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.