I don't know if you heard, but I've been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature  in the lesser known among prizes,  Dumb Blog Category.  Sure, it's not as sexy as the Nobel Peace Prize (which I was also nominated for, being that I haven't murdered anyone in the 35 years I've been annoyed by people) or some of the other prizes, and hell, I don't even get a gold statue like at the Oscars.  It was just an honor to be nominated, so you can imagine my reaction when I got the call.  It went a little something like this:

Me: Hello.

Nobel Prize People: May I speak to Kerry Branton Faler?

Me: For real.

NPP: Um, okay.  Mrs. Faler, this is Georg with the Nobel Prize for Literature Committee.

Me: What the hell kind of name is Gay-org?  Is this a joke?

Georg: It's Swedish, I'm Swedish — listen, I'm calling to congratulate you for winning our Prize for Literature in the blog category.

Me: Cool!  What do I win?

Georg; A medal.

Me: A medal?  Like a gold medal?  Like the freakin' Olympics?  Hell yeah, it's about time.  My blog is like a damn decathlon of awesome.

Gerog: Well, it's gold-plated.

Me: I'm more of a silver person or platinum, of course. 

Georg: You don't get to pick, Mrs. Faler.

Me: Alright.  This is in Sweden right?  Do I win like a Ikea gift card or something?  I do love the Ikea.  You know, Georg, you could live in an Ikea.  Really, they have food and everything. 

Georg: No, just the medal and there's a reception —

Me: I hope there are Swedish meatballs.  Those are some good.

Georg: The menu hasn't been set yet — Mrs. Faler, I take it you accept?

Me:  Hellz yeah!  I'm there!  Oh, which post was the winning one or is more of a cumulative thing?

Georg: The award is  —

Me: I bet is was my Christmas post about when I got the Crown Royal bag of change from one of my aunts.  Good times, good times.

Georg: No —

Me: Oh, the New Year's post about when I was stuck at the party when I was 17 and got a ride home from Ray Ray and Tiny? Ah, memories.

Georg; No —

Me: The Eff-it List?  That was funny.  Or maybe y'all go for the more meaningful stuff like my Carry That Weight Post?  I thought that was some mighty fine writing if I do say so myself.  I mean, it was the Semi-Serious Kerry, not the Silly Kerry that writes about way too much about boobs and naked people furniture and 80's post-punk music.  Hey Georg, you know a good band who was Swedish and kinda cool — Roxette.  I haven't written about them.  Yet.  Maybe one of my music posts won.  I write like two of those a week, but I wouldn't think those would be Prize worthy.  I mean, not when I write such gems as the post on my Thanksgiving trip to Shreveport last year and that insanity, oh and the Ghetto Sno-Kone mobile.  Georg, my blog posts are like my children, I can't pick a fave, you know what I mean?   Come on, Georg, don't leave a sistah hangin'.

Georg: uh

Me: Georg?  Grand Master G, you there?

Georg: Mrs. Faler, it is, as you said, more of a cumulative thing.

Me: Ah, gotcha.  Have you ever read my blog, Georg?

Georg: No, Mrs. Faler, I just make the phone calls.  

Me: Oh, okay.  So, you have no idea what I've been talking about?

Georg: No, Mrs. Faler.

Me: Well, Georg, you'll have to excuse me, I have this undiagnosed-as-of-yet form of Tourette Syndrome, where I talk with absolutely no editing filter, saying potentially embarrassing things.  Like all the time.

Georg: I don't think that's a real disease.

Me: Oh, I beg to differ, Georg.  If I didn't have it, why would I have said the words "Hello Kitty vibrator" while having lunch with friends a couple of months ago?   I mean, normal people don't just blurt that out over pizza, Georg.

Georg: No, of course not. 

Me: And I didn't even realize I said it until I told another friend and she said "you said 'Hello Kitty vibrator' out loud in front of so and so" and I said yes, because I obviously cannot control it and like that sort of thing just comes up in conversation.  That's what I'm talking about — having no editing filter, so just ignore what I said about boobs and naked people furniture, okay?

Georg: What kind of blog did you say you write?

