My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark - MFM Minisode 364

Episode Date: January 1, 2024

This week’s hometowns include finding traysure in the couch and a marriage proposal gone wrong.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This is exactly right. Hello. Hello. Hello. And welcome to my favorite murder, the mini-sode. That's right. That's it. We're going to tell you stories. Yeah, we are. It's 2024 right now. Happy 2024 everybody. We're not there yet.

So if the apocalypse started and then I don't tell us. Listen, we're pre-recording for the holiday. Yeah, but just the idea of saying it's 2024, I like the numerology. I like the vibe. I like the fact that it's an even year again. Great. I feel like there's a lot of potential, and great things can happen. I never thought about the numerology of it and the evenness of it, but that's a good

number. I really tend toward even numbers myself. Cool. Should I go first? Yeah. Grandpa's lost ring. Hello, my loves. Long time listener, third time writer. Georgia just called out for a treasure and couches story.

Yes. And it says, present time for me, four months ago for you. Thank you. And it brought up a repressed memory from when I was like 13. Let's get into it. My grandpa died in 2005 of Alzheimer's. I was 5. When the disease really progressed, he lost a lot of weight and his rings started to fall off. He eventually lost his university

class ring from 1960. And my grandmother never found it. They were super bummed. Fast forward about 8 years, I'm 13 years old in its family game night. As we're playing monopoly, we had a knock at the door and look at each other all very confused. Why would someone be knocking at the door at seven o'clock at night while we're playing monopoly? Rude. My mom answers, and it's this random lady. She says, I know this is super odd, but do you have a moment? I have your father's ring. What? My mom, Varian Tread, lets her in. So she tells us her story. She bought my grandparents couch at a garage sale

about 15 years earlier. As her son was moving out years later, they turned the couch on its side and a ring fell out. Obviously she could tell it's a special ring. It's a Western Michigan University 1960s class ring, so she knew she had to find the owner. She finds the house where the garage sale was at. She fucking remembered where she bought it.

15 years later. Amazing. I love the story so much already. But my grandma had since moved. She doesn't give up hope and keeps looking. She searches public records to find their name and hopefully track them down. Like this woman is an angel.

Bet us. One day, she was telling her treasure hunt to her friend and hopefully track them down. Like this woman is an angel. Badass. One day she was telling her treasure hunt to her friend and her friend, what I would like to think, she says, something along the lines of, what the fuck, joy and Tom Higgins? That's my next door neighbor's parents. Yes, this lady's friend was literally our next door neighbor from the time we moved into that house 25 years ago to present.

Holy shit. In absolute disbelief, she immediately comes over to our house and lo and behold, it's my grandpa's ring. We never did finish that monopoly game. My grandma ended up gifting it to my uncle TJ and he holds it dearly. My mom, Katie, passed away four months ago and my grandma back in 2020, so you guys bringing up this memory for me is really awesome. It's a nice heartfelt moment of a stranger doing something amazing for my incredibly caring and loving mom. Hug your moms if you can, they don't live forever. Stay sexy and track down lost

treasure if you can. Kate. God, I know. It's so good. I left those little connections to the past and to people that just have so much meaning behind them. Yeah. It makes me think of the first nursing home my grandma had to go into when she had Alzheimer's. It was more like they tried to make a house where just older people were living or whatever. And she was there for six months

or maybe something like that. And then suddenly her wedding ring and engagement band were gone. Oh, no. And my mom is just like, picks up her hand one day and it's like, where's your rings? And she's like, I don't know. And someone that worked there fucking store her rings off her hand. And it's that kind of thing where you're like, you can go, yep, this happens and, you know, this is life and whatever, and she was more than just that. But the idea of somebody right now was like, hey, we figured out this belong to your grandma

and you suddenly get it back. Yeah. That's humongous. That's really weird because my grandma, Thelma, when I was little, so it was her and four of her little old ladies going to their poker game, got held up at gunpoint in their car. And they took my grandma's wedding ring. Oh, no, I forgot about that.

