Special Thanks

When I publish my book, “You Look Like A Boy (And Other Shamefully True Tales of a Midwestern Girl)”, this will be my special thanks.  I just couldn’t wait to thank all of you...

 

Special Thanks

            I feel it’s absolutely necessary to issue an extra special thanks to my remarkable parents— J Thomas Kelly III and Kathleen Kelly—two people in this world for whom I have the utmost respect.  A short note will never be enough to show my appreciation for bringing me into this world (without you there would be no KC Kelly and the world would not be as great of a place).  Dad, thanks for your sense of humor and for teaching me all those swear words.  Mom, thanks for your advice and unconditional love and support. Although I’m sure this book is the ultimate form of shame and embarrassment I’ve brought upon you, it’s really just another day in the Kelly family. Words will simply never be enough to show you my love and gratitude.

Thanks to my siblings (Jen Wolf and Erik Kelly) for putting up with me all these years.  I'm truly lucky and blessed to have such an awesome brother and sister. Thanks to my other family members (especially Vicki & Tom Schultz, Nicci Londo, and Jackie Mosetter) for reading my stories and being an active part of my life. 

Special thanks to my sister Kate Kelly—without you, my childhood and college experience would have been boring.  Thanks for letting me share some of our more embarrassing stories and letting me make jokes at your expense. I will always treasure and value the unique experiences we shared.  The Kelly Sisters are certainly a force to be reckoned with and I pity the fools who try.

I would like to issue an extra special thanks to my amazing woman, partner, and best friend—Emily Davis. You are definitely my better half.  Without your constant unwavering love and support, this book would not exist.  Thank you for encouraging me every step of my writing journey.  Although I can be difficult at times, I’m glad I can make you laugh at least once every single day.  Your laughter and love gives me the ambition to keep writing.

I would also like to thank Emily’s family members and friends (especially Mary & Bill Davis, Andrew & Lindsay Davis, Kim Davis, Erin Burgess, Megan Hegemann, Liz Foster, Erin Brzoskowski, and Karlee Hanneman) for showing their love and support for us over the years, sometimes in unexpected ways.

             Without my best friends, Jes Winter (J-Dubz) and Rachel Schwanz by my side, I would be the only one making an ass of myself.  Thankfully, you girls are equally as embarrassing and idiotic as I am.  The two of you are the best and most remarkable friends any girl could ask for.  Despite the fact we tease each other relentlessly, the two of you are the only people in this world who can rival and keep up with my sense of humor and cleverness (even though we all know and can agree that I am the funniest one of the bunch).

A special shout out to my other funny and awesome friends—Tara Mitchell, Stacy Tesch, Amanda Mangerson, and of course J-Dubz and Rachel—the five of you have all made me laugh so loud and hard to the point where tears sometimes run down my legs.

             To my other equally amazing friends (Lindsey Schneider, Shelby Sellers, June Salzer, Toni Marie Larsen, Katie & Scott Herrem, Julie & Karl Schwartz, Listron “Blue” Mannix, Scott Belding, Jason Masloski, TJ Centinaro, Lora Hale Stryker, Sarah Hoadley Boecker, and many others—your friendship and loyalty means the world to me.  Some of you I’ve known all my life; some for only a few years; and some just recently—no matter how long we’ve been friends, just know I’ve enjoyed every single minute! Thanks to all my other friends (I appreciate you even if I haven't named you individually)!

A special thanks to my best Florida friend, Rachel Drath.  You are amazing and I thank you for being so loyal and encouraging.  You make me laugh, smile, and feel good about my height and I consider myself one lucky nugget to have you in my life.  And thanks for introducing me to the one and only Mike “Vegas” Simmonds, a handsome guy with the funniest one-liners, craziest stories, and the most glorious, life changing mustache I’ve ever seen!!!

A special thanks to Stacy Tesch, Jes Winter, EvaMarie Coe, Tara Mitchell, Sue Schrage, and Bridget Fillo for reading my manuscript and helping edit it in ways you saw fit.  Your advice and time spent reading is much appreciated.

A huge round of applause for those of you who let me tell a story that features you (whether you’re portrayed in a good or bad light) and allowing me to keep your real name.  If you try to sue me, just remember A) I can prove it all B) you gave me permission and C) it’s not my fault you embarrassed yourself and I happened to be there.  For those of you who make an appearance in this book but under a different name and are unsure if it’s actually you—it probably is (and no, you can’t sue me either).

            Lastly, thanks to my readers—without you there’s no one with whom to share my stories.

            Words can never express my gratitude for every single one of you, as you have all humbled and affected me in different but equally as special ways. I love you all. 

     

Book Dedication

This is the dedication I plan to feature in my book,  You Look Like A Boy (And Other Shamefully True Tales of a Midwestern Girl).

For J Thomas Kelly III & Kathleen Kelly

My incredible parents

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

—Traditional Gaelic blessing

For Emily Davis

My wonderful woman

I can't wait for you to be my wife
To live this life together
And I won't let you go
I need you to know
That you are my heart, forever

—“I Can’t Wait” –Runner Runner

The F-Word #BAD11

To most people, the F-word is one of the crudest and most despicable words you can say.  I say it all the time; I'm no stranger to dropping the F-bomb.

But this F-word, although as horrific, is not the F-word you may be thinking of.  This F-word is Famine.  Famine is a widespread scarcity of food usually accompanied or followed by regional malnutrition and starvation.  It is a scary epidemic most people don't think about on a daily basis. 

During mealtime in the Kelly household, if we didn't finish the food on our plates we were lectured.  Mom would tell us to clean our plates because there are starving children in Africa.  At a young age, I wasn't sure exactly what that had to do with me finishing the disgusting brussel sprouts on my plate.  It's not like I could have packed up all my leftover food into a box and sent it to Africa.  Trust me; I had asked, but Mom told me that although the gesture was thoughtful, the food would spoil before it even got there.

As a young kid, I knew there were starving children all over the world, but I didn't know there were also starving children in America.  Probably in my own hometown! We could have easily been those children. My family wasn't rich and there were many times we struggled with money and my parents worried about putting food on the table for us four kids.  They never wanted their kids to go hungry, so it didn't matter if bills were paid or there was gas in the car; we ALWAYS had food and we never went to bed hungry.  Which is why my parents stressed that we clean our plates. Instead of arguing or refusing to clean my plate, I went along with it because I couldn't imagine what it felt like to go hungry.

But it always seemed to me that the starving children in Africa were more important.  Probably because they were far away; out of sight, out of mind.  And I had seen more "sponsor a child in Africa" commercials than I had seen the affects of hunger in our own country on our own children.  Was it possible there were starving children in America too, the richest country in the world?  And if there were, how horrible was the famine in other countries?  There was no way I could comprehend the damaging affects of famine, but it was time I tried.


Now as an adult, I fully realize famine is a horrible epidemic affecting thousands upon thousands of people all over the world.  Because of this knowledge, I have a sense of guilt if I throw away food. Who am I to throw away food when someone somewhere else needs that food? I feel guilt in other ways as well, like going to restaurants and seeing how wasteful patrons can be, throwing out perfectly good food. Although I do not enjoy leftovers, I do try to eat them.  But I'll admit that although I feel guilt about wasting food, I am just as guilty of wasting food as everyone else.  It's something I'm conscious of and although I try not to waste any food, it's not always possible. 

What I didn't know was that with a little bit of effort on each person's part, we can put an end to this cycle of hunger. Yes, Mom was correct; there are starving children in Africa.  There are also starving children in America too.  It may seem overwhelming, but you can take action.  Find your local food pantry to help hungry people in America; donate money to Feed the Future to help hungry people all over the world. Sign a petition to end hunger at ONE.  If you don't do anything else, follow my mom's advice and clean your plates so you don't waste food. 

There are many ways you can help end this cycle; you just have to care enough to find a way.  Spread the F-word among your friends, family, coworkers.  Knowledge is power; the more people who know, the better. 

