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.

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.

Right?

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.

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?

No.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Good.

Now I give you this.









I hate it when impromptu pillow fights threaten my safety.

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?

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.

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...

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.



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.

Cosmopolitans.

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.