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.

What If... What If... What If...

Sometimes I like to imagine what my life would be like if I were to become insanely rich. I'm talking about having money to do anything I could ever dream of.

I've decided that if this were to happen I would just use my money to fuck with my friends. I would pick one of them, and break into their apartment. Instead of robbing them I would just replace all of their belongings with top-of-the-line items, so that when they come home their apartment/house is stuffed with nice shit that they didn't buy. Maybe I'd leave a note with their full name on it saying You're Welcome so that they're sure they walked into the right residence.



Kara? I think someone broke into my apartment!

Oh no! You should call the cops. Did they take anything?

Well...not exactly.. They left a bunch of nice shit though.

Maybe you could call your landlord and get your locks changed.

...What if they want to come back to replace my appliances?



At which point I'd go in and take the nice shit back to teach them that you should always change your locks if someone breaks into your place of residence.

Maybe I'd replace the fridge.

Well At Least I've Found A Use For The Trojan Ones

A girl I work with bonded as soon as she started at Shmupplebees. We never became close friends or anything, but her first experience with me made her like me at once...and I wasn't even there for it.

A few days (or weeks, whatever. Those of you who have worked in a restaurant know that the new people sometimes take awhile to be noticed) after she started this girl came up to me. We'll just call her Sarah for the sake of keeping her anonymous.

So I met your ex the other night, she said to me. MAN, does he hate you!

Apparently she was at a party where everyone was drunk, as they well should be. My ex was sitting outside moodily playing his guitar when she went out to smoke. He started talking to her and she told him that she had just started working at Shmupplebees.

Oh. My ex-girlfriend works there.

He then continued to berate me for awhile, telling her what a life-ruining-bitch-whore I was.

Of course she told me all about it. Why wouldn't she? It was clear that this man was crazy and I have a charming personality. I win.

Since then our bond has been enfolded in the fact that we both enjoy discussing the lengths to which this man-boy is a loser.

Even more useful is the fact that she is friends with a girl who is friends with the girl (goldfish's uncle's owner's sister, etc.) who is messing around with my ex, so she gets all of the juicy stories told to her. In turn, I get all the juicy stories told to me. I don't know the unfortunate soul's name who is stuck with that man-boy, but I'll name her Lily.

Here is the latest gem.

Lily likes to call man-boy when she's really drunk so that he can entertain her lady bits. The other night she went over there after a few too many cocktails. The only thing that she can remember before she blacked out was that he was crying. Maybe he was sad that I would never get my three years back.

When she woke up in the morning she found, on the floor, the following items:

1. A shoebox full of vomit.

2. A condom with man-juice in it.

3. A condom with bread-crusts stuffed in it.

Wait...bread-crusts?

Yeah, you heard correctly. I had to ask Sarah about five times if she was telling the story right.

I've been informed that my masturbation theory is out of the window because bread-crusts would probably not feel good on man-bits.

Fifty-cent trash can maybe?

Bruce Is Going To Give Me A Big Head

I'm a little late on posting this, but I've been busy. Well, not really that busy but I've felt like spending my time doing things more productive than blogging (I know, what could be better than blogging...)

BUT....

I got an award!

From Tucker Bruce at Just Another Day in Paradise!

Thanks Tucker!

Here are the copy and pasted rules:

1.Link to the person who gave you this award. (In a post, or in your sidebar, wherever you have this)

2.Pass the award along to seven other people who post about at least slightly amusing things and tell them. Either by emailing them or commenting on a post, etc.
3.Say seven things about yourself that no one knows. (Or at least you think no one knows.) 

4.Pass these rules on. (copy and paste this winners!)

Hmmm...these awards keep asking me to reveal a lot about myself. Luckily I reveal things that won't embarrass me none of you actually know me so I don't care as much.

Let's see...  Things that no one else really knows.

1. I like to draw. I have taken several art classes and used to use my talents all the time, but the drawing has dwindled down over the years.

