Monthly Archives: April 2011

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.