You named me what?

It’s not a big secret; just a little baby one. Huddle up. My name isn’t really Kari. I mean, it is Kari, but it’s really Carrie. I changed the spelling when I was 13 for no reason at all. It’s not my fault though. My dad started things off right by spelling it Carry on my birth certificate. Carry is a verb not a name, in case we aren’t clear on that. It’s fine though. One daughter out of six children and you make her a verb—no biggie. High five for the effort there dad.

My dad (who believes himself never to be wrong) claims he spelled it Carry on purpose so he could tell ask me to carry things for him. Good one, dad. I heard that joke about every two minutes growing up— “Carrie will you carry this” hardee, har, har. Of course my dad will deny all of this. I can hear him now– “I never said that!” Sure dad. I just hallucinated all the way through my childhood, that’s it.

Actually, when I heard “Carrie will you carry this” is the only time I ever heard myself called Carrie because my dad always just called me “girl.” I guess when you’re the only female running around it works but I still have a complex about it. My mom and my brothers just called me “sis” and still do. The boys (my brothers) were just “the boys”…although none of them were ever verbs. To level the playing field I would like to announce all their real names: Robert, William, Michael, Bradford, and Christopher. Shall we do middle names too? Yes, I think so: Robert Lee (the 2nd, mind you), William Eugene, Michael Harold, Bradford Neal, and Christopher Thomas. Bam. It’s on the internet. That’s what “the boys” get for not reading this—no say whatsoever when their full names are revealed on the ol internet. Wahahahaha <———————– Laugh of power and conniving. It’s okay, none of their real names are even that bad so we can all move on.

You mess with me, I mess with you

Changing the spelling of my name was fun until it was confusing. When I went to college, I had to list my legal name on everything but then when I turned in exams and such I would spell it the super awesome way with a K. Some of my teachers seriously started to question whether I even knew how to spell my name.

After college came work and marriage and the confusion continued. Everything legal has to have it spelled with a C. This always goes down the same way: I’m at the bank, new job, wherever filling out paperwork. I sign my name first with a K and then realize it doesn’t match my license and such and won’t fly. So I, blushing, try to explain that, oh actually, I spelled my name wrong on that…I’ll just ex that out and try again. This is of course not the best way to open a bank account or start a new job. The people at the bank always look at me like I’m a criminal trying to steal someone’s identity.

After I got married and changed my last time, I tried to legally change the spelling of my first name to end the confusion once and for all. They wouldn’t let me do it. Can you believe that? Geez. It’s my name isn’t it. Well, at least that’s what I told my parents in junior high when refusing to spell it the “right way” as they call it.

Oh, and to rub it in that I spell my name the “wrong way” my parents started spelling everything the wrong way. My dad spells daddy “dadi.” Are you kidding me? My parents have always called me Ladybug. I have no idea why. You would think if you had a nickname your whole life you would remember some story or reason as to why. Nope. No idea. Anyway, now my parents spell it Ladibug. Funny aren’t they? It wasn’t that bad until I started blogging and my mother decided to go ahead and call me Ladibug in all of her comments. Oh good, she’s using my childhood nickname…spelled wrong 8/

It’s okay. I get my vengeance by telling stories about them on the internet. Who knows what I’ll decide to talk about next. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it though…it’s just your whole life spelled out on the World Wide Web :]

Call me Ladybug one more time…

Just rockin’ the 90s with my little brothers Chris (left) & Brad (right)

Today I am going to tell you a true story. I have a little brother named Chris. I have five stupid brothers but Chris is my favorite (don’t tell the others). Chris and I have one of those questionable love/hate relationships. We almost never talk but when we finally do, we talk for hours. Earlier this week we were reminiscing about childhood and surviving childhood with said love/hate relationship. We laughed about the time Chris chased me and Brad across the yard with a machete–I think we could call this a hate moment.

a) Why did we own and freely play with a machete?

b) What could Brad and I possibly have done to invoke being hacked up in the front yard by a machete?

c) None of this is the true story I’m going to tell you (I mean, it is true, he really did chase us with a machete–but that’s for another day).

Don’t be deceived by how nice he looks

I grew up in the country on a farm with three big red barns. Up in the biggest barn the farthest from the house was a hayloft. The hayloft was the fortress and playground of my youth–my hideaway and favorite place in the world. One day right before I left for college, Chris and I decide it would just be the coolest thing in the world to sleep in the hayloft. And if we’re going to sleep in the hayloft well, dang it, we need entertainment. Thus began the plan to hook the TV up in the loft. No biggie, the barn is only like 20 yards miles from the house–we should have extension cords enough for that. Then was the part about actually hoisting the TV up into the loft–I believe this was done using a combination of ladders and my incredible upper arm strength. Regardless, we somehow got it up there with extension cords strung from the loft, through the puddles, up the hill, over the drive, through the yard, and into the house. Ah yes, but if you are going to sleep in the hayloft watching TV all night, well, you are going to need a good solid horror movie to make it worth your while. So, off to the movie store we go to make our selections. We returned home with a large pizza and the movie “Hide n’ Seek.” We built a proper nest on the floor and thus began the night of terror and stupidity.

“Hide n’ Seek” really isn’t that scary a movie…unless of course, you’re watching it in a barn out in a field in the middle of the night. You wouldn’t believe how timid a once machete-wielding kid can be until you lock him up in a barn with a horror movie–I’ve never seen Chris snuggle so close or act as though he liked me so much. We were both completely freaked out and kept talking about how maybe this wasn’t such a good idea and maybe we should go back to the house..huh huh, huh huh <8[

We were ready to pack up and run for it until we heard a scratching noise coming from the room under the loft. It was probably just a cat, but in that moment we were both fairly certain Freddie freakin’ Kruger was scratching his way through the floor boards intending to have us for dinner. You know that feeling of sheer terror that rises up in you sometimes and you’re just too scared to move or breathe? Ya, that was pretty much how we spent the whole night in the barn. We didn’t sleep a wink and as soon as the sun started to rise and there was just enough light to see the house again, we ran for it. If I remember right, we got to the front porch only to realize our Parents of the Year had locked us out so back to the loft we went.

It was one of the dumbest things we’ve ever done and one of the best memories we ever made.

Our current brilliant idea is to buy a pink van branded Kris and Kari’s Krazy Good BBQ out of which we will sell pulled pork to the masses. We are after all, from Kansas City (BBQ mecca) and Chris is the manager of a fantastic BBQ joint in KC, so we’re bound to be a success, right? Not to mention people in KC will eat BBQ any time of the day from any vendor imaginable–pink creepo van pulled up to the corner selling unidentifiable meat drenched in KC Masterpiece? Heck yes. The future is bright kids :]

All grown up–Brad center, Chris to his right, me to his left