Me: Shouldn't you have that in your handy-dandy info, Georg? 

Georg: My information says that you write a hobby blog on scrapbooking.

Me: Yeah, about that — it started out being about that, but kind of went in a different direction, hence the "lagniappe" part.  That means "a little something extra," except that my blog is mostly lagniappe.  And clothes and Beyonce and sometimes I live-blog stuff and talk about the crap you can buy in the Sky Mall catalog.  Oh, and sometimes I even post something about scrapbooking.  

Georg: It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mrs. Faler, but I have to call a few more Prize winners now.

Me: Same here, Georg.  Hey, you know — you should show up with balloons and a giant check like the Publisher's Clearing House people, that would be cool.

Georg: But we give medals —

Me: I can't wait for those meatballs, Georg!  You take care now! 

So, I've spent all day in front of not one, but two computers working on the ScrapFest! site, composing an email for da Fest, and making new graphics.  Yeah, it's been awesome.  What else did I do today?  Waited on the new mattress to be deliverd.  Don't be jealous.  I'm tired and in bed, but can't sleep because I'm all wound up from Grey's Anatomy.  Damn show.  So, here's more stream of consciousness, because attempting a real post would take real thought and I'm hoping the Unisom will kick in any minute.  Am I too honest with you people?  Probably so. 

My life is an open book.  Or at least a magazine.  Probably an old one in a doctor's office with a couple of pages torn out, but still readable. 

I can't wait for the new recession reality show "Who Wants to Marry a Guy With Decent Credit?"  Totally stole that from Jimmy Fallon.  It's late and that made me laugh. 

Project Runway is making me quite angry this season because Michael Kors and Nina Garcia haven't been on in 4 episodes and if I don't hear someone say "that dress looks like a $50 hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold prom" soon, I'll refuse to watch the rest of the series.

I didn't get any cell calls for three days and realized it yesterday.  After rebooting my iPhone, I had a brazillion messages, so people really do like me after all.

The barista at PJ's thought it would be funny yesterday to tell me they were out of the stuff to make a mocha.  I yelled "don't do that to me!" at her.  You don't joke with people about their caffeinated beverages. 

Andrew has show and tell at school Friday. This will obviously be more show than tell.

I made a great joke to my neighbor this morning while waiting for the school bus, but she's German and has never heard "Hee Haw," so it was a joke wasted. 

When the delivery guy showed up today, he asked where I wanted the new mattress.  I considered telling him to set it up in the kitchen.  On the phone, when he called for directions, he said "you got the 666 mattress?" say what?  The Satan mattress?  I don't think so.  Then he said "king size?"  I said yes.  He then went on to mispronounce my last name in a way I've never heard (and I've heard them all – Faller, Taylor, Sailor) and when I told him where my subdivision was, he said "oh, off Bootlegger Road?"  then pronounced the name of the subdivision wrong and said "we'll see ya."  I specifically asked for a time frame and his window was "we'll see ya."  Thanks, Bubba.

I had to defriend someone from Facebook the other day for several counts of douchebaggery and general stupid foolitis.  Pitying fools is tiresome.  I think I'll leave it to Mr. T for a while.

Our bus driver does the pageant wave when he passes our house.  This is equally funny and disturbing.

I forgot to wish y'all a happy first day of fall the other day and I apologize.  I love fall.  It's awesome for lots of reasons, but mainly because I get to use one of my favorite words — autumnal.  It's fun, try it.  Next time someone compliments your mantle or whatever, say "oh, yes, maize is always part of the Faler autumnal decor" or at Starbucks, "I'll have the pumpkin spice latte, it's one of my autumnal favorites."

My new Pottery Barn sheets are the softest ever.

The Target didn't have Folex the other day.  This is a travesty.

Last weekend I sent the hubs upstairs to print something for me.  This was the first time he has used my iMac.  When he came downstairs I asked him what he thought of it and he said it was okay, but the zebra scared him.  Then I remembered that for some reason I picked a big ole zebra face as my wallpaper for fun

The Lucy dog ate beef jerky and got sick, then I learned what "step into a Slim Jim" really means.

Y'all be good.  Come back Sunday for an 80's rewind.