Say Hello To Me!

Do you have unanswered life questions? Maybe you just want to say hello to me. Well, you're welcome to e-mail me at karahoag@yahoo.com. If nothing else it just makes me happy.

Friday, December 31, 2010

Get The Bug Out Of Your Ass Part Two

I don't know if you read the comments, but Shmichelle did indeed have more to say on the subject. To be lazy fair I am going to make it a post so that she has her own voice in the matter.


It is I, Smichelle the room-mate. I feel as though Kara didn't give the situation as much......seriousness as I want her to. Sorry Kara, I'm just FUCKING LIVID about this situation. I know you are too but more expression of that is necessary so now I take the liberty to speak for us both.



First of all, they lied to us and tried to convince us that we brought the bugs in from our job. Then after the 2nd bombing and before the 3rd, this sleezeball has the audacity to tell me that this was an EXISITING PROBLEM. That's right, they already knew there were roaches before we moved in. So during all the sprayings (of which there were 3 professional and 1 regular maintenance) the landlord, let's call him The Dick Headed Salesman, DHS for short, gave me the number to the Great Exterminator (sarcasm included).


The Great Exterminator (GE) guaranteed each and every spraying and the bugs came back each and every time. When I asked him about this he told me that DHS refused to spray the entire building because it costs too much even though the GE, who is a professional exterminator, told the DHS that is the only way the chemicals would be effective.


This happened three times.


Every time we had to spend about 8 hours bagging all our shit up so it wouldn't get chemical on it, moving my cat(s) to my boyfriend's, and waiting a day to go back to unpack everything and wait 50 more days to do it again.


Now the DHS is tired of listening to me conplain about it so he says we can get out of our lease early. He's just going to put someone else through the same shit. What a fuck stick.
I just wanted to bitch about the DHS to the open air so everyone knows that he truly is a penis.


Oh and the cat(s) that I have to keep moving out for a week at a time cost me extra money to live here. Thanks ASSWIPE.


Thanks for listening, or reading. Either way, FUCK THE DHS!!!

I hope he gets cockroaches. In fact, I would infest his house with them if I knew how to do it.



Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Get The Bug Out Of Your Ass

Oh landlords.

Can't live with them and I've just found a way to live without mine.

He is letting us out of the lease pretty much because we are annoying him.

Now before you say, 'But Kara, we know how much you love to annoy people,' just listen to my side of the story.

I moved into this apartment in the middle of last summer. I had to take care of the rent by myself for a month and a half because my roommate was still binded to another lease and they wouldn't hold the apartment (after many of the ones we looked at we thought it was worth it). After a bit we started to notice the real dominant species of the earth sharing out home with us.

Roaches.

Yeah I hear ya, ew.

They sprayed once and bombed our apartment three or four times. I can't even remember. I'm sure Shmishelle will correct me in the comments section. Every time they bombed the apartment we had to bag up everything. Then we had to unpack it. After cleaning the pesticide off of everything. I feel like I have moved into this apartment more times than I have moved in my life. And I grew up a missionary kid so that's saying a lot.

After Shmishelle sent him a text the other night (when we saw another roach), he responded that we could move out but we had to tell him by that day and be out by the thirty-first of January. She told him we would tell him on wednesday not realizing that it was only one day away. We now have until friday to tell him, and will be spending all of our spare time making sure that we won't be homeless if this decision is made.

Seriously?!

I feel like he is letting us out of our lease because we are complaining too much.

Oh, I'm so sorry that I'm trying to take care of YOUR property and make it pest free.

Sure didn't mean to be a burden. I guess I was wrong to assume that, as a landlord and property owner, you would want to make sure that there weren't bugs.

Consider this my formal apology.

Asshole.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Let's Mock Boring People Together

I feel like you should all know about my abhoration (that is not pronounced abortion) for facebook by now. It's not even facebook. I have both a personal account and one for this blog. I believe that is is useful for finding out what people are up to without having to go through the mind-numbing process of actually conversing with them.

There's one more thing facebook does.

It has taken the place of face-to-face, or even cell phone, interaction.

I got on today and here is a conversation that stared me in the face and said, you're wasting your time reading this (whatever, not only did I read it but I copied it to put on here).

Status: Fml don't comment


Thing One: Sup
Thing Two: Sup
Thing One: Nada
Thing Two: Your still weak after tonight
Thing One: Really
Thing Two: Ya. You didn't kick it
Thing One: Sooo I'm noooo goood to kick
Thing Two: Lol your good
Thing One: Ok what u doing
Thing Two: Eatin
Thing One: Nice
 
Do you hate yourself yet? Is there a little thought forming inside your brain that is maybe telling you to shoot yourself so you never have to read it again? Yeah, me too.
 
I don't understand this. Facebook even has a chat option. I feel like conversations such as this one are unnecessary in the comments option of the page. They are boring and I am not facebook stalking  you to be bored.
 
So get with the program and post things like 'If Cheese was made from plaster I might still find it delicious enough to eat.' Stuff I can really make fun of you for.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Eggnog Season



It is officially almost Christmas.

I figured this out when I went to Shmal-mart earlier (then again for wrapping paper). There were tons of people there putting some last minute touches on their holiday shopping just like I was.

My favorite wrapping paper that I purchased? The Grinch paper.

I am a grinch.

Mostly.

Yes, I have a secret to tell you.

Are you listening?

Come closer.

Too close. Back up.

Okay. Here I go.

I secretly like Christmas. BUT only for a certain period of time. My Christmas Spirit is like milk. If you leave it out too long it's going to spoil quickly. However, I believe that it is a good time to begin feeling a lot like Christmas (or something like that). I took yesterday to shop and am going to take tonight to wrap presents and watch a couple classic holiday movies. I'm talking Holiday Inn and White Christmas. No creepy clay-mation for me tonight.

So to all of you, I hope you enjoy your holiday whether or not you enjoy the actual holiday. If nothing else just enjoy the time off work and get drunk.

Early Christmas Shopping Is For Pansies

I would like to apologize for being lazy as shit about posting lately. 'Tis the season ya know. The season to do all your Christmas shopping in one day a couple days before they're due under the tree.

That is exactly what I did today. I spent the day in Lawrence and Topeka Kansas shopping my ass off. I found some pretty good gifts, and almost made it home by midnight. Luckily I don't turn into a gourd at that point so we're good.

I always have this problem of trying to buy too much stuff for people in case they don't like what I picked out for them. Then I have to try and make it even with what I bought everyone else. I think that I did alright today. I made myself put a few things back that I really wanted to buy. And hell. If I really decide said person(s) need what I had picked out for them as well as what I bought for them I'll just go back. I don't think I have the energy to go shopping again, so they're stuck with what's in the lovely plastic bags shoved onto the top of my dresser.

Thanks also for all of the comments. I know I haven't been commenting back too much in the past week but they have still been saving kittens and making me smile.

For now I am going to put my feet up and blogstalk all of you until I pass out.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Thirty and Flirty Repost

I may have spent my blogging time taking a nap today. Luckily for you I was just as funny a few months ago as I am today. So, without further ado, here is a lovely repost for you go enjoy. So enjoy it!!!!

Thirty Flirty and...Oh Wait, You're Just Insecure About Turning Forty


I feel like I've mentioned this, but I don't feel like actually checking so I will state it again; I work in a restaurant as a server. This is important because it gives me a broader vicinity in which to interact with people, and therefore more opportunity to make fun of them. Tonight I served a gentleman and his young son. This is roughly how part of the conversation went.



Me: "Here's your drinks, do you know what you want to order?"

Thirty to forty year old man: "We'd just like to sit for awhile. My twin boys are evil and I finally got rid of one of them so I'd like to sit here and drink an abundance of beer while pretending to take care of my son."

Me: "Alright sir, well take your time deciding because I definitely have nothing better to do."



After awhile I went back and the kid ordered a corndog. In the process of getting the corndog choice out of the child I had to deal with more conversation.



Me: "Have you finally decided because I would like to buy beer while I still can."

Thirty to forty year old man to son: "Is this the one you thought was cute?"

Son: "I like to pretend that I like girls more than I do at my young age so that my father who neglects me unless I'm forced upon him by his ex-wife/my mother will think I'm worth paying attention to."

Me: "He's just insecure about the fact that he's going to be forty soon and doesn't really love you. Sorry kid, I hate your dad and he's just using you to hit on a mid-twenties waitress who he probably thinks is in her very early twenties because he has no concept of age due to the large amount of beer he has drank tonight."

Son: "I hate my life."

Me: "Me too. It'll get better once you're old enough to drink beer."

Son: "I'll have a corndog and my father is going to take years off of your life due to the immense amount of time it will take him to decide what he wants when in actuality he's just going to order a sandwich togo and waste your time."



Indeed, after drinking more beers than I was legally allowed to give him (and did anyway because I really do not care) the man orders a reuben togo. They were in there for over an hour during which time I had to go up to them randomly, pretend to care what he was saying, and pretend to like his kid. Their bill came to a little under twenty-seven dollars. He hands me twenty-eight and tells me he does not need any change. I put up with a lot of assholes at my job but that is because I'm a personality whore and I love money. So to you thirty-to-forty-year-old-man, I say this...



You are almost forty. Your child is not half bad but you talk about how terrible he is in front of him to make your crappy existence feel better by making someone feel bad about themselves. You are teaching him to treat women very poorly and using him to try and seduce young servers into thinking that you are charming. This means you sneakily sexually harass women through your son and he will probably learn the same disgusting habits that you have. This also means that unless he turns out good looking he will never get laid on a regular basis. After all this you left me a dollar because god forbid I wouldn't flirt back with you. This is because you are almost forty and you treat your son like crap. I am in my mid-twenties and I have no children so I am not interested in you, your dollar or your son. Also, you're almost forty; sorry about your luck on that one.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Corey Rocks My Socks!

I would like to start today with shoveling out some MAJOR bloglove to Corey. He very kindly helped me put up the beautiful buttons that you see to your right. Actually he didn't help he. He completely did it for me. Corey, thank you so so so so (so) much! Some day when I am rich and famous I am going to start a website just so that I can pay you to design it for me (It may be awhile, though).

His blog is titled If My Life Were A Musical...It Would Be The Best Musical EVER!!! Go to it now! And follow it. I am following it so it is Kara Hoag approved. But come back after and finish reading my post.

I don't have a lot of time today so I am going to entertain you with a quick Shmupplebees story.

A few years ago I was working a day shift. I don't recall, but I'm going to assume that I was hungover, still drunk, or just didn't care.

I got a two-top whom I assume were dating. The guy looks at the drink menu and asks what time it was. Without thinking I shoot back, "Well...it's five o'clock somewhere."

He did not look amused.

Neither did his girlfriend.

I, however, cracked up a bit. Partly because I thought it was funny, and partly because I felt a bit awkward that they were staring at me like I just ate one of their shoes.

I took their order, and tried to remain normal for the rest of their meal so that we could move past our differences in humor.

Apparently they couldn't. Neither of them tipped me and they both stole the pens that I had put down with their receipts.

Sidenote: that's the worst feeling ever the first time that happens. Stiffing a server AND stealing their pen is like slapping them in the face. Don't do it. It's just not nice.

Anywho, thank you so much again Corey! If your life WERE a musical, I bet you'd bravely defeat the villain and whisk your true love away to live happily ever after all the while classily doing it in song.

So to end, I've created a facebook account for this blog. I would love to be your friend. All you have to do is click on the nifty buttons that have been placed there by awesome Corey (have I thanked you enough yet?).

And follow me on twitter.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Help Wanted



Dear Readers,

I have a problem.

I need your help.

I am wanting to put a 'follow me on twitter' 'like me on facebook' and a link to the facebook account that I have created for this blog. I have no friends on this account because I don't know how to link it. This makes me sad. When I am sad kittens die (You know what you did non-comment leavers).

I am not tech savvy.

You may think I'm lying because of all the cool links to this blog you've been seeing around the internet. Don't let that fool you. I just copy and paste from one of my comments (Thanks Bruce!).

So if any of you would like to explain to me how to make these magical things happen on my blog, it would be much appreciated (just use small words and simple phrases).

Sincerely,
Kara

Better Choices: They're Not Just The Kid's Responsibility

I'd like to start out with a shout-out to all of my followers. You guys make me happy. I hope I make you happy too. Unless you hate yourself so you just follow my blog because it makes you miserable to read. I...hope that makes you happy in your own way? You should probably think about therapy in that case, though. Either way... Hello people who read this!!! I love you. I would cry now, but I'm not much of a tears person unless it comes to pmsing moments during the Karate Kid.

Okay, now that the mushy good-feeling part of this post is over with (thank deity of your choice), I want to talk about Happy Meals. HM's, as I like to call them (I just don't want to write Happy Meal over and over again), are a part of childhood. A right of passage so to speak.

According to Michelle Obama, these meals are making kids fat. Scratch that. The TOYS are making kids fat.

Excuse me? A HM toy is the cause of child obesity in this country?

What about the healthy side options?

But Kara, kids won't choose the apples over the fries!