2. I, however, cannot paint to save my life. (It counts as two, right?)

3. I bought the movie Jarhead many many years ago but refused to watch it until my brother was out of the Marines because I was already so afraid for him every day that I couldn't handle making it worse.

4. I hated Jarhead. I regret watching it.

5. I have to try my best to not be a hoarder. I occasionally go through my stuff and throw away the items that I never use and don't need, but I have to make sure I keep on top of it so I don't end up on a reality show or a bad episode of Bones.

6. I love Jason Mraz. I think his lyrics are amazing. If you want to unfollow me for this one I don't blame you. I've almost disowned myself from myself because I'm so ashamed and embarrassed for the level to which I want to have this man's babies.

7. I am a bit compulsive about planning out situations and conversations before they even happen. This often results in talking out loud to myself. Kind of embarrassing and hard to explain when I get caught.

NOW, I have to pass this on to seven people that I find funny. Since I can't give it to myself seven more times (or could I.....) I will have to choose seven people from those I follow. Be right back.

........

.........

...Okay, I'm back.

To continue my laziness on this one I'm not going to give reasons why I chose these people, but I have good taste so go check them out.

1. Kurt at The Roaring Dork.

2. Purplegirl at The Only Slightly Cranky Waitress.

3. Beau at The Nothing Report.

4. Scott at Scott's Tip Of The Day.

5. Sous Gal at Here...taste this...

6. Cole at Dry Humor Daily.

And last but not least...

7. Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism.

Alright, I have fulfilled all the rules, and I promise to stop being a lazy ass and get back to regular posting tomorrow. For now, check them out, leave comments, and save kittens.

Workout Of Choice, 12 Ounce Curls

Today I would like to say farewell to a good friend of mine. This friend has been with me, well, since I was born. Over the years we have grown apart, and now I feel like our relationship is almost non-existent.

No, I'm not talking about Regis.

I'm talking about my metabolism.

It dropped when I hit eighteen, and then again during my early twenties. Don't worry, the loneliness caused by the separation has been filled by a few pounds. Not hundreds of pounds but more than I'd care to hang out with on a daily basis.

Last week I busted out my old whiteboard that I used to use for this very purpose: tracking exercise and weight loss. I made a very pretty (okay, very squiggly) diagram for both of us on there so we can track the amount of working out that we do each week. At the end of the week, we erase it, put the pounds we have gained/lost in the allotted square and begin tracking the amount of exercise for the next week.

The exercise of choice?

Wii Fit.

Stop scoffing at me. It's hard. And, if you don't use it for awhile the animated Wii board mocks you. Kind of like an abusive relationship. It makes you feel bad until you eventually change your habits so that you can please it.

Last week I lost 0.4 pounds. Whatever, at least it's negative. But in reality, I only worked out a couple of times that week so I basically stayed the same. I promise I won't start posting "weight loss" pictures on here, because I think those are annoying. Besides, my beauty is so great that I don't want to be bothered by those pesky modeling agencies.

What I will periodically do, however, is make you listen to me talk about this subject. And tell you if I've lost weight. If I've gained weight, I'll just post about someone else's cats instead.

Stay Away From Me With Your Hugs!

Today is national hug day.

Fuck that mess.

So while I go barracade myself in the back of my closet with a fort made out of laundry baskets, bananas, and an old shoe so that no one tries to hug me, please enjoy this repost about one of the men who broke my heart. It's okay, his is clogged with fake taco meat and processed cheese now.



Cinderella Was Right; Dreams Really Do Come True (repost)

No, this is not my ex.