So she had this other ring that she always wore, but it wasn't her wet. Like she didn't have her husband anymore. She didn't have her wedding ring. I was like, so fucking awful. It was LA in the like 90s. I feel like that kind of happened. Can you imagine if someone was like ring ring, hi there, you don't know me. I have Grammath Alma's wedding ring. Right.

And I'm sure it wasn't worth a lot. They didn't have a lot of money, but it's like, no, it's entirely just a symbol, just relevant to this one family. These very specific people, like it isn't worth anything, really at the pawn shop or what, it's just like, yeah, it's that. But also it's that kind of thing where it's like, when you're little, it's like, I would just stare

at my grandma's hand because it was a big old diamond and I was like, ooh, whatever. I don't know. That's crazy. Oh, this one's good. Paris Catechome's proposal gone wrong, three minute read. Yes, proposal gone wrong. I'm hooked already.

Right. Hi, you asked for disaster vacation stories, and one of my favorite stories of my husband and I is how he wanted to propose to me while on vacation. In 2017, my boyfriend and I were spending a couple days of our trip in Paris. I had made a long list of things I wanted to do like art museums, antique flea markets, restaurants, and bakeries. But I guess I must have talked the most about

the Paris catacombs. The catacombs had a chipped white metal spiral staircase that goes down for what feels like an eternity. We didn't realize how claustrophobic my husband was at the time. We went down the spiral staircase and got all the way to the bottom with this man mildly hyperventilating. And I kept telling him the whole time that it would open up, the rooms would be bigger and not to think about being underground, to absolutely no one's surprise that did not calm him down. He ended up deciding to turn around and walk back up the staircase against all the people coming down.

In Paris. Oh. That's probably one of the biggest tourist attractions, like top five. But because we paid for the tour and he knew I wanted to go, he begged me to finish the walk through. So against my better judgment, I speed walked through skulls and bones and uneven flooring and honestly very tiny rooms that never did open up, looking for the exit which was over a mile away.

The tour popped me out in a weird residential area. I had no service and the only map I had was the paper one provided by the hotel, which had their logo covering parts of the map. Oh no! Eventually I made my way back to the Catechum entrance and found my sweet boy friends sitting on the grassy area looking around nervously.

Like out of a movie, we ran towards each other, embracing each other, and starting to cry. I thought he had a full-blown panic attack on the steps, and he thought I'd get totally lost because I'm that bad at directions, which I really am. At this moment, he very shakily tried to pull out the engagement box, I'd get totally lost because I'm that bad at directions, which I really am. At this moment, he very shakily tried to pull out the engagement box. And as soon as I saw what he was doing, I clamped my hands over his and the box and told

him not right now. Not while we're sweaty and thinking we almost died in Paris. Hours later, we'd finally had a moment to relax and we were sitting at Lark de Triolf and we shared a long look at each other and at the same time he started to say will you marry me I said you can ask me now. Oh, he later revealed that it was his plan to propose to me down in the car. Yeah, even if you're gone, I feel like what's not do that? No, it's like it's like, oh, is that your favorite thing that I'll ask you down there and put all my own

needs aside of like, please don't make me go down there. It's so great. He later revealed to me that it was his plan to propose to me down the catacombs next to all the skulls, next to the plague. I really hadn't thought I'd talked about the catacombs this much, but he knows how much I love your guys podcast and true crime. He actually cited my favorite murder as a reason he thought I'd be impressed by his proposal,

by his proposal location. Love you guys in your podcast. Shout out to my best friend Kate for recommending it way back in 2016. She's the best. You guys are the best. Stay sexy and say yes to a partner who gets how much you like true crime.