Love, Your Secret Admirer

My amazing friend Amanda has decided to tackle the writing world and shared a story with me this morning.  I am posting it on my blog as a guest blog; the reason being this is one of my favorite memories I have of our amazing adventures together.  There are many, but only a couple of them can really be shared with the outside world.

Amanda and I have done things that we cannot speak of to other people and to most of you, this may seem like one of those things, but we're not embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, we are damn proud of this one!

So, please enjoy.  And Man-Duh, thanks again for sharing. Without you, I would be the only one making an ass of myself, but when we're together, it's a combined effort and I love you for that.


LOVE, YOUR SECRET ADMIRER

            Back in the day in my hometown, the place to work was Trig’s Food and Drug. I am not sure if this grocery store was a merciful employer, offering jobs to all who applied, or if it had a high turnover, but fresh meat was always in season. Whatever the case, a fair amount of my friends have at one time, worked at this particular grocery store.

            Kara was my best friend for most of my high school life and we still remain close to this day. She too, worked at Trig’s. I think part of the reason we were so close is our disgusting senses of humor combined with the inescapable desire to top the other in grossness. If there was a line, we generally pole vaulted over it. Some of the things we've done are just too terrible to tell, but I will let you in on one particular evening that may or may not still haunt some of the people involved.

            As a back story, Justin was one of our friends who happened to work the 3pm to 11pm shift at Trig’s. He drove an old red flatbed truck, which was an awesome opportunity for us to leave random things on the flatbed for him. Kara and I had taken advantage of this and started placing shopping carts, tree branches, potted plants, garbage cans, and whatever else we could find on the back of it for him to find when he left work each night. Occasionally he and his coworker Joel would retaliate and place items onto the hoods of our cars.  Unfortunately for them, they were not as creative as we were.

            One Saturday evening during the summer of 1999, I was over at Kara’s parents’ house (as usual). Justin and Joel were both working at Trig’s that evening, so we conspired to make an extra special offering to Justin’s flatbed truck. Kara and I devised a plan that we would make up a box marked “from your secret admirer” and when Justin opened it, something horrible would be waiting in it, just for him.

            At first, we started with moldy hot dog buns we found in the breadbox in the kitchen.  Then Kara's mom suggested she clean out the catbox before we left the house again when the idea suddenly came to us.  Why throw away perfectly good cat shit when we had the perfect use for it?  Cat shit hot dogs in moldy buns, complete with ketchup, mustard, and relish. After many fits of complete hysteria, we managed to perfect our hot dogs, packing the turds in the buns just right and stuffed them into a shoebox. 

            But we were still missing something.  There was still a large amount of space to occupy the box, but how do you complement cat-shit hot dogs? The wheels in our heads turned for about 30 seconds when a light bulb went off – ROADKILL! We thought that a nice flattened squirrel or chipmunk would accompany the hot dogs perfectly. We thought for a few moments as to the last time we actually saw road kill. That’s the funny thing, when you are looking for it, it’s nowhere to be found. The idea seemed impossible but then Kara’s younger sister Katie chimed in.

            “I think I saw a dead squirrel behind pizza hut today on my way home from school.”

            In unison, Kara and I screamed, “YES!” and to the DY-Nasty (Kara's awesome car) we flew to retrieve our prize. Time seemed to stand still as we drove down Lincoln Street. After about eight minutes, we finally made it to Pizza Hut. As we rounded the corner, there it was in all of its glory – a week-old flattened squirrel.

            We parked the car and fumbled to get out when it dawned on us.  We have a box with cat-shit hot dogs in it, but we didn’t bring anything to pick up the road kill. SHIT! I am thoroughly disgusting, but I was not about to pick up a dead-ass squirrel with my bare hands. Neither was Kara.

            We ran to the nearby bushes in search of some twigs to use as makeshift chopsticks. The closest thing we were able to find were some dried up flower stems that felt more like straw than sticks, but they would have to do. After some stem breakage and fumbling, we finally got the squirrel in a satisfactory position in the box. We put the cover back on and carefully placed the box into the trunk of the DY-Nasty and headed back for Casa de Kara.

            By this time it was around 9:45pm, which gave us a little over an hour before Justin would get done with work. This would be just enough time to put the finishing touches on the box. We wrote a beautiful note and attached it to the box with a gorgeous bow made of toilet paper. Between Kara and me, my handwriting was more “adult-like” so I was the scribe.

            After careful consideration, we realized the note needed to be simple, but meaningful so as to not draw suspicion. The note read:

To Justin

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

            Hey, I didn't say we were smart or overly creative; I just said the note needed to be simple.

            It was now 10:35pm and our gift box was complete. To avoid any suspicion, we decided to take my ride verses Kara's car. My sweet 1989 Brown Toyota Station Wagon. Nothing was classier than the Brown Beastly Bastard. We had to ride in style you know.

            We nonchalantly pulled into Trig’s parking lot and headed toward Justin’s flatbed truck. We parked and exited the car in a calm manor, as to not attract any attention. Justin was working express that night, and if he was really looking, I think that he could have seen us mid-delivery. We carefully placed the expertly prepared box onto the truck’s hood, (driver’s side of course). We then quietly got back into the BBB and drove to the top of a small hill into the Rhinelander Post Office’s parking lot.

            At approximately twenty yards away, we had a perfect view and were inconspicuous. It was the perfect spot to watch all of our handy work come to fruition. Minutes passed like hours as Kara and I sat and waited. It was silent, except for the occasional breathy laughter that was difficult to contain.

            It was now 11 p.m. and the suspense was excruciating. We watched as people walked out of Trig’s express doors, hoping each time that it was Justin. At approximately 11:08, Justin and Joel both emerged together. We were laughing so hard we were both out of breath and on the verge of passing out.  Kara and I both covered our mouths to stifle our laughter as best we could.

            Justin and Joel casually strolled over to Justin’s truck, talking and laughing, but none the wiser of the gift or of our presence. As Justin made his way to the driver’s side of his truck, he noticed the box. He gave it a look which said, “Seriously?!” but he also appeared quite curious. He slowly untied the TP bow and removed the box top. A look of horror came across his face as he looked in the box, leaned back, and then leaned in close, disbelieving what he saw. Joel had a similar reaction as Justin backed away.

            Suddenly, to our disbelief, Joel picked up the box and dropkicked it like a soccer ball, flinging our cat shit hot dog masterpieces and dead squirrel into the air. Turds and chunks of hot dog bun scattered across the pavement and the squirrel seemed to do a slow-motion cartwheel as it flew ten feet up.

            In unison Kara and I both screamed, “SICK!”, and laughed so hard we almost threw up. I made the brown beastly bastard roar to life and as I peeled out of the parking lot, I saw Justin and Joel in my rearview mirror looking around, totally flabbergasted. 

            Although we were proud of our gift to Justin, we didn't want him to know it was us for fear of retaliation of something far more disgusting; he came from a family of hunters and it was nearing deer season, which gave him ample opportunity to do something equally as horrifying and disgusting to us.

            To this day, we're not sure if Justin ever really knew it was us.  He might have been suspicious because we were probably the only two females he knew who were capable of such atrocities. 

            I'd like to think he doesn't because if he had known, I can almost guarantee you I would have ended up with a deer head on the hood of my car and Kara would have had her DY-Nasty decorated with deer entrails.

            That's the thing about secret admirers though; you never know who you're dealing with!

             
Written by Amanda Mangerson

KCommander In KChief

Lately it seems as though there are more people announcing they are not running for president than people who are.  In keeping with this trend, I too have an announcement to make.

I, KC Kelly, will not be running for US president in 2012.

There, there.  Wipe your tears. It's a sad day for me too.