Some people talk about out of body experiences. You know, those small moments in life that make you wake up and see the world for the truly great place it is. I had one of these moments a few nights ago at a local bar in town. I wasn’t meditating, I wasn’t taking acid to broaden my mind, I was just having a few drinks with a friend to console him due to the fact that he had been broken up with over a text message that day. It was a normal night. I was just going about my business bonding with the whiskey in my glass and occasionally offering up a pat on the back to my grieved friend when it happened.
I walked outside to the courtyard of the bar and began talking to my friend. I nonchalantly took a seat in the chair next to her and glanced around to see if there was any one more interesting to talk to. There, four feet away from me, sat a man around the age of twenty-five (the term ‘man’ is used VERY loosely here). I kind of recognized the t-shirt he was wearing and looked about four times as I was almost certain I recognized the person wearing the shirt. As he got up and awkwardly walked away after the quadruple-take , I was certain I knew who it was, and he was quite a bit heavier than the last time I saw him. Yes ladies, the dream had come true and it was truly one of the greatest moments of my life; my ex-boyfriend had gotten fat. He is now a fat fat mcfatty fatterson. He had been getting a little chubby during the last stretch of dating him, but in the last month the pot smoking and the taco bell eating contests must have really caught up with him.

We sat in the bar for the rest of the evening, both not willing to make eye contact with or acknowledge the other person, both not willing to be the one who gives in and leaves the uncomfortable situation, and I kept glancing over not believing my good fortune. I know some of you may be thinking that this sounds a little mean, but this is the moment that every girl who has had her heart broken dreams about; the moment where she can glance over at the man she once loved and say, ‘Ha!’.

So here’s to you, taco bell. You truly do make people’s dreams come true. I cheers my next whiskey drink to you.

And You Think YOU'VE Got It Bad...

My favorite part is when the last guy freaks out and tries to leave.

Farewell, Regis, Farewell

Who doesn't like Regis and Kathy...I mean Regis and Kelly? Sorry, I momentarily forgot that Kathy was pushed out...um...retired to make way for younger, prettier Kelly Rippa.

Well for those of you who love the show I have some bad news. Regis is finito. He announced that he is retiring after twenty-eight years on the show.

I'm not heart-broken. I'm sorry if you are, but I'm not. I don't watch this show. I find Regis's voice annoying and his personality a little too over the top for my taste. BUT, if you are one of those five viewers millions of viewers that the show has left, you can read all about it here. If you don't feel like going to the article, I'll make fun of  quote some of it for you.

"I don't want to alarm anybody," he (Regis) began, then said, "This will be my last year on the show."

Hold the phone! Stop the world! You didn't even warn me to sit down first! You don't want to alarm us? You just ruined my world, Regis, like that time that you tricked me into giving the wrong answer and losing out on a million dollars! Why, Regis, WHY?!?!?!

"I wish I could do something to make you change your mind," said Ripa.


"Now waaait a minute," Philbin said slyly.

The article doesn't expand on this. Is he wanting something else? More money? More fame? Come on ABC! Give in to his demands!
Or is 'waaaaaaaiiitt a minute' code for, I'm sorry Kathy that I had them push you out for someone with higher boobs, now I know how it feels.

Philbin clicked with daytime audiences as a common man who loved to sound off about familiar frustrations, even as he lived a life rubbing elbows with fellow celebrities.

Golly gee, just a common man rubbing elbows with the elite celebrities of the world. How nice. I hope you never wash those elbow patches again.


Maybe I'm wrong about him being forced to retire.  I mean he is about a hundred and eight years old. I'm sure it's hard for him to drag his bag of bones to work every day.

I personally don't know what I am going to do everyday at....eleven o'clock?....when the show is on. Please, ABC Regis, this CAN'T be your final answer!

Hey You! Stop Reading Your Blogroll and Come Read My Post!

Happy MLK day! I hope you are all enjoying it, and if today is no different than any other Monday for you, think of it as Bloglove Monday instead.

Speaking of bloglove, Bruce's EvilTwin gave me some the other day. He gave me this:

Thanks Bruce!!!!

This award comes with this rule. I can give it to as many people as secrets that I am willing to divulge about myself. I am a copycat, so here are three secrets:

1.  Showers are like magic for me. A shower will make me feel better no matter how crappy I feel. If I feel too crap-o-la-like the shower magic is only temporary, but should last until the hot water returns.

2.  My Super-Nintendo is quite possibly my favorite possession apart from my books. I was informed, as a joke, that it was broken accidentally and thought about breaking up with my boyfriend when I found out he had lied to me about it to be funny. We made it through but I glared at him for the rest of the night.