Oh, that just got me Alexis. Oh, doesn't just get it, but is in the game of self-sacrifice totally theme out your proposal. That reminds me of Kurt Branneler, a bananas fame proposing to Lauren. The plan was to do it in a hot air balloon. Oh, yeah. Because she had jokes constantly about wanting to, like that was a good inside joke between them. And so he took her up on one

and she was having such a bad panic attack that he had to wait till they got to the ground. That's... That's all right. We just don't know. We don't know what is really gonna scare us. That's right. Okay, speaking of, we, G-Board, spooky time.. That's right. Okay, speaking of, Weeji board, spooky time,

this one's called. Oh, okay. I am not a long time listener. And because of that, I gloriously get to binge old episodes in between new ones with no rhyme or reason to the order in which they're listened. Perfect. The joy of it is never knowing what year I'm in

as I listen to your present day commentary and recently listen to one present day commentary and recently listen to one about the Ouija board. But what is time? To the spirit of the Ouija, it is arbitrary, and I've got a little spooky story for you all that took place in an abandoned house in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The town in which I spent some of my formative years and the reason why I never look in windows or mirrors at night. Oh, Like all the good late 80s, early 90s kids, a summer spent breaking into abandoned houses at night with your friends was the norm. Sure. On one particular night, an older female neighbor of mine decided to make it even scarier by bringing a Ouija board and candles.

None of us knew what it was, and fully fearful of ghosts. Having not habituated to the town's normalcy, I played anyway knowing if I didn't I'd be banished from further middle of the night, cool kid hangs and being the new kid in town, you just got to suck it up. I mean, you really do. It sucks because no one actually likes the idea of doing a Ouija board. No one likes it. Everyone's scared of it except for maybe the one girl. Oh yeah. Who brought it? But everyone else is like,

Everyone has to pretend. We don't want to conjure the devil, but you have to, like, your 12. So you have to be cool. Totally. Despite believing in ghosts, I am a skeptic of all things. And even at 10,

decided to challenge the shit out of the sport. Oh. When it was my turn, I asked, quote, what is my grandfather on my mom's side's name? Nice. So she's getting specific right away. Yes, she is. As the plan-shet made its way around the board,

it spelled out B-Y-R-O-N. Now remember, I was the new kid in town. I didn't even know if they knew my name. My grandfather, Byron, died when my mom was seven. What? A major traumatic event in our family and not something I was going around talking about, but the only dead person I knew at the time said that's what I went with. Let's just say I made some excuse and got the fuck out of that house and a wave from that board, stash after that correct answer.

What if you're playing with a Ouija board and the New Girl in town, ask the question all confident, and then her face turns white as a ghost, when you get your answer, and she just fucking leaves. Right. I'd be like, hey, New Girl, what was your last school like, and I would run out after her as if we were going to socialize?

And then be like, bye. I'm going to make sure she gets home, okay? Yeah, goodbye. Goodbye. I never played again until I found a board from the 1960s in my parents' basement. I made my friends and I all play a couple of years ago on New Year's Eve, but it was short-lived because I dropped the board behind our built-in bookshelf where it can't be reached. I can't wait for whoever buys our home after us to eventually renovate and find it. She should drop a note back there that says this isn't supposed to be creepy, it was an accident.

Or this was supposed to be creepy or being haunted. This is the devil's work. That's right. Over the years, I've done some really reckless and stupid things that confirm I am a cat and likely on life's seven or eight. However, my mother suffering from serious loss has me convinced that her parents and brothers are protecting me in the earthly realm so that she doesn't suffer another loss. I'm going to be 40 this year and thankfully have matured a little bit, but nevertheless,

I'm still a believer in ghosts and the spiritual realm. As a social worker and therapist, I thank you for bringing me joy when I'm all out of energy for my own dark humor on the tough days and thank you for advocating for those voices who can't slash won't be heard. Stay sexy, believe in ghosts and don't get murdered. But if you do, make sure to haunt the shit out of them and keep the wiggy spirits alive. Allison. Man, Allison. Good one. Byron. Byron showed up and was like, what's up? What do you need? I'm literally standing behind you at all times. I've always been here. Learn it. Know it. Got your back. Yeah. Byron is up in her face helping out.

Okay. The subject line of this email is the story I would have told at my sister's wedding. Hey, friend of Reno's, have I get a story for you? It has all the things. Older sister, sacrificing younger, old motor homes, sleeves of Oreo cookies, and loud high-pitched girl screams. Is that not what you want? Well, you're getting it. I promise it's worth it. We'll take it. Do it. Make the beginning of your email exactly what you want it to be. It can vey yourself the way this person is. So, absolutely doing. Do it. You're getting it, and I promise it's worth it.

