Karin’s Warning Labels – According to Neil

I’ve been told a shit ton couple of times that I should come with a warning label. If I plan on any kind of relationship with someone (friends or otherwise), they should be sufficiently warned so that they can make an educated decision before being sucked into the super fun whirlwind that is my life.

So I figure I should just create a blog entry with the “warnings” in it, and then I can just link it and consider that warning enough!

So, without further procrastination, these are the warnings Neil has deemed important enough to make people aware of:

Ok, in all fairness, this is really vague. Most relationships induce vomiting and aren’t complete without several fits of rage. Otherwise it’s boring as fuck. So I call bullshit on this warning. Let’s move on.

This has to be perception based. I don’t have crazy logic. I have Karin logic. And if you give me the chance, I will explain why Karin logic makes complete sense. Like, the following statement is true:

I’m genetically a surgeon – my father was a surgeon before I was conceived, therefore the medical knowledge is locked in my genetics. I don’t need 10 years of schooling and a fancy degree to amputate your arm, leg or face. Just trust me. I AM A DOCTOR.

That is not crazy logic. It’s just science.

I feel my response to this “warning” already answered it and made it null and void, so we’ll move on.

Ok this one I just don’t even know his own reasoning, so I can’t argue it. I think I’m low maintenance. In fact, I’ve been told my bar of expectations is so low that pretty much any douchebag can walk over it with no issues, so I’m just going to say this is Neil being crazy. MOVING ON!

This is true. I do always want stories. SO FUCKING WHAT!

That’s it?

Damn.

In all fairness, I get this one. HOWEVER! Neil once said to me he was glad I didn’t drink, because the shit I do sober is hard enough to explain. So take that with a grain of salt.

I don’t do Karaoke because, well… You know when a cat is in heat and screams bloody murder, and there’s a blender running in the background and then some drunk hobo screaming for everyone to shut up? That sounds 10,000x better than me. I’m doing you a favour, potentially future friend. And the seafood is self-explanatory.

My dancing is the physical action version of my singing. YOU’RE WELCOME.

I have big boobs. I may or may not wear a low cut top, depending on my wardrobe choice that day. Deal with it.

True. This is a legit warning that I can 100% stand behind.

Another true story. But hey, if you do something that pisses me off, the likelihood I will forgive you is pretty high, right????

 

This is a constant struggle between the two of us. I want real ponies, he only offers dead ones. I don’t feel the ponies thing is an obsession, it’s just a constant disagreement which is why it comes up a lot. IF YOU GAVE ME A FUCKING PONY, THIS WOULDN’T BE A GODDAMN ISSUE!

And finally…

Yeah that’s true too. Well, that wraps up our list. You’ve been warned.

**end of warning**

The Fiat Gang

I don’t know if you ever noticed, but motorcyclists seem to be part of some elite gang. Seriously. Watch them cross paths next time (obviously as long as it’s safe to do so, don’t go causing accidents by being one of those douchebags that can’t focus on the road and their surroundings).

They wave to each other. Almost EVERY time on regular roads… On highways they don’t acknowledge each other because they’re focusing on driving. We all know motorcyclists for the most part are dickbag drivers (they get the same manual as BMW drivers with their vehicle purchase, I’m sure):

But over all, they are mostly aware of their surroundings and only do their gang salute when it’s safe (for them) to do so.

Which brings me to my next discovery. Apparently Fiat drivers are a gang too.

For those of you that don’t know me (my Google stats say that I have people from random countries like Iran and Nigeria as my “viewers”), I drive a Fiat.

A small Fiat. One of those little ones that has 2 doors.

It’s also a standard. Which means it goes pretty darn fast. I say that it goes fast because it’s a standard since I tried the 2 door automatic, and holy fuck it was not fast. I mean, it eventually got there but it showed up fashionably late.

My car may be super-fast, but because it’s super small, being stuck in rush hour is terrifying. This is what I see behind me:

And my side mirror:

Anyways. I digress.

I’ve recently discovered that every time I pass another 2 door Fiat going the opposite direction, the other driver nods at me. Not just a regular nod, but some kind of smug, straight lipped, stern stare nod. Something like this:

I’m not currently capable of doing that without about 6 re-takes, so every time I do attempt to nod back, I probably look mostly retarded, but I will get there one day! Until then, I will look totally bitchin’ bad assed driving my car:

Sort of. As I mentioned before, I have a crazy amount of hair.  I had to take that photo while strategically parked. When I drive, I usually have the windows down (because I’m hardcore like that), which causes my lovely hair to fly fucking EVERYWHERE, so when I try to do my nod, it probably looks more like this:

And less like this:

But! I am part of a gang. And we are taking the country by tiny, economical storm!!!! Seriously, check out that head room back there: