to go to a bridal show this weekend,  i have to work, so i cannot attend.  i told the boyfriend about the near death experience.  he reprimanded me for being an asshole and commitment-phobe, and then he asked whose wedding i was standing up in.  “adriane’s,” i replied, “but she’s not getting married until next year.  so, i will have to make a more successful suicide attempt before then.”

i love you, adriane.  i would do anything for you.  except model wedding dresses for you and assassinate innocent kittens.

amy and i were talking.  we happen to do a lot of this.  after talking about the sharing a towel incident, we spoke briefly of sixty-nine.  the sex act.  not the feel good year of unprotected sex and acid.  anyway, i mentioned something a little funky.  (i usually do, so i guess no one should be surprised.)  i told her that the boyfriend and i could probably never do that.  me, being 5′3”, and he, being much taller, would definitely not resemble any number.  “we would look more like a lower case D.  i don’t even think i would be able to sit on his face, it would be more like his belly button.”  amy cringed in disgust.  one point for me for giving one of my roommates a horrifying image in her head.

after showering the other day, i reached for my towel, only to find that it was already wet.  hmm, why was my towel wet before i got to using it?  crazy.  well, for lack of towels on hand in the bathroom, i went ahead and used the already damp towel, anyway.

and then it happened again.  another shower, another damp towel.  what the hell?

so, after using the damp towel yet again, i had to think long and hard how this could be.  one of my roommates was using my towel by mistake.  i told my other roommate about my suspicions, and she laughed.

i mean, is that gross?  it’s not like he has a crazy fungal infection of the skin.  so what?  we may have shared a towel.  twice.  before i showered the third time, i actually remembered to grab a clean towel on the way in to my cleansing session.

amy and i had a good laugh about it.  the only thing that may gross me out is the fact that i may have indirectly had his balls on my face.  nothing like teabagging a chick and not physically being there to enjoy it.  but then i reminded myself that the swinging door goes both ways.  i might have taken an indirect shot to the face, but he very well could have encountered a face full of my vagina.  we both win…or lose.  i haven’t figured that one out yet.

“my horizontal life” by chelsea handler.  buy it, borrow it, steal it and then give it back…whatever you do, read it.  you will be laughing your ass off.  it’s one of those “i am too old and mature to pee my pants, but i read this and found that i dribbled a bit in my crotch region” good.

it’s one of the best things i have ever read.  no, i don’t read a lot…so i guess that’s like an anorexic saying that ramen noodles is the best gourmet meal they’ve ever had.  either way, i am a huge fan.  and you should be, too.