Feel the Love in the Room From the Floor to the Ceiling!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas
Happy Holidays

We've been waiting all year for this night
And the snow is glistening on the trees outside

And all the stockings are hung by the firseide
Waiting for Santa to arrive
And all the love will show
'Cause everybody knows
It's Christmastime and
All the kids will see
The gifts under the tree
It's the best time of the year for the family

It's a wonderful feeling
Feel the love in the room
From the floor to the ceiling
It's that time of year
Christmastime is here
And with the blessings from above
God sends you his love
And everybody's okay

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
Happy Holidays

Bells are ringing
It's time to scream and shout (scream and shout)
And everybody's playing cause school's out
Celebrating this special time we share
Happiness cause love is in the air

And all the love will show
'Cause everybody knows
It's Christmastime and
All the kids will see
The gifts under the tree
It's the best time of the year for the family
It's a wonderful feeling
Feel the love in the room
From the floor to the ceiling
It's that time of year
Christmastime is here
And with the blessings from above

God sends you his love
And everything's okay

No matter what your holiday
It's a time to celebrate
And put your worries aside (worries aside)
And open up your mind (open up your mind)
See the world right by your side

It's Christmastime

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas
Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas
Happy Holidays

15 Word Movie Review: The Guardian

Shut up Kevin, shut up Ashton, shut up asshole guard from Shawshank, shut up movie.

Hey Altoids, I Think You Should Reconsider Your New Tag Line

"Put your tongue in its place." Really? This sounded like a good ad line to you Altoids? Cause while I am sure you want me to think you are saying put my tongue in its place - meaning my tongue's place, it actually makes me think you are saying put my tongue in its place - like some random person, place, or thing's place. And that, my dear friend Altoids, is grody.

Dear Neighbor

I don't know what your problem is, but I am pretty sick of you coming home late at night and throwing what sounds like bowling balls around in your apt. As I am sure you are aware, the wall we share is pretty thin. I mean, when you are talking on the phone and I can hear your entire side of the conversation and sometimes part of what your phone companion is saying, THAT MEANS OUR COMMON WALL IS THINNER THAN NICOLE RICHIE'S FOREARM. So, seriously, get a shred of common decency and stop throwing your shit around when you get home. I mean, what are you even doing??? Really. I am dying to know. Cause it sounds crazy. Do you have a small monkey in there who is so excited to see you when you come home that he runs around and knocks shit over? What is it???? Anyways, hopefully you noticed this morning when I got up at 630 that I threw my shoes at your wall four or five times. Was that behavior childish and petty - certainly. Passive/agressive - sure. Satisfyingly vengeful - HELL YEA. Deal with it biznatch.

Unnecessary Product of the Week and Why Justin Timberlake is My New Boyfriend

So, you can get Red Bull in a 12-oz. can now. People, this is UNNECESSARY. Now, I have not partaken of crack (yet! *crosses fingers*) but 8.3 oz. of Red Bull must be just like it, cause it makes me feel like I could run through a wall, Kool Aid Man style. I do not want to know what 12-oz. will do to me. It's actually a shame this didn't come out a couple months ago, cause they needed 12 oz. cans of Red Bull at Mel's. I had many a Vodka-Red Bull at Mel's over the years (well, actually, probably only 3 or 4 since that place was Nasty with a capital N) and those things were effing strong. I specifically remember at Leslie's bachelorette party when they poured a pint glass full of vodka and then sort of floated some Red Bull on the top. A 12 oz. can would have come in handy that night to water that down, but now that Mel's is no more I just don't see the need for more than the current tiny little can of liquid crack. Plus it's so cute, it looks like a little baby drink next to the big cans of soda and whatnot. I will be sticking with the small size Red Bull, be grateful.

