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 If nothing else it just makes me happy.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Hitting? Nah, I'll Just Screw With Your Mind Instead

I was having a conversation with my boyfriend a couple weeks ago that travelled to the subject of hitting or spanking kids. He posed the question to me:

Well what if the kid stares you straight in the face and calls you a bitch?

Yes, I'd probably be upset, but I stand firm that there is never a need to hit a child. My dad used to use a belt on us, and I would say that there are only negative impacts from that. It literally did nothing to curb my behavior except that I started putting books in the back of my pants when it was time for punishment. I am actually still a bit angry about it, and find that I take the approach that this sort of punishment is wrong rather than saying, Oh, well, I was spanked as a child and I turned out just fine. Any form of physical abuse is not an excuse to pass the behavior on.

To answer his question I told him the approach I took, and still take, with my niece. To best portray how I got her to behave I will tell a small tale of manipulation and annoyance.

I don't remember what she had lied about. If I remember correctly, and it is very possible that I don't, she was around three or four. The important thing is that this tiny person looked into our eyes and blatantly told us something that we all knew was untrue. I took her into the living room of my mom's house so that I could demand her full attention without distraction. I sat her down on a kid-sized bench and asked her why she had lied. She, being the stubborn little shit that I love, would not make eye-contact or answer my question.

You need to tell me why you lied, I said for the thirty-thousandth time.

Finally my niece burst into tears. Through dramatic and unnecessary sobs she told me, Because, *sob*, I just like lying!!!

Did I continue the conversation after this? No. I immediately made eye contact with my sister who was hiding on the other side of the wall and had to expend all of my energy not laughing in front of my niece so that she would not think that her behavior should continue because I thought it was funny.

I don't know if you have ever giving a small child a lecture, but they do not like it. Their little faces look like they are going through the most excruciating event they will ever experience in their lives. Mainly, it works magic.

So will I hit my children if I ever choose to have them? I hope not. I would rather morph their psyche and their behavioral patterns by making them hate the repercussions so much that they would rather do things differently next time than ever have to go through that experience again.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Welcome Back To Shmupplebees

After a summer of working in a lonely, empty restaurant, I have almost forgotten what it is like to be busy at Shmupplebees. The fair is in town and school is about to start back up, so the customers are returning to make our restaurant their home away from home. ...because at home you toss food on the floor and yell at the person who cooked because he/she did not put enough Alfredo on your pasta. Right?

My favorite part of tonight?

Oh how can I choose.

Was it the table who insisted that I sing to their friend even though it was physically impossible for any of the six people on to do so?

Or the table that racked up a seventy dollar bill and conveniently took both of their merchant copies so they didn't have to tip me?

Maybe the table that walked up to the bar to collect their own drinks because they had been waiting too long even though I warned them prior to ordering that it would be awhile because we were busy as shit?

At least I will have my expendable income back. Being poor during the summer makes for a very sad Kara.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Thank You Again, Facebook

An actual post on a facebook status. It was one that a mutual friend posted on, so it showed up on my feed.

"Y do u do this to ur self??? i no u have a good heart n all n u always mean well but u have to stop n this looks like the purfect time just get a job get ur own place n do ur own thing n mayb not worry bout others so much n worry bout u a little more! I seriously believe if u wood do that u wood keep a gf n eventually have a much happier life its ok to care bout sum1 just not so much. U r a good guy n a girl wood b lucky to have u if u get ur priorites strait! plz i dnt like to c hurt n confused!!!"

What. The. Hell.

Oh, and thanks for the easy blog post.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

She Should Have Gone To Rehab

Too soon?

I was told that if you make a joke about it being too soon, then it's not too soon. However, I feel like I find humor in things way before anyone else can even think to humanly and morally find it funny.

Let's start over.

When I clicked on about fifteen minutes ago, I was shocked to see that Amy Winehouse was found dead in her London home. If you don't know who she is, she sings the very annoying and catchy song, 'Rehab'. If you want to read the details for yourself you can click here. I don't want to talk about the details of her life.

I want to talk about the invasive sadness that surrounds the fact that every detail of her life is now being displayed all over the internet. It is sad that she died, I find it sad when anyone's life is taken at an early age, but that does not give us the right to sop up the dirty gossip that is to be had about the problems that drove them to their fatal habits in the first place.

So all I have to say on her is this: I hope that her friends and family are able to deal with this appropriately so that none of them have lasting trauma and end up down the same path she travelled. I hope that they are able to find happiness within their lives again even though someone they loved is gone, and I hope that they will be able to remember her for her talents, both personally and musically. Rest in peace.

*As a disclaimer, I am not an Amy Winehouse fan. That could make a difference on how interested I am in her personal life, so if you absolutely feel that her lyrics made her your best friend and that you will mourn her for the rest of your life then please ignore this blog post.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

That Was Close!

Well, I have officially returned from the rapture. I know that some of you were worried that I was just being lazy and not posting on here. No way. I would never do that to you all. Keeping my clever words to myself is like not sharing the last bits of moldy plum jelly on stale bread  with your well-fed neighbor. It's just rude.

My excuse is that Jesus descended from heaven, took me into a loving and caressing embrace, and lifted me up to my own personal castle in the sky. When I got there, though, I realized that it was very lonely. As I've found out since escaping the clutches of eternal happiness, no one else was taken. I just had to sit around with the beautiful Victoria's Secret model-esque angels and eat bagels with cream cheese on them all day. Those angels aren't ones for interesting conversations. All they wanted to talk about was the glory of God and how they don't really mind that they don't have free will because the cream cheese now comes with jelly mixed into it. I kept trying to talk about my favorite subject, sex, but the only response I got was that I wasn't married so I shouldn't know anything about that. Talk about frustrating.

Even worse than the lonely atmosphere was the fact that there was no internet in heaven. When Shmishelle took her internet with her she must have accidentally unhooked the holy webs as well. I asked the angels who their service provider was but all they cared about was whether I wanted grape or strawberry on my bagel.

So, a couple days ago I escaped. It was much simpler than you would imagine. I simply began breaking the ten commandments one by one until God became so fed up that he had one of his angels pack a bag and send me back to my tiny apartment in Kansas. She packed me a lunchbox but by that time I was so sick of eating those damn bagels that I purposely dropped it on cloud six or seven during my decent back to earth.

So now things are back to normal. I restored the internet back to its proper place in my home and returned to hang out with my blogger friends who don't have problems with conversations surrounding immorality and all-around bad behavior.

Now I have to go find a homeless person to give the boxes of cream cheese and blueberry bagels that keep mysteriously appearing outside my door.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Slow Claps Are For Amateurs

Out of everything I saw in Texas last weekend, one incident stands out the most. It happened at my boyfriend's sister's nursing school graduation. The graduation itself was pretty unorganized and boring, so I'll save you the details of that and go straight to what I now refer to as the greatest moment of my life.

The graduates were split up into two columns with three rows each. If I remember correctly, there were about seven women in each row. At some point in the ceremony, one of these women went up to accept an award for being awesome in some nature or other. When she did the other students began to clap because they were so proud of her. In fact, the superb feelings they had for this student were so great that they tried to give her a standing ovation.

As soon as her name was called and she joyfully sauntered up to the podium, the clapping began. With the very first congratulatory hand thrust, one of the graduates in the back row shot up like she had been strapped to an amusement park ride. Unfortunately, this ride only had one turn because it slowly brought her back into a sitting position after she realized that no one else was standing with her. The clapping continued and eventually, after what seemed like hours to my attention span at this point, a few people in the back row of the left column began to stand. Slowly, oh slowly, other students sitting in the left column began to rise into the standing ovation as well. Only after everyone on that side of the stage had stood did the right column of students begin to join in as well. It started in the back row again, and made it to the middle of the second row before the appropriate time allotted for congratulating their fellow graduate ran out. The girl sitting in the middle of the second row must not have known if she had time to join, because she kind of squatted up and down like she was bobbing on a pool floatie for a few seconds until everyone sat back down.

