I Am, what I Ham

As a species, we have a lot of things that connect us. It's really nice actually. There are so many things that we all have in common that allow us to bond and feel a real sense of camaraderie. We all have to breath, we all have to sleep, we want to feel loved, we need at least two hours of tv a day, we like to own lesser species as pets to feel powerful and we are all fat.

Yeah. You. You are fat. You soooo are. I know, its really hard to hear isn't it? But it's true. Okay, maybe thats a little harsh. I'm gonna rephrase that. We all think we are fat. Is that better? Is that a statement we can all get on board with?

I'm certain that all of us have, at one point or another, called ourselves fat. I have. My friends have. My cat has (in his case though its crazy true). But I'm not fat. You're not fat. Barry still is though...

So maybe some of you out there are like "Carly, thats real sweet and everything and I know we should all love ourselves, but I really am fat." And to that I say: "Says who?" What if its not fat. What if its just you? And what if its the best part?

To quote Woody Allen:

"For when we lose twenty pounds dear reader (and I am assuming you are not as large as I), we may be losing the best twenty pounds we have! We may be losing the pounds that contain our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty or, in the case of one inspector general I knew, put some unsightly flab around the hips."

                                                  -Notes from the Overfed

It really got me thinking. And the more I thought, and frankly snacked, the more I realized its true. Every pound makes us who we are. The pound I gained last week? That pound was caused by a great few days spent with friends and cupcakes. That pound is a pound full of laughs. The pound I lost this week was clearly a pound that aided with my ability to wake up on time, which I am now not able to do. So next time you look at your fat, whether or not you really are fat, remember that each five pounds are chock full of experiences and lessons and the little chunks that make you, you. Winston Churchill had productive fat. Think of what a fat Gandhi could have accomplished!  

Also, if you are considering lipo-suction, ask yourself "where does that fat go, and who is using it and to what ends?" Maybe there is a secret underground army of discarded fat full of genius cells and crafty sneak cells and war savvy! Lipo aside, where does all the fat we lose go to? Where is it lying in wait? What is it planning? When will it strike?? Has it left us with only weak and unimaginative fat and taken all the good fat with it? Oh no. Oh dear, this is terrible. I think I liked life better when I just thought I was fat. Now I am enlightened and I'm scarred.

So in order to stop what can only be the beginnings of a massive fat overhaul and uprising, we must give the fat less power. We have to stop obsessing about that weight flux that has taken over our lives. I am grossly aware that this entry turned a little sappy and self-lovey, which is frankly... well, gross. But I have alternative motives. I really just want everyone to stop being so touchy about their weight, because I want to be able to make fat jokes and not offend people. So if you care about my comedic well being, you will stop thinking you are all fat. Because I have lots of jokes waiting about, gathering dust and itching to only be mildly, and not wildly, offensive.  

***Side note: If you happen to have excess amounts of fat filled personality, its still not okay to take up three seats on the subway. I just wanna clear that up.

Roses are Red, Crips are Blue...

I don't know if you know this, but yesterday was Valentines Day. I know, right? Its so totally one of those days that you can just miss. It's like Presidents Day, or Arbor Day. Sooo weird. But, yeah, like I said, it was yesterday. If you happened to miss it, you can rest assured you didn't miss much. No parades or anything of the sort. I bet you are wondering what I did, aren't you? You're probably thinking to yourself "Oh, she most likely did something terribly romantic and noteworthy" and you my friend, would be totally right! I had a straight up Rom Com night! Unfortunately I played both the man and woman in the meet cute senario. Also, it wasn't so much a 'meet cute' as a possible 'near death' or 'kidnapping' scenario. Okay, okay. It wasn't so much a Rom Com as the beginning of a very low budget horror film. And when I say horror film, I mean one of those movies they show kids in middle school about the dangers of the real world and being out after dark. Don't worry guys! This has a happy ending. There is a dashing man involved, so strap in!

It was a night that was most peculiar for a February in New York City. It was not as cold as you would expect it to be. The weather was much like a walk in freezer thats had the door left open for quite a while.  It was like one of those beer rooms at a gas station. Got it? Man, can paint a picture or what? Am I right? Anyways... I had met Caleb and his castmates for a drink at the 'Harlem Tavern.' Getting there was fun since Caleb both told me the wrong bar and the wrong directions. But I got there, blah blah blah fast forward and we are leaving! They want to go downtown to go dance at a gay bar. What can make a single girls Valentines Day more depressing then having spent the evening watching 'The Office' with her cat? Going to a gay bar. No thanks. So, I decide to go home, taking with me the gifts Caleb had gotten for being so dapper and talented.

I cross the street to the C train and halfway down the stairs a nice homeless man informs me that the train is not running. He then wants me to pay him for this information. News flash buddy, ask for the money first. Psh. Duh. Heed that advice and you will be re-homed in no time! No big deal, I will just walk ten blocks. It's nice out. People say Harlem is really a good neighborhood. This is gonna be fiiiiinnnneeeeee.

Wrong.
No.
West Harlem is scary at night.
West Harlem is dirty at night.
And also probably trash covered in the day... I don't want to blame that on the nighttime.

So I just call Baggy and talk to her for a spell. But she was near sleep and I was getting lost, so that didn't get me far at all. I racked my brain for people to call who a) weren't in a relationship, so were clearly not busy b) people I thought would be awake c) people who don't have real people, early morning jobs. Check your phones kids! If you got a phone call, this means I consider you an unattached, evening job holding or jobless night owl! (I'm lookin' at you Rach-Face, Beecher, Marky-Mark, and T-Tay**). But alas, I was on my own.