In other news, the new Justin Timberlake cd is fucking killer. I just thought about that sentence for awhile, trying to think of a way to convey entirely and totally awesome this cd is without using the f-word, but I couldn't. The f-word fits, cause this cd is fucking killer. Last year when Anna, Stacey, Leslie, and I made up our fantasy date lists (you come up with 14 guys you would want to date and assign two to each day of the week, one as primary, one as alternate) someone (Leslie I think???) had JT on their list and I must admit at the time I was like, whatevs. I mean, he just hasn't really done it for me in the past. I have to say though, that after hearing this new cd I am a member of the Church of JT and want him to practice all his futuresex/lovesounds on me and molest me in the confessional. Track 6 is a bombtastic song called "What Goes Around…" This morning on the way to work I listened to it three times in a row and then three more times I just rewound to the 5:30 mark when he starts this awesome interlude (that includes some sweet Timbaland background vocals) by saying "Let me paint this picture for you baby." And paint a picture he does. And that picture is so hot the colors are dripping off the canvas. That last line was really stupid, but JT robs me of my power of eloquent speech, ok? I have accepted this.

15 Word Movie Review: American Dreamz

This movie reached new levelz of suckitude... but I would still totally do Hugh Grant.

My Life Has Become A Boring Pop Song…

and everyone's singing along. This subject line doesn't have much to do with the actual post I am about to make, but I was listening to that song (I'm Ready by Jack's Mannequin) this morning and that lyric seemed like a good thing to put in a blog. Isn't that what all the crazy kids are blogging about these days anyways, intepreting song lyrics and such? Anyways, saying that my life has become a boring pop song implies way more excitement than my life actually has. My life is pretty much just boring, full stop, end of sentence, no noun needed.

Anyways, on to the real post, which is actually quite simple…

Dear Britney,

PUT YOUR CROTCH AWAY AND TEND TO YOUR CHILDREN. For Christ's sake, it takes a real talent for idiocy to make K-Fed look like a more devoted parent.

Love, Kari

Bailey's Caramel, Where Have You Been All My Life?

Have you ever seen an advertisement for a new product and thought, how the hell didn't they come up with this before now? I keep seeing billboards for new Bailey's with Caramel and Bailey's with Mint Chocolate, and I have to say, what have the product testers at Bailey's been for the past ten years? How could they have not come up with this before? Seriously, Bailey's with Caramel should have been in my life for years now. I should have several shot recipes that involve Bailey's with Caramel. I should have used Bailey's with Caramel in every batch of Corn Maze Hot Chocolate I have ever made. I should have poured Bailey's with Caramel on several small scrapes and bruises I have had over the years.

I can't live in the past though, I just have to be grateful that Bailey's with Caramel is a part of my life now. Thanks to the big guy in the sky for that. When I am old and gray I will tell my grandchildren, "When I was your age, there were no fancy Bailey's flavors, we had to make do with plain old Bailey's. Be grateful you dirty brats." And then I will serve them a bottle full of Bailey's with Caramel to put them to sleep.

I Am on Team Pam

If you are on Team Karen you have a cold, dead heart. Please let me know so I can delete you from my friends, egg your house, and notify the proper authorities.

In other news, has anyone else seen those awesome new anti-drug commericals? There's this young dude, and this younger dude. And young dude says to the younger dude, in this totally evil voice of course, "Hey, want to smoke some weed?" Younger dude is all "I don't smoke weed, I smoke clowns like you on the bball court." HOW EFFING AWESOME IS THAT? Then there is this totally insane M. Night Shymalan twist where it turns out young dude was actually trying to teach younger dude "cool" ways to refuse drugs, and they both have an endearing chuckle over how "lame" younger dude's response was. But I think it's awesome, and it is totally my new comeback to everything. Hey Kari, want to go see a movie? Hell no, I don't smoke movies, I smoke clowns like you on the bball court.

In summation, if you are on Team Karen I will smoke you like the clown you are on the bball court.

Oh, and also

I have posted a boo-tiful picture of my cat, Baron von Heinekin of Sussex. He is a distinguished gentleman, as you can see from the white tuxedo he is sporting. If Baron could talk, when he met new people he would say "Good evening. Charmed, I'm sure."

Smell Ya Later Rummy

Maybe now that you are unemployed you can enlist and go fight the good fight for democracy in Iraq. SINCE IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO AND ALL.

Dear Gap, Eff You.

I am sure we are all familiar with those new Gap commercials where Audrey Hepburn is all "I want to dance" and this desire to dance allows her to catapult from the black and white movie she is inhabiting into a magical Gap world where AC/DC is booming and she can shake her ass cause her skinny black pants give her orgasms and whatnot. I am familiar with these commercials even though I have DVR and watch commercials about as often as I drink antifreeze, which is to say never, so you know these stupid Audrey Hepburn Gap commercials are ubiquitous if I have seen them.