I sat there laughing inappropriately the entire time, and finally leaned over and whispered into my boyfriend's ear:

You know how you've always wanted to start a slow clap? I think we've just witnessed the slow clap version of the standing ovation. I'm not sure if there's any way to ever top this.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Need Answers? Go To Texas.

Oh Texas. Land of love, land of friendship, land of God. The christian God; not the other ones. At least that's what one of the billboards I passed said.

Jesus is the only way for America.

Really? Because I'm pretty sure we have freedom of religion somewhere in that pesky constitution of ours. And what about South America? Or Mexico? Or Canada? You know that the United States isn't America, right? Well, I do get your point. Only those that believe in Jesus can be true Americans. And all of you other countries in America? Suck it.

This was only one of the inspirational and educational billboards my boyfriend and I passed while driving though Texas last weekend. My other favorite was:

I couldn't find the picture of the actual billboard. This was the same picture that I saw, though,
only this was just a headshot. My boyfriend, after reading this post, felt like that should be

I mean, I'm not a huge Obama fan either, but was it really necessary to make him look that evil? I feel like he's just biding his time until we're all fattened up enough to feed the poor and starving population of his home planet. Is that why America the United States has such an obesity problem?

For now, I'm going to go work out and starve myself so that I'll be left behind when the UFO's hover over this country and make the rapture look like child's play.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Home Sweet Home

Well, fellow bloggers and unfortunate people who accidentally ended up here by searching 'Klondike Bar,' I made it back to Kansas alive. And have I got some stories for you. So many stories that I can blog for at least a week or two without going over to Google and looking up 'ideas for posting on my blog because my life isn't really that interesting.' Not that I would ever do that.

Today, however, I choose to keep my life uninteresting because I am still completely exhausted from the trip. I promise to give you entertaining and inappropriate stories in exchange for your patience.

Now, I rest and drink beer.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Flaming Sedan-O-Death!

I almost died today.

Okay, that may be a little melodramatic, but I could have been seriously injured. There is a street in the city I live in that goes through a small underpass. Right on the other side of the underpass lies a small side street containing a stop sign. Remember the fact that it has a stop sign; it's important. I was driving along at the safe speed of thirty-ish miles an hour when a green sedan zoomed into the space directly in front of my car. That was my space. I didn't have a stop sign. This guy did but apparently didn't feel like paying attention to it. He slammed on his brakes and I did the same, jerking my car to the left, which was, coincidentally, the lane that he was supposed to be in. With a pounding heart, I slowly veered around his sedan-o-death and shakily continued on my way. I fear I will forever have flashes of his snarling face as he tried to turn my poor Ford Taurus into a flaming trap for my mangled body; similar to those that served in Vietnam suffer. Oh God! I'm having one right now! Nooooooooooooooo!...

Better. Sorry about that.

I'm not much for religion, but after my real life Mario Kart experience I think is an appropriate time to say, 'Thank you Jesus for saving my car. It was made in '03 after all, and I don't think running head on into a stranger's asshole...I mean face is a good idea. Also, sorry for cussing. Church taught me that you don't like that. I probably won't give up smoking or stop cussing because you saved my life, but I really am grateful. Also, this prayer is just for humor purposes so please don't let me die this weekend either. Thank you. In Jes....your name, Amen.'

It's a good thing I didn't get in a wreck. Not just for the obvious reason that I prefer my car to run, but I am travelling to Texas this weekend. My boyfriend's sister is graduating on Friday, and I am going with him to attend that and meet his family. I don't think my car would have made it if it looked like this:

Or this:

And probably not this:

As it is, my car is still intact, so we are good to go.

Now all that's left to do is pack and send up a real prayer to Jesus so that he knows I was joking.
Have a great weekend you guys!

Monday, April 25, 2011

Don't Mess With My Egg

You know what I wish I could do when my niece acts up? I wish I could just call the cops and have her handcuffed and hauled away. I mean, who wants to deal with a tantrum-having-child? I certainly don't. What do you do to calm them down? Sure, you could scold them and put them in time-out until they calm down enough to hear what you're saying, but who wants to deal with that.

That's why I applaud the police and school staff in Queens who put handcuffs on this seven year old child when he began throwing a tantrum because he wasn't able to paint his egg the way he wanted it to be. Nevermind that the mother was already on her way to pick the child up. Why should they wait. This angry child was a threat to the joyous spirit of easter. That is just unacceptable. Didn't he know that other kids were trying to paint their eggs in peace? Didn't he know that the staff may not be able to deal with the fact that a seven year old doesn't rationally think out his actions? What an inconsiderate child. Obviously the only answer is to take him to the hospital like he's hopped up on drugs and training to be the next BTK serial killer.

The moral of the story to me? Maybe you'll think twice next time you want to cut the art department out of the curriculum.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Isn't It Ironic

In high school I had a conversation with one of my
classmates about the meaning of irony. She just didn't get it. I tried everything I could think of to explain it to her.

Me: You know when something bad happens but the way it happened/the end result of it makes it a tad bit funny?

Idiot girl: I have no idea what you mean...

Me: *sigh* Okay, you know when something happens to someone and they tell you about it, and you kind of chuckle and say 'ha, man that sucks..'

Idiot girl: Why would I laugh when something bad happens to someone else?

Me: Because sometimes it's funny.

Idiotic overly empathetic girl: But it's not funny.

Me: You know the Alanis Morissette song? (Yes, I went there. I had no choice by this point.)

I then went on to go through the song lyric by lyric, stanza by stanza, word by annoying word, and explain to her why these things described irony.

I wish I knew her today because I have finally found the answer to her question.

It's like forgetting to put a quarter in the meter and coming back after ten minutes to find out that you have a five dollar ticket on your windshield.

Isn't it ironic?
Don't you think?

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

It's Probably Not True Love

We've all been on them. Whether or not it's because your mother thinks you're too lonely, or you've just lost a bet with your best friend about who can take the most shots of tequila in a row without puking. Maybe you really though it was a good idea at first but then realized that you'd rather be melting your fingernails off with a Bic lighter than continue your current torture.

Bad dates.

So how do you swiftly end the evening without turning your hands into a scabby mess that will screw up your chances of actually going out with someone decent?

Here's some things I like to do. These make sure I'm not asked out again and entertain me until I can go home, get drunk and booty-call my last boyfriend because I suddenly realized maybe he's not so bad after all.

1.) Babies. Talk about babies. Talk about having babies, talk about your biological clock ticking away inside of your ready uterus, talk about how cute it is when they snot/puke/drool/coo/poop on you. *Talk about the adorable physical features that your mutual baby will have.*

2.) Inform him, in full detail, how your period (or 'womanly time of the month' if you're feeling nice) affects you both physically and emotionally. I suggest adding personalized stories like, Oh. My. God. A few weeks ago my friend Peggy and I were about to start our 'womanly time of the month' at the same time! Boy was that a funny week. But it wasn't funny at the time because we were sooooo cranky. We got into so many fights. About nothing! We had a fight about whether or not my cat was bright orange or had faded since it got older. Boy, was I mad!.......  ......

3.) Excuse yourself to the bathroom at least five times. Tell him it's because you prefer to throw up your food instead of getting fat. Also inform him that he'll appreciate it when you two get married. This might get you a second date, though. I heard that guys love talking about marriage with a woman they just met. Also, be careful on the baby subject.

4.) Excuse yourself to the bathroom at least five times. Tell him that you are lactose intolerant, and that the glass of milk you had earlier is finally 'making it's way out' and that boy are you glad that the gassy stage is finally over. Then continue to describe to him exactly how it feels when this happens. Luckily for you I happen to be lactose intolerant so I can tell you. It feels like the beginning stage of 'Oh fuck I'm about to get diarrhea' mixed with horrible menstrual cramps.