3.  I believe that Midol is the best hangover cure in the world. It not only takes care of the headache but has caffeine to perk you up. I pretty much just love this stuff. There's a certain week of the month that I will pop these pills like candy because they are the only thing that makes me feel sane.

So there you have it. Three things that make up some of what I like to call 'the essence of Kara.' Now to force other bloggers into doing the same thing give this out to other deserving bloggers out there. I gave three secrets so I get to give the award to three people. Since it is a holiday, I am going to give a simple reason as to why I chose each blog. This first blanket reason is that I just recently started following these blogs and all three of them rock my world.

First, to Cole at Dry Humor Daily. If for no other reason than this:

One of the main reasons I followed this blog. It made me laugh.



Next, to Beau at The Nothing Report, because everyone should have a Zombie Apocalypse Plan and he posted his so that I could copy it. No, really. He posted it just for me I just know it. He didn't tell me but I have good hunches about things like these.

Finally, Bryan and Brandon at A Beer For The Shower, because anyone who can make fun of Sarah Palin and the Twilight books are fucking heroes in my book.

Now I'm going to go drink beer and smoke a cigarette for Bruce and his evil counterpart. Thanks again Bruce!

A Response To Deuchebaggery

Dear New followers (and old followers),

HELLO!!! (dorky wave)

I love you! (cheesy lovey-dovey-I-just-got-my-first-high-school-boyfriend smile)

Thank you for following me and for leaving me comments. I love comments. I read them while my boyfriend peers over my shoulder to see what I'm doing, then rolls his eyes when he sees that I'm looking at Blogger again. I'm surprised he still asks what I'm giggling at when I squeal in glee everytime I see that someone has written another one. Because. It's. Always. For. The. Same. Reason. People really just don't learn. That whole learning by repetition thing? Total crap-o-la (singsong voice).

I was going to write this post last night, but I was so angry the the whiskey went down a bit faster smoother than it normally does, and pretty soon I didn't want to do anything but watch the Comedy Central Roast of Dennis Leary. Eh. It was kind of one of those things where the funny moments are spaced out just close enough together to keep you from changing the channel.

But today I am whiskey/Dennis Leary free so I am going to tell you about the evil evil evil evil (evil) table I had last night.

It was a table of eight, and things were going well for awhile. By well, I mean kind of mediocre. Just another table. Then, as always, it starts with one guy. It's always the one guy who ruins any situation, and last night that guy was the birthday boy. At one point I go to pick up his empty beer glass (of which he had had many already) and he asks:

Is there a refill on this?

Yes, sir. I reply. It's coming from the bar.

At which point he tells me:

Well. It would be really HANDY (emphasize handy. Now raise the end of it so that it kind of sounds like a question)

Let's try this again:

Well. It would be really HANDY it you could bring another one before you take the empty glass away.

Oh, golly gee sir, I didn't realize your alcoholism was so bad that you suffer an instantaneous withdrawal if you don't even have the presence of a beer glass in front of you. Please, have a coupon and a brochure for AA.

They finished their meal and we sang Happy Birthday to Mr. Bud Light. Turns out he's the same age that I am about to be. Unfortunately for him, he looks a good five years older than I do. Maybe that's because I don't drink twenty beers as an appetizer.

Here's where the twist comes in.

Mr. Bud Light wants to stay and have more beers after they pay.

Breathe. I know, it's a shocker.

Everything goes the same as before, except the only food was the three baskets of chips and salsa I put at their table hoping they could use it to sober up a bit. Some people join the party, and some people leave. They keep ordering more beers, and keep moving around to the point that I'm pretty sure I gave them the right tickets.

At one point I realize that one of the guys had left without paying. His ticket was only about ten bucks, but you better believe my ass wasn't paying for it. I inform the group that was still left of this and one drunk drunk drunk guy says he'll pick it up. He takes that ticket and his own ticket. To no surprise of mine, they order more beers, so I switch out the tickets, including the one that belongs to drunk drunk drunk guy. They all pay, and ddd (it's getting to be too much to type out) guy gives me just the ticket for himself, and a twenty.

