Turning 30...

On 19 July 1982, Kathleen Kelly went into labor and gave birth to the most amazing person, MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!! 30 years ago today, I entered this world basically only knowing how to cry and shit myself. Now, I still basically do the same thing; I’m just better at it.

Kidding; I don’t really shit my pants (although I have been known to pee the bed; insert joke here:                                   ). Come on, you know you want to. Okay fine, if you don’t want to joke about it yourself, allow me: Read my pissing the bed story here.

As much as I would love to claim I know everything because I’m 30 (which is so old, right?), I really don’t know much. I have learned a lot along the way, but it’s because of the people I have had and who are still in my life that I have learned the most important lessons from.  Without the people in my life or the experiences I’ve had, I would not be the person I am today and if I’m truly honest with myself, I may not even have lived long enough to see 30 (yes, I do make some dumb decisions and have put myself in precarious situations that quite frankly, I’m lucky to have gotten out of).

It’s taken me a long time to become the person I am today, but my favorite trait about myself is complete honesty. Honesty with other people, but mostly honesty with myself about who I am and what I want from life. If I can’t be completely honest with myself and others at the age of 30, then when?  Upon turning 30, I feel the need to reflect on some of my most memorable experiences that shaped me into the person I am and who knows, maybe I've learned and will share a few nuggets of wisdom as well.

I don't remember much from birth to age 4; I mean, anyone who claims they have early memories from those ages is an asshole. But, at age 4, I realized my dad was the coolest man on the planet when he showed up with an old school fire truck and parked it in our backyard. I don't know what reason for this, I just know it happened. My father isn’t the most patient person in the world, but neither am I. I am my father’s daughter, there’s no doubt. But there’s no one else I’d rather be. Good thing he redeemed himself with that fire truck because three years prior (and unbeknownst to me at the time cause I was a toddler), he dressed me up like a clown. Not cool.

By the age of 7, I realized the power of friendship. I also realized the power of jealousy and pettiness. Little girls can be amazing friends, but they can also be powerhouses of bitchiness and if you’re not careful with whom you choose to befriend, you can get burned. 1989 is when I first learned this lesson and I’m glad I learned it while young because it has saved me from a lot of heartache I’m sure. Although I’ve had friends hurt and burn me, thanks to my grade school playground experiences, I had the courage to handle it and move past it.  Most importantly, I learned the value of true friendship at an early age and can actually say that I have kept and nurtured young friendships that I started as a young girl and still have today.

At age 9, I knew I was different than other girls my age. Not necessarily in a "sexual" way, but more in a lifestyle way. I knew when they fawned all over pictures of Jonathan Taylor Thomas in Tiger Beat, I could care less. At this age, I thought it was because I had more important things to do than drool over boys, like ride my bike and do tricks or pick on my sister relentlessly until she cried. It wasn’t until later years I realized the reason I was different was because I felt differently about boys than they did. Boys were my best friends; not future lovers or soul mates. But in 1991, how does a 9 year old girl admit this to herself, let alone to other people? So, naturally I kept it inside and decided I would try being normal over the years to come. Keep in mind, I would never give up being a tomboy or dressing and acting like a boy, but at least I could try to like boys. And eventually, I genuinely ended up falling for a couple boys, not because I was expected to, but because I actually wanted to.

Turning 10 was one of my favorite birthdays for obvious reasons; not only was I 10 (HUGE milestone for a kid), but my parents made it a big deal. My dad borrowed an old school limo from his boss and cruised around town with us and I had all my friends come over because my mom made dirt cake with gummi worms. One of my fondest birthday memories. It’s hard to beat sharing a birthday with your own mom as the best birthday EVER, but over the next coming years, I will have some amazing birthdays. Like my 16th (Dad taught me to drive in reverse and how to parallel park because according to him "any moron can drive forwards". I mastered those two driving techniques and they have paid off. My 21st birthday (for obvious reasons), 24th birthday (huge house party at my house, walked home from the bars naked, and got retarded drunk), and especially my 28th birthday when Emily took me on a romantic getaway to St. Augustine. And now for my 30th birthday, we are headed to New Orleans!

Sharing a birthday with your own mother is something I cannot describe. Not only are we bonded by blood, but we are bonded by my mother doing the most selfless thing a person can do; give birth to another human being. All I have to say is Mom and Dad Kelly, thank you for creating me. I'm thankful to be alive every day!

In 1994 at 12 years of age, I came of age. My sister Kate and I walked downtown to see The Lion King and during the song Circle of Life, I got my very first period. Ironic, I know. As much as I tried to hide it, I had become a woman. Now, life was all about training bras, wet dreams, and shark week. I wasn’t happy about it, but what could I do?

At age 14, I met someone who I thought would be my soul mate forever. Sure, what do we know in junior high? Nothing. But I knew something was special about this boy. My parents weren’t crazy about him because he was kind of a weirdo (had long hair, listened to emo music, smoked pot, and had a mother who called herself Breeze Lyric or some shit like that). I didn’t care though; this kid was cool and he understood me. Our friendship would eventually become more in high school, but as life happens, we would lose touch. I still think about him from time to time and every time I do, a smile comes to my lips because I know he was my first love.

In 1999, I experienced my first true and devastating loss; my Grandpa Kelly. This is the second time in my entire life I have seen my father cry (the third and last time is when my parents dropped me off at college and Dad swears he had something in his eye, “pollen or some shit” as he said. Yea right Dad; just admit it. You were sad to drive away). The loss of my grandfather was profound.  And sad. But a piece of him lives on in my father and as he gets older, the similarities are uncanny. No doubt about that. Although his death was sad and took a toll on our family, Grandpa Kelly had set aside some money for Dad and because of that, we were able to enjoy the most amazing trip I have ever been on. Ireland in May 2000. (That is way too long of a story to even start now; someday though).

When my grandfather died, that was what I call an “old” loss. Simply because of his age. He had lived a great life and accomplished many things. But in 2000 at the age of 17, I would experience “young” loss by way of four friends perishing in a terrible car accident. Their deaths rocked the community and my peers equally as hard. No one knows what to say when a bunch of teenagers die tragically; all we could do was go to one funeral right after the other, share stories about them, and lean on each other when we collapsed from sadness. Although this experience was sad, it really taught me that life truly is precious and just because you’re young doesn’t make you exempt from tragedy.

At age 18, I moved away from home and started college. Learned what it was like to truly live on my own and to take responsibility for myself. Best lesson my parents ever taught me was to pay for my education on my own. Because of that, I truly appreciate the education I received and proudly hang my diploma in my home. I may not have a career in my chosen field, but in my heart I am a writer and will always be a writer. I still have a mountain of student loan debt, but I don’t care. I went to college; I earned my diploma and I earned the right to call myself a writer.

I graduated in 2005 but my graduation was overshadowed by another “old” loss; my great aunt Ada had died that week and her funeral was on the day I was set to graduate. She had been on the decline for quite some time but her death was still sad for everyone. She was certainly a special lady and I just wish she had been in the right state of mind (damn you Alzheimer’s) to know how amazing all of us children turned out to be. I know both Grandpa and Aunt Ada (the only grandparents I have ever known) would be proud of the woman I have become (being a lesbian and all; they would have LOVED Emily). 

The day I was looking forward to when I started college was finally here. 19 July 2003. I was officially 21. By this time, I had fallen in love with a boy I was going to marry. It took me a while to get on-board with the whole idea of marriage, but by the time I turned 21, I was willing to at least talk about a future with him. My 21^st birthday wasn’t epic by any means, but it was pretty amazing nonetheless. My roommates surprised me with an awesome cake and a night out on the town and that weekend we had a huge backyard party. I couldn’t have been happier at that moment; I had amazing friends, and amazing boyfriend, and I was finally legal to drink!!!

By the time I turned 24, I had been to amazing places like Ireland, Miami, Key West, Missouri (not amazing, but I had been there). I had friends come and go but the true ones stayed by my side no matter what, and I had partied my ass off. I also had two amazing nephews I couldn’t get enough of. But I had also experienced devastating loss and hardships. I had fallen in love with a boy, but we had broken each other’s hearts over the course of four years (sadly, I broke his heart more than he did mine; it wasn’t intentional, I was just honest). After I ended the engagement with him, it was time to truly be honest with myself for the first time in years. I was in love with a woman. I always wanted to be in love with a woman, and in 2006, I finally had the opportunity. But would she feel the same way? Whatever; it didn’t matter if she did or not. Something had changed in our friendship and I was determined to see it through to the end, even if that meant ending an engagement and losing her as a friend.

In 2008, my risky move paid off. Emily and I fell in love with each other and in spite of some negative feedback and reactions, we decided we would work super hard to change people’s minds because we were the real deal. We were meant to be together. I could feel it in my bones and in my heart. I had never and have never been happier than when I’m with her. To get a fresh start, we decided Wisconsin was no longer the place for us and migrated south to Florida. Best decision we’ve ever made for the sake of our relationship. It was difficult to leave behind family and friends, but if we hadn't, we would not have the relationships we have today. I think distance made some people's hearts grow fonder and it also taught them patience and acceptance. Emily and I worked extremely hard and never gave up on those people who we knew loved us but just couldn't accept our relationship right away. That's another important lesson I have learned; NEVER EVER GIVE UP.

By 2009, I was 27 and had learned a lot from my experiences, particularly ending a relationship with someone I didn’t love to starting one with someone I was in love with. The best feeling in the world is taking a chance on someone who is unpredictable and who could hurt you; but that same person could also be worth the risk and would never hurt you. The best advice I can give someone is if you’re not with the person who makes you the best person YOU can be, it’s time to get out. Love sometimes isn’t enough. Promises aren’t enough. You need to have that one person by your side that makes you humble and proud at the same time. If the person you have chosen to be with does not make you proud and humble, who does not accept your friends or your family (because let’s face it; with you comes friends and family and sometimes you have to suck it up), or who does not make you a better person every single day, you should get out while you have a chance. Emily not only makes me a better person, but a better friend, a better woman, and goddamn if I don’t worship the ground she walks on (and she knows it too).

In 2010 I was 28 and creeping closer to 30. I realized we weren’t married, we didn’t own a house, and we have a mountain of debt. But I didn’t care. I had what I had always wanted in my life—the love of a beautiful woman. We’ve been through a lot together; struggled with family issues—acceptance and rejection—and have also learned to love people for who they are, not “what” they are. Without Emily...well, let’s just say I have her to thank for a lot.

Today I turn 30. I have made my fair share of mistakes over the years; I’m human. But I learn from my mistakes and for some of those mistakes, I have made amends with some people; others my sincere apologies have been rejected for petty reasons such as an ancient grudge or an assumption I am the same person I used to be. Such is life. At least I can say I tried my hardest to accept the things I cannot change, and change the things I cannot accept.

In the spirit of being completely honest and upon turning 30, I’m happy to know I’m not the same person I used to be (angry and dishonest with myself and others, a temper that could only rival my father’s, and overprotective of the ones I love). As Darwin theorized, people evolve. I have evolved into someone not only I can be proud of, but that other people can be proud of as well.  Today, at the age of 30, I am blunt, brutally honest, sarcastic, humorous, and just awesome. I wouldn’t change that for anything.

Obviously a lot more has happened in my life, but I'm not writing an autobiography here; I'm simply reflecting on certain periods of time that have taught me important lessons about life, love, and happiness.

To all my loved ones: I am extremely thankful for the love and support I've gotten over the span of my 30 years. You all know who you are. Every single one of you has had an astounding affect on and presence in my life and I am forever grateful. If you're still in my life and know me well, you know I love you from the deepest depths of my heart and always will. To those of you I have lost along the way and are no longer here with us, I love and you miss you terribly. To those of you I have lost by way of losing a relationship for petty reasons, all I can say is you're missing out. That may sound selfish, but I don't care because it's true. I'm not a vain person, nor am I an egotistic SOB. I am just honest and I consider myself to be one of the most loving, caring, selfless people on this planet and the fact that you're not here to see it must suck for you.

One last thing: the most important lesson I’ve learned in 30 years, and the lesson I feel everyone should take to heart, is to be 100% truly and completely honest with yourself. If you’re not, you’re not fooling anyone else but yourself. And what kind of life is that? Not one I'd like to live ever again, because look what I have to show for being honest with myself:

 

Love Will Get You Higher

'Twas the Night Before a Lesbian Christmas...

‘Twas the night before their lesbian Christmas, when all through the house

Not a body part was stirring, not even under her blouse.

