Real Carl is a legend in our household. And not to ever be confused with Baseball Carl. I clearly need to provide some clarification regarding the last post as it has caused great confusion at Chateau Cookie.
Real Carl is like Waldo from the Where’s Waldo series. At any given party at Chateau Cookie, people who have heard about Carl for years are yammering to meet him. Usually Carl cannot make it due to travel for work (Benin—you know he has to be telling the truth because who would miss a party because he is in Benin). In fact, he didn’t make it to our wedding because he was in Bangkok for the week. Doing only God knows what.
Carl has weathered the times. Carl and I worked together at a place that really could have doubled as an insane asylum. He knows where all my skeletons are buried and has agreed to keep any and all locations under wraps. Carl has witnessed all manner of odd events, to include the New Year’s Eve dinner party where my gay ex-boyfriend burst into tears in the kitchen. This remains his favorite story to tell in mixed company. He is also known to cough up a good, “So there was this one time when Kristen was stacking dates with the three guys she was dating….”
So when I told the story about Carl from the baseball game, this caused great confusion with two of my favorite blonds. My blond husband and my best friend B, whose stylist Dennis works overtime to make her blond like Derek’s.
I was on the phone with B last night discussing the baseball post which she was in the process of reading when the following conversation commenced:
B: Carl was at the game? Did you know he was there? Where did he sit? Did you see him? Did you know he was going to be there?
K: What are you talking about?
B: Carl was at the baseball game and then he commented on your blog.
K: The Real Carl commented on my blog. The other Carl was just some Carl.
B: Carl was at the game?
K: No, the Real Carl was making fun of the Baseball Carl’s comment about my getting Derek. When you read what I wrote, you HAD to know that wasn’t the Real Carl. That’s why Real Carl made the comment on the blog.
B: Then who was Carl?
Later that evening, because the moon was apparently full for all the blonds, Derek started in on me.
D: Baseball Carl commented on your blog?
K: (thinking that perhaps he had lost what was left of his mind) What the hell are you talking about?
D: Carl from the baseball game commented on your blog?
K: Why do you say that?
D: Well, I overheard you tell B that …
K: (instantly cutting him off) You were listening to my phone conversation? You were eavesdropping? What were you doing listening to my conversation? Do I listen to your conversations?
D: You were loud.
K: (not stopping to even breathe) And how in the hell would Baseball Carl get my blog address? Did you think that while we were discussing my thong underwear I just scribbled my blog address on the inside of his hand? ‘Carl, if you like my thong underwear, you’ll just LOVE my blog.’ Are you crazy?
D: Well maybe he just came across your blog. You know Carl is probably surfing the net at work.
K: Just surfing blogspot.com, hitting the ‘Next Blog’ button and up pops Cookies Delight and the story of him at the game? Surfing porn, yes. Surfing Blogspot, no.
D: It’s possible.
K: Let’s not get into the statistical possibilities. Let’s just not.