Are you sure you don't want change?!?!?! His mom's shrilly voice screeches out to him,

He didn't want change, on his nineteen-and-something dollar ticket. Woo. Big spender. Thanks asshole.

Now, there was Mr. Bud Light Birthday Boy and the spare ticket left to pay. I took the credit card of Mr. Bud Light and informed the table that the ticket needs to be paid.

I already paid it. Slurred DDD guy.

No, you paid yours.

At this point we start going around in circles about him saying he picked up both tabs and me telling him he only paid his.

But you brought me a new ticket and I paid it.

I told him that, yes, I had brought him a new ticket but that was for his tab since the other ticket was still on the table. I had even printed a new copy and brought it to the table by this point. Wasn't that nice of me?

By this point the entire table is arguing with me and looking at me like I am trying to tell them that God is really a llama that lives in a field of cotton candy.

I tell them at least four times that I can get the manager if they want because I have NO control over the situation. Finally I just kind of walk away to let them figure it out for themselves. I bring back the credit card receipt for Mr. Bud Light, and DDD guy thrusts the spare ticket at me with a ten and says:

Here! Before you fuck this up. He emphasized this as if I had just screwed up their entire dining experience to the point that he would burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears the moment he stepped into another restaurant.

Since I couldn't do anything last night except scream the story to my manager with a breaking voice, Here is my reply to DDD guy.

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.

Love,
Kara.

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

Seriously, What WOULD You Do For A Klondike Bar?

In the comment section of my last post, Mynx asked me what a Klondike Bar is. I never even stopped to think that explaining this might make a little more sense. So for you, Mynx, and all of you who don't know what this delectable mouth-watering item is, here I go...
A Klondike Bar is this:

It's pretty much just a brand-name ice cream bar/sandwich depending on your preference.


The slogan that made/kept them famous was:

What Would YOU Do For A Klondike Bar?

Further Example:

There you have it. Now you can all 'ooh' and ahh' at the utter brilliance of my last post''s title! (I'm 'oohing' and 'ahhing' too. You're not alone.)

Are they really this good?

Hell if I know. I'm lactose intolerant. I've never had one.

I Want A Klondike Bar Before I Hang Out With You

When I was in fifth grade, my class took a field trip to Accra, Ghana. Ghana is the neighboring country to Cote d'Ivoire (seriously, someone tell me how to put those damn symbols in here. I'm screwing up words left and right because of that) where I grew up. Well, where I lived as a child would be more accurate.

One day, we were out and about doing all the fun touristy things that you get to do when you visit countries, and we ended up at this restaurant. To eat. A bunch of fifth graders. Finding food for them is inevitable.

Each of the tables was a separate gazebo. The gazebos had numbers on them. I should tell you now that I am not always a nice person. Unless you cry and then I am only nice because tears scare me. I'm worse than a guy in that department.

Well, my two bestest-fifth-grade-friends and I were in one of the gazebos together. Lets just say the number was 54. We were making passes and handing them out to other students so they could come back to our gazebo. Look. I was in fifth grade. Well, this girl, we'll just call her Shmamber, wanted a pass too. Now, Shmamber was a very pretty, very prissy, kind-of-stuck-up blonde. We didn't like her. She thought she was the shiznit and we knew we were the shiznit, so you see where the conflict would come in.

My friend made her a pass. Whatever. But as soon as Shmamber left to go to her own gazebo, or go stare at herself in a mirror, my friend leans over to me and whispers:

I wrote 52 on her pass. Now she can't get back in.

Attention Customers? Please Send SRS Assistance to Aisle 1

Two Halloweens ago I dressed up as Mother Earth. I wore green clothing and tights, and put green glittery make-up all over my arms and face (and chest. Gotta take care of the cleavage). I even got that colored spray, sprayed my hair green and put millions of bobby pins and fake twigs and leaves in the now-green-rock that used to be my hair (it washed right out, thank God).

