WTF Wednesday || Where's The Family?

Happy Hump Day Lovers! It's already halfway through the week and if you're anything like me and have Friday off thanks to working 9 hour days, the week is practically over. Today's my Thursday and I'm going to bask in all of it's glory. Hate on me, hater.

This WTF Wednesday is brought to you by those lovely stick figure families that every minivan has on their back window. I'm pretty sure it's a packaged deal now. Buy a minivan, get a stick figure family for free. As if driving a minivan meant you were anything but a big 'ol family. True, you could be a creeper handing out candy to innocent children, but you probably don't want to draw attention to yourself or have your van be recognizable at all. So the stick figure families? Probably not for you creepy van driver. Sorry, bro.

I tell you all this to introduce the most glorious or confusing thing I've ever seen on the back of a vehicle. I've seen it two days in a row now on my way to work and I'm still extremely perplexed at the intention of the driver. Is it a joke? A celebration? An admittance to multiple murders? A memorial? I really don't know. So I'll let you be the judge.

Behold, The Stick Family That Is No More...

When I first saw it my mind immediately went to: "Oh, this guy is divorced and his wife took the kids so now it's just him and his two dogs". Then I went to "OMG what happened to the family? Did they all die in a fiery inferno?" Then it was "Oh, this guy is just playing a joke and poking fun at everyone else. He was never married. It's just him and his two dogs." But now, my brain is all confused and overcome with all of these conflicting emotions and I'm not sure whether to smile every time I see the car now or move quickly away from the vehicle so that I don't get added to that crossed out list of stick figures on the back of his car.

Until Next Time...

Happy Father's Day!

Just popping in to wish all of you Dads out there (anyone can be a father...that's just determined by DNA and one lucky sperm that beat out the rest to survive, thrive, grow, and mutate into a baby 9 months later) a Happy Father's Day! I still think it should be called "Happy Dad's Day". There's no need to be so uptight with these titles, people. I don't know one child that calls their Dad "Father". Of course I don't really spend time talking to kids that much so I could be wrong. But on any note, to all that Dads that are apart of their children's lives in a positive way, Happy Dad's Day to you. And for the single mother's out there who are holding it down? Congratulations and thank you. While I cannot say that you can take the place of a Dad, you're doing the best that you can with the circumstances that were given. And for that, I applaud you to the moon and back.

Now that the serious stuff is out of the way, let's get to the giggles and chuckles and smirks that I always (try) to provide. By now you've heard about all of the things that I get from my mom. And no, this isn't some dumb Will.I.Am song where they just talk about women's bodies as if that's all they really are. I'm talking about the borderline OCD that I have. The need to keep everything in it's place. The need to be in control of every aspect of my life. The weird thing I have where I don't drink the last of my drinks. My obsession with anything DIY and HGTV related. The inner mamma bear in my is all because of her. So that leaves you asking, "Well, Karla with a K, what did you get from your Dad?" Good question my loves, good freaking question.

Here is a list of things I got from my Dad or as I like to call it my:

Thanks Dad For Making Me Awesome List:

1. My body. Not to sound all weird and for those of you who haven't seen me in real life I am all female, promise. But I get my tree trunk legs and my other assets (ahem) from my Dad's side of the family. 
2. My brain...well half of it. I've decided that I'm pretty much the best mixture of my parents that could ever happen (sorry Karol, but we all know I'm the favorite anyway). But in all seriousness, I get the nurturing mamma bear from my Mom. And from my Dad, I have the analytical side. See, Daddy Dearest majored in Engineering in College (don't ask me which one because I always get it wrong). And throughout my education, he would help with mold that tiny little 7 pound brain of mine into an analytical machine. So thanks Dad for making my over analyze every part of  my life. 'Preciate it, bro. 
3. My love of sports and being active. My Dad always wanted a boy. He never kept that hidden at all. So when I came around and I was missing a member of the male anatomy, he didn't give up on his dream. Instead, he decided that his little girl was going to play double duty and be his little boy too. So he taught me how to play softball at a young age. Like 5 years old young age, with the plans of enrolling my into t-ball. Too bad that I was a superstar on the field and got to skip t-ball because I could make the throw from 3rd base (ish) to first at the tender age of 6. Yea. I was that good in my floral spandex pants. Thanks to him. Oh and pitching? No problem. He'd drag me outside when I would have much rather been doing anything else and work on my pitching. And for all those other sports out there and being active all the time? Yea that was him. When I was growing up we had a workout room in our basement that was lined with his trophies. I mean LINED. He had bowling trophies, high jump trophies, long jump trophies, other track and field event trophies, football trophies, trophies for having some many trophies. Ridiculous. Yet inspiring.  
4. Being able to spit out of moving cars without getting it on you. That is probably one of the most practical skills ever. No one wants to spit on themselves. Need an explanation? See #3. 
5. My love of making things with my hands. Daddy does home improvement on the side. Daddy also has had power tools since I could remember. Karla played with Daddy's power tools when he was away. At like the age of 8 or so away. There's even a picture of my at the bottom of his ladder when I was so young I could barely crawl. But I crawled my happy ass and nappy headed (seriously, head full of hair going all over the place) self to the bottom of his ladder and was determined to just get up there somehow.  I can read a measuring tape better than anyone he knows and my meticulous mind (thanks to Mommy Dearest) means when I mud and tape it almost doesn't need to be sanded over. I know that wall studs at 16" apart and have finished a basement or two when I worked with him over one summer. 

I'm sure there are tons more and this post will be updated as I think of them but right now I have to head out because I'm going to see my Daddy at home. Peace out homies. 

Until Next Time...