Aren't you the parent? Don't you have the authority to make that decision for your child? If you ask your child if they want fish sticks or grilled chicken they will choose the fish sticks.

Unless you teach your child that they should eat the grilled chicken.

Or tell them that they can have a HM but they have to have the apples as the side.

Here's an idea:

Why not put educational toys in the HMs? Shouldn't we be concerned about this country's rising level of stupidity illiteracy? We could put small books or puzzles in the meals. Then we won't be fat and stupid as a country.

Bottom line.
You are the parent. Choose the apples for your kid. Buy them a book. Stop letting them crumble Cheerios into the carpet of my section.

Okay that last one is more of a personal thing.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

I Have A Dream, A Song To Sing....Okay Just A Job To Get

As you all may or may not know, I hate my job. Okay hate is a bit strong. I really really really really really hate my job.

I think it's time for a new one.

So I am going to undertake the task of writing my resume so that I can send it in to places that will make me feel like an actual grown-up instead of a really old teenager.

So let's see....

Relevant skills:

I can drink the shit out of diet coke. If the building should ever be flooded with foaming waves of this delicious beverage, just give me a glass and I'll probably save the building before your paperwork even gets wet.

I have an intense gift of sarcasm. I can probably find a way to make fun of anything that you throw in front of me and you may or may not know that I am doing it. Until later. When you sadly realize that I was really making fun of you the entire time. Then you cry. Crying keeps the moral down. That way the employees don't rebel. Therefore, I will keep your organization working smoothly together under the nonsense rules that you have put in place.

I have very large, expressive brown eyes. When I look sad people like to give me things. You can use this to your advantage. Just place me in front of a difficult client and they will give in within ten seconds of looking at the downtrodden expression embedded in my retinas.

I can smoke a cigarette in under five minutes. This will ensure that I spend less time dilly-dallying out back, and more time pretending to work up front.

I am great at Super Mario World. Inter-company competitions? Never fear! You will leave the rest in shame if you have me on your team!


So there you have it. Those are my skills. Think I have a chance of getting my dream job by the weekend?

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Ducks Should Be Wary Of Wind

I looked at news online today for inspiration. I found a story about ten things that lets you know that you have the perfect guy who will love you forever and ever and ever and ever. I was going to read it and tear it apart on my blog, but I got bored and didn't make it past five. I'm surprised I even got that far.

Other news is that a dog and a deer are best pals, and some ducks were tossed around by a strong wind. Is that even newsworthy? Aren't ducks kinda made to deal with wind? They fly and migrate and all that, so you'd think that it wouldn't be a big deal. I mean, it's cool. Lets not waste our time writing news stories about the deficit, poverty, the lack of understanding of AIDS in third world countries or the quality of food that is served at Long John Silvers. Lets talk about the problems that ducks are having with the wind.

Hey, speaking of Long John Silvers, I was brave today and ate it for lunch. I haven't been there in awhile, mainly because no one will go with me very often. This is mostly because it is Long John Silvers (or LJS as I am going to be referring to it from now on. It's getting hard to type out every time) and not because I don't know how to use a shower or toothbrush.

I ordered some fried shrimp meal with a side of fried mozz sticks (their fries suck. Don't eat the fries) and fried hush puppies. Oh, and those fried things that are found on the bottom of the frier which they scoop up and put in the fried box.

While I was standing with my boyfriend waiting for my order, I heard the lady working the counter telling her co-worker why they were out of whatever item. Apparently the FDA chose their shipment for no apparent reason and it was stuck in Heston. They had to wait for it to be released before the shipment would reach the store.

First of all, Heston is a shit-town. I don't want to eat anything that's gone through Heston. I didn't even know it had a LJS. I though all it had was a Sonic and a Pizza Hut.

Second of all, what the fuck?! You don't know why they stopped your shipment? Maybe it's because they saw the LJS on the side of the truck and knew that it wouldn't pass the standard so it was a safe bet to check out.

At least this shipment made it through, right?

At least that's what I told myself while I stuffed my face with fried goodness and a side of cocktail sauce.

Now what are we going to do about those poor ducks?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Beer? Or Maybe Just A Glass Of A Better Personality With A Lemon Twist?

Today I would like to like to talk about the specimen know as the non-drinker. Personally, I do not have a problem with people who don't drink. I'm proud of you for making good life decisions. Plus, you probably feel a hell of a lot better in the afternoon morning when you wake up.