At this point you're most likely thinking 'Carly, take a cab you stupid cow' and to that I say 'Ease up, I tried.' Fact: Cabs are full on Valentines Day because people are trying to show off. Either that, or the cabs I tried to flag were not in service. I did receive a few offers from men in vans and beat up cars. It's so strange, but they all thought my name was 'baby.' I feel like it was a weird guess at my name, and even weirder that they all guessed the same thing. So, if nothing else I learned I look like a 'baby.' This is strangely the thing that upset me the most tonight... I gave up on the cab thing and kept walking. I stopped to check my google map, when I noticed something written in the cement at my feet. It said 'Crips.'

Oh. Awesome.

I was in gang territory. I didn't and don't really know what that means, but I do know that its not good. Not good at all. Suddenly, everyone I saw I was certain wanted to kidnap me. I could finally see the 125th Street Station looming in the distance. I had to get there. If I had to defend myself, I wasn't completely unarmed. I had five long stemmed red roses that were Caleb's, so I had no qualms destroying them to aid in my self defense. I also had some chocolates that were also Caleb's, which I didn't want to use as a weapon because I wanted to eat those. I had my headphone cord for strangling, my heeled boots for bashing and my iphone to...I don't know, get it on camera?

I made it to the 125th stop, and then onto the train and then safely home. The worst thing that happened was that my 2008 ipod with no battery life died and I was sad. In the cool light of morning, as I sip my coffee, I realize that it probably wasn't as scary as I made it out to be. In retrospect I also realize that 9 out of 10 scary strangers you see do not want to kill you. They don't really care what you are doing. I also learned the true meaning on Valentines Day. Its not gifts, or candy, or presents or love. No, its none of that. Its a day to remind you that you need to choose your mate wisely. For instance, I now know to choose someone who could potentially save me from gang violence, who can hail a cab successfully, who carries something more useful that headphones for self defense and who can stave off a zombie attack. Because I know nothing about zombies and would prefer to live through an attack if it happens.

What about the dashing man at the end of my story? I didn't forget! He was at home waiting for me the whole time!

** To those I mentioned above, its a travesty that you are all single. You are all fabulous people who could only have been made for fabulous by answering their cell phones at 1 in the morning.

Where's my Crown!? Buh.

I have high expectations. For everything. I honestly expect my trash not to smell and my shelves to never get dusty. I get unjustifiably mad when that turns out not to be the case. But I mainly get upset when things don't work out the way I want them to. I just don't understand why everything can't be perfect and catered to my exact needs. You know who I blame for that? My parents. Thats right mom and dad! Its alllllllll you.

Growing up, our parents tell us that we can be anything we want to be. We can grow up and do whatever it s we want. At least, that what my parents told me. Maybe your parents told you that you really aren't that bright and your options are limited. Maybe your parents suck. I don't know your life, so I really can't make a valid call on that. Sorry.

Now, I don't want you to misunderstand me. My parents did not let me do whatever I wanted growing up. No, no. I grew up with a healthy fear of my parents. Which is hilarious to me, but most likely not to you, because just as I don't know the intimate details of your life, I hope you don't know mine. But I never got beat (I say 'beat' in a socially acceptable, earned punishment kind of way) by my parents, or like locked in a closet or had my mouth washed out with soap or anything like that. I just knew them to be very capable individuals and I didn't want to ever see what sort of punishments they might dream up. But all kids should live with a solid fear of their parents. A child should direct the following feelings toward their parental figures:

40% love
25% respect
30% fear
5% skepticism

The problem is, kids today ( because clearly I'm 75 and shake my cane at them). They have too much power. I see these kids in stores throw straight up tantrums and their parents ask them, yes, ask them, to think their actions through. "Johnny, is this really the best idea? Let's think about it sweetie. What if we use our words?" You know what lady, 'what if' I walk myself over there and give your child the spanking he is obviously asking for? Then we all win! Well, not Johnny. Johnny doesn't win. But who cares what Johnny wants? He won't shut the hell up!

Sorry, I got a little off topic. Anyways, what I am saying is, because my parents spent so much time telling me I was awesome, I am really bewildered that the whole world isn't on the same page there. Seriously though, if I was half as talented as my parents think I am, I would have been crowned 'Queen of the World' by now. Okay, maybe not 'Queen of the World,' but I should of at least pulled off 'Queen of Norway' or 'Queen of Sarcasm' or 'Dairy Queen' or something.

I am also one of the lucky ladies who were raised by a mother who fully realizes and appreciates the power of women. I mean this in a completely genuine way. My mother made sure I grew up to be a strong, confident, capable, self assured woman. Mix that with my Dad's sense of humor and ability to charmingly make fun of people and you have a recipe for a woman doesn't need a man! Or is it a recipe for a woman who can't get a man... I'm still not quite sure which it is. All me best girlfriends who were raised by bomb-ass parents have the same problem! Our lack of tormented childhoods have left us as whole, happy, functioning, single, people. Its weird.

But being raised to think I am super awesome and nifty created a problem. My 'I'm better than this' attitude is not always received well. The credit card company will not accept it as a reason to not pay my bill. I am baffled. My dishes still won't do themselves. No one gives me free coffee. I can't get the train to wait for me to come down the stairs. UPS won't just leave my package at the door. Hulu still makes me wait 30 seconds through the ad for my show to resume. GOD ITS SO HARD TO BE ME!

Mom, Dad, if your reading this, I'm going to bed. Can one of you fly up here, tuck me in and bring me some ice cream? And do my laundry? Because that would be great. Can you also write a note to my boss that I should get paid and not have to come in to work? You guys rock. I love you so much. I'm still working toward being the worlds first Dragon Riding Princess Comedian and Professional Peruser of Books. But it's going well.