And I should have shared it at my sister's wedding. I was never asked to talk, but I was also never asked not to talk. I should have done it. Here goes. My father is not asked not to talk. This is such a great approach. Yeah. My family used to go camping all the time.

We had a junky old RV that we took everywhere. One particular occasion when I was nine, my sister must have been 11, we went to a campground adjacent to Yosemite called Crane Flat. One day my mom and I were sitting in a hammock eating a sleeve of Oreos. Our campsite was next to a little meadow

which could be accessed by a step down. We were looking at the meadow not saying much when it looked like the step moved. The texture looked a little different too, maybe even a little fuzzy? Weird. Anyway, we just kept eating the Oreos. The fuzzy step stood up and revealed that it was not a step, but actually a bear. I don't think anyone has ever gotten out of a hammock as quickly as my mom and I did Oreos flying me screaming and girl terror. My mom ran to get some pots and pans to clang loudly telling me to get inside. I proceeded to scream and run towards the RV shouting out my sister to let me in. There was a bear outside and please please let

me in. Her head popped up by the window next to the door. She opened the window just a crack, looked directly at me and said, no, if I let you in, the bear will come into. And then she closed the window and just stood there looking at me. The bear was now fully in our campsite searching for food, Oreo's gone. And I ran in a circle around the fire pit and just screamed such a high loud scream that only little girls can do while my sister just watched. Oh my god. The bear must have gotten sick of this because he left to go visit the neighbor's campsite. The neighbors had seen the commotion and were huddled in their camper looking out

the window as the bear proceeded to eat the hot dogs they were grilling straight off the grill. Oh, bust open a bag of ruffles, potato chips, like a bomb. And then parentheses that said clearly the bear knew this routine and ate all the hot dog buns. I was still screaming when the bear finally left. My mom came around holding pots and pans and then a parentheses that says, why did that take so long, mom? Where were these pans? And she made my sister open the RV and let me in.

And then in front of the season, all caps, it says, too late. In the story, I would have shared at the wedding, I would have rightfully shamed her, of course. But also, I would let her husband know that she found her person that she'd open the door for. Even at risk of inviting the bear inside as well. My sister and I are best friends now. She's the one who recommended your podcast to me.

Hi, Alice. Thanks for sticking with this email, and I hope it was worth it. SSDGM and don't sacrifice your little sister to the bear. Lucy, I love that because that's hilarious. What a sweet twist at the end. She absolutely should have spoken for her wedding. Yes, and I'd love that it's like a fake story

that she delivered. That's like what this has become. Is like stories I didn't tell. Yes, stories I should still tell stories I want to tell, but there's not enough weddings. Or whatever. Right, totally. Oh, that's a good one.

Right. Totally. Oh, that's a good one. Uncle Tony accidentally went to Woodstock. Hi, MFM team. A couple of weeks ago, Karen mentioned her dad jokingly confessing to having gone to Woodstock. Do you remember that? Yeah. But it's completely untrue. Okay. I thought I would want to hear about the time my family thought my uncle Tony was pulling the same joke on us, but it turned out to be the truth. According to my cousins, there was a day in recent years when Woodstock somehow came up in conversation.

My uncle Tom randomly chimes in and says, oh, I went to that and it was horrible. At first, everyone thinks he's joking because he's a huge goofball, but he insists he isn't messing around this time. For context, my family immigrated from Italy in the 60s, but originally lived in Quebec for a couple of years before ending up in Queens. Uncle Tony said that when living in Quebec, his co-workers approached him and asked if he wanted to go to a concert. Due to there being a huge language barrier, Tony didn't get a lot of details before agreeing. They piled onto a bus and drove down to New York only to get off in a cornfield and walk