The Birkenstocks were hung by the lawnmower with care,

And they hoped that St. Nicholas was actually a sexy woman named Claire.

The lesbians were nestled all snug in their bed,

While visions of granola and Subarus danced in her head.

And Emily in her nightie and I in my corduroy pajama pants from the Gap,

Had just tucked in our papayas for an unusual Florida cold snap.

When out on the lawn there arose such loud obnoxious chatter,

I sprang from my bed and swear I heard my fat cat scatter.

Away to the window I ran in a flash,

Opened the curtain and landed against the wall with a loud crash.

Surprisingly I did not awaken my sleeping lesbian ho,

For she would have been as surprised as I when I saw what was below.

When, what to my curious eyes should appear,

But a brand new Jeep Wrangler and a pack of lesbians with eight cases of beer.

With a hefty and loud driver, a hick with a kick,

I knew in a moment this lesbian was that kind of chick.

Faster than she could say the L-word, her Reindykes they came,

And she whistled and waved and called them by name.

“Now Cynthia! Now, Amy Ray! Now, Ellen and Portia,

On KD Lang! On Melissa! On Tegan and Sara!

To the garage! To the shed! To the porch!

Time to install the decks and the Tiki torch!

As fast as these women can throw and dodge a ball,

They erected a backyard lesbian oasis without a brawl.

To the house and garage these women flew,

With a Jeep full of sex toys, softballs, and fanny packs too!

And then in the moment, I heard from one of the back decks,

The stomping of boots like a pack of gay rednecks.

As I closed the curtain and heard a loud click,

In through the door was Rosie O’Donnell, dressed like St. Nicholas as a chick.

She was all dressed in LL Bean flannel from head to toe,

And her chin was stained with a white powder that looked like blow.

A bundle of feminist literature and sports gear she had in her sack,

And as she bent over, I got a good look at her crack.

Her hands—how they were calloused! Her arms so thick!

Her cheeks were as red as apples and her hair was so slick!

Her big mouth was wide open like a cave,

And the beard on her chin needed a good shave.

The end of a joint she held tightly ‘tween her lips,

And the smoke billowed around her body, even around her hips.

She had a broad face and a big beer gut,

That wobbled when she coughed and even shook her butt.

She was chubby and plump, a typical older lesbian,

And I laughed when I saw her until she gave me the look of a demon.

A sly smirk and a wave of her arm,

Soon gave me to know she meant me no harm.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to work,

Filled all our Birkenstocks, but ignored our Doc Martens (what a jerk).

With her sack empty she walked towards the door,

She gave me a quick nod and ambled out like a wild boar.

She lumbered towards her Jeep, and to the Reindykes she gave a yell,

And away they drove into traffic of South Florida, also known as hell.

But I heard them exclaim, as they drove out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to you lesbians, and to you a gay night!”

Twats and Tiaras

I need to ask a serious question that only a small percentage of America's population is asking...

WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT KIM KARDASHIAN???????????

I just don't understand it. Why do people care so much about these idiots? Why are there so many shows that feature this family? And why is this family famous?  The Kardashian family's fame is more more mysterious than whether or not there's actual life on Mars.

For those of you who don't know (so, anyone who lives under a rock and has no contact with any human being, a telephone, or a TV) the latest celeb scandal is Twatdashian # 1 and a b-ball player are getting divorced after 72 days of marriage.

Um, so what? Right?  That's what I thought at first too.

After reading a few headlines in the grocery store, and while reading the headlines on the screen while I watched Georgia Rule on E! the other night, I felt like I had morning sickness, food poisoning, syphilis, and the flu; that's how nauseous I was. Sickened at the fact that Americans are acting as if they are being torn apart by this divorce; acting as if it is ruining their personal lives.  I mean, it's not as awful as childhood obesity, rising airplane tickets, the state of our economy, and our relationship with Mexico at the border. THESE are things to be upset about!

Or so I told myself.

The news of KK and her husband divorcing is the most annoying thing that's been on the news since Sarah Palin was the VP candidate, OJ was acquitted, and the Balloon Boy conspiracy.  People are reacting to this news in the same way they reacted when Pope John Paul II died in Italy and MJ died in LA.  People are sobbing in the streets, tweeting words of condolences, and acting as crazy as the zombies in Zombieland. WTF?