So I took a whole paragraph to establish that you and I have seen these particular commercials and now I will get to my point. I was in the Gap last night, shopping their REALLY BIG sale (which was actually REALLY BIG, I mean, I got like 5 shirts and a sweater for 60 bucks) and what should come over the in-store speakers but the stupid AC/DC song from that annoying Audrey Hepburn commercial. What the fuck Gap?

Like, I'm already in your store, ok? You don't need to constantly "brand" me or whatever ad-speak is for making me think of that stupid commercial. I'm here in the store! I have 5 shirts in my hands already! Am I suppose to hear the annoying AC/DC song, think, hey, isn't there an awesome commercial with this song that exhorts the awesomeness of skinny black pants, and then turn around, see the skinny black pant display and fall all over myself to buy ten pairs for me and all my friends? Well I showed you Gap, cause I didn't buy a pair of skinny black pants. I only spent 60 bucks on shirts and a sweater I really didn't need, so the joke is on you! Take that.

Join My Awesome New Club

Devotees of my blog have recently been begging me to write a new entry. [Seriously, I'm not making that up- hi Anna!] Topic suggestions have included apes at the wedding I went to this past weekend, my co-worker's devotion to the Minnesota Vikings, and the upcoming holiday of Halloween. But no, I have decided that I will talk about my idea to get all of my friends involved in a euthanasia club.

The idea for this awesome club started this morning. My lovely co-worker and friend Leslie, hereinafter referred to as m.l.c-w.&f Leslie, and I have started this ongoing cribbage grudge match. Whenever we have the chance over our lunch hour we break out the cribbage board and play. Yesterday m.l.c-w.&f Leslie suggested that we start to keep track of wins and losses and I was like, BRING IT ON! And then I body slammed her.

Ok, so I know you are sitting there asking yourself, what does this have to do with a euthanasia club? We are getting to that part. Keep your pants on.

Those of you that know and love me most assuredly know that I am an email machine. In the course of a boring work day I can pump out dozens of emails. My most frequent email correspondent is my dear friend and witty banter equal Stacey, hereinafter referred to as m.d.f&w.b.= Stacey. Stacey may even be better at witty banter than I am, but I didn't want to bother finding the greater than symbol in Microsoft Word, so deal. [I promise we are almost to the euthanasia club.]

I was describing to m.d.f&w.b.= Stacey in one of our numerous emails this morning that m.l.c-w&f Leslie and I had begun to keep track of the wins and losses in our cribbage grudge match. And then, in an offhanded manner, as I am wont to do, I said "and in 50 years whoever is ahead has to mercy kill the other. HA, just kidding, I just made that up!" [I didn't think m.d.f&w.b= Stacey would really think I was serious, but that's what makes that part funny. I pointed out the bad joke, and then the bad joke became funny. That's comedy people.] Now, because she is awesome and knows a good idea when she hears one, m.d.f&w.b.= Stacey responded "don't be kidding, make it happen. I mean, you will be in your late 70s then, what do you have left to live for anyways." And goddamnit if she wasn't right.

So now this idea is for real. I am going to come up with some grand competition between my friends and me. There will be an elaborate system of points that can be earned and lost. These points will be meticulously tracked for the next 50 years. At the end of that time period, whoever has the least amount of points has to mercy kill everyone else in the game. Even if some members of the group are living healthy and vibrant lives at that time, (like my charming blog-obsessed and marathon-running friend Anna, hereinafter referred to as you should know the system by now) they will be mercy killed. Did you hear that m.c.b-o&m-r.f Anna? YOU WILL BE KILLED even if you are living it up in the finest Brookdale facility this nation has to offer.

If you want in on this awesome plan, holla at me. I probably won't make it to 50 years, since I am from the streets live a thug life, which means I live fast and die young. But if you think you might need to be mercy-killed 50 years from now, this club is for you.