For those of you who were anxiously waiting for Sarah Palin, Chris Christie, and KC Kelly to square off and fight to be the next leaders of the free world--you will have to wait just a while longer.  That would have been a good fight though.  I would have seduced Christie by wearing some Italian meat, Lady GaGa style, and would have enticed Palin with a moose mating call and a lifetime supply of shotgun ammo.  Then I would have forced them to make a decision; Italian meat and unlimited ammo, or a presidential candidacy? Let's face it; we all know what they would have chosen. But I digress.

Like Christie who is probably auditioning for a role on The Jersey Shore and Palin who is probably busy building igloos and hunting for moose, I too have good reasons for my decision.  One of them being I am not a current or former governor, which seems to be a prerequisite for most presidential resumes . And I am also not yet 37 years of age. Thankfully.

There also might be a question of the legitimacy behind my birth certificate.  I'm not sure either of my parents were willing to sign it when I was born, knowing what they had just created.  I don't blame them; I don't take responsibility for myself either.

I also often humiliate myself in public.  I've been known to strip off my clothing for no apparent reason (hey, Janet Jackson became more popular after her clothing mishap).  I often drink too much and always say something I regret in the morning.  Swear words fly out my mouth at the speed of sound and I'm about as attractive on camera as Courtney Love, who coincidentally also embarrasses herself in public and can swear up a storm.   

If all that's not reason enough, I'm also not big on politics. Just the word "politician" can evoke a yawn from my mouth. I got kicked out of more poli sci classes for sleeping than I got kicked out of sex ed classes for laughing. I'd rather take a bubble bath with my brother than learn about our government. I just don't have the political bone in my body, so to speak.

Although I think most Americans are ready for a woman president (and no, Sarah Palin doesn't count; she's a gun slinging Republican, which basically qualifies her as a man), America is not ready for me.  Our current president has done more for gay rights in this country than any other leader of the free world, but I'm not sure the free world is ready for a lesbian leader like me.

To be president, you need to be a leader and to be a leader you need to influence people.  I can barely influence certain family members of mine to read my blog, let alone convince strangers to vote for me.  I only have 116 followers on Twitter (so far; getting a cult following takes time and patience; people don't just drink the Kool-Aid without peer pressure) and I can't seem to charm and convince an agent to publish my book.  A president needs influence!

Earlier this week I read that Obama's Klout score is 88, which is pretty impressive considering Lady GaGa has a score of 90.  Then I got curious to see what my Klout score was and two days ago, my score was 25.  Today, it has doubled to 54.  I'm only 34 points less influential than Prez Obama!!  17 points less influential than that crazy bitch Michelle Bachmann.  And I'm 25 points behind that Sarah Palin dude.

I actually have more in common with Prez Obama than I thought.  We are both good with words, drink beer, and have amazing first ladies.  I think more people are attracted to his wife than to his platform and politics.  Michelle Obama (Shellie O as I like to call her) is our modern day Jackie O.  Shellie O is one bad ass fashionista/childhood obesity crusader. And I have a hunch that she could swing over to our side in the right situation, if you know what I mean.

If I were to get elected, I think people would feel the same about Emily.  For many reasons, but the most important is that she's a far better person than I am.  She helps teach parenting education, helps foster kids, and walks puppies!!   Like Shellie O, Emily has a killer smile and her laugh is as contagious as the swine flu.  Even the Westboro Baptist Church whose members hate "fags" would find it difficult to not like Emily.  It's like hating a puppy, ice cream, or flowers. It's impossible. The only things I contribute to society are paying taxes and...well, I think that's it. 

This country does need change.  We need a new leader.  Someone who's not a homophobe (Michelle Bachmann), a massive douchebag (Newt Gingrich), or a Texan (Ron Paul).  Voting for the token black guy didn't work out so well so it's obviously time we get a woman up in that joint! Even though Shellie O and Emily are badass first ladies who run the "house", I can't see them running the white house.  Nor can I see me successfully running anything more than my shitty Saturn, and even my driving skills are debatable.

At this juncture in my life, I think I need to stay out of politics and I hope politicians continue to stay out of me.