I made that bar turn green. Yes I did~!~

I spanked its ass. I spanked it right into Saturday and that is why we are chatting on this fine morning.

And today I will use liberal exclamation points and not just the pedestrian ones~!~ I will use the special exclamation points that Liz and I created~!~ I earned those exclamation points fair and square~!~

I WILL SCREAM, TOO~!~ I WILL SCREAM LIKE HOWARD DEAN~!~ I’M GOING TO WASHINGTON D.C. TO TAKE OVER THE WHITE HOUSE!

YEEEEEAAAAAHHH~!~

Bustin’ five knots, wind whippin’ out my coat
You can’t stop me mofo ’cause I’m on a boat

YES. I. AM.

I’m the Captain of that boat and my starched white uniform is extremely bitchin’ because it totally showcases my new kicks.

Yeah, I am wearing those shoes up there. You see how funkalicious those are?

They shine.

They shine because I am on a boat, kids.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 155.

Would you be willing to make a substantial sacrifice to have any of the following: your picture on a postage stamp, your statue in a park, a college named after you, a Nobel prize, a national holiday in your honor?

Are honors more likely to come to those who seek them or to those who don’t care about fame and think only of their work? How much do fame and accomplishment impress you? Does just knowing you’ve accomplished something worthwhile mean as much to you as getting attention and praise for the accomplishment?

Well this is just a crock pot full of slow-cooking psychological stew, isn’t it? Lots to answer, lots to explain.

No to the whole thing. I’m not quite sure what a substantial sacrifice entails but I know it involves giving up more than I want to for something I’m not that jazzed about.

I’m not cool with my photo or likeness so the stamp and the statue are immediately out.

With the exception of my middle name, I got no beef with my handle but I still don’t fancy strolling about a college campus and seeing Cardiogirl etched in stone on the facade.

A Nobel prize isn’t doing it for me either and I don’t want people bitching about all of the government offices being closed on Cardiogirl Day. And everyone knows, if a holiday is going to be named after you, you need three names or just one strong name, i.e., Martin Luther King Day or Columbus Day.

It’s a tough call, I think, regarding honors coming to those who seek them versus those who let their work speak for itself. I really think that’s 50/50.

With enough tenacity and self promotion I think there’s a solid shot at fame. But fame and accomplishment are two very different things. Look at Perez Hilton.

I’m not into fame based on the exclusionary and unbalanced aspect of it. I do not like the idea of one person’s worth being perceived as that much greater than another person’s. Now maybe that’s not your definition of fame.

But when I think of someone who’s famous I think of the fact that said person receives a lot of perks based on his or her well-known face. No one’s closing down the mall for me so I can do my Christmas shopping.

It’s just a fact that the rich and famous generally receive preferential treatment whether it’s first in line for a donated liver (raises eyebrows in Steve Jobs’ direction) or the best table at Sardi’s in New York — where the dress code is smart casual.

Don’t even try to tell me that the Maitre d’ would consider my Converse low tops — brand new or comfortably worn — smart casual. But I’ll bet a pair of Chucks on Tom Cruise’s dogs would be considered smart casual and fashion forward.

Lastly, knowing I’ve accomplished something worthwhile does mean much more to me than public accolades. I work hard to make it to the top of the Fitlinxx charts each month and I’m looking forward to patting myself on the back when I hit 50,000 words.

And just for the record, I would be admiring 100% on that widget right now if I didn’t have sick kids in the house.

You could say I’m a hypocrite in this case and that I am, indeed, looking for public accolades by posting that NaNo widget over there.

If you said that, you would be right.

I’ve got a riddle for you. What’s white, travels in really, really small clusters and sticks to everything in sight before giving up the ghost?

No, it’s not teeny, tiny white Styrofoam packaging beads. But that really is an excellent guess, if I do say so myself.

Those suckers live on static electricity, don’t they? Like Visa they tend to be everywhere you want to be. But that is not the correct answer.

The correct answer, boys and girls, is lice.

Yes, lice.

That’s like a rotten piece of meat teeming with maggots dropped in the middle of Thanksgiving Day dinner, right there next to the sweet potatoes and ambrosia.

Yesterday my 9-year-old climbed into the Mystery Mobile after school and excitedly announced that both her teacher and the school secretary scoured her head earlier that day checking for head lice. “Look! Here’s a note from the principal!” she said as she handed it over.

That seriously made my mind go blank for a minute. No thoughts, no mental processing, no breath or heartbeat if not for the autonomic nervous system. And then all systems were go. “WHAT?! LICE?! WHAT?!”

She actually thought that was funny. Normally I would have been proud of the fact that I made my kid laugh spontaneously but I wasn’t shooting for laughter.

Turns out the Lice Invasion of 2009 is, somehow, confined to the third and fourth grades. Before you ask, I don’t know. I do not know why the kids in second and fifth, who have classrooms right next to the third and fourth graders, get a pass. And what about all of the other students — up to eighth grade? Don’t know.

I do know that I have three kids who go to that school who share hats, headbands and pillows. God I hope we do not get lice.