At work, it is demanded that I suggest alcoholic drinks to my customers. We serve alcohol, and if you come in we would like you to drink some of it. Pretty simple. I usually just suggest a Bud Light or a Margarita. It's what you'll probably order anyway so it looks better if I'm right. Then people think I'm magic. Then they give me a better tip (sometimes).

My problem lies with those non-drinking specimen who get offended when I offer them alcohol. This happened to me the other night. I asked a man if he wanted a Bud Light while he was waiting for the rest of the party to get there. He jutted his head backwards, raised his eyebrows and smirked a bit with the right side of his mouth.

"Noo-o-oo..." he said (say this out loud and make your voice go higher with each 'o' to where it almost sounds like a question at the end. It's not a question, though. It's just condescending).

The other two at the table chortled along with him and all looked at me like I was an idiot.

Look Mr. Deuchy. I have no idea that you don't drink alcohol. I am just trying to do my job and make your ticket as high as a can so that I can get more than a measly two dollars for having to laugh at your awful jokes for an hour.

Here's my advice. Get a shirt (or sweatshirt because it is getting a bit chilly outside) made that clearly states 'I do not drink alcohol so please don't ask me if I want a beer.' If you wear that shirt in my section I'll probably comment on it in a way that makes you think I'm not making fun of you, but I won't pressure you to put any sinful goodness near your lips.

Or just sling back a few cold ones so it won't be so painful when they pry that stick out of your ass.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

If You Kids Don't Shut The Hell Up, The Boogie Man Will Eat You!

Last night was one of those rare occasions where I could imagine myself slapping a child. I got involuntarily stuck watching six kids, all under the age of seven, three of whom had never met me before and were terrified of me, rightly so. The youngest brat of the bunch was a four year old who refused to say anything but “umph” in between bursts of hysterical, ear bursting screams. Their mom drove ten miles to the house I was at to ask for a ride to the ER (which was less than half a mile away at this point. Could she not have had the mute child drive the rest of the way? It was an automatic, so it’s not like he’d had to shift or anything complicated like that).


So I get to stay with all the kids…yay me. By this time it’s 1 in the morning and all the kids are wide awake and I am highly pissed off. Not only am I never awake at this hour sober, but I have to form a human barricade along the edge of the couch (which is extremely awkward and uncomfortable) to keep the screaming one from lunging himself onto the floor…again.

Here, folks, is why I should not babysit your children…especially if I am not being paid for it, cause then I’ll just be resentful and say awesome things to your kids like, “If you don’t shut the hell up, the Boogie Man will eat you.”

Only after I pretended to call the Boogie Man and give him the address did the kids fall asleep; or at least pretend to. But whatever, a silent house is a happy house!

Ugh…where is the damn key to the liquor cabinet when you need it…and who the hell locks their liquor up anymore anyway?!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

No Means No...Unless It's You Telling Me To Stop Wearing Vanilla

I remember a manager that used to work at Shmupplebees a few years ago. This guy was a grade-A creepster. Seriously. He told one girl that he wanted to take her virginity. Not. Kidding.

I'm not what you call a touchy-feely type. I don't really like hugs. Or people touching me. It's just annoying to me. If people insist on putting their hands on me against my will (I call this personal space raping) I choose to lecture them about my distaste for physical contact until they are so annoyed that they won't even want to speak to me again. Whatever. Less touching in my life then.

This manager, let's calls him Shrigolicious, kept giving me the back pat-rubs. You know what I'm talking about. Find someone right now, pat their back a couple times lightly, then rub your hand in a small circle. Judge their reaction. I bet you a kitten's life that they're creeped out.

After asking him to stop politely a few times to no avail, I finally gave him the famous Kara-lecture.

"Look, Shrigolicious, I don't really liked to be touched. I've asked you to stop so you are now legally not allowed to touch me. Anything further is considered harassment. Plus, I find you severely annoying. So Stop. Now."

He found it appropriate to take this time to ask me this following question:

"So....If you don't like people touching you what do you do about sex?"

I informed him that he did not need to know, now or ever, the answer to that question because it would never pertain to him.

Cree-per...  (Do that in a sing-song voice)

Dumb bastard made the mistake of telling me one time that he hated the smell of vanilla bath products.

Shrigolicious, Bath and Body Works thanks you. They got a hell-of-a-lot-of revenue in the vanilla department soon after that.

And you better believe my ass bathed/shampooed/conditioned/was sprayed in it every shift I worked.

Until he was fired.

For too many sexual harassment complaints.

Go figure....
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