5.) Since he probably doesn't know what menstrual cramps feel like you should feel obligated to fill him in on the details now.

6.) Pick your nose/blow your nose/fart/burp/suck snot through your nose and swallow it/bite your nail and spit it out onto the floor/start picking at your toenails/all of the above.

If all of the above fail, and he is still showing interest in your less than appealing personality, try this:

6a.) Grab a knife and place it against your skin until there is an indentation but no breakage. Sigh, look at him, and say, 'I know I shouldn't. I stopped a long time ago but sometimes I just like to feel the knife against my arm. It's like it makes the pain almost go away. Maybe just a small cut. *sigh* No, I guess I'd better not.' Next, ask him to take you home because you suddenly remember that you have 'pressing' matters to attend to. Use air quotes. Everybody loves air quotes. He'll think you're hilarious and take you to meet his mom right away.

*6b.) ...begin talking to yourself in muttering tones until you suddenly look up at him and say, 'Shit! I forgot to take my medication! You'd better take me home!'  *

And next time use the lime when shooting the tequila. It'll help curb the gag reflex.

** Provided for you by Smichelle

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Lying Only Helps Other People Win

Since our lease is almost up, our landlord has once again begun telling us that the roaches are our fault.

Both Shmichelle and I are extremely fed up with this. We contacted the city offices for advice, and then tried to set up a face to face meeting with him so that we could deliver a written, signed letter insisting that this problem be completely taken care of within fourteen days.

Once: he said he was busy, and turned us down.

Twice: he said that he would not be able to have a meeting, and turned us down.

Thrice! he said that he was not interested in talking about how we want out of our lease early, and turned us down.

All in the same day. I've dealt with rejection before but I think the whole 'woman scorned' thing is going to have to come into effect here.

I hope we get this lying bastard of a man. I hope we get him good!

Friday, April 8, 2011

Beware: There's A Lot Of Fuck In Here

I usually try and post humorous and funny shit.

I don't think I can do that tonight.

Before I went to work I spent a few hours watching videos about Ivory Coast (Cote D'Ivoire) on the internet.

This was probably a mistake.

As most of you know, I spent my childhood there as a missionary kid. I've always had forlorn memories about the country; specifically Abidjan, Yamossoukro, and Buoake.

Abidjan is the city I lived in, Bouake is the city in which my oldest sister went to boarding school, and Yamossoukro is the old capital. We also used to go there once a year for a missions conference and passed through it on the way to Buoake.

Geography lesson over.

I am distraught. I have spent the past however many years living with my glorified memories about Africa. My childhood memories if you will.

Today I feel as if those were completely shattered. I pretty much spent the afternoon watching my childhood home being destroyed over and over again.

Then, I became angry. This has been going on for a long time. This time it has been bad since september, but I know for a fact that the missionaries were evacuated a couple years after we left.

It has rarely been in the news until now.

The US is doing nothing about it as far as I know.

That's cool, though. I'm sure the middle east needs our help much much more that the Ivory Coast.

But our war isn't about oil.


Who gives a fuck about cocoa beans.

The inner EvilTwin in me wants to say:

Fuckity Fuck Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck.

It's all a bunch of shit.

I may have a some whiskey....
     Or lots of whiskey.....

But it's still shit.

Shouldn't our fake war for democracy extend to this?


Thursday, April 7, 2011

When In Rome....Again...

This is not because I'm feeling super lazy today. I just thought you all would like to enjoy something I've already written. I'm really thinking of you.

You're welcome.

Now enjoy this repost.

When In Rome, Find Out What They Don't Want You To Do So You Can Annoy Them

Everyone knows that sudden urge to rebel when someone tells you not to do something. Personally, I get a very strong urge to push a person's face into the dirt when they tell me to do (or not do) something. I think it's called problems with authority. Just ask Shmony and Shmjason.

What it you knew of magical laws across the United States that are just asking to be broken?

Never fear, bloggers, never fear. I can help you.

To read a much larger list of stupid laws, click here. For now, I have compiled a bit of an appetizer for you before heading out into the webs of inter to check it out for yourself.


If an elephant is left tied to a parking meter, the parking fee has to be paid just as it would for a vehicle
Do they charge extra for over sized anim vehicles? And if it's a baby elephant can it be parked like a motorcycle?


The penalty for jumping off a building is death.
If you don't die on the first attempt do they just take you back up to the top and push you off again?


Beer and pretzels can't be served at the same time in any bar or restaurant.
Can they be served separately and consumed at the same time? Do you have to finish your beer before being allowed to eat a pretzel? Can you share your neighbor's pretzels? Ah, this is too complicated. We'll just serve peanuts.

It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on.
Next time you fuck with someone after they've passed out drunk with their shoes on in North Dakota, you can inform them that it was your civil duty to do so.


A recently passed anticrime law requires criminals to give their victims 24 hours notice, either orally or in writing, and to explain the nature of the crime to be committed.
Dear City Bank, I will be robbing you at approximately three p.m. on the third of May. My reason is that I am tired of not being able to pay my mortgage due to the large amounts of cocaine I have to purchase to feed my habit, and I just thought that since you have so much cash on hand it wouldn't be a big deal. You will know me by the black mask with eyeholes that I will be wearing, and the orange daisy which will be pinned to my black sweatshirt.

The entire Encyclopedia Britannica is banned in Texas because it contains a formula for making beer at home.
Did they ban the internet too? Because I'm pretty sure that there are plenty of webpages that tell you how to make beer.

And my favorite.....


It is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church
Are you kidding? How else are you supposed to enjoy church. Have you ever sat through a sermon? Much more enjoyable when wearing a fake mustache that is causing seven year old next to you to burst into fits of loud, inappropriate giggles.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Not That Guy Again!

I've always hated four-way stops. They are like russian roulette. Or in high school when you really didn't want to get stuck with 'that guy' as your lab partner.

Every time I get to one I stop my car and look around. I judge the other cars based on their appearance, and the age of their drivers. Knowing that one of them is destined to get in front of me, I wait with baited breath to find out who I'm going to be stuck with for the next five blocks.

Could it be that shiny black Corolla with the douchey sunglasses guy even though it's cloudy with a ninety percent chance of rain?

What about the stereotypical Buick with the man who look like he's pounding on death's door begging to be let in?

Maybe it's the minivan with the woman who's constantly pushing her Yorkie off her lap because she hasn't discovered doggie seat belts yet.


I got the cement truck that goes five miles an hour even though it is safe to drive thirty miles an hour or above.

I really hope no one from my insurance company ever looks inside my car because I'm going to have an extremely tough time explaining huge dent in my steering wheel from where I banged my head so many times.

Hey. I was going five miles an hour. It was perfectly safe to do that.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Thanks Wal-Mart, I Mean Marketside.

Dear Marketside:

I wanted to thank you for the lovely loaf of bread that my roommate bought. How did you know that we were trying to eat healthy?

I really just hate it when I get a loaf of bread and it's way too full of, well, bread. All those terrible carbs that I am forced to put on my sandwiches. I've been waiting for someone to take action and fix this problem for me.

Then you come along, Marketside. You come along with your wisdom and empathy towards our personal needs. How did you know that putting a large hole 3/4ths of the way through the loaf would help us lose weight and feel better about ourselves? You are the smartest, prettiest and simply by far the best company we have ever purchased from. I tell you what. I am a lifelong customer now.

Since we have become so close in the last hour, I'd like to bring something up.

I'm worried about you.