Lord I will truly stop using You as a foil to garner chuckles in my blog posts if You spare us from getting lice. I’m serious.

It’s gonna be hard to stop using You in that way, but I am willing to make the sacrifice.

Amen.

GAH! Just saying the word makes me itch. Everywhere, not just on my head. So for the next, I don’t know, rest of eternity I have to dig through my kid’s head to catch any rogue varmints thinking about moving into Cardiogirl Manor.

Naturally they all took a shower last night, one by one, as I scratched and batted at invisible creepy crawlies on my skin. And then I almost fainted dead away, when my 9-year-old explained step-by-step how she took care of her noggin.

She told me how she washed her hair twice with shampoo and rinsed very well. Cobra Kai, grasshopper.

She applied conditioner twice, rinsed very well and then dried her hair with a towel. Still walkin’ on sunshine.

And then she used MY pick and MY FINE-TOOTH COMB to brush her potentially lice-infested hair!!

I am not exaggerating when I say it took everything I had to keep my mouth from dropping open and screaming. My eyes did widen as I said, “Um, that’s good. Good. Bend over, let me check your head.”

So I don’t know where this actually leaves us. I did find a post that gave detailed directions on how to prevent and remove lice. Thank you Moxie.

And I was not aware that “lice can more easily crawl to another head if the hair is loose. Girls with long hair should keep it up in a bun.” (Pauses as she uses 63 bobby pins to tame her ponytail into the size of a small dinner roll.)

My imagination, as you may have guessed, is an Olympic gold medalist in track and field. I don’t want to have to wash every piece of cloth in this house in hot water.

I do not want to walk around wearing a fanny pack filled with bottles of rubbing alcohol and Clorox wipes. It’s going to be a long year, folks.

On the upside, I will admit that the second thought I had, after I yelled, “WHAT?! LICE?! WHAT?!” was “I know exactly what I’m blogging about tomorrow.”

More lemonade anyone?

As you know, I’ve been focusing on other things lately so I haven’t had a chance to tell you about this dog. However, as soon as I heard about it I wrote a draft and promised myself we’d get back to it.

Today we are getting back to it.

On October 29, 2009 a police dog was fatally wounded during a shootout in a Detroit suburb. That does suck but I guess the dog probably knew that was a possibility when it joined the police force.

You may wonder why this is news; allow me to tell you.

On that Wednesday at 12:25 pm the FBI landed the helicopter, carrying the dog, in the middle of a busy road in front of the vet’s office.

Five lanes of oncoming traffic encountered an FBI helicopter landing in the middle of the road. That would freak me out.

I would further be freaked out to watch FBI agents carry the dog into the hospital. As you know, the dog died. But it died with fanfare.

The most surprising piece of this tale — besides the obvious — is the fact that there were no injuries and no traffic mishaps as a result of the unusual landing.

Alright, she said while she rolled up her sleeves, this brings up a lot of questions for me.

Side note on the 21-gun salute: I have attended one funeral that included the famed salute. It scared the living shit out of me.

I knew it was coming and it still jacked my heart rate up to 147 bpm. And as I recall, there were seven gunmen. So that means my ticker got a jolt not once, not twice but three times.

It was still cool though.

Back to the FBI dog.

By now my regulars know I’ve entered into parts unknown as I negotiate The Great American Novel. This really has been a good exercise for me in more ways than one.

It has pushed me out of my comfort zone and it has forced me to be accountable to other people. While that feels like peer pressure dressed up in a suit and tie it’s still motivating me to reach my goal.

But more than anything, it has shown me how to break down the process of a daunting task into smaller, more manageable pieces.

And Agent P is still next to me — sitting on top of the desk, swinging her legs back and forth — just waiting to pounce on my internal nay sayers.

Now as I’ve embarked upon this journey I’ve found it to be similar (I imagine) to attempting to wrestle an alligator. And if you can believe this, there’s an eHow article on How to Wrestle an Alligator for the armchair enthusiasts out there thinking about wowing friends and family with a new-found talent gleaned from the internet.

Here’s my modified breakdown of How to Wrestle NaNoWriMo where writing 50,000 words in 30 days is the alligator and I am the wild-eyed fool sneaking up behind it.

Step 1

Practice holding a small alligator first. Get used to writing posts on your blog. The self-imposed schedule of writing daily or 3-5 times weekly will help you prepare for the larger writing project.

Then move up to a larger alligator when your instructor has taped its mouth shut. This will lessen the chances of being bitten. Sign up for NaNo in October. Many have gone before you and have virtually taped the jaws closed. Having a guideline to work with will lesson your chances of being reduced to a bloody pulp.

Step 2

Approach from directly behind the alligator. Alligators have peripheral vision, so if you come from behind they can’t see you. This one is scary. You’re taking it on faith that you will not be killed as long as you move slowly within the sweet spot just outside of its vision. Add the NaNo Participant badge to your blog.

Truffle around other people’s profiles; see what’s out there.

Grab the tail and practice dragging the alligator. Equally freaky is the thought of touching the scaly tail and then pulling that mofo around.