I looked pretty damn good.

Until the bars closed and I walked to my car (I wasn't the one driving).

I'm not quite sure what had happened except that I think I can blame a good majority on some homemade minty shots earlier in the evening.

I just fell over.

On my face.

I didn't even have scratches on my hands, so I'm pretty sure I didn't try to catch myself at all. Well, mostly I caught myself with my chin and my nose. As I was trying to figure out what I had just done, I heard a girl shout out:

Oh my God, he just pushed her down! Do you want us to call the cops? We should call the cops!

Since I'm pretty sure that the guy with me had not pushed me down, mostly because he looked worried and was helping me up, I slurred back:

Nmo, ish oke. I frelt bo meshelf.
(No, it's okay. I fell by myself.)

They didn't call the cops so I think they understood me.

Or the guy got us out of there before his ass went to jail.

My face was pretty bad the next day. There were scratches all over, especially by my nose and chin, and a particularly bad one on my forehead. The thing that I have never been able to live down is that my face became progressively worse over the next month. I ended up with two black eyes that took a month to peak, and longer to go away. Not only that but I had to deal with the acne that came along with putting pounds of make-up over these bruises. Thank God for dim lighting at restaurants.

Everytime I would go out in public I would get those, you should really break up with your abusive boyfriend looks.

The thing is, no one did anything about it. Meaning they never actually said anything to me except for those who knew me well and had heard the story. And those people just wanted to make fun of me and tell me what an idiot I was (am).

Moral of this story? Don't expect the Wal-Mart cashier to help you if your significant other is beating you.

You Just Keep My Bloggersphere A Twirlin'

So I found out yesterday that I have been getting a lot of bloglove lately.

I was unofficially nominated to be BONed (come on now. Mind out of the gutter and eyes up here!) by Bruce's EvilTwin on his blog, Stupid stuff I see and hear. Personally I'd rather be BONed by Bruce's EvilTwin than than Google any day because he doesn't like blogs that show the crappy outcome of bad knitting patterns.

I am also sponsoring Bruce's JADIP blog this week; an honor that I am forced to accept because I swore that I would not write another damned three page report during my time off from school. I now call my reports essays and short stories because it makes me feel better about myself. Plus the report is single spaced, so that's really like six pages. It takes less time to let him link my blog everyday and say nice things about me.

This is my prize. The rash can be fixed, baby, I promise.

And last, but definitely not least, Mrs. Hyde at A Bitch Called Mom nominated me for the most humorous blog award in the 2011 Weblog Awards. I don't know if I'll win, I didn't even really know about them, but being nominated is honestly good enough for me.

So now, I would like to thank... (drumroll)

No, not God.

I'm trying to be a writer so I've trained myself to step away from everything that is cliche (I don't know how to do the 'e' so you have to deal with it looking like that), and I don't know what is more cliche than thanking God in moments like these.

So instead I am going to thank... (come on you damn drumroll. Where is it?)

Bruce, his evil counterpart and Mrs Hyde!

You made me feel greater about myself than getting Google's attention ever could. I am not writing for them I am writing for you (and for the possibility of making millions by someone discovering what a literary genius I am). It is your comments and pageviews that keep me going on this thing. We all already know that I am an attention whore, so you feeding my ego from time to time just makes the problem worse makes it all the more worth it to spend my time spewing out some useless crap that you guys find funny for some reason.

Thank you so much you guys for all of the bloglove that makes my little bloggersphere go 'round.

And thank you to all of those who have helped to save kittens around the world.

Do You See The Dinosaur?

You know those moments where you realize you aren't where you're supposed to be?

I had one of those yesterday.

I was talking to my roommate for awhile because she was upset about some things, and eventually made plans to go over to my boyfriend's to hang out. I realized somewhere right before I went over there and the drive over that I should be with my friend.

Boy am I glad I made that decision.

I didn't get drunk because with the events that unfolded there just wasn't time available to devote to that.