for hours. I love this one because it's totally me, at a thing that everyone else fucking had a great time and loved it. According to Uncle Tony, quote, it was so hot, we were miles away from the stage and all there was to eat was corn. In my country, corn is for the chickens, unquote. He found it to be such a miserable time that he felt no need to mention his attendance and it wasn't until decades later that he realized that he had accidentally attended a historic

event. Even then, he still didn't care. Brady, they, them. Brady. Legendary, your Uncle Tony is the Uncle Tony. Yeah. That's a classic Uncle Tony situation story and attitude. Only Uncle Tony could have a bad time at Woodstock. It's similar to my uncle, John, who went to Burning Man because he was the contractor that provided the toilets. No way. My uncle, John, me, he rest in peace. It was one of the greatest John,

John, you're one of the greatest people, the one of the funniest fucking people of all time. And he was like, yeah, we got this order. They need some toilets up there. We bring them up. We pull up. There's girls on bikes with no shirts. I'm like, this sounds good to me. We'll stay here for a week.

Like he went to Burning Man more than once. Oh my God. As like the toilet guy fully just being there to observe and people watch and laugh, his ass off and drink beer. I love that. He's not the greatest. Yeah. Wow. Oh, that. He's not the greatest. Yeah.

Wow. Oh, I think it's my turn. This is a nice holiday story. It's as dad ruined Christmas in New Year's light-hearted dad fuck up. And then the first line of this is, I give up on intros. Hi. My youngest sister was born in mid-December in the 80s.

And the process was not kind to my mother. When Christmas rolled around, my brother, sister, and I, four, two, and six respectively, ran downstairs, excited to see the magic left by Santa, but there was nothing. No gifts, no toys, no stuffed stockings. We screamed in collective English. That's so sad. My dad blurry-eyed and sleep deprived stumbled down the stairs to find out what the fuck. He gaped at my siblings and I clutching our empty stockings and sobbing.

While taking care of my mother and sister, dad had neglected to not traumatize his children. So there he was, Christmas morning, trying to explain about Santa. I had pictured like nothing being there, but there were actual stockings that were just fucking empty. Yeah, it was all set up like, here he comes, it's happening now, and it's like, no, he skipped us. Fast forward a week or so later.

And then in parentheses, it says, what is time, math? Which made me laugh really hard. So fast forward, a week or so later to New Year's Eve. Dad tucked us all into bed, kissed us good night, and announced, that's the last kiss you're getting all year. Q three sobbing children and one panicked man trying to explain about calendars. and one panicked man trying to explain about calendars. To this day, my dad has never lived this down, and I can assure you, all of us were extra grateful when mom resumed her parenting duties.

I mean, 80s dads, sorry to say, literally didn't expect to do any Christmas shopping, didn't, you know what I mean? That's kind of a given was mom does literally fucking everything. Totally. And it would have had to have said, you have to be sure. You have to be sure as like she's literally having her fortune. Right, right. Okay, sorry now.

I've taken over this email. Okay. Stay sexy and know you'll be the reason someone's in therapy, Bronwyn. PS, my parents' names are Alan and Ella. Dad always says he wished his name had been Sam so they could have opened a restaurant. Sam and Ella. Sam and Ella. Sam and Ella.

I didn't get it in first. A perfect dad joke, it's a thinker. It's perfect. And then in parentheses it says, that word play is for Karen. A perfect dad joke, it's a thinker. It's perfect. And then in parentheses, it says, that word play is for Karen. I know how she loves it. And then it just says, Bronwyn again. Great job.

Good one. Real good email. Happy 2024, everyone. Welcome to the new age. Yeah, I hope your new years is going better than Bronwyn's and her siblings were that faithful year that her dad dropped every ball possible when their youngest sibling was born. That's right.

Oh, stay sexy. And don't get murdered. Go. Elvis, do you want a cookie? This has been an exactly right production. Our senior producer is Alejandra Keck. Our editor is Aristotle Acevedo. This episode was mixed by Leonis Kulachi, email your hometowns to my favorite murder at gmail.com

and follow us on Instagram and Facebook at my favorite murder and on Twitter at my fave murder. Goodbye! my safe murder. Goodbye!