Then I realized the news of this divorce didn't go in one ear and out the other like other celeb gossip.  This divorce had actually pissed me off!!!

This entire multi million dollar celebrity marriage is a sham and the news of their divorce has gotten more airtime than the Olympics.  I am pissed because everyone thinks it's us queers who will ruin the sanctity of marriage, but they're wrong. It's celebrities and straight couples who ruin the sanctity of marriage. Britney's 55 hour marriage. Liz Taylor's 108 marriages and 107 divorces. The cheating couple LeAnn Rimes and Eddie Cibrian. I mean, what's next? Are celebs and straights going to wreck the sanctity of funerals and taking craps too?

This divorce means that yet another famous couple is abusing the privilege of marriage while people like Emily and I cannot even TRY marriage for one day in our state. One day! Kim and Kris got 72 days, so why can't I get just one? I'll tell you why.  Because they're twats who do whatever they want while Emily and I are real, hardworking, honest people who cannot get married simply because we're both women.  Real neat America. Real fucking neat.

Because I'm giving myself the authority to do so, I'm going to crown Kim Kardashian as 2011's Queen Twatwaffle. It's like the female version of King Douche, which has been reserved for Kris Humphries. If Kim were sitting next to me and I had a bedazzled tiara, I would totally cram it up her bleached anus.  Which is probably not the first or last thing that's ever been crammed in her cramhole.  My guess is there has probably been a microphone, a foot (or a fist), and one of Bruce Jenner's gold medals up in that Armenian Anus once or twice.

Side note, but still related: This is the Queen Twatwaffle runner up contestant.  Not only did she make a collage of magazine pictures of America's Sweetfarts, but she is obviously brain dead. You NEVER use scotch tape on a collage; always RUBBER CEMENT.

Book Blurb

This is a description of my debut book.  If you were to read this description on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or on the back of the actual book, would you be inclined to pick it up and read it and/or purchase it on your Kindle/Nook?

KC Kelly is not your average female.  She was often mistaken for a boy for the better part of the 90’s.  She considered becoming a stripper named KoCo Puff to supplement her income in college.  She has slept with a superhero and dumped her fiancé (for another woman, no less) four days before the wedding.  KC is a woman who is rapidly and clumsily approaching thirty and the only things she has to show for it are an abused liver, a muffin top, and this collection of hilarious, and often self-deprecating essays, You Look Like a Boy (And Other Shamefully True Tales of a Midwestern Girl).  These essays capture some of the most humiliating mishaps and hilarious exploits only the most idiotic female this side of the Mason-Dixon line could experience.

Essay topics include delightful gems such as:

Being a tomboy—“I had the Justin Bieber cut way before that girl was even born.”

Becoming a woman—“The word "puberty" for me was synonymous with "atomic bomb", "end of days", and "FML".”

Losing her virginity—“Me stripping is about as hot and sexy as watching a toothless lunch lady and a bald janitor have sex in a dumpster behind the high school.”

Playing sports—“I am as coordinated as a legless gymnast who suffers from vertigo and as graceful as a ribbon dancer in a straight jacket.”

The male EX fiancé—“ I felt like I was the parent of a special needs child.  Everyone looked at him as if he had ridden the short bus to the house party.”

The current female fiancée—“Without her teaching me to have more patience with stupid people, I probably would have killed someone by now.  It's no secret I have a "hit list" in a framed magnet on my fridge.”

Supplemental income—“My parents made it sound like I was a prostitute who makes money by lying on my back like a starfish for some creep in a dirty hotel room near the city dump.”

Germs—“I swear serial killers have better manners and hygiene than 99% of people who travel on airplanes.”

Having children—“I’m far too selfish; I drink alcohol in massive quantities, swear like a pirate, and am completely irresponsible.  Plus I barely know how to wipe my own ass. Trust me, my future baby thanks me for waiting.”

Since she is often the butt of her own jokes and has absolutely no humility, there is no topic that is off limits in KC Kelly’s debut book. Her collection of entertaining essays is sure to appeal to anyone who has ever suffered from shame, embarrassment, Open Mouth Insert Foot Disease, or bad indigestion. 

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.