One of our mutual friends was completely drunk. I think shwasted may even be appropriate for this one. I walked up and he gave me a hug which ended up being a, 'I'm going to cuddle you upright for a minute so you don't fall over' hug. We went downstairs to the first floor of the bar, and proceeded to get a drink. We saw our friend fall down the stairs and Shmishelle deemed it time to set the drink down and take him home.

I offered to ride with her to help with the drunken mass in her front seat, and spent the whole way to his house trying to keep him upright so that he would stop using one of my hands as a headrest. Don't judge me, I'm still a good friend but that man's head is heavy!

We woke him up and got him out of the car when we reached the right house. He kept making us stop by planting his foot in front of him on the sidewalk in a way that would disable us from proceeding further, and would whisper, "Shhhhh! Look! It's the dinosaurs!"

This happened a few times. Shmishelle thought it was hilarious and kept egging him on while I tried to be the voice of reason saying, "Yup, the dinosaurs. Now where are your keys. That's nice. Really? Where are your keys. Find your keys. It's cold and you're using me as a cane."

Something like that anyway.

He didn't have his keys because some smart person probably took them away from him at the bar, so we lugged him back to the car. I had her drop me off at my car which was still by the bar, and met her at our apartment to help him upstairs onto our couch. Pillow and blanket later, we took off to have a precious drink at a different bar than we were at (no thanks hip-hop night). We got down a shot and a drink.

My liver cried tears of relief sadness, but I satisfied my arteries with some taco bell.

All in all, we stayed up for a bit talking about random I'm-slightly-tipsy tidbits so it was a good night.

Oh, by the way, I did all of this in sweatpants.

And owned it.

I'm a badass.

Don't Worry Neighbor We'll Take You In Repost

It is gorgeous outside and I am in the middle of a book, so for you viewing pleasure today I bring you a soothing (reposted) tale of corporate lies.

Enjoy!



I remember being told about a restaurant commercial a couple years ago. This commercial was for a restaurant that I have never heard of and certainly don't work at. For the hell of it, we'll just call it Shmupplebees.
Apparently, in this commercial, all of the staff (servers, cooks, hosts, manager) were leaving work at the same time (because we know that everyone in the restaurant completes their closing work at the exact same time) with smiles on their faces. Smiles. Manager must have been giving his employees some adult happy juice during the shift.
Well, they are about to lock the door and a team pulls up, just having lost their (I'm assuming football) game. They look so dejected about sucking at their sport of choice not being able to enjoy the fine dining experience of Shmupplebees, that the staff immediately unlocks the door, fires up the grills, and changes the lives of these fine young gentlemen of society forever.
What the fuck?
Who made this commercial? This person has obviously never served before. Unless that team brought in a very large bottle of tequila, my ass would've been out of there hightailing it to the nearest bar.

Come And Get It! (Bloglove Of Course!)

Hello.

I'm back to talk about myself...

Again...

Are you excited?

Good.

I am awesome.

End of post.


Okay, not really, because I have to talk about something that made me feel awesome.

It is this:

this award was started by Mynx at Dribble...

It has strawberries. I love strawberries.

And awards.

(Thanks Bruce!)

This award has some stipulations/rules however.

First, I am going to list five guilty pleasures that I have. This is not my choice to do and you cannot unfollow me because you finally realize I am a loser nerd unique person. This is a freebie for me to be...special.

Alright...

Five Guilty Pleasures:

1. Diet Coke. I think about half their revenue each year comes from me alone. I love it so so so much. It's not even a weight loss thing for me. I just truly enjoy the taste of it and the nice slight sting that I get from the carbonation when I chug a glass of it. I wrote a poem about coke when I was fourteen. Maybe someday I will change it to diet coke and post it. It's pretty much a love poem.

2. Zebra Cakes. I love them so much that I won't eat them. Trust me, it makes sense. I CAN NOT stop once I start. Before I know it two or fifteenish boxes are gone and I have a vague recollection of being the one to have eaten them. I don't even like them to be around me. This love does not apply to any other Little Debbie snacks. Just Zebra Cakes.