Those effers can violently swing their bodies left and right. I saw countless episodes of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom as a kid. I know what I saw.

Soldier on — participate in some forum chit chat, add some writing buddies.

Step 3

Sit on the alligator quickly and work your way to its head. With downward pressure on the head you will remove the tape. This difficult task could take about one month of practice. Personalize your NaNo profile — add a picture, fill in some personal info and step into the forums. Find your region and introduce yourself.

Create a loose outline before November 1st — that’s sort of like wearing protective leather gloves before you get near the gator’s mouth.

Risk takers will shun the outline and gloves alike. Godspeed if you’re going in with bare hands.

Open your empty word processing file and save it as NaNoWriMo Work In Process. That sucker is living and breathing now — its jaws are open and unrestrained.

Step 4

Master the tape removal and move to the next step. Tapping the alligator on the nose will make it open its mouth. When it opens wide, stick your hand in and pull it out immediately before the alligator shuts its mouth. Spectators love this stunt. Pour a cup of hot coffee and hunker down. You’re in it baby and it doesn’t like it when a mere mortal smacks its nose.

And you are going to feel its hot breath on your meaty paws. Stock up on band aids and hydrogen peroxide.

Step 5

Jumping on the alligator from behind and pulling back on its head is another trick alligator wrestlers do. But you must straddle the alligator and pull back right away or it could roll and bite the trainee in the face or chest.
This piece is really freaky. You’re in it deep and at the point of no return.

Once you feel its body wriggling between your legs and see its eyes coming at you, you’re going to wonder what the hell you were thinking when you were sipping coffee on the couch back in October contemplating this adventure.

It’s a wild animal — most people don’t walk up to gators and provoke them. They might talk big tales about it, but when push comes to shove they’re sitting inside two tons of Land Rover steel egging you on.

Step 6 or When you emerge from the swamp

On November 30 if you walk out intact with four limbs and two eyes you have hella bragging rights. If so, your tale of intrigue should get larger by the week. You’ve more than earned the right to embellish.

As we all know, alligators are scary, violent creatures. If you stepped into the swamp and walked out missing an arm or with just one eye there’s no shame. Remember your buddy in the Land Rover? There’s gas in the car and he can get you to the ER in no time flat.

And rumor has it that hooks and eye patches are coming back big in 2010.

Today Faith, from Chronicles: A Quarter Life Crisis, is with us. She has graciously agreed to grab the steering wheel while I keep the pedal to the metal and adjust my ponytail.

Think of it as Carry Cardiogirl Mondays — CareCarMo, if you will.

Unlike most writers I stumbled into this whole expressing-myself-via-word thing kinda haphazardly. In all actuality when I was younger I had a clear and precise goal…to become Matlock at all costs. Now I do understand that being an African American girl I could never grow to be Matlock but you know what I’m saying.

Besides at the time Matlock and I had more in common than just an appreciation for the law… I too was a bit of a smart ass and loved myself a hot dog. While I’m still every bit a smart ass I’ve long given up my affair with the dogs.

Sometimes that smart ass-ness lent itself to being a bit of an arrogant snob as well. Now for all intents and purposes I was a very good student, — the get-all-A’s, future-leader-of-America type that most other students hate. This didn’t bother me too much because, as noted, I was an arrogant snob coupled with the thought that I knew everything.

One day during some random class in middle school I was chit chatting away with another Equally-Arrogant-Future-Leader-of-America type student when the teacher, let’s call her Random Teacher because I can’t remember her name but I probably should, came over interrupting our conversation.

To my chagrin (side note I don’t think I’ve ever used that phrase before but damn if it doesn’t sum up the moment perfectly, end side note) she actually wanted us to stop talking because we were bothering the other students in class. Bothering them? They were bothering me. Due in large part to their inability to grasp simple concepts, my education was suffering and as a result I decided that talking during class made up for that.

Anywho, never one to miss an opportunity to make twits in the class feel even more twit-like I blurted out, “What…you want us to stop, for what? I mean we were just conversating while everyone else is fumbling around playing students.”

I smirked because of course I was a super genius and the other Equally Arrogant Future Student of America chuckled as well.

Random Teacher said loud enough for the rest of the class to hear, “Well Faith, if you were as smart as you think you are you’d know that conversating is not a word. The actual term is converse. Now stop CONVERSING!”

This would be the very moment I saw Pete. Seeing Pete™
is
a term
used when someone
is so
embarrassed she feels
like she farted in
a quiet roomSeeing Pete™ is a term used when someone is so embarrassed she feels like she farted in a quiet room; the expression on one’s face is priceless.

And since it’s a little hard to explain that expression, Wander (the mombot), invented seeing Pete. Moving right along.

I pocketed Random Teacher’s comments and made it my new purpose in life to never, ever get caught on the wrong side of a non-word.

I also started a journal that night because I had to tell someone (maybe I should have told a friend but somehow the journal seemed a better listener) about Random Teacher reducing my ego to the size of a baby gnat. I dare her!