I know that there's a whole lot of hoo-ha in the copywrite/not-ripping-people-off department in this country. I'm worried that you might have stolen this idea from one of the millions of clever 'Ten Tips To Lose Weight Fast' articles I've seen all over

Since we're friends and I don't want you to get in trouble, I thought I should bring this to your attention. I don't want some blogger or small time magazine journalist out there suing you. They might obtain rights to your company and begin making whole loaves of bread again.

We can't have that.

Anyway, thanks again for being so considerate of the low-carb needs out there. You really are the best.

Love and kisses,

Kara and Shmishelle

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Capstone Accomplished

I have to say, I feel better today than I have in quite awhile.

I had to take the History Capstone, and ended up having a really great time. What better way to spend a Saturday morning than in a room full of pompous ass Historians who have been trained to look an historical events and analyze/break down/make fun of them to the most thorough degree.

I really did have a good time, though. I was a bit worried about this test, but it was more of an intensely in-depth class discussion.

Plus, I haven't done anything too mentally challenging all year. I had begun to feel a bit down on myself because I felt that I wasn't doing anything constructive. Mainly I felt like a loser. The past few days have revamped some pride in me that had been dwindling away for quite some time. I remembered that I enjoyed doing this. I remembered that I am good at this. 'This' pretty much encompasses all the studying and analyzing that I have done over the past four days. 'This' made me feel good about myself again. 'This' gave me new motivation to look towards the future instead of the now.

Plus, the woman teaching the class gave me a great compliment.

Well you're just coming up with all sorts of great ideas over there.

She's one of those awkward women who you are surprised to find out that she has a husband instead of twenty cats. The ones that barely hang on to the basis of their social skills in order to communicate.

Mainly, the type of person that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside when they tell you that you're any sort of smart, when you would have just felt sarcasm and mocking if anyone else had said it.

Best part of the day, though?

They totally gave us pizza.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

I'm Sorry, Do You Pronounce That Tomato, Or Tomato?

I am going to be busy the rest of this week so posting will be sparse. I missed the History Capstone last year, and it is only offered once every spring. I need this class to obtain my pieces of paper that will tell the world I have achieved the status of minor league Historian and Sociologist.

Correction. There are either going to be very few posts, or lots and lots of them in which I am a very opinionated pompous ass.

The discussion part of this course surrounds the issues of History itself. I don't know how many of you have taken History courses, but it is very common to have completely opposing views on the same subject, sometimes using the same details for your personal argument. I personally like to think of History as gossiping about the past.

Nonetheless, it can become confusing if you aren't taught to analyze the data and come to your own conclusion; often making it even more confusing for someone else.

One of the questions posed is this:

Should Historians analyze the past or simply commemorate it? Should they be held accountable to "patriotically correct" interests?

I'm not cheating by asking you what I'm about to ask. I already have my own very strong opinions on this subject, which I will nervously stammer proudly to the class on Saturday.

I want to know what you all think about this.

Monday, March 28, 2011

This Is What I Would Have Liked To Say To You

We all like to people watch, right?

Of course we do. That's why we all have blogs. It's a safe place to make fun of those random people you see in your daily lives. It's just not polite to call strangers out on being idiots, so we resort to drunken nights with friends, boring hours with co-workers and, of course, the internet.

Before you read this; don't judge me. Haven't you ever read a magazine? It's full of this shit and you would probably pay money for it.

I have two people that I have 'observed' over the weekend.

The first:

I went to the gas station near my apartment before work at some point withing the last five days. I worked till the wee hours in the morning for multiple days in a row so they blended together. Now none of the memories have days attached to them. They simply belong to 'some day last week.'

I knew that we would be busy so I felt like that the one cigarette I was about to smoke would not be enough to get me through my shift. Off to the gas station I went and was waiting in line when I heard the woman in front of me:

I just LOVE you haircut! It is soooooo cute!!!

I happened to know the girl working behind the counter. She had worked at Shmupplebees as a host for a short while. One of those people that is nice enough but didn't make the right amount of impression (positive impression at least) on me to remain in my life on a personal basis.

Given, her hair did look cute. But judging by the expression on her face she didn't know the customer well enough for the compliment to matter. She looked mainly weirded out by it. I picked up on this and decided that the woman in front of me was not the type I want to be around. I was justified in this by the comment she made immediately afterwards. On her cell phone. Which she was on. The. Entire. Time. She. Was. In. The. Gas. Station. The. Entire. Time.

Yeah I know! I've always told my mom that I've never met a stranger in my life!

I've heard this phrase before. I know your type gas station going woman.

This may shock you.

Seriously. Sit down.

You're fucking annoying.

I have met strangers. They are people I don't know. They are the people that I don't know which I respect enough to acknowledge I don't know. They are the people I don't know that I don't talk to. Because they don't want to talk to me.

Bitch, I don't want to talk to you. Neither does the woman working behind the counter with the cute haircut. She wants her boyfriend to compliment her. Not you. You have now just scared her. And you have now just convinced yourself, once again, that you have 'never met a stranger.'

To all these people I say this:

Just because you think social boundaries are only there to bring you down, they are not. They are there because that is how the majority of society has been taught to interact, and feels comfortable interacting. I repeat; you are annoying. Stop, just stop.

Number two:

I was at the theater last night following through with my bet. I bought the tickets, then stopped to get some popcorn and Diet Coke. While walking away I overheard/eavesdropped the man behind me saying:

Um...yes we bought the combo. The large combo. The drink needs to be a Coke Zero.

I'm going to end the second part of the story here. I think his comment says enough about him.

I will not end it, however, without giving my rebuttal.

Sir, I say to you. Ordering Coke Zero does not make you manlier than ordering Diet Coke. You now sound like even more of a deuchebag than you would have if you had just ordered the normal delicious zero calorie drink in the first place.

Although in retrospect, he was probably just being nice and ordering his wife's drink.


Sunday, March 27, 2011

I Admit Defeat

Today I lost a bet.

The last time it snowed I was bound and determined that it would be the last time this year. My boyfriend disagreed so we bet a dinner and movie of the winner's choice.

We woke up today to the lovely sight of little flakes of defeat floating down from the sky. I'm pretty sure they were mocking me the entire way down. Cliques of snowflakes whirling together just talking about how wrong I was and making fun of me for thinking that they wouldn't be back one more time this year.

My roommate even came home to inform me that it was snowing. Looking back I don't think she came to the apartment for anything besides that. She just stood and helped my boyfriend gloat then left.

I'm not a sore loser (I'm totally pouting right now) so I send this out into the internet.

I was wrong.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Pending Disaster Could Ensue

We all use Facebook for the same reason. To stalk the people we had crushes on in high school and to see if they became fat. Or to make sure that you are aging the best out of your graduating class. Or to see if that guy you hooked up with last night is really single. Or to make sure your ex is still miserable without you. Or to--

Okay, you get my point.

Stalking. I use Facebook for stalking. You use Facebook for stalking. Santa Clause uses Facebook to stalk the little boys and girls and make sure they're being good and not bad (hmmm.....).

I stalk, you stalk, we all stalk on Facebook.

What I am always afraid is going to happen, though, is that I am going to type someone's name into the status bar instead of the search bar.

Why was your status 'Bob Smith'?

Ummm....That's the name of the new character I have just come up with. I'm trying to personalize him more in my mind and make him real.

Didn't you date a Bob Smith in high school?


Yeah you did. I have pictures of you at the winter dance your Sophomore year.

No you don't....

You can see how this could potentially become awkward.

Speaking of Bob Smith, I'm going to go make sure his new wife isn't prettier than I am...

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

When Stealing, At Least Leave The Keys

A few years ago my friend came up to drink with me the night before my birthday. We went to local bar and proceeded to have one, two, three, etc. too many drinks. I blame the drinks for the fact that I forgot my jacket on the back of the bar stool I had been previously planting my ass on.

I went back to the bar the next day to look for it. It wasn't a special jacket to me or anything but I was very sad about losing it because my keys had been inside one of the pockets.

Couldn't find it.

Some asshole stole my jacket. Thanks to that asshole I couldn't drive my car.

I called the University Police and told them I had locked my keys on the inside of the car so they would come open the door for me. That way I would at least have access to my belongings.

I called the dealership I had purchased the car from because, upon purchase, they had told me they would make me a spare key free of charge. I never went to receive this key and was regretting it immensely at this point in time. They told me that, since I didn't have the original key, I would have to physically take my car to a Ford dealership and have them re-key it for me. This means that I had to have someone tow it there since I don't know how to start a car without putting a key into the ignition.

I called my mom and told her what I wanted for my birthday. It would be an expensive present (it is apparently more than a couple hundred dollars to re-key a car) but I couldn't pay for it myself and I really wanted to be able to drive my car.

I waited impatiently for the tow truck to arrive. He finally did and manually put my car in neutral. He hooked it up to his truck and was pulling it out of the parking space when I received a call from my sister. The person who stole my jacket didn't want my keys so they had thrown them on the sidewalk around the bar. Some kind person had taken them to the police station. The Hastings card that I had on my key chain was for my sister's account so they contacted her, after which she contacted me.

I ran out into the parking lot shouting, WAIT!!!!, and informed him that I did not need my car to be towed.

While my present that year decreased immensely in monetary value at that point, my mom gave me the sixty bucks it cost to pull my car out of a parking space and push it back.

I went and had them make me my free spare key the next day.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Like A Good Neighbor, State Farm Will Have A Backup Story

I went to go speak with my insurance agent at the State Farm office in town today. My payment is due tomorrow but I wanted to see about adding renter's insurance on as well.

You know the phrase You learn something new every day?

I found out that for the very low price of nine bucks a month I can burn down my entire complex and be covered for $500,000 worth of damage. Hell yeah!

Maybe I should change my address to Shmupplebees so that when I "accidentally" throw my lit cigarette into the dumpster my ass will be covered.

What? Of course it was an accident. I always have marshmallows and roasting sticks in my car.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Green Beer For All My Friends!

Yesterday's post had enough Irish in it so I am counting that as my St. Patrick's Day post.

Happy day and top o' the mornin' to ya. (Whatever. Just go with it.)

Now go get drunk.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Who Needs Friends When You Have Your Mom?

Last night I saw the band Gaelic Storm. You should check them out. Seriously amazing. Trust me. I only lie to you all about half the time. Not only are they extremely talented on every instrument I can imagine, but they were hilarious as well.

My initial plan for the evening was to stay in and attempt to finish Stranger in a Strange Land when my mom called me to see if I had any plans for the evening. She wanted to go see them play and offered to buy my ticket. I didn't really feel like going but I was a good daughter and didn't make my mom go by herself. And it was free. That's like a two-fer.

I even owned it. I saw some of my friends and was all like:
Yeah, I'm rockin' it out with my mommy. Whatcha gonna do about it?!

As a side note: Holy Mother of God I didn't know my mom loved bagpipes so much. I thought she was going to pee her pants when one of the band members brought them out. She started squealing and jumping up and down like a teenie-bopper at a Beatle's concert.

I did learn a couple things last night:

The first was told to me by my mother.
Kara you would never make it in an Irish pub.

To which I retorted,
I went to Finn McCool's in New Orleans and they were so impressed with my Guinness chugging skills that they took a picture of me.

So there.

And I have wooden medals from every drinking contest I entered.

How dare she not be proud of me.

Secondly, I think I may be a shame to that woman's vagina. I don't know how I came out of there not having the concert skills she has. She was all about the cheering, clapping, singing along, ect. I was all about swaying slightly and tapping my hands on my thighs. I learned this one through shame and observation.

Thank God I inherited the same aging skills that she has. I may never be the life of a concert, but I will still be damn pretty when I'm in my fifties.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Harry Potter And The Deathly Pillows

Have you ever heard of a flash mob?

I'm hungover so go YouTube it. I recommend Do Re Mi in Belgium.

Go. I'll wait.


Alright, that's enough. Now come back.
Have you educated yourself completely?


Now I give you this.

I hate it when impromptu pillow fights threaten my safety.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Spaghetti And A Robbery

I finally feel better after my week of death. Now everytime I hear someone cough I duck under the nearest table like they just pulled a gun out in a spaghetti restaurant. I ain't catching that shit again. Get away from me.

Speaking of pulling guns out in restaurants:

I was about four when we first moved to Ivory Coast. When I was not much older than that my family and a couple families who were missionaries with us went out to eat. I don't know if it was really a spaghetti restaurant, but I was eating spaghetti and meatballs so for the sake of this story it was.

I tell this story as it has been told unto me.

We were all sitting at our table when a woman and two men came into the restaurant waving guns. Everyone became frightened, as is natural when death is staring you in the face. Everyone ducked under the table for safety when my mom saw a tiny pair of dangling legs. Yes, I was apparently unfazed by the current happenings and was still sitting in the chair enjoying my delicious plate of noodles and sauce.

My mother screamed a scream of horror and shock. She pulled me onto the floor with the rest of them. I was safe but most likely unhappy that my dinner was interrupted. It's not like they actually shot anyone.

Yes, we were all safe as was everyone in the restaurant (if I remember correctly at least), but this story is one of those 'cute' childhood stories that still haunts me. Even when we were in Africa we would drive by the restaurant and my mom would say, Oh look! There's the place where Kara kept eating her spaghetti even though we were trying to hide from the big bad people with guns.

Then everyone would laugh and I would sit in the backseat and wonder when this story would cease to exist from my life.

The answer is never, my friends. Never.

What are some of your childhood stories that you still have to hear over. and over. and over. and over again?

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A Tale Of A Puppy

I would like to start by wishing a Happy Birthday to my beautiful niece. She turns eight years old today and is the smartest, most wonderful child in the world. Hey, everyone deserves praise on their special day.

Also, thanks to her birthday I was able to help out a lost dog. I was trying to remember where my sister is student teaching, and tried the Middle School in town. She was not there, but a chocolate lab was running around in front of the building. Beautiful dog. It sat for me and didn't try and tear my hand off when I reached for his collar so I figured he was safe.

Are you my mommy?

I went inside and informed the office. I still didn't want to leave the dog when I went outside, so I called the only number on his collar. It was the number to a vet's office in Payola Kansas. I do not live in Payola so I was praying that the owner did not live there either. The vet gave me the number to the lady who owns the lab, and I left her a voicemail instructing her to either call the animal shelter in town or the middle school.

The woman who works in the office came out and told me that neither the cops or the employees at the shelter could come pick this dog up. The cops just didn't want to, I think, and the shelter was short-staffed. At my request she found me some yarn that I used as a leash (terrible leashes by the way. Don't use yarn. Especially with big dogs. Your hands will hurt. Trust me), and I loaded my new friend into the passenger seat of my car.

Luckily the animal shelter is near impossible to find, for me at least. I have tried before this and always have problems. Maybe it's only there when you aren't looking for it. I say luckily this time, though, because I checked my phone and my new friend Pam had called me back. She didn't follow my instructions, but that's probably good since I still had her dog.

I met her son's girlfriend back at the middle school. I know that the dog knew her because he pretty much tried to jump out the window when he saw her. My window. The one I was sitting by. I think of it as our last hug. A sweet and bruise-worthy farewell.

So the public service announcement for today? Don't leave your doors open if you have a dog. And if you find a dog don't call the cops. They don't care.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Dear Hell: You Can Have Your Cold Back

Last week the devil visited me. He handed me a snotty tissue and said, "HA!" Immediately afterwards I began sneezing and coughing up bits of my lung all over the place.

Due to that I haven't posted in awhile.

I have, however, dragged my groggy hacking ass to work. Hey, I need to pay for my booze somehow, right?

Me: Hello, sir. *cough* *cough* *flem* *cough* May I start you out with a Beer or Pepsi?

Man: I would just like a water please.

Me: *achoo* Sorry about that. Could I please have my left lung back. I think I blew it behind your wife's chair.

Man: Yes, here you go. Could I please have a lemon in that water?

Me: Sure thing.

Don't worry. I used tongs to put the lemons in the glasses. Mostly...

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Please Do Not Let Your Children Run Free In The Park

As I've mentioned before, I pick my niece up from school on Wednesdays and keep her for a couple hours. I enjoy this on a few levels. One, I get to spend time with my niece and remind her through cookies and Donkey Kong that I am her favorite aunt (easier than it sounds because my other sister lives in Virginia).

Second, I get to see things like this:

This is not the actual picture because cell phones are not allowed in the school. However, the little girl was pretty much doing this exact same thing.

Every week I see this little girl running all over the place. Trying to run back to the classrooms and falling on her face constantly which I find adorable and hilarious. My guess is that the evil principal of the elementary school told her to put a leash on her kid.

Or the mom was just so fed up that she tricked her kid into thinking she was wearing a really cool fuzzy backpack with a super long tail that mommy held on to.

Either way, it's not working lady. The kid was just running in circles around her mom. The mom kept having to untangle the "tail" and switching hands so the child could keep doing what she did pre-backpack days.

Good luck when she's a teenager.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Oh My Fluttering Heart

I have given up all of my passions and dreams. I have found love and nothing seems to compare in light of my glorious feelings. I feel like I'm walking on air. I feel like rays of sunshine are smiling down on me and saying, 'Go forth unto this world, little Kara. Go forth and be happy.'

It all began last Wednesday. I had told my mom that I would make her a martini for her birthday. I, however, decided that we should go for something a little more fruity within the martini family. I put my sister in charge of dinner, and I took it upon myself to make something tasty to sip on during the celebration of the day the woman who gave life to me was born.

Upon coming home after dinner I poured some liquid ingredients into a shaker and mixed them up. The end result was then put into a martini glass and immediately placed to my readily waiting lips.


The sweet delicious nectar of heaven brought down to us by angels sweetly singing martini hymns and carrying leather-bound drink recipe bibles.

After a couple of them I felt like I had found my place within this world. Everything made a fuzzy sort of sense. How could something so delectable make me feel so tipsy with elation? So drunk with splendor? So smashed with the wonder of it all?

Such feelings of purity. I will never love again.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

All The Early Bird Gets Is Boredom

Ever wake up early for no reason at all?

I realize that the majority of the world wakes up early each morning. I, however, am not one of them. I'm more of a night person, which makes it difficult to be a morning person.

Today I woke up at eight o'clock. Wait. I woke up and got out of bed at eight o'clock this morning. Seriously, I think I deserve some kind of medal for this. I took a shower, made myself breakfast and cleaned the entire apartment including my room (and closet). Unfortunately, I don't have anything else to do now. I don't even have a made up list to go off of.

I did get to call my sister at eight-thirty this morning. She likes to play this game where she calls me when she knows I'm still in bed just to annoy me. I was hoping that she was still asleep. My plan was to scream into the phone, "How's it feel, sucker?!?!"

She was up making breakfast already so she didn't answer. She did call me back a half hour later, though. She was worried that I needed a ride to the hospital since I called her so early.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Is There An Online Course For This?

Do you speak teen?

Would you like to learn?

According to this article, there is a language barrier that is responsible for the communication void between teenagers and their parents.

To help, two phychologists co-authored a book titled  Teenage as a Second Language:  A Parent’s Guide to Becoming Bilingual. The book suggests that learning to speak "teen" is the same as learning to speak French or Spanish.

Need examples?

1. ) "Whatever"

•An expression that implies that a teen may give in but is not really interested in what is being said
•An attempt to be dismissive in as few words as possible.

Suggested Parental Response: Leave this alone. Do not let your own concern that your teen may be less than thrilled create an unnecessary controversy.
3.) "Fine"

•I will reluctantly consent, but not with pleasure.
•An intentionally vague description used when teenager clearly has no interest in providing further detail.

Suggested Parental Response: None needed. You have made your wishes known.

You need a book to tell you this? I remember being a teenager. It was like someone injected an overdose of hormones into my veins and left me to fend for myself in the desert without any water. It was awful. Of course I didn't know how to communicate my feelings. There were far too many of them happening at one time for even me to know what they were. Plus, at this age you are trying to learn how to think rationally and communicate reasonably. While dealing with a Sasquatch of emotional clusterfuck.

Need advice on how to deal with your teenage monster? Ask your mom how you acted when you were that age and see if she answers with, "Oh we read a book on how to communicate with you and everything was a field of sunshine and smiles from then on."

This article did leave me with a few unanswered questions overall. Is it called Teeneze, Teenish or Teenan? And can I get this through Rosetta Stone?

Thursday, February 24, 2011

We Need To Stand Together!!

Dear blogger friends,
(and random people who googled Klondike Bar and ended up on this site)

Today I would like to address a rising epidemic in this country. I feel that this could be the true demise of our nation as a whole, and we need to bring it out into the open so that we can stop it where it stands. Many people are afraid to talk about it. Many just don't want to be the one to stand up and say, 'Please stop. You're just embarrassing yourself.'

But I stand (sit) before you today and proudly shout (type) to the world:

Stop fucking doing duckface! You look like a deformed pensive moron who's expression is preceded by a valley-style 'Uh.....whaat?'

In case you are confused as to what I am talking about (I doubt anyone is confused as to what I'm talking about) here is the Urban Dictionary definition of duckface.


A term used to describe the face made if you push your lips together in a combination of a pout and a pucker, giving the impression you have larger cheekbones and bigger lips.

Translation? You look like an idiot.

Stop Copying Me!!!

Thank God that there are websites willing to bring this to the attention of stoners and slackers everywhere. I mean, it's true that those cursed by this horrible disease are most likely out spreading the virus rather than sitting at home surfing the web, but slowly we can get their attention if enough people realize that this behavior is self-destructive and contradictory to their duckface cause.

Thanks to we can see firsthand the damage that these girls have done to their reputation. My favorite?

If I do duckface will I give birth to a wallet as well?
See, Mom, I don't even need a job!

I beg you. Let us stand together and keep this country from falling apart over something so easily cured. Next time you see someone posing in this manner walk up to them and say, 'Stop. It.'
Of course I won't because I think it's funny to keep letting them make idiots of themselves.
*Not enough duckface for you? Check out this video.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Would You Like A Side Of Love For Fifty Cents More?

At Shmupplebees our menu changes roughly every three months or so. We have to go to an early meeting to 'learn about the food,' but really we just watch the same videos as every other meeting we've had.

To help us sell the over-priced/under-tasting items to our tables, we are taught about 'sizzle words.' These are words that can be used to make the food sound better than it actually is.

Would you like to try our creamy spinach dip today?
(Would you like to try our dip which I really don't like because it may as well be a thick spinach soup?)

One time (and I really wish I had stolen one of these menus so I could show it to people) we were sitting at one of these meetings going over the 'sizzle words' in the descriptions on the newest menu. The description of the Nachos was pretty much the same as always, with one exception. After the reader bypasses the usual chips/cheese/jalapenos/pico/etc. he encounters an add-on.

...with a side of love.

With a side of what?

I don't know about you, but that does not sound appetizing to me. I've heard of cooks putting a 'side of love' on things*, but I don't think it should be advertised in the menu. That's just unsanitary.

*I have never seen a cook do this at my restaurant if that makes you feel better. It probably does happen at other places, though. Be nice to your server.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

100th Post

I thought long and hard about what to do for my 100th post.

Then I said fuck it.

Here's some kittens.

Thanks for all your comments! You guys are awesome!

Monday, February 21, 2011

Check Yes No Or Maybe

We all have our first loves, right? And no, I'm not talking about my feelings for the magical hair products that Justin Beiber uses. I'm talking about that first time that you see that special someone and realize that your life will never be complete without them in it. Maybe he's standing across the room at the water fountain sucking the delicious nectar through his sweet puckered mouth. Maybe he's sitting on a park bench in front of a sparkling pond on a warm summer's eve. Or maybe you met him in the third grade and he broke your heart.

Okay, that's a little melodramatic, but the first crush I ever tried to do anything about didn't go very well for me.

Does anyone remember passing these kinds of notes in elementary school?

I don't know if that's how children try and get each other's attention in today's young society. They probably have a phone app that sends it for them. When I was in third grade, though, We had to write this out on a piece of paper, hide it in the person's desk/backpack, and decide whether to put our own names on it or let our friends slowly let the person know gave them the note through deciphered giggles.

I put my name on it.

He threw it in the trash.

Maybe the guy on the park bench will like me more.

**Also, I was asked to share an article with all of you reading this. It is about the top reasons that people choose to buy a home over renting. I went over to look at it and it has some pretty useful tips if you are interested in that. If so, you can check it out here. No, I did not get paid to do this. Yes, if someone offered to pay me to put something like that up I'd probably do it. I smoke cigarettes. It's an expensive habit.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Dumbo Fly Me Away To Success!

One of my favorite parts of history is looking back on the media of certain periods and comparing them to the social view of the time. I also like to look at current commercials and television shows and see what truths they hold within the social stigmas we have today.

So what can you learn from television? Women are strong but still feminine. They are storming in and taking their place in the world.

Until a man comes and sweeps them off their feet that is.

If a woman is portrayed as highly successful then a string of sad broken relationships is written into her past.

A couple months ago I was at work and heard one of my female co-workers saying, 'I wish I could just get a millionaire to fall in love with me. Then my life would be better.'

To which I replied, 'I don't want a rich man to fall in love with me. I want to become rich on my own.'

I think that's what I said. The way the girl looked at me I might have actually said, 'I don't want a rich man to fall in love with me. I want to fly with Dumbo and poop on a throne.'

I must work on my annunciation.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Oh My Brave Brave Sister....

CkretsGalore at Kick Her Right In The Habit gave me the LOL award. She thinks I'm funny and is double-jointed in her toes so go check her out.  

I am in charge of a 7 year old girl today, so I'm feeling a bit lazy regarding this award. If you want to know seven secrets about me go here. If you want this award then comment on this post and call dibs. Or just take it. You deserve it for being awesome.

You can even call it the awesome award if you want, I don't care, because the main thing I am concerned with right now is how someone so small can talk for so long without running out of air.

I usually watch my niece for a couple hours every Wednesday, but my sister has parent-teacher conferences to do tonight so we are hanging out with each other until nine. I'm such a great aunt that I had to find out what her bedtime is and all that 'parenty' stuff. No, I didn't already know. Yes, my sister is very brave to leave her beloved child in my care for such a long period of time. Yes, it's possible that I just watch her to remind my uterus the repercussions of having a baby. Whatever. I'm still helping out and it still counts.

And if you are wondering, I remembered to feed her. I think.....

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Free Money? Hell Yeah!

Does anyone else get these e-mails?

Dear friend,This message might meet you in utmost surprise. However, it's just the urgent need for a foreign partner that made me to contact you for this transaction. I am Mr Buru Onya from Burkina Faso in west Africa. I got your e-mail contacts from website after my extensive search for capable person. I prayed and meditated fervently over it and i committed it into the hands of almighty that you should be the rightful person to help out before I made up my mind to contact you today.

I have the opportunity of transferring the left over fund sum of US$39.500 Million dollars into a foreign account and the said fund belongs to our deceased client. Hence, I am inviting you for a business deal where this money can be shared between us in the ratio of 60/40 if you agree to my business proposal.

Further details of the transfer will be forwarded to you as soon as I receive your return mail. Reply me here for security reasons, Email


Let's review some facts about this.

1. It was sent to undisclosed recipients.

2. I'm pretty sure the IRS would be just a tad bit suspicious of thirty-nine and a half million dollars just magically showing up in my bank account. I'm not paying taxes on your stolen money, buddy.

3. They are from West Africa. It seems that every time I get one of these the person/asswipe sending it resides in that area. The first one I received freaked me the hell out. The "lady" said she was from Ivory Coast. I was in high school and didn't know very much about, well, anything. My friend had to explain to me that the internet is really just a spider-web of all the personal information you've ever put on it and it wouldn't be that difficult to appeal to me by choosing the place I lived as a child. Either that or all these people are just siting in West Africa on hoards of money, and nothing would make them happier than to give me forty percent of it.

4. They just want my bank account number. Then I would have to deal with the guilt of disappointing this nice man. I am a server so I live off of cash. I only go to the bank after dropping my rent check off. The rest of the month I just kind of forget that I even have an account because I don't need to use it.

I've always wondered what would happen if I actually followed through with one of these. I wouldn't suggest trying it, and I am never going to do it either. I'm right under 100% positive that they are just trying to steal my non-existent money/identity, but if you know of any good stories related to this (you can cheat and use Google) e-mail me or leave it in the comments section. I'm always up for some entertainment.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Captcha Magic

Captcha of the day?

Writioso (Write-chi-o-so)

Whipping out your magic wand and using this spell will cause your brilliant novel to write itself.

I used the Writioso spell and ended up on the best seller list. So much better than the typistastas spell I tried last week.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

When Maidens Play

One magical night a young-ish beautiful maiden by the name of Kara decided to enjoy a few beers at her apartment. She was having a wonderful evening with her roommate, Shmishelle, and their boyfriends when she became very sleepy. Kara was led to a gloriously soft bed where she put her head down on the lovely pillow and closed her drooping brown eyes.

After laying there for a minute, Kara decided that she wanted to wake up a bit so that she could have a cheeseburger. She opened one squinting eye to see how it felt. When a few seconds had passed she felt awake enough to let the other eye peek through its lid. Wrinkling her nose in groggy concentration, Kara reached over to her bookshelf where she had set her goblet of whiskey and diet coke. She took a few deep breaths because, even though her eyes had been closed when her handsome boyfriend had claimed her drink as his own, her maiden ears had heard the prolonged tinkling of extra whiskey being poured into the goblet. Being the strong and brave maiden she was, Kara decided to have a drink of it anyway even though she knew how strong it would be.

She drew the goblet to her lips and gasped as the sour liquid reached her lips. She puckered her lips and set the drink down after taking a large maiden-like gulp from the brimming edge.

Suddenly, Kara knew that something was not right. She took a few more deep breaths but realized that her saliva was collecting in the back corners of her mouth. Trying to ignore it, Kara got up and went to the bathroom to relieve herself (go pee). While sitting on the porcelain throne, she began sucking steady inserts of air into her lungs, trying to make the feeling go away. The whiskey demon was not to be slain, however. Struggling to gather paper from the roll next to her throne, she hurriedly wiped herself before standing up, turning around and relieving herself from a different direction.

Standing there, bent over the throne with her pants clutched between her thighs, the beautiful maiden wished with all her might that no one chose to check on her at this moment for fear that they would her maiden-like behind as soon as they walked in. She continued to dispose of the night's previous beers into the throne until she stood up, pulled her pants up and thought to herself, God. This would make an excellent post for my blog!

Happy Half-Assed Weekend!

Friday, February 11, 2011

Oh HELL No I Won't Bring You Your Beers!

Remember when I posted about this table? (Read it or this post won't make sense.)

At work last night I picked up a drink ticket, thinking I'd pretend to be a good employee for a few minutes and run some beers. I looked at the table where the two Bud Lights were supposed to go and saw my good friends, Mr. Bud Light, DDD Guy and the bitch who shoved them both out of her lady bits.

Rising above the situation I swiftly put the ticket back onto the bar, said Oh HELL no, and walked away.

I'm mature like that.

I am, in fact, so mature that I am going to post my letter to DDD Guy again.


Dear Drunk Drunk Drunk guy,

I'm sorry that you are so insecure that you have to treat people like dog-shit when you know they can't say anything back to you. It's really not your fault. I know that you feel bad about yourself because you don't have the looks or charm to make up for the fact that you have a tiny penis. But being a fat deuchebag isn't all that bad. You can be the funny friend if you can learn to properly make jokes. Even better, you can be that guy that your friend really doesn't like, but keeps around to make himself seem that much more attractive to the ladies. It's like community service, you're helping average-looking people get laid too; just not yourself. I'm sorry you can't find anyone except hookers to have sex with you. But the bright side is that even though you can't see your penis, due to muscle memory your hand can find it every time, so you can still get your cookies.


P.S. - Go fuck yourself. You're the only one who will.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

What Would Kara Do? Now You Can Find Out!

Do you often find yourself wondering, What would Kara do (WWKD: buy the bracelet)? I often wonder what the hell is wrong with Kara, I mean myself, but that's just me... (haha...)

And yes, I did have to pause for a second to laugh at that. Some of you guys say you think I'm funny, but I'll bet you I think I'm funnier that you think I am.


Well, you're in luck! I put my e-mail at the top of my page so that you can have quick and easy access to the inner thoughts of me. Just send me a message asking a question and what-not and I'll use it to fill up space on my blog/give you the most intelligent and insightful answer of your life.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

No, Snow Day, You Won't Get Me Down!

So yesterday's ....poem?... was definitely not about a cheeseburgers. No one likes cheeseburgers that much.

I'm less cranky, though. I ..made.. myself a cheeseburger so that's taken care of.

Now today I have to deal with the boredom that comes with yet another snow day. You bet my ass (there's not much to bet, I'm sorry) that I'm not going outside to relieve the urge to slowly bang my head against my dvd rack for a half hour. It's cold out there. And there's snow.

Now I know some of you are worried. Some of you may be thinking, But Kara, if you don't go outside today you won't get any sunlight or fresh air. Your beauty may suffer because of it.

Don't worry. I appreciate your concern, but I do go outside every hour or two for some fresh air and sunlight. And a cigarette. So I'm good.

And I used a face mask.

Because I have nothing better to do today.

So..... due to boredom I am going to compile a to-do list.

1. Rearrange the pictures in the apartment and see how long it takes for anyone to notice.

2. Draw caricatures of my cats doing their 'cat' things (i.e. licking their butts, falling off the counters, being pushed off the counters, staring at a string like defeating it will end world hunger...okay the cats don't care about world hunger).

3. Begin drinking (maybe I have already...)

4. Put the absolutely worst movies my roommate and I own on a separate shelf and label said shelf, "Kara's All-Time Favourite Kick-Ass Movies!!!" and see if anyone notices.

5. Make a hat out of newspaper and sit in the bathtub waiting for someone to come in so I can "take their booty!" (Arrg! *Squawk!*)

6. Buy a newspaper. (Requires going outside)

6. Write a short story about a girl who is stuck inside on a snow day with a list of kick-ass plans for the day, and chooses to watch Mulan instead.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Ode To The Cheeseburger

You want to know what I really like?
I really like cheeseburgers.
So much that I get cranky when I don't get a cheeseburger.

I haven't had a cheeseburger in almost a week.

I feel like punching someone.
Maybe even a poor innocent kitty-cat.

I tried to have a cheeseburger last night.
I was turned down.
So now I have to make my own cheeseburger.

It may last long enough for multiple bites,
Or just one bite,
But I will get my damn cheeseburger one way or another.

Friday, February 4, 2011

One Kind Word Can Be Remembered Forever

I had to move back to Kansas from Africa when I was in sixth grade. It was halfway through the school year and we lived in Johnson County for about a month. We owned a house in a different city but it was being rented at the time so we had to wait for them to move out. I attended an elementary school for two weeks in Kansas City. I know there is a lot of bias towards Johnson County kids here in Kansas, but I want to say that of all I had to deal with after moving, these kids were by far the kindest to me. I know they thought I was weird, because I was. I was a scrawny white kid with huge glasses and weird clothes. I'm sure I stared at everything they found normal like I was a tourist waiting for the short bus to take me around and explain everything, but they were still nice to me.

It sounds simple, but you have to remember that children can be amazingly cruel. Maybe they talked behind my back; most likely a good portion of them have forgotten all about me since I wasn't there for very long, but during my two week stay at that school they took me under their American umbrella of culture and taught me simple things. I didn't know what four-square was; the taught me. I still hate four-square; that's not their fault. Most importantly, they taught me what the magical Little Debbie snacks were. I had never had one, laid eyes on one, touched one, etc. Upon my first bite angels descended into the cafeteria and sang a beautiful Little Debbie Hymn just for me.

I want to extend a thank you to those children. Granted, I don't remember any of their names and they don't remember mine, but I am still grateful to them for the way they took the time to let me know it was okay to be that different from other people.

That is a lesson I didn't fully understand until I moved to Illinois for college.

Probably because the most common things said about me were 'Why isn't she black?' and 'Wow, she learned English really quickly!'

To answer those, living in Africa does not automatically make you black, and we were missionaries so I had the English language down pretty well since that's what I spoke. You're welcome if you were confused.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Can I Buy One Of These At Home Depot?

You know what really irks my chain?

Bad cell phone reception.

I just hate it when I can't text my latest shananigans to my girlfriends when I want and where I want.

That's why I am so insanely jealous of these folks.

Apparently, the Di Marco family of Long Island has their very own tower right in the front yard of their residence. Lucky bastards.

They say it's an eyesore and a destruction of property value, but I bet they get the best reception of their entire neighborhood. Keeping up with the Jones's?

Pshaw. Keeping up with the Di Marcos is more like it.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Someone Dig The Groundhog Out Of The Hole!

Oh the weather outside is frightful,

and it fucking sucks out there.

I wish it looked like this outside...

I know, I know. There are plenty of you from states that got hit much worse than we did in Kansas, but I'm a wimp when it comes to snow so I feel like being a whiner.

My toes hurt.

There, I feel better.

To all of you who got it so much worse than we did, I offer my condolences. Stay warm, get drunk, and make some babies (or use condoms).

I am going to go off into the world of my apartment and enjoy this wonderful Groundhog's Day/my friend's birthday by staying warm, getting drunk, and using protection so that I don't make a baby.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Don't Worry, Bubble Wrap, I'll Stand Up For You!

I have been informed (not personally) by Bruce's EvilTwin that it's National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. Apparently, he does not agree with the celebration of this day. He thinks it's stupid.

I know you don't think this has anything to do with bubble wrap, but this one's
for Bruce's EvilTwin. You know, EvilTwin, you know.

Have you ever popped bubble wrap, EvilTwin? It's the most relaxing thing in the world. Popping those tiny plastic bubbles (not the big ones, those suck) makes it seem like rainbows springing from Osama Bin Ladin's ass could really happen. If they implemented bubble wrap popping into the prison system/therapy sessions we would have less crazy people and crime.

This stuff is magic.

So I say to you all, Happy National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. Get yourself some magically delicious (don't eat it though) bubble wrap and let your worries fly away with the millions of carbon monoxide particles that are most likely being released every time you pop one of those tiny mood elevators and stress relievers.