Calling a Snatchface Out

Dear Garden Girl,

If you are going to drive like a snatchface all over Milwaukee, maybe you should consider doing it in a car not emblazoned with the name of your company, your phone number, and your website? Because usually, when people drive like snatchfaces and piss me off on my way to work, I curse them in my car, shake my fist at them, possibly glare at them; on rare occasions I honk my horn in order to express my disapproval of their behavior. However, because people normally do not ride around with identifying characteristics emblazoned on their cars, I cannot thereafter go on the internets and rant about how much of a snatch they are AND point people to their snatchy website and tell them that if they are considering hiring a gardener maybe they should hire one that does drive like a snatchface.

You know, Garden Girl, I like to drive fast. I get annoyed when people are driving 25 in a 30 or when people are pussies and won't pull out unless they have 2 miles of open road before the next car comes. I can understand your frustration if maybe you had to be somewhere this morning and, goddamnit, all those other cars on the road downtown at 830 in the morning were in your way! HOW DARE THEY? Don't they know you, Garden Girl, has a very important appointment to keep? I mean, look at your puke green car that clearly says Garden Girl on it. This car indicates importance! There are plants to be watered, there are weeds to be pulled, people, clear the road for Garden Girl!

I hope you got to whatever was so goddamn important this morning, my dear friend Garden Girl. In the future if I see you on the road I will certainly pull over to the side and let you pass on by, as your needs are certainly more important than mine. Thanks for making my Friday morning so pleasant by almost hitting me trying to pass me in a non-existent lane, and then endangering the lives of bicyclists by passing everyone in the bike lane on Water St. See you around. I'll be the one in the white Lumina throwing eggs at you, snatchy.

Sincerely,

Kari

This Day of Mine, It Has Been Made

If you have been following my myspace page since its inception (and really, who hasn't?) you will remember that my funny little quip under "Who I'd Like to Meet" used to be something along the lines of "anyone who has ever used the phrase 'freedom fries' in seriousness." I don't think seriousness is a word, but ANYWAYS, you remember this, right?

So today my lovely co-worker and friend Leslie and I decided to go for lunch at the new hot dog place down the street. Leslie was very excited about this cause she loves the hot dog in a way which I cannot express in human words. As I was perusing the menu and trying to decide between a standard Chicago dog and a corn dog, I realized that there, on the menu, in the section titled sides, was an item called "Freedom Fries." I am not making this up people, and it's not like it was French Fries, with the French crossed out and Freedom scrawled above it. Freedom Fries was actually printed on the menu board. I cannot tell you how much this made my day. I would venture so far as to say this made my week, but I will not go so far as to say it made my month since this is only the first day of said month and I don't want to blow my load so soon.

I think Leslie's response when I pointed this out to her should be noted: "Eww, that kind of makes me not want to get them." Leslie was weak and partook of the freedom fries (although we will cut her some slack since she ordered a kids meal and the freedom fries were included) but I resisted and finally decided on just a delicious corn dog. I am tempted next time we go in to be a wise ass and ask if an American flag comes with the freedom fries, or perhaps a picture of the Eiffel Tower being blown up or something. So if you're in Milwaukee, stop by the Sammy's Hot Dog on Wisconsin Ave. Or the terrorists will have won.

I Had A Dream I Started a Blog

This is the first of my many blogs on myspace. I like them, they funny.

So I decided to go ahead and make an entry on this one, since myspace is apparantly taking over the world and I am afraid if I don't blog on myspace the robot clowns will come for me first.

The first thing I would like to note in my blog is that when I went to type "I Had a Dream..." in the subject line above, my autofill wanted the subject of this blog to be "I hate Oliver." I do not know anyone named Oliver, honestly, nor do I recall hating a fictional character named Oliver enough to type that as a subject line to a blog I have never kept before. It's strange people, that's all I'm saying. If your name is Oliver, I guess I hate you, and you should stop reading this blog right now.

The second thing I would like to note in my blog is that I am disappointed that Morgan Spurlock did not get shanked and/or ass raped in last night's episode of 30 Days. There's an ass rape is not as bad as 30 days of Big Macs joke in there somewhere, but I just can't get at it. Write your own.

The third, and final for the moment, thing I would like to note in my blog is that Stella Artois beer is not only delicious, but sounds like the name of a decripted (how the fuck do you spell that?) old French stripper. When choosing my alcohol, making me think of an old French whore is tops on the list.