3. Sweatpants. I wear them whenever I can. I wear them in public. Right now my only pair has a hole in the butt (haha) so I keep to wearing them around the apartment (with shorts underneath so they aren't completely inappropriate). I do sometimes (often) wear them to my boyfriend's apartment though. Hey, a girl's gotta be comfortable.

4. Singing. I love to sing. Just not in front of anyone. Yeah, I'm one of those people. Also, I'm the person next to you while you're waiting for that long red light to finally turn green. You know the one. You look over on your nice Wednesday afternoon to see a girl jamming out to whatever the hell kids listen to these days. She doesn't look like a kid, but she's sure acting like one. She looks over at you and sees you staring at her like she's a moron. She gets embarrassed for a second, moves her car forward a foot and then goes back to her song. I'm that girl.

5. Newsies. You know the crappy '92 Disney musical with Christian Bale when he was about seventeen? I love this movie. You could even say it is my favorite movie. (I have a cousin who loves this movie because of me too. It's like the herpes of crappy musicals.) The thing for me is that it has more sentimental value at this point rather than being the best, most life-changing thing I have ever seen in my life. I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. Hey, those of you that got to grow up in America had the goonies, us Missionary Kids had Newsies.

So there we go. More about me than any of you still care about. Now to pass this on to three people.

1. Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism. I think I gave her an award last time I gave one out but I can't remember and I also don't care. This lady is funny. She could write a he said/she said book on husband/wife interactions and make millions.

2. Lady Fromage at...well, Lady Fromage. She loves cheese. I love cheese. In fact, I am lactose intolerant and cheese is pretty much the only dairy I can eat so I have a fondness for it that is almost unnatural. Plus, she is a fellow Kansan and I think that is pretty sweet.

3. Corey at Wishing My Life Was A Musical...It Would Be The Best Musical Ever!!! I don't know if I got the name exactly right, but it's long and you can just follow the damn link. ...So follow it! His blog shows a depth that mine will never reach. One of the stipulations he has for himself is remaining uncensored in what he feels he needs to say and you've got to respect that. Plus he made magical buttons appear in the top right corner of my blog.

So there you have it. Five guilty pleasures, three people awarded, and one little monkey still jumping on  the bed.

I Am A Whore

Not that kind of whore.

An award whore!!

I love them.

And I love Bruce.

Cause he gave me one.

And said nice things about me.

The award is pretty. It has strawberries on it. And it calls me sweet.

(By the way, the internet is probably the only safe way to call me sweet. Any other way will get you a suckerpunch to the face.)

I need to go claim it so I can tell you all about five of my guiltiest pleasures, and give it to three awesome people, but I am about to start drinking some whiskey and don't want to get pulled over on my way over there for swerving.

Plus I need to keep appearing clever so I am going to think of really weird/funny guilty pleasures before I claim it.

It's not my fault. Bruce put me up to that standard by lying to you and telling you I'm funny. Now there's just so much pressure!

*Sip*

Better.

Now I'm going to go drink a few stiff ones and make up think up some guilty pleasures.

Justin Beiber Hates Your Cat Too

I love my cats.

Well, actually they're my roommate's cats, but I'm like an adoptive/step-parent.

Plus them being her cats makes it less likely that I will end up a crazy cat lady. Now I can end up with a dog. Having dogs are cool. As long as they're not those annoying yappy dogs.

But I still love cats.

I just don't like cats as much as some people, bringing me to my point. Cat videos. I pet my cats (ha), I give them food and throw toys. I even cuddle with them after they force themselves in my lap.

I do not make videos of them to post online.

I think it is adorable when my cat bats a toy around. I do not think that means that the cat has learned to play soccer. I do not put it on the web as most amazing cat discovery ever!

Please keep your cat entertainment to the home. Maybe send a picture to a friend once in awhile, but don't be offended if that friend does not care that your cat fell asleep on the table. All cats fall asleep anywhere they can. Your cat is not special.

Now here's a cat video for your viewing pleasure.

Because we all